Every Breath You Take (Second Opportunities 4)

After twenty minutes and another boat arrival, Mitchell was no longer smiling. The sun was beginning to set, and as darkness loomed, his mind began conjuring unbearable images of Kate cowering in a corner from her enraged boyfriend or lying alone in the villa, injured or worse.

Once those possibilities had occurred to him, he was powerless to ignore them. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and after being transferred to two operators, he was finally able to get through to the Island Club. At the last moment, he remembered Maurice was away, and he asked to speak to whoever was in charge instead. A male answered, identified himself as . Orly,” and asked how he could be of service.

is Mitchell Wyatt,” Mitchell replied, trying to sound less frightened than he felt. Donovan, in villa six, was feeling ill earlier, and she isn’t answering her phone. Please send someone down to check on her while I hold on.”

Donovan?” Mr. Orly repeated. six? Are you certain?”

certain,” Mitchell snapped. someone down there immediately.”

’m happy to be able to allay your fears, Mr. Wyatt,” Orly said cheerfully after a moment. phone in villa six isn’t being answered because the villa is unoccupied.”

do you mean it’s unoccupied?”

mean that the party occupying villa six checked out at three o’clock today. Is there anything—”

Mitchell closed the cover on his cell phone, disconnecting Orly in midsentence, but his brain refused to process the obvious implications of what he’d heard. Paralyzed with disbelief, he stood where he was, gazing blindly at the horizon, his phone hanging loosely from his hand.

Not once since Kate had waved good-bye to him this morning had he ever considered that she’d leave him standing there at the wharf. She was in love with him, and he was in love with her. Their feelings for each other were deepening with every hour they spent together. They were meant to be, and Kate had realized that even before he had. Kate wanted magic, and they had it in unbelievable abundance. She didn’t have that with her boyfriend. She would never have checked out of the Island Club and gone home with him.

The obvious answer was that the boyfriend had checked out and gone home alone. Kate was probably on her way to Mitchell right now, as eager to kiss him hello as he was to return her kiss. There was a way to find out. . . . Slowly, Mitchell pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed the slip of paper he’d put there yesterday with the veterinary’s address and phone number on it. Looking at it, he flipped his cell phone open again with his thumb, his heart beginning to beat with dread.

is Mitchell Wyatt,” he told the vet when he answered the phone. was wondering if Miss Donovan came by to pick up Max yet.”

, she did. She picked him up several hours ago, and he was very happy to see her. I had all the documents ready that she needed to get him into the States.”

’s good . . .” Mitchell said, his chest constricting in pained disbelief. she bring someone along to help with him?”

, a nice gentleman.”

STANDING BESIDE THEIRcar, Childress and MacNeil watched Wyatt’s jet taxiing away from its hangar. Minutes later, it roared down the runway; then it lifted off and vanished swiftly into the darkness, its presence in the sky marked only by tiny flashes of light.

Chapter Thirty

UNLIKE HIS TRADITIONALLYfurnished apartments in Europe, the interior of Mitchell’s plane resembled a luxurious Art Deco living room, and the color scheme of silver, black, and chrome was enlivened with splashes of color from the period art pieces he’d carefully collected. A stylish oyster gray leather sofa, long enough for him to stretch out on, was positioned between a pair of round end tables with black granite tops and polished chrome lamps in the stepped profile of the Art Deco period.

Two oversize gray leather swivel recliners were across from the sofa. Beyond that was a Macassar ebony desk and credenza where he frequently worked, another row of seats, and a doorway opening into a compact but elegant bedroom-and-bathroom suite.

Normally, when Mitchell boarded for a flight of several hours, he went either to his desk or to the bedroom, depending on the time of day. Tonight, he went straight to the curved ebony bar near the front of the cabin and poured brandy into a crystal tumbler instead of a snifter.

From the sofa, he watched the twinkling lights of St. Maarten vanish; then he stretched his legs out in front of him and lifted the glass of brandy to his lips, eager for the fiery liquid to start dulling the ache in his chest.

He’d turned off the cabin’s lights and switched on a table lamp.

Slowly and methodically, he began reviewing the last three days, searching for some clue that should have alerted him to the fact that he was overestimating the depth of her feelings for him.

An hour later, all he’d come up with were haunting memories of an irresistible redhead with a heartwarming smile who’d kissed him and set him on fire—memories that all led him to the same unanswerable question: How could she have left with her boyfriend, without at least meeting Mitchell at the wharf to tell him good-bye?

How could she have done that when she’d been so candid and brave about her feelings:

I think fate may have intended for us to meet the way we did and to become friends—that it was predestined. . . . I like you very much, and I think you like me, too. . . . If I’m going to be disappointed, I don’t want it to happen with you.

Swallowing over the unfamiliar constriction in his throat, he drew a long breath and leaned his head back, willing himself into a state of pleasant numbness where he could think about her without this gnawing sense of bewildered loss. Instead, he remembered the quiet joy of sitting up in bed, drowsy and contented, watching the sunrise together, and the inexplicable pleasure of seeing her hand resting next to his on the table in the casino.

She’d made her decision to stay with her boyfriend, and thanks to his glib description of their ” that morning, he was stuck with that decision and bound by the very role he’d described and intended for her boyfriend to play:

As soon as he understands you’re serious about wanting to be with someone else, he is obliged to accept defeat gracefully and wish you well and then to get the hell out of my way.

About those rules—she’d asked—What would you do if I’d vacillated just a little about breaking up with my boyfriend?

Under those circumstances, you would be required to telephone me to tell me that, and then I would simply switch roles with him.

On his way to the airport tonight, he’d phoned the Enclave to see if she’d left a message for him there, but she hadn’t.