Only His Touch ( Forever Friends, Book 2 of 4)

by Webb, Peggy

  She reached for him once more and laid her hand softly against his cheek.

  “Marry me, Kat,” he said.

  “If I marry you now, before I’ve proved that I can perform in public again, I may never find myself. I may be lost forever in this darkness, depending on you to lead the way.”

  In the hushed stillness she imagined how he looked, his dark eyes burning with intensity, his jaw strong and square, his shoulders back, his head up as he considered everything she’d said. The years spun backward, and through that tunnel of time she saw him running toward her on the school grounds, fists doubled, eyes stormy, ready to fight for her.

  “How did you get that skinned knee?” he’d asked.

  “Jamie Puckett pushed me down at recess.”

  “Wait right here, Kat. I’m going to find him and beat the living hell out of him.”

  “Then he’ll just wait until you’re not around and push me down again.”

  “Then I’ll beat him up again.”

  “You don’t have to, ‘cause I’m going to beat him up myself”

  That long silence she was used to while Hunter was thinking.

  “Then I’ll teach you how.”

  That was when Hunter taught her to fight like a boy.

  “Please understand, Hunter,” she said now as she waited.

  And Hunter, who had been her best friend long before he was ever her lover, understood. He took her hand and squeezed it tight.

  “Do you still remember how to fight like a boy, Kat?”

  Her chin came up. “I do.”

  “Then get out there and knock ‘em dead, kid.”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they walked across the compound to his house. After they’d showered and changed, they had breakfast in the courtyard, with the birds singing sweet morning melodies.

  “I’m coming back to you, Hunter. In a few months, after I’ve proved myself, I’ll be back.”

  “I know you will, my love. I’m sitting here trying to figure out how I’ll endure all those lonely days.”

  “Not with another woman!”

  “No. Never with another woman.” He chuckled at her spunk. “Besides, I think you wore me out last night. I may never recover.”

  “If I weren’t leaving you, I’d rise to a challenge like that.”

  “I was hoping you would.”

  “Better luck next time.”

  He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  “Next time can’t come soon enough for me.”

  “I’ll count the days,” she whispered.

  o0o

  Two hours later she was gone.

  He stood at the gates watching the dust from the Jeep swirl in the wind. He had wanted to drive her, but she’d insisted on being independent. With Martha in the driver’s seat and Jake in the back, Kathleen headed proudly down the road to independence.

  She’d hooted at the idea of sending bodyguards with her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Hunter. You’re the diamond tycoon, not I. What can be safer than a scrawny-looking boy with his dog and his old aunt?”

  “Who are you calling old?” Martha rammed her straw hat down on her head. “Old aunt, my foot. Just give me half a chance, and I’m going to leave you and that dog and go out and find myself a dancing man.”

  They had finally compromised: the bodyguards would accompany them to their hotel.

  Spirits had been high, but it was all a sham. He’d felt the tension when he held Kathleen close for one last embrace. He’d seen it in Martha’s worried face. Even the dog was not immune. Jake had been restless, tending to growl at the least disturbance.

  “One last kiss,” Kat had whispered as he stood at the side of the Jeep. “... until I come again.”

  Until I come again.

  A cold hand closed over Hunter’s heart.

  Those were his words, written in a letter nearly fourteen years before and stuck in the knothole of the tree where they’d first made love. The hand squeezed his heart until he felt as if he were dying.

  Would dance steal her away as Africa had stolen him?

  The departing Jeep kicked up one last puff of dust, then disappeared around the bend. Hunter had to grip the iron bars of the gate to keep from running after it.

  Tonight. He’d wait until later, and then he’d go after her.

  “I thought I’d drop by to see if there’s anything you need before you leave,” he would say.

  She might laugh at him and shoo Martha out the door, then pull him down onto her bed and realize that she was being stubborn after all, that she didn’t have to leave him in order to make a comeback.

  On the other hand, she might be furious at his lack of trust. He might risk losing her permanently.

  She and Martha would be perfectly safe in the hotel in Johannesburg. And the following day she’d be on a plane leaving Africa. She hadn’t said where she was going, whether it was back to her cottage in Jefferson Parish or to one of her houses or to an entirely different location.

  He’d have to trust her. That was all.

  Firmly he shut the gate, then strode toward his office and called Rick the minute he was through the door.

  “I’m going to leave you in charge for a while, Rick.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Somewhere where I won’t think of Kathleen.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “You should come in to bed, Kathleen. The plane leaves early in the morning.”

  “In a little while, Martha.”

  Soft breezes blew against her face, bringing with them the fragrance of exotic flowers and the sound of nocturnal birds. Kathleen leaned against the balcony railing and inhaled deeply. She couldn’t bear to sleep away her last few hours in Africa. In her emotionally charged state, it seemed to her that as long as she could hear the sounds and smell the fragrances that were unique to the dark continent, she would be close to Hunter.

  “You and Jake go inside and get your beauty sleep. I’ll be right there.”

  “I’ll go in, but I don’t like it. I promised Hunter I’d take care of you.”

