by Meryl Sawyer
“No. She’s my insurance.” He sounded almost cocky now, which was truly frightening. Didn’t the guy know when to give up? “I’ll be on a plane and out of the country in no time.”
It was possible, Ryan realized. John Wayne Airport was ten minutes away. The private field adjacent to it had lots of planes. It was a short flight to the Mexican border.
“I’ll let her go when I refuel in Mexico,” Laird said in a tone that sounded reasonable, lucid.
Ryan knew better than to go for it. His FBI training had stressed one thing. Never let a hostage be taken to another place—no matter what you’re promised. Criminals say anything to get away. Nine times out of ten they killed the victim. Anyone insane enough to plant a bomb just to get a business couldn’t be trusted to keep his word.
“No way! Let her go. I’ll give you time to get to your car,” Ryan said, certain Laird must have his car parked in front of the house a short distance away.
“Fuck off—” Laird’s curse was obliterated by The Wrath’s swift karate chop to the back of the neck. His gun dropped out of his hand, his other arm released Hayley. His eyes glazed over and he slowly began to crumple.
Hayley scuttled forward like a crab. Ryan rushed to her and dropped to his knees, his gun still trained on Laird. Crash! McMasters collapsed onto the glass coffee table and it shattered. The nutjob was out cold.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asked Hayley over the sound of sirens coming up beside the yacht.
“I—I can’t see anything.” She felt his face.
“It’s okay. We’ll get you to the hospital. I’m—”
“Holy shit!” roared The Wrath. “I think he’s dead.”
Cradling Hayley in his arms, Ryan turned and saw Laird bleeding now from a cut on the side of his head. He’d hit the sharp corner of the glass-top coffee table with all his weight. A death-blow.
MEG RUSHED INTO THE E.R. waiting room without waiting for Conrad to follow her in his wheelchair. There was a crowd of people, but she spotted Ryan standing with Trent and Farah in the far corner. Feeling light-headed, she hurried across the room, ignoring the pain in her knees.
“Meg,” Ryan called as soon as he saw her. “Don’t be upset. Hayley’s going to be okay.”
She gasped with relief and slowed her pace. “Thank God.”
Ryan met her and put his arm around Meg’s shoulders. “What happened? All that Wrath person said on the phone was that Hayley had been taken to the hospital.”
“He saved Hayley from Laird McMasters,” Ryan told her.
“Laird!” Meg’s mind reeled as if short-circuited. She’d believed the Fordhams were behind this mess—not a man that they never even considered. Now it registered that Trent and Farah were here and looking more concerned that she could ever have imagined.
“Ryan isn’t taking the credit he deserves,” Farah told her as she and Trent joined them. “He figured out where Hayley had been taken.”
“I have to see her,” Meg cried.
Ryan hugged her, saying, “The doctors are treating her right now.”
Meg didn’t want to wait, but Conrad wheeled up and put his hand in hers.
“What happened, son?” he asked Ryan. “We heard Hayley had been kidnapped, then suddenly she was at the hospital.”
Meg listened, clutching Conrad’s hand, as Ryan explained about the scopolamine that had been sprayed in Hayley’s face.
“I’ve never heard of it,” Meg said. Trent and Farah said they hadn’t, either.
“Isn’t that the active ingredient in Transderm patches for motion sickness?” Conrad asked.
“That’s right,” Ryan said. “Patches have minute amounts of it.”
“Isn’t it the stuff called burundanga?” Trent wanted to know. “They put it on business cards and anyone who touches it blacks out. Then they’re raped or robbed but can’t remember anything about it. I hear it’s used a lot on tourists in South America.”
“That’s an Internet myth.” Ryan sounded exhausted. “Scopolamine can be in a pill or liquid form, but powder doesn’t penetrate the skin and cause the same reaction.”
“The EMTs who took Hayley away were impostors. It was part of Laird’s elaborate scheme.” Rancor sharpened Trent’s voice. “He even went so far as to have someone call me and say ESPN was coming to film so I wouldn’t be in the booth but out looking for them.”
