“We don’t know anything. But don’t worry, we’ll find her,” Jack said smoothly. “You’re right, she probably hooked up with the light guy and just needs a ride back to camp.”
“I don’t know,” Trudy said uncertainly. “I thought so, too, at first. But Leah . . . Leah isn’t like that.”
Michael glanced at Trudy, but she wasn’t looking at him; she was looking at the floor.
“I mean, okay, she’s human, obviously, and the guy really was handsome . . . but of all of us, Leah is the least likely to just hook up with a guy she doesn’t really know. That’s why I’m so worried. But then again, like I’m saying, he was really handsome, and you know how that is.”
Juan Carlo—if it was truly Juan Carlo as Michael feared—was not that handsome.
“Yeah,” Jack said, and shrugged a little sheepishly when Michael narrowed his gaze.
“But Leah? I don’t see it,” Trudy reiterated.
While a regular guy might take a small measure of comfort hearing that the woman he loved did not sleep around, it didn’t give Michael any comfort at all. It just filled him with sick dread.
“Why don’t you get dressed and ready for rafting, and we’ll have a look around,” Jack suggested.
“But she’s not here, I already looked—”
“Right, but we’ll look, too, and one of us will run into town and have a look around. In the meantime, you need to eat something and get ready,” he said, ushering Trudy out the door.
“Maybe I should go with you,” she suggested, but Jack already had her outside.
“You don’t want to miss rafting, do you? Don’t worry. It’s a Podunk little town. It won’t take more than half an hour.”
“Okay,” Trudy said, sounding very reluctant to let them go without her. “Just start at the Italian restaurant.”
“We will,” Jack promised her, and gestured her to go on. With one last look back at Michael, Trudy left.
When Jack closed the door behind her, he turned around to Michael. “You know something.”
“No. Well, maybe. Not really, it’s just . . . hell, I don’t know,” he said with a sigh of exasperation.
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t really say,” Michael said, hands on hips. “A friend of mine from Washington let me know that a guy I put away a few years ago—a Spaniard—was out and looking for me. They know he is in the States. They don’t know exactly where, but they were fairly confident he wasn’t on the West coast. At least not yet.”
“What does this guy want with you?” Jack asked.
Michael’s laugh was sour. “He wants me dead.”
Jack’s brows rose. “No shit? What’d you do, steal his girlfriend?”
Michael shook his head, thinking back to Spain, to those nights in Costa del Sol, to Barcelona, to Madrid, where he had lived and worked. “Worse. I slept with his wife, took his livelihood, and set up a sting that sent him to prison for what was supposed to be the rest of his life.”
Jack whistled. “That’s not good. How is he out?”
“Money, drugs, who knows?” Michael said with a shrug. “It happens.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “But how does he know about Leah? How could he have found her?”
“My guess is he found you,” Jack opined. “And once he found you, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out she’s important to you.”
That was exactly what Michael feared. He picked up his cell phone. “Where can I get reception? I need to call a couple of people.”
“Bellingham.”
Michael picked up keys. “Go on without us. When I find her, we’ll meet you back at camp.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asked, following him to the door.
“No, I’m not sure about anything. But I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted honestly, and walked out, headed for one of the Jeeps they had rented. He had a sinking feeling there wasn’t a moment to waste.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THIS was an absolute nightmare, the worst thing that could happen, other than maybe a serious burst of cellulite—but Leah felt just that hopeless.
Adolfo had moved from orange to bread and cheese, which she wouldn’t have any of, either, and refused to cooperate with her by telling her what time it was. He seemed to be enjoying her massive hangover.
She was sitting in the bed, her arms around her legs, pressing her forehead to her knees. “Shit,” she said into her knees. “I cannot believe I did this.”
“Spanish wine is very powerful,” he said, as if it was a proven, scientific fact.
“It was California wine, and I’m not talking about that,” Leah moaned, and gestured wildly to the bed. “But that!”
“That?” Adolfo asked pleasantly.
Why did he have to be so obtuse now? “Yes. You know . . . that.”
Adolfo blinked, and then he laughed. “You’re a beautiful woman, mi amor. But I do not take advantage of sleeping beauties.”
Now Leah blinked at him several times. She could hardly see him her head hurt so badly. “Then why . . . ?” she asked, looking down at her underwear.
“You seemed to be not in comfort.”