Morgan's Son

by Lindsay McKenna

  As soon as they’d retrieved their luggage, the same man she’d noticed made a beeline toward them. Automatically, Sabra went on guard, unsure if he were friend or foe, and put herself in front of Craig. She felt him stiffen and become intent behind her.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “That man,” she said in a low voice, keeping her eyes on the approaching figure, “is either a cop or a hit man.”

  Craig squinted against the lights, groggy and not at all alert. Gripping Sabra’s arm, he forced her to step aside. What the hell was she doing, putting herself between him and potential danger? He used enough force to let her know that and saw the anger leap to her eyes as he drew her aside.

  “You’re not my shield,” he growled.

  Sabra rubbed her arm where he’d gripped it. Before she could say anything, the man stopped in front of them.

  “I’m Detective Sam Chung.” He dug out his badge case as inconspicuously as possible and held it open to their inspection. “You’re from Perseus, right?”

  “Yes,” Sabra said, “we are.”

  “Great. Come with me.”

  Sabra gave Craig a glare and jerked up her single piece of luggage, hefting photographic equipment in her other arm. He glared back at her and did the same. Together, they braved the crowds of excited tourists and headed outdoors. Maui’s early morning warmth struck her full force. She inhaled deeply as she hurried to keep up with the short, wiry detective. Overhead, stars twinkled in a soft ebony sky. Palm trees hugged the asphalt road around the airline building, starkly silhouetted against the glare of the area lights.

  Chung opened the trunk of his car. The parking lot was comparatively empty this time of morning as they settled their luggage in the compartment.

  “Once we get in the car, I’ll give you weapons that are registered with us,” he told them in a low tone. “Then I’ll drive you to the car-rental area, where you can pick up your vehicle.”

  “Good,” Craig said, shutting the trunk. “Let’s go.”

  Sabra climbed into the rear seat, while Craig sat up front with Detective Chung. The policeman was in his forties, but he looked much younger, a toothy smile in place as he turned and laid his arm along the back of the seat to speak with both of them.

  “We still don’t have conclusive proof that Jason Trayhern is at Garcia’s estate. We haven’t tailed any of Garcia’s men, because we don’t want to arouse suspicion.” He reached into his pocket and handed Craig a piece of paper. “Here’s a detailed map of Garcia’s estate and suggested locations where you can set up your camera equipment to watch for the boy. There are two hills you might use. One is pretty steep and rolling, with lots of eucalyptus trees and tall grass to hide in. The other hill is pretty brushy, with shrubs and fewer trees, so you’d have to be more careful. Both are about a mile from the estate, right off the Kula Highway. Most of the traffic stops at nightfall, so you don’t have to worry too much about headlights interfering with your infrared equipment.”

  “Does Garcia have any idea we’re around?”

  “No,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We know who his guards are, and there’s been no unusual activity. We’re fairly sure Garcia isn’t on to the fact that we know something. We’ve deliberately stayed away from his area. We have a police cruiser that normally drives the road to Kula daily, so we’ve maintained that schedule but nothing more.” He reached into the glove box and handed Craig an envelope. “There are photos in there of Garcia’s hoods, the boys who do the damage, as well as some of his chauffeur, the maids and other people in his employ that we’ve managed to photograph over the years. His hit men have criminal records, so their photos are real clear. The rest tend to be surveillance shots, so they can be a little fuzzy.”

  “It’s good to have these,” Craig said.

  Sabra leaned forward. “Is Garcia at his estate now?”

  “As far as we know. If he leaves by jet, we know it.”

  “How?” Craig demanded.

  “Garcia keeps a Learjet at this airport. He uses it to fly to Honolulu on the island of Oahu, then takes a commercial flight from there to the Mainland or wherever he’s going.”

  “I see,” Craig said.

  “But,” Sam added, “Garcia also has a helicopter with long-range fuel tanks. So he could fly from his estate to any of the other islands, leaving his Learjet behind. We may or may not know about those flights.”

  Frowning, Craig said, “By federal law, he has to file a flight plan.”

