Songs for Perri (14 page)

"Sounds like him."

"He wouldn't ride in the
pulmonías
more than once around town; felt that if he spent too much time in them he'd become conspicuous. I persuaded him to stay in his room most of the time. He's as hard to handle as an injured athlete. He'd drive himself into the ground and still keep going."

"That's my Walt. He has a terrible time waiting while others do the work. Did he bring his oral interpreter with him?"

"No. Even well-intentioned people talk too much." Joe's gray eyes hardened as he added, "Tell no one." Then they softened once more. "You're doing a good job, Perri. You've made more progress than Walt and I have."

"But what if I say the wrong thing to the wrong person?"

"Just do your best. Don't worry about anything else except finding Owen. I've got to leave now."

"Just one more thing before you go. When I see Owen's friend, where do I send him?"

"Good point. Tell him to meet us on the beach, in front of that vacant hotel behind the tennis courts. Its just a shell, a project someone started and never finished, out near Sabalo Point. At either 6 a.m. or 6 p.m."

"What if they want a different time?"

"Too bad. They're supposed to be friendly, but I don't like getting hit by friendly fire."

He chuckled when he heard her make a sound of annoyance.

"Must you joke at a time like this?" she demanded tartly.

"Yes. Especially at a time like this." He saw the disbelief in her eyes and went on to say, "When you're in a tight situation, you have to joke around, Perri. You use humor to ease the tension. Otherwise you would be too tight to go into action effectively. Like an athlete, you function better when you're relaxed."

"Oh." She hadn't considered that. Her nerves were so taut right now she didn't know if she could laugh.

"Remember that. If you don't relax, the tension'll destroy you. You get so exhausted, you can't think fast...you can't move."

"I'll remember."

His hand went back to her shoulders, kneading the muscles gently. "You're tight as a bow string right now. Turn around."

She did so and he pushed firmly on her tense shoulder and neck muscles.

"Ow!" She hadn't realized she was so tight. No wonder she had been feeling so tired.

He worked in silence for a few minutes, his hands gentle and strong, impersonal yet comforting as he massaged the tension away in the same manner she had worked out the aches in her step-father's leg. If he'd do this every night....

"Anything else you want to know?" he asked.

"Yes. How did Owen get into this mess?"

"That I can't tell you; except he's helping someone else. Without the extra baggage, Owen would be home by now." He released her with a gentle tap and Perri turned back to face him, noticing again the way his sense of humor swiftly took over and lit up his features.

"Remember, I'll be close. You can leave a message for `Mike' in room 430. I'm not in there very often, but I do check for messages."

With an encouraging squeeze of her hands, he opened the door, slipped into the hallway and was gone. Slowly Perri closed it after him.

What kind of threat existed that made Owen's enemies willing to kill? Perri didn't read too many mysteries, but she knew there had to be a motive. What had her step-brother done or said or seen that made people intent on killing him? Or were they simply after the person he had helped?

At least she didn't have to try to ditch Hugo. That too was a relief. She was beginning to look forward to having him around. More than that, she wanted to spend more time with him...to get to know him better...in spite of the fact that he was Donegal.

Impatient to get things going, she dressed and returned to the lobby, leaving her pendant behind.

At the desk she asked for messages. There were none. She hadn't expected any, but it gave purpose to her presence. There were not many people in the lobby. Most were strangers, although she did see Carl Freeman and Anna together in the coffee shop; and Junior checking out the magazines. She wandered down the corridor between the clothing shops, all closed, then turned to retrace her way back.

The man who had tried to talk her into letting him be her guide was standing right behind her, one arm outstretched to prevent her moving forward.

CHAPTER TEN

She stepped back, her hand slapping against her throat as if to grab the absent pendant in self defense.

"You!"

"
Sí.
" He didn't waste time with preliminaries. "Where's your step-father?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Owen’s."

Maybe he was, but it was not the same man Perri had spoken to on the telephone. This man's voice was higher and he accented his words differently. She took a step backward, aware of the empty corridor stretching out beyond them. "How do I know you're who you say you are?"

