Songs for Perri (25 page)

Her voice was hoarse and without volume, so that her words came out in a dry whisper. "I had to. You were out there."

"Well, now you're up here and you’ve got to come down," he asserted firmly.

"I can't...." To her shame, her voice was nearly hysterical.

"Yes, you can."

"No!"

"Come on, Perri. Let go. One hand at a time." His voice was warm and understanding, coaxing her to trust him. He probably didn't realize it, but he had dropped into Hugo's voice to charm her into doing what he wanted.

Hugo. He was alive. Walt was alive. It was all over. With a sob of gladness, she stopped trying to fight him and let him loosen her hands.

"Come on, love. The worst is over. I won't let you fall."

Somehow she got her feet moving and was climbing down, eyes tightly shut; Joe just below and supporting her, talking all the time. When they reached the roof, he jumped to the deck and caught her as she half-fell the last few feet.

"You can open your eyes now."

He didn't sound like he was laughing, although when she ventured to peek, he had a broad smile on his face. Tiny laugh wrinkles radiated from his eyes and he looked proud of himself.

Mouth dry, she looked up; where she had been. How had she done it? She had had no choice, but still, the height had scared her worse than the crewman with his gun. He had somehow seemed unreal, like a man in a nightmare.

"I made it, didn't I?" she marveled.

"You sure did," Joe chuckled.

Her step-father hugged her closely, and must have felt the tremors still passing through her. "Good girl. I don't know why Joe brought you, but I'm sure glad he did."

"I didn't," Joe complained as he swayed from exhaustion. "She stayed away just like all women do when you tell them to."

"They were going to feed you to the sharks!" Perri defended herself indignantly, regaining her voice. Although she hadn't known that fact when she had jumped into the boat, it made a good enough reason now.

"They would have, too, if you hadn't disobeyed me." There was blood all over Joe, mixed with salt water, some coming from his nose and a cut lip. He swiped futilely at the flow, looking irritated by its presence. "There's enough blood here to attract quite a few."

"Can you patch him up, Perri?" Walt asked.

"Maybe." The sight of the blood was making her feel woozy again. Taking her at her word, Walt went forward and started the motor, turning the boat back towards Mazatlan.

The two men had cleaned up while bringing her down. There were no bodies lying around. No crewmen in sight. Perri didn't ask what they had done with them. In the hold or in the water...somehow it didn't matter.

Following Joe inside the tiny cabin, Perri noticed his leg was still bleeding. "You don't look too good." His movements were slow and painful now that the danger was past.

Carefully, Joe felt of his swollen face with a bruised and bloody hand. "I don't feel all that good. Let's see what they have in the way of bandages."

The first aid cabinet was marked with a red cross and proved to be well stocked. The men also had a small ice chest aboard, full of beer and crushed ice.

Joe wiped his leg clean and bandaged the cuts. Perri tried to help, but he was more knowledgeable about the types of injuries he had. "That'll hold it."

"Your face looks pretty bad."

"I know how to roll with a punch so it doesn't land squarely," he claimed. "A groan and a grunt and a slight turn of the body; they think they're doing more harm than they are."

"It looks bad enough to me," Perri remarked, tenderly washing away the excess blood so she could examine the wounds. They must have used some kind of instrument to beat him with. There were swollen gashes all through his hair.

She had never seen a man who'd been beaten and her hands and lips trembled as she worked. The cut on her hand was no longer bleeding, but she cleaned it after she did his.

"They planned to kill you both," Perri declared, and her voice skittered off in a higher octave as the reality of what they'd just gone through began to sink in. She sat down heavily on the bunk beside him and gulped back the shaky breaths.

"They were getting a good start," Joe declared.

"If I hadn't found that glass—”

"Why didn't you stay behind like I told you to!" he exploded unexpectedly.

Perri's shakes dropped away in startled shock and she flared back at him. "If I had, you'd still be sitting out on that pole trying to get free!"

"Maybe so, but at least I wouldn't have died a hundred times in the meantime."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Can you imagine how I felt when I looked up from breaking that thug's neck and saw you?"

