Page 45 of Lela's Choice

“What do you want?” Hamish asked.

“You mean more than our present information sharing?” Surprise, hope, elation chased each other across her face, and her luminescent joy reassured him about his decision.

“We find her. Look at what’s happening, talk to her and Peter before making any judgement about next steps?” he offered.

“Fifteen minutes on my own before you interview her.”

“Deal.” Giving Lela fifteen minutes with her niece would probably provide most of the answers they needed to solve this puzzle. Hamish would stake his reputation on it.

“You believe me?”

“Enough to graduate from conditional truce to partnership.” The attraction between them, a flame on low in all their encounters, might have taken them both unawares, but the foundation for this agreement was trust. He held out a hand. “Unless you’d prefer to spit on our hands or mix blood to seal the promise?”

“Deal.” She stretched out her own. Hamish could tumble her into his arms with a slight tug and knew she’d go willingly. A woman who didn’t appreciate her own beauty or her own strength, and who, if he was right, had denied herself the comfort of a lover’s touch in order to raise her niece, while keeping her father close.

The insight into her personality staggered him. An unbreakable core of strength that sustained her family, and probably her friends and colleagues. She made no claims for herself. Not because she didn’t want or need comfort, but because she’d stopped believing she could have her family and a lover.

She smiled, looking like he’d given her the Hope, Cullinan and Dresden Green diamonds all at once. The lurking shadows disappeared from her eyes, tempting him to offer to share more of the responsibilities she carried. Something shifted inside him. Her clasp was warm. The electrical pulse that flashed up his arm stunned him with its escalation of tension. He was off balance, dazed. She was radiant.

Crazy to let himself become this involved, but held in her smile, he had the craziest sensation he would always be safe and cherished.

* * *

LELA COULDN’T REMEMBERfeeling this mixture of joy and relief before. Hamish’s offer of a true partnership in their search for Sophie dissolved the bulk of her anxiety. On the journey back to the hotel, she let the sense of optimism settle in her bones. Loyalty to her family had kept her silent on so many occasions with her friends. Hamish was in this mess with her.

Having help in the battle of wits with her father was a rare, and surprisingly precious, experience. The wind had risen by the time they reached the hotel. Heaviness lingered in the sultry air. A storm loomed; the atmospheric tension created by Zeus standing with a thunderbolt in his hand ready to rent the sky.

“I’m surprised Marty hasn’t rung back yet,” Lela said when they exited the car.

“I turned my phone off over lunch.” He slipped it from his pocket. “Marty sent a text. All good. They’re working on one of the tourist boats, won’t get in until mid-to-late afternoon tomorrow. We won’t need an early start. Come to Sliema for supper,” he coaxed. “No point brooding alone?”

“Planning, maybe, not brooding. Thanks to Marty locating Mariella Debrincat, we know Sophie is safe, have an address for her, and a chance to have my questions answered. I’m grateful.”

“Your contacts saw Sophie on the Gozo ferry.” He shrugged. “You’d have found her yourself.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“Come to Sliema with me?” He followed her into the elevator.

“How can you think about food after the lunch we just ate?” Teasing him was liberating.

“I’m a growing boy.”

“That might have been true at fourteen, now it’s called eating to excess.”

“They’ve got great tapas bars.” His smile was irresistible—request, encouragement, invitation to play all in one.

“That’s Spanish for nibbles, right?”

“Meet me in the lobby at eight. It’s a short trip by ferry from the bottom of the hill, a different vibe. Another side of Malta.”

“You’re fitting Malta’s key attractions around our search.” Lela appreciated his efforts to give her space to breathe, not just worry about her family.

“Sheer coincidence.” He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

“And is it skill or coincidence you’ve prised most of my family secrets out of me in a few days?”

“I’m recognised as a skilled interviewer.”

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