Drakon stepped out and Morgan was just about to follow when heavy footsteps crunched the gravel drive and Rowan appeared at their side.

“Where have you been?” Rowan demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”

“My mobile didn’t ring,” Drakon answered.

“I called,” Rowan said. “Repeatedly.” He turned to look at Morgan, his expression apologetic. “Your father was moved from his village today and we don’t know where he is at the moment. But my office is gathering intelligence now that should help us understand what happened, why and where he’s being held now.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MORGAN PACED THE living room, unable to stop moving, unable to be still.

How could her father have vanished? Where had he been taken? And why? Had he gotten sick? Had he died? What were his captors reason for moving him?

She reached the end of the living room, turned and started back again. She’d traveled this path for ten minutes now but there was no way she could sit, not when fear bubbled up in her, consuming her.

Drakon was at the opposite end of the living room, watching her, keeping her company. “Where did they take him, Drakon?” she said, stopping midstep. “Why did they move him?”

She’d asked him the same questions already, several times, as a matter of fact, but he answered just as patiently now. “As Rowan explained, high-profile hostages are often moved from one location to another to stymie rescue attempts.”

“Do you think they knew we were planning something?”

“I doubt it. Rowan doesn’t think so, either, but we don’t know for sure. Fortunately, his office is diligently gathering intelligence now and we should know more soon. Believe me, your father is at the top of Dunamas’s priority list.”

“He’s right,” Bronwyn said, entering the living room with a brisk step, her deceptively simple knit dress, the color of ripe plums, making the most of her lush shape. “Dunamas is pulling all their sources and resources from other tasks to gather information on your father, leaving dozens of ships, countless sailors and hundreds of millions of dollars of cargo vulnerable to attack.”

“That’s not necessary, Bron,” Drakon said, rebuking her.

“But it’s true.” She leaned on the back of a wing chair, her blond hair smooth and sleek and falling forward in an elegant golden shimmer. The expression in her blue eyes was mocking and she shot Drakon a challenging glance. “I know you don’t like to discuss business in front of your wife, but shouldn’t she know the truth? That Dunamas is dropping everything, and everyone, because Morgan Copeland’s criminal father has changed village locations?”

Morgan flinched at Bronwyn’s words. “Is that true? Has Dunamas pulled all its surveillance and protection from its other clients?”

“No,” Drakon said flatly. “It’s not true. While Dunamas has made your father a priority, it continues its surveillance and protective services for each ship, and every customer, it’s been hired to protect.”

“But at tremendous personal expense,” Bronwyn retorted.