Her Private Treasure. Wendy Etherington

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СКАЧАТЬ throes of—” She stopped, turning her head to glare at him. “Don’t throw. Don’t crush. Be still.”

      She looked lean and sexy, her pistol raised beside her and pointing at the ceiling. Her expression was focused, her body braced. Desire tightened his stomach. “Is that thing loaded?”

      She peeked between the blinds again. “Do you ever shut up?”

      He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “If you keep my mouth occupied in some other way.”

      She ignored the invitation and said, “I think it’s your buddy Jack.”

      “So we work now and play later?”

      “I’m always working.”

      She used the tip of her gun to move the blinds aside, and he watched over her shoulder as Jack’s boat puttered past and turned into its slip. “That’s him, right?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

      “That’s the boat.”

      She snorted. “You’re such a lawyer.”

      “Unless there’s now a rash of boat thieves running over the island intent on disrupting the general well-being of the citizenry, I assume Jack’s the pilot.”

      “Hell. A wordy lawyer.”

      “I’m well paid for each and every syllable.”

      “Do you ever feel guilty for making that money on the tide of pain and suffering your clients have to weather?”

      Something ugly clenched inside him. “All the time,” he said lightly.

      Part of the tension he felt must have slipped through his tone, because she glanced at him. “Cheap shot. Sorry.”

      “I’m used to it.”

      “So I’m all the more sorry.”

      “I appreciate the—”

      “Hold on. He’s moving.”

      And Jack was.

      He emerged from the cabin with a small box tucked beneath his arm. The box appeared to be made of ordinary, brown cardboard. It measured no more than half a foot wide and long. Jack was whistling as he stepped off his boat and onto the dock.

      For some reason, the upbeat tune made Carr’s blood boil. “Let’s follow him.”

      Malina planted her hand in the center of his chest. “Let’s watch.”

      After a few moments, Jack disappeared up the stairs toward the marina bar—and no doubt the parking lot beyond.

      “We should go after him.”

      “I will. I know where he lives.” Tucking her pistol back into its holster, Malina opened the door and stepped out. “Let’s look around a little first.”

      As they moved slowly along the dock, Carr studied the bobbing American Dream. Something was fishy about Jack’s boat—and it didn’t have anything to do with nets or rods. “I don’t suppose you could turn your head while I pop the cabin lock and see what old Jack had hidden beneath his mattress?”

      “Not yet.”

      Though Malina’s back was to him, Carr raised his eyebrows. “So you’re not saying no? How liberal of you, Agent—”

      “Hang on.”

      As Malina bent to one knee, Carr moved closer to her. More coffee maybe? If so, Jack really ought to find a sealed box to carry his illicit merchandise in. Didn’t the man know about plastic containers? They even had fresh seal plastic bags now. Double-zippered to ensure the contents stayed tightly enclosed.

      “Well, now,” Malina said in a low, excited tone that immediately captured his attention. “It seems your neighbor does have a side business, though I’m not sure how drugs, art or coffee enters into it.”

      Carr moved his attention to her clenched fist, which she held out in front of her. “How so?”

      “It appears Mr. Rafton went for the sparkle instead.”

      When she opened her hand, sitting on a scrap of white cloth, a large, loose diamond glittered back at him from her steady palm.

      4

      RISING, Malina studied the stone in her hand. Four, maybe five carats. But the thrill of discovery was rapidly being overcome by questions with no answers.

      Hamilton, standing so close she felt completely wrapped in his enticing, somewhat old-fashioned sandalwood scent, seemed to realize this as well. “You make people think you’re smuggling drugs, when you’re really smuggling diamonds? That seems…”

      “Stupid.”

      “And what about the artwork?” Hamilton asked. “I’ve bought enough paintings to recognize the crates in which they’re shipped.”

      “Decoys? Or he’s into more than gems.”

      “Coffee grounds and painting crates to disguise diamonds?”

      Malina shrugged. “Gold and jewels are a big commodity now. With the stock market and economy shaky, tangible assets are hot. Banks, museums and collectors are being hit left and right. Smuggling stolen goods is in vogue once again.”

      “But Jack—head of a smuggling operation?” Hamilton frowned. “He doesn’t have the nerve or the brains. He’s a nice, average guy.”

      “And yet he’s already managed to stir up a lot of red tape. Paintings and diamonds are major theft—FBI jurisdiction, in other words. Drugs are DEA. Plus, there’s local law enforcement to coordinate and possibly the Coast Guard if any of us needed to board his boat in open water. Maybe this is a more complex operation than it seems.”

      Hamilton shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t give Jack that kind of credit.” When her gaze flicked to his, he amended, “Bad guy credit, of course. He’s just not that creative a thinker, not devious enough.”

      “Maybe you’re the one who’s not devious enough.”

      “Oh, no. I am.”

      How did she respond to that? His odd, self-deprecating humor had a darker source, she was sure. Were all those profitable lawsuits becoming mundane?

      She knew he’d left his practice in New York City two years ago to settle on Palmer’s Island, where he’d volunteered to be the unpaid staff lawyer to a variety of charities and churches. Up until they’d met, she’d been certain he was behind the scenes building a big case—tort reform be damned—that would bust out on the national scene, sending him around the talk shows and law conferences for some time to come.

      But that cold-blooded plan didn’t mesh with the man she’d met—and kissed.

      I like to walk on the beach.

      She СКАЧАТЬ