Men of Intrgue A Trilogy

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “Very funny,” Karen said darkly.

  “I’ll bet you were one of those kids who made your mother cut the crusts off sandwich bread and wouldn’t eat tomatoes unless the seeds were removed,” he said, grinning.

  “I am not a fussbudget,” she said defensively. “Any normal, thinking person would object to swallowing stuff that should be part of an adobe hut.”

  He shook his head. “You can take the girl out of New Jersey, but you can’t take...”

  “Oh, shut up,” Karen said, interrupting him.

  They both glanced around as music began behind them. A guitarist accompanied a singer dressed in a long skirt and a colorful off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. She began a tune so laden with sorrow that, even though Karen couldn’t quite understand her, it was clear the song was detailing a ruined love affair or an insurmountable loss of some kind.

  “That isn’t Spanish but it sounds familiar,” Karen whispered.

  “Portuguese,” he answered quietly. “If you listen closely you can probably make out some of it.”

  The woman continued her song. Karen found the mournful notes so disturbing that she sat in silence for several seconds after the singer had finished and retired. The diners applauded politely.

  “She’s a fado singer,” Colter clarified, when Karen met his glance. “Fado means ‘fate.’ They sing about the sorrows of a life ruled by relentless, remorseless destiny man can neither control nor avoid.”

  Karen shuddered. “No wonder she sounded so sad.”

  “Sad, but true,” he said as the waiter took away the fruit and brought the main course.

  “Do you believe that?” Karen asked him soberly. “That we’re all in the grip of some predetermined fortune and have no power over our own lives?”

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I’ll never accept that. And I must say it seems a strange philosophy for you to espouse. Aren’t you the man who rescued me from a bunch of terrorists? Weren’t you trying to intervene in my fate then?”

  “I was trying to collect a paycheck,” he said harshly. “Don’t confuse the issue.”

  “But why do you do it at all?” Karen asked, unable to stop herself.

  “What?”

  “The mercenary work. Why do you do it?”

  “Got to do something,” he answered evenly. “I’m in the habit of eating.”

  “But surely you could find another job, a man like you.”

  They were staring at each other across the dimly lit table, their food, and their surroundings, forgotten.

  “What do you mean,” he said curtly, “a man like me. You don’t even know me.”

  “I can tell that you’re intelligent and capable; you don’t have to...”

  “Sell myself to the highest bidder?” he suggested.

  “I didn’t say that,” Karen backtracked hastily.

  “But you thought it. Maybe I like it, did you consider that? Maybe I like seeing the world, being in a different place every couple of months. Can you really picture me sitting in an office in a pinstriped suit peering at a calculator all day?”

  “But you wouldn’t have to do that,” Karen protested. “There are lots of jobs you could take without risking your life all the time for money.”

  “That’s what bothers you, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “That I risk my life, not for a noble ideal or a country, but for money.”

  “You have no loyalties, no allegiance. If you fight it should be for a cause other than yourself, shouldn’t it?”

  “If you say so. As for me I’m the best cause I know,” he answered.

  He threw down his napkin and stood up. “Spare me the speech, I’ve heard it. Stargazers like you are always full of idealistic jargon. What do you know about anything, anyway? All your life you’ve had your parents, then your husband, and now your sister to hold your hand. Just let me live my way and you live yours.” He turned and strode off the terrace, descending an exterior stairway that took him out of sight.

  Karen sat frozen in abject misery, almost at the point of tears. How on earth had their lovely dinner degenerated into such an ugly scene? And when was she ever going to learn to keep her big mouth shut? He was perfectly correct; she had no right to badger him about his choices, and that knowledge did not make her feel any better.

  She remained motionless, staring at the flickering candle inside the glass bell of the hurricane lamp, until the waiter came up to her and pointed to the exit.

  “What is it?” she said, startled.

  “Mr. Colter, he is down on the beach,” he said in English, because she had spoken in that language. “Do you want me to show you?”

  Karen hesitated, then nodded. The very least she owed Colter was an apology.

  The waiter took her to a flight of stairs that led directly to the strand below the restaurant. Karen removed her shoes and crept onto the sand in her stocking feet, walking toward the shadowy outline of a man she could see in the distance.

  Colter was leaning against the sea wall, smoking a cigarette and staring out at the ocean. He turned at her approach.

  “I thought you had left,” he said softly, watching her come closer.

  “Steven, I’m sorry,” she said hastily, before he could go on. “You’re right. We just met and your career is none of my business. In fact I should be grateful you’ve chosen your line of work; you probably saved my life back on Almeria. Please forgive me.”

  He waited so long to reply that she thought he was dismissing her and she almost turned to leave. Then he said quietly, “You know, I didn’t think you would go out with me tonight.”

  Karen stared at him. “What?”

  She saw the lift and fall of his shoulders in the darkness. “I thought that when I got to your hotel there would be a message saying you were otherwise engaged or something. I was surprised when you answered your door and you were dressed and ready.”

  “Why?” she asked softly.

