with the quilt, causing her to fall back onto the cushions with a bounce.
Kate heard a soft, masculine chuckle over her head, but her eyelids refused to open so she could glare. He would just have to wait until morning. She could feel her body floating, snug and protected. It had been so long since she’d felt safe that she gave in to the exhaustion and leaned into her warm haven. A deep voice drifted over her, its tone gentle and comforting.
“Sweet dreams, babe.”
Chapter Three
Isla de El León (Island of the Lion), Gulf of Mexico.
Poised at the edge of the diving board, the ebony-haired beauty smiled up at Nigel Threader. Her classic features softened with feline pleasure before she sliced cleanly into the kidney-shaped pool. From the private balcony, he watched in fascination as the blue glow of the underwater lights cloaked her dancer’s body with ethereal radiance beneath the rippling water. Exquisite.
It was an illusion, of course, but nonetheless magnificent because it hid the imperfections he knew existed. Like a brilliant but flawed diamond.
Pity.
Marina Alexandrov’s pedigree as the prima ballerina of the Paris Ballet was above reproach. With Russian royalists for parents, her upbringing was exemplary, her social status assured. She reached the end of the pool, planted both hands on the edge of the tile and hauled herself upward in a cascade of water, her nude body arching gracefully in the night air.
He returned her seductive smile before walking back into his office. Yes, it certainly was a shame. Even her baser needs matched his. They could have shared a future together full of limitless possibilities.
Unfortunately, with her great beauty and ancestry came a lack of intellect. Marina was a woman of average intelligence, an intolerable flaw his employee had overlooked and which Nigel hadn’t discovered until it had been far too late. A disappointing situation indeed.
The man paid for his incompetence, of course. What little pleasure Nigel gleaned from the kill was still too small a compensation for the time he’d wasted on seducing Marina.
He frowned and felt the familiar stiffness pull at his right eye. Resisting the urge to touch the cause, he tugged at his sleeves instead, automatically running his fingers over the yellow diamond cufflinks as he entered his office. Naturally he would enjoy her tonight. After all, it would be their last evening together. Loose ends were untidy.
Sitting behind the massive, seventeenth-century ebony baroque desk, he reached for the bottle of cognac that sat at the corner. Nigel glanced at the label, pleased to see that Quamar had brought him his favorite French vintage, and then poured a healthy dose into the snifter.
A red light flashed across the room, drawing his attention to the bank of closed-circuit televisions on the opposite wall. He warmed the cognac, swirling the amber liquid against his palm. Their guest had arrived. Leaning back into his plush throne chair, he studied the silver Jaguar while it followed the winding curves of the sleekly paved drive to the villa.
The estate itself was more than fifty acres of enclosed land overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The three-story villa, originally designed by a French architect, was built of adobe, mosaic tile and imported marble. A masterpiece of French-Mexican culture. As he watched, the car came to a halt in front of the wrought-iron gates set in the twelve-foot wall surrounding the villa.
He pushed a button under his desk activating the automatic gates and then swung around in the chair to press the intercom on his desk. “Quamar. Our guest has arrived, please escort him to my office.”
Several moments later the oak doors opened. Nigel glanced up from his glass when Quamar entered.
“Mr. Hiram Alcott, sir.”
Nigel nodded at the huge man who stepped aside to allow their guest through the doorway.
“You may stay, Quamar.” The bodyguard bowed but said nothing, closing the doors behind him.
“Has Pheonix reported in yet?” Nigel spared only a flickering glance at Alcott.
“No, sir.”
“When she does, tell her I need to see her.”
Again Quamar bowed.
Only then did Nigel turn his attention to his guest.
“A pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Threader.” The wiry little man crossed the room, set his briefcase down, then leaned over the desk to offer his hand. The scent of cheap cologne saturated the air. “Nice place you got here.” His watery eyes scanned the elegant room before returning to Nigel, hesitating only slightly on the puckering scar tissue that pulled at Nigel’s right eye. “Very nice place.”
Dirt caked the underside of the man’s overgrown fingernails. Ignoring the outstretched hand, Nigel placed his drink on the desk and gestured to the chair beside his guest. “Have a seat.”
Alcott cleared his throat, bringing his hand back to smooth his tie, then slid into the high-backed leather chair.
“You disappoint me, Mr. Alcott.” Nigel rose slowly from behind the desk, well aware of the effect his deliberate movement had on the man across from him. “I’ve paid you a great deal of money to perform a mediocre task and, so far you’ve failed to live up to your end of the deal.”
Alcott didn’t flinch. Instead the man sat back and crossed his legs. The casual pose didn’t quite mask the tension in his body.
“Finding a woman on the run isn’t a mediocre task, believe me.”
Nigel picked up the Buddha from the desk corner. The size of his fist and carved from pure white jade, the statue symbolized enlightenment.
“I believe you claimed expediency, accuracy and complete confidentiality. I have yet to witness either of the first two.” Nigel observed his guest’s face muscles tighten with apprehension at the statement. “And I have my suspicions about the third.”
Carefully, he set the statue back in its place, then continued. “But since my time is limited and your tracking skills came highly recommended by our mutual business acquaintances, I’ve decided to allow you to continue with your efforts. Provided, of course, you start showing me results.”
Alcott’s expression eased a little as he ran a hand over his lacquered gray hair then wiped his palm on the chair. Nigel’s eyes narrowed in disgust.
“I promise you, I won’t require much more time, Mr. Threader. A week on the outside. Dr. MacAlister has proven to be an unexpected challenge, but I’m closing in.” He shifted his position, his hair leaving a grease mark on the back of the chair. “These things can be tricky, if you know what I mean.”
“I see.” Nigel kept his expression noncommittal as he leaned against the desk pretending to consider Alcott’s excuses.
After a significant pause, he said, “I believe you, Mr. Alcott.”
Alcott visibly relaxed. “I appreciate that. After all, we aim to please. But it’s nice when a customer understands the difficulties of the job, if you know what I mean.”
“Hmm,” Nigel murmured while brushing
