Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (11 page)

The rain dripped from the eaves, making gurgling, splashing
sounds that seemed to blend with the music. The air conditioning had been
turned off and the doors thrown open to the rainy night. The leather couch, as
Kelly settled herself in one corner, had a damp feel to it because of the
humidity. Charles moved to stand in the doorway, staring out into the drenched
darkness beyond the veranda. Kelly let her glance touch his broad back for an
instant, then shifted her gaze to the bookcases with their collection of
westerns, murder mysteries, historical romances, and back issues of National
Geographic. She thought of going to her bedroom for her book, then decided
against it. As long as Charles showed no sign of settling down to some such
innocuous way of passing the evening, she could not either.

“Do you play gin rummy?” he asked, turning to lean in the
door frame.

“Not very well.”

“Scrabble? I believe there’s a board in the cabinet.”

She gave him a level look. “You don’t have to entertain me.”

“I was thinking of myself.”

“Were you?” she inquired skeptically. “You don’t seem like
the gin-rummy type to me.”

“And just how do I strike you?”

She tilted her head. “Book, pipe, and slippers?”

“Close,” he agreed, one corner of his mouth tugging in a
smile, “though I don’t smoke.”

“Or else a good restaurant, the theater, and a few night
clubs before dawn.”

“Closer still, but don’t stop there.”

“Playboy Club?”

“Wrong,” he answered with a grimace. “I prefer my women
without rabbit ears, false cleavage, and cuteness.”

“Let me see, then,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Preservation
Hall Dixieland jazz? Café au lait and beignets at the Cafe du Monde at three o’clock
in the morning?”

“Are you certain you have never been to New Orleans?”

“I told you, I read a lot.”

“You must let me take you there sometime.”

“It seems unlikely,” she said, her tone sharp with the
sudden desolation the rebuke cost her.

“Who can say?”

The hostage mentality worked both ways, she reminded
herself. The captor enjoying complete control over another human being often
experienced feelings of affection not unlike that of a parent for a child,
especially if some form of communication could be established, and if the
captive responded with the proper subservience. Charles felt responsible for
her, perhaps even pitied her helplessness even though he himself was the cause.

She ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. She seemed
to have lost the thread of what they were saying. Oh, yes, an occupation for
Charles for the evening hours. “I — I suppose before I came the others kept you
company, even stayed here with you?”

“Not really. I’m not addicted to television, and I prefer my
privacy.”

“Having me here must be a trial for you.”

“Yes,” he agreed, the smile creeping back into his eyes, “but
not in the way that you mean.”

Kelly did not dare to let herself think about that. “If you
have something to read, I don’t mind.”

“I’m not certain,” he said slowly, “that it wouldn’t be more
interesting exploring a few more of your opinions. For instance, what do you
think of politics?”

She sent him a swift look, reminded of her earlier curiosity
concerning him and the senator. “Not much. It seems to be a thankless
undertaking for men of principles, or else a dirty game for men who have money,
or want it.”

“You don’t like money,” he queried softly.

“Of course I do,” she answered with a quick gesture of her
wine glass, “but there are limits to what I will do for it.”

“And men with money?”

“You don’t seriously want an answer to that?” she asked, a
frown between her eyes as she wondered what he was getting at.

“Why not? Or have you never considered the matter?”

“You would never believe that, would you? Men with money,”
she went on thoughtfully, then said with a sly look, “Old men or young men?
Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t like ostentation; flashy diamond rings, satin
dinner jackets, or foot-long cigars. I don’t like noisy sports cars that are
expensive enough to be quieter. I don’t like expensive houses built in the
United States to look like something found in Europe. I don’t like people who
complain about the burden of sudden riches, nor old monied families who
consider the wealth sufficient reason for their existence,”

When she came to a pause, he inserted skillfully, “Is there
anything you do like?”

“Quiet elegance, old houses carefully restored, vintage
automobiles, handsome old silver, hand-made lace —”

“I was speaking of the combination of money and men,” he
reminded her.

“That’s harder,” she said, tipping her head to one side, “since
I haven’t run across the two together very often. I suppose I like the
experience that a certain amount of money gives a man; the knowledge of how to
order in a restaurant, and how much to tip. I like the assurance and the
dynamic sense of power you feel around the movers and shakers of the world.”

“Fascinating,” he commented.

She sipped at the golden liquid that filled the glass in her
hand. “You needn’t jeer. You asked what I thought, and I told you, but it doesn’t
mean anything. What a man is like has little to do with money.”

“Most people have a hard time separating the two.”

“By that I suppose you mean most women?”

“Unfortunately, yes, and before you pounce on that and
accuse me of being a chauvinist, I think I will find that book!”

It had been a peculiar conversation. Lying in her bed some
time later, listening to the softly falling rain, Kelly went over it in her
mind. What had been his object in drawing out her opinions on the subject of
politics, men, and money? What could they have to do with him, or with the
situation they were in?

Could it be that there was a political motivation behind his
kidnapping of the senator? Was he a radical of some sort, an activist fighting
for the common man with nothing but contempt for politicians and wealthy men?
If that were the case, then what did he think of the views she had expressed?
Had she shown herself to be too much the moderate capitalist? Would he, as time
went by, try to persuade her to his views?

She lay frowning up into the darkness above her, trying to
sort out her own feelings. She held no brief for political terrorists, men who
committed horrible deeds in the name of the common good; and yet, wasn’t it
better to think that what he was doing sprang from deep conviction instead of
simple larceny?

