churning, she pushed open one of the sunroom’s tall arched glass doors and stepped onto the terrace, into the sunshine. She drank in a breath of fresh air, and then another. Was she being selfish, trying to save her father? Should she not do this?
Panic and guilt buffeted her as she leaned against the terrace’s creamy marble balustrade and squeezed her eyes closed.
Drakon had followed her outside. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer immediately, trying to find the right words, but what were those words? How did one make a decision like this? “Am I doing the wrong thing?” she asked. “Am I wrong, trying to save him?”
“I can’t answer that for you. He’s your father. Your family.”
“You know I tried everything before I came to you. I asked everyone for help. No one would help me.”
“Who did you approach?”
“Who didn’t I?” She laughed grimly and glanced out across the terraced gardens with the roses and hedges and the pool and the view of the sea beyond. “I went to London to see Branson, and then to Los Angeles to see Logan, and then to Tori in New York, and back to London, but none of them would contribute money toward Dad’s ransom. They’re all in tight financial straits, and they all have reasons they couldn’t give, but I think they wouldn’t contribute to the ransom because they’re ashamed of Dad. I think they believe I’m wasting money trying to rescue him. Mom even said he’s better off where he is … that people will find it easier to forgive us—his kids—if Dad doesn’t come back.”
“You mean, if the pirates kill him?” Drakon asked.
She nodded.
“Your mother is probably right,” he said.
She shot him a swift glance before pushing away from the railing to pace the length of the terrace. For a long minute she just walked, trying to master her emotions. “Maybe,” she said, “maybe Mom is right, but I don’t care. I don’t care what people think of me. I don’t care if they like me. I care about what’s right. And while what Dad did, just blindly giving Michael the money, wasn’t right, it’s also not right to leave him in Somalia. And maybe the others can write him off, but I can’t.”
She shivered, chilled, even though the sun was shining warmly overhead. “I can’t forget how he taught me to swim and ride a bike and he went to every one of my volleyball games in high school. Dad was there for everything, big and small, and maybe he was a terrible investment advisor, but he was a wonderful father. I couldn’t have asked for better—” Morgan broke off, covering her mouth to stifle a sob. She couldn’t help it, but she missed him, and worried about him, and there was just no way she could turn her back on him now. No way at all.
“I think you have your answer,” Drakon said quietly. “You have to do this. Have to help him. Right or wrong.”
They both turned at the sound of a squeaky gate. Rowan was heading up toward them from the lower garden.
“And if anybody can get your father home, it’s Argyros,” Drakon said.
Morgan wrinkled her nose. “He looks like a drug smuggler.”
The corner of Drakon’s mouth lifted. “He isn’t what one expects. That’s what makes him so successful.”
“As long as you trust him.”
“I do.”
On reaching their side, Rowan announced that his office was now ready for Morgan to try to phone her pirate contact in Somalia. “We have a special line set up that will allow us to record the conversation,” he said. “And my team is standing by now, to listen in on the call.”
“But I can only use my phone,” she answered. “And my number. They know my number—”
“We know. And we can make it appear to look like your number. Today’s technology lets us do just about anything.”
In the villa’s dark-paneled library they attempted the call but no one answered on the other end. Morgan left a message, letting her contact know that she had six million in cash, in used bills, and was ready to make the drop but she wanted to speak to her father first. “I need to know he’s alive,” she said, “and then you’ll have the money.”
She hung up, glanced at Rowan and Drakon. “And now what?”
“We wait for a call back,” Rowan said.
They had a light lunch in the library while waiting, but there was no return call. Morgan wanted to phone again but Rowan said it wasn’t a good idea. “We’re playing a game,” he explained. “It’s their game, but we’re going to outplay them. They just don’t know it yet.”
The afternoon dragged. Morgan hated waiting as it made her restless and anxious. She wanted to hear her father’s voice, and she wanted to hear it sooner than later. After a couple hours, she couldn’t sit still any longer and began to walk in circles. She saw Morgan and Drakon exchange glances.
“What?” she demanded. “Am I not allowed to move out of my chair?”
Drakon smiled faintly. “Come, let’s go get some exercise and fresh air.”
Stretching her legs did sound nice, but Morgan didn’t want to miss the call. “What if the pirate calls back and I’m not here?”
“He’ll leave a message,” Drakon said.
“Won’t he be angry?” she asked.
Rowan shrugged. “They want your money. They’ll call back.”
It was close to four when Morgan and Drakon left the house to walk down to the water, and the afternoon was still bright, and warm, but already the sun was sitting lower in the sky. Morgan took a deep breath, glad to have escaped the dark cool library and be back outside.
“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said to Drakon as they crossed the lawn, heading for the stone and cement staircase that hugged the cliff and took them down to the little dock, where they used to anchor the speedboat they used to explore the coast.
“You were looking a little pale in there,” Drakon said, walking next to her. “But your father’s going to be all right.”
“If I was pale, it’s because I was thinking about what we did earlier.” Her fingers knotted into fists. “Or what we shouldn’t have done.” She glanced up at him as he opened the second wrought-iron gate, this one at the top of the stairs.
“Which was?” he asked innocently.
She shot him a disbelieving look and his golden brown eyes sparked, the corner of his sexy mouth tugging in a slow, wicked smile and just like that the air was suddenly charged, and Morgan shivered at the sudden snap and crackle of tension and the spike of awareness. God, it was electric between them. And dangerous.
“It can’t happen again,” she whispered, her gaze meeting his.
“No?” he murmured, reaching out to lift a soft tendril of hair back from her cheek, but then he couldn’t let it go and he let the strand slide between
