Laura Gordon - Lethal Lover

“Tell that to Dianetti, you son of a bitch,” Reed growled, slamming the phone down, half choking on the unexpected surge of anger Charlie’s indifference had provoked.

The phone rang again almost immediately. Reed grabbed it on the second ring, but didn’t bother to say hello.

“It’s gonna take time,” Charlie’s tone seemed resigned. “It’s a lot of money and getting temporary custody of the kid transferred to you won’t be easy.”

Reed wasn’t in the mood for bureaucratic excuses. “One hour,” he said simply.

“One hour!” the older man exploded. “Damn it, man! It would take a presidential order to get things moving that fast.”

“Then I suggest you call him,” Reed replied, reminding himself that time was something he didn’t have to waste.

He’d begun researching the situation a week ago, just in case he was called. Pulling in every marker owed him, he’d been able to learn where the bookkeeper was headed; it was invaluable information that would at least assure him a head start.

But it was a fragile lead at best. With Dianetti out of the picture, Reed knew he’d be only one of many stalking Edward Morrell’s elusive bookkeeper. True, Reed had had an edge in tracking her, a personal connection he hoped to hell Morrell would never discover. Nevertheless, if he’d been able to discover her plans in less than a week, it wouldn’t take the other side much longer.

Even now he felt the clock pushing him. In the last five minutes, getting the bookkeeper’s kid safely out of the country had suddenly become Reed’s top priority. Then he’d worry about finding the bookkeeper, convincing her to come back to the States and keeping her alive to testify.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there in the background was Tess. How did life get so tangled? Thoughts of Tess, of the fire storm into which she was unwittingly walking made his pulse race as if a time bomb were already ticking.

“You have my terms,” he reminded Charlie. “One hour,” he muttered again into the receiver and imagined the sweat beading on the older man’s forehead.

“You’re one cold S.O.B., anybody ever tell you that, Mac?”

Reed allowed himself a grim smile. “Yeah, once or twice.” He stabbed the disconnect button and looked up to see the blonde’s pale blue eyes open and staring up at him. “Time to go home, Cinderella,” he said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

“But—”

“No buts, babe. I have work to do.” He grabbed his jeans and pulled them on, wondering how long it would take him to put together a traveling nursery. The kid. He’d demanded temporary custody of the kid. He almost couldn’t believe it himself.

“Work?” the blonde grumbled as she sat up and reached for her scattered clothes. “What kind of job calls you out in the middle of the night?”

Reed ignored her question; to explain himself to a woman he’d known less than five hours seemed pointless.

After she’d called for a taxi, she sat down on the bed and tugged on her knee-high boots. Reed grabbed his duffel bag out of the closet and proceeded to pack.

“Hey, you’re leaving town, aren’t you?”

“It looks that way.” Funny, Reed thought, she hadn’t seemed the talkative type a few hours ago.

“Will I see you again when you get back? Will you call me?” Her voice was smoky and her breath smelled faintly of the scotch they’d both consumed in ample quantities at the bar where they’d met earlier in the evening.

“Maybe.”

“Well, you’ve got my number. Maybe I’ll see you at Duffy’s again. A bunch of us usually hang out there on Fridays after work.”

Reed merely smiled and nodded as he finished packing. When he reached past her to withdraw the .38 semiautomatic he kept taped behind the headboard, her eyes widened.

She watched as Reed slipped it into an interior pocket of his favorite leather jacket. Newly impressed by the dangerous-looking man before her, she asked, “So tell me, Mac, where are you going in the middle of the night in such a hurry?”

Unbidden, a voice from his past came back to answer. “I’m headed to hell, babe,” he said. “Like my old man always said, ‘straight to hell on a fast train.’”

And if Edward Morrell didn’t get to him first, Reed told himself, Tess Elliot would be only too happy to punch his ticket.

The waiter who showed Tess and Selena Elliot across the open-air dining room was a tall, handsome young man with a perfect tan and light brown hair naturally streaked by the sun. Taking in his all-American looks, Tess would have thought him more at home in Southern California than Grand Cayman.

But when he spoke, his English was seasoned with that unique, melodic Caribbean accent that Tess found charming, and she realized that he must be a native. His uniform was the loose-fitting, multicolored shirt and white canvas trousers that all the West Palm staff members wore.

“Well, what do you think of paradise so far?” Selena asked. “Aren’t you glad you came?” Her cousin’s blue eyes, so similar in hue and shape to Tess’s own, were bright as she sat down in the chair the waiter pulled out for her.

“You were right, Selena, everything here is sheer heaven.” Tess leaned back in her chair and inhaled the pure ocean air and scanned the magnificent view from their balcony table. “Everything is exactly as you said it would be.”

Selena beamed. “Rum punch for both of us. West Palm has the best rum punch on the island,” she informed Tess when their waiter had left.

Tess rolled her eyes and smiled. “Well, if it packs the same wallop as the two I had on the plane, I think we’d better order dinner soon.”

“Oh, come on, chicken,” Selena teased. “It’s only a little past three. Besides, when you’re on vacation it’s always cocktail hour!” Her smile was mischievous. “Let yourself go, Tess. Or, as they say on the island, don’t worry, be happy!”

Tess laughed and took another deep breath of the naturally perfumed air as she wondered how anyone could help but relax when immersed in such an idyllic environment. The scene beyond the balcony was a living postcard of sugar white sands and sparkling, sapphire water. Overhead was an endless expanse of cloudless blue. In the distance, small fishing boats drifted and bobbed aimlessly on the shimmering sea.

A dozen tourists basked in the afternoon sun on folding chairs and bright beach towels at the water’s edge. Laughter from a group of bikini-clad teenagers playing volleyball mingled with the rhythmic beat of Caribbean music drifting from the bar at the opposite end of the dining room.

“Ah, here we are,” Selena exclaimed, and Tess turned to see their waiter returning with two huge glasses frosted and filled to the rim with the same sparkling, red concoction that the Cayman Airlines flight attendants had served nonstop during the hour-and-a-half flight from Miami.

The waiter offered menus, but Selena waved them away. “We’ll order later. Right now, we’re celebrating.”

Tess felt like giggling; Selena’s expansive mood was contagious. “Selena, I never knew you to be...well, so much fun. If this is a preview of things to come, this trip will be one I won’t soon forget.”

Selena arched one thin, dark brown brow and leaned across the table, fixing her gaze on her younger cousin. “Okay, so maybe the next time I ask you to join me on vacation, you won’t be so hard to convince?”

“I was a bit difficult, wasn’t I?” Tess admitted sheepishly. To say that she’d been stunned when Selena had first mentioned their joint excursion to Grand Cayman, would have been an understatement. Flabbergasted was a more apt description of how she’d reacted when Selena had called a month ago with the idea of a holiday for the two of them.