Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (19 page)

They slowly drank demitasse cups of
cafe tinto
, strong black coffee essence that did indeed look like ink. It was an acquired taste, but Delanie needed the jolt of caffeine.

"Doing okay?" Kyle appeared taller, leaner somehow, very sexy, she thought ruefully, in his well-cut, taupe-colored Italian pants, thin snakeskin belt, and crisp taupe-and-white-striped, long-sleeved dress shirt open at the throat. He'd come back from inside where he'd gone to use the phone. Bandbox fresh, and smelling of soap, he took the chair against the wall.

Wearing yesterday's jeans and a wrinkled red T-shirt, Delanie felt scruffy next to his sartorial splendor.

She hadn't bothered with makeup, although surprisingly he'd packed a few items for her.

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She shrugged. "Okay. All things considered." She sounded as contrary and uncomfortable as she felt.

Her face felt warm.

She'd remembered more while she'd slept. Mostly jumbled images, all erotic. All annoyingly, tantalizingly out of reach, as though viewing a movie through a dense filter, a movie with long gaps of dark screen where her imagination filled in the blanks. And made it worse.

The proprietor arrived with huge platters of huevos rancheros, tortillas, and salsa, which he set before them on the rickety table. After a brief conversation in Spanish with the man, Kyle concentrated on his breakfast.

Other than those few words in the room, he hadn't spoken since they'd walked the two blocks to the restaurant. It was rather like waiting for the other shoe to drop. She ran her fingers through her still-damp hair and let it fall back on her neck.

"I'll drop you off in town to do some shopping." Kyle looked over at her, then drained his cup. "There's a cafe in the center of town where we can meet."

He glanced at his Rolex. "I'll be finished with my business by noon, I'll pick you up then. If you're hungry again, order lunch there."

The eggs, mixed with the thick, black coffee, had already turned to cement in her stomach. "I won't be hungry after this huge breakfast." She gave him a cool look. "Feel free to come and get me at any time. I have no intention of shopping or sightseeing while my sister's life is in danger."

"Good. Stay in the room."

"I'd prefer to stick with you."

"Sorry, babe, I don't have time to play. I have a business meeting."

"Actually,
babe
," she said through her teeth, "I don't want to
play
either. I just want to make sure of my ride back up the mountain."

Kyle motioned for the waiter, paid him, then sat back while the man cleared the table. As soon as he was gone, he said briskly, "Get out your passport, and stick it under your clothes." He scanned her plain T-shirt and skintight jeans. "Somewhere."

He opened his wallet and handed her a couple of hundred-dollar bills. U.S. "Put these inside. The police or the soldiers can stop you at any time. They'll threaten you with jail, but they'll take a bribe to let you go. Give them
all
the money. And Delanie? For God's sake,
don't
give them any grief." He gave her that hard look she was coming to hate. "In San Cristobal, if you're in jail, they throw away the key."

"I'll be sure to be my sweet little ol' self," she Marilyn Monroe'd, taking the bills and stuffing them between the pages of her passport.

He drained his cup, then set it down on the table. "You'll be safe as long as you don't go off the main thoroughfares." Kyle took a gold pen from his pocket, bent down to scrawl a number on a napkin, then tore off the corner and handed it to her. "Stick this in there, too, just in case your purse is lifted."

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"What is it?" She glanced at the scraggly bit of paper, memorizing the number automatically. "Your Swiss bank account?"

"An emergency phone number if you get into trouble." He gave her the evil eye. "Don't get into trouble, jungle girl. I have a full plate today."

"I won't be with you," she said sweetly. "So I'll be on my
very
best behavior."

He stuck the pen back in his breast pocket, and said curtly, "Finish your coffee. I have another call to make, then we'll go back for the jeep."

Lined with flowering, brilliant yellow mimosa trees and picturesque sidewalk cafes, Avenida del Sol throbbed with a Latin beat. People crowded on the sidewalks of the main street seemed to have a rhythm in their step as they walked.

