Songs for Perri (11 page)

"Car accident. She drove into some boulders. Next to our driveway."

"I'm sorry."

"The hurt, the pain is still intense. I loved her so much. She was a good friend besides being my mother."

Shaken, Perri buried her face against his chest,drawing from his strength. His muscles were hard; it was like hanging onto a man of iron, but his understanding voice and the loud beating of his heart changed the hardness into a sympathetic tower of strength. His arms tightened, telling Perri she was welcome to cling to him as long as she needed.

Hugo pulled Perri closer to him so she couldn't see his face, contorted in pain from her announcement. It was a good thing he had on the dark glasses to hide the tears. He clamped his teeth to keep from crying out in anguish, and shut his eyes tightly.

"She was quite a woman," he murmured.

Perri might think he was holding her to comfort her, but it was to comfort himself, too. He had grown to love Crystal like a mother. When he had been sick, she had come to his apartment every day bringing him soup, doing his laundry and other "mom" things for him. Taking care of him.

He had had a short but fierce battle with a disease—some foreign bug he'd picked up. Crystal had helped him get well just before he had left for Africa. When he had managed to help the tribal leader keep his people safe from a rebel threat, the old chief, Wantambu, had given him the pendant and a spear as a token of gratitude. Hugo had kept the spear, but the pendant he had given to Crystal on her wedding anniversary as a "Thank You." He had wondered why Perri was wearing it, the first time he saw her, because Crystal usually wore it all the time. But he didn't question it. Crystal was such a generous person, she could have easily loaned it to Perri.

He fought the tears, glad that the hotel fern was large and hid them well. Perri was in better shape than he was, having had time to adjust to her mother's death. She was already starting to pull away from him, and he pulled her back. He wondered if he could even talk. He had to force himself past that point of grief and tend to the matters at hand. But it hurt. It hurt terribly.

Crystal had always set a plate for him when he'd come by. She had understood when he needed to talk about the girl who had left him because of his job. Crystal had listened and commiserated and talked him through his depression. She said that time healed, as it had. That there would be other girls down the line, as there hadn't been. But maybe there could be. The slender form of her daughter awakened a longing that he had put behind him.

He breathed in the sweet perfume of Perri's hair. She didn't know he had known her mother. He couldn’t tell her. Until he talked with Walt, he had to keep Perri ignorant of his true identity.

Lifting one hand, he slipped it under the glasses to wipe his eyes. Crystal's death had left a void, ripping out part of his life. He couldn't believe he would never see her cheerful face again, never hear that lilt that came in her voice when she greeted him, or the mischief when she spoke of linking him and Perri some day.

It hurt. Why hadn't Walt warned him? Why hadn't he said something? Anything? He knew now that Walt was grieving, but he could have let him in.

As soon as he got Perri back to her hotel, he would run over and take a quick checkup on the older man. If Walt wasn't still recovering from the bullet wound—and probably laid up for several days—he would have shot him himself. How like the old man not to tell him. Sometimes he carried his need for secrecy too far.

Hugo frowned as he gained more control of his emotions. He understood now the deep depression that hung over Walt. It wasn't just the danger to his son, it was the loss of his wife. Could the two be connected?

He shook his head, as if doing so would clear the unbelievable idea, but the thought persisted. Could the person or persons trying to kill Owen be after Walt also? Or were they now after Walt because he was trying to help Owen? If Crystal had been killed, what would be the motive? Why go after the wife of an old CIA agent?

No, no. She had been in Arizona, while Owen was still in Cuba. That was right, wasn't it? Safe at home. No connection at all.

But his mind wouldn't release the thought. He had run into too many coincidences in his years as an agent to pass them up. Sometimes they were nothing more than coincidences and other times they weren't...and the few times they weren't it had always paid him to check them out.

But if Crystal had been a target, then the killer would also know who Perri was...and might murder her if she returned home. He had to talk this possibility over with Walt. Where was it more dangerous for Perri to be? Here? Or in Arizona?

