“We’re going to find him, okay?”
She just nodded.
“Say it.”
She swallowed. For an instant, her eyes shimmered. “We’re going to find Michael.”
“That’s right, we are. It might take a little time, but sooner or later we’re going to figure out where he is.”
Her lips trembled for a moment, then she relaxed back in her seat, the color returning to her cheeks. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Just keep believing it. Do it for Michael.”
A soft smile touched her lips, the first he had seen. She sat a little straighter in the seat, her eyes brighter than before. “I need a shower after all that flying. Then I’ll be ready to start our search.”
“Good idea.” He smiled in return, and at her renewed resolve, felt an odd sense of relief. No matter the animosities of the past, he was going to help Harper find her brother. He wouldn’t give up until he did.
Chapter Six
Dutch dropped them off at the hotel with a promise to make himself available twenty-four hours a day for anything they might need. Harper thought the big Dutchman had an air of confidence that would be impossible to fake.
It didn’t take long for them to get situated. The Renaissance Hotel at the marina wasn’t ridiculously expensive or overly luxurious, but the two-bedroom suite she had booked faced the ocean, with a balcony that ran the length of the living room outside the sliding glass doors. The view of the turquoise sea stretching endlessly in front of her was magnificent.
Harper showered and changed into a pair of lightweight capri-length khaki pants with embroidered multicolored seashells on the pockets, and an orange-and-white cap-sleeved boatneck T-shirt from the EC collection, her feet in the same comfortable white canvas deck shoes she had put on very early that morning.
A wide-brimmed straw hat lay on the dining table, sun protection for their trip to the marina, which was a short walk from the hotel. She plucked it up as she walked into the living room.
Chase wandered in a few minutes later, buttoning a light blue flowered, short-sleeved tropical shirt, his pirate’s-gold hair still damp from the shower. The shirt gaped open and she got a look at his chest, all tanned skin and solid sinew. Lean muscle formed a ladder down his stomach.
Heat washed over her. Her pulse beat faster. It was ridiculous. Chase had no interest in her, and Harper needed his help, not his sexual attentions. She thanked God he hadn’t noticed her reaction.
She allowed herself to quietly finish her perusal, her gaze traveling down his long legs. She blinked at the leather boat shoes that had replaced his usual boots. Classy and sophisticated, that was Chase, but now that he was older, there was a dark edge about him, an air of danger Chase hadn’t had as a young man in college.
She remembered that he had joined the army as soon as he had graduated from Yale—much to his father’s chagrin—signing up for the military police. Bass Garrett had been furious, but Chase had always been his own man. And though she had lost track of him years ago, she didn’t think that had changed.
She knew a little about Brandon and Reese, had met Bran a couple of times when Michael and Chase were friends, but she hadn’t kept track of the brothers in the years since then. After she’d moved to Dallas, she had read articles in theMorning Newsabout Reese, who was CEO of the family-owned company and a well-known figure in the community.
“I need to follow up on that GPS tracker you mentioned,” Chase said, returning her thoughts to the moment.
“Oh, I meant to tell you. After we talked about it yesterday, I remembered Michael had me write down the information about it. With packing and having to get up so early, I forgot.”
She ran back into the bedroom and dug it out of her suitcase, hurried back into the living room. “‘Iridium 9575 Extreme Satellite Phone GPS Tracking System.’ The phone number is written below.”
Chase took the note from her hand, pulled out his cell and hit one of his contact buttons. He pressed the phone against his ear.
“Morning, Tabby, it’s Chase. I need your help.”
Harper ignored a pang. She wondered which of his lady friends he was calling, couldn’t imagine one of Chase’s usual sophisticated women having a name that sounded like a cat.
“His name’s Michael Winston,” Chase continued. “He was last seen in Aruba. I need to find him.”
They talked awhile longer, Chase giving the woman more details, including Michael’s satellite phone information, then finally ending the call.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
“Who was that?”
“Tabitha Love. She’s a computer specialist. Tabby’s a genius at digging up information off the internet.”