Delanie glanced at the clock on the City Hall tower across the street. It was barely nine a.m. Kyle had dropped her right outside the little cafe where they were to meet at noon.

The first thing she'd done was use the pay phone inside.

She hadn't expected an answer from Lauren's apartment in Vegas, but she tried the number anyway. No answer.

Next she called her mom in L.A.—it was the middle of the night there, but she got no answer there either.

She woke her Aunt Pearl from a dead sleep and listened to her litany of problems and complaints for several minutes.

"Tell Grandpa," Delanie said firmly, "that if he doesn't take his medicine, I said you can take him to the senior center and leave him there until I get home. He'll take them. And are
you
taking your blood pressure meds, Auntie P?"

Delanie listened patiently, heard all about cousin Sandy's latest drama and William's current girlfriend, a bimbo who had shifty eyes. There wasn't a damn thing she could do about any of it until she got home.

"I have to go. The tour bus is waiting." She cut her aunt off in the middle of a lengthy discourse on the perils of teenagers driving. Delanie presumed she was referring to one of her numerous cousins.

"Give everyone my love. Lauren and I will see you soon. Yes, the weather's lovely, and no we won't get too much sun on the beach. Yes, I'll bring you back an exotic souvenir."

She returned the phone to its hook and went to find a table. Nobody back home was in the hospital or in jail. For now.

She'd ordered a bottled water and nursed it while sitting under a red-and-white-striped awning outside the cafe. She cautiously slung her bag across her chest bandoleer-style and settled it on her lap as a prop for her book. But watching the lightning-fast pickpockets at work proved far more entertaining.

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There were half a dozen people seated at the tables in the outdoor cafe. Three women, baskets filled with produce from the market, sat to her left. Delanie would've loved knowing what they were so animated about, and how on earth they could hear each other since they were all gesturing and talking very loudly all at the same time.

A wrinkled old man played chess by himself at a far table.

And two men were seated just out of polite line of sight. One, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, looked like a scared football player. The other, in a summer-weight suit, looked like a businessman.

Delanie wondered absently what the two men had in common.

And thinking about a businessman—What
kind
of business was Kyle doing? When they'd gone back to the hotel after breakfast, he'd returned from the room wearing a jacket, a tie, and an expression impossible to read.

She reminded herself that she'd acknowledged the danger weeks ago. Kyle was just part and parcel of the same hazardous route to her sister.

She
hated
this. Hated feeling as though she weren't in control of herself or the circumstances. She'd never believed in knights and white steeds. She'd learned the hard way that people made and broke promises all the time. She accepted that. Which was why
she
never made a promise she couldn't keep.

Her family needed someone they could count on.

She wished to God that thinking about Kyle didn't make her heart speed up and her palms sweat.

Because tenderness slipped, like fragile beams of sunlight, between his moments of darkness. And a gentle touch from Kyle had a more frightening impact on her than his threats.

"Señora?" A child sidled up to her table. Black hair matted, wearing a too-small dress, the little girl looked about three or four.

Suddenly, and without warning, all the air in Delanie's lungs dissipated in a rush that bled the oxygen from her brain.

Oh God, not now, please, not now.

Unexpected pain, so sharp it took her breath, held her immobilized as she stared down at the pinched little face looking up at her.

Struggling to stuff a mountain of emotion back into a tiny corner of her heart, Delanie managed to refocus on the child before her. The moment the child had her attention, the little girl made a money gesture, rubbing thumb and fingers together, her eyes huge in her dirty elfin face.

"Do you speak English, sweetheart?" Delanie leaned forward, not surprised when her voice sounded choked. Brown eyes looked up at her with hungry, pleading despair. The waiter came out of the cafe and tried to shoo the child away, flapping his apron and yelling. Delanie glared at him and cleared the pain from her vocal cords.

"Please bring out a glass of milk and something for her to eat."

