often that Reed McKenna acted irrationally, but the passion that had risen up and prompted him to do so now was as strong as any force he’d felt in a long, long time. “You heard me, Charlie.”
“But what the hell for?”
For Sean, his mind whispered. Reed glanced again at the woman beside him to be sure she was sleeping before he said, “Listen, Charlie, Morrell’s bookkeeper has outsmarted your guys for six months, and she’s walked a narrow line for a hell of a lot longer than that. She’s made half a dozen trips out of the country just this year and she’s probably stashed away enough money to support herself into old age. You’ve admitted yourself that if you had enough to indict her, you wouldn’t be calling me. And after what’s happened to Dianetti, I need a bargaining chip every bit as much as you do.”
“But the kid—you’d really use the kid?”
“And just what the hell were you guys planning to do?”
“Well, we...” Charlie sputtered. “That is, they’ve already picked her up for security reasons...to protect her, I guess.”
Reed had heard it before, almost the same words, the night they’d taken Sean away from the old man. He hadn’t known enough to distrust the system back then and it had cost him his brother. But he knew better now. One dead child was enough for any man to carry on his conscience.
“So you’re saying she’s safer where she is than with me?”
“Hell, yes!”
“Can you guarantee that, Charlie?”
The older man’s sigh was weary. “All right, Mac, I admit I don’t know how it will all work out, but I do know these people are set up for kids. They’ve got homes, you know?”
He knew.
“And people, experts who know how to deal with things like this. Come on, Mac. Forget the kid, will ya? She’ll be safe.”
“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.
Chapter Two
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