by Kay Hooper
A cluster of buildings, mostly warehouses, stood near the dock. Off to the left was the striking vista of towering mountains and rolling hills that helped to make the island so beautiful, and off to the right, whitewashed and shining in the bright sunlight, was the island’s only real city, and the home of most of its people.
No building rose more than five stories, and all the bright whitewash couldn’t hide the scars of a country in turmoil. There was some construction going on but not much, and shorn buildings showed like broken teeth in the rubble of the bombed remains of cars, trucks, and buildings.
She swallowed hard, still fighting for emotional control. Nothing had changed, not really. She had kept up with news reports almost against her will, and knew that the “rebels” still came down from the hills and raided periodically, making it impossible for Sereno to put his economic development plans into effect. Kadeira was a torn country, a wound bleeding its life away.
Soldiers on the docks slung their rifles over their shoulders long enough to tie up the boat, and she paused only a moment to once more give the captain a mocking salute before jumping onto the dock. Ignoring the soldiers, she walked steadily forward to greet the slender man with a military carriage who was waiting for her near a long black limo.
“Colonel,” she said briefly.
“Miss Marsh.” Expressionless, he held the door for her.
She got into the car and looked steadily out the window during the ride, saying nothing more to Colonel Durant. She had liked him once, but she was afraid to let herself feel anything right now. They drove by the old presidential palace, now a hospital. And if she winced at the evidence of recent fighting—buildings she remembered as relatively intact were now in rubble—at least it was inwardly.
The limo passed through the guarded gates and wound its way up the drive to the plain stucco two-storied house. As she got out of the car she saw that the flowers she’d planted in window boxes were still alive and obviously cared for. But the bars on the windows, ornate though they were, were still visible, still a grim testament to their purpose—like the soldiers who constantly patrolled the grounds.
She followed Colonel Durant into the house, steeling herself against her memories. When he silently indicated that she should wait in the book-lined room she had once loved, she went in with gritted teeth.
The memories … She went to the French doors and stared out into the garden, her cold hands in the pockets of her jeans, her back stiff. Oh, Lord, the memories!
“Sara?”
She didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Her eyes closed and she swallowed hard. For a long moment she stood with her back to him, wondering dimly how many times she had heard his voice say her name—in her dreams.
Sara Marsh moved slowly, bracing herself even more as she turned to face him. He hadn’t changed much in two years. He was unusual among his countrymen in that he was over six feet tall and powerfully built. He was dressed casually in dark slacks and a white shirt unbuttoned at the throat beneath an open jacket, but the informal attire did nothing to conceal the physical strength of broad shoulders and powerful limbs, or the honed grace of his movements when he stepped toward her. He was dark, black-haired, and black-eyed, his lean face handsome and bearing none of the outward marks or scars of his reportedly difficult and violent life.
Perhaps he was a shade leaner, the planes and angles of his face sharper, his eyes more deeply hooded. And there were, she saw with a curious pang, a few strands of silver among the ebony at his temples.
And she knew then that she had forgotten nothing. Nothing at all.
He was Andres Sereno, President of the island country of Kadeira, commander in chief of its army and navy, both titles earned by sweat and blood and viewed askance by an American government that had never been quite sure if he was enemy, friend, or merely neutral. He had been called a dictator—and worse.
“Hello, Andres.” Her voice emerged cool and calm, and she thanked the fates for control.
He took another step toward her, and the quiet, innately powerful voice that had moved the people of his country was a little rough, a little husky. “You’re as beautiful as I remembered.”
Sara inclined her head politely.
His face tightened a little. “Sara, I know you’re angry with me, but I—I had to bring you here.”
“I’m here. I had no choice in the matter. But then, I should have known my wishes didn’t mean a damned thing to you. I made it clear two years ago that I never wanted to see you again, yet I’ve been on the run ever since in order to stay one jump ahead of your hounds.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets suddenly, matching her stance as they confronted each other. “Am I allowed no defense? No opportunity to explain my actions? I needed to see you, Sara. I didn’t want to do this, but you gave me no choice.”
Sara didn’t have to fake scorn. “Oh, it’s all my fault that I was kidnapped? Was I supposed to just tamely submit to your paid goons and come along like a good little girl?”
“They didn’t hurt you?” he asked swiftly.
“No,” she said flatly.
Andres relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Sara, I tried to respect your wishes. And I would have, if only you hadn’t vanished so completely. The letters I sent to your sister’s home were returned unopened. When I called, she refused to tell me where you were. What else could I do?”
“You could have left me alone!” she said fiercely.
“No, Sara, I couldn’t.” Softly he added, “Because I love you.”
It shook her now as it had shaken her in the past, and Sara wondered wildly how a man so shut in and as remote as Andres could make that declaration so easily—and so convincingly. He was charming and charismatic, but there was a large room surrounding the core of himself marked KEEP OUT, and that was the part of him she was afraid of.
She drew a deep breath. “I don’t care.” She did, but that was something he could never know. “Whatever I might have felt for you died the day I found out those terrorists were on Kadeira.”
“They’re gone now,” he told her.
