Page 5 of Lela's Choice

“I’ve heard it’s easy to get lost in Malta,” she spoke over the traffic directions.

“Surprisingly easy. I gave myself a day on a previous visit when I turned it off and got lost repeatedly on back roads.”

“No sense of adventure tonight?”

“Meeting you will have to do.” He tried for a mocking tone and was afraid he’d just made a confession.

Joining the main highway for the fastest route into the old city centre, he forced his mind to concentrate on the heavy traffic and ignore the crawling need in his gut sparked by her throaty tones.

* * *

LELA SURRENDERED TOthe dark comfort of the bucket seat. Briefly she closed her eyes, before gazing out the window, trying to get a sense of the island, a sense of a city steeped in history. Hot, parched, and that was a surprise to someone who came from one of the driest and hottest continents on earth.

“Have you been to Malta before?”

“Never.” Except for a few brief business trips to Asia, Lela hadn’t been out of Australia in nearly a decade.

“Even with the family connections?”

“My parents moved to Australia shortly after their marriage. We have no close family here.” It was easier to stare out the window; she really was too tired to think. The muddle of exhaustion was her best explanation for her reaction to the man beside her. Years spent controlling her impulses, training herself to think of consequences before action, yet one look at him had shaken her more than she would have believed possible.

Fatigue, an abnormal situation, bone-crushing worry ... and fatigue.

Hamish MacGregor was just a man.

She’d trained herself to deal with men.

A pity the confined space in the car enhanced the subtle scent of his aftershave, its spiciness tugging at her senses—its base note absurdly reassuring.

“How was the flight?”

“Long.”

“You must have moved to be here so fast.”

She gave him an A for perseverance. “The first available flight.”

He nodded. “A lot of time to think.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?” Lela made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Deep pools, deep enough to find your soul. Fatigue, she recited her mantra, blaming it for her uncharacteristic flight of fancy.

“People chasing runaways often focus on a single fear, the catalyst for the flight. What’s your theory?”

Are you digging for information or starting from a pre-determined position?

“What did Papa suggest?” Some decent sleep would help her navigate through the minefield Hamish was laying out for her. Instead, she was fumbling, stalling. She’d barely admitted the truth to herself and wouldn’t share it with a stranger.Was Sophie pregnant?Lela couldn’t imagine any other reason for her niece’s flight. If she wasn’t, what had spooked Sophie enough to run?

Whatever it was, Sophie didn’t trust me enough to tell me.

“Duress.” He captured her instant attention.

“Papa told youshe was pressuredinto leaving Australia?” Lela recalled the last time she’d seen her niece. The morning after a dinner Lela had hosted at home for a few of Papa’s business associates. Sophie had behaved like a spoilt child resentful at having to be present at the dinner, but Lela hadn’t seen fear. “Did he speak to her? Fight with her?”

Hamish shrugged. “No comment.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“I know I’ve agreed to find Sophie Vella, discover the circumstances of her journey, if she’s afraid—"

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