Tango in Paradise

by Donna Kauffman

  She did. And when he issued that same command some minutes later in the protective shadow of the large boulders, she didn’t have to be told twice.

  As she turned onto the pathway to Jack’s bungalow, April reached up and pulled the ebony stick from her hair, then quickly finger-raked the tangles loose. Smiling like an idiot and not caring who noticed, she hopped up the steps onto the porch.

  They’d been back for five days. And five glorious nights. Jack had insisted on keeping his bungalow, which had initially made her wonder if he’d wanted to distance himself from her now that they were back. He hadn’t let her wonder for long. And now she had to admit she kind of liked the challenge of reworking her schedule to fit in surprise visits to the intimate hut.

  She’d looked around the grounds, but hadn’t spied Jack anywhere. “He just has to be here,” she whispered fervently. She had finagled an entire hour off and she refused to spend it alone. She forcibly pushed away the thought that Jack’s vacation time was nearing an end. Just because he hadn’t actually said he was staying didn’t mean anything. Neither had he said he was leaving, she firmly reminded herself as she pushed the screen door open.

  “Jack?” Her call met with silence, but her grin broadened as she heard the unmistakable sounds of the shower. She recalled the day, which now seemed light-years ago, that she had faced down a dripping wet, barely clad Jack over the photos he’d taken of her at the wedding. It all seemed so ridiculous now. Now she knew he’d never hurt her.

  Deciding that she could use a quick shower herself, she stepped toward the bathroom door, only to stop short at a sudden rapping on the door behind her. She whirled around and found Dom smiling at her.

  While she hadn’t made any secret of her relationship with Jack, she had really thought she’d managed to sneak away unnoticed. But she knew Dom would handle himself professionally, so she did as well. Smiling brightly, as if she were in the middle of her office instead of a guest’s private bungalow, she said, “Hi, Dom. What’s up?”

  “Hola, Señorita April. There is no problem. I have mail for Jack. He asked for me to bring it right away.”

  “Thank you. I’ll make sure he gets it right away.” A trace of uneasiness crept into the older man’s expression, surprising April. Assuming he was merely taking his responsibility seriously, she hastened to assure him, “I’ll tell him you delivered it yourself. Thank you, Dom.” Her words hadn’t relieved the man, but her tone, though kind, made it clear that his responsibility was done. She took the flat brown folder from his hands, careful not to dislodge the yellow note tucked into the band that secured it shut.

  “Gracias, señorita. Please tell Señor Jack that the envelope was badly torn when it arrived and Eva tossed it out. I am so sorry.”

  Aha, so that was the problem. “Don’t worry about it, Dom. I can’t see how that will hurt.”

  Dom nodded and April watched him turn and move down the path in what was almost a trot. Her smile faded as quickly as her curiosity over her concierge’s odd behavior, her attention immediately drawn back to the banded folder.

  What in the world had Jack been expecting? She stiffened suddenly. Was this from Franklin? It might even be his next assignment. Feeling her knees begin to wobble at the unwanted intrusion of Jack’s other life, she made her way to the small couch and plopped down, resting the folder on her knees.

  The urge to look inside ate at her. Surely Jack would tell her what was inside when he looked at it. There was no need for her to look. April’s curiosity waged an intense war with her trust in Jack until she realized she’d worried the yellow note that had been tucked under the band into a wadded ball in her fist.

  “Oops.” She hurriedly began smoothing it out against the flat surface of the folder, but stilled as she saw her name scrawled across one line in unfamiliar handwriting.

  Any doubts as to her right to read the note disappeared. If it was about her, she had every right to read it. Smoothing the rest of the wrinkles as best she could, she began reading:

  Jack,

  Leave it to you to find the story of the century in the middle of nowhere! I should have known better than to think you’ve actually been resting down there. How on earth did you manage to locate April de la Torre, for God’s sake? At first I thought you had gone off the deep end when you had me check out that old Texan, Smithson. You could have provided me with a few more details, but I’m sure you had your reasons. After all, I guess it isn’t easy to hide an investigation from the CEO of the resort.

  No, she thought wildly, resisting the urge to tear the damning note to shreds. Jack wouldn’t do this to me. There must be an explanation. Forcing the bile back down her throat, she made herself finish the letter, praying that she’d understand by the time she got to the end.

  I’m honored that you thought enough of my investigative skills to put two and two together. The word is that Markham is very close to announcing his bid—I hope the postal service gets this to you in time. You scoop him early on in the race and you’re looking at another Pulitzer, my friend. Vaya con Dios, buddy, Frank

  April tossed the note to the floor as if it had burned her fingers. Fighting to keep calm, trying desperately to find any rational explanation, she lurched up from the couch and paced to the bedroom door, then back to the front door. The urge to run was very strong and she felt all of her old self-preservation instincts rush back to the fore.

  She distantly realized that the shower was no longer running and she knew that she couldn’t leave without facing Jack. Not without hearing his side of the story.

  She turned away from the door and found Jack lounging in the doorway to the bedroom, the white towel draping his hips forming a strong contrast to his tanned chest.