What was she doing? Surely she was not attempting to condone
what he had done? What was the matter with her that she could not hold her
anger or resolution where he was concerned? He had only to smile at her, or
look at her with that warm expression of humor in his eyes, and she began to
make excuses for him. This must stop. No matter the reason, what he was doing
was outside the law, an interference with the basic freedom of not one but two
people, a crime for which the punishment would be life imprisonment. He had
spoken with the utmost casualness of the death of the man he was holding and as
far as she knew, he would be just as casual about her own demise.

Kelly arose early after a restless night. The effects were
plain to see as she looked in the mirror while she ran a brush through her
hair. She was pale, and beneath her eyes lay the blue shadows of fatigue. It
didn’t matter. She cared not at all what she looked like, and it certainly made
no difference how she appeared to Charles. In fact, it might be all to the good
if she presented herself looking wan and hollow-eyed, though she suspected that
if he noticed at all, he would be more likely to send her back to bed with a
sleeping pill than to be sympathetic.

A sleeping pill. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? He had
some with him, she thought. He had mentioned it when he was trying to force her
to take his aspirins. If only he could be persuaded to down a few. While he was
comatose, she could search his room, or even him personally, for her car keys
and billfold. By the time he awoke, she could be miles away, telling her
incredible tale to the police. It seemed that was the only way she was going to
escape. He was much too light a sleeper, much too alert to her every movement,
for anything else to be possible. She had only to wait until he left her alone
in the house again, giving her the opportunity to search for the pills. Then
she would have to manufacture an opportunity to slip them into his food or
drink, that was all.

That was all? The mere thought of carrying out such a plan
tied her stomach in knots. What he would do if he caught her at any stage was
something she dared not contemplate. Still, she could not just do nothing,
letting the minutes, hours, and days go by, accepting whatever he might say or
do while she staked her future on a vague feeling that he was attracted to her.
Such a thing would mean less than nothing, especially if she should prove a
danger to him.

The rain had stopped in the early-morning hours. The sun was
out, brightening the house with the peculiar golden light of September. Charles
was seated at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him when she entered
the dining area. He saluted her with the cup. “It’s freshly made and still hot,”
he said. “I would have brought it to you, but that didn’t go over too well
yesterday morning.”

She moved past him into the kitchen where she poured herself
a cup of the steaming brew, then returned to slide into a chair at the round
oak table.

“You are walking better this morning,” he commented.

She had forgotten to limp. Her reply was short. “Yes.”

His gaze flicked over her, returning to her face. “How would
you like to go fishing?”

“Fishing?” Her head came up and she stared at him.

“It’s the only way I know of to provide the fish dinner you
were talking about.”

“This morning?” she asked, enthusiasm slowly lighting the
gray of her eyes.

“I don’t see why not.”

Her face fell. “We haven’t anything to use for bait.”

“I doubt the bream will be biting after the storm last
night, but the striped bass are schooling, and the judge had a good assortment
of rods and reels and artificial baits. Since he said we were free to make use
of them, I intend to take him at his word. We may be lucky enough to catch a
few bass to eat, and if not, it’s still something to do.”

So he was not immune to boredom, or the problem of spending
long stretches of time with one person. “I suppose so,” she agreed.

“I’m not particularly hungry just now. What about you?” As
she shook her head, he went on. “We can pack something to eat in the middle of
the morning then. We won’t have to be in any hurry to return.”

They weren’t long in putting such a simple plan into action.
Laying out a battered, much-used picnic basket, they loaded it with a box of
raisins, a jar of dry roasted nuts, a can of processed meat, a loaf of bread,
and a jar of pickles. While Charles was putting cold drinks on ice, Kelly ran
to her room to slip on her blue bikini under her shorts and shirt. If the day
grew as hot as she suspected it might, this would be a fine opportunity to work
on her tan again. Also, you never could tell. It seemed unlikely there would be
a chance to part company with Charles, considering how good a swimmer he was
and what close quarters they would have to share in the boat, but it was best
to be prepared.

It crossed her mind to dart into his room for a quick search
of the medicine chest in his bathroom while he was busy in the kitchen. It was
a good thing she did not act on the impulse, for as she emerged from her room,
he was just leaving his also, after changing his pants and sports shirt for a
pair of cut-off jeans and a tee-shirt.

A life vest had to be found for both of them, as well as a
hat to protect their heads and faces from the sun, a suitable rod and reel
each, and a tackle box containing a fair collection of lures, plastic worms,
top-water baits, and all the other paraphernalia necessary for bringing home
the catch. With these things in hand, they made their way to the boathouse.
Charles unlocked it, and they stowed their gear in the judge’s bass boat. There
was another delay while the outboard motor, unused for some time, was checked out.
Charles filled the double gas tanks from the drum of spare fuel, handed Kelly
into the boat, and cranked the motor.

At last they were edging out into the lake, pushing an
iridescent swell before the heavy boat, stirring a not unpleasantl fishy smell
from the water. Their progress scared up a young family of ducks, half-grown
birds that erupted from the water with a great squawking and flapping and
tip-toeing over the surface before they took to flight. Kelly sat in the
forward captain’s chair of the two that were bolted to the bass boat, since the
controls for the outboard motor were in the rear. She turned to Charles with a
grin, her eyes alight with pleasure.

There was an invigorating purity to the air this morning, as
though it had been washed clean by the rain. The sun was warm, and would be
warmer still as the day wore on, but it lacked the sullen, oppressive strength
of the day before. As the boat gathered speed, the wind in her face was
agreeably fresh and sweet. Kelly sat at ease in the armchair while they wove in
and out among the green fringed cypresses and the standing snags of trees long
dead on their way to the channel of the lake. It was odd, but she trusted the
instinct and ability of the man guiding the boat, even if she trusted him in nothing
else.

Six