it against her head and…
It was too beautiful a day for such macabre, paranoid thoughts. It was shocking to her, how far her normal trust had been eroded by one twisted encounter. The man standing beside her, frail and weak as he was, was the farthest thing from a hired assassin as anyone could find. She was definitely going a bit looney tunes.
"Let's go," she said firmly, heading for the driver's seat, leaving him to limp his way after her as best he could.
She drove in silence at first, very slowly, testing the brakes at every possible chance. They were tight, secure, and she wondered if there was any other way to sabotage a car.
"I hate to complain," Michael drawled, "but you're giving me whiplash. Stop jumping on the bloody brakes and see what this baby can do."
She glanced at him, startled, but he seemed merely bored at the thought of possible danger. The road stretched out ahead of them, one of the few straight stretches on the curvy island of St. Anne. The sun was shining down on them, gilding his curly auburn hair, and death and danger seemed to belong to another time, another place. The accident last night had been an unlucky fluke. Fate wouldn't be so unkind, two days in a row. Without hesitation she pushed her foot down hard on the gas pedal, and the car shot forward with a satisfying burst of power.
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Michael slid down further in the bucket seat of the sports car, mentally thanking Cecil for his unorthodox choice. While it would never blend in with the crowd, the tiny island of St. Anne already boasted an eclectic blend of transportation. Various four-wheel drive vehicles, convertibles of every shape and color, mopeds and motorcycles and even good old-fashioned bicycles, made driving seem more like negotiating an obstacle course. Something that Francey Neeley could do with effortless grace.
If Cecil
had
chosen a dark, anonymous sedan, it would have stuck out like a sore thumb. And it probably wouldn't have had the pickup this little baby had, despite Francey's initial hesitation.
"Where would you like to go?" she asked, glancing over at him. With her oversize sunglasses shielding half her face and her sun-streaked brown hair whipping around in the wind, she looked exactly what he'd imagined her to be. A spoiled, thoughtless American, someone with too much money and too little morals. A playgirl, and the wrong sort of female to interest a man who no longer knew how to play.
But he'd seen behind the dark glasses to the huge, shadowed eyes that reflected a pain most people hid. The brave red lipstick couldn't disguise the vulnerability in her mouth, and her slender, delicate hands gripped the leather-covered steering wheel with something close to desperation. A desperation that didn't interfere with her obvious skill.
"You know the island," he answered her question. "You choose." He sank a little more into the seat, his eyes alert behind his mirrored sunglasses.
"We could go north, to the cliffs," she suggested. "On a clear day you can see all the way to the Baby Saints."
"The Baby Saints?"
"A group of tiny, uninhabited islands. They're off limits—part of some secret government program, I gather."
"Probably testing germ warfare," Michael said.
"You're not serious!"
"Of course not," he said easily. Most governments he knew wouldn't hesitate to test anything lethal if they thought it would be to their military benefit. His own government, which happened to own the Baby Saints, was no different from Middle Eastern fanatics or right-wing extremists when it came to protecting their own interests. Who knew that better than he did? At least he also happened to know the Baby Saints were safe.
"Or there's the town," she continued. "Wonderful shopping, charming restaurants, not too many tourists. That's why Daniel picked this place. It's off the beaten track."
"I'd say so. I was lucky your cousin offered to fly me here in his private plane. I would have had trouble finding a commercial
It was too beautiful a day for such macabre, paranoid thoughts. It was shocking to her, how far her normal trust had been eroded by one twisted encounter. The man standing beside her, frail and weak as he was, was the farthest thing from a hired assassin as anyone could find. She was definitely going a bit looney tunes.
"Let's go," she said firmly, heading for the driver's seat, leaving him to limp his way after her as best he could.
She drove in silence at first, very slowly, testing the brakes at every possible chance. They were tight, secure, and she wondered if there was any other way to sabotage a car.
"I hate to complain," Michael drawled, "but you're giving me whiplash. Stop jumping on the bloody brakes and see what this baby can do."
She glanced at him, startled, but he seemed merely bored at the thought of possible danger. The road stretched out ahead of them, one of the few straight stretches on the curvy island of St. Anne. The sun was shining down on them, gilding his curly auburn hair, and death and danger seemed to belong to another time, another place. The accident last night had been an unlucky fluke. Fate wouldn't be so unkind, two days in a row. Without hesitation she pushed her foot down hard on the gas pedal, and the car shot forward with a satisfying burst of power.
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Michael slid down further in the bucket seat of the sports car, mentally thanking Cecil for his unorthodox choice. While it would never blend in with the crowd, the tiny island of St. Anne already boasted an eclectic blend of transportation. Various four-wheel drive vehicles, convertibles of every shape and color, mopeds and motorcycles and even good old-fashioned bicycles, made driving seem more like negotiating an obstacle course. Something that Francey Neeley could do with effortless grace.
If Cecil
had
chosen a dark, anonymous sedan, it would have stuck out like a sore thumb. And it probably wouldn't have had the pickup this little baby had, despite Francey's initial hesitation.
"Where would you like to go?" she asked, glancing over at him. With her oversize sunglasses shielding half her face and her sun-streaked brown hair whipping around in the wind, she looked exactly what he'd imagined her to be. A spoiled, thoughtless American, someone with too much money and too little morals. A playgirl, and the wrong sort of female to interest a man who no longer knew how to play.
But he'd seen behind the dark glasses to the huge, shadowed eyes that reflected a pain most people hid. The brave red lipstick couldn't disguise the vulnerability in her mouth, and her slender, delicate hands gripped the leather-covered steering wheel with something close to desperation. A desperation that didn't interfere with her obvious skill.
"You know the island," he answered her question. "You choose." He sank a little more into the seat, his eyes alert behind his mirrored sunglasses.
"We could go north, to the cliffs," she suggested. "On a clear day you can see all the way to the Baby Saints."
"The Baby Saints?"
"A group of tiny, uninhabited islands. They're off limits—part of some secret government program, I gather."
"Probably testing germ warfare," Michael said.
"You're not serious!"
"Of course not," he said easily. Most governments he knew wouldn't hesitate to test anything lethal if they thought it would be to their military benefit. His own government, which happened to own the Baby Saints, was no different from Middle Eastern fanatics or right-wing extremists when it came to protecting their own interests. Who knew that better than he did? At least he also happened to know the Baby Saints were safe.
"Or there's the town," she continued. "Wonderful shopping, charming restaurants, not too many tourists. That's why Daniel picked this place. It's off the beaten track."
"I'd say so. I was lucky your cousin offered to fly me here in his private plane. I would have had trouble finding a commercial
Similar Books
