right.”
She tried to get a better look at him, not knowing what to think. Her throat was so tight that she could hardly swallow, and her breath came in ragged surges. The strange acrid scent she’d noticed when she’d first come into the loft seemed stronger now.
“I think we’d better sit down,” he said, absolutely calm. “I’ll explain what’s happening.”
“I don’t need to sit to hear this.” She twisted out of the arm he had around her, but they were still standing nose to nose. The acrid scent wasn’t coming from this nutcase. Evidently, he wore a woodsy aftershave. “This better be good.”
He’d lowered the flashlight to waist height. In the low beam, she saw he was tall and dark and utterly menacing. His brown hair was damp from the rain. His polo shirt revealed impressive shoulders and a wide chest that narrowed at the waist. A quick glance down told her that he had an athlete’s powerful legs. Hadn’t Conrad bragged that his son had played pro ball?
She sucked in a steadying breath. He could snap her neck with just one hand. What was he doing here? Just because he claimed to be Conrad’s son didn’t mean he was telling the truth. She didn’t dare trust him.
Abruptly, he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open.He directed the flashlight on a badge that read: Department of Justice. “I’m with the FBI. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What are you doing here?” she managed to ask as she took in the shield and the name Ryan W. Hollister, Special Agent.
“Your BMW was blown to hell by a car bomb. Everyone assumed you were in it. Meg, your family, the police—they all think you’re dead. They’ve had a memorial service, the whole works. Your aunt is too upset to remove your personal effects so she asked me to do it.”
It took a second for his words to register. Images of car bombings she’d seen on television burst in her brain. It could not be true. “You’re making this up. I’m calling the police.” She lunged for the wall phone but he blocked her with his powerful body.
“Wait. You have some explaining to do.”
“Me? You’re certifiable! I haven’t done—”
“Where have you been for the last ten days? Didn’t you hear about the car bomb?”
Another scathing retort was on her lips but it vanished as she realized he was dead serious. Shock seeped from every pore, spreading through her body with a mind numbing punch. “Car bomb? My car?”
“Didn’t you park your car at the back of Gulliver’s lot under the trees last Tuesday?”
“Oh, my God!”
Ryan gently guided her into the living room. He eased her down onto the sofa and set the flashlight on the glass coffee table. The amber light barely illuminated the dark area.
“I’ve been in Costa Rica doing a huge wall mural in Ramon Estevez’s new resort. I lent my car to my friend,Lindsey Fulton.” Hayley could barely choke out her next question. “Where is Lindsey?”
Two beats of utter silence from Ryan Hollister. The rain drummed on the glass windows like a flock of pecking birds, but he didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t have to; she knew.
“Apparently she died when she turned the key in the ignition.”
Hayley felt as if her breath had been choked off. Holding raw emotion in check, she assured herself this could not be true. But Ryan’s troubled expression told her something terrible had happened to her friend. “No, please! It’s not fair! She had so much talent, so much to live for.”
“Everyone assumed it was you. No one knew you were out of town. Why not?”
A paralyzing numbness spread out from her chest. If she closed her eyes, Hayley could see Lindsey. She envisioned the way her friend’s eyes would narrow as she stood back and studied a painting. The anxious habit she had of checking her cell phone for messages from her husband. Her toothy, endearing smile.
It took a minute before Hayley could muster a response. “I had a couple of reasons. First, my
She tried to get a better look at him, not knowing what to think. Her throat was so tight that she could hardly swallow, and her breath came in ragged surges. The strange acrid scent she’d noticed when she’d first come into the loft seemed stronger now.
“I think we’d better sit down,” he said, absolutely calm. “I’ll explain what’s happening.”
“I don’t need to sit to hear this.” She twisted out of the arm he had around her, but they were still standing nose to nose. The acrid scent wasn’t coming from this nutcase. Evidently, he wore a woodsy aftershave. “This better be good.”
He’d lowered the flashlight to waist height. In the low beam, she saw he was tall and dark and utterly menacing. His brown hair was damp from the rain. His polo shirt revealed impressive shoulders and a wide chest that narrowed at the waist. A quick glance down told her that he had an athlete’s powerful legs. Hadn’t Conrad bragged that his son had played pro ball?
She sucked in a steadying breath. He could snap her neck with just one hand. What was he doing here? Just because he claimed to be Conrad’s son didn’t mean he was telling the truth. She didn’t dare trust him.
Abruptly, he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open.He directed the flashlight on a badge that read: Department of Justice. “I’m with the FBI. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What are you doing here?” she managed to ask as she took in the shield and the name Ryan W. Hollister, Special Agent.
“Your BMW was blown to hell by a car bomb. Everyone assumed you were in it. Meg, your family, the police—they all think you’re dead. They’ve had a memorial service, the whole works. Your aunt is too upset to remove your personal effects so she asked me to do it.”
It took a second for his words to register. Images of car bombings she’d seen on television burst in her brain. It could not be true. “You’re making this up. I’m calling the police.” She lunged for the wall phone but he blocked her with his powerful body.
“Wait. You have some explaining to do.”
“Me? You’re certifiable! I haven’t done—”
“Where have you been for the last ten days? Didn’t you hear about the car bomb?”
Another scathing retort was on her lips but it vanished as she realized he was dead serious. Shock seeped from every pore, spreading through her body with a mind numbing punch. “Car bomb? My car?”
“Didn’t you park your car at the back of Gulliver’s lot under the trees last Tuesday?”
“Oh, my God!”
Ryan gently guided her into the living room. He eased her down onto the sofa and set the flashlight on the glass coffee table. The amber light barely illuminated the dark area.
“I’ve been in Costa Rica doing a huge wall mural in Ramon Estevez’s new resort. I lent my car to my friend,Lindsey Fulton.” Hayley could barely choke out her next question. “Where is Lindsey?”
Two beats of utter silence from Ryan Hollister. The rain drummed on the glass windows like a flock of pecking birds, but he didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t have to; she knew.
“Apparently she died when she turned the key in the ignition.”
Hayley felt as if her breath had been choked off. Holding raw emotion in check, she assured herself this could not be true. But Ryan’s troubled expression told her something terrible had happened to her friend. “No, please! It’s not fair! She had so much talent, so much to live for.”
“Everyone assumed it was you. No one knew you were out of town. Why not?”
A paralyzing numbness spread out from her chest. If she closed her eyes, Hayley could see Lindsey. She envisioned the way her friend’s eyes would narrow as she stood back and studied a painting. The anxious habit she had of checking her cell phone for messages from her husband. Her toothy, endearing smile.
It took a minute before Hayley could muster a response. “I had a couple of reasons. First, my
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