Danger Zone

by Doreen Owens Malek

  His jaw hardened, and she saw that he was getting really angry. “Look,” he said harshly. “I have tried every way I know of to get rid of you and nothing has worked. I’m sorry I ever told that nurse to send you my stuff; it was the worst mistake I ever made. I don’t need anybody to take care of me, and I don’t want you here. I don’t even like you. You’re always fussing around, making me nervous, taking charge like a top sergeant or something. I’m not the man of your dreams, and I’m lousy husband material. So give up, go home and set your trap for some other sucker.”

  Karen stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t speak for several moments and then she cleared her throat.

  “Fine,” she said quietly. “I’m going. But there’s one thing I want you to understand first. I didn’t come here to set a trap for you; I came because I thought you were alone and injured and needed help. And as far as I can see that is still the case. For your information, I should be home right now, looking out for myself, instead of standing here taking this abuse from you. I don’t care how sick you are; there’s no excuse for treating anybody the way you’ve treated me from the moment I arrived. No wonder nobody cares that you’re hurt. You don’t know the first thing about relating to another human being. I feel sorry for you.” She turned her back on him and strode out the door.

  She was almost to the nurse’s station, blinking rapidly to clear her blurring vision, when the duty nurse came running down the hall after her.

  “Miss, please come back. Mr. Colter is trying to get out of bed and follow you, and he can’t be up yet at all.”

  Alarmed by the woman’s concern, Karen hurried back to Colter’s room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor, pushing himself up with his good arm.

  “For heaven’s sake, Steven, are you trying to kill yourself?” Karen said, dropping her purse on the chair. She and the nurse got on either side of him and levered him back into the bed.

  “Can I speak to Miss Walsh alone, please?” Colter said pointedly.

  “If you give me your promise we won’t be having any more of these antics,” the nurse replied severely.

  “I promise,” Colter said grudgingly. “And don’t tell Mandeville.”

  “You’ve a deal,” the nurse replied.

  “Afraid of Miss Mandeville, are we?” Karen said archly when the woman had left.

  “I see her in my dreams,” Colter replied grimly. “‘This won’t hurt a bit, Mr. Colter,’” he chirped, in a close approximation of Miss Mandeville’s chipper brogue. “‘Just give over and let me tidy up your dressing there, Mr. Colter. Not eating our praties, today, Mr. Colter? Mustn’t miss out on all that niacin.’” He tilted his head back against the wall behind the bed. “And she took all my cigarettes, too.”

  “Good for her,” Karen said crisply. “I can’t imagine how you got them.”

  “Bribed an orderly,” Colter said with satisfaction.

  “Did you tell him that less than a week ago you were on oxygen?” Karen asked pointedly.

  “He didn’t take my medical history, just my money,” Colter replied. He folded his arms. “I was trying to come after you just now,” he announced, eyeing her warily.

  “So I gathered.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I guess there was something in what you said,” he admitted grudgingly.

  Karen waited.

  “I’ll go with you on one condition,” he said.

  “Don’t do me any favors,” Karen replied flatly, still smarting from his acid commentary.

  “Look, do you want me to do this, or not?” he asked testily.

  “All right,” Karen replied, putting his health before her pride. “What’s the condition?”

  “That we remain just... friends. I mean, nothing more, okay?”

  “What makes you think I’m your friend? Friends aren’t shown the door when all they’ve done is express legitimate concern.”

  He shook his head and looked out the window at the foggy, drizzly evening.

  “Boy, you aren’t easy, are you?”

  “I’m glad you’re finding that out.”

  He turned his head and met her gaze again. “So? What do you say?”

  “About the condition?”

  “Yeah.”

  Karen looked him over carefully and he had the good grace to flush. She understood the workings of his mind better than he thought. To him, sex was fine as long as it remained a sport to be shared with casual acquaintances, but he didn’t want to risk sleeping with someone who might actually care about him. Karen’s recent interest in his welfare had proved that she fell into the latter category, and making love to her now posed a risk of personal involvement he wouldn’t take.

  “I promise not to ravish you,” she finally said dryly.

  He stared back at her, his color deepening.

  “Of course it may be difficult, but I think I’ll be able to restrain myself,” she added consideringly.

  “Very funny,” he observed darkly, looking away.

  “I’ll tell Miss Mandeville we’ll take the cottage,” Karen said, turning to go.

  “Karen?” he called after her. Karen turned back.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” Colter asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled.

  She faced him squarely. “Because whether you’ll admit it or not, right now you need someone, and I seem to be the only candidate for the job.” She headed for the door, calling back to him, “I’ll be in to see you in the morning.”

  He followed her departure with his eyes, aware that he was getting involved with a woman unlike any he’d met before.

  * * * *

  Colter lay awake long after Karen had left him. Night quiet descended on the hospital corridor and the lights were dimmed, leaving only the old fashioned hall lanterns burning. He could hear the now familiar nocturnal sounds punctuating the stillness: the padding of rubber soled shoes on the tiled floor, the swish and click of a nursing sister’s beads, the rattle of ice in the metal water carafes as an aide refilled them. The coughing man across the hall was still coughing, and the moaner in the room adjacent to his was still moaning. It was a typical night on the third floor and he, typically, couldn’t sleep.

