Page 46

“Did you say interrogator?” The banter delighted Lela, who rarely let down her guard with any man, much less flirted openly.

“I decided you were more like a hedgehog.”

“I don’t think I’ll like this comparison.”

He grinned. “Prickly and defensive.”

“I’m cautious.”

“That too. Come to Sliema? We can talk about Sophie.”

“We’ve spent enough time talking about Sophie today. She’s safe and well.” Lela knew that because Hamish had helped her find her niece.

“Come anyway.” He stepped out of the elevator at her floor, then rocked back on his heels, hands jammed in his pockets. Watching. Waiting.

“You’re worse than a dog with a bone!” Lela was a woman who’d kept her secrets. Until now. Was she spellbound? Like Shakespeare’s Miranda, held in thrall and freed by a prince. She’d checked the reference—Miranda had marvelled, “O brave new world, that has such people in’t.” The compulsion to go out with Hamish again tonight, spend more time learning about him was darkly dangerous. Playing hooky tonight hurt no one. They’d see Sophie tomorrow, and this strange adventure would be over. A strange time to realise she’d miss butting heads with him. “I’ll come.”

––––––––

IN THE HOTEL ROOM,Lela showered the stickiness of the day away, donned the complimentary robe hanging on the bathroom door and sat at the desk with her computer. By prioritising tasks, she could deal with the most pressing work issues in a few hours.

When she next glanced at her watch, it was after seven. Her personal email account contained a few messages from friends, invitations for coming weeks and a terse one-liner from her father—What have you got?

Despite the big lie he’d told Hamish, she couldn’t ignore him. Sometimes she wished she could, but the love and loyalty of her first ten years had shaped her. In a perverse way, Papa goaded her to go because he needed her to stay. And he was fretting.

Sophie loved him, was more like him than either of them could see, and would make her own decisions, whether he supported them or not.

“Papa. We have a strong lead on Sophie’s whereabouts. I believe she’s safe and will let you know when I find her.”

Hamish had probably sent his own message. She trusted the partnership they’d forged, trusted that he was a good man—a man who saw her, liked her, fancied her as much as she fancied him. He knew her secrets and her responsibilities and hadn’t backed away. She gave herself permission to dream.

Hurrying now, she selected the blouse and trousers she’d worn on arrival in Valletta. And thanked modern plumbing for the speedy laundry service.

* * *

HAMISH SCANNED SIGNSas they strolled along the waterfront. Small bars and restaurants jostled for space, some with large decks perched on rocky outcrops to catch expansive sea views and more that were tiny holes in the wall. The streets were alive with tourists and touts, a jumble of colour and laughter. With its location in the Mediterranean, holidaymakers, retirees and people seeking a hiding place swarmed to Malta like iron filings to a magnet. He selected a nondescript door in a brick wall. “A friend told me about this place.”

People jumbled into booths, squashed around tables or, like them, chose a high bar along a side wall. Multiple languages were being spoken, often over the top of each other.

“I like it.” She surveyed the dimly lit cavern.

“It’s less formal than most of the offerings in Valletta. Paceville, down the road towards Gozo, is considered trendier, but I thought you’d prefer this. Champagne tonight. We’re on the brink of success.” Hamish signalled a waiter.

“You might jinx it.”

“Not possible. Marty has confirmed they’re there. No sign of another runner, and I emailed your father.”

“What did you tell him?”

“As little as necessary. She’s with the Debrincats. We have an address we’ll check together tomorrow. Did you contact him?”

“I said we had a lead, and I’d let him know when I find her.” She turned from him to scan the intimate bar and its customers with interest.

“Despite his machinations?” Hamish hadn’t doubted she’d inform her father Sophie was safe. Whatever their conflicts, whatever methods he used to get his way, part of the old man’s angst was genuine concern about Sophie’s well-being. The anxiety behind the old man’s pleas for urgency was sincere, and Lela’s attitude confirmed Hamish’s assessment.

“I love my father, Hamish.” A gift Giovanni Vella had traded on.

“You must, to still be in his house.” His mind was filled with questions about her choices. She saw life with a clarity he’d rarely encountered.