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  She let out a long breath and walked past the airport bar. The kind of drink she could use about now would only cost her four bucks, but she’d given up alcohol along with the cigarettes and everything else that she missed.

  She thought of Maddie and wondered how much her sister would mind that Leena had accidentally grabbed Maddie’s cell phone instead of her own, since apparently they still thought alike and had bought identical phone covers.

  Or that Leena had abused the mini credit card she’d found in the back of Maddie’s leather cell phone cover to buy her airline ticket.

  Oh, boy. She distracted herself by thinking of Ben. She’d designed a series of exquisite original pieces for his gallery, and by the time she’d finished his job, she’d left a part of her heart and soul there. Because of her art, certainly, but it went deeper than that.

  Ben had been in on the design. Not in corroboration so much, but just watching and experiencing her process. It’d been part of the deal, his deal, because he loved to be involved in the artistry of the pieces he collected and sold.

  Leena had flown to his gallery several times with the designs, and once she’d begun work on the pieces, Ben had flown to Stone Cay to watch her work.

  She’d expected him to be old, stuffy, maybe fat, and definitely snooty. Rick’s people were always snooty. Men with too much money and too much power were spoiled and used to getting their own way. Knowing it, she’d been braced to hate him.

  And then she’d entered his gallery.

  It was a wide-open space with splashes of color that had caused the oddest reaction. Leena had immediately felt invigorated, vibrant . . . happy. That first day he’d come out from the back in well-worn jeans faded white in the stress points, a white T-shirt, work boots, all splattered in paint. He’d held out his hand for her to shake but had then caught a glimpse of the paint on his skin and laughed, pulling it back before he could get anything on her. “Sorry,” he’d said in a rugged voice tinged with Irish. “I’m in the middle.”

  She’d blinked, a little surprised by the fact that he hadn’t been old, stuffy, or anywhere close to fat. In fact, he was maybe thirty, and tall and lanky lean. He was an artist, too, from his paint-splattered boots to the deep soul shining out of his warm chocolate eyes. . .

  He’d liked her. He’d liked her a lot and had wanted to explore that between them, but she’d been there for business only.

  Rick’s business.

  And yet she’d found a way to wrangle several trips to New Orleans, citing design problems, which had only been an excuse to look at Ben some more.

  She was certain he’d seen right through her, but he’d never been anything but sweet and kind, melting her every which way but Sunday with that low, Irish-tinted voice of his . . .

  In spite of dragging it out as long as possible, eventually she’d finished the jewelry for his gallery, and the job had come to an end. Rick himself had delivered the jewelry, with the priceless precious gems switched out for fakes, of course.

  As for Leena, she’d been paid for a job well-done and hadn’t seen Ben since.

  He’d called several times, and she was so ashamed and terrified of the part she’d played in his being ripped off, she’d not returned a single one.

  Just one more thing to hate Rick for.

  And herself.

  But she was on her way to fixing her wrong in the only way she knew how.

  Brody stood in the kitchen waiting for the damn water to boil. He’d never understood the appeal of hot tea. It smelled like old ladies and tasted like flowers.

  But whatever. It kept his hands busy. And they needed to be busy. He’d bring the tea to Maddie, who was hopefully still covered with her quilt up to her chin. Because chins weren’t sexy. Chins didn’t make him ache.

  In the meantime, hopefully, his body would calm down, but he had a feeling he could brew all the tea in China and his body wouldn’t calm down, not after that little episode upstairs.

  His fingers were trembling. He was trembling. And still hard.

  He found a mug in the cabinet and checked the water for the hundredth time.

  Still not boiling.

  He looked at the boxes of tea lined up on the counter. Seven. Earl Grey, black cherry, lemon mint, chamomile, green tea, black tea, white tea. . . . Who needed seven different kinds of tea? A dull ache throbbed between his eyes, so he closed them and snatched a box blind.

  Lemon mint. Whatever. The water still wasn’t boiling. “Work with me here,” he told the pot, which finally began to bubble, and he decided he should probably bring her something to eat, too, since she’d lost a little weight. So he shoved a few pieces of bread into the toaster.

  Look at him, all domestic.

  When he finally had the tea and toast ready, he made his way back up the stairs, eyeing the rooms as he went because the silence suddenly got to him. It was a big silence. A you’re-screwed sort of silence, and his spidey sense quivered.

  Then he stepped into Maddie’s bedroom. Maddie’s empty bedroom, and the doubt became something bigger. One quick look out the window told him the truth. Maddie’s Jeep was gone, and so was the rental car.

  She’d ditched him; they both had.

  And didn’t that just top off his damn day. Suddenly he hoped that they were triplets, or quadruplets, or better yet, quints. Because being had by only two women seemed just too ridiculous.

  Maddie’s purse was gone. It’d been sitting on her dresser, a black and silver number with lots of buckles and pockets. Next to it had been her cell phone, also gone. For shits and giggles, he pulled out his own cell and called hers, not surprised in the least when it went straight to voice mail.

  Goddamnit.

  With no compunction at all, he opened a dresser drawer, looking for clues to where she might have gone, but he ended up staring down at the pile of silky stuff. Hooking a satiny black number on his finger, he lifted it up. Panties barely the size of his palm.

  He tossed the thing back into the drawer, then frowned at something else there, a box, and he nudged aside some more silk to expose . . . bullets.

  And this time when his heart kicked, it kicked hard enough to nearly crack a rib.

  She’d had a gun in here as well, a gun that was now gone. He was chewing on that when Shayne called him.

  “Lost her, huh?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she’s on her way here.”

  “What?” Brody took off running for the door. “What’s she doing there?”

  “Sneaking away from you apparently.”

  “Fuck. Tell me she’s going there to work and not to get on a plane.”

  “Sorry, no can do.”

  “Let me guess.” He stopped outside his car, slapping his pockets for his keys. “She wants a plane?”

  “Give the man a prize. She called ahead. How did you know?”

  His keys weren’t in his pockets. He was not a man who lost his damn keys ever. “Just stop her.”

  “Yeah, I’m on that. What’s going on, Brody?”

  “Hell if I know, except that she has a sister. A twin sister. And she’s in trouble.”

  “She’s never mentioned a twin sister.”

  Where the hell were his keys? “Trust me, Leena is alive and well. At least at the moment. But she’s involved in something, and they’re both in way over their head. They had a threatening phone call from someone they knew.”

  “Maddie went to Dani for help.” Shayne sounded as unhappy as Brody felt that Maddie hadn’t trusted them. “She asked her for a flight under an assumed name. She wanted to keep it secret. Why the hell would she need to keep anything secret from us?”

  Brody had a couple of ideas, but none that appealed. “Is Dani planning on stalling her?”

  “Yes, and if she finds out I’m a narc, I’m never going to get to have sex again.”

  This from the man who only a year ago, would have gotten hives at the thought of having sex with the same woman for the rest of his life