  “Oh, we were sort of trapped together on the boat, and you were still scared and eager for company. But I figured once the worst was over you would take stock and realize that you didn’t owe me a social occasion.”

  “I owe you my life, Steven,” she said quietly. “So does everyone else who was held hostage in Government House.”

  “Is that why you came with me tonight?” he asked quietly. “Out of gratitude?”

  “No, of course not,” she said, shaking her head. “Why would you even think that?”

  He lifted his hand expressively, and the cigarette he held made a fiery arc against the night sky. “You’re a nice girl. It’s been a long time since I spent an evening with a nice girl, as you may have gathered from my behavior tonight. In my line of work I don’t get to meet too many of them.”

  “Who do you meet?” Karen whispered, taking a step closer to him.

  He laughed shortly. “Good timers, bar girls, hustlers of various types. The opposite side of my own coin, you might say. A lot of people are quick to make judgments. They regard men like me as little better than whores.” He tossed his cigarette away. “Upstairs I thought you were one of the judges.”

  “Oh, Steven, no,” she said, reaching out to him, and in the next instant she was in his arms.

  He held her tightly against his shoulder for a few seconds, and over the washing of the surf behind them she heard him say in her ear, “Karen, forget the way I sounded off at dinner. I didn’t mean it. I was just...”

  “Hurt?” she suggested, looking up at him.

  He didn’t reply, but she could read the answer in his face. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then bent his head and kissed her.

  His lips held a faint taste of salt from the margarita and the bitter tinge of tobacco. They were firm and cool on hers. Strands of Karen’s hair lifted and blew against his face as he pulled her closer, slipping one arm around her and drawing her against his body. His mouth took hers more hungrily as the embrace deepened, and Karen
wound her arms about his neck, hanging on him while his tongue probed hers. She could feel the tension increase in his large frame.

  Colter made an involuntary sound of pleasure as his free hand roamed down her back, past her waist, forcing her into the cradle of his hips. Karen gasped against his mouth and pulled back.

  He released her instantly, turning to the side, not looking at her.

  Neither of them spoke as he lit a cigarette. “I guess I got carried away,” he finally muttered. “Do you want to go back to the terrace?”

  Karen nodded, glad of an excuse to rejoin the other diners. It was dangerous to be alone with him. They went back toward the stairs and she stumbled trying to walk in the damp sand. Without a word he took the shoes she was holding and put one in each of his pockets, then scooped her up and carried her to the landing.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as he deposited her on the bottom step, still a little startled by the abrupt change in transportation.

  He gave her the shoes and then took her hand when she was ready, leading her back to their table.

  There was only one other couple still in the restaurant, and their waiter was hovering anxiously, wondering what had become of them.

  “You can take this away,” Colter said to him as they resumed their seats, waving his hand at their abandoned plates. He looked at Karen. “Would you like anything else?”

  “Just coffee,” she said.

  “Dos cafes,” Colter told the waiter, and then settled back in his chair, his blue eyes searching Karen’s face.

  “I want to tell you something,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “You were right about my being able to do something else. I joined the army at sixteen, and they trained me in electronics. I tried it but couldn’t stay; it was just too boring sitting at an instrument panel hour after hour. So when I left the service I started to hire myself out for the other skills I’d learned there, and I’ve been doing that ever since.”

  “Why are you saying this now?” Karen asked quietly.

  “I blew up because you touched a nerve,” he answered. “I don’t like being reminded how people like you see me.”

  “Now you’re making generalizations,” Karen said. “I know I sounded like I was criticizing you but I was really just trying to understand.” She stopped for a moment and then added, “I don’t know how you cope with the isolation. You’re all alone in the world.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? I don’t need anybody.”

  Karen sighed. “I’m afraid I do. I’m always in touch with my sister, and even though Ian and I are divorced we still write and try to see each other when we can. I just can’t let go of the people I care for. I never could. I’m sure Ian loved me, but it was more like a father’s love, and when he saw that it was best he was able to let me go.”

  Colter turned his head. “I wouldn’t know about that,” he said bluntly. “Nobody ever loved me that much.”

  Karen didn’t know what to say. He was such a curious combination, seemingly aloof yet given to sudden offhand remarks that were oddly revealing. It kept her constantly off balance.

  The coffee came and they sat drinking it, intensely aware of each other and what had passed between them on the beach. Finally the restaurant was closing and they got up to go. As they walked outside Karen saw by the church tower clock across the square that it was after midnight.

  “I didn’t realize it was so late,” she said. They were passing a lilac bush, and she paused to inhale the fragrance of the lush blooms.

  “Time flies when you’re fighting,” he said dryly. He picked a purple cluster and tucked it behind her ear, arranging her hair to accommodate it.

  “How do I look?” she asked, striking a pose.

  “Like the heroine in a Bizet opera,” he replied. “You know, with your coloring you could almost be Latin.”

  Karen shook her head. “Black Irish. The skin is the giveaway. All my life I’ve wanted that lovely matte olive complexion that’s supposed to go with dark eyes and dark hair, but what did I get instead? Irish linen. I burn in the sun and chap in the cold.”

