Season of Wishes by Christina Skye

Author:Christina Skye [Skye, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Scotland, Contemporary, Christmas Stories, General, Romance, Suspense, Inheritance and Succession, Americans, Fiction
ISBN: 9780380782819
Google: _5RuPwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0786227494
Publisher: Five Star
Published: 1997-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

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Ian paced back and forth across Duncan's study. He dug his fingers through his hair, scowling.

Some operative he made. He couldn't see Jamee's laughing face without wanting her hands on him. He couldn't watch her walk across a room without envisioning her body naked and restless while he made her blood sing.

Ian finally accepted the truth. He'd been in turmoil from the first moment he had set eyes on Jamee Night. Even now, while he fought to remain controlled and detached, he couldn't get the thought of her soft lips and trembling hands out of his mind. She would sheathe him perfectly, all silk and heat beneath his hands.

All woman.

He slammed his fist down against the desk and cursed. Jamee was not a woman, she was a client . It was bloody well time for him to follow his own rules, which meant head straight and eyes forward.

He loosened his tie and cursed. Just business, that's the way it would be from now on. In his eyes, Jamee Night was no longer a woman.

She was work .

He looked up and saw Duncan standing in the doorway.

"At ease, McCall. You can relax now."

"I am relaxed," Ian snapped.

"Sure you are," Dunraven said knowingly. "Almost as relaxed as you were two years ago when we were about to go in after the DEA agent's child who was being held by the cartel in lieu of two plutonium devices and a SCUD missile."

Ian drew a harsh breath. "I look that bad, do I?"

"Worse." Duncan sank into the chair before the fire. "What's bothering you this time?"

"Nothing much. I have a pair of kidnappers I can't trace, an informant on the inside who's too damned good, and a client who's driving me steadily insane. Add it all up, and I'm having one hell of a week. Why should anything be bothering me?"

"Sorry I asked," Duncan muttered. "Still, we're getting close. The constable has put out an alert in the village and that pair from the cottage will turn up soon. They won't get far on foot with their tires nearly flat."

Ian stared out at the dark outline of the hills above the burned-out cottage. "I'm not so sure they'll try."

Duncan frowned. "Do you mean they'll go to ground somewhere in the area?"

"Maybe. Or they could have other transport waiting nearby. They've been bloody well equipped this far, and somehow I think their tricks aren't over." Ian turned from the window. "Any word on that telephone number I found in their car?"

"It's a Glasgow exchange. Your people at Security International tell me it appears to be a popular pub just off Buchanan Street."

"Grand. That narrows the search. Only about ten thousand people could have been in and out during the last month."

Duncan made a flat, hard sound. "Something has to break soon, Ian. Until then, what can we do to help?"

Ian rubbed the knot at the back of his neck. "Just keep your eyes open. I take it your usual security is in place?"

MacKinnon nodded.

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