Free Sleepwalker by Karen Robards Page A

Heading that way was an option, but when Mick thought about how narrow the river was and how easy it would be to follow them through it, she elected to head south, into the vast environs of the lake. Impatient, Mick nosed the boat toward the widening opening even as she made the decision. When it was wide enough, she steered Playtime through it, avoiding the swathe of moonlight like it was radioactive.
    Would Uncle Nicco’s men—would Uncle Nicco—believe the thief was stealing the boat, and her with it? She could only hope so. The last thing she wanted was to firmly plant herself in what they would consider the enemy camp until she had decided what to do.
    She was a cop. No matter how much she might wish it wasn’t so, she had evidence that a murder had been done, and her uncle—by affection, if not blood—was involved. There was also compelling circumstantial evidence, by way of wads of cash stuffed in a trio of suitcases, of other illegal activities. What other choice did she have but to turn the evidence, and him, in?
    Thus spake cold logic. But add in close family ties and years of affection and kindness, the whole tangled web of alliances that had supported and nurtured her throughout her life, and the picture became less clear. Loyalty versus duty, right versus wrong, and none of it entirely black or white. That’s where she found herself: mired in shades of gray.
    If only she hadn’t found out about Nate’s cheating at this particular time. If only her New Year’s Eve had gone as planned, with an elegant dinner for two, champagne, fireworks, confetti, romance. She would have been tucked up in bed on Mackinac Island right now …
    With a louse.
    Well, he’d been a louse before she’d found out about it. Would delaying her discovery of the fact by twenty-four hours have upset some great cosmic plan?
    Maybe she should just “forget” about the pictures. And the cash. Erase them from her mind. Let them go.
    “Hey.” The thief moved up to stand behind her as she hitched herself onto the captain’s chair. Mick grunted by way of a response. The white leather seat was positioned about four feet off the ground, high enough so that the pilot could see through the windshield while sitting down. Its twin, the mate’s chair a few feet to the left, provided a similar vantage point. The leather was so cold that the usually soft seat was hard as a board when she first sat down on it; the frigidity of it seeped through her pants and the back of her thin tank. Ignoring this new source of extreme chill, she kept the Playtime going slow in an effort to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible, which meant that they experienced only gentle rocking as they nosed out into the lake.
    “You’ve got to be freezing.” His hands settled onto her shoulders, then slid down her bare upper arms. The heat of those hands, the sizeand sheer masculinity of them, sent an unexpected thrill shooting along her nerve endings. Of course, some of her reaction might have been due to the fact that she was freezing, and his hands were blessedly warm. But most of it—she had to face the truth here—was a purely physical reaction to a really hot guy.
    “You want to get your hands off me?” His hands were already on their way back up to her shoulders. She realized he was slowly chafing her arms in an effort to warm her. Didn’t matter. The last thing she wanted was to feel any kind of attraction to him.
    “Sorry.” He lifted both hands in the air. “Didn’t realize you were untouchable.”
    “Well, now you know.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind.”
    “You do that.”
    Hands on the wheel, guiding the boat through the darkness edging the moonlight in an effort to avoid detection, Mick couldn’t help glancing toward shore. Uncle Nicco’s estate was lit up as bright as Vegas. Every window, every outbuilding, every walkway, bush and tree now glowed brilliant white. A full-scale search was clearly underway, but as far as she could see, the