  Sam chuckled. “Listen, there are so many interisland flights here, the FAA can’t track all of them down. Yes, the small airline companies do file flight plans, but these helicopter businesses don’t. Most of them have commercial trade. For instance, there’s a helicopter service in Kula that offers flights up to the Haleakala crater and the rest of the island. They don’t file flight plans.”

  Sweat broke out on Craig’s brow and he wiped it away with his fingers. “Do you have a photo or ID on the helicopter he uses?”

  “Yes. It’s all in there. You’ll probably see it on Garcia’s private landing pad at his estate, anyway. If you want my opinion, I think it’s going to take you three or four days of surveillance to find out anything.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Sabra murmured. “Sam, can you take us to the rental agency? We’re really exhausted.”

  “Sure.” He pulled two weapons in leather holsters from beneath his seat. “You’re going to need these. Both are registered with our department. When we get your luggage out of the trunk, I’ll give you some boxes of ammunition.” He frowned. “Garcia jets between Maui and his Caribbean kingdom frequently. He’s been here for a week this time. Usually, after two weeks at the most, he’ll fly out of Maui, then return a month or two later. If the Trayhern boy is with them at Kula, you may not have much time.”

  “If Garcia tries to take the boy on his Learjet, will we have your help to stop the flight?” Sabra asked as she carefully checked out her weapon, making sure it wasn’t loaded. She saw Craig handling his similarly.

  “Of course,” Sam said. “We’d like to nail him on kidnapping charges and put his rear in prison for a long, long time.” He handed Sabra a radio. “This will put you in touch with us twenty-four hours a day. The thing is set on a special frequency, so transmissions between us can’t be detected. If you see anything, call it in. We have a special SWAT team unit standing by in case you need help.”

  “If things go as planned,” Craig said, slipping on the shoulder holster and positioning it beneath his left arm, “we’ll break into Garcia’s estate, grab the boy and get out without detection.”

  “Good luck,” Sam snorted. “Garcia’s got goons carrying submachine guns all over his estate. Look, I’m not saying you can’t do it, but if you see the boy and can’t get to him, we’ll get a search warrant and go in.”

  Craig nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s get going.”

  Sabra was too tired to appreciate the beauty of the Westin Hotel at Kaanapoli. It was a sumptuous place, with expensive Oriental carpets and a huge waterfall right outside the registration area, nearly empty at four in the morning. She stood fighting off tiredness, looking around the deserted place as Craig checked them in, but saw only a few hotel clerks.

  “Aloha, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas,” the desk clerk said with a smile. “We’ll have your luggage taken up—”

  “No, we’ll carry it,” Craig said tersely, picking up the plastic key card for their room. “Thanks.” He turned to Sabra. Shadows lingered under her glorious eyes. He forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

  Sabra nearly choked on the endearment, but forced a returning smile as she picked up the photographic equipment. “Of course, darling.”

  The carpeted hall was filled with expensive sculptures and paintings from around the world. Sabra felt as if she were in the Louvre in Paris than in a hotel. The brass elevators at the end of the hall ran quietly. Craig punched the button, one of the doors whooshed open and they quickly step
ped in. Once the doors had shut, Sabra leaned wearily against the wall as the elevator sped upward.

  “I’m so tired I could sleep on my feet,” she muttered.

  Craig nodded. “You take the bed.”

  She nodded. The doors opened and they stepped out on the twelfth floor. The halls were eerily quiet, all the guests asleep. Craig slid the card key into the door and opened it. The room was a suite, with a huge picture window facing the Pacific and overlooking the hotel beach. The aqua curtains were filmy looking, part of a decor comprised of soothing pastel colors. Sabra placed her luggage on the huge bed.

  Craig dropped his luggage in the smaller room, which sported a couch, a coffee table, two overstuffed chairs and a refrigerator.

  “Why don’t you take a shower?” he suggested, walking back into her bedroom.

  Sabra put her finger to her lips. First she wanted to check out the room for electronic bugs. She moved from lamp to lamp, checking them out, top to bottom. Then she crossed to the phone and unscrewed the receiver. She ran her fingers along the window, but found nothing. She saw Craig frowning at her, as if disapproving, but she didn’t care. First things first—she had to make sure there were no hidden devices, including cameras in the ceiling, watching them. She wondered if Craig had ever made such a search, because he just stood there and watched her as she made her efficient rounds.

