Deadly Paradise River of Fear Sins of Her Father

Kathleen Mix

Thrilling Stories of Romance and Suspense

Deadly Paradise

Deadly Paradise

Alicia Kincaid's two-year-old son is missing, last seen onboard her ex-husband's airplane when it vanished in the Bermuda Triangle. The authorities have found no trace of them and presume both father and son are dead, but Alicia won't rest until she knows for sure.

Rogue pilot Jake Dawson accepts Alicia's search charter but vows to stay detached from the beautiful divorcee and her problems. But every day he flies over the Bahamas with her by his side puts him closer to losing his objectivity.

When clues indicate the boy is alive and mysterious accidents hint someone wants to kill Alicia, Jake resolves to protect her at any cost. He may run from love but not from trouble.

Alicia refuses to be distracted from her search by Jake, but needs him to stay alive and help her save her child. When they find the danger to their lives is real, will it be too late for their hearts?


     Alicia Kincaid leaned her head on her hand and struggled to control her rising frustration.
     Where the hell was Jake Dawson?
     Drumming her fingers on the battered table, she glanced at the clock behind the bar for the twentieth time in as many minutes. Under normal circumstances, she would have walked out when someone was this late for an appointment. But today she had no choice. If she was going to find her son, she needed a pilot.
     She turned toward the open doorway and drained the last of the lukewarm iced tea from her glass. A burly black man with scraggly dreadlocks stepped to the entrance and blocked her line of sight. He stood there for a few seconds, then looked back over his shoulder and met her gaze with pure malevolence smoldering in his eyes. The man arched one eyebrow and smirked before turning away. As he strutted outside, spat in the dirt, and moved out of view, Alicia wondered why he'd stared at her like a bug he wanted to squash.
     She shifted her attention to the far side of the dusty road. A hedge of ragged hibiscus baked in the tropical sun, and palm fronds drooped in the still air. Alicia tucked a few strands of hair behind her left ear, thinking the plants looked as wilted as she felt and the Bahamas in mid-August was more like Hades than the 'temperate paradise' hyped in Ministry of Tourism brochures. Just sitting still, sweat beaded on her forehead.
     This heat could dehydrate anyone struggling to survive in a life raft.
     Especially a child.
     Alicia shivered, swallowed the lump in her throat, and tried to shake off the haunting image of Shawn's eyes, sad enough to cry but lacking the moisture for tears.
     She drew in a deep breath. Sitting here was a waste of time, precious time she could be searching.
     "Hand over the other twenty, you miserable sack of scum!"
     Alicia's breath caught in her throat and the hairs on her nape stood straight. A mug flew by so close to her ear she felt the hot breeze. She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding wildly as the mug crashed to the floor. Scanning the area around her, she searched for an escape path from the chaos engulfing the bar.
     She ducked as another mug shattered against the wall. Glass shards and beer rained onto the table in front of her. She snatched up a heavy ashtray in case she needed a weapon.
     A hand clamped on her forearm like a vise, and the ashtray slipped from her grasp.
     She yanked her arm away and kicked at her captor's shin. He had at least an eight inch and fifty-pound advantage. But her muscles were strong from her daily swims, and her aim was deadly as she bent a knee and drove it up toward his groin.
     He twisted away. She lost her balance and missed.
     His grip held firm as he hustled her to a room divider, then pushed her behind it and down onto the floor.
     "Damn it, woman, calm down. I've got half a mind to give those drunken fools what they deserve and toss you back out there."
     "Let go of me!" she snarled, still kicking at him.
     "Gladly." He released her arm and raised his hands, palms toward her. Kneeling on one knee, he leaned backward and out of range. Above the noise of more furniture crashing against the floor and male voices swearing and grunting, he yelled, "You are Alicia Kincaid, aren't you?"
     She glared at the man crouched next to her. Professional pilots were supposed to look distinguished, wear crisp uniforms, and tip their caps to welcome first-class passengers. This man looked like a mercenary. His wheat-colored hair was uncombed, and the stubble of a not-too-recent shave darkly shadowed his square jaw and high-boned cheeks. The steely blue eyes drilling into her held a hint of danger.
     This was Shawn's savior? It was all she could do to keep her shoulders from slumping.
     "You? You're Jake Dawson?"

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