The Chilling Deception Read Online Free PDF Page B

else and then halted, glancing at a man who was opening a car door across the street. “Isn’t that Springer?”
    Guinevere peered through the rain at the young man dressed in slacks and a suede jacket. “I think so. I only met him once this morning after we arrived. He’s Washburn’s assistant, isn’t he?”
    “Yeah. Guess they decided they didn’t need any extras at the first meeting. Looks like he’s headed for the marina. Maybe he’s got a boat.”
    Ambling along in Toby Springer’s wake, Guinevere and Zac watched the man make his way past the rows of boats tied up in the marina. He was headed toward an old tin boathouse at the far end of the wharf. A single-engine seaplane bobbed on floats in the water next to the boathouse. Near the plane another man was crouched down over a twist of rope on the dock.
    He must have said something to Washburn’s assistant, because in the next moment Springer turned and saw Zac and Guinevere. He waved invitingly.
    “I’m not interested in a ride in that silly little plane,” Guinevere hissed to Zac as he started forward purposefully.
    “You’ll love it.”
    “Not a chance.”
    “Come on, Gwen, where’s your spirit of adventure?”
    “It hasn’t recovered from the StarrTech case. It may never recover.”
    Zac wasn’t paying any attention. He was busy greeting Washburn’s assistant. “I see you escaped for the afternoon too. I was afraid for a while there that I’d have to sit in on the meeting.”
    Springer laughed, nodding politely at Guinevere. He was a clean-cut man in his mid thirties with well-styled hair, designer clothes, and a sense of his own future worth. But he was also very charming. “I know what you mean. When Washburn told me we were getting three days in the San Juans I knew there were going to be a few catches. How are you, Miss Smith?”
    “Jones,” Guinevere corrected automatically. “I’m fine. Zac and I decided to sneak off for a tour of the town. I just love islands in winter.”
    “Personally,” growled a soft masculine voice behind her, “I prefer other islands in winter. Islands with plenty of sun and sandy beaches. This sure as hell isn’t my idea of paradise,” Laconic, laid back, slightly world-weary and coolly cynical, the voice contained a hint of a Southern drawl. “A man who got himself stranded on one of these little uninhabited rocks in winter would probably wake up dead.”
    Guinevere turned. Although Zac was merely glancing back over his shoulder in response to the new voice, his fingers tightened a bit on her upper arm as he eyed the speaker. The man who had been crouched over the coils of rope was getting slowly to his feet. Guinevere watched him rise, admiring the perfection of a legend brought to life. A slow smile lit her eyes. It wasn’t every day a woman got to see this sort of thing in the flesh.
    The man rose to his full height. He must have been at least six one. Maybe six two, she decided. And he could have stepped out of an adventure film. More particularly, a film featuring a dashing, raffish, danger-loving pilot with plenty of “the right stuff.” He was even wearing a genuine beat-up leather flight jacket complete with a scruffy fur-lined collar. His khaki pants were tucked into worn, scuffed boots and there was a wide leather belt around his lean waist. As she watched he very coolly stripped off his leather gloves and extended a hand to her. It was a picturesque gesture.
    “The name’s Cassidy,” he drawled, blue eyes running over her in slow appraisal. He appeared to be in his mid forties, but his dark brown hair was still full and had just the right touch of shagginess. His face was as lean and hard as the rest of him.
    Entranced, Guinevere put out her hand and immediately felt the strength of his grip. “Cassidy,” she repeated. Even the name sounded perfect. “My name is Guinevere. Guinevere Jones.”
    “I wish to hell my name was Lancelot.” His eyes ceased their perusal and he met her