"No...." She had imagined he had been glad to see her and her little piece of glass.

"I almost died right then, except I couldn't. I had to get you out of there. Why do you think I was able to climb that rope with my hands tied?"

"You don't do that sort of thing all the time?"

"What do you think I am, a...a circus performer?"

"Then if that's what it took, I'm glad you saw me," she said simply. "If I provided a reason—”

"More than enough! I usually don’t care if I live or die."

"Then I'm doubly glad. What makes you feel that way?"

"The world is so rotten...and I've been immersed in the dregs too long, Perri. Too many years involved with people to whom human life means nothing. Too many years of lies and betrayal. I got so I no longer cared."

"And now?"

"You're worth dying for. You and Walt."

It still didn't sound like he cared about his own life. "Shouldn't you rest a little? You're awfully pale. And your head is badly cut. What did they hit you with?"

"A belt with a metal buckle. It gave just enough to keep from doing deep damage, but he was too enraged to look for anything else. It'll look worse tomorrow when the color comes out." He lay down on the bunk with a sigh of relief while Perri scooped some crushed ice out of the ice chest.

"That eye is pretty bad." It was swollen almost shut, the skin cut above it and across the eyebrow. Bending over him, Perri carefully laid a handful of ice on it. "You look worse than a prize fighter."

His hand moved up behind her head and pulled her close enough so their lips touched...in a salute so gentle, so full of tender emotion, it demolished all her barriers.

His lips were swollen, so even the slightest pressure had to hurt. Evidently it did, for he gave up with a grimace, pulling her slightly away. "That'll have to wait," he muttered, disappointed. "The hero always gets to kiss the girl in the movies, no matter how big a fight he's been in. It's not fair."

Perri swallowed and looked away. She didn't mind. She was still shaken from the evening's events and the light contact of their lips had sent her fragile emotions wheeling.

He was so dear to her, every beaten-up inch of him.

Joe took ice into both hands and held it up against his nose, mouth and jaw. "The big man was holding me," he mumbled. "I couldn't protect myself much."

"I thought you were dead when they brought you out."

"A lot of that was acting. I wanted them to think I was hurt worse than I was."

"I thought you were. I've never felt so helpless. I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to do anything—”

"Don't worry about that. You do fine under fire. Put some ice on my ear." He motioned with his shoulder to his swollen right ear and Perri used her other hand to apply the cold to that spot.

"How are your insides?" she asked, remembering the blood coming from his mouth.

"Sore. Everything is sore. I'll get a doctor to check me over, once we're back home."

"Home?"

"Arizona."

She frowned. "I thought you were from L.A."

"That's my cover. I'm from Arizona."

"Oh. I see. And you're not a mechanic, but you could fix a car good enough no one would question you."

"Right."

"But what if you're seriously injured?"

"Then I'll find out soon enough. Now let me rest until we get to the dock. Go see if Walt needs you for anything."

Stubborn man. Perri put some ice into a thin towel and left him holding it up to his face.

"Perri."

She paused at the door. "Yes?"

"The youngest man. He was the one who snatched the camera."

"I see." She felt a sadness for him, in spite of the fact he wanted to kill them. "He's dead?"

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes. I had no choice. They had guns. I didn't."

"I understand." She did. She had been ready to use a gun herself. Evil had to be dealt with, to save the ones you loved, no matter how much you disliked the job. "Get some rest," she urged as she left.

In the wheel house, she tried to persuade Walt to have Joe looked at right away. He also refused, saying they would do it when they could.

Two stubborn men. She loved them both. Perri gave him a quick kiss and went out onto the bow. There she watched the lights of Mazatlan approaching, while taking herself to task.

Did she really know her heart? Was this love, or was it the result of heightened awareness, brought about by dangers shared?

She had climbed that outrigger to reach Joe, Hugo. And climbed back down for him. Ruefully, she realized that if Hugo put a parachute on her back and told her to jump out of a plane, she'd jump. Whether or not she remembered to pull the ripcord. She wouldn't do that for Owen, or Walt.

