by Jayne Castle
“Sabrina, what you were doing was stupid, idiotic, and totally lacking in sense. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to go diving alone,” Matt growled as they found their footing and straightened to walk through the water to the sandy beach. “A lot of very nasty things can happen along a reef like that. You know that, don’t you?”
“I certainly do now. Thank you for the diving lesson,” she retorted as she pulled off the mask and snorkel. She shoved the hair out of her eyes and slid him a sidelong glance. He was looking distinctly annoyed.
“What would you have done if you’d gotten into trouble out there?” he went on grimly as he strode onto the beach.
“I always carry a dime for an emergency phone call.”
Apparently he wasn’t looking for flippancy by way of response. His hand moved, making her flinch, but he only closed his rough-tipped fingers lightly around the nape of her neck.
“Lady, you just scared the hell out of me. I expect an apology.”
Sabrina stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
“I thought you’d gone under and weren’t coming back up,” he explained very distinctly.
“Oh.” For the first time she realized that the irritation in those cool gray eyes was based on something more than masculine impatience. “Had a shock, did you? Well, I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to scare you. It would be easier to apologize, though, if you’d stop chewing me out. You sound like an Army drill sergeant.”
“Major.”
Sabrina tilted her head inquiringly. “I beg your pardon?”
“An Army major.” He sighed, bending down to pick up his shirt. “Ex.”
“How ex?” Strangely curious, she trailed along be-hind him until she reached the point where she had left her towel.
“I resigned my commission nearly two years ago.”
“Oh, then that explains it.”
“Explains what? Lady, if I hadn’t made up my mind to talk to you in a civil manner this morning, I might be inclined to take offense at your tone,” he drawled with soft warning.
Sabrina decided to ignore the threatening tone. Considering the fact that she had told herself she didn’t particularly want to see Matt August again, she discovered her curiosity was still running high. “What are you doing here, Matt? Shouldn’t you be back at the store and getting ready for another fun night in Acapulco?”
His mouth tightened. “What does it look like I was doing? I was following you.” He pulled on his boots. “Come on. I’ve got another towel in the jeep.”
“Why?”
“I keep one handy in case I decide to take an unexpected swim,” he returned a little too pleasantly as he started toward the cliff.
“I mean, why were you following me?” She found herself trailing him obediently. The knowledge annoyed her. She wondered why she was doing it and then realized it had to do with the fact that there was a touch of command in the way he spoke. It was a part of him, she realized; a faint hint of an innate ability to demand cooperation and obedience from others. Some people were born with it. In the corporate world they became financially successful. In the military world they could become very dangerous. It occurred to her that there had probably been a time when men had moved very quickly in response to Matt August’s commands.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained evenly as they reached the open jeep parked on the cliff. He rested one foot against the fender and pulled up the damp cuff of his khaki slacks. “I wanted to explain about last night. Hand me that towel, will you?”
Sabrina bit back a sharp response and handed him the towel that was lying folded on the backseat. She watched as he unbuckled the wet leather sheath and removed the knife. Carefully he wiped the blade, his brows in an intent, heavy line as he performed the small task.
“You show a lot of concern for that thing,” Sabrina muttered.
“Old habits die hard. Besides, Kirby would have my head if he thought I wasn’t taking proper care of his creation.”
“Who’s Kirby?”
“The man who made this knife. He’s an artist in his own way. One of the finest craftsmen I’ve ever met.” Matt shook his head in disgust. “He’d have collapsed laughing if he could have seen me last night.”
“Never found yourself on the business end of a knife before?” Sabrina taunted coolly.
“Sure. But not one of my own.”
The calm, flat way he admitted it made Sabrina unexpectedly nervous. She found herself wondering what happened to the other people in the world who had pulled knives on ex-Major Matt August. Then she reconsidered the fact that ex-Major August was now running a tourist bookshop in balmy Acapulco, Mexico. Perhaps he hadn’t been all that good at being a major.
“Get in and I’ll take you back to the hotel.” Matt put a hand on the edge of the windshield and challenged her with a cool glance. “We can have a cup of coffee or something.”
“The cabdriver is returning for me in another hour,” she told him, wishing desperately that she could read the look in Matt’s shuttered eyes. This was the man who had tried to rape her last night, she reminded herself. She must be out of her head even to think of climbing into the jeep and accepting a ride back into town.
“If he doesn’t find another fare in the meantime.” Matt waited.
On the other hand, this was also the man she had intuitively selected out of a crowd last night, Sabrina told herself. Even in the broad light of day, knowing what she did about him, Sabrina’s instincts still responded sharply to his presence. He was quite sober this morning. If she could handle him last night when he’d had too much to drink, she could handle him this morning. Besides, he was probably right about the cabdriver.
“Please, Sabrina. I want to talk.”
Sabrina made her decision. She swung herself lightly up into the passenger side of the jeep without a word. Matt was in beside her, turning the key in the ignition before she could change her mind.