“And that makes everything all right?” She could feel all her muscles tensing, and her stomach churning sickly when she thought of the terrorists. “Let me go, Andres.”
“I can’t.”
Sara was aware of an inner tremor, and knew that her control was right on the edge, faltering. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. “Do you know what my life’s been like for the past two years?” she asked steadily.
“Sara—”
“It’s been hell. I’ve developed the instincts of a hunted animal. I can’t walk down a street without searching every face, tensing at every sound. I can’t have a home, because it’s a lot easier and quicker to run from a hotel or a lousy apartment. I can’t have friends, because I don’t know who to trust. I haven’t been able to do a damned thing with my life, and if I didn’t happen to have income from my parents’ estate, I wouldn’t even have been able to live, except from hand to mouth, because I can’t hold down a job! Is that what you wanted, Andres? Is that how you meant to punish me for leaving you?”
His face was white, his eyes bottomless. After a moment he turned and moved a few feet away before turning back to face her. His smile was twisted. “You could always make me feel things I didn’t want to feel. That hasn’t changed.”
She wanted to cry. “Let me go.”
He shook his head a little and said, “I have a proposition for you.”
Sara waited, tense and afraid.
“A month. Remain on Kadeira for a month. If, after that, you wish to leave, then I’ll see that you’re taken back to the States.” His voice was even. “And I’ll give you my word of honor that I’ll never interfere in your life again.”
The silence was long as Sara tried to figure out what he was up to. “What do you expect to happen in a month?”
“I want …” He hesitated, then finished roughly, “I want the time with you, that
’s all. Is it so difficult for you to understand?”
“You want me to stay here, in your home?”
He sighed. “It’s safer, you know that. Of course, you’ll have your own suite of rooms.”
Two years ago he hadn’t tried to take advantage of her confusion, hadn’t insisted on a physical relationship even though the attraction had been explosive; she wasn’t sure about his attitude now. “And if I—I refuse your proposition?”
Andres seemed to brace himself. “I can’t let you go.”
She laughed shortly. “I don’t seem to have a choice—again.”
“You have a choice,” he said quietly.
Sara knew what he was saying. “All right, then. I’ll stay for a month. It’s a small enough price to pay to be free of you for good.” The final sentence was harsh, and she regretted the words even before Andres winced.
“I don’t want you hurt,” he said softly. “Just try to remember that, Sara.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. And she couldn’t apologize for hurting him, because she couldn’t let him know that his feelings mattered to her.
“The suite that was yours before has been prepared for you,” he said formally. “The things you left are still here. If there are any other things you need, Maria will get them for you.”
“Thank you.” Sara kept her own voice formal. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go up to my rooms now. Is dinner at the same time?”
“Yes.”
Sara escaped, her heart thudding and her eyes burning. She found that she remembered the way, up the curved staircase and along the open hall to the third door on the right. Andres’s rooms were at the end of the hall.
She went into the sitting room, looking around to find that nothing had changed. The suite was light and airy, the colors pastels, the furniture comfortable. Her portable tape player and box of cassettes were on the small desk, just where she’d left them, and she had no doubt there would be fresh batteries. In the bedroom, the closet and dresser drawers still contained the clothing she’d left behind, carefully cleaned and neatly preserved.
She had been living in Trinidad for the winter when they had met, and so had most of her possessions with her. And when she had bolted from Kadeira in sick despair, all her things had been left behind. He had, she saw, kept everything, as if he had been confident she would return.
Sara wandered into the bathroom, unsurprised to find her favorite scents in soaps and bath oils. She wanted to cry again. She quickly stripped for a shower and stepped underneath the warm water, letting it wash away her tears.
Durant entered the library quietly, unsurprised to find Sereno standing at the French doors and gazing out into the garden. With the license allowed an old and trusted friend, he asked. “How did it go?”
Sereno laughed, a low sound that held no amusement. He didn’t turn around. “Much as I expected. She hates me, Vincente.”
“The terrorists still?”
“That—and the past two years.”
Durant frowned at the strong, still back of his president. “I don’t understand.”
“They hounded her. She hasn’t had a moment’s peace since she left here.”
“But when you told her—”
“I didn’t. Nothing will change her hate for me, and I don’t want her to be afraid. It doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “We have a month to do what we must. I can’t keep her here against her will longer than that.”
“Andres—”
“Does Lucio know yet?” Sereno asked, interrupting.
“Undoubtedly. He has spies in the town, watching the harbor. Someone is sure to have reported her arrival. Andres, a month isn’t enough time. After all these years Lucio knows the island like a wolf knows his lair. He’s cunning, and he won’t give up now that Sara is back; she’s close enough to be too tempting to him.”
“I know.” Sereno finally turned to face his friend, and his smile was twisted. “But here, at least, I can protect her. Double the guard around the perimeter, Vincente. I want the best possible security here at the house, and Sara is not to leave the grounds.”
Durant nodded. “Of course. And Lucio?”
Sereno shook his head a little. “We wait for him to move. I don’t dare weaken security here by ordering the men into the hills to look for him.”
