Page 36 of Lela's Choice

“Have you been?” She stopped studying the countryside and looked at him.

“Not yet, but I did take the time to visit the museum in Valletta on my first trip here to see the Sleeping Lady.”

“Sleeping Lady?”

“You don’t know about the Sleeping Lady?” he asked with mock horror.

“Cut the crap, Hamish. I’m not here to tick off the ten top spots in Malta, and you know it.”

“Light conversation might ease any embarrassment from this morning’s swim.” His rich rhythmic rumble shivered down her spine.

“I’m not embarrassed. Overwhelmed, confused, fascinated, and we don’t have the energy for”—she waved a hand in a circular motion—“dallying when Sophie’s our focus.”

“I could find some.” He grinned. “Okay, let’s play tourist. The Sleeping Lady was found in the Hypogeum. It’s the only known prehistoric underground temple in the world and, since they’ve realised its significance, they control entry, letting in eighty heavily supervised people a day, about ten at a time. They don’t know much about her, except she’s got great curves and exudes mystery. Like you.”

“No mystery, just a woman with a purpose.” Although his compliment caused Lela’s heart to stutter. “I rang the director of the charity and told her my colleague was lucky enough to know Martin Azzopardi, and he’d set us up with Mrs. Debrincat.”

“Did she have anything?”

“A young couple on the Gozo ferry the day after Sophie and Peter would have arrived here. They had their own car. Gozo’s the second island, isn’t it?”

“Smaller, not as developed. A better place to hide?” he mused.

“If they really wanted to hide, it would have been easier in Australia.”

“Hiding in plain sight? But Peter has that capacity here.”

His logic was undeniable. If Peter’s family was one of the most influential on the island, the couple could just disappear.

* * *

GIVEN HIS LINE OF WORK, Hamish had focused on potential kidnapping and illegal movement across borders. And the likelihood that while Sophie might not fully understand the consequences of what she was doing—even if she’d been a willing participant—that she might be treating it like a great adventure. That was preferable to her being terrified.

Lela had concentrated on her being with a doting boyfriend, possibly pregnant, and distrusting her family’s support. There were flaws in her logic, given her earlier confidence in Peter, but her sister’s history would make her more likely than most to consider worst-case scenarios for a teenage pregnancy.

“Are you worried Peter will abandon her?” A slew of new questions ricocheted through his mind.

She avoided the question. “The charity has an extensive information network, links with doctors, social service agencies and tourist dives, and can get a message out pretty quickly that a young girl is missing, and her family are concerned.”

“Your Plan A?”

She’d been staring out at the view, but turned to him. “Now it’s Plan B. Since they’re behaving like Hansel and Gretel and dropping breadcrumbs along the path. There’s every chance Peter’s aunt will supply the missing piece of the puzzle.”

“You didn’t have to tell me.”

“We agreed on a truce.” Simple reinforcement of the growing evidence of her straight dealing. Her words eased an ache in his bones, lodged there since Olivia’s decision to ignore his advice. Gameplaying destroyed relationships. Olivia’s had sabotaged her and Hamish’s. “Peter’s not another Dean,” she added.

When Lela agreed to cooperate, she gave her heart and mind to the task. Hamish’s physical attraction was easily explained—she was quite simply stunning. His emotional reaction was more dangerous than any attraction. He was shaken to his core with a longing he’d told himself he had no right to ever feel again while he continued to work in his chosen field.

Lela had arrived in Malta with a far greater chance of reaching places where people sought to hide than Hamish had. Her father could have left this exercise entirely up to her, if he knew his daughter.

He did know her!

Lela was right. Giovanni Vella didn’t trust her to be his emissary, to carry out his instructions to the letter. He, MacGregor, had been hired to ride shotgun on her. To make sure that whoever found Sophie first, the old man’s wishes triumphed. Hamish’s suspicions of Papa Vella’s motives were growing.

“I rang your father last night—told him we’d made contact with Peter’s family. He repeated his instructions, stressed she was underage, his responsibility, and that he wanted her home.”

“Did you expect something different?”

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