  The bathroom seemed clean, too. Craig entered and shut the door behind him, then gripped her arm and moved her to one side while he leaned into the shower and turned it on, full force. The sound of falling water filled the huge, tiled room.

  “What are you doing?” Sabra demanded, wresting her arm away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking the place out. What did you think I was doing?”

  “I could have done that. Why don’t you get showered and go to bed?”

  “It’s my responsibility, Craig, to make the place is safe for us.” Sabra was relieved to see Craig knew enough to turn on the shower to create noise to cover their conversation if there were bugs. She saw his face darken.

  “Okay, so it’s checked. So how about getting that shower and going to bed?”

  She hesitated. “What are you going to do?”

  “Reconnoiter a little. I’ll be in and out of the room for a few minutes. I want to check where the emergency exits are—things like that.”

  “Okay….” She slipped past him and opened the door. Just being with Craig in such a small space made her feel unaccountably panicky. She’d seen the burning look in his eyes as he’d studied her, and despite her best intentions, her gaze had lingered too long on his strong, male mouth. Swallowing hard, she fled into the main room.

  Dawn was barely crawling up the horizon, revealing the still-dark Pacific Ocean, as Sabra closed the drapes to prevent morning light from spilling into the huge bedroom. She’d taken a hot, relaxing bath, washed her hair and pulled on a pale pink silk nightgown that fell to her knees. She’d loaded her pistol and placed it beneath the pillow next to hers. She could hear Craig in the next room and had deliberately left the door open. She heard his suitcase unzip and realized he was unpacking.

  Walking to the connecting doorway, she saw him throwing his folded clothes into a dresser near the couch.

  “Craig?”

  Craig turned. His eyes narrowed. Sabra’s hair fell in glossy waves around her shoulders. Recently washed, it glinted in the low light, framing her face. His heart sped as his gaze moved downward. Her silk nightgown lovingly outlined her every contour. He started to take a step forward, but forced himself to remain where he was. He could see the swell of her small breasts outlined by the smooth fabric, the front of the nightgown curving in a graceful scooped neckline to reveal smooth skin. An ache filled him. He longed to walk over, slide his hand across those finely outlined collarbones and trail a series of hot kisses downward until he met the softness of her breasts.

  “What?” The word came out harsh.

  “I—I’m done in the bathroom.” Nervously, Sabra said, “I’m leaving the door open between our rooms. I don’t think it’s a good idea to shut it, do you?” She felt the smoldering intensity of his gaze burning through her nightgown, scorching her breasts. The look on his face was primal. His eyes burned with desire—for her. Unconsciously, she touched the nightgown. She hadn’t meant to tease him. Terry had never given her this kind of look. Her mouth went dry as she plainly read the hunger in his face. Shaken, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I should have worn my robe….”

  “No,” Craig whispered thickly. “It’s all right.” He turned away, forcing himself to stop staring at her tall, slender form. The ache in his lower body intensified to a painful level. Every inch of her spoke of beauty and grace, and she wore the silk nightgown like a lover’s hand. He wanted to run his own hand over her hills and valleys, experience her softness, her giving way beneath his exploration. Savagely, Craig reminded himself his feelings were a one-way street. Sabra didn’t desire him as he did her. Somehow he had to quell his need of her.

  Feeling the familiar flush flow into her face, Sabra turned and fled. Her body seemed heated wherever his gaze had touched her. Switching off the light, she quickly crossed to the bed and threw back the covers. She heard the door to the bathroom open and close. Sabra took a long, unsteady breath. What was going on here? Why did she feel so trembly every time Craig looked at her? She slipped into bed and turned her back toward the door, embarrassed at her stupidity. She had a robe. Why hadn’t she worn it when she went to talk to Craig? Obviously, he was upset with her.