“If only—” Durant broke off, frowning.
“Yes. If only. If only we had more men, better equipment.” Sereno laughed, again without amusement, and this time with faint bitterness. “I command a splendid navy, Vincente, and what good does it do me? Lucio fights on the land. And as long as his forces and mine are equally armed, it will remain a stalemate. I’ve used all the tricks I know, old friend.”
“Not all of them,” Durant said steadily.
After a moment Sereno nodded. “Yes, Long owes me a favor. And what am I to ask, Vincente? Money for arms? He doesn’t deal in guns. Should I ask him again to invest here in my country? What business would survive? How many times have we tried to rebuild, only to see our efforts destroyed in the night by Lucio’s canny harassment?”
“There must be a way,” Durant said flatly. “You’ve struggled for too many years, Andres. You’ve sacrificed too much. There must be a way to win!” He drew a deep breath, then said, “Lucio must be destroyed before he destroys you.”
Sereno turned back to gaze out the French doors again. “Yes. Don’t worry, old friend. He hasn’t beaten me yet.”
Durant left the library silently. He wasn’t worried that Sereno might have given up; defeat had never been a viable option for Andres Sereno, and never would be. Not, at least, where his country’s future was concerned. But Durant knew only too well that despair of another kind could bow the shoulders of a strong man—especially a strong man.
And Sara didn’t know the truth.
It was a couple of hours later when Sara ventured from her rooms. Downstairs, the door to Andres’s office was closed, and she passed it silently. She found Maria in the kitchen, and the housekeeper welcomed her warmly and insisted on preparing her a cup of the tea she loved.
“It’s good you’re back,” she told Sara, nodding decisively, her bright brown eyes smiling. “The house has been so quiet and empty. So has he.”
Sara refused to be moved by the simple comment. “I’m just here for a visit, Maria,” she said easily. “A few weeks.”
“Much can happen in weeks.”
Unsettled by the comment, Sara agreed silently. Much could happen in weeks. It had before. Within the space of a few weeks her entire life had changed. She had met Andres, been fascinated and charmed, swept off her feet by his intense courtship, even to the point of coming here to stay at his home. And then, with dreadful suddenness, she had learned of the terrorists and, sickened by their presence and Andres’s acceptance of them, had run blindly. And had been running ever since.
Sara drew a breath and set her empty cup aside. “I think I’ll go walk in the garden,” she told the housekeeper.
Maria nodded agreeably but said, cautioning, “Stay on the grounds. It’s not safe to wander alone.”
Thinking of the tall fence surrounding the grounds, Sara wondered if she would be allowed outside. She went into the garden, seeing here and there a shrub or a flower that she remembered suggesting to the old gardener, Carlos. There were even the roses she loved, scores of them in all varieties, planted neatly in beautiful beds, though there had been none in the garden two years ago. All around her she saw her own presence, her own influence; in the few short weeks of her stay here it seemed she had left footprints of a sort.
But the largest footprint she had left caught her by surprise, and she stood in the bend of the path, staring in wonder at the delicate little gazebo.
Her own words came back to her: “Such a beautiful view of the mountains here, Andres. You should build a gazebo, a place where you can come and just sit peacefully. A place to rest. You need a place to rest.”
Sara half closed her eyes, hurting.
She walked forward toward the gazebo but spoke to the man behind her. “You called me Sara before, Colonel.”
“And you called me Vincente,” Durant reminded her, following.
Sara stood inside the gazebo just gazing at the mountains for a moment, then sat down on the cushioned seat of a wrought-iron chair. “So I did. Were you looking for me, Vincente?”
He stood, militarily erect as always, and his thin face was hard. “I was. I wanted to talk to you.”
She looked up at him curiously, aware of his tension. “Well, you have a—a captive audience,” she said wryly.
His face seemed to harden even more. “I wanted to ask what happened to the woman who planted flowers in window boxes? What happened to the woman who loved roses and yet never waited for those Andres had ordered to arrive? The woman who brightened the house with her laughter. I wanted to ask, Sara, what happened to the woman Andres loved?”
“What happened to her?” Sara felt cold. “I’ll tell you what happened to her. Somebody yanked away her rose-colored glasses, that’s what happened. She found out she wasn’t living in a fairy tale complete with a happily-ever-after ending.” Sara drew a deep breath. “They were terrorists, Vincente, killing innocent people, men and women and children, murdering in wholesale lots, and Andres condoned it!”
“He never condoned it,” Durant said quietly.
“He let them have sanctuary.”
“There were reasons.”
Sara laughed shortly. “Of course. They paid him money to live here, didn’t they, Vincente? And Kadeira needs money. But I suppose that isn’t surprising, that Andres would choose to fill his coffers with blood money. Variations of that have kept Kadeira a flourishing seat of revolution for fifty years.”
“You don’t understand anything,” Durant told her. “You didn’t grow up here, didn’t go hungry as a child—”
“And Andres did. Yes, I know that.” She kept her voice as cold as possible, unwilling to be moved. “Still, it doesn’t justify what he did. Nothing justifies the acceptance of terrorists.”
