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trying to sound unimpressed even though he was acutely aware of the damage that metal canister could do to his head.
    "Like hell." She raised her chin a notch, daring him to make a move toward her.
    He kicked the door shut behind him and smiled.
    A rock of apprehension lodged in her throat, and she resisted the sudden desperate need to retreat. There was only a wall behind her anyway. If he planned to kill or rape her, backing away wouldn't help.
    "It'd be in your best interest to drop it," he said, taking a step toward her.
    Meg stood firm, but her knees began to tremble. "It'd be in your best interest not to come any closer."
    He took another step, tensed to fall back if she swung. His shoe bumped something on the floor and they both looked down at the small blue plastic bucket on its side. Several ice cubes were scattered across the floor.
    She stared at them in confusion. He'd been carrying a bucket of ice?
    He lunged.
    She swung the extinguisher up, aiming for his chin.
    He jerked back, and the tank whooshed past his face. Catching it on the back swing, he wrenched it away from her.
    She dropped against the wall and ducked her head, hands up and eyes closed. I'm dead.
    The makeshift weapon dangling from one hand, Ryan stared at the woman crouched at his feet, her body tensed for a blow. That surprised him. It also made him angry. He had never struck a woman and couldn't imagine a situation in which he would. But this woman didn't know that, didn't know him. And God, when he'd first seen her, laughing with her friend at the airport as if nothing had happened three months ago, hadn't he wanted to hurt her? Hadn't he wanted to make her pay for Beau's death? Because she hadn't. Obviously, it hadn't devastated her the way it had him.
    Clenching his jaw, he turned away.
    When she heard him move, Meg opened her eyes to see him putting the extinguisher back in its bracket. She broke for the door. Her injured knee slowed her down, but she reached it and fumbled with the handle, swearing when her fingers slipped across the smooth metal.
    He was on her in a heartbeat. Whirling her around, he shoved her against the door, curled his fingers into the front of her tank top, and leaned into her. "If you want to play rough, we'll play rough," he growled. "It's up to you."
    A good portion of his body was flush against hers, and she felt what could have been the butt of a gun jammed into the waistband of his jeans. Oh, Jesus, a gun.
    "What do you want?" she asked.
    "I want you to behave. Don't make me force you."
    She tried to stare him down, but his gaze bore into hers without wavering. He leaned on her windpipe, pressing her head back. The bump she had sustained earlier sent a sharp ache through her temples. "I'll behave," she said, as if she had a choice.
    He backed off, hoping she didn't notice the tremor in his hands. He was beginning to think he had overestimated his ability to intimidate this woman. The expected tears and pleas, the promises to give him whatever he wanted hadn't materialized.
    He held out a hand. "Give me your keys."
    She gave him a blank look. "Why?"
    He snapped his fingers. "Just give them to me." He'd felt them in her pocket when they were thigh to thigh, and he wasn't going to risk losing an eye if she tried to use them as a weapon.
    Pulling out her key ring, she dropped it in his palm. He shoved it into his pocket without breaking their locked gazes. "Sit."
    Meg, who didn't think her jelly legs could have supported her much longer anyway, slid down the wall until she sat on the floor. A half-dozen aches protested, but they were nothing compared with the anxiety she felt about Dayle. "What happened to my friend?"
    "They took her."
    Shit. "Who are 'they'?"
    He smirked as he bent to pick up the spilled ice cubes. "As if you don't know."
    "I don't know. What do they want? What do you want?"
    "Please," he said.
    "Look, I don't know what the hell's going on here, but you and your buddies have made a huge mistake." As