by Jayne Castle
Getting the household organized had occupied him fairly well for the past few weeks, but now that a routine had been established, Matt knew he was going to have to face the one big, unsettled area of his changing life.
He was going to have to find a job.
There was a monthly income from the bookshop, of course, but while it was sufficient to maintain himself in Mexico, things were different in Dallas. Matt had realized that with a shock when he’d paid the motel bill and bought a few groceries. And now he had to maintain not only himself but Brad. In addition, it was of paramount importance that he be able to at least match Sabrina’s income. The very last thing he could allow was that she foot more than her share of the bills.
He’d never actually lived with a woman other than Ginny, Matt realized. None of the few, fleeting affairs in which he’d been involved had ever gotten to that stage. Living with Ginny had been so goddamned difficult he hadn’t wanted to try it with anyone else.
But things were different now. Life was different. His whole world was different. The only thing that wasn’t different was the need for money. Matt opened the refrigerator and got out a beer. Then he wandered out onto the patio and flopped down into a lounger to consider his future prospects for a career.
Bleak was the first word that came to mind. There was always the possibility of working in a bookstore, he supposed. But there was no way a clerical job such as that would let him hold his own with Sabrina’s apparently healthy income. Perhaps the answer was to open his own bookstore, he mused.
That last prospect would take capital. He could raise some from the sale of the shop in Mexico, but it could be months before he found a buyer. If he did get a new store established here in Dallas he was fairly certain he could make a go of it, because he’d learned one vital lesson about the book business down in Mexico. You gave the customers what they wanted, not what they had been told they should buy. Matt had no philosophical qualms about stocking a bookstore with sleazy men’s adventure fiction, slushy romances, and novels about neurotic New Yorkers. He’d also learned another important marketing lesson. You never let the customer know what you really thought of his selection. He never sneered when he rang up the latest sale of a horror novel, for instance.
Yes, he might be able to make a go of it, but it would take time. Time and capital to invest. He remembered Rafferty Coyne’s offer. A month of work and twenty-five thousand in cash.
He was still thinking of Rafferty Coyne’s offer the following afternoon when he got back from the supermarket with Brad and found Coyne sitting in an air-conditioned car in front of Sabrina’s apartment.
Coyne nodded at him through the window and then opened the car door. He was alone, Matt saw.
“Brad, take the groceries into the kitchen and then go take a swim, okay?”
“I already went swimming this morning,” Brad complained, but he reached into the backseat for a sack.
“It’s hot. Take another. I have to talk to someone.” It was an order, delivered in the calm, emotionless tone that even Brad respected.
“Oh, all right. Who’re you going to talk to? That little guy with the fancy briefcase?”
“Get going, Brad.”
Grumbling, Brad got out of the car. He threw a mildly disgusted glance in Coyne’s direction and then carried the groceries into the apartment.
Matt climbed out of the car and let the door shut behind him. He waited, forcing Coyne to cross the distance between them.
“I don’t think I care for Texas,” Coyne murmured.
“It’s rather warm, isn’t it?”
“No worse than Mexico.”
“Ah, but in Acapulco one had that lovely view of the bay and in the evening there was often a pleasant breeze. I’m surprised you left. I’m even more surprised that you haven’t returned.”
“I had to take care of a few things.” Matt folded his arms and leaned back against the Ford.
“So I see. A fine-looking young man, your son.” Coyne nodded in the direction in which Brad had disappeared.
“How did you find me, Coyne?”
“With a bit of work. The same way I found you in Mexico. You weren’t trying to hide. If you had been, I might not have been successful. At least not this quickly. You have a reputation for being able to disappear.”
Matt tilted his head thoughtfully. “I do?”
“So Ramon Valdez says. I’m told you should never have made it out of the jungle that night two years ago, let alone with your surviving men.”
“Disappearing in a jungle is much easier than disappearing in Dallas, Texas.” Matt straightened away from the car and started toward the apartment. “But now that you’ve found me, you might as well come inside. Still recruiting, I see.”
“Oh, yes. Still recruiting. Valdez won’t work with anyone else, I’m afraid. And you owe me an answer, I believe. I expected to hear from you last week.”
“I got busy.”
“So it seems. Too busy to listen to a proposal that pays twenty-five thousand dollars?” He followed Matt into the apartment and glanced around with mild interest.
