Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

He carefully put his hand on the door handle and opened it without a sound. Fearful of waking her he didn’t step through, only took a moment to study her. He remembered that first night in the hotel room, how he had watched her sleep— the soft and steady breath from her open mouth, the lusciousness of her lips, the tangles of dark hair falling across her face. It was time to leave, and his chest ached at the thought. The reality washed over him. He had fallen in love.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Paris stared down at the two folded sweaters lying on the bed next to her open suitcase. She was distracted from packing by Hugh’s voice in the background, carrying on a serious conversation with his contact at Interpol. At this point she didn’t care about the success or failure of the robbery, only about the safety of her daughter, Ben and his ex-wife. Although she still resented Valerie for the hell she put Ben through when they were married, she would never wish the woman ill. Paris had no qualms about going to prison, if it should come to that. No sacrifice was too great for her children. She had to admit that continuing to ruminate on unknown outcomes was overdramatic. Hugh would surely chastise her for taking on the role of sacrificial lamb. It was common sense—he wouldn’t put her at risk. Besides, Interpol and Scotland Yard knew everything already. Yet that fact worried her as well.

Hugh put down the receiver and approached her. “Everything is in place. The cargo plane lands in about two hours.”

“When it lands we’ll probably be in the air—headed for Spain. How will we know what’s going on?” There was desperation in her tone. The waiting, worry and anxiety were becoming too much for her. Hugh was better at hiding it. Paris knew that about her husband, and it caused her even more worry.

“I’ll check in right before we board. Then until we change planes in Madrid we won’t know anything.” Hugh could see her body tense and then go slack as she sighed in frustration. He made a last effort to put her at ease. “I’ll check in while we’re on our way to make the connecting flight, then again when we land at San Sebastián airport.” He slipped his arms around her and said, “That’s the best I can do.”

Hugh’s gentleness caused an emotional wave to wash over her, and her voice trembled. “Olivia’s life was in my hands every day when she was small. Then little by little I had to let go—but never like this.” Paris turned away from him and walked to the window. With tears welling in her eyes, she stared down at the garden that had given her such pleasure in every season. But at the moment, summer’s bloom seemed gray and lifeless. “I don’t know how to turn her life over to a team of strangers.”

“We have no choice, darling girl.” His voice remained tender, and that tenderness fully unleashed the tears Paris had been holding onto for days.” She walked into his arms and began to sob, her body heaving with each tearful gasp.

He held her there, in the middle of the room, until she quieted down. He hoped that she had released enough anxiety to get her through the next few days. She took a few tissues from a box on the night table and said, “Let’s get out of here. The trains are running again and if we get busy, we can make the six o’clock. That will get us to the airport in sufficient time.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

They finished packing, zipped the small cases and headed for the car. Hugh drove faster than usual, screeching tires several times as he rounded curves on the country road that led to the station. Paris asked for several reassurances that he had indeed arranged with the hotel to have their room held no matter when they managed to arrive. Once on the train Hugh made a call that confirmed everything was organized and in motion. He leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping to quell some of his own anxiety. Relaxation wasn’t in the cards. Every few minutes his wife would reach for his hand the hold it tightly for a minute or so. The train arrived at Paddington a bit early. They detrained and hurried to the center of the station to consider the options for Gatwick. After a short discussion Hugh concluded that in order to access the Gatwick express train at Victoria Station, a taxi would be better than taking the Tube. The commuter traffic would be building, but considering their weariness, stress level, and luggage to manage, a taxi was definitely the best choice. Within a few minutes they were on their way to the station.

* * *

Linus Finch zipped up his one-piece uniform that boasted the Security First company logo on the breast pocket. He had deigned to get a haircut and a shave and had reluctantly tossed aside the old wool jacket that was his trademark. He came out of the bedroom to find Fergus MacDonald struggling with his uniform’s zipper, which refused to close over his ample belly.

“Suck it in, you bloody ‘git,’” Linus growled. “We’re in a time crunch. Where are your boys… with the trucks?”

“They’ll be here, don’t you worry.” Fergus did as he was told and pulled in a deep breath, tugging the reluctant zipper up and over his girth. “There. Bob’s your uncle!” he said, adjusting himself and smoothing back his wiry red hair.

Linus went to the window and checked the street. Dawn was at least an hour away and they hadn’t slept—hadn’t even tried. The instructions from their boss were to be ready and waiting to leave when they received confirmation of the plane’s arrival time. The trucks and drivers had to be ready as well. Perfect timing was the key, so he was