“He was very clever. Conniving.” Farah’s lips thinned with anger. She explained about the shoe and the escape on the yacht.
“Why?” Meg asked, unable to fathom any reason Laird would have done this.
“He wanted Surf’s Up,” Trent said.
“What?” Meg turned to Conrad. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“No,” Conrad agreed. “It doesn’t.”
“There must be another reason,” Meg insisted.
“No, it makes sense—in a convoluted way,” Farah said. “With Surf’s Up and his own company combined, Laird would have the best custom-board molds available and a brand-name surfers respected. Add that to his own business—”
“You’re forgetting Laird’s company doesn’t have the reputation for clothing designs and the new MMA stuff that we do,” Trent added.
“Still, to go to all the trouble to make a car bomb and stage an elaborate hoax is…so farfetched,” Meg concluded.
“Not really,” Farah said. “He hoped to sell the combined company to one of the big guns like Water Expo or he could arrange an IPO. There’s a lot of money involved—millions.
“An Initial Public Offering?” Meg couldn’t help sounding skeptical. “In this market?”
“IPOs are staging a comeback,” Farah assured her.
“Well,” Meg replied, still not convinced. “When the police question him, I bet they discover another reason.” Personally, she thought Laird had been attracted to Hayley—for years—and couldn’t stand being shunted aside yet again after Hayley went out with him last year after she broke her engagement to Chad.
Suddenly she was aware of everyone looking at her. “What’s wrong?”
“The police aren’t going to be questioning Laird,” Farah said. “He’s dead.”
Meg gazed at Ryan. She’d known from their first meeting that this was the man for her Hayley. He’d killed Laird to save her.
“I didn’t kill him. No one did,” Ryan said quietly. “It was an accident. The Wrath clocked him with a karate chop to the neck. Laird blacked out, fell and hit the coffee table. The blow to his head killed him.”
Meg’s shoulders sagged as she tried to imagine the scene. “Where was Hayley during all this?”
“He’d been holding a gun on her,” Ryan answered. “She got away from him when The Wrath hit him.”
Meg listened while Ryan provided additional details of her niece’s ordeal. She almost laughed when he told her about how Hayley fought back and bit a chunk out of that maniac’s leg.
“There’s just one problem,” Ryan concluded, his voice filled with concern. “Hayley’s temporarily blind.”
“What?” Meg couldn’t believe anything else could possibly happen to Hayley. Hadn’t she suffered enough? “How? Why?”
Ryan explained blindness was a side effect of a scopolamine overdose. Laird had used way too much in the solution that he’d persuaded some girl to spray in Hayley’s face. “It should wear off in the next day or so, and she’ll be able to see again.”
“OH, HAYLEY, SWEETHEART,” Hayley heard her aunt say, tears in her voice.
It was late in the afternoon. Hayley had spent hours being prodded and checked physically. She’d taken heaven-only-knows how long to give a statement about the kidnapping. Most of her memory was fuzzy before waking up in the boat.
“A-Aunt-ie, don’t cry. I—I’m okay.” She’d heard the catch in her hoarse voice and realized she, too, was close to tears. Her composure had been a fragile shell since Ryan had gathered her in his arms. She felt safe with him, knowing Laird was dead and no longer a threat. But how prot
ected could she feel when she couldn’t see anything?
Aunt Meg hugged her and Hayley could feel the dampness of her aunt’s cheek. She was a second mother, Hayley decided. She was one lucky girl.
A jumble of rustling noises and whispers filled the hospital room where Hayley was on a bed. Her world was still darkness. The doctors guaranteed her sight would return in another day or so, but in the interim, her other senses were becoming sharper. There were more than two other people in the room. More than three, her ears assured her.
“Wh-ho’s there?” she croaked out the words.
Aunt Meg had released her. Hayley could feel her weight on the bed and knew her aunt was sitting down beside her. Another arm slipped around her. From the strength of the grip and the woodsy scent lingering in the air, Hayley knew it was Ryan.
“Don’t strain your voice,” he told her. “My father, Trent and Farah are here with your aunt. They were worried about you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Trent said, sounding genuinely upset. “I never thought Laird would do something like this.”
