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Shaking her head, Kelly moved to the window and gazed down at the pool deck, now illuminated by hidden lights. Barely visible, in the distance the dark Atlantic Ocean stretched into an unseen horizon.
She leaned against the window frame. God, what a gorgeous piece of real estate. A laugh bubbled up as she considered the ludicrous proposition of her squad making a domestic call to this island paradise. Anyone in trouble would bleed out before the cops could manage to get on and off that slow ferry.
At the sound of voices, she refocused on the deck and stood up straight. Trey Wentworth, dressed in a black tux that fit him as if custom made—and likely was—spoke to a giant, muscled dude that looked as if he were straight out of special forces. She figured the big guy had to be a bodyguard or security of some sort, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Wentworth.
Smooth and sophisticated in black tie, he made her think of James Bond. South Beach style. God, but he looked good enough to eat.
Why was he so dressed up? But she knew why. Obviously the man had a date. That couldn’t be right. His son had been kidnapped, rescued—by her, thank you very much—flipped out and then drugged into oblivion, but Wentworth, obviously not a candidate for dad of the year, was going out on the town to some swanky shindig?
What kind of a father did that?
When he looked up at her window, Kelly jumped out of the way, hoping he hadn’t seen her. This family’s dirty laundry was none of her business.
She quickly changed into her clean running shorts and jog bra. Feeling better in her own clothes, she hurried back down the stairs only to encounter Wentworth striding across the loggia toward the front door—looking even more delicious in the brighter light. As his arm moved, she caught the flash of gold at his cuffs, and again stepped out of sight. Things were awkward enough between them without the man thinking she was a stalker.
Hans opened the door to the limo, and Wentworth climbed in. Kelly moved forward to watch the black vehicle drive away.
Well, do have such a good time, Mr. Billionaire. Oh, and don’t worry about your traumatized son. I’ll be here in case Jason wakes up and needs a parent to comfort him.
She whirled away from the disappearing tail lights and marched toward the gym. Man, did she ever need that workout.
CHAPTER FIVE
HURRYING UP THE marble steps into his home, Trey focused on one thing: Jason. How was he? Had his son woken? Cried out for his mother or his father?
Probably not. Donna said Jase would sleep through the night and it was only 11:00 p.m.
He’d remained at the benefit the minimum amount of time, escaping at the first opportunity after less than two hours, ninety minutes of a frozen smile and feigning interest in a cause that was no doubt worthy but one he couldn’t care about right now.
All he cared about was his son.
At the top of the stairs, Trey slipped off his shoes so he wouldn’t make any noise as he approached Jason’s room. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him if he remained asleep.
Trey edged open the door to Jason’s room and exhaled a relieved breath. Jase lay on his side with his favorite stuffed animal, a pink, ragged chimpanzee named Chimpie, clutched against his body. His son’s chest rose and fell steadily. He looked like any normal four-year-old, happy, at peace with his world.
Trey prayed that tonight his son’s slumber wasn’t inhabited by violent nightmares.
Shutting the door, Trey headed toward the bar. He needed a drink. He’d held himself in check at the party, refusing anything but club soda, afraid alcohol might loosen his tongue and allow him to say things in public he shouldn’t. Things about his father.
The most heartless son of a bitch on the planet.
Trey removed his jacket, tossed it over a chair and poured himself an inch of his favorite whiskey. He downed the liquid in one swallow, welcoming the fiery burn that trailed down his throat into his belly and then poured another.
He was sick of people, of being polite and sociable. All night, every hand he’d pumped, every perfumed cheek he’d kissed, every lame joke he pretended to find amusing, all he could think about was whether Jason had woken up frightened and missing his daddy.
But he hadn’t. Jase was safe in bed and sound asleep. Trey drank his whiskey and added more to his glass. He could stop obsessing about his son and indulge in a little blessed solitude.
