Murphy's Law

Chapter One

Lilly McGrath refused to surrender. She ran down the narrow pathway and rounded the corner. She slipped on a small rock, and only her hand gripping the edge of the stucco building stopped her from tumbling head first onto the road. Her ankle throbbed, but she kept going.

A pain to her backside initiated her into that fine Italian custom of rear-end pinching. She whirled around. Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her back into the wall. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out.

Numbness washed over her. She slumped into the man’s arms. He’d drugged her. “Help me,” her mind shrieked to the people who stopped to look, but they only stared.

“Lilly, honey,” the man muttered lovingly. He wiped his hand tenderly across her damp forehead. “I told you to be careful of the Italian wine. It’s far too strong for you, baby.” He glanced up at the crowd of onlookers and shrugged. “She’s not used to drinking.” He made a gesture with his hand and repeated his words in fluent Italian. The bastard had them laughing at her. No one would help her. “Come on. The car is just around the corner. What? You can’t walk?”

He swept her up in his arms as everything went black.

* * * *

Jack braced his hands against the wall as the small boat pitched from side to side on the churning sea. He glanced at the petite woman sleeping on the bunk bed. Nylon rope bound her hands together. Guilt over tying her up left a bad taste in his mouth, but she possessed more ingeuinity than he’d expected. That little slip of a woman had given him a really hard time.

He’d followed her since she left the States two months ago. In that time, she’d made contact with no one. The department wanted to move on her ex-boss, Santana, so Jack had planned to bring her in a month earlier when they were in Lisbon, but he got blind-sided by a love-struck bear of a man. The crazy fisherman almost killed him. By the time he’d regained consciousness, he’d disappeared again.

Five days later, he caught up with her in Madrid. He knew she needed money since he’d lifted her wallet before she got away. A contact confirmed that she’d finally shown up at the American Express office for a cash advance.

“Murphy?”

Jack closed the cabin door and turned towards the voice.
“Yeah?”

“There are storm warnings. We’ll have to bring her into port in Nice.”

“Shit.” He pounded his fist against the wall. “Damn it, Stucky. I told you we needed a bigger boat. It’s too risky.”

“It’s the best I could do. Did you want me to advertise?”

Jack massaged his throbbing hand. What choice did he have? They couldn’t exchange the boat for a larger model since they appropriated the vessel illegally. The owner had surely reported it missing by now.

He planned to keep the boat out at sea until they could meet their contact in Tangier. Bringing Lilly into port in France could put the mission in jeopardy and might prove fatal. His two-week assignment had turned into a two-month ordeal. “Okay. But I need a jeep as soon as we dock. Get in touch with Anton and see if he can find me a safe house—as far away from people as possible. I have a feeling our guest is going to be screaming like a banshee when she comes to.”

“Give her another shot.”

“No. I didn’t want you to drug her the first time. I could have handled her without it. The idea is to bring her back alive.”

Stucky scratched his head. “And they’ll be able to convince her to testify?”

“It’s not our problem.” Stucky returned to the deck while Jack remained below. “It’s not our problem,” he muttered again.

The job ended when he delivered her to his boss. He’d never obsessed over what came next. Only Lilly McGrath wasn’t a hardened criminal, and something about this job stuck in his throat. For the first time he wondered what would happen when she was no longer useful to them.

* * * *

Lilly rolled to her side and groaned. The bright morning light sent a searing jolt of pain across her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut. Drums pounded in her ears. When she tried to stretch she found her hands bound tightly together at the wrists. Forcing her eyelids opened again, she looked around the sparsely furnished room.

What had happened?

A flood of memories came rushing back.
Italy—the laughter—and that man who had tormented her across half of Europe.
She needed to escape.
But how?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slipped to the floor on her knees. All her muscles felt stiff but she demanded they respond and pulled herself up.

Where was she? According to her watch, only two hours had passed.
Impossible.
She checked the date and amended her thoughts. Twenty-six hours. How far could they have taken her in that time? Someone would have noticed if they tried to put her on an airplane.

She swallowed and noticed the lingering taste of salt. She must have been near the sea recently.
A boat?
Of course.
How else would they plan to cross borders?

Shaking off the fatigue from her muscles, she walked to the boarded window of the rustic cabin. An old newspaper on the dresser below the window appeared to be written in French, so hopefully she was still on the European continent. She reached for the door but withdrew her hands quickly when she heard voices on the other side. Footsteps headed in her direction, and she darted back to the bed.

The door opened, and he walked in carrying a tray. He placed it on the table. “How are you feeling?”

She glared coldly at the man she’d learned to recognize as readily as her own father. Thick, sable brown hair fell in soft waves over his collar. The corner of his mouth lifted in an arrogant grin. His piercing eyes, straight nose and rugged jaw gave him an alarming appeal, and a full day’s stubble on his chin added to his rakish appearance. She remembered that he’d had a moustache the first time she saw him, but after Lisbon he gave it up.

He wore a cable knit sweater and brown corduroy pants, giving him a distinctly Mediterranean look. Like a chameleon, he had a unique talent for resembling the locals, no matter where they crossed paths.

Tall, dark and handsome.

Every woman’s fantasy was her nightmare.

* * * *

“Coffee?”
Jack asked, holding out a cup of dark steaming brew. Lilly took the cup he offered in her two hands.

He realized his mistake the second he read her intention. He turned just in time to miss being scalded in the face by the hot liquid she hurled at him.
“You vicious little brat!”

The coffee seeped through the sweater, burning the skin on his back. He
quickly
 
pulled
the garment over his head and draped it on his arm. He suppressed the urge to retaliate. In her shoes, he would have done the same.

He’d underestimated her again. Two months ago, she’d been a frightened woman running for her life, an export clerk who stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have noticed. She knew enough to make her a liability but not enough to keep herself safe.

At least, she appeared to be innocent. She could be involved right up to her baby-blue eyes, but that would be the most incredible acting job he’d witnessed. Since leaving New York, she’d become tougher, but she still didn’t strike him as the criminal type. She didn’t possess the hardness it took to live that kind of life.

“Didn’t care for the coffee? Perhaps you’ll like the food.”

She kicked her leg out and sent the tray flying from the bedside table. Stuck’s efforts at an edible breakfast littered the hardwood floor.