  “You’ve already fulfilled that promise. You drove like a snail coming to the hotel. Tomorrow we’re going to start anew. We’re going to race to the airport like carefree sports setting out on a wonderful holiday.”

  Martha laughed, which was exactly what Kathleen had intended. As the French doors closed behind her Kathleen wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shivers.

  Something was wrong. She could feel it.

  The sense of foreboding pressed at her until she had to catch the railing to keep from swooning.

  “Just fatigue,” she whispered, but in her heart she knew better.

  If you leave, you’ll never see him again.

  The thought came unbidden, borne to her on the night breezes. She sank to her knees and pressed her face against the cool wrought iron. Was she buying her independence at too high a price? Suddenly all the lonely years without Hunter came back to her, the desperate longing, the secret reading of his letters, the emptiness.

  “What am I doing here?” she whispered.

  Hunter needed her and she needed him. She had let her own fierce pride tear them apart.

  In the dark there was the soft whirring of wings as a night bird lifted toward the stars. Somewhere a tomcat called out for his mate. Sounds of late-night traffic drifted up from the streets below.

  She didn’t know how long she stayed where she was with the cool railings against her skin. Hunter filled her, body and soul. It was almost as if he were there beside her, calling her name. “I’m coming,” she whispered. The sense of urgency was so strong that she would have gone to him then if it hadn’t meant waking Martha.

  Tomorrow would have to be soon enough. “Hang on, my love....”

  o0o

  He waited in the dark.

  The old woman and the dog would be out for a whi
le. He’d used powerful tranquilizers.

  He glanced toward the balcony. The woman knelt there like some fanatical moon worshiper. What in the hell was taking her so long?

  Suddenly the French doors opened and she came into the room. He shrank against the wall and watched her grope her way to the bathroom. Midway there she stopped.

  “Is anyone here?” she said.

  He hadn’t made a sound. What was she? Clairvoyant?

  He squinted, trying to see in the pale moonlight that filtered through the French doors. The woman started up again, her foot barely missing the dog stretched out by the armchair.

  He held his breath. It was important that she not scream. He’d caught the others unaware. After he got the dog, the fat old lady had been no problem at all. When he stuck the needle in her, she’d rolled over on her back like a hippopotamus wallowing in the mud.

  The dog hadn’t gone down as easily as he thought. He should have used a stronger dose. That mistake could have been fatal.

  The bathroom door closed behind her and he heard the sound of running water. She might be in there awhile. Women were like that. He settled back to wait. He had all night.

  o0o

  Kathleen was calling his name.

  Hunter jerked awake expecting to see her standing beside his bed with her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders. Instead he saw the eternal blackness of the jungle and the glow of his campfire.

  The sound of her voice whispered through him once more, and he saw her, standing on the other side of the campfire wearing white.

  “Kathleen?”

  Impossible. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. When he looked, the vision had disappeared. In his need, he’d conjured her up, just as he had that first night in Jefferson Parish.

  An overwhelming sense of loss crept over him, and with it a nameless fear.

  He started to pack up camp, get in his plane and go straight home. He was halfway out of his sleeping bag before reason restored itself. His overprotective instincts were what had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

  He had to learn to give Kathleen the independence she needed. He settled back into his sleeping bag. There was nothing to do but wait.

  o0o

  There was a muffled sound, a heavy footstep falling on thick carpet, and the sense of an overpowering presence. Awakened from a sound and dreamless sleep, Kathleen lay perfectly still, listening.

  “Martha?” she said softly.

  The silence was dark, brooding, oppressive. Suddenly Kathleen knew she was not alone. Someone was in the room with her, someone who smelled of stale liquor and rank clothing... someone who would never have gotten past the door if Jake were all right.

  It would be useless to call for her dog. Kathleen tried to control her terror.

  And what of Martha? Was she sleeping or had the intruder done something with her?

  Kathleen’s terror turned to rage. Did they think she was helpless because she was blind?

  After they had checked in, Martha had taken her on a guided tour of the room. If she remembered correctly, the phone was on a table beside the windows. It would be useless to her.

  She eased her hand toward the bedside table. Her fingers touched the base of the lamp. One good jerk should pull the plug loose from the wall.

  She closed her hand around it and waited.

  The smells became stronger as the intruder closed in. Her muscles tightened in readiness. Her weapon wasn’t much and she wasn’t strong, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  He was close now, so close she could hear his breathing. How close would that be? Close enough to swing the lamp and hit her target?

  She tried to focus all her senses. Did he have a gun? A knife? Should she scream first and then swing? If she screamed now, would anyone come? Would he kill her?

  The smell of stale liquor almost overpowered her. Biting her lip to stop herself from trembling, she tightened her grip on the lamp.

  Her mind was filled with silent screams.

  Hunter. Hunter.

  o0o

  Rick found Martha huddled in a chair in the hotel room crying. When she saw him, she burst into a fresh gale of weeping.

  The dog was stretched on the carpet at her feet.

  “She’s gone,” Martha wailed.

  “What happened?”

