by Webb, Peggy
Suddenly Jake stopped. They were at a curb, and he was waiting for her command. Oh, God, what if she sent him off against the light in the middle of traffic? All her weeks of dance training would be meaningless if she had two broken legs.
Jake nudged her leg. The decision is yours, he was saying.
Kathleen drew a deep breath and listened. The traffic assaulted her ears. Was the flow in front of her or to the side? She felt Jake’s cold nose nudging against her hand.
“Everything’s going to be all right, boy,” she said. And suddenly she believed it. The traffic was clearly to her side.
“Forward,” she said, and felt the pull of the harness as Jake stepped off the curb.
Other people were walking with her. She could hear their footsteps. The harness tugged upward, and she was across the street, standing safely on the other side.
Exhilaration filled her.
“Good boy,” she said, bending down to hug her dog. “We did it, Jake. We did it!”
Jake licked the salty tears off her face, then Kathleen stood up and gave the command to go forward. A mockingbird in a nearby tree sang his summer song and a small dog in a nearby yard yapped a greeting to Jake. An old man with a quavery voice called out, “How you doing, pal?”
“Great,” she said in her best manly voice.
“It’s a fine day, ain’t it?”
“It’s a wonderful day!”
Quite suddenly she knew that it was. With a jaunty step she walked down the street, free at last.
o0o
Hunter paced his kitchen floor, and when he thought he might wear holes in the already worn linoleum, he went into the backyard and made a new path in the grass. By two o’clock in the afternoon, he was certain Kathleen had been kidnapped. By three, he was ready to go after her. By four, he came close to calling the police.
“Hunter. Are you there?”
He spun around, and there she was, her face aglow with excitement and her eyes filled with laughter.
“I’m here. Under the tree. How was your day, Kathleen?” Any fool could see.
“Magnificent. Perfect. And yours?”
“Great.”
“You didn’t worry about me?”
“Not for a minute.”
Smiling, Kathleen unhooked Jake’s harness then walked toward Hunter, stripping off her mustache as she went. He met her in the middle of the yard and guided her the last few steps to the tree. Softly she touched his face.
“Liar,” she whispered.
“You know me too well.”
She wound herself around him. “I’m going to know you better.”
“In front of Jake?”
“He can close his eyes.”
When her lips touched his, Hunter forgot everything except joy.
CHAPTER NINE
Kathleen felt the powerful throb of engines as Hunter’s Learjet taxied down the runway and lifted into the sky. Jake lay calmly at her feet, and across the aisle Martha’s knitting needles clicked so fast, she wondered that Martha didn’t start a fire. Rick was spread out somewhere in front of her, his loud snoring evidence of two weeks of late-night debauchery.
Hunter reached for her hand.
“Scared?”
“No.”
She was lying. Somewhere below them was security and safety. In two small cottages beside a moss-draped live-oak tree on a broken-down street, they had kept the rest of the world at bay. For a short time she and Hunter had recaptured the wild passion and sweet dreams of their youth. And now they were traveling into the unknown, speeding toward the dark continent that had once swallowed him up and left her with nothing except a stack of letters, a gold locket, and a broken promise.
Oh, yes indeed, she was scared. But she was never going to show it.
o0o
Tokolosh was sitting in the back of a rundown bar with his hat pulled low over his face when he got word that Hunter La Farge was back in Africa.
“Brought an old lady, a young boy, and a big dog with him.” Tokolosh’s informant spat on the floor, then wiped tobacco juice off his chin with the back of his hand. “Came in two weeks ago on that Learjet of his and been holed up in his compound ever since.”
It was not like La Farge to be a hermit.
“He hasn’t even been to his diamond mines?”
“Nobody’s seen him. Been a bunch of trucks coming and going on the compound. Sounds of carpentry. Looks like he’s building something.”
“Adding on to his house?”
“Don’t know.”
“He was told about me?”
“Yes. He was told.”
“When?”
“Four weeks ago when the foreman booked a flight to New Orleans.”
Tokolosh pulled a handful of dirty bills out of his pocket and handed them to the man.
“You want me to do some more snooping, Tokolosh?”
“No. Your job’s over. The rest is up to me.”
He sat nursing his whiskey for a long time after the man had gone. Who were all those people La Farge had brought into his compound? And why hadn’t he sent detectives sniffing around?
Tokolosh took a long pull on his bottle. His money was about to run out, and he was too damned old to hustle up some more.
When he stood up, the whiskey bottle rolled off the table and shattered on the floor. Cocking his hat at a jaunty angle, Tokolosh maneuvered around the broken glass. It would probably be there the next time he came.
If there was a next time.
“You leaving, Tokolosh?” the bartender called after him.
“Yep. Time to move on.”
He had a son to claim—a son worth his weight in diamonds.
o0o
There was no need to wear her disguise on Hunter’s compound. It was as secure and tightly guarded as Fort Knox.
