“We’ve just done it,” the same man pointed out. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, infuriating.
“Well—” she kicked out “—I’m not—” she writhed lower in the seat “—having it!” She managed to hike herself forward but was pitched back by the arm of steel that crossed her collarbone and tightened. She bit at the arm and heard a low grunt. Before she could struggle free, she was slapped viciously across the side of her head. Sharp pain radiated through her entire skull, rendering her utterly dazed. She sagged limply against the seat and fought to catch her breath.
“That’s better,” the man on her left said. “Now sit there anddon’t move.”
She couldn’t have moved if she’d tried, and she couldn’t even try. The blow had robbed her of what little strength had remained after her futile attempt to escape. Her head lolled against the upholstered seat, and for long moments she could do nothing but hope to regain her equilibrium. Her jaw hurt something fierce, and she felt a momentary flash of hysteria. If they’d broken her jaw after all she’d gone through to set it right, after all she was going through because shehadset it right …
“You’ve got the wrong girl,” she managed to mumble through stiff lips.
“Mmm” came a hum from her left. “Somehow we knew you’d say that.”
“You do.” Gingerly she worked her jaw. It was sore, but at least it functioned. “I don’t really look like this … I had repair work done to correct a problem …”
“We know the problem.”
The one on the left was apparently the designated speaker. She dared a glance at him. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-looking in every respect. His eyes were focused straight ahead, following the course the driver was taking.
“If you know the problem,” Lauren ventured, “then you know this is all a mistake.”
“The problem is that you didn’t want to be found.” He looked at her then, and she cringed under his scrutiny. “It’s subtle, I have to say that much. You’re clever. Didn’t do anything drastic, thought we’d be off looking for someonecompletelydifferent. Or maybe you just thought what you had was too beautiful to tamper much with. You always were a haughty bitch.”
“You’ve got the wrong woman,” Lauren pleaded in a shaky voice. “As God is my witness, I’m telling the truth. The surgery I had was to correct a problem I’ve had from childhood. You can contact the clinic. My doctor will tell you.”
The man was looking forward again, a smug look on his face. “We’ve already been to the clinic. That was a fancy job you did with the records, and if we were stupid we might have been put off. But we’re not stupid, Susan. I think it’s about time you realize that.”
“I’m not Susan! I know you think I’m Susan Miles, because that’s the name on those envelopes, butmyname is Lauren Stevenson! Lauren Stevenson, from Bennington, Vermont. I have family and friends still there—you can check.”
“Lauren Stevenson.” He rolled the name around on his tongue in a way that made her want to vomit. “It’s as good an alias as any.”
“It’snotan alias!”
Dark eyes glittered dangerously back at her. “Keep your voice down. I have a headache.”
“I’ll talk as loud as I want—” she fairly shouted, only to have her words cut off by the human mitt that clamped over her mouth. It had come from the right, but the voice, as always, came from the left.
“I’ll gag you. Is that what you want?”
“No,” Lauren answered the instant the mitt had left her mouth. She had to be able to communicate if she was to get anywhere.
“Then keep your voice down. And talk with respect.” The last had been tacked on almost as an afterthought, but the man appeared to find immense satisfaction in it.
She wasn’t about to argue. Physically, she was outsized and outnumbered. All three men—one on either side of her, plus the driver—were huge. Their sedate business suits did nothing to disguise the bulk of their physiques. Intellectually, though, she had to believe she was at least on a par with them, if not above. Yes, she was terrified, and terror had a way of fudging the workings of the mind. But if she could stay cool and somehow control her fear, she had a chance.
In keeping with that, she considered her captor’s command. If it was a respectful tone he wanted, a respectful tone he’d get. Far more could be accomplished with sugar than with vinegar.
“Who are you?” she asked quietly, directing her efforts solely to the man on the left.
“Now, that is an insult if I ever heard one. You know who I am.”
“I don’t.”
“I sure know you.” He tilted his head to the side and studied her lazily. “You’re looking good, Susan. Hair’s a little shorter. Face looks good. Makeup’s different. Easing up on it, are you?”
“Where are you taking me?”
He gave a careless shrug. “I’m not sure.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
