Leigh Riker - Double Take

“The man is a rabid fan…one of the type that always feel they own you. It’s possible my coming marriage has upset him.”

“And he wants you to say the engagement is off.”

But then, why such threatening words—even though he hadn’t mentioned murder? Emerald finished her wine. She had more color in her face now, but the topic was obviously closed. “Thank you for staying, for talking.”

“I can stay longer if you like. Or call Grace for you. And Ron.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s foolish to allow someone like that to upset me.”

Forcing a smile, she walked to the door of the den, and taking her cue that it was time to leave, Cameron followed her. She hesitated then reached out to touch Emerald’s forearm in comfort. She felt hard muscle under quivering flesh.

“You’re sure…?”

Emerald didn’t answer. She pulled away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ah, she was being dismissed—and put back in her place.

But Cameron couldn’t as easily ignore the threat she’d heard.

I’m coming after you…

A fan—perhaps Edgar Mills again—who had become unhinged but posed no real danger to Emerald?

Cameron didn’t know.

But all the way down in the elevator to the street, the words reminded her of Venuto Destina’s vow of revenge. Of her father. And of Ransom’s caution.

With her heart still in her throat, she walked out into the night.

You’re in danger. You’re next.

She couldn’t shake the feeling. If Ransom had been right, which she doubted, it seemed she wasn’t alone.

Emerald Greer didn’t have friends. But she did have enemies.

THE DARKNESS SWALLOWED Cameron up. The feeling of menace followed her home.

Even the blast of taxi horns, of people laughing in the doorways of restaurants and bars, made her skin twitch and her senses buzz. If Ransom was behind her, somewhere in the darkness, he was a darn good tail. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t even smell that subtle scent of his aftershave.

If he was there, as she assumed, maybe it wasn’t such a terrible thing tonight.

Should she stop, turn around, tell Ransom about Emerald’s caller?

No, that was a matter for the NYPD. And his friend Gabe.

She didn’t want Ransom trailing her, she reminded herself. She didn’t want him in her life, except to find James’s killer.

As for the missing money and Emerald’s telephone threat…

None of that related to Cameron.

Why feel so spooked, then?

It was Ransom’s fault, she decided, key clutched tightly out of habit in her hand when she left the blackness of night and prepared to step out of the shadows near her building. Just a few paces more and she’d be in the light. Inside, with her doors locked and the dead bolt thrown. Maybe she’d toss the covers over her head tonight.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she sensed movement.

“Ransom!” she cried out.

That quickly, a hand had touched her shoulder. She froze, heart lurching into high gear, as if it would reach a thousand beats per minute, her pulse throbbing in her injured fingers.

Cameron tried to wrench away. But in the next second, she learned it wasn’t Ransom.

The man behind her tightened his grip on her shoulder and she screamed.

“Hey,” the man growled, “take it easy.”

That first voice in the darkness had barely spoken, his mouth close to her ear, before a second, deeper voice shattered the still night. “Let her go, dammit!”

Ransom barged out of the shadows, hauled the other man’s grip from her shoulder and then spun him around.

Cocking one fist, he slammed it into her assailant’s jaw. Cameron heard the sickening sound of flesh hitting bone. The small package the other man had been carrying dropped to the pavement. And her gaze jerked upward.

In the darkness she made out a set of features that set her pulse skittering: a square jaw, a generous mouth, shadowed eyes glittering with anger. She saw a mop of dark hair above a wide forehead. He reeled back, staggering, a hand to his head.

He had a wide forehead, like her father’s.

Cameron froze in shock. It couldn’t be…

When his fist balled for a retaliatory blow at Ransom, she quickly stepped between the two men.

“Wait!” She shoved at Ransom’s chest. It felt like granite under her hands. “Stand back and listen. Both of you.” She glared into his heated dark gaze, shielding the man behind her, as if she could. He’d always been bigger than she was, and he towered over her now. But Cameron had no doubts. “This is my brother,” she said, slowly and carefully so Ransom would understand through the red haze of his own fury. Then she turned. Blood trickled from the corner of the other man’s mouth.

“Kyle, you’re bleeding.”

Even bloodied, he looked good to her. She’d never thought to see him again. For a second, his betrayal of her family years ago—their family—flashed through her mind. The attempts she’d made to find him when James died had proved futile. Cameron gave him a curious look.

“I’m all right,” he said. “And yes, it’s Kyle—the name I was using when I left WP. Nothing like a souvenir, huh? Call me sentimental.” He moved his jaw, experimenting, she supposed, to see if it was broken. “I went back to McKenzie for my last name. Might as well,” he added. “Preserve the family heritage, you know.”

Cameron continued to study him. Did he know, somehow, that their father was dead? Whatever he had done, Kyle had a right to know. He deserved her loyalty—at least until they were alone.

She spun around on Ransom. “You are out of your mind.”

His jaw set. “Some guy pounces on you in the middle of the night, and I’m not supposed to react?” He shook his head, obviously disgusted. “You are an accident waiting to happen.”

“If so, it’s my accident. I didn’t ask you to be my bloodhound.”

“I’m a trained bloodhound. The habit’s hard to break.”

Cameron turned back to her brother, who was blotting his mouth with a handkerchief. The simple motion touched her. James had always carried one and Kyle had learned the habit from him at an early age. Taking over the job, she tsked at the amount of blood she saw oozing from his cut lip. “He didn’t break anything, did he?”

“Teeth all here. My jaw still works,” he muttered behind the linen, which smelled of James’s favored aftershave, too. She stooped down to retrieve his package and handed it back to him.

“Come inside. I need to see you in the light.”

She didn’t mean only to clean his wound. Before she opened the door to the lobby that was decorated for Christmas, Ransom reached out to do it for her then ushered them inside. Cameron balked.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Upstairs. With you.” Nodding to the doorman, who stepped back at the look in his eyes, he punched the elevator button. “I’m hoping he’ll listen to sense, since it’s clear you won’t.”

“What’s this all about, Cam?”

At Kyle’s shortened version of her name—older brother to kid sister—she felt her resistance to him weaken. Kyle was five years older than Cameron. No matter what he’d done long ago, he was still family, and for the first time since their father’s murder, she wanted to collapse in grief, surrender to it at last. Feel safe in Kyle’s arms. Or could she? Cameron glanced into her brother’s brown eyes.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she agreed with Ransom.

If Kyle didn’t know about their father, she wanted him to hear it now from her. But she also wanted his presence to protect her—from Ransom.

IN HER LIVING ROOM, perched on the chair arm while Kyle told her about his life since she’d last seen him, Cameron helped him pat disinfectant over his bruised jaw. The skin was already beginning to turn a dark, mottled purple and she could almost see the imprint of Ransom’s knuckles. He packed a mean punch. All that training, she supposed. From the look of him, he spent time in a gym, too, and she’d felt all that hard muscle and powerful strength up close, against her, at her door only last night. Now Cameron refused to glance his way. Despite her snarled feelings about her estranged brother, Kyle was more welcome in her home than any government agent.