“I’m surprised anyone takes a chance on driving in Mexico,” Sabrina observed as he guided the jeep nimbly onto the road toward town. “Just being at the scene of an accident is a crime here, isn’t it? I’ve heard that Mexican law is based on the Napoleonic Code. Guilty until proven innocent.”
“I’ve got insurance that buys me some protection, and I know who to contact to buy the remainder if I ever need it,” Matt answered with a shrug. “Close your eyes if my driving makes you nervous.”
“I think I can handle it with my eyes open.”
“I think you can, too. You’re the lady who sublimates with an Alfa Romeo, aren’t you?”
“I see you weren’t too drunk to remember a few details from our scintillating conversation last night,” she said sweetly.
“What does it take to knock the sass out of you?”
“More artillery than you’ve got to throw into action.” She grinned with sudden cheerfulness, relaxing into her seat, feeling quite sure of herself now.
“In that case,” he murmured, “there’s no reason why you should be afraid to have dinner with me tonight, is there?”
She slanted him a speculative glance. “You never give up, do you?”
“Must be the military in me. Seven thirty? Mexicans dine late. We’ll have a couple of drinks and I’ll try to explain what happened last night.”
“There’s no need to explain. Believe me, it was very obvious! Don’t close your eyes like that,” she added abruptly. “You’re supposed to be driving.”
“I’m asking a higher authority for patience.”
“No point. You said yourself you’re not in the military any longer.” She chuckled, feeling quite satisfied with the knowledge that she could hold her own with Matt August.
“Dinner, Sabrina?”
“Are you groveling, Matt?”
“I’m trying.”
“All right, then. Seven thirty. A public restaurant, not your home, and I want the restaurant located in town, not five miles out,” she stipulated.
“Cautious little t
hing, aren’t you?”
“Do you blame me?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty,” he said grimly. Life was turning complicated, Matt reflected. For the past two years everything had been very simple here in Mexico. Maybe too simple. Dealing with Sabrina was showing him just how accustomed to drifting he had become.
Life’s complications were also, on Sabrina’s mind later that evening as she shared a small table with Matt in another of Acapulco’s breeze-cooled terrace bars. Matt had chosen a different hotel this evening and she wondered if it was because he had not wanted to dredge up recent memories by taking her back to her own hotel lounge.
The low, ruffled neckline of the summer white dress she wore left Sabrina’s throat and shoulders deliciously bare to the balmy night. The wide skirt was held at the waist by a huge, brassy leather belt she had found in the local market that afternoon; another garish contribution to her growing collection of Mexican souvenirs. It took a professional such as herself, she’d decided, to truly appreciate the fine art of totally tasteless souvenirs. Matt, as usual, was dressed in a freshly pressed shirt and strictly creased trousers. Such uncompromising neatness, even in this climate. The military in him, she decided.
“What are you thinking about, Sabrina?” He sipped his whiskey and eyed her intently. “You look as though you’re laughing at a very private joke.”
She shook her head in quick denial. “Only at you.” She smiled.
“Well, that’s a step ahead of having you hurl knives at me, I suppose.”
“Ever the philosopher,” she complained. “How did you wind up running a bookstore in Acapulco, Matt?”
“How did you wind up in Dallas?” he countered.
“That’s easy. I got kicked out of California.” The humor chilled in her eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I thought California tolerated just about anything and anyone. What did you do that was so weird they had to kick you out?”
“If I told you that I seduced an innocent young man and convinced him to sell industrial secrets to the enemy and that his father later took such offense when the FBI arrested his son that he told me to get out of the state, would you believe me?”
Matt studied her for a full minute. “I think you’re serious,” he finally allowed cautiously.
“Well, that’s the father’s version of the story. Mine’s somewhat different.”
“Meaning you deny seducing the kid into selling secrets?”
“He wasn’t a kid. He was twenty-six at the time.”
Matt frowned. “He was still a kid.”
“Funny. That’s what his father said,” Sabrina remarked. “I wonder at what age men are supposed to grow up?”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-nine. Fully adult and willing to admit it.”
“Did he sell the secrets?”
She nodded. “High-tech computer information. It happens more frequently than anyone wants to admit. The authorities say that the usual scenario is for a man to get in over his head either with the IRS or a woman, and the next thing he knows a very nice gentleman with a foreign accent comes along and offers to help him out of the financial difficulties. The very nice gentleman doesn’t say he’s affiliated with the KGB, of course. He usually claims to be from a Western country that basically has the same interests as the U.S. at heart. And of course the device won’t be used for military purposes. It’s just a business deal without going through the usual bothersome government red tape. Somehow the stuff just happens to wind up in the wrong hands.”
“The IRS or a woman, hmmm?” Matt looked pensive. “Where do you fit in?”
“Well, I’ll give you a clue. I wasn’t from the IRS,” Sabrina shot back bitterly. “His father decided I must be the expensive mistress. The poor boy had to resort to selling out his company’s secrets just to keep me in the opulent style I demanded.”
“Where’s this poor boy now?”