Hayley was tempted to say that Trent blaming her for not wanting to sell the business had contributed to the problem, but she didn’t. Laird was certifiable. Who could have predicted the lengths he’d go to in order to take the business away from them?
“I’m not surprised,” Farah unexpectedly said. “You know how much Laird wanted to show his father that he, too, could be a huge success. He had something to prove. It obsessed him.”
Hayley supposed Farah was right. Laird had admitted to her that he’d coveted Surf’s Up for some time. He’d tried to get it—legally—but she’d been instrumental in keeping the business in the family.
“Ch-aad?” The single word came out like a raspy sound. She knew she shouldn’t be talking. The doctors had explained the overdose of scopolamine could damage her vocal chords. Time would take care of her voice, her sight. But it was difficult to just lie there, helpless.
“Chad was conducting a deposition in San Diego,” Ryan said. “The police have a warrant out for his arrest.”
“Why?” Farah sounded shocked. “Just because Laird used his boat?”
“No,” Ryan explained. “I told Detective Wells that I found evidence on Alison’s computer that there had been a trust. Laird and Chad destroyed it. Apparently, McMasters thought that he could persuade you two to sell if Hayley was out of the way.”
There was a full minute of what Hayley imagined was stunned silence before Trent asked, “How did you know what was on the computer?”
“W-w-we—”
“I’ll explain, Hayley. Save your voice.” Ryan’s arm tightened around her for just a second. “I hacked into her files and found it in the trash bin. They thought it had been wiped clean but it was there. I found another copy in the clouds.”
“Clouds?” Farah stared at Ryan as if he were about to reveal the whereabouts of the Holy Grail.
Hayley listened to Ryan explain about cloud computing and how some information was stored on a server nowhere near the actual computer. She wished she could see them to analyze what they were thinking. They were probably asking themselves why she’d had Ryan hack into her mother’s computer. They must realize she’d suspected them. It would take a thousand words for her to explain. Now wasn’t the time, but she couldn’t help feeling guilty.
After an awkward silence, Trent said, “Wanna bet Chad hightails it to Mexico? What’s left for him here? He’ll be disbarred.”
“I think you’re right,” Farah said with characteristic sarcasm.
“I’m sure the police have considered this,” Conrad said, speaking for the first time. “San Diego is so close to the Mexican border.”
Hayley listened to the group discuss Chad’s duplicity, how he was financially overextended, and Laird must have promised him a chunk of dough to forget he’d ever seen the trust.
“A-nd-ee,” Hayley interjected.
“Andy’s with Timmy and Courtney,” Farah said. “They’ll take care of him.”
Hayley smiled and nodded to save her voice. She wanted to tell them how Andy had tried to warn her about the woman in the red bikini, but decided it would have to wait. She had something more pressing to say.
“I—I wah-nt go h-home.” Hayley botched the sentence, but hoped they would understand.
“The doctors want to keep you overnight,” Ryan said gently. “You should be starting to regain your eyesight by then.”
“N-no!” The word came out like a shot. “Home.”
“Hayley, be sensible,” her aunt said. “Stay the night.”
She shook her head, determined. She wanted to go home now! To sleep in her own bed. “M-my loft.”
“I’ll talk to the doctor,” Ryan said in a resigned tone. “But I have to go out for a short meeting tonight.”
“Can’t you postpone it?” Conrad asked.
“I need to tell my boss that I’m resigning. I should have told him days ago, but I didn’t want to leave Hayley.” Ryan paused for a moment, then added, “I’ll be as fast as possible. My boss is at the Marriott for a conference. I don’t want him to hear about my involvement and think I’m still with the Bureau. I’ve violated a lot of their rules.”
“Isn’t hacking against the law?” Farah wanted to know.
Hayley battled the urge to make an ugly remark. Then she reminded herself that she’d misjudged Farah and Trent. She should be apologizing, if anything.
“I’ll go speak with the doctor,” Ryan said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “We’ll get you out of here.”
She felt Ryan leave her side and walk out of the room. For a moment no one spoke. Hayley tried to imagine what they were thinking.
