Suddenly, out of the darkness, Noah Rider appeared.
A gasp escaped Paige, and he spun around at the sound and did something she could never have expected.
He kissed her.
Sudden and fierce and hot, he kissed her. She responded, unable not to, and heat rocketed through her again.
He broke the kiss, and she suddenly realized that he’d kissed her to keep her quiet, to keep her from alerting their captors.
But then he whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do that for days.”
She wanted to say that she had, too, wanted to believe that keeping her quiet hadn’t been his only reason.
But even if it hadn’t, where did that leave them? Where did they go from here?
Nowhere, she realized, unless they got out of this alive. And there was a very real possibility that they wouldn’t….
Just Another Day in Paradise
Justine Davis
JUSTINE DAVIS
lives in Kingston, Washington. Her interests outside of writing are sailing, doing needlework, horseback riding and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.
A policewoman, Justine says that years ago, a young man she worked with encouraged her to try for a promotion to a position that was, at that time, occupied only by men. “I succeeded, became wrapped up in my new job and that man moved away, never, I thought, to be heard from again. Ten years later he appeared out of the woods of Washington State, saying he’d never forgotten me and would I please marry him. With that history, how could I write anything but romance?”
Once upon a time, there was a genre of books that was sadly misunderstood by anyone who didn’t read them. Those who did read, loved them, cherished them, were changed by them. But still, these books got no respect on the outside. In fact these books were belittled, denigrated, held up as bad examples, while their readers and authors were sneered at and insulted by people who, although they never read the books, had somehow arrived at the idea that it was all right to slap others down for their choices. But those readers and authors kept on in the face of this horrible prejudice. Why? Because they found something in these books that they found nowhere else. Something precious, that spoke to them in a very deep and basic way.
Then one day, this beleaguered genre was given a gift. A fairy godmother, if you will, a person with an incredible knowledge of these books and why they worked, and an even more incredible generosity of spirit. A one-person support system who gave so much to the writers of these stories, and was ever unselfish with her time and that amazing knowledge. And her endorsement counted for something; readers took her word and knew they would rarely be disappointed. She was a rock, a pillar on which the genre depended. Her loss has left a gaping hole that can never be filled, and will always be felt by those who love these books—and loved her.
For those reasons and so many more, the Redstone, Incorporated series is dedicated to
MELINDA HELFER
Lost to us August 24, 2000,
but if heaven is what it should be, she’s in an endless library, with an eternity to revel in the books she loved.
Happy reading, my friend….
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“It’s scary to see that here in paradise.”
Noah Rider nodded at Redstone Inc. pilot Tess Machado as they looked out the parked jet’s window at the airport terminal. There was something inherently ominous about men in camouflage anywhere, but it seemed even worse in a tropical paradise. Especially when those men in camouflage had automatic rifles slung over their shoulders.
He called up a memo on his laptop computer, knowing he needed to notify the main office that things might be worse than suspected. Redstone had received reports that the rebels were calling it a political uprising, when in fact it was simply a rebellion against the suppression of the drug traffic. But if the government of Arethusa felt the need to guard the airport, it did not bode well for continued peace in this Caribbean island paradise.
“It’s a good thing the resort guests coming in next week won’t be making this stop,” Tess said.
Rider looked at the woman who had been Joshua Redstone’s personal pilot for six years, ever since the head of Redstone Inc. had reluctantly acknowledged he had to work during a flight too often to keep doing all the flying himself.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It’s not the most welcoming sight for vacationers.”
He knew some would arrive at the newest Redstone resort in their own planes, some via Josh’s private fleet—probably even the new Redstone Hawk IV he sat in now—but none should need a refueling stop before landing at the new airstrip at Redstone Bay. They had only stopped to pick up a shipment for the resort; the Hawk IV had more than enough range to make the trip from India nonstop.
“Do you know who you’re bringing in next week?” he asked her. When Tess wasn’t piloting Josh, she was part of the Redstone pilot pool, at her request; she loved flying. She traveled almost as much as Noah, and he wondered what kind of strain that put on her relationship with the stockbroker she’d been seeing. It had certainly been enough to destroy his own marriage, and the one serious relationship he’d had since. He kept his mouth shut, however; Tess was like a big sister to him, and she’d made it clear if there was any advice giving to be done between them, he’d be on the receiving end.
“I’m not sure yet,” she answered. “But if we have to stop for any reason, it’ll be in Antigua,” Tess said, pushing dark bangs back with her fingers as she looked out the window once more.
“Good idea.” Her gesture made Rider think of his own appearance, and he rubbed a hand over his bewhiskered face.
As Tess returned to the cockpit he rose and walked back to the head, although it had always seemed ludicrous to him to call something as elegantly appointed as this bathroom a head. Josh had drawn the line at gold-plated fixtures for this, his own personal jet, but everything was still the highest quality. As were all the planes built by Redstone. From the smallest prop to the biggest jet they made, the fleet that was the foundation of Joshua Redstone’s business empire was all pure class.
But the quality of the mirror couldn’t help the reflection, Rider thought as he peered at himself. He looked like what he was, a man who’d been running too long on too little sleep. His dark hair was tousled and overdue for a haircut, he’d gone beyond fashionable stubble sometime yesterday afternoon—whatever time zone that had been in—and his eyes were as much red as blue. But nobody would really care what he looked like as long as he acknowledged the hard