  But this time it wasn’t the pain from his wound that kept him awake. That had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache and had become so much a part of him that he hardly noticed it anymore. It was the subject of Karen that occupied his mind as he stared at the rain streaming down his windowpane, Karen’s presence in Belfast that he couldn’t forget.

  When he first awoke after his shooting and saw her standing at his beside, he’d thought he was dreaming. But when he looked again and she was still there, he realized that the hospital administration had summoned her. Then all he could think about was getting her to leave, an effort that had met with a spectacular lack of success. He soon discovered that she was as stubborn as he was and as tenacious as poverty. She wasn’t going home.

  Which left him with a significant problem: how to deal with a woman who wanted to give more than she was getting, whether that was a night of pleasure in his bed or the rescue of a comrade. Colter was accustomed to thinking of relationships in terms of barter, a trade of one commodity for another. Karen Walsh didn’t fit into this set picture and that fact made him very nervous.

  Colter stirred and settled his injured side more comfortably against the pillows at his back. His left arm was becoming more mobile as the torn muscles along his side knitted and healed. The bullet had carved its path of destruction very neatly, exiting out his back. He remembered clearly the moment of impact when it had ripped into him and he’d said to himself, I’m hit. He’d been shot before, and he always reacted calmly, but it took him only seconds to realize that this time the injury was far worse than his previous surface wounds. Blood poured from his chest and his legs refused to function; he’d felt as if he were walking, dreamlike, through a sea of molasses. For the first time in his life he’d felt faint as the red river o
f life flowed out of his veins, leaving him staggered and dizzy. He’d been dimly aware of the stretcher, the ambulance, the scared young intern who didn’t know quite what to do for him during the trip to the hospital. But it wasn’t until he reached the emergency room and saw the grave expressions on the attendants there that he had felt the flash of panic and knew he might die. And in that instant he’d remembered Karen’s face, a pale oval surrounded by a cloud of dark hair, and the touch of her lips on his. Who would care if he bought the farm right there? He’d known somehow that she would, and his momentary weakness then had led to his present predicament.

  The rain increased in volume, drumming on the ancient slate roof above him, and he closed his eyes, listening to it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Karen; he wanted her too much. But she posed a threat to the distant, uninvolved existence he’d come to call his own, and he didn’t want to change it. He was too old to take that kind of a chance.

  His subconscious, however, refused to be instructed along those lines. Ever since the night when she’d melted into his arms on that Caracas beach, he’d been tormented by erotic dreams in which he’d imagined, alternatively, her helpless submission or her aggressive pursuit. In some scenarios she was ardent, clinging, shuddering under him with complete abandon; in others she was wild, tearing at his clothes, as eager and passionate as he was. But now, confronted by her reality and the possibility of fulfilling these imaginings, he felt like running for the nearest exit.

  His courage, he found, was the physical variety, confined to combat. He couldn’t accept the challenge of joining his life to another person’s. He saw the prospect of a close relationship as yet another opportunity to be abandoned and so it had never held much charm for him.

  But what really scared him more than anything else was that Karen seemed different. He found himself wanting to go for broke with her, and so his defensive reaction was to tell her to get lost. But she wasn’t listening and he had an uneasy feeling he’d finally met his match.

  A crack of thunder split the hush of the hospital night and Colter jumped, wishing he had a cigarette. He looked at the clock on the wall, urging time to pass faster.

  Karen would be back the next day and he couldn’t wait to see her.

  * * * *

  When Karen returned in the morning, she announced that she’d made the arrangements to rent the cottage.

  “You’ll have to go to the bank for me,” Colter said gruffly in response, obviously uncomfortable. He didn’t like asking her to run the errand for him. “It’s the Belfast Maritime on the corner of Merchant Street. I’ll fill out the withdrawal slip and call them so you can take it in for me.”

  “You have a bank account here?” Karen asked, surprised.

  “I’ve got them all over,” he said shortly. “It’s more convenient than having to wire Florida every time I need some spare change.”

  “You keep your money in different countries?” Karen said, intrigued with the idea.

  “Several.”

  “But how do you decide where?”

  He fixed her with a gimlet eye. “Are you taking a survey?”

  “I’m just interested,” she said, mildly offended.

  He sighed. “I opened accounts where I’ve spent the most time, where I’m more likely to...”

  “Get shot and be laid up?” Karen suggested.

  “Need money,” he finished calmly. “Now can we get back to the original topic? I want to pay for this place you’re renting and I also have to settle my bill here. I asked Mrs. Schanley to come and see me later.”

  Karen was silent.

  “Is there some problem with that?” he asked, reading her face.

  “I already paid it,” Karen said in a small voice, thinking that it would be better for him to receive this bulletin from her than from the hospital administrator.

  “What?” he said tersely, certain that he’d misunderstood.

