Page 5 of Reset

If she’d been braver, she’d have chomped a chunk out of his palm. But—blood. And germs. Instead, she glared at him.

“If that’s true, why am I the only one who’s chained up?” she demanded. It came out muffled.

“I only got part of that. If I let go, do you promise not to scream?”

Okay, that made her pause. A kidnapper who’d take her at her word? Either he was very dumb or just plain optimistic. It was probably the latter. The Ryan she’d known had been smart as a whip.

Trying to appear innocent, Sarah nodded to tell him she wouldn’t scream.

Looking relieved, Ryan removed his hand.

Idiot.

Sarah sucked in a deep breath, but before she could shout at the top of her lungs, the hand was back.

“You promised,” he accused.

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Take your hand from my mouth, or I’ll bite it.”

“I only got ‘bite’ from that.” With a sigh, Ryan removed his hand again but kept it close to her face, just in case she showed signs of screaming again. “Look, I don’t know who you are, I don’t know how we got here; all I know is we need to get out before whoever took us comes back. It’d be better if we worked together to do that, but I’m not beyond carrying you out of here kicking and screaming if I have to.”

Her right hand tingled, itching to curl into a fist all over again. In her mind’s eye, his face turned into a giant bull’s-eye, his nose dead center. “Stop saying you don’t know me. It’s rude.”

“I’m not being rude, I’m being honest. First time I laid eyes on you was when I found you lying in that corner.” He pointed to the spot beside the platform.

“Are you kidding me?” Now, she was shaking from anger instead of fear. She narrowed her eyes at him. “We dated. Over a year ago. Before you ghosted me.”

Honestly, his acting skills were superb, because she almost believed it was news to him. “I don’t remember.”

“Seriously?” She shrugged off the jacket he’d placed over her shoulders because she was plenty warm now.

He backed away a step. “I have amnesia. There are chunks of my past that I don’t remember.”

“By any chance, do all the missing parts contain women you’ve dated?”

“No!” He heaved a sigh. “I’m not playing you here, I’m telling the truth.”

“You expect me to believe you have amnesia? That the reason you stopped calling and didn’t answer any of my messages was because you couldn’t remember me? Is this a daytime soap? Next, you’ll tell me you have a twin and I’ve confused him with you.”

Obviously irritated, he put his hands on his hips. “I don’t have a twin. I do have amnesia.”

“You know I’m too smart to fall for this, right? I’m an actuary. We spend years studying, collecting data, calculating the chance of random things happening, and I can tell you right now, the odds of you having amnesia are about the same as me having a lunch date with the Queen.”

“Huh. I thought you looked after birds.” He pointed at her handbag. “I went through your wallet while you were out cold and saw your work badge.”

Oh, this wasn’t amusing at all. “You know exactly what I do for a living. We talked about it—at length—during our many phone conversations.”

“I keep telling you. I suffered a head injury. My memory is Swiss cheese.”

There was a rumbling noise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, it came from his stomach. Typical. The man had a Pavlovian reaction to even the slightest mention of food.

It was her turn to point. Which she did, straight at his stomach. “Stop thinking about cheese, we’re arguing here.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

Oh, now she was really beginning to lose her patience. “Because I know you. And you know me. Stop pretending otherwise.”

“Listen, lady—”