Holding on to Jake’s harness, Kathleen walked around the grounds, determined to learn them as well as she knew the small path that led from her cottage to Hunter’s in Jefferson Parish.
“Tell me everything, Martha. I don’t want you to leave out a thing.”
In the distance came the sound of carpentry and Hunter’s staccato commands. He was working three crews night and day to complete a studio for her, overseeing every detail himself.
“There’s a giant baobab tree on your right. If you get too close, you’re likely to trip.”
“No. Especially not with Jake.” She paused. “What’s that noise I hear?”
“A bird.”
“What kind? What does it look like?”
“A sugarbird. It’s brown with a streak of yellow on its breast. The tail is long, kind of like a parrot’s tail.”
“What’s that smell?”
“Flowers. Flame lilies.”
“Red?” Kathleen laughed at herself playing detective. “Right?”
“Yes. You keep this up, and I’ll be redundant.”
“You’ll never be redundant, Martha. You have a job with me as long as you want to stay.”
“What about Hunter?”
Hunter’s voice drifted across the compound. Kathleen felt it slide under her skin and spread throughout her body, the richness and wonder of it simply taking her breath away.
What about Hunter?
Every night he slid into her bed and she drew him deep into her body. And while the waves of passion swept over them they were safe. When morning came, he was gone.
If only morning would never come. But it always did. Always would.
“I can’t stay here forever,” Kathleen said.
“I’d like to know why not?”
“I must return to the stage.”
“Whoever said you couldn’t have it all? Is there some rule I don’t know about? Whoever said you have to sacrifice a man like Hunter La Farge for a career?”
Kathleen was tempted to evade, but Martha, who was faithful and just and kind, deserved the truth.
“I can only handle one impossible dream at a time. And until I can prove myself o
n the stage, I will never consider being a part of Hunter’s life.”
“He would spit nails to hear you say that.”
“I know how to dodge.”
Kathleen gave the command, and Jake moved forward. She felt the presence of something, a tree perhaps, so like the live oak in Jefferson Parish that for a moment she was caught off guard.
“What is it, Martha?”
“A kippersol. Called a parasol tree.”
“I think I’ll sit under it for a while. You can go back to the house.”
“And leave you here?” Martha sounded as if Kathleen had suggested she be turned over to cutthroats and thieves.
“I’ll be perfectly fine. Jake and I know the way back. Besides, I need to be alone.”
“Well... I’m not too sure.”
“Remember the rule, Martha?”
“Don’t hover. I know, I know. But I don’t have to like it. You won’t stay too long? This compound is huge, and I don’t want Hunter to worry.”
“He’s busy with the carpenters.”
“Hunter La Farge has eyes in the back of his head. He knows every move you make.”
“Then I’d better familiarize him with the rule.”
“Call me when you get ready to tell him. I want to see the fireworks.”
“Scoot, Martha.”
“I’m going... I’m going.”
The sound of Martha’s footsteps died away and there was nothing except the soft breeze whispering through the parasol tree, the call of the sugarbird, and the distant sound of hammering. Kathleen unharnessed Jake and stood with her face lifted to the sun.
Something stirred in her, and she knew that soon she would be dancing again, not in a studio hidden from the world, but onstage, with lights beaming down and the music of Tchaikovsky swirling around her. What would happen then? Would success separate her from Hunter once more or unite them forever?
A sudden chill shook her, and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. The thought of losing Hunter was enough to bow her to the ground. Never to be in his arms again would be torture. Never to kiss him would be sheer agony. Never to feel him inside her would be a hell beyond bearing.
Almost she was tempted to ditch her dreams. Almost she was tempted to hide in his compound forever, going to sleep each night in his sweet, torturous embrace and waking each morning to feel his lips upon hers.
The chill shook her again, and she heard Jake growl, low in his throat. She lifted her head like a startled doe.
Someone was watching. She could feel the eyes upon her, not curious but cold, flat, deadly.
“Jake.”
His response was immediate. She reached down and felt the raised hackles along his back. They were a long way from the house, and the pathway back was exposed. The sense of evil wafted over her, and she shivered once more. Jake still had his hackles up, but he was no longer growling. Surely he would be growling if the person were close.
“I must not panic,” she whispered.
The parasol tree beckoned.
“Forward, Jake,” she said.
The spreading branches closed around her, and she felt safe. No prying eyes could reach her under the tree. Sliding to the ground, she leaned against the trunk and pulled her dog close.
“Good boy,” she said. “Good boy.”
Breezes sighed around her, and the song of the sugarbird gave lie to her fears. How could harm come in a place of such tranquility? How could evil penetrate the wall and the forces that guarded it?
Still, Kathleen waited. There was a tension in Jake as if he, too, were waiting, waiting and watching.
For the first time in weeks Kathleen cursed the darkness. Inwardly she railed against the bitter twist of fate that had taken her sight. To cower under a tree like a trapped animal. To sit with clenched fists listening for an enemy she couldn’t see. It was a hell that almost sent her, keening, to her knees.