“I haven’t forgotten the deal. Want a beer?” Matt headed for the refrigerator, glad to see that Brad had followed instructions. Through the kitchen window he could see the boy sauntering out to the pool, dragging a towel behind him. Even as Matt watched, another young teenager appeared from one of the other apartments, a girl in a very small bikini. Brad appeared to see her at the same time. He immediately lifted the towel off the ground and slung it nonchalantly around his neck. That’s it, kid. You gotta be cool to impress the ladies. Just look at how your old man is trying to impress Sabrina. A drink when she walks in the door and a home-cooked meal every evening. But I don’t think that’s going to make up for the fact that I can’t pay my half of the rent much longer. Being broke was definitely not cool.
“I don’t care for a beer. Have you any fruit juice?” Coyne asked politely.
“Orange juice.”
“That will be fine. Have you switched from whiskey to beer?”
“Everyone drinks beer in Texas. I’m trying to acclimate.”
“I see. You’re planning on staying here, then?” Coyne accepted the orange juice as he sat down on the persimmon-colored sofa. He appeared to be examining the juice closely to be certain it hadn’t been doctored.
“I’m thinking about it.” Matt dropped into the leather seat of a chrome-framed chair and decided that for all his dapper arrogance, Coyne looked a little drab against Sabrina’s brightly colored furniture. Her bright, modern taste was cheerful, to say the least, and Rafferty Coyne would never in a million years look cheerful. The tacky postcard collection framed and hanging on the wall behind Coyne’s head made the severe, aloof man look even more ridiculous. Sabrina’s home seemed designed to deflate the pompous. Matt wondered if she’d achieved the effect deliberately or if it had just come naturally.
Coyne looked at him. “I will tell you quite frankly that I need you on this job, Matt. Valdez won’t work with anyone else. A most untrusting man.”
Matt shrugged, sipping the beer. “He’s got reason to be. The U.S. government has been known to be untrustworthy when it comes to dealing with independents such as Valdez.”
“It’s his own fault,” Coyne snapped, showing a rare trace of emotion that quickly evaporated. “If he would simply ally himself one hundred percent with us, we would be happy to back him one hundred percent in return.”
“But allying himself one hundred percent with us would mean taking orders from the U.S. government. Valdez has no intention of committing himself so completely. He has a vision of independence for his little island,” Matt pointed out coolly. “Outdated, old-fashioned, and basically quite revolutionary, but there you have it.”
“His ‘vision’ makes him tricky to deal with.”
“That’s probably what England thought about Washington, Jefferson, and the others.”
Coyne looked suddenly approving. “You really ar
e a patriot, aren’t you, Major August?”
Matt frowned. “I’m practical.”
“Yes, they say that about you, too. You make pragmatic decisions in the field. You do what has to be done. How about here in Dallas, Matt? Are you practical in this environment?”
“When necessary.”
“You seem to be setting out on a new course in your life.” Coyne indicated the sleek, modern apartment with a nod of his head. “Or is this a temporary arrangement?”
Matt took another sip of beer and faced his future. “No, it’s not temporary. Not if I can help it.”
Coyne’s fingers drummed a few beats on the leather briefcase. “Will you need money in this new arrangement?” he asked delicately.
Matt took his time answering. “I’ll need more than twenty-five thousand for this new lifestyle,” he finally said slowly.
Coyne’s eyes narrowed. “You know as well as I do that there are ceilings on what I can pay outside help.”
“Ah, yes, budgetary considerations.” Matt nodded. “I understand your position, Coyne. But I’m afraid the government is going to find me a tad more expensive now than they did when I worked for a major’s salary.” He would keep this strictly on a financial level, Matt promised himself. He would make all his decisions for practical reasons.
“There’s more than money involved here,” Coyne observed.
“Not for me, there isn’t.”
“Your government needs you, Major August.”
“My government should have considered that possibility when they screwed me two years ago.”
“What about you, Matt? Don’t you need more than money out of this? If you are successful on this mission, I’m sure I will be able to offer others. There is a chance to build a more or less permanent association between us. A working relationship that could endure for some time.”
“Until I get killed, for example.”
Coyne waited, drinking the last of his orange juice and looking around for somewhere to set the glass. He chose one of Brad’s soldier-of-fortune-style magazines that were lying on the black lacquer coffee table. Coyne pursed his mouth thoughtfully as he gazed down at the cover.
“Are any of the ludicrous ads in this magazine offering more than what I’m offering?” Coyne demanded.
