He put his hand on her arm and she panicked, trying to tear herself away, but she should have known it would be useless. He was much stronger than she was, and he simply hauled her against his body, wrapping one arm around her waist. “We’re supposed to be a newly married couple on a really stupid honeymoon, and anything you do to make people think we’re not is going to put us and everything you want to accomplish in danger. So chill.”
Chill was the operative word. His hand was on her waist, she rem
embered the pain that hand had inflicted, and it chilled her to the bone. Her sore arm was trapped between their bodies, and she couldn’t use it to push away. All she could do was stand still and try to disguise the fear that was leeching through her. She was trembling, and she bit her lip, trying to still the shaking, as he led her into the slightly run-down lobby of the hotel. He pulled her even closer, and for some unknown reason the heat of his body began to penetrate hers, and the tremors slowed.
“That’s right,” he murmured. “Just relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She couldn’t help it—she let out a small, derisive laugh. His hand tightened as a warning on her waist, but he still didn’t hurt her. “Not again,” he said simply. “Never again.”
His Spanish was better than hers, and yet when he talked to the desk clerk, his speech was halting, tentative, as if he couldn’t find the right word. Turistas, the man was obviously thinking, and harmless. Of course he had a room for the norteamericano and his esposa, and Jenny shivered again. One room. Of course it would only be one room if they were posing as husband and wife.
They were back outside in a matter of minutes, and Jenny immediately pulled away from him, ignoring the fact that she was suddenly so much colder in the warm, tropical night air. “I want my own room,” she said stubbornly, knowing it was a lost cause.
“Be grateful you’ve got your own bed. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight now that we’re down here. You’d probably take off looking for Soledad the first chance you got, and believe me, you don’t have the intel to even start to find her.”
He was wrong about that. She intended to wait until he came up with the intel, and then bash him over the head and escape. It worked in the movies, and it should work in real life. If she happened to kill him then she could live with that.
The room was small, bare, and thankfully neat. There were two double beds, a dresser, a small table, and two chairs in the beige room, and Ryder dumped her suitcase on the one farthest from the door. She didn’t bother to protest—getting away from him wasn’t going to be that easy. She’d have to wait until he went out to make her escape. But escape she would, no matter how determined he was to keep her prisoner.
She sat down on the bed, kicking off her shoes. The bed sagged slightly, and it was too soft, but she didn’t give a damn. While he slept aboard the plane she’d been wide awake, trying to come up with a scheme that would lead her to Billy’s missing phone before Ryder could get to it.
Finding Soledad seemed to be the only lead they had, and even in Calliveria, Soledad’s dark, sloe-eyed beauty would stand out. If she had come through this port city, and chances were she had, someone would remember.
Ryder was watching her, but she leaned back on the bed and ignored him. If she could just get an idea of where Soledad was being held she could go after her. Ryder must have more than enough weapons on him that he could spare one. She’d learned to shoot years ago, at her father’s insistence when one of his enemies was making a power play, and she was a relatively good markswoman. She didn’t think she would hesitate when the time came, and if someone was threatening Soledad, after she’d already been through so much, then she’d shoot him without compunction.
She realized that Ryder was simply staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She could always shoot him, she thought dispassionately. He deserved it, and if she were close enough she could avoid anything fatal. Just something that would hurt him, very, very badly.
“Now that I’ve got your attention,” he drawled, “maybe you could stop formulating plans for revenge and concentrate on the matter at hand.”
She didn’t want to talk to him, to pay any attention to him, but unbidden the words slipped out. “I was thinking I might shoot you.”
“You could always try. If you had a gun, that is. Which do you prefer, a nine millimeter or a twenty-two?”
He was calling her bluff. Maybe he wasn’t as smart as she thought he was. “Nine millimeter,” she said instantly. With a full clip they were easier to reload.
To her astonishment he went to the travel-worn duffel bag he’d brought, opened it, and fished out a handgun, setting it down on the bed between them. She stared at it.
“Go ahead. Take it. You could even shoot me with it if you were so inclined,” he said.
“I would have thought you’d be smart enough to know when you were in real danger of that happening,” she said, eyeing the gun but not picking it up.
“You want me dead after what I did to you today. I get that. I also get that, unlike me, you wouldn’t hurt or shoot anyone in cold blood no matter how much he deserved it. Pick it up.”
“I’d watch it with the orders if I were you,” she snapped. “Is that the same gun you had on board the container ship? The one you used to kill all those people? The one you would have used to kill my brother?”
“In fact, no. I’m keeping that one. It has a hair trigger and it would be too dangerous for someone not used to firearms.”
“I’m used to firearms. My father insisted on it.”
He looked skeptical. “And how many guns have you shot in the past ten years?”
None, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She picked up the gun, balancing the weight in one hand, and then pointed it directly at his chest. “I could always start again,” she said silkily.
He didn’t look the slightest bit perturbed. “Then you’d bring the local police down on your head. If you’re determined to shoot me, then wait until we’re out in the countryside and there are no witnesses. You could leave my body at the edge of the rain forest, and the scavengers would make short work of me.”
She shuddered, suddenly horrified at the thought, and she tried to put the gun back down. Her hands were shaking too much. “You deserve to be shot,” she said in a voice that sounded frankly sulky to her own critical ears.
“Many times over. Today was just one more blip in my life, nothing I haven’t done before or would do again. But not to you.”