The thick branches let in no sun, and without it, Kathleen lost track of time. She’d foolishly left her Braille watch on the bedside table, though what good a Braille watch would do in her present situation was a mystery to her.
Jake growled low in his throat once more, and Kathleen put her hand on his head.
“Steady, boy. Everything is going to be all right.”
She wished she believed it.
o0o
Nothing was visible through the binoculars except the thick branches of the parasol tree.
“Damn.”
Tokolosh capped the binoculars and rocked back on his heels, thinking. The young boy was not a boy at all but a woman. And a beautiful one at that. Now, why in the world would La Farge have brought back a woman from the United States and then have kept himself holed up in his compound for two weeks? There was only one answer, and it made Tokolosh chuckle.
Once, long ago, a woman had turned his head and robbed him of all his senses. Fortunately he’d regained them before it was too late.
Thinking of the woman under the parasol tree, Tokolosh laughed again.
At last he’d found La Farge’s Achilles’ heel. He slung the binoculars around his neck and slipped down from the tree as easily as a snake.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he said.
o0o
It was dark when Hunter left the building site. The second crew had left and the third had just come in. Two more days, three at best, and the studio would be finished. Then Kathleen could dance again, dance until she was strong and confident, dance until a studio hidden in the bowels of Africa would not be enough for her.
Hunter rammed his fists into his pockets, trying not to think what would happen then. For now he had Kathleen, and that’s all that mattered to him.
Flame flowers scented the night air and the sugarbird called to him as he made his way up the path to his house. She would be waiting for him, wearing one of the flowing, feminine dresses that swirled around her legs and emphasized her small waist.
“Kathleen.” He stepped into the hallway, calling her name, lifting his head to catch the scent of gardenia.
“Hunter?” Martha peered around the door leading into a small sun room. Her face was puckered with worry and her eyes were too bright.
“Where’s Kathleen?”
“I thought she’d be with you.”
Fear climbed down Hunter’s spine. He tried to keep it out of his voice.
“No. She’s not with me. I just got back from the building site.”
“I thought she might have gone there.... She’s been gone so long.”
Hunter felt chilled all the way to his bones.
“Gone where, Martha?”
“We walked. She said she wanted to be alone for a while, so I left her.” She clutched the front of her dress. “If anything has happened to her, I’ll just die.”
“Nothing is going to happen to her.” His voice lashed out like a whip.
Martha clutched the front of her dress. “Oh, Lordy, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“And I didn’t mean to upset you.” He went to her and put a comforting hand on her arm. “Where did you leave her, Martha?”
“Under the parasol tree... on the southwest side of the compound.”
“Is Jake with her?”
“Yes.”
“Then there is absolutely nothing to worry about.”
As he raced across the compound he prayed that he was telling the truth.
o0o
Kathleen had lost track of time. All she knew was that her legs were cramped and she was hungry. She had to get up enough nerve to leave the safety of the tree. Her hand tightened on Jake’s harness.
“Ready, boy?” she said. Instantly she felt him go on the alert.
She was poised to go when she heard the footsteps, pounding as hard as native drums. Her heart flew to her throat.
“Kathleen!”
It was Hunter’s voice, a beacon of safety and hope in the darkness. Relief made her weak. She sank back under the tree, and sud
denly he was there, kneeling beside her, taking her into his arms.
“Hunter... oh, Hunter.” She clung to his lapels.
“You’re shivering.” His hands were strong and soothing, moving softly across her back and down the length of her arms. He laced his fingers tightly with hers. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing. I’m being a silly coward.”
“You’re neither silly nor a coward. Tell me, Kat.”
“I thought I felt someone watching.”
A dreadful sense of foreboding filled Hunter. With the instincts he’d developed from years of depending on his brain and his skills of survival, he understood his enemy. There was only one man who would watch. Only one man who would wait.
“What about Jake?” he asked.
“His hackles were up and he was growling. After we got under the tree, everything seemed to be all right.... I’m absolutely fine, Hunter. There’s no need to hover.”
“Dammit, Kat. I’m not hovering.”
“Yes, you are. I’m perfectly capable of finding my way back to the house.”
Hunter drew on all his willpower to keep from lifting Kathleen into his arms, taking her to the house, and keeping her under lock and key. He didn’t think he could live if anything happened to her.
But instinct and long association with Kathleen Shaw told him the surest way to lose her was to try too hard to keep her.
“Of course you are. But it’s far more fun with a companion.”
The tension drained out of her body, just as he’d hoped it would.
“A companion?”
He loved the teasing note in her voice, the way she cocked her head and jutted out her chin. There was no power on earth that could take away her spirit. And if anybody tried, he would have to answer to Hunter La Farge.
“A friend?” he said, teasing her back.
“How about a lover?” she whispered.
She raked her fingernails down the front of his shirt, pausing at every button to slip them inside and caress his bare skin. Such a simple touch, and yet she might as well have been goading him with hot irons.
“You’re playing with fire, my love.”