  He said nothing, but his expression made it clear he knew something was terribly wrong. Using every last scrap of control she had, she calmed her breathing and schooled her expression into one that announced it was willing to listen.

  “While you were in the shower, Dom brought the mail you were expecting. He, uh …” She felt her eyes burn and she took a deep breath to steady her voice. “The envelope was ruined. Franklin stuck a note to you under the flap. I wouldn’t have read it, but I saw my name and …”

  Jack levered himself off the door frame and walked to the couch a few feet from where she stood. She silently handed him the folder, then crossed her arms.

  “Where’s the note, April?”

  “On the couch.” She’d expected him to grab it and read it. Instead he just put the folder on the couch on top of the crumpled note, then turned back to face her again.

  “What could Franklin have said to make you this upset? The information in that folder was stuff I requested ages ago, after the wedding.”

  April’s eyes widened in shock. It was true then? He’d been digging as far back as the wedding? Her mind ran wild. Had he somehow been responsible for her photographer leaving so he could neatly fill in?

  Finally Jack snapped. He lunged for her and grabbed her arms. “What in the hell is wrong with you? I can’t help you unless you tell me!”

  She turned glassy eyes at him, then dropped them to his grip on her arms. “Let me go.”

  “So you can run? No. You tell me first what has got you so scared.”

  “Let me go, Jack. I’m not going anywhere until you explain why in the hell you’ve been having me investigated.”

  He dropped her arms, but didn’t step away from her. She forced herself to hold his gaze, but she didn’t see guilt there. If she wasn’t mistaken she saw anger, with a good bit of hurt thrown in as well.

  “Why would I do that? You had to know that when you told me in Oaxaca what happened, it was the first time I’d heard it. After all we’ve shared together, what else is there for me to dig up?”

  April paled at his tautly controlled tone. “You said yourself you asked Franklin for this. Maybe you didn’t think your plan to seduce the information out of me would work and this was backup. But it doesn’t change the
fact that you’re investigating me, Jack.”

  “If you’d stop for two seconds you’d realize how ridiculous you sound.”

  April’s skin zoomed from pasty white to flushed red. “Well, I’m sorry if you think keeping my private life private, after the hell you people put me through the last time, is ridiculous. I don’t happen to think so.” She spun around, but Jack’s hand clamped down on her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You said you aren’t leaving until you hear the whole story, and by damn you’re staying if I have to tie you to the couch.”

  Abruptly April relaxed, her burst of anger spending itself like a brilliant rocket on the Fourth of July. She resigned herself to listening to him, wanting only to expedite leaving this bungalow so she could go somewhere private, if there was such a place around the resort, to lick her wounds.

  Feeling her resignation, Jack gentled his grip but didn’t release her completely. He knew the only way he could get through to her now was to weaken the defenses she was rapidly piling up between them, so he used her initial lapse to tug her into his arms.

  She struggled, but he shushed her, whispering quietly against her hair. She stilled, and though she didn’t return his embrace, just the knowledge that she’d still allow him to touch her, to be this close to her, gave him the strength he needed to try and sort this mess out.

  “My reasons for asking Franklin for the information were personal, not business. But, honey, I’ve heard the story already from your own lips, and while I may be sick over what Markham and your father did to you … Actually, if I saw either one right now I’d gladly wring their necks. But the fact is that it was ten years ago. What could I possibly gain from writing about it now? Other than a where-is-she-now story—and I’d like to think you know me well enough to realize I don’t do that kind of thing—you really aren’t newsworthy.”

  Instead of the relief he’d expected to feel under the fingers he was trailing up and down her spine, he felt her stiffen further, a feat he hadn’t thought possible.

  She lifted her head from his chest and looked him straight in the eyes, her expression nothing less than challenging.

  “Are you telling me that you didn’t ask Franklin to find the connection between Smithson and Markham?”

  Jack’s confused reaction lasted approximately two seconds. He’d missed something terribly important here. He should have known she wouldn’t lose it like this without strong provocation. “I saw you and Smithson talking at the reception. Something he said spooked you. At the time I was merely curious and wondered if he was the reason you were so skittish around me.”

  She tried to pull from his arms but his arms tightened around her. She burrowed against his chest, but he butted his forehead gently against hers until she looked up at him. Then he said, “What did Franklin find out? What didn’t you tell me, April?”

  “Markham is about to announce his candidacy for president. Apparently he’s a heavy favorite. With all the hoopla over morality and family values lately, Franklin thinks you’re on to something. Apparently he thinks that if I come out of seclusion and go public with the charges again, it will knock him out of the race. And, it goes without saying, the journalist with the scoop wins the prize.”

  “Holy hell.” He pulled her against his chest again, trying to block out the doubt in her eyes while he quickly tried to figure out what to do. Because his emotions were irrevocably entwined with her, he had to work hard to think rationally, to sort out what should be done.

  Taking a steadying breath, he looked back down at her. “You do know that I had no idea.” After a long pause during which he was certain he would die for lack of oxygen, she answered him.

  “I want to believe that more than I’ve ever wanted to believe anything in my whole life.”

  “Well, you can believe it, dammit! Because it’s the truth. Are you ready for another truth?” He didn’t wait for an answer; it was now or never. “I love you, April. Do you hear me? I love you, dammit!”

