30 Seconds by Sam & Bettina Giancana

Author:Sam & Bettina Giancana [GIANCANA, SAM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC030000
ISBN: 9780446550970
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2008-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Stepping inside the cabanas screen door, Marty felt blindly along the rough wood wall until his fingers bumped into a light switch and he flicked it on, flooding the room with light.

“Wow!” he said aloud at the sight. He had a keen appreciation for beautiful surroundings. And the cabana was, indeed, beautiful, like a hut in the South Pacific with its louvered windows and high thatched roof and overhead paddle fan.

The cabana was also nothing short of a modern construction miracle with hot and cold running water, a flush toilet, and a shower complete with designer curtain. In the middle of nowhere, such amenities boggled the mind. But the natural beauty hadn't been sacrificed for the sake of comfort, either: The rough wooden floors were covered in native sisal rugs and the walls were hung with Maya art.

His gaze turned to the majestic plantation bed carved of native mahogany and draped with a canopy of natural gauze and silk. He would've liked to have made love to Reiki there, on that bed, on a warm jungle night like this one. They'd made love in Bermuda like that; the sweat pouring over their bodies, covering them with a sensual glaze and adding to the heat of their desire.

Marty looked away; he didn't want to think about Reiki now, about what she wanted and what he couldn't give.

He turned off the light and went out on the porch, collapsing into a wicker chair. He closed his eyes and Chicago came to mind, along with his father—and Ford Sinclair. He wondered if the detective had turned up anything. Maybe Sinclair was just blowing smoke, trying to put up a tough facade for a gangster's son.

Marty sighed, reminding himself that he had more pressing issues to deal with right here. Jules Benson, for one. At the image of the drunken director, Marty's thoughts turned to the man's assertions about Escoba and the CIA.

“Feels like rain, doesn't it?”

Startled, Marty turned to see Carson Page in the moonlight. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn't mean to scare you.” She smiled and held up a bottle and two glasses. “I thought you could use a little pick-me-up. But remember, beware of friends bearing gifts…. Isn't that what they say?”

“Something like that,” he replied unhappily; entertaining Carson had definitely not been in his evening plans. No, those plans could be summed up in two words: Bed. Alone.

“Hey, what's wrong? I'm not gonna bite.” She giggled. “I promise.”

“It's pretty late,” he remarked evenly. “To be honest, I was just getting ready to go to bed.”

“Go to bed? Now?” Carson shook her head. “I don't think so. Let's have a drink and talk awhile.” Sensing his hesitation, she frowned. “Well, aren't you going to ask me to join you? Or am I going to have to stand here all night and let a perfectly good bottle of champagne go to waste?”

Marty's immediate instinct was to put an end to this. If he did it quickly and gently, no one would get hurt. But then again, Carson Page was his client, wasn't she? She wanted some company.

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