Page 7

She was right; Hamish didn’t know her. His prodding about her role as go-between had infuriated her. Not enough to lose some of that self-control and blast him with the turbulent thoughts revealed by her white-knuckled grip on her seat. While she might love her father, she was having a hard time trusting him—and, by association, Hamish.

Hamish had expected her to say, “I’ll do all I can to help you.” Lela’s speedy arrival and her genuine concern were evidence she loved her niece. She should have welcomed Hamish with open arms. After all, he’d built his reputation on lining up behind the interests of the child.

Carmen Lela Vella had become a puzzle he needed to solve to get her niece home.

Chapter Two

Lela exited the nondescriptbuilding housing the youth-at-risk charity. The director had been generous, giving Lela an hour of her time, allowing Lela to talk through her fears and second guesses. Lela had been reassured by the warmth and matter-of-fact competence she’d discovered there. The director’s agreement to help find Sophie and her boyfriend, Peter, eased the tight bands of anxiety around Lela’s chest, allowing her to breathe more easily. Her phone rang.

“Where are you?”

“Good morning to you, too,” she replied. Mr. McGregor sounded pissed off. “Melita Street.” She squinted up at the plaque on the wall, moving further away from the discreet sign marking the charity’s entrance as she spoke.

“And the cross street?”

“Merchants Street.”

“You’re not far away. Stay there, and I’ll collect you in a few minutes.” His request had more demand than invitation in it.

“Hold on, MacGregor. How did you get my number?”

“Your father.” He gave the answer she expected, and she’d talk to Papa about giving out her number without checking with her—again. “I can see you,” he said.

Lela pivoted, then spotted the athletic figure approaching from the south. Checking over her shoulder, she made sure she had enough distance between herself and the charity’s entrance, so that Hamish wouldn’t connect her to the building.

He wore another suit with a pale blue shirt, the image of ultra-conservatism undone by his tie. Silk, she guessed, with an intricate geometric design in rainbow colours. Her merchant banker colleagues would interpret it as a subtle yet flagrant gesture of radicalism. Hamish’s new flourish was as unconventional as the spider watch fastened to his wrist. Maybe his fondness for old movies was the red herring?

She’d opted for informality, softening straight black trousers with a casual sky-blue jersey shirt. Her choice was designed to neither offend nor intimidate the staff of the charity she hoped would help her.

When he stopped beside her, her nostrils twitched.Damn, he was wearing the same scent.“Are you following me?”

“Looking for you. I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“No time to waste.” She glanced down to where he’d linked his arm with hers and was steering her in a southerly direction. “Where are you taking me?”

“We’regoing to Upper Barakka Gardens, a popular tourist destination and the closest spot to sit and chat.”