  He tried to remain calm and seem very much in charge. The truth of the matter was that he was quaking in his boots. Broken glass was scattered on the carpet, and the lamp lay beside the bed with its base dented and its shade smashed.

  “I don’t know,” Martha said. “When I came out of the bathroom to go to bed, she was on the balcony and Jake was on the floor. Poor Jake.” She swabbed her dripping eyes and nose and tried to regain her composure.

  “He’s breathing.” He knelt and inspected the dog. “He’s heavily tranquilized, but he’ll be all right.... You’ve called the police?”

  “Yes.” Martha surveyed the wreckage of the room, then pressed her soggy handkerchief to her mouth as the hysteria threatened once more. “What are we going to do?”

  “The first thing I’m going to do is put a team of private investigators onto the case. The next thing I’ll do is try to find Hunter.”

  Being careful to touch nothing, he walked to the bed. There was blood on the sheets.

  “Hunter will kill the man who did this to her.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Johnathan was scared. The woman lay stretched out on the rude cot in the corner of the small hovel he sometimes used when he didn’t want to be found. Kathleen Shaw, her identification said. The world-famous prima ballerina. The woman everybody had thought was dead.

  “You’ve gone and done it now,” he muttered.

  In the light of day, his plan to bring Hunter around by capturing his woman seemed ill-conceived and foolhardy. For thirty-something years he had escaped a bum rap for murder only to blunder into a kidnapping so sensational, it would make headlines around the globe.

  Sweating like a pig in the slaughterhouse, he put his hand on the woman’s throat and felt for her pulse. It was weak and thready.

  Groaning, he held his own head. It hurt like hell. She’d landed him quite a blow with the lamp.

  If only she hadn’t fought so hard. He glared at her as if the whole situation were entirely her fault.

  “Wake up, damn you.”

  He gave her one last accusing look, then stomped across the plank floor to his stash of liquor. When in doubt, get drunk. That was his motto.

  He uncapped the bottle and took a long swig. Then holding it close to his chest, he slumped into the corner of the room so he could keep an eye on his prisoner.

  Maybe he ought to tie her up. Not that she was going anywhere, and her blind as a betsy bug.

  Now that he had her, what in the hell was he going to do with her?

  He upended the bottle once more and drank until the liquor ran down his chin and into his collar. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

  His life would have been different if only he and Janice hadn’t gone to the bar that night. If only that man hadn’t attacked her. If only...

  He felt a lump of self-pity rising in his throat and knew that soon he’d be soggy with whiskey and tears. Before he reached that wretched state of oblivion, he conjured up a vision of Janice.

  “You’re well rid of me, my darling,” he whispered.

  o0o

  Most of the wildlife in the Serengeti had taken cover from the torrential rain, but one old leopard refused to leave his kill. Hunkered down over the baby waterbuck, he defied both rain and other animals to deprive him of his hard-earned dinner.

  Hunter crouched in the bushes, his cameras slung over his shoulder. It was raining too hard for good photographs. In any case, his purpose for being in Tanzania was not photography but forgetfulness. Even as he watched the rare sight, standing close enough to see the blood on the leopard’s jaws, he was achingly aware of Kathleen... and of his
loss.

  He lost track of time as he stood in the rain, and only when the leopard finished his meal did Hunter leave. He didn’t see Rick until he was a few feet from his campsite. Sitting on a camp stool in the rain, he was a forlorn sight, with his clothes soaked and the brim of his hat hanging limply around his ears.

  “Rick... what brings you here?”

  “Thank God you’ve come.”

  Hunter’s heart froze. As the hard rain bit into their skin and drummed against the tent, the two friends stood facing each other, one silent with fear, the other silent with grief.

  Hunter was the first to move.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  They ducked into the tent. Hunter unslung his cameras and set about making a cup of coffee.

  Not Kathleen, his mind screamed.

  “Trouble at the mines?” He handed Rick the steaming mug, then sat cross-legged on a colorful woven blanket, nursing his own coffee between his chilled hands.

  “No. Everything is fine at the mines and at the headquarters.” Rick took a long drink from his mug. His hands shook. “I’ve been trying to find you for two weeks.”

  Two weeks. Just one day short of his entire stay in the Serengeti. And not a day of it free from visions of Kathleen, dressed in white, standing beside his fire and calling his name.

  “It’s Kathleen,” Rick said.

  Hunter held up his hand as if he were warding off a blow. Silent screams were trapped in his throat.

  “What has happened to Kathleen?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Hunter didn’t know it was possible for dead men to speak, but he was speaking, moving, breathing.

  “Somebody kidnapped her from the hotel room in Johannesburg.”

  “Martha and Jake?”

  “Drugged. Kathleen was the only one taken.”

  “What’s being done to find her?”

  “A search is being conducted through official channels, of course. And those women Kat calls the Forever Friends are raising all manner of hell with the media in the U.S.”

  “No doubt.” Since he and Kat had come to Africa, he’d talked to Helen and B. J. and Maxie enough to know they wouldn’t sit back and do nothing. Neither would Rick. “What have you found?”