"You aren't wearing your pendant, right?'

"Right. Oh, I see what you mean."

"So, where is he?"

"He's nearby. I—”

"This hotel?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean? You've been in touch with him—”

"He'll meet you on the beach, tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. There's an old hotel that wasn't completed—”

"Out by Sabalo?"

"Yes."

"He didn't say where he's staying? We want to see him tonight. Every minute extra is dangerous."

"I'm sorry. He didn't—”

"Then tell him to be there. We're having a hard time keeping Owen and Alvaro hidden."

"Alvaro?"

"Senor Alvaro Suarez, a refugee from Cuba. An important man. The Cuban authorities are all over this town, looking for him."

"Where is Owen hiding?"

"I can't tell you. It might endanger the people who have taken us in."

"But I wouldn't—”

"There are ways of making people talk. It is best you know as little as possible."

"You sound like Walt."

"A clever man, your step-father. Once we meet him tomorrow morning, your part is finished. Go ahead and have a vacation; we'll take it from here."

He turned and strode down a side corridor, leaving Perri to return to her room. As she walked slowly toward the lobby, she stopped at the desk to leave a note for Joe.

Junior was there, asking for messages, and she waited until he left before handing the desk clerk the small slip of paper she had torn from her notebook. "Mike. Room 430. AM meeting arranged."

He took if from her and laid it in the letter box. Perri had done her part. Now it was all up to Walt and Joe.

Wide awake by now, Perri picked up a brochure from the desk describing the various acts there at the hotel and the nights they would be performing. Donegal's photo was on the front, showing him and his small band.

The brochure mentioned the mystique surrounding his life; that he disappeared as soon as his act was finished, keeping his personal life entirely private. There was speculation that he spent his time in his manager's rooms, refusing to see reporters, busily composing new songs, for he was known to be a prolific songwriter. He never checked into the hotel in which he appeared—at least not using his own name—so no one knew just where he stayed.

Perri stared hard at the picture. He sure didn't look like Hugo. The chin was the same, but then Joe's chin looked like Donegal's too: it was a common-looking chin, broad and slightly rounded. It held determination. A decisive chin.

Like Joe, the laugh lines were deep in Donegal's face and the scar—Hugo's scar—wasn't there. Did Hugo camouflage it with make-up?

But the eyes...although not the same color, definitely had Hugo's intensity, now that she had seen Hugo with his dark glasses off. No wonder he wore them everywhere.

How many other women knew his secret? She'd like to believe that she was the only one, but that would be unrealistic. He daren't tell many people...otherwise it would no longer be a secret. What had made him trust her so much that he'd told her after so short an acquaintance?

Even Walt's man hadn't found out when he had checked on him. Well, she wasn't going to be the one to tell Joe.

Returning to her room, she slid open the balcony door to listen to the pounding of the surf and smell the soft scents of the ocean air.

Owen was out there somewhere, in the darkness, waiting for his family to help him. She prayed that all would go smoothly.

Yet it didn't, for Sunday morning at eight, Perri received a phone call from Joe.

"What happened?"

"No one showed up."

"But he promised.... Do you think they followed him back to Owen?"

"Maybe, and maybe not. What did he look like?"

"Well, he was...oh, you saw him. Remember the man Hugo got rid of. Who wanted to be my guide?"

"Uh huh. That's the one?"

"Yes. Perhaps you can find him. You won't need to set up a meeting—”

"No. I've been around Walt too long, Perri. I don't trust anyone. If he contacts you, tell him to come to the beach again."

"I can't just point you out?"

"No. He might be a friend...or, he might be trying to find out who I am to follow me to Owen."

"So what should I do? Wait until I see him again?"

"No. You attract the eye...that hair of yours is like a beacon. Travel around Mazatlan like a tourist ...or do some buying. Take Hugo with you. Maybe Owen will spot you, himself. I don't trust that guide."

"Okay." He hung up and Perri went down for breakfast. Hugo was waiting in the lobby, dressed as usual in dark glasses, black jeans and boots; sporting a white tank top that emphasized his muscular build and well tanned body.