For Perri it was a particularly poignant moment, of grief shared and the burden of heartache silently passed to stronger shoulders. It was the first time she felt any hope that she might someday come to grips with her mother's death.

When her mother had died, many friends had sympathized with her, but from none of them had she received the comfort she was getting at this moment...from Hugo, of all people! Never had she felt so much a part of a person...a oneness, a rightness. The burden of sorrow was floating away, being replaced by a peaceful acceptance.

When at last she drew back, Hugo took her hands in his large ones and held them tightly. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have asked. Let's move on, dearest."

He sounded deeply moved, filled with compassion, Perri thought. Or empathy. Some people were very sensitive to other's sorrows.

There was a caring, emotional man hidden behind the dark glasses and flippant manner. Perri felt herself responding to his gentleness in a way she would have scoffed at a day earlier.

They left the hotel and he stayed with her for the rest of the day, making time pass faster and the task easier.

"That's the last one in this area. It'll soon be getting dark," he stated. "We could continue, but you're worn out. Let's quit and get an early start tomorrow."

Perri paused. Part of her demanded that she continue searching until she found Walt. Another part said she should check in at the hotel in case Walt had sent a message. "I don't want to stop. I'll go back to the hotel, take a long cool shower, then decide."

"Good idea. I'll do the same—in my own room, of course," he added.

"If only the shower stalls had stoppers in them; I'd soak my sore feet in cold water."

"Dinner tonight?"

"No. I'll either renew my search or go to bed." Unless, she added wearily to herself, someone slips another ticket under my door.

"Then we'll make it an early dinner."

"I'm sorry, but no."

"A boyfriend back home?" he suggested.

She grabbed at the excuse. "Yes."

"You're not wearing a ring, so you're still fair game. We'll eat at seven. What's his name?"

"Who? Oh...John."

He laughed easily. "Too slow. You gotta be faster than that if you want out. I bet this John doesn't even have a last name."

Her mind was mentally shot and all she could do was glare at him while he waggled his index finger at her accusingly and then flagged down a taxi.

Perri allowed him to help her inside. She had been running on adrenalin and nerves the last part of the day and was visibly drooping from the strain. Exhaustion hit her in the same way a long-distance runner "hit the wall."

She didn't object when Hugo put his long arm around her and eased her head over to rest on his muscular shoulder, his other hand brushing her hair back tenderly from where it swirled around her neck, lightly caressing the sensitive skin.

He's a charmer, Perri thought, knowing that the tremor that passed down her spine was the result of the accomplished touch of a master.

She really shouldn't let him take charge, she knew, but she was too tired to argue. As Anna had said, he would probably be impossible to say "no" to, anyway. Her mind refused to cope with the problem while her body gladly accepted the comfort Hugo gave so competently. This seemed the logical thing to do at the moment. She relaxed against him gladly.

Underneath the brashness and the hoodlum attire, there was a sensitivity that continued to astonish Perri. So lost and bewildered and alone was she at the moment that she gratefully accepted Hugo's help and companionship.

Yet was Hugo helping her or using her to find Owen? There was no way she could tell. She could only hope that what she was doing was right. Once she had found Walt, she'd warn him about Hugo, give him the message, and go home.

Fighting off her negative thoughts, Perri looked out the window. The taxi was traveling down the Malecon, the boulevard that wound along the western edge of the city. The sun was dropping low on the horizon, its brilliance making it almost impossible to look westward.

Hugo was humming a song that she realized she had heard before—the tune was familiar—but one she couldn't place. It was a relaxing, ballad-type tune, but the beat was unusual. Before she could ask him what it was, he was humming something different. This one she knew and quietly sang the words in her low alto. He switched to sing softly along with her.

"Your voice is better than mine," she laughed, trying to hold the notes as long as he did.

"Practice. I always sing as I drive."

"Are you a truck driver?"

"Sometimes. I do a lot of driving."

"What do you do?"

"Right now I'm traveling around, picking up the odd job whenever I need money. It doesn't take much to live on in Mexico. I'm on a job right now that pays well."

He must be, she thought, recalling the rate per day at their expensive hotel.