“One of those minimum security federal prisons. I doubt he’ll be there very long. His father can afford the very best legal talents and probably some not-so-legal talents, too. Look, Matt, this really isn’t one of my favorite topics of conversation.”
“Were you the kid’s mistress?”
“I keep having to remind everyone that the kid was twenty-six years old!”
“Were you his mistress?”
“No, damn it, I was not his mistress. We dated occasionally, had some things in common, and that was the extent of the relationship. That’s also the extent of my explanations on the subject. How did I let you push me into talking about it, anyway?” She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not and she told herself it didn’t matter. “I think I’m the one who asked the original question about mysterious backgrounds. You owe me some answers now that I’ve let you pull my life story out of me.”
“I didn’t get your life story. All I got were a few bare facts. I still don’t understand why you left California.”
“Let’s just say the situation became distinctly uncomfortable. Have you ever had your name plastered across the newspapers? Had people look at you as if you were some form of lowlife that had had the nerve to crawl out from under a rock? Have you walked into a room and known that you were the subject of conversation before you arrived? Been the subject of rumors and speculation? Had unpleasant names attached to you? Been blamed for a tragedy? Had a career ruined?”
“Sure.”
Sabrina nearly fell off her seat. Recovering rapidly, she gulped at her Margarita and shot her companion a fiercely accusing glance. “It’s not funny, Matt.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”
It was her turn to study him intently. The hazel gaze never wavered from hers as she did so. “No,” Sabrina finally said slowly, “you don’t look as though you’re laughing. The ‘ex’ part of the ex-major wasn’t voluntary?”
He lifted one shoulder. “If I hadn’t resigned I probably would have been court-martialed.”
“Why?” she demanded in a low, tight voice.
“A covert mission that didn’t stay covert. When the media learned of it, someone had to take the fall. I was the officer in charge.”
“Where?”
“Central America.”
“I see.”
“What’s the matter, Sabrina? Isn’t the background of a cashiered Army officer romantic enough for you?”
She contemplated the bitterness beneath his grim flippancy. It sounded familiar, and she realized it was because she’d heard it in her own voice often during the past year. “You said you resigned.”
“In my case there wasn’t much difference.”
“If you want my opinion, you’re better off out of the military,” she declared abruptly. “Selling this week’s bestsellers to tourists is a much more honest way to make a living. Not to mention a much more honorable way.”
The whiskey glass in his hand came down on the table with a controlled crash. “Don’t lay your prim little liberal concepts of right and wrong on me, lady. I’m not interested in them. You know nothing about my career or what it meant to me.”
“I know about that knife you carry, and I can guess about things like covert missions in Central America,” she snapped, suppressing a twinge of alarm at his display of temper. “I’m not a big fan of the military mentality.”
“It’s probably not all that much different from the corporate mentality!”
“Exactly!” Sabrina sat back in her chair, crossing her legs with an aloof nonchalance she was far from feeling. “Just between you and me, I’m no fan of corporate life, either. The hierarchy is based on military protocol, and it shows. The men in command give orders as if they did so by divine right. I can just imagine how much worse it would be in the military, where there aren’t such things as unions and boards of directors and stockholders to intervene.”
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and justify my career in the Army,” Matt gritted savagely.
“Especially sinc
e you no longer have one to justify? Like I said, I think you’re better off out of it. If you want my opinion, the kind of skills you perfect running commando missions in Central America have nothing to recommend them.”
“I’ve already tried to indicate I don’t want your opinion. I think you’d better shut up, Sabrina, before we find ourselves at each other’s throats.”
“Good idea, especially given the fact that tonight you have the knife,” she agreed with saccharine charm. She could feel the adrenaline racing through her in much the same way it had last night when she hurled the knife into the wall beside Matt’s head. It didn’t take much intuition to know that Matt was equally alive with tension. She saw him draw a slow, steadying breath, and then a mask of control fell into place.
For just a few minutes there, Sabrina acknowledged, she had been able to read the raw expression in his eyes. Anger, bitterness, a distant pain, and an overall grimness had glittered in the hazel depths. All of that was gone, concealed now by the familiar hooded gaze. Only the grimness remained.
“I didn’t intend to spend the evening arguing with you,” he said quietly.
“I believe you.” Her voice was equally quiet.
For a moment they regarded each other in a manner that reminded Sabrina of two circling cats looking for an opening or a way to back down without losing face.
“Viewed very objectively,” Sabrina finally offered, “I suppose an outside observer might say we had something in common. Neither one of us appears to have gotten very far in the careers we originally chose for ourselves. In a way both of us managed to get cashiered.”
“With that understanding between us, do you think we can get through the rest of the evening in peace?” he wondered.
“I think so,” she agreed softly. “Tell me about the bookstore. I freely admit that my family is violently opposed to my new career.”
“Why?”
“They’re all bankers. I got a degree in accounting because I was more or less bullied into it. It was a barely acceptable alternative for someone from a banking family who had made it clear she definitely was not going to become a banker. Or a banker’s wife.”