  Shocked at the burning sensation behind his eyes, he lowered his head the rest of the way and kissed her long and hard until they were both wavering on their feet. Sucking in a lungful of air, he broke away a mere fraction of an inch and whispered raggedly against her lips, “I’d sooner die than hurt you. Don’t you know I’ll do everything I can to make sure the slime pays this time?”

  It took a few moments for his words to register; his declaration, combined with the kiss, had effectively muddled her brain. It must have, because he couldn’t have just said what she thought he had. She ripped herself from his arms, backing quickly away from him, her arms outstretched in front of her, palms up. “You think I’m going to come forward again?” she all but shrieked. “Why, Jack? You said yourself it was old news.”

  “He’s running for the goddamn presidency, April! Can you tell me you’re just going to sit down here in your safe little haven and let a rapist take over the White House?”

  “And what am I supposed to do?” She wrapped her arms around her waist as the anguish over her impotence to change the situation washed over her again. “He’ll just crush me again. The evidence hasn’t changed.”

  “Then I’ll find more. April, I’m damn good at what I do. I’ll find Frannie. Together maybe we can get her to confess. It’s too late to press charges, but at the least we’ll stop his campaign. Let me talk to your father. Maybe he’s had a change of heart.”

  April felt chilled to the bone as she watched Jack transform magically before her eyes into the prize-winning photojournalist that he truly was. He was wrong, though; her father would never change. And finding Frannie after all this time was statistically more difficult than finding the proverbial needle.

  It wasn’t her inability to nail Markham that deadened her, however. It was realizing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jack Tango wasn’t ready to make the change to a quieter, less stress-filled life. The man standing before her, even wrapped in nothing more than a damp bath towel, fairly radiated excitement. The challenge of getting the story burned so strongly in his eyes they almost sparked.

  She forced herself to stand there for a moment and absorb the impact of him, the power that emanated from him, the sensuality that even now, with her dreams nothing more than smashed fragments scattered at her feet, made her body respond to him.

  “April?” Her name on his lips was both a question and a plea. She should have known he’d see her decision in her eyes.

  “No, Jack. If you really knew me, you’d never ask me to help. I would have gladly gone back with you, but not for a story. Not for that story. Do what you have to, but you’ll have to do it without me.”

  “To hell with the damn story!” Jack yelled, his temper frayed to the snapping point. “But it is precisely because I do know you that I didn’t think I had to ask. I actually thought you’d want to go back. The April Morgan I know has worked damn hard to become a strong, independent woman. Strong enough to do whatever she has to to put her past behind her, once and for all. If you’re going to waste this opportunity, then maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know you at all.” Jack’s expression was closed, his tone more cold than accusing.

  April absorbed his stinging rejection without flinching, all the while praying her control would see her past the door. “I have put it all behind me,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “But if going back to the States to dig up useless pain and relive hellish memories best left forgotten is the price tag for being with you, I simply can’t afford it. Good-bye, Jack,” she said quietly, then turned and left.

  Two painfully long and silent days later, he was gone.

  TEN

  April turned up the familiar path to Jack’s old bungalow, determined to go in this time and not stop on the front porch. He’d been gone for over a week and she still hadn’t let the cleaning crew touch the private hut. She had no delusions that he was coming back, and she knew it wasn’t healthy, and it was certainly a poor decision from a busines
s standpoint, but she had kept the bungalow empty since he’d left.

  Which was why she was here, she told herself. To, once and for all, rid herself of the ghost of Jack Tango and get on with her life. Such as it was.

  Rearranging her office and swapping desks with Carmen had taken care of one ghost. Now she would put this one to rest, too. Dry-eyed, she slipped her master keycard into the slot and let herself into the bungalow.

  At first glance it looked like all the other bungalows. Her laugh was humorless. “What were you expecting? A note?” she asked the stale air. As if in answer, her gaze fell on the couch and she felt her breath leave her body in a whoosh.

  On the couch, exactly where he’d laid it one week earlier, was the brown folder. She quickly checked the rest of the place, but it was empty of all of Jack’s belongings. Unsure of the symbolism of his leaving the folder behind, but certain it had been intentional, she picked it up. Under it was the crumpled letter from Franklin. She stared at it for a full minute. Then she sat down on the small couch, opened the folder, and began to read.

  A full hour later, April put the folder aside and stood. Arching her back to work out the kinks, she stretched, then simply stood there, her mind a whirlwind that couldn’t settle on a single train of thought.

  Franklin had been very thorough; she could see why Jack respected the man. Not only had he made the connection between Smithson, Markham, and herself, but he’d even included some recent information regarding her father. It was that information that had sent her mind into a tailspin.

  The information was dry, mainly details of his recent business dealings and whom he’d aligned himself with politically. But it was the first time she’d read anything about him in ten years, the first time he’d reached out in any way and touched her, even if it was through a third party. She smiled sadly as she wondered if he’d aged gracefully, then laughed at her imaginings. Of course he had. Her father had been the typical Latino male, full of charm, sure of himself, and always in control. He wouldn’t dare let the vagaries of time affect him adversely.