The taxi deposited them at the main door and Hugo paid the fare. They checked for messages. There were none, but her replacement credit card was there. Thankfully she signed it and put it into her wallet.

They walked to their rooms, laughing as Hugo described a frightened parasailer that had almost crash-landed on his balcony.

He left her at her door and opened his. "See you shortly," he said, but she shook her head, stating she was going to rest.

Once inside, Perri glanced quickly at the marble floor. No envelope. Relieved, for she didn't think she could take another disappointment, she locked the bathroom door and showered, letting the cool water beat down upon her tender, throbbing scalp to remove the excess heat that had almost broiled her brains.

Putting on a yellow short sleeved blouse and a pair of white cotton shorts, she lay down on her back on the bed, feet propped up on a pillow, arms thrown askew above her head in exhaustion. A short rest only, then she'd start looking again....

A knock awakened her. She had dozed off and it took a moment to re-orient herself. The knock came again, insistent, upon the connecting door.

"What do you want?" Perri demanded, crossly. She wasn't about to open the door to Hugo. No telling when she'd get it closed again. He had a knack for getting his own way.

Laying back against the pillows, she crossed her arms and shut her eyes tightly.

His voice was cordial...and enticing. "Dinner's ready. Time to eat."

Dinner? Sitting up, she looked at the time. She had been asleep for over an hour.

Still barefoot, she walked across the cool marble to the door. She was terribly thirsty, somewhat hungry, and not nearly as tired as before her nap.

Impatient, Hugo rattled the door knob. "Open up, if you're decent."

She glared at the offending handle. Why was Hugo pressing so hard? She had already told him she wouldn't have dinner with him. "Go away!"

"Can't. This is my room."

She took a steadying breath before answering. "I don't want—”

His calm voice interrupted her flare of temper. "You've got to eat, you know. This way, you don't have to go out. Come as you are."

It was tempting. She glanced at the floor. No envelope.

"I ordered it just for you." His voice wasn't begging —Perri couldn't imagine Hugo ever begging for anything—but it was somehow compelling. She thought of how Hugo had claimed he wanted to tell her things he shouldn't. Well, he made her want to do things she shouldn't...such as join him in the next room for dinner.

If she was smart, she'd leave the connecting door closed and locked. Dinner in his room? Really...she'd have to be dumb to fall for that.

But she wasn't dumb so much as lonely, and she'd begun to trust this stranger with the unpredictable manners. Her hand hovered near the lock.

"Perri? You coming?"

Refusing to give her decision any more thought, Perri pulled back the lock on the connecting door and swung it open.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The first thing she encountered was his eyes.

Gone were the dark glasses which had bothered her so much. The suddenness of meeting the piercing blaze which lay behind them brought Perri to a halt.

Hugo's gaze — dark, brilliant and searching — swept boldly over her slim figure, surveying with satisfaction her hair still tousled from sleep, her lips parted in startled wonder. His eyes gleamed as they met hers, enjoying the astonishment evident on her face as she stared at a Hugo she scarcely recognized.

In a radical change from his usual dark and piratical outfits, he wore a white, short-sleeved shirt with navy trim, white slacks and white tennis shoes. He hadn't cut his hair, but the white clothes and a minty smell of aftershave somehow made his character — and the scar over one eye — seem less sinister.

This Hugo was infinitely more appealing; and she felt the surge of attraction kick ruthlessly through her, knocking her senses askew, defying her to deny its existence. It would never do to underestimate him.

It was there for him as well, Perri realized, intuitively reading the fire that flashed into his gaze as it invaded hers.

Their souls met, acknowledged the flame...then pulled back before they were consumed.

He glanced downward, breaking contact, releasing her from his spell. "If Madame will accompany me..." he said, mimicking the waiters of the finer restaurants as he bowed her into the room,"...the table is set. Your dinner is waiting."

Giving him a darkly suspicious glance, for she saw no sign of food, Perri stepped into his room, poised in hesitant readiness for flight, leaving the door open behind her...as if that would help.