  He chuckled. “Remind me not to bring you along on a camping trip.”

  “Camping? Oh, camping is my specialty. Contact dermatitis from the hard water and terminal poison ivy. I was the only Girl Scout who never went on the jamboree; the counselors refused to take me. My mother said the sensitive skin ran in my father’s family.”

  Colter was grinning, swinging her hand in his as they walked along.

  “Walsh is your maiden name, then?”

  “Yes, I went back to it after my divorce.”

  “Well, at least you know what your real name is,” he said as he pushed the door of the hotel open and she preceded him through it.

  She stopped walking and looked up at him.

  “Did you ever try to find your parents?” she asked quietly.

  His jaw hardened. “No. They didn’t want me, and as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of it.”

  They ascended to the second floor and walked down the corridor, stopping outside Karen’s door. There was a silence while they both tried to decide what to say.

  “I’m never going to see you again, am I?” Karen finally whispered.

  “Hey,” he said, tipping her chin up with his forefinger, “never say never.” He kissed her cheek lightly, then turned his head and captured her mouth with his.

  This time he pressed her right from the start, pushing her back against the wall and enveloping her with his body. Lowering his head, he dragged his lips across her throat and tongued the hollow between her breasts. Karen arched into him, sinking her fingers in his hair and closing her eyes. She was certain she should stop him, but was unwilling to end the delicious sensation of his hands and mouth on her skin. When he kissed her again, more urgently, she swayed on her feet, clinging to him for support as her defenses dissolved.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said huskily, his breath fanning her face. He took her key from her hand.

  “No,” she replied, with surprising strength.

  “Come on,” he urged in a low tone, caressing her. “You want me.”

  She did, but at the instant that she almost gave in she had a sudden image of every other woman he had said the same thing to, women who’d responded to his undeniable allure in the way she was responding now. She knew that he was a womanizer, forced by his inclination as well as his lifestyle to take his pleasure where he found it. And she couldn’t join a list of forgotten conquests. She needed him to remember her, if only because she was the one who got away.

  “I want you,” she said quietly, “but I’m not going to bed with you.”

  He stared down at her, still breathing hard, his hair mussed by her hands. His gaze was heated, incandescent. Then when he realized she meant it, he sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

  “I don’t believe this,” he said. “Remember me? I’m the guy who saved you.”

  Karen smiled. “As I recall, I already thanked you for that.”

  He shook his head, half laughing. “This can’t be happening,” he said. “Women are crazy about me.”

  Karen didn’t doubt it. She reached up and touched his cheek. He opened his eyes.

  “Can I give you my sister’s address and phone number?” she asked softly.

  “Why?” he inquired, studying her, his expression sober now.

  “In case you ever feel like you want to talk to somebody.”

  “Talk?” he asked.

  “Talk.”

  She took a slip of paper from her purse and wrote down the information. He folded the sheet in half and stuck it into his breast pocket.

  “I have to tell you that ‘talking’ isn’t the reason I usually take a girl’s number,” he said dryly.

  “I know that,” Karen replied. “Make an exception in my case.” She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and was suddenly afraid she was going to cry. “Steven, please take care of yourself.
”

  “I always do.”

  “Who else was it who used to call you Steven?” she asked, delaying his departure. She didn’t want to let him go.

  “One of the nuns at the foundling home. She was.. .good to me.”

  “Do you ever see her now?”

  He shook his head once. “She’s dead.”

  Karen put her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ll be thinking about you,” she murmured.

  He tucked his hand under her hair, lifting it off her neck. “Don’t think about me, Karen. Go back to New Jersey and get married and have a couple of kids. Years from now I’ll be that guy you kissed on a beach someplace. You probably won’t even remember my name.”

  “I’ll remember,” she whispered.

  He took hold of her arms and held her off, disengaging her embrace. “Good night, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her forehead.

  “Goodbye, Steven.” Karen was blinking rapidly, seeing him through a mist of unshed tears.

  “Goodbye.” She watched him walk to the elevator, which responded instantly when he pressed the button. He saluted as he stepped through the doors and she didn’t go into her room until he was out of sight.

  Karen sat on the edge of her bed and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Had she done the right thing? She told herself that she had, but already she was regretting her loss.

  It was several seconds before she noticed that the red call light on her phone was blinking. She picked up the receiver and asked for the message.

  Her plane ticket and traveling papers were being held for her at the desk. She asked for them to be sent up to her room and had just hung up the phone when someone tapped at her door.

  “Darling, it’s me,” Linda’s voice said. “May I come in?”

  Karen got up and opened the door. Linda breezed past her in an elaborate lace peignoir set and high heeled lounge slippers. She was carrying a tray holding a teapot and a plate covered by a cloth napkin.

  “So how was the big date?” she asked, setting down her burden on the end table. “Tell Mother all about it.”

  Karen faced her.

  “Oh dear,” Linda said, observing her friend’s expression. “He really got to you, didn’t he?”