Rae forgot her grievance, dropped to her knees and extended her arms. “Luna! Bella Luna, my darling doggie!”

Luna leaped and slammed into Rae, and they rolled in the grass, child and dog ecstatic with joy.

Kellen and Max watched affectionately. Then Kellen moved closer to Max and said quietly, “We do have one form of communication, right?” She nodded at the helicopter, with its powerful radio.

“Yes, I’ve got a special frequency for my law enforcement contact. I’ll be checking in once a week and hoping to hell the first report states they have Mara in custody.”

“What do you think the chances of that is?”

“They’ve had three weeks to narrow the lead.”

Which was a non-answer, but what could he say?

“I don’t think Rae will think of the helicopter when she thinks of communications, and if she does—well, I’ll lock the door.”

A green golf cart, slightly battered, careened across the lawn toward them.

“Dylan Conkle,” Max said in Kellen’s ear, and when Dylan stopped and got out, Max strode forward to shake his hand.

Kellen observed and cataloged.

DYLAN CONKLE:

MALE, 30YO, CAUCASIAN ANCESTRY, 6'2", 150LBS, HAIR THE SAME BLONDISH-RED AS LUNA, PALE SKIN, RED FRECKLES ON FACE, NECK, HANDS. BLACK-RIMMED GLASSES. GENUINE SMILE AT DOG AND CHILD. PLEASANT SMILE TOWARD KELLEN AND MAX.

“Welcome to Isla Paraíso,” Dylan said to the general area. He didn’t meet Kellen’s eyes. He pretended he hadn’t seen her outstretched hand. Because he didn’t shake hands with women? Or he didn’t want her to notice the low-level tremor in his fingers?

More surprising to Kellen was how he reacted to Rae’s sunny smile and cheerful, “Hi!”

He startled as if Luna herself had spoken, then grinned sheepishly and touched his forehead, like an English peasant to his lady.

Even Rae looked at him as if she didn’t know how to react to such weirdness.

Max climbed into the helicopter and handed their luggage down to Dylan.

While Dylan stashed it in the golf cart he said to Kellen, “My wife is sorry she couldn’t be here to greet you.”

“I’d love to meet her,” Kellen told him.

Dylan’s pale blue eyes grew wide behind the thick lens of his glasses, and he stood very still as if to avoid detection. “I’ll let Jamie know.”

Translation: I said the proper thing, but the truth is, she doesn’t want to meet you.

So Max was right—Jamie Conkle really didn’t want anybody intruding on her privacy. Interesting.

“If you’d like to walk,” Dylan said, “I’ll transport your bags to the house.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Max inclined his head, but his gaze never left Dylan.

Dylan headed across the lawn at full speed.

Kellen waited until they had walked a little way before asking, “What’s wrong with him?”