  As exhausted as she was, Sabra couldn’t fall asleep right away. She heard the shower being turned on full force. At least Craig would get the shower he’d wanted so desperately. Her heart twisted with compassion. He was a man chased by invisible demons—and how badly she wanted to comfort him. Turning onto her back, she stared up at the darkened ceiling, a bone-deep weariness finally forcing her lashes closed. How much she’d wanted to kiss him! The thought was heated, filled with promise and panic. Turning angrily onto her side, Sabra pulled the covers up over her shoulders and sighed loudly. Not since Josh had she thought of a man this way. For so long, men had ceased to exist in her life—until now. Until Craig.

  The thought sent Sabra sitting bolt upright in bed. Clenching her fists in her lap, she released a ragged breath. What was wrong with her? She pushed several thick strands of hair away from her face. She was acting like a lovesick teenager. But her feelings were real and vibrant and clamoring to be heard and acted on. Even Josh had never made her feel this way, she admitted grudgingly. No man had.

  Great, all she needed was to be attracted to trouble like Craig Talbot. And he was trouble with a capital T, no doubt about it. He wasn’t anything like Josh. In fact, he was the opposite, closed up tighter than a proverbial clam. He was an introvert, going beyond her own range of shyness. He wasn’t a talker, and he was abrasive to her feelings. He was a man on the run, and she had absolutely no experience with someone like that. Josh had had goals in life, dreams he wanted to fulfill and he’d known exactly where he was going. Sabra didn’t think Craig had any dreams—or hopes.

  Maybe she was wrong, Sabra chastised herself as she lay back down on her left side. Just because she’d seen hunger for her in his eyes didn’t mean he liked her. A man could want a woman on a purely physical level. The idea that Craig might not really like her—probably didn’t, when it came right down to it—made her feel pain as never before. She had an attractive body and face—that’s where his interest lay. Well, that was hardly an excuse to give in to her own desire for him—which went beyond physical superficialities.

  He did have such a wonderful mouth, though, with strong, well-shaped lips. She wondered again what it would be like to press her mouth to his. Would he kiss her hard? Claim her as if he owned her? Or would it be a gentle kiss, filled with exploration and tenderness? Groaning, Sabra put an end to her wild fantasies. It was time to go to sleep and stop thinking about the difficult
, complex man in the room next door.

  Craig slowly walked toward Sabra’s bedroom. He’d taken the longest shower of his life. Water dripped from his hair, and he absently toweled it off as he halted in the doorway. From the light that came from his room he could see Sabra sleeping, a pale blue sheet draped across her hips and waist. Her hair pooled around her, and he had to fight an urge to walk in and look more closely at her as she slept. Checking his idiotic desires, Craig turned away. He couldn’t have Sabra anyway. He’d seen the revulsion in her eyes.

  Switching off his light, he dropped the damp towel on the coffee table. The other towel rode low across his hips as he padded over to the sofa. He’d found a blanket in the closet and a spare pillow. Now he threw them on the couch in a makeshift bed, then went to the door and made sure the dead bolt was engaged. His eyes stung from lack of sleep, and his head ached as if hammers were pounding his temples. Sleep. Precious sleep. That was all he needed—and the last thing he was likely to get.

  Ambling back to the couch, he loosened the towel and allowed it to drop to the carpeted floor, then tugged on light cotton pajama bottoms. Sitting down, he shook out the blanket. His pistol lay on the coffee table. Leaning over, he took it out of the holster, fed a bullet into the chamber and put the safety back on. Placing it gently on the carpet near his head, he lay down.

  Everything was quiet. Sabra had opened the window in her bedroom earlier, and he could hear the waves crashing on the beach outside the hotel. The sound was lulling, and he closed his eyes. If only he could sleep. If only…Now was not the time to take any more sleeping pills. Sabra was right: Garcia could already have staked them out—could be watching and waiting for the right moment to nail them. His eyes drooped closed, as if weighted. Without the pills, he knew he’d spend hours tossing, turning, moving between raw wakefulness and the terror of the nightmare. God, if only he could get up, slide into the bed and draw Sabra to him, he was sure he could sleep for the first time in two years. She could give him the solace to surrender to the darkness.