Heather Graham Read Online Free PDF

was why she had also dismissed another of the names. Jim Thorpe—according to an ex-landlady Brittany had managed to question—was a “bum of an artist—selling watercolors for shillings to tourists.”
    Brittany’s field had been narrowed to those three original names. Oh, there were any number of Britons living the golden life at Costa del Sol. But only these three had been in London at the crucial time.
    Flynn Colby, Ian Drury, and Joshua Jones.
    She had convinced herself she was not afraid of any of them. She could handle herself well—as long as no one gave her more than two forks at the dinner table. She kept telling herself she wasn’t afraid, and she was no more worried now than she had been when she had plunged into the water. She could swim—she could take care of herself. Even against the Flynn Colbys of the world.
    Flynn Colby. One of the world’s ten most eligible bachelors, according to several popular magazines. It seemed that he was a favorite of gossip columns in a multitude of countries, despite the fact that he avoided the press. Oh well, Brittany mused, people loved an enigma. Yet there was really very little tangible information about him to be had. No one had really managed to quite pin down just what it was he did to keep an inherited fortune afloat. He’d been married once in his early twenties—a very proper match with an earl’s daughter—but the marriage had ended in divorce in less than a year. Since then, he had raced his yachts around the world; he played polo, but really: was that enough to keep living in this kind of style?
    He couldn’t be her man, Brittany thought passionately. He was so—magnetic.
    But then a magnetic man was just the one to create such a scam.
    He just didn’t seem right, Brittany thought with a sigh. Not with those sharp, direct eyes. Not with the way he could look … at a woman.
    Or maybe he was all the better a suspect because of those eyes and his subtly overwhelming masculinity. Maybe she just didn’t want him to be the culprit because of that palpable tension she felt each time he was near.
    Don’t be a fool! she warned herself sternly.
    Impulsively Brittany stood and hurried to the clothing bag Donald had hung in the wardrobe. A flood of color seemed to cascade into her hands as she unzipped it. Froth and silk—the bag contained a cool cocktail gown of emerald silk and a peignoir set in peach, lightly furred about the neck and hemline.
    For a moment Brittany was enchanted by the sheer softness of the materials. Then she allowed them to fall from her hands in a moment of doubt and self-loathing.
    What was the value of such clothing? And did it really matter? Colby probably didn’t care. She wondered what he thought of her. Had he believed her story? Or did that even matter to him? A slow flush suffused Brittany’s cheeks again. Flynn Colby was the type of man who attracted women. Like a football hero or rock star, he simply attracted women, and maybe two particular types of women: those who wanted just to touch such a man and enjoy what they could, and … those who simply wanted to be bought.
    He was probably assuming she fell into the second category.
    And in a way, she told herself dismally, it was true. She hadn’t the funds to stay on at Costa del Sol; and if she wanted justice, she had to stay.
    Brice had told her point blank that there wasn’t a thing in the world that the British police could do. Not unless the man returned to British soil—or appeared in a country that did have an extradition agreement with the British.
    But what was she doing? Brice didn’t even know what she was up to. If he did, he’d tell her she was a fool. That she was in deep water way over her head …
    “What is the matter with me?” she whispered irritably. She had known ever since she decided to cast herself into the sea that she planned to use this man—whether he was guilty or innocent. And she had rationalized at that time that she certainly