He greeted her with a broad smile of such evident welcome that it brought out her sunniest smile in return, dancing happily across her face. Typically, he didn't ask if he could join her, but engulfed her hand in his, accompanying her out onto the broad open entrance of the hotel.

Already the sun was warm enough to create heat waves and by mutual consent they stopped in the shade of the large entrance portico.

She was dressed as cool as possible in white cotton slacks and short-sleeved blouse, her only ornament a simple charm bracelet...and her pendant.

"Let's eat, then you can tell me where you want to start searching," Hugo said.

"We don't need to. I found him."

"Good."

"I can ‘play tourist' for awhile, if you'd like."

"Sure. Would you like to go around and see some of the old town...the residential areas? I'll rent us a motorcycle. That way you can go slow enough to have a good look, yet we won't be walking. I enjoy seeing the homes...out of the tourist areas. How's that sound?"

"Great. I was wondering what I should do today."

"Of course," he shrugged carelessly, "if you'd rather lie around on the beach...?"

"No, thanks," she hastened to forestall him. "I broil like a hot dog whenever I'm under the Arizona sun. I wouldn't dare sunbathe here in Mazatlan. At least not unless I'm covered with sun block." She needed to be where Owen could see her, not lying on the beach.

He squeezed her hand meaningfully. "Whatever you want." His tone deepened. "I'm yours until next Thursday night."

The words rang, echoing in the marble-covered area. It was probably a good thing Hugo was wearing his dark glasses again. They camouflaged the deeper meaning only hinted at by his tone of voice.

No one had ever said that to her—in just quite that way—and a wistful smile stole across her responsive features. The sincerity of his words had filled her with a sudden shyness...and at the same time a touch of unease.

A man as assured as Hugo did not speak lightly about such things, and Perri treated it with the respect it deserved. It sounded like he was becoming serious about their friendship and she wasn't sure she wanted that yet. First she needed to know more about him. She still hadn't adjusted to the fact he was Donegal.

Smiling warily up into those dark eyes she felt were devouring her from behind the protective shield of the sun glasses, she said, "I don't want to take up all your time."

His voice was firm and emphatic, the low timbre rich with meaning. "I want you to."

"But, you—” She had better diffuse this situation right now! "Look, Hugo, there are going to be times...times when I might not want you with me."

He was silent for a long moment, as if to consider the possible implications. "Why not?" he demanded finally.

She was an old hand at telling unwanted men to get lost, but she'd never tried to walk the line...to discourage them and yet hang onto them at the same time. "I...I might meet someone I want to, uh...go out with"—like Joe or Owen—”and I wouldn't want you to get hurt—” she stumbled.

"Or spoil your fun?" he snapped curtly, his mouth hard and resentful.

This wasn't going at all the way she wanted it to. Ruefully she realized she hadn't explained things very well.

She hadn't imagined Hugo's possessiveness. It was there in full sweeping power and needed to be slackened. "I'm sorry, Hugo, but it might come to that," she emphasized as determinedly as possible, while at the same time trying to avoid being rude or ungrateful for the help he had given her so far.

His hand came out to cup her face, lifting it to him slightly, his thumb tenderly stroking along her jawline. It was a strong hand, one that could snap her neck in an instant, yet Perri felt no touch of fear, only a sweeping desire that parted her lips.

His touch, though firm, was gentle, like his voice, which had the power to draw her to him even when he was disagreeing with her. He used it effectively now to counter her argument. "I'll take my chances, love. I know how to get lost...if you ever want me to. But in the meantime...well, in the meantime, I'll stick as close as a lover, sweetheart, like a pair of tight-fitting boots. Who knows, you might not want to consider any other men."

"But if I do—”

He waved the idea away with a toss of his hand, dismissing the matter as of trifling importance. "We'll see about that when we come to it. Now let's go eat and then rent a bike."

There was something else she had to add; that she felt was important to reassure him about. Her hand caught his arm while she stressed the significance of her promise. "Whatever happens, I'll never tell anyone who you are...not anyone."