father. What about them? Had the men who'd grabbed her known they were en route to see her?
Did they know why?
She stopped the thoughts in their tracks. Even if she was alone,there could be a surveillance camera in the room. She didn't need to spool up if she were being watched for signs of distress.
In for eight. Hold. Out for eight.
The boat got underway. The marine patrol would be on the lookout for her. She hoped her captors made a mistake--that they'd already made one and the yacht was under watch now, SWAT planning her rescue.
Owen...
Abigail saw him coming to her on a moonlit Maine night and felt him making love to her, imagined every touch, every murmur of his love and passion. She heard the waves crashing on the rocks outside their window and the cries of the seagulls in the distance.
He was with her.
Whatever happened, Owen was with her.
Chapter 8
Beara Peninsula, Southwest Ireland
9:10 p.m., IST
August 25
F arther up the peninsula, Lizzie turned off the main road onto a sparsely populated lane that crawled over the twilit hills and would take her to the market village of Kenmare at the head of the bay. It wasn't a shortcut, but she hoped she'd be less likely to run into the An Garda Siochana --the Guardians of the Peace.
In other words, the police.
Once in Kenmare, she would go on to the small Kerry County airport and fly to Dublin.
At least she had the start of a new plan.
She pulled over to the side of the road--it wasn't much more than a sheep track--and got out, welcoming the brisk wind in her face. The physical effects of her first real fight with anopponent determined to kill her and the thought of what had happened in Boston had left her drained.
And encountering Will Davenport had left her thoroughly rattled.
She looked out across the hills that plunged sharply to the bay, its water gray under the clearing, darkening sky. She walked along a barbed-wire fence. She hadn't passed another car since leaving the main road. The only evidence of other people were the lights of a solitary farmhouse far down on the steep hillside.
A trio of fat sheep meandered across the rock-strewn pasture toward her. Even in the dark, she could see the splotches of blue paint on their white wool that served as brands. She could put aside her distaste for camping and pitch her tent right here among the rocks and sheep and forget everything she had on her mind, including the good-looking Brit who, she suspected, would have her name before the clock struck midnight Irish Summer Time.
Will Davenport could become a very big problem. As she watched the sheep nudge closer to the fence, she wondered how Will knew the Brit she'd run into in Las Vegas. Because she was sure he did...
Yes. He definitely could become a problem.
She'd arrived in Las Vegas in late June after a few days on her own at her house in Maine and a quick stop in Boston to make an appearance at the family hotels' main offices. Her uncle, Bradley, her father's younger brother, ran the company and had been losing patience with her erratic schedule. He'd even begun making noises about finding another role for her. She was very good at getting a lot accomplished in a short time and had managed to placate him. Traveling from one Rush hotel to anotherhad allowed her the flexibility to dip in and out of Norman's world as well as to breathe new life into her ideas about the concierge services and excursions the hotels offered. Her uncle, however, liked to see her at meetings and behind a desk once in a while. Since his older brother lived in Las Vegas, Bradley hadn't objected to Lizzie's heading there. He'd given up seeing her father at meetings or behind a desk a long time ago.
She'd enjoyed being back in the hot, dry, sunny, vibrant town her father called home, but Norman had arrived unexpectedly that same morning for a high-stakes poker game. Lizzie hadn't been able to bring herself to smile at him. Still unaware of Simon's undercover mission at that
Did they know why?
She stopped the thoughts in their tracks. Even if she was alone,there could be a surveillance camera in the room. She didn't need to spool up if she were being watched for signs of distress.
In for eight. Hold. Out for eight.
The boat got underway. The marine patrol would be on the lookout for her. She hoped her captors made a mistake--that they'd already made one and the yacht was under watch now, SWAT planning her rescue.
Owen...
Abigail saw him coming to her on a moonlit Maine night and felt him making love to her, imagined every touch, every murmur of his love and passion. She heard the waves crashing on the rocks outside their window and the cries of the seagulls in the distance.
He was with her.
Whatever happened, Owen was with her.
Chapter 8
Beara Peninsula, Southwest Ireland
9:10 p.m., IST
August 25
F arther up the peninsula, Lizzie turned off the main road onto a sparsely populated lane that crawled over the twilit hills and would take her to the market village of Kenmare at the head of the bay. It wasn't a shortcut, but she hoped she'd be less likely to run into the An Garda Siochana --the Guardians of the Peace.
In other words, the police.
Once in Kenmare, she would go on to the small Kerry County airport and fly to Dublin.
At least she had the start of a new plan.
She pulled over to the side of the road--it wasn't much more than a sheep track--and got out, welcoming the brisk wind in her face. The physical effects of her first real fight with anopponent determined to kill her and the thought of what had happened in Boston had left her drained.
And encountering Will Davenport had left her thoroughly rattled.
She looked out across the hills that plunged sharply to the bay, its water gray under the clearing, darkening sky. She walked along a barbed-wire fence. She hadn't passed another car since leaving the main road. The only evidence of other people were the lights of a solitary farmhouse far down on the steep hillside.
A trio of fat sheep meandered across the rock-strewn pasture toward her. Even in the dark, she could see the splotches of blue paint on their white wool that served as brands. She could put aside her distaste for camping and pitch her tent right here among the rocks and sheep and forget everything she had on her mind, including the good-looking Brit who, she suspected, would have her name before the clock struck midnight Irish Summer Time.
Will Davenport could become a very big problem. As she watched the sheep nudge closer to the fence, she wondered how Will knew the Brit she'd run into in Las Vegas. Because she was sure he did...
Yes. He definitely could become a problem.
She'd arrived in Las Vegas in late June after a few days on her own at her house in Maine and a quick stop in Boston to make an appearance at the family hotels' main offices. Her uncle, Bradley, her father's younger brother, ran the company and had been losing patience with her erratic schedule. He'd even begun making noises about finding another role for her. She was very good at getting a lot accomplished in a short time and had managed to placate him. Traveling from one Rush hotel to anotherhad allowed her the flexibility to dip in and out of Norman's world as well as to breathe new life into her ideas about the concierge services and excursions the hotels offered. Her uncle, however, liked to see her at meetings and behind a desk once in a while. Since his older brother lived in Las Vegas, Bradley hadn't objected to Lizzie's heading there. He'd given up seeing her father at meetings or behind a desk a long time ago.
She'd enjoyed being back in the hot, dry, sunny, vibrant town her father called home, but Norman had arrived unexpectedly that same morning for a high-stakes poker game. Lizzie hadn't been able to bring herself to smile at him. Still unaware of Simon's undercover mission at that
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