But she'd do it for Hugo—for Joe. She'd do anything he asked. And if she were wise, she wouldn't tell him so.

Fifteen minutes later, when they were approaching the mouth of the harbor, Joe joined her.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Better. I got to thinking; this might be as close as I'll ever get to taking you on a cruise to Mexico, so I'd better come out here."

She laughed softly. "Some cruise."

"What more could you ask for? A slow boat, a gentle sea, the lights of the harbor. And me."

"What's left of you," she teased gently. "I could push you over with one finger."

He draped his arm across her shoulder and pulled her up lightly against him. "Not too hard, my ribs hurt," he cautioned. "Most of me is still here. You did a good spot of rescuing. Did I remember to thank you?"

"I think so...when you weren't yelling at me."

"I don't think I did. There are ways...and ways."

"Wha—” She had tipped her face upward to ask him what he meant and found out as his swollen lips collided with hers; seeking, probing—perhaps asking the same questions she had been asking herself. Searching for answers...boldly taking in the loving response that flowed uncurbed from her, her heart meeting his spontaneously.

She could taste blood, his blood. Blood he had shed to rescue her and her step-father. She should be thanking him, she thought, as she sank more fully into his arms. His hands moved wondrously over her, pulling her hungrily against him as if starved for love.

She tried to ease away from his wounded body. "Joe...."

"Umm?" He refused to break the kiss, his mouth insistent as he used the most powerful persuasion he could find. Sighing, she pressed deeper into his tender embrace, forgetting what it was she was going to say.

She could feel the love coming through. It was almost a tangible thing.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Walt docked the boat, taking the license and registration papers to turn over to the Mexican authorities later.

"You going to be able to perform?" he asked, as Joe limped between them.

"Sure. I just need to get cleaned up."

"I hope so." He sounded worried. "Keep Perri with you. Better yet, take her straight to the airport."

"I can't do that, Papa," Perri reminded him. "I still have to introduce Joe and Owen."

"That's right," he agreed, frowning, then added to Joe, "Keep her close, son."

"All night?"

"Yes."

"You know what that means."

"Yes. Do it anyway."

"My pleasure." Joe sounded tremendously relieved. "Where are the passports?"

"Still in my room. I'll go pick 'em up, check out and move in with you tonight. Your room should still be safe. Give me my spare key."

"Here. Take my room key too...you won't have to stop at the desk," Joe said and Perri added, "Take this one, too—for your hotel. I left my suitcase there.

Then a thought struck her that had been niggling at the back of her mind all evening. "What happened to Luke?"

"He left to fly back to Phoenix...just before they came."

"How did they get you to open your door then?" Joe asked.

"A piece of paper with Perri's name on it." Puzzled, Walt looked at her. "It looked like your handwriting—although I didn’t study it very well."

"Was it the same one I used this morning?" she asked, wondering if Luke had carelessly tossed that one away.

"No. This was written on tablet paper."

"They could have copied it off the hotel register," Joe said. "It's been done before."

Walt left in one taxi and Joe and Perri took the next cab that came along. The young driver kidded Joe about his appearance, so Joe told him he'd had a motorcycle accident.

It was as good an excuse as any and Perri wondered how many times he had had to use it. She was careful not to press too closely against him, for his cautious movements revealed just how much he was hurting.

Neither one of them looked presentable. The blood had dried dark leaving a dirty brown stain on their clothing, as if they had splashed motor oil over themselves. They stood outside the hotel, partially hidden by the shrubbery until the lobby was momentarily empty, then hurried across to the elevator.

The doors opened and Carl Freedman stepped out, blinked in disbelief and spurted out, "Perri! What happened?"

"Motorcycle accident," Perri mumbled, using Joe's excuse when she couldn't think of another.

"Are you all right?"

The door was trying to close and Joe caught it. "Yes," he assured him. "We just need to get cleaned up."

"See you," Perri called and stepped inside with him, cutting short Carl's words of sympathy.

Joe pushed the button for their floor and Perri sagged against the wall. "How are you going to get into your room?" she asked. "You gave Walt the key." How was Hugo going to get around this?