Jean Thomas - Lethal Affair

“Sadly, our fleet of rentals is not a large one, and the last of them was claimed an hour or so ago. But, miss, if you would like to leave me your name and a phone number...”

Brenna decided against that measure. It could mean waiting for who knew how long, wasting her time hoping for a rental car to be returned.

Cabs were plentiful at the airport. It looked like her only disappointing choice was to hail one of them to take her back into town. She’d spend the day doing what she’d told Julio she would do, actually scouting painting subjects in the city. That would teach her to be deceptive.

The sunlight when she exited the terminal had her squinting against its intensity. Juggling her purse and tote with her head lowered, she searched for her sunglasses, found them and slid them into place.

The first sight that met her gaze when she looked up was Casey McBride. He leaned against the side of a silver Toyota, muscular arms locked across his chest and wearing a sly smile that said he was pleased with himself.

“All right, how did you find me this time?”

“Nothing complicated. Just cruising around Georgetown, you know, seeing the sights, when I spotted you grabbing the cab.”

“Another lucky coincidence, huh?”

“Looks like it.”

“I’d say it was more like you were waiting for me to turn up, probably watching the villa until I did.”

“Me? Never. How are things at the villa, anyway?”

“Fine.”

She had no intention of mentioning last night and Julio. If Casey got one whiff of that, he would be on her to move out of the guesthouse and relocate elsewhere. No way was she going to jeopardize her career by alienating Marcus with an action like that.

“So, you weren’t playing secret agent, hmm? You just went and tailed my cab in that silver chariot there for—what? The fun of it? Where’d you get it, anyway? Oh, no,” she said, “it was you, wasn’t it, who got the last rental car?”

“Don’t tell me I went and snatched it out from under you? Sorry, but I need transportation.”

“So do I.”

“I thought that was being provided for you. So where is your shadow today?” Casey looked around, as if he expected Julio to be lurking nearby.

“I suppose you could say I gave him the slip. A lot of good it did me, because now it looks like I went and traded one shadow for another one.”

“Yeah, but I’m a much friendlier one.”

He removed his sunglasses, as if to convince her with a full view of his face how harmless he was. It didn’t work. “I’m not so sure of that.”

“Well, let’s say a social one anyway. Didn’t look to me like the driver Bradley assigned you qualified for that.”

“That’s the point. I didn’t want friendly, social or any other kind of accompaniment. This was to be a solitary outing.”

“Feeling crowded, are we? Like maybe too many people sticking too close?”

“I just felt like being on my own today.”

“You could get that by going back to town.”

She hesitated too long. That perceptive mind of his, so valued by the FBI, guessed she was hiding something. “Or could it be that you have some other particular destination in mind?”

Her silence confirmed it for him.

“Tell you what,” he drawled in his faint Kentucky accent, “I’ve got the car and the time. So why don’t you let me drive you there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No?” He lifted those broad shoulders of his in a little shrug. “Of course, there is an alternative. You could always hire a taxi for the day. A cab driver should be impersonal enough for you. Providing, that is, you don’t mind the expense or the reckless speed these guys down here travel on questionable roads.”

“I’ve experienced enough of that already, thank you.”

“There you go then. You either abandon your intention or choose me, a safe driver.”

“You’ve covered it all, haven’t you?”

“Come on, Brenna. What’s holding you back? I promise to behave myself.”

“I seem to remember some occasions when you didn’t.”

“But not today. Guaranteed.” He opened the passenger door of the Toyota, holding it for her temptingly. Here she was about to make a mistake with a stubborn, take-charge agent determined to safeguard her.

Oh, hell, she thought, harmless or not, either way she wasn’t going to be able to lose him.

“You win.”

Settling herself into the passenger seat, she placed her tote and purse on the floor at her feet. Casey was about to close the door after her when he realized something.

“No painting gear?”

“Not this time.”

“Why is that?”

She launched into a brief art lesson. “Painting on location is great. It can lend a kind of immediacy to a canvas you don’t get in a studio. It can also be a nuisance having to transport all your materials to the site, or ending up with the kind of weather that decides to shift its mood.”

“Does that mean you’re playing truant today, Rembrandt?”

“Not really.” She reached a hand down to pat the side of her tote. “I’ve got my camera and sketchbook to record the subject I’m considering for another painting. What I capture might be enough to justify a studio picture. Your eyes are beginning to glaze over. You’re excused from class.”

Laughing, he slammed the door, rounded the car and climbed in behind the wheel. After buckling his belt and putting his sunglasses back on, he turned to her. “Okay, what is this mysterious destination we’re headed for?”

“A place called Braided Falls up in the highlands. It’s supposed to be spectacular. That’s what the guidebook says, anyway. Hey, what are we waiting for?”

* * *

She could be damned exasperating, Casey thought as he swung the Toyota around and headed them back toward Georgetown, which she’d indicated was the route they needed to go.

On the other hand, she could also be bewitching with that flaming copper hair, amber-colored eyes known to spark with anger when she was provoked to it and a lush, seductive mouth. Not to mention those long, elegant legs, which were on full view in a pair of pale green shorts paired with a matching green-and-white-striped tee.

There was something else he could tell with his sneaky, sidelong glance. With the free spirit of a true artist, she wasn’t wearing a bra under the tee. Damn, how was he supposed to deal with that and not lose control of the wheel?

He’d promised Brenna to behave himself, but with her assets so close like this in the confinement of the car, Casey wasn’t so sure now he could restrain himself.

Try, he ordered himself.

They were approaching the city when, to his relief, he was distracted by a glimpse of her guidebook open on her lap.

“What are you doing?”

“Unfolding the map provided inside.”

“What for?”

“We’ll need it to get to the falls.”

“Uh, both the car and our phones are equipped with GPS.”

“Not reliable functions here on St. Sebastian, says the guide,” she informed him. “A paper map is a safer bet. You’ll have to go straight through Georgetown to reach the shore road on the other side. That’ll take us to the highlands road.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Casey concentrated on weaving through the dense traffic of the city. After passing a cricket field, which Brenna reported was the favorite sport here on the island—another gem from the guidebook, Casey assumed—they found themselves on the open shore highway with the broad, blue Caribbean on their right and on their left an unbroken expanse of vegetation.

“What are you doing?” he challenged Brenna when he glanced over and saw her lowering the passenger window. “We’ve got air-conditioning operating in here.”