Page 8 of Lela's Choice

“I’ve already been, thanks.” She planted her feet.

“Youwereup early. What did you think of the saluting battery? They still fire the noonday gun as they have for centuries. The guns used to welcome dignitaries, but were also the official timekeeper.”

“Odd signage. ‘The noonday gun will be fired at midday today.’” She contemplated an elbow to his ribs.

“Makes you wonder what time they fire it on other days.” He flashed his beguiling grin—all generous mouth and self-deprecation, and she found herself falling into step beside him. “Are you a student of language?”

“It struck me as absurd.”

“Me, too. The Gardens are a neutral spot to sit and discuss what we’re doing next.” He refused to be ruffled.

“I don’t like being manoeuvred, MacGregor,” Lela muttered, irritated that his subtle cologne held its potency.

Six hours’ sleep had sharpened all Lela’s faculties. The time-zone fuzziness slowing her reaction time the evening before was gone. Jetlag still dogged her heels, and would probably knock her out later, but she’d made a good start on finding Sophie. The charity she’d just left dealt with youth in trouble and opened early. Lela had picked up the email confirming her appointment before she’d gone to bed and had relayed her thanks to her team in Sydney.

“I’ll bear that in mind. But for now ...” He gestured to a vacant bench.

Unfazed, he waited for her to sit before joining her. For a dozen heartbeats, Lela stared over the Grand Harbour and out to sea. With the sun glinting off the water and the cacophony of colours jostling for attention, Lela let herself sink into the moment and match more landmarks to the names she’d read on the complimentary map she’d found in her room.

“It’s stunning,” she blurted, the beauty spread out below them momentarily easing out the bumps in their uneasy relationship. “I don’t know what I expected, but this dazzles the eyes. The brightness of the colours is a sensory feast.”

* * *

LIKE YOU, Hamish thought. Images of her since he’d first met her danced through his mind. She’d been a bit rumpled and sexy stepping off the plane, haughty and dismissive when he’d accosted her, wary then decisive as she’d sifted his arguments, charming to the hotel staff, and deliciously grumpy when he’d escorted her to her room, as if disarmed by his simple courtesy. She reminded him of a hedgehog puffing its displeasure and rolling into a ball to repel invaders with its quills. Picturing those serious eyes from the original headshots, he decided the hedgehog analogy worked—a casual observer could easily interpret her natural defences as lethal attack.

How many people have you scared off, Lela?

“Yeah. It’s impossible to resist a new city or country. So many sights and sounds and places to discover; so many corners to turn and be delighted by.” He remembered she’d never been to Malta before and allowed himself to sit in the moment.

“You’re right.” She sighed. “But it’s not why I’m here.”

“I rang your room, thought you might join me for breakfast,” he said.

“I had an early coffee.”

“And have been sightseeing since?”

“Something like that.” She was hiding something and not very good at deception.

“Did you arrive in Valletta with no place to stay?” The question had puzzled Hamish during the early hours of the morning, when he’d replayed their conversation at the airport. If she’d planned an independent search, she’d have arranged for accommodation, maybe more.

“I had a booking at Kampnar City Living. I rang and cancelled after you walked me to my door.” She’d done her hedgehog thing at the reception desk—sotto voce—pointing out caustically that she should be safe crossing a lobby and ascending a few floors in an elevator in a five-star hotel with a porter.

“I didn’t think you had the energy left to see straight.” He’d liked seeing her ruffled, given her uncommon capacity to unsettle him.

She looked down her nose at him. “My reactions were more zombie-like than functioning human being.”

“You said it.” He grinned. “Yet you took the time to ring a lodge frequented more by backpackers than merchant bankers to explain you wouldn’t be arriving.”

“And your point?” She returned her gaze to the view, still wary of him.

“A nice gesture.”

“Don’t draw too many conclusions from one act of politeness, MacGregor. Plus, cancelling at that point meant I lost only one night’s accommodation costs.”

“I’m collecting impressions at this stage.” He was trying to make sense of her relationship with her father and the implications for his search. “Kampnar’s has a very different style to the Grand Excelsior.”

“It’s the kind of place to pick up news of Sophie.”

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