Chapter 12
About the Publisher
Lizzie Lambert rushed from the bedroom tailing Cal McLaren. She had never seen him move so fast.
‘You admitted yourself you thought Kelly was a drama queen,’ Lizzie said.
‘It was you who said she was a drama queen.’ He charged across the living area to his laptop on the dining table and tossed Lizzie an accusing glance.
‘Yes, but you agreed,’ she said glaring at him. He was obviously concerned. This wasn’t the time to begin an argument. They’d not argued in the four months they’d been together. She peered down at her feet on the cool marble floor wishing she had grabbed her slippers.
‘OK, so usually she is,’ Cal conceded hauling out an iron-framed chair. Lizzie squeezed into the one beside him, her eyes roving over his taut body and approving of the pert bum snuggled into his CK briefs. She waited as he opened the laptop and hit the start button. He tapped his fingers on the table as the machine fired up. ‘Come on.’
‘What do you think the email means?’ Lizzie asked, scooping chestnut brown hair back with her fingers and tying it up loosely. Then realised the stupidity of her question.
‘I really don’t know. I want to check on here in case I’ve missed something on my phone screen,’ he told her entering his password and clicking a few times. ‘Oh come on.’ He scratched his head and checked the time. ‘It must be about six o’clock in the evening in Nantucket.’
‘Yes, I should think so,’ Lizzie said pausing to check her own phone. ‘Yes, it’s now ten after midnight.’
Faintly listening, Cal clicked once more at the brief email. ‘Here it is.’
Dad,
Please, please, come and get me. Take me away from this horrible town! I can’t talk about it here but come quick. I can’t stay.
Jack
‘Nothing else,’ he said catching his breath and scrolling his mouse down to check he’d not missed any other emails. ‘That was sent an hour ago. Shit. I’ll ring.’ He then quickly typed ‘On my way. Xxx’ and pressed send.
‘Bloody hell. He sounds desperate,’ Lizzie said gazing at dark-grey sumptuous eyes but observing a panic in them she’d rarely seen. Feeling the urge to hold him close, she covered his free trembling hand with hers, yearning to brush his dark hair with her fingers.
‘Yes, very. I need to go.’ He finished punching the screen on his phone and pushed back his chair, swiping his hand away as he stood. Lizzie’s eyes followed him as he mindlessly began pacing towards the full-length terrace doors and back, phone tight to his ear. She scampered to the kitchen and reached for the kettle. She stopped.
‘Kelly, it’s Cal, can I speak to Jack?’ he asked.
Lizzie remained still gripping the kettle in her hand. Teenagers were such vulnerable creatures. It didn’t make sense. Jack seemed so happy just two months ago when they visited him at the New Year. Cal’s brows, she observed, were joining up. She feared for him as his eyes turned steely hard and his face paled.
Cal signalled to the pen and Lizzie grabbed it at the ready and wrote down the number as he called out.
‘And you’ve no idea why he’s been quiet or hiding away?’ he snarled at Kelly. Lizzie saw his face scowl as his head shook.
Finishing the call, he picked up the bookmark and tapped in the long number. Lizzie followed his figure as he paced almost naked back and forth. Staying silent, she walked over and checked the door to Thierry and Marie-Claire’s rooms the other side of the living room. It was slightly ajar, so she gently pulled it to. Cal’s face was now almost white as he finished and hit the end button with his thumb.
‘Jack and his friend have gone out apparently, and they don’t have a phone. Shit! I don’t like this. I’m booking a flight.’
Lizzie,