He didn't like it but he went back inside, muttering to himself. The child took a few steps back, but she didn't run. Her eyes never left Delanie's face.

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In a few moments the man was back. He slammed a loaded plate on the table and spilled milk from the glass he set beside it. After handing him several bills, she beckoned the child, indicating the food was for her.

The little girl didn't hesitate. She rolled egg and sausage into a tortilla then stuffed it, oozing, into her pocket. Little brown fingers rapidly constructed another, which she gulped down hurriedly, her eyes focused on Delanie without blinking as she ate.

Delanie watched helplessly as the child mopped the plate with the last tortilla. All she could do was give her a handful of money when she was done. The child was off and running, dashing between the traffic and pedestrians alike as she forged across the busy road.

The child was defenseless, vulnerable, and all alone, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

Delanie's heart ached for the little girl. Worse was the self-pity that swamped her, leaving her shaken and sad.

She had to snap out of this.
Now
.

Her fingers tightened on her purse as two soldiers, dressed in San Cristobal military uniforms, came toward her table. She let out the breath she'd been holding when they strolled past her to talk to three pretty young girls at the newspaper kiosk beside the cafe.

Despite the climbing heat, Delanie shivered.

She was a woman alone in a deadly situation, unprotected and vulnerable, but hardly helpless. Kyle didn't give a damn about Lauren. He had nothing to lose by leaving her sitting right here waiting for him until doomsday. He knew she'd never find anyone to take her back up Izquierdo.

He wasn't coming back for her.

The bastard was
banking
on her chickening out and giving up.

"You aren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy," she told herself grimly. Standing, she slung her bag securely in front of her hip, then hailed a cab.

«^»

Delanie sat in the passenger seat of the helicopter with the door open. The stagnant air, steamy-hot and oppressive, made her heavy jeans cling to her legs like a damp shroud. It was going to rain. She stared out at the empty dirt road snaking through the jungle and wondered when Kyle would decide to show up at the airfield.

Oh, he'd show all right. He had no intention of going back to the cafe to pick her up, she just knew it.

Damn, damn, and double damn. She popped a couple of Maalox, then decided it wouldn't hurt to take another. Holding the plastic bottle in her lap, she flipped the lid, snapping it up and down impatiently.

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She wished to God the little girl hadn't jarred her memories to the forefront. Not here. Not now. She felt as raw inside today as she had in the hospital more than three years ago.

She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing the blur of the green curtains in the emergency room race by her gurney, hearing her own agonized, pitiful cries. Smelling again the instantly recognizable odor of a hospital. Antiseptic. Pain. Despair. Death. It was as though she was there again.

Alone.

Struggling uselessly to stay in control of what was happening. She'd had mixed emotions when she'd found out she was pregnant with Kyle's child. Her first thought had been delight. Unmitigated joy.

Then reality had reared its ugly head. Her family had been horrified that she'd even consider having the child. The baby would be yet another responsibility. Another mouth to feed. Another person to depend on her.

And hearing their outcry, Delanie had suddenly resented them. They'd all depended on her for years, and God only knew there was little enough time to wrangle what she had on her plate as it was. But she'd wanted the baby. Kyle's baby, damn it.

Delanie had felt small and selfish. But she'd been bone-deep tired of being the only one to fix everything in the family. She'd been only twenty-four, and had already felt as old as Methuselah. Alone. Always alone. But for the first time, she was going to do something only for herself. She was going to have Kyle's baby and love it. No matter how it might inconvenience the family.

In the five months following the magical and almost dreamlike time with Kyle, she transferred all her love and hope to his unborn child.

Only to lose her.

And afterward, when she had been taken up to a ward, when she lay cold and empty, her arms aching with her loss, did Delanie realize just how badly she'd
needed
his baby.

She pressed her fingertips against her dry eye sockets, and wished she could cry. It might relieve some of the pressure in her chest and behind her eyes. But weeping was a useless waste of time.