Her Private Treasure. Wendy Etherington

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СКАЧАТЬ that he’d, yet again, managed to surprise her. “You followed him.”

      “I’d also like to point out that he chose Ardent Red instead of British Racing Green for the exterior paint.” He cocked his head. “Do you think that’s an indicator of law-abiding citizen versus master smuggler?”

      Temper brought heat to her cheeks. “Mr. Hamilton, I’m—”

      “Call me Carr.”

      “Mr. Hamilton, I’m advising—no,” she amended, “I’m ordering you to bring your amateur investigation to a halt. Do not question Mr. Rafton or his associates. Do not ask others about him and definitely do not follow him. The Bureau will look into your information and take things from here.”

      “But you don’t really believe me.”

      “I do, in fact. I trust that you saw what you say you have. What those observations mean is an entirely different subject.” She reached into her pocket for a business card, which she laid on his desk to avoid touching him again. It seemed imperative that she get away from this man as fast as possible. “Let me know if I can be of further assistance.” She turned, then paused and glanced back. “Or if you find Jimmy Hoffa.”

      With that parting shot, she headed toward the door, longing to run when she sensed him following her. She caught a whiff of his cologne, a blend of sandalwood and amber, as warm and enticing as the man himself.

      Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke. “Professional considerations aside, I’d like to take you to dinner sometime.”

      Swallowing hard, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Sorry. You’re a witness. I’m not allowed.”

      “But you’re not even certain a crime has been committed.”

      Despite what she’d told him and the sheer unlikelihood of anything significant happening on Palmer’s Island, she knew there was. Her instincts were buzzing, and they hadn’t steered her wrong yet.

      Well, except for that senatorial questioning thing.

      “I’m investigating,” she said shortly, hoping to further discourage him.

      Either he didn’t get the signal or he didn’t care, since he reached out, sliding his fingertip along her jaw, sending waves of heat racing down her body. “And I imagine you don’t give a damn about what’s allowed.”

      Her breath caught. She didn’t. At least she never had.

      And look where that attitude had led you.

      Opening the door, she stepped out of his reach. “I also don’t have time to get involved. I’m going to close as many cases as I can and get back to D.C., where I belong, as soon as possible.”

      Disappointment moved across his handsome face. He slid his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “Of course,” he said quietly. “Thanks for coming.”

      She regretted her abrupt tone but didn’t see how she could change what was. “One last thing about Rafton.” Though she already knew the answer, caution demanded she ask. “This isn’t personal, right? Rafton didn’t hit your car or steal your girlfriend?”

      “No. And I don’t have a girlfriend.” His dark eyes gleamed with power and possession. “If I did, neither Jack Rafton nor any other man would take her.”

      2

      AS CARR SIPPED his whiskey at The Night Heron bar, he watched out the back windows as boats docked and launched for sunset cruises down the Intracoastal Waterway, then rounded the tip of the island and out into the Atlantic.

      Had he finally spent too much time slowing down and reflecting?

      Observation had become a staple. Watching other people do interesting things.

      For so many years, he’d been on the fast track. He’d spent every waking moment establishing a lucrative practice in Manhattan, fighting for clients with prospects for big payoffs, dismissing others he might have helped but whose cases weren’t as profitable.

      He’d dispassionately profited from suffering and built a fortune and fierce reputation by doing so.

      He hadn’t paused to notice small, everyday things. To stroll the beaches he’d grown up on. To appreciate love and friendship. To watch the birds glide across the night sky.

      It had taken the death of his uncle and mentor to jolt him.

      Uncle Clinton had departed his life respected, rich and bitterly alone. He’d coldly extracted every penny from every case he’d taken on. He’d corrupted idealistic law school graduates with promises of wealth and power. Few, other than the descendants who inherited his money, had mourned him.

      As Carr had watched heaps of fertile earth drop onto his uncle’s casket, he knew he was destined for the same end. And he knew he had to find another path.

      That had been two years ago, and while he didn’t regret finding his roots again and settling on quiet Palmer’s Island, the sparks of need for excitement came more frequently these days.

      Dear heaven, did he have to fade into tedium? Was that his penance? “Hel-lo, gorgeous.”

      Certain he wasn’t being addressed, Carr nevertheless glanced at Jimmy, The Heron’s weekday bartender, and noted his gaze locked on the door behind Carr. “What hot blonde are you fixated on tonight?”

      “Brunette,” he returned, his eyes following the subject in question.

      Carr didn’t bother to turn. Being barely twenty-one, Jimmy’s taste inevitably skewed young. At thirty-five, Carr wasn’t even remotely swimming in the same pool.

      Instead, he stared at his whiskey.

      “What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked seconds later.

      Raising his head, Carr blinked, but Special Agent Malina Blair was still sliding onto the bar stool next to him, changing his evening from watchful boredom to stimulating possibility in a matter of seconds.

      “Drinking.” He raised his glass as he absorbed her lovely features. “Join me?”

      Her exotic turquoise gaze slid from his face to his glass and back again. “Why the hell not?”

      He only had to lift his finger to get Jimmy assembling her drink. “I like you a lot better when you’re speaking your mind instead of spouting Bureau platitudes.” Not that he hadn’t liked her then as well. His fingers tingled with the urge to pull her silky-looking dark hair from the restraining ponytail secured at the base of her neck. “How’s the investigation progressing?”

      “I would like you a lot better if you’d stay out of my case,” she said as Jimmy set the drink before her.

      “So now it’s a case?”

      She rolled her shoulders. “It is.”

      He’d had faith in her sense of justice, but he was relieved to have the instinct confirmed. Sam had been right in that she was the agent for the job.

      Did СКАЧАТЬ