By Val Cameron
Dale Welland flew to Mexico to flee banks, embezzlers, and the vacancy of his apartment after his female friend moved out. He selected town of los angeles Paz as the identify intended peace, and while a stranger named Brent Markesson provided to take him crusing on a ship named a ways Reacher, Dale believed he'd came upon the peach he used to be searching for. "A man's succeed in may still exceed his take hold of, else what is a heaven for ..." every little thing approximately Brent Markesson interested Dale - his boat, his way of life, and his lifeless spouse. Then Markesson provided at hand all of it over, and unexpectedly not anything used to be what it appeared - no longer the sailboat, now not the girl, and particularly no longer the homicide.
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Her picture had been somber, her vibrancy deadened by the camera. Not Brent's. His was gorgeous, making him look dark and sexy, interesting as hell. An adventurer, a modern day pirate with that slow grin and those half-cynical eyes. God, she had loved him! But not enough. Arrangements. She stood, left the keyboard, walked slowly through the empty offices to her desk. The message lay there, open, a live thing laughing at her. The windows were black now, but still the rain pounded on the glass. Her eyes followed the dead words.
Sometimes the passion to have my own boat is so strong I can hardly bear it. He had turned back to her, smiling, the power of his emotion in the air between them like sparking electricity. She had felt the storm growing, but there were no clouds in the air, only the heady feeling that she could reach out and touch excitement. Their bargain, never actually put into words. Only her words, silent. If you give me excitement, adventure ... love, then. if ... then I'll buy you your dream. " Her voice was trembling.
Yes. " "A Señor Salvadori. " The paper turned out to be an envelope. Salvadori? One of those policemen? "Thanks," he said brusquely as he pushed the small white envelope into the pocket of his slacks. The slacks were clean, newly pressed, brand new, and the Mexican's eyes reflected a degree of respect that had been missing yesterday. Salvadori? Who the hell was Salvadori? The note was brief. He read it in the privacy of his room, half expecting some official message of doom. I have called only to find you out.
A Man's Reach by Val Cameron