The guy behind him didn’t give it and, instead, relieved Ryker of his gun. Then he moved back and to the side, his gun still pointed at Ryker, until he was just a yard or so away from his buddy. He wore a similar ski mask as the other guy and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Solid muscle, and both moved with grace.
Isobel Madison could certainly afford the best—if that’s who they were. Or perhaps she’d attracted some dangerous enemies. Just as likely. These guys were trained killers. Maybe Greg hadn’t just been hysterical and paranoid.
Ryker wiped blood off his chin. His entire face pounded from the hit. “Where is Isobel Madison?” he asked quietly, trying to make out any of their features in the darkened room.
The guy with the gun glanced at his partner and jerked his head.
The other guy reached behind himself and flipped the light switch. One dingy light in the center of the room lit up.
Ryker blinked and kept them both in his sight. He couldn’t make it to the bedroom or the kitchen without being shot. While he could duck below the couch, there wasn’t a good move after that point.
Both men stilled. Tension swelled through the room, causing the hair to rise along Ryker’s arms.
They didn’t move. Just stared at him.
He stared back. “We’re at a standstill here. Tell me where Isobel is, and we’ll each go our separate ways.”
“Who are you?” the guy with the gun whispered.
Ryker frowned. There was something familiar about the voice, but he couldn’t place it. “None of your fucking business. Who are you? More important, where is your boss?”
The armed man looked at his gun, looked back up at Ryker, and then slowly lowered the barrel a couple of inches, as if he didn’t want to point it at Ryker’s chest.
Ryker stiffened and drew to his full height.
“What’s your name?” the gunman asked.
Ryker flashed his teeth. “Fred. Fred Johnson. Yours?”
The guy lifted the gun and pointed it, his hand steady. “Try again.”
Something, call it instinct, told Ryker that there was no way the guy would shoot him. Why, he had no clue. But his body relaxed. “No. Your name?”
“Shit,” the other guy muttered. “Can you believe this?” His voice held a small, very small, thread of uncertainty.
The armed guy shook his head.
Ryker tensed to jump across the couch and tackle the guy with the gun.
“You won’t make it,” the other guy said casually.
Ryker cut his gaze to him. “He won’t shoot me.”
“Won’t I?” the armed guy asked softly.
“No.” Ryker edged back a couple of inches. “I don’t know why, but you decided not to shoot me the second the lights came on. Care to explain why?”
Several beats of silence filled the tension-soaked room. “In due time. For now, why don’t you tell us why you’re searching for Isobel Madison?” the armed guy asked.
“Do you work for her?” Ryker asked.
“Hell no,” the other guy said. “No way.”
Truth. Definitely the ring of truth. Ryker frowned. “Yet you set up a trap, and when I went looking for her, you followed the string here.”
“This is your trap,” the armed guy said. “We just were nice enough to enter it upon your kind invitation.”
Ryker lifted his head. “You’re looking for her, too?”
“Fuck no,” the other guy said.
Jesus. “Stop talking in riddles. Either you shoot me or you take off the masks. If you do neither, I’m turning and heading out the door.” At this point, he didn’t seem to have any other options.
The unarmed guy looked to the armed guy, who shrugged.
“Fine.” He shoved the gun into the back of his trousers.
Ryker tensed, prepared to lunge.
“Wait.” The guy held out a hand and slowly reached up to rip off his mask while the other guy did the same.
Similar bone structure, angled faces, deep gray eyes. They looked alike. “Who are you?” he snapped.
The armed guy studied him, his gaze intense. “If I had to guess, I’d say we’re family. This is Jory, and I’m Matt. Now, who the hell are you?”
*
Zara jumped from her seat. “You will not harm this boy.”
Dr. Madison waved her back down. “Oh, he’s going to die, but just relax yourself. Right now we need him as bait.” She flashed extremely white teeth in a parody of a smile.
Greg snarled.
Madison drummed perfect nails on the desk. Her hands were small, dainty even, with a light bandage resting on her left one, below the knuckles. “I can have Todd here torture Miss Zara until you tell me what I want to know.” She narrowed her gaze on Zara’s face. “Actually, I would like to know how much you can take. My Ryker wouldn’t fall for just any woman, and the way you jumped out a window to stay with this kid? Tough. Definitely tough.”
Her Ryker? “Lady, you’re batshit crazy,” Zara muttered.
Madison’s smile widened. “That settles the matter, then. I believe I know just the person you should spend time with.”