“Won’t you have trouble getting around?” Farah asked.
Hayley shook her head. “K-know m-my place.”
“I could come over and stay with you while Ryan’s at the meeting,” Aunt Meg volunteered.
Again, Hayley shook her head. “Sl-sleep.”
“She’ll be asleep,” Farah interpreted. “She won’t need anyone for such a short time. I’m sure Ryan will keep his meeting brief.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
HAYLEY EASED back into her own bed. Her own bed! Not that she didn’t like Conrad’s oceanfront home, but when you can’t see anything the familiarity of your own place is unbelievably comforting. She knew where everything was—even though Ryan refused to allow her to stumble around on her own. He’d undressed Hayley and found a nightgown. He’d already guided her across the bedroom to the adjacent bathroom.
“Are you sleepy?” Ryan asked.
She shook her head and reached out her arms. Emotionally shaken, she eked out a whisper. “H-h-old m-me.”
The bed gave and she knew he’d sat down beside her. A rustling of the sheets meant he’d stretched out. He took her into his arms, gently as if he might hurt her.
“I’ve never been so damn worried in my whole life,” Ryan whispered, and a knot formed in her throat. “I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you.”
A shiver rippled through her as Hayley realized how close she’d come to death. She would never have seen Ryan again. The thought disturbed her then and even more now. She decided all the questioning by the police and knowing Laird had been killed made everything much too real.
“I—I w-as…t-errified,” she managed to whisper.
“Forget about it.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re safe now.”
She buried her face against his powerful chest and relaxed, sinking into his embrace. Her world finally felt…right. Well, almost right. By tomorrow she should be able to see and speak without her throat aching. Then her world would be perfect.
“Are you okay? This isn’t hurting you?” he asked.
“N-no.” She could hardly lift her voice above a whisper.
The warmth of his body was so male, so comforting. At the hospital, she’d been tired but now she felt better. A familiar surge of awareness rippl
ed through her. She’d been through a terrifying ordeal but her body didn’t seem to care. It wanted Ryan, and it wanted him now. She snuggled even closer but he didn’t seem to get the message.
“Detective Wells told me he’d consulted the San Francisco PD. They said a previous girlfriend had complained about Steve Fulton. I don’t think Lindsey was making up anything. I just think Fulton’s an accomplished liar.”
Thinking about Lindsey almost destroyed her good mood. No matter what Steve had done, things would have turned out differently if Hayley hadn’t insisted Lindsey come stay with her. A wonderful, talented person would still be alive.
One of Ryan’s hands rested on the curve of her waist. Through the silky fabric she felt the heat of his hand as it coasted upward, a scant inch at a time. Guilty feelings were replaced in a heartbeat by anticipated pleasure. She reached up and fumbled around for a moment until she found the curve of his neck. She brought his head down to meet her lips. He kissed her carefully, as if for the very first time.
Giving herself to the passion of the kiss, freed something in Hayley that she hadn’t realized existed. For some reason she’d been holding back, waiting to be sure she had the right man. Now she was certain and the knowledge lifted a weight.
She wanted to scream: Yes! Yes! Yes! But her throat still hurt and Ryan would only tell her to be quiet.
As he kissed her, his hand continued to slide upward until it found her breasts. Cradling one in his warm hand, Ryan rubbed his thumb over the taut nipple. Pleasure spiraled through her and moist heat centered in her upper thighs.
“Perfect,” he told her. “Absolutely perfect.”
Before she could attempt a croaking response, he was kissing her again, harder this time. New spirals of ecstasy surged through her. She returned his kiss with reckless abandon. This was what she’d been waiting for even though she’d never realized she had been waiting. She wanted to be swept away—to forget almost being killed, seeing a dead man, knowing she’d caused a friend’s death.
Ryan released her, and Hayley thought about protesting but the swishing noise and the metallic zipping sound told her that Ryan was taking off his clothes. She wiggled out of the sheer nightie she was wearing and tossed it aside. He drew her against his powerful body again and she was immediately engulfed in his heat.