Harper drew in a shaky breath. “I wish I could turn back the clock. I wish he was safe back in Houston.”
“There are a lot of things in life we’d like to change. Since that isn’t an option, we just have to go forward. Get some sleep, Harper. We’ll start again early tomorrow morning.”
Harper turned and walked into her bedroom. She closed the door and began to get ready for bed, but she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Chapter Eight
In the throes of erotic sex with Harper Winston, Chase awoke covered in a film of perspiration, an unwelcome erection throbbing beneath the sheet. Cursing, he sat up in bed and ran a hand over his face.Only a dream.Or in this case, a nightmare.
He shoved his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. Jesus God, he couldn’t remember a dream that had felt more real. Or ever being more aroused.
Swearing foully, he rolled out of bed. His brother Bran would get an I-told-you-so laugh out of his misery, but Chase didn’t find his unwanted attraction to Harper Winston the least bit funny.
Not when her father ran his world much like a Mafia don, a highly successful criminal enterprise that allowed him to get away with murder—literally. Everyone in the Dallas underworld knew that to cross Knox Winston might get you dead. The DA’s office turned a blind eye, along with the dirty cops on Knox’s payroll.
Aside from the legitimate businesses Knox now ran—from motels, restaurants and laundries, to larger enterprises like hotel chains—no one really seemed to know how Knox had actually amassed his fortune. Since his son had once been Chase’s best friend, Chase didn’t want to know, either.
He wondered how much Harper knew about her father’s activities. Not much, he would guess, since Knox had gone to great lengths to keep his children under the illusion he was just a megasuccessful businessman. And Harper had been gone from Dallas for years.
Chase had a hunch Michael had suspected, that it was part of the reason he had turned to alcohol and drugs, but they had never talked about it.
Padding naked into the bathroom in his room, he reached into the shower and turned on the water, setting the temperature a little colder than he liked. He wanted to wash Harper’s beautiful face out of his head, the memory of her small, perfect breasts that—thank God—he had never actually seen.
Pulling on his jeans and a blue short-sleeved Oxford shirt, he was ready to meet with Dutch, who had arranged a boat to Curaçao. They could have gone by plane, but he wanted the flexibility to check, if necessary, other spots around the island once they got there.
He wished he was going by himself instead of dragging a woman into what might turn out to be a bad situation. But as he walked into the living room, Harper came out of the other bedroom, straw hat in hand, dressed and ready to go. His mind flashed back to the hot, erotic dream, and a shot of lust hit him like a fist.
Chase dragged in a lungful of air and forced himself to think of something else. Palm trees might have worked if she hadn’t walked close enough for him to catch a whiff of her soft perfume.
“Good morning,” she said. “Sleep okay?”
Jesus God, help him. He didn’t want to think of the dream, refused to allow his mind to slide back into the gutter. Chase had never been more grateful to hear his iPhone ring.
Pulling his cell out of his pocket, he recognized Tabby’s number. “What have you got for me, Tab?”
“Pia’s phone pinged at the Zee Winden Marina in Curaçao, same as Michael’s. Both phones are now inactive.”
Not good.He could contact the authorities in Curaçao, but he could probably be there before the investigation—such as it would likely be—actually got underway. And once he got the police involved, it would limit what he would be able to do.
“Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. If I get something, I’ll call.”
“Thanks, Tab. You’re the best.” Chase hung up the phone, his mind back on the case. In his business, the job had to come first. People’s lives depended on it.
“What did she say?” Harper asked.
“Zee Winden Marina in Curaçao, same as your brother. Call Christy and tell her, then pack an overnight bag. We might not get back tonight.”
So saying, he grabbed the duffel, now packed, he had brought empty in his carry-on, something smaller, a little easier to manage. Just a Dopp kit, clean underwear, a dress shirt and linen slacks, high-top boots and cargo pants, things that might be useful as they moved into uncharted territory, where his search for Michael might lead.
A few minutes later, Harper came back into the living room carrying the oversize canvas tote bag she had brought on the plane. It was stuffed full and zipped shut, ready to go. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail, but pale blond flyaway strands floated around her face, gleaming like pale spun gold.
The heat returned to his groin. Dammit, what was there about her?
“I told Christy where we were going, and said we’d keep her posted on whatever we found.”
Chase nodded. “Dutch is meeting us at the marina. He’s arranged for a guide in Curaçao, someone who can take us around the island.” Not the usual sort of guide, but a man who knew the underbelly of the island, places to dig up the kind of information they might need. But he didn’t tell Harper that. No use worrying her even more than she was already.
