Page 33 of For the Love of Lilah
Max waited a moment. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” He glanced up, lifting a hand in salute as Sloan approached.
“Coffee break?” Sloan asked, and finding the idea appealing, took out a cigar.
“A discussion on women,” Trent informed him. “You might like to add something to my brief dissertation.”
Sloan took his time lighting the cigar. “Stubborn as mules, mean as alley cats and the best damn game in town.” He blew out smoke and grinned at Max. “You’ve got a thing for Lilah, don’t you?”
“Well, I—”
“Don’t be bashful.” Sloan’s grin widened as he poked out with the cigar. “You’re among friends.”
Max wasn’t accustomed to discussing women, and certainly not his feelings toward a particular woman. “It would be difficult not to be interested.”
Sloan gave a hoot of laughter and winked at Trent. “Son, you’d be dead if you weren’t interested. So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know what to do about her.”
Trent’s lips curved. “Sounds familiar. What do you want to do?”
Max slanted Trent a long, slow look that had him chuckling.
“Yeah, there is that.” Sloan puffed contentedly on his cigar. “Is she, ah, interested?”
Max cleared his throat. “Well, she’s indicated that she—that is, earlier we took a walk up on the cliffs, and she... yeah.”
“But?” Trent prompted.
“I’m already in over my head.”
“Then you might as well go under for the third time,” Sloan told him, and eyed the tip of his cigar. “’Course, if you make the lady unhappy, I’d have to pound your face in.” He stuck the cigar back into his mouth. “I’m right fond of her.”
Max studied him a moment, then laid his head back and laughed. “There’s no way to win here. I think I finally figured that out.”
“That’s the first step.” Trent shifted. “Since we’ve got a minute here without the ladies I thought you both should know that I finally got a report on this Hawkins character. Jasper Hawkins, smuggler, out of Miami. He’s a known associate of our old friend Livingston.”
“Well, well,” Sloan murmured, crushing out the cigar.
“It begins to look like Livingston and Caufield are one and the same. No sign of the boat yet.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Max put in. “It might be that they covered their tracks there. Even if they figured I was dead, they’d have to consider that the body would wash up eventually, be identified. Questions would be asked.”
“So they ditched the boat,” Trent mused.
“Or switched it.” Max spread his hands. “They won’t back off. I’m sure of that. Caufield, or whoever he is, is obsessed with the necklace. He’d change tactics, but he wouldn’t give up.”
“Neither will we,” Trent murmured. The three men exchanged quiet looks. “If the necklace is in this house, we’ll find it. And if that bastard—” He cut himself off as he spotted his wife racing through the doors at the far end of the terrace. “C.C.” He was up quickly, starting toward her. “What’s wrong? What are you doing home?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” With a laugh, she threw her arms around him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” But he drew away to study her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes brilliant and wet. “Well, it must be good news.” He brushed her hair back, checking her brow as he did so. He knew she hadn’t been feeling quite herself for the past week.
“The best.” She glanced over at Sloan and Max. “Excuse us.” Gripping Trent’s hand, she pulled him down the terrace toward their room where she could tell him in private. Halfway there, she exploded. “Oh, I can’t wait. I know I broke the sound barrier getting home after the test came in.”
“What test? You’re sick?”
“I’m pregnant.” She held her breath, watching his face. Concern to shock, shock to wonder.
