Prodigal Son Read Online Free PDF Page B

hiding.
    *   *   *
    What a weird day.
    Cara stepped out of the apartment manager’s office and walked over to her stepbrother’s unit. The complex wasn’t the best-kept place in the world, a far cry from her sweet little condo in Western New Jersey. The desert sun seemed to weather buildings faster out west, which was probably why the paint was peeling and the shrubs looked dried up and yellow. It really wasn’t that bad; after all, she’d planned to stay here to save money before she ended up in a free room at the Mesopotamian. She still wasn’t sure how that had all happened. Not that she minded the swanky hotel; she just didn’t want to be beholden to Artie Bartow, especially if he had something to do with Danny’s disappearance. Yet for some reason she’d meekly checked into the hotel and hadn’t really come out of whatever fog she’d been in until she’d unpacked her suitcases.
    Must be more tired and stressed out than I thought. Jet-lagged, too .
    She searched out unit twelve. If she knew her stepbrother, there were probably more dishes in the sink than in the cupboard and nothing but old Chinese containers in the fridge. Maybe she would straighten up the place while she searched for clues to what had happened to him.
    Walking toward the door, she dug in her pocket for the key the landlord had given her just now when she’d paid Danny’s overdue rent. She hadn’t counted on spending that much money—this trip was supposed to be on a shoestring budget—but she couldn’t let Danny’s place get rented out from under him, even if he had skipped bail and left her own living space in jeopardy. She’d give him an earful when he came back. She could hear the conversation now; she’d try to scold and he would thank her for helping him, giving her those puppy-dog eyes and that lopsided smile. Probably swear to pay her back, too, though she doubted she would ever see a dime. Still, whenever he said he wanted to pay her back, she knew he meant it. It just never seemed to happen.
    But he was family, and family looked out for one another.
    She started to slide the key in the lock, then paused. The door wasn’t quite closed. It stood open a crack.
    Had Danny come home? She nearly bolted through the door, then paused. What if it was someone else? Someone who was after Danny? As quietly as she could, she reached into her purse and pulled out the pepper spray that she had shoved in the bag before heading over. Fingers trembling, she eased open the door and silently stepped into the living room.
    A man stood by the answering machine listening to Danny’s messages. Half of them were from her, and it was weird hearing her own voice pleading with Danny to pick up the phone, to call. Luckily the intruder was busy listening, fast forwarding, listening again, so the hushed whisper of her approach appeared to escape him. He had his back to her, a tall guy with powerful shoulders in a khaki-colored shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned, solid forearms. His hair was dark brown, and he wore jeans and black boots. From the trim rear end and the flex of his back muscles beneath the shirt, he looked to be in really great shape. Which meant he might be fast, might be strong. She made a note to stay out of arm’s reach as she lifted the little can and pointed it at him.
    “That’s not necessary,” he said without turning his head.
    She blinked in surprise, then steadied. “Turn around.”
    He obeyed slowly, hands spread at mid-chest. “Cara, right?”
    She didn’t know what surprised her more, that he knew her name or the jolt of stark attraction that nearly knocked her off her feet when she caught sight of his face.
    Piercing cobalt eyes, sharp with intelligence, seemed to look right through her. Strong nose, bladelike cheekbones—Native American in there somewhere, she decided—and a mouth that swept into a wicked grin à la Dennis Quaid. He had a great tan, so he either lived in a