Captive At Her Enemy's Command. Heidi Rice
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fruit trees. The sooner he got rid of Katherine Whittaker, the better.
“Why are you even in Italy?” she murmured. “Please tell me you didn’t come all this way just to get in my face?”
He let the snotty comment go, because even the hostile tone couldn’t disguise the weary resignation.
“I’m staying on Capri until Monday,” he said. “The company’s running security for the press opening of the new Venus resort. Dario contacted me to coordinate the search when you texted Megan this morning.”
“How fortuitous,” she said, the bite of sarcasm dulled by fatigue.
Not that fortuitous, really. The Venus project was a major contract, but Jared hadn’t planned to attend the event in person—despite all the noise from his PR department about the great publicity it would generate in the European market if he showed up for the four-day press launch. But his plans had changed this morning when Dario’s call had come in from New York, interrupting him in Naples during a meeting where he’d been finalizing the takeover of a small tech-security firm.
The urgency in Dario’s voice had hit first, then the wave of shame at the mention of a girl he had tried very hard to forget in the last five years.
When he’d discovered that Katherine was missing on the Amalfi Coast somewhere, that her sister Megan was freaking out big time and that they hadn’t been able to contract her, Jared hadn’t hesitated.
He’d redirected a team of his men from the Venus project to kick-start the search, and then taken a helicopter to Sorrento.
He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. He still didn’t know where that impulse had come from. Probably just his loyalty to Dario. It was true he’d never quite been able to forget Katherine Whittaker—and the desolation in her eyes after that aborted kiss—but he never got sentimental about women. Especially not women as troublesome as this one.
“How did you end up lost in Campania barefoot?” he asked, attempting to defuse the situation and get some answers. Although he suspected he already knew what had happened.
The Amalfi Coast was a mecca for billionaire property development and high-end tourism but, when you factored in the deprivation in Naples’ slums less than thirty miles away, opportunistic robberies weren’t uncommon.
“I’m not lost,” she said, snapping his olive branch in two. “I know where I am. And where I want to go. And it’s not back to New York.”
Yeah, it was. But he’d deal with the problem of getting her on a plane once they got to the airport. First he needed to swing by wherever she was staying so she could wash up and they could grab her luggage and travel documents.
Once she was on her way home, he’d follow up with the police on the investigation. Even if she hadn’t been hurt, he wanted the little bastards who had done this to her caught and prosecuted.
“So, where were you headed with no transport and no shoes?”
“Sorrento. If you could drop me there, that would be terrific. Then you can tell Dario you’ve done your bit.”
“Is that where you’re based? In Sorrento?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Not exactly.”
He glanced at her. The rosé blush was heading for her hairline at an alarming rate.
“Then where’s the rest of your stuff?” he demanded.
“Probably half way to France by now on the back of my stolen Vespa, with my shoes.”
Jared’s fingers clenched on the wheel hard enough to leave an indent in the leather. “Please tell me that doesn’t include your passport,” he said.
The glare she sent him gave him the answer he didn’t want.
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