  “You heard me.”

  Colter stared at her with the stony expression that she knew concealed a white hot anger he was unwilling to show.

  “You were unconscious,” Karen said defensively, “and Mrs. Schanley was making noises about your not being on the National Health...”

  “Fine,” he interjected sharply, cutting her off. “Then I’ll authorize two drafts, and you make one to the exact amount you paid. Do you understand me?”

  “Of course I understand,” she snapped. “Are you speaking Hindi?”

  Colter sat staring out the window, shaking his head in silence.

  “Anyone would think I had robbed you instead of done you a favor,” Karen said resentfully.

  “I don’t want any favors!” Colter responded savagely.

  “Good!” Karen flared back at him. “Then somebody else can go to the bank!”

  He turned his head and met her eyes, holding them steadily for a count of ten, and then his lips twitched.

  “All right,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to having people do things for me.”

  “I’m not surprised, if this is a sample of the gracious reception they get.”

  “Haven’t we had this conversation before?” he inquired archly.

  “I must admit that it does have a familiar ring,” Karen responded dryly.

  He waited a moment and then said, “Truce?”

  “I didn’t start the war.”

  He grinned impishly and said, “As a goodwill gesture, will you buy me a pack of cigarettes while you’re out?”

  Karen glared at him in amazement. “I hope that was a joke.”

  He subsided, not replying.

  “What are you going to do for clothes when you get out of here?” Karen asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  He glanced at her sharply, then looked away. “Can you pick some up for me?” he said.

  Something in his attitude alerted her. “But where are your things?” she asked.

  “What things?”

  “Your personal effects—you know—shoes, shirts, belts, like that.”

  “Oh, forget that junk, it’s not worth retrieving,” he said offhandedly, still not looking at her.

  “You don’t want your stuff?”

  No answer.

  “Okay, Steven, where is it?”

  “I told you to forget it,” he said harshly.

  “You don’t want me to go there?” Karen asked gently. He looked at her then, his blue eyes appearing gray in the bright morning light, his blond hair mussed and too long, splashing onto his forehead.

  “It’s no place for you,” he said shortly.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “A bar. Sort of.”

  “I’ve been in bars before, Steven.”

  “Not like this, you haven’t.”

  “Is it in a bad area?”

  “The waterfront.”

  “I can find it. I came into Belfast on a boat.”

  “It’s not a question of finding it, Karen. More of what the place is like.”

  “ So? ” she said impatiently, tiring of his evasiveness.

  “It has upstairs rooms,” he said uncomfortably.

  “And?”

  “They’re used for business.”

  “What kind of business?” she said quickly, beginning to get his drift. Then without waiting for an answer, “Steven, are you sending me to a whorehouse?”

  “I’m not sending you anywhere,” he muttered. “I’ve been trying to tell you not to go.”

  “What’s the name of this place?”

  “Sailor’s Haven.”

  “And is it a...”

  “Yes,” he said abruptly.

  “And why were you staying at Sailor’s Haven?” she asked steadily.

  “I have a friend who works there.”

  “And is she a...”

  “Yes ”

  “Did you...”

  “No. Never.”

  “Then why were you staying with her?”

  “They’re people too, Karen. They have friends
.”

  “How did you meet this friend?” Karen demanded. She could see that he resented the inquisition but wasn’t about to back down on it. She was only beginning to realize how little she knew about him.

  “She bailed me out of a tight spot once.”

  “I see. And you became acquainted with such a person when you weren’t patronizing her establishment?”

  “I patronized the bar,” he said shortly. “That’s all you have to know.”

  Karen gazed at his set expression and realized that he’d told her all he was going to. A tense silence lasted for about half a minute.

  “You can stop looking down your fine patrician nose at me,” Colter finally said wearily. “This is just more evidence of what I’ve been trying to tell you all along: we’re too different. You work in an office and live with your sister. I work in war zones and room with prostitutes. And that’s the least of it. Believe me, you’re just not up for the rest and you’d better get out while you can.”

  “You think I’m too ‘delicate’ to deal with the vicissitudes of your life?” Karen asked him.

  “If I knew what a ‘vicissitude’ was, I might be able to tell you.”

  “Changes, problems, ups and downs,” Karen translated.

  “Then why didn’t you say that?”

  “You’re dodging the issue, Steven.”

  “I forget what the issue was, Karen.”

  Karen put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “The issue was my ability to deal with your, er, lifestyle.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you weren’t shocked?” he countered.

  “About Sailor’s Haven?”

  “No, Karen, about the drop in pork futures on the commodities market,” he said sarcastically.

  “It just took me a few moments to adjust,” Karen replied stiffly. “You have to admit it’s an unusual situation.”

  “Not for me,” he said simply.

  “You mean you always take up residence in whorehouses?” Karen asked incredulously, forgetting to be blase´. Now she was shocked.

  “I mean I don’t associate with the nice professional people you do. I don’t sit behind a desk with neatly arranged papers on it, and I don’t have lunch with my colleagues and plan Christmas parties.”