Free The Wrong Hostage by Elizabeth Lowell

will give him or her practice in the fine old art of bribery.”
    “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. A Mexican businessman named Carlos Calderón and another man, Hector Rivas Osuna, object to the boy’s removal.”
    Faroe whistled through his teeth. “That’s a real pair to draw to.”
    “You always understand things the first time through, Joseph. It almost makes up for your lack of other graces. Please give the judge a civil hearing. I’ve already discussed the financials with her. Your cut will be a hundred thousand dollars.”
    “Back up. I’m not accepting assignments. I quit, remember?”
    Faroe was talking to himself. Steele had cut the connection.
    A low, haunting voice floated down from the dock. “Permission to come aboard?”
    Past and present colliding.
    I don’t need this .
    But part of Faroe sure wanted it. The dumbest part of him. The one that was guaran-damn-teed to get him into trouble.
    I turned forty last year. I don’t react like this anymore .
    The dumb part of him just kept pushing.
    “I’ll be up in a second, Judge.”

O CEANSIDE
S UNDAY, 10:00 A.M.
11
    W HEN F AROE STEPPED OUT onto the main deck of the TAZ, the morning sun was heating up the unusually humid air. The water in the heavily sheltered bay moved uneasily, echoing the power of the Baja hurricane boiling up from the south. Chubasco weather.
    Just like the last time.
    Grace Silva stood on the dock, looking up at him, shading her eyes with her hand even though she wore sunglasses. She wore a white silk T-shirt and blue jeans. She wasn’t thin, she wasn’t fat. She was just all woman everywhere a man liked to feel the difference.
    Sixteen years hadn’t changed her nearly enough.
    Damn you, Steele. Did you know or did you just guess?
    “Hello, Joe. How have you been?”
    For a moment Faroe didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice not to be too rough, too hungry, too angry, too everything. Grace had always done that to him, slid past his defenses and grabbed him where he lived and breathed and hoped.
    Son of a bitch .
    He shoved his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans and looked out at the ocean beyond the jetty. The surface was gray, slick, almost oily. Waves were breaking with a deceptive, lazy grace that made the jetty tremble.
    Not a good time to be out at sea.
    Not a good time to be docked.
    Welcome to life with Grace Silva .
    When Faroe looked back down at Grace, she’d removed her sunglasses. Some of the sixteen years showed around her eyes. She looked tired, tight, almost brittle. She also looked wiser, more mature, less sure of herself, and very unsure of her welcome with him.
    “I’m fine, I guess, all things considered,” Faroe said. “What about you?”
    “Have you talked to the Ambassador?”
    Faroe nodded.
    “Then you know I’m desperate. Otherwise I wouldn’t have the nerve to come here.”
    “Nerve?”
    “Yeah. Nerve. You’re not an easy man to face.”
    “I’d think judges would be used to facing felons.”
    Grace looked away from Faroe’s measuring green eyes, intense eyes shaped so much like Lane’s she felt like the dock had been snatched from beneath her feet, leaving her dancing on air. She wanted to scream, to run away, to throw herself into Faroe’s arms and find the wild oblivion she’d known only with him.
    I’d think judges would be used to facing felons .
    “Usually they haven’t had sex with them,” Grace said bluntly.
    Faroe almost smiled, almost swore. Then she squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath. The movement outlined her breasts against the silk of her shirt. Faroe wanted to look away but couldn’t. He’d felt a primitive physical attraction to her the moment he saw her sixteen years ago. That hadn’t changed.
    He wondered if it ever would.
    “Do you think this is easy for me?” she asked, her voice too husky.
    Faroe stared at the wind vane on top of a sailboat’s tall mast. The vane pointed into the wind, helpless to do otherwise. And he, well,