Matt glanced at Brad’s magazine. “The going rate seems to be in the neighborhood of fifty thousand.” He hoped Coyne would not pick up the thing and glance at the ads. Matt had no idea what kind of money, if any, was actually being offered to would-be mercenaries these days.
“Fifty thousand!” The little man looked mortally stricken.
“I thought it sounded like a nice, round number.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Oh, come on, Coyne. We send millions into a country we’re interested in saving from communism. All I’m asking is fifty grand. You know as well as I do you’re more likely to get your money’s worth out of me than you are by handing it over to one of our so-called friends in that part of the world.”
Coyne looked affronted, but he didn’t disagree. “Forty thousand. That is absolutely as high as I have been authorized to go on this mission.”
“You work for a cheap, penny-pinching outfit, Coyne.”
“We have a duty to spend taxpayer dollars wisely.”
Matt’s smile was grim. “You may rest assured that any tax dollars I take from you will go to a worthy cause.”
“May I assume we have a deal?”
“I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“Why not now?”
“Because now my lady is coming home from a hard day’s work and I haven’t even slipped into my Saran Wrap outfit, let alone chilled her favorite wine. You’ll have to excuse me. Duty calls.”
Matt got to his feet as, with the usual flourish, Sabrina’s Alfa Romeo pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of the apartment.
“Are you sure you haven’t made up your mind already, Major?” Coyne obediently rose and started toward the door.
“I told you. I’ll let you know tomorrow.” Matt opened the door for Sabrina, who was striding up the walk, her red leather purse slung over her shoulder. She was wearing white jeans and the fake silver necklace. She smiled brilliantly when she saw him standing in the doorway, and then she caught sight of Rafferty Coyne.
“Hello,” she said politely, surprised to see a stranger in her house. “Friend of Matt’s?”
“He’s pushing door-to-door cosmetics and he’s just leaving,” Matt explained.
“I see.” Sabrina stood aside on the walk as the visitor bustled past her with a distant, polite nod. She turned to Matt. “You’re not buying?”
“I’m considering the offer. Come on inside, Sabrina. I’ll get you your wine.”
Sabrina followed. Matt had been living with her for only a short time, but she was rapidly learning to recognize his moods.
“I don’t think I like him.” Placing her purse on the counter, Sabrina sat on a stool to unfasten her high-heeled sandals. She watched as Matt opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of very cold Chenin Blanc. He had lied to Coyne. He was very careful about keeping a bottle of Sabrina’s favorite wine properly chilled.
“Don’t feel bad. I don’t think anyone actually likes Rafferty Coyne.”
“Who is he?” She kicked the shoes under the stool and reached out to take the wine from him. The evening routine was becoming comfortable and familiar, she realized vaguely. She had been wondering how long Matt would be content with it.
“A man with an offer of a job.” Matt popped the top on another can of beer. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Which meant in bed so that Brad wouldn’t overhear. “That bad, huh?”
“It’s a lot of money, Sabrina. And I could use the infusion of capital.”
“Why is he willing to pay you all that money, and just how much is it, anyway?”
“Later, Sabrina. Here comes Brad.”
Sabrina stifled her impatience as the boy came across the patio and through the back door. Having a kid in the house definitely hampered communication at times. But she was learning to adjust, and so, surprisingly, was Brad. They had reached a sort of truce after that afternoon on the patio when she had interrupted the knife-throwing session. Perhaps because a tentative give-and-take had been established with his father or perhaps because Brad was slowly beginning to believe that Sabrina wasn’t going to separate him from his parent, he seemed willing to tolerate her presence. Nice of him, Sabrina sometimes thought, considering it was, after all, her home.
Watching him come through the back door, dripping water on the floor, a towel slung around his neck, she suddenly realized that he was going to look a lot like his father in another few years. He would grow into those large hands and feet and outgrow the awkwardness of an adolescent male body. Idly she wondered if her new nephew would grow up looking like Nolan.
“Hi, Brad.”
“ ‘Lo, Sabrina. Bring home the chili you promised?”
“I’ve got it. Genuine Instant Texas Panhandle Chili. Direct to you from New Jersey. Did you think I’d forget?”
He shook his head, spattering water like a dog. “No, it’s just that I—”
“For Pete’s sake, Brad, go back out on the patio until you dry off,” Matt ordered mildly.
“Okay, okay. Sheesh. What a grouch.” But Brad stepped back outside and quickly dried himself. It didn’t take long in the late-afternoon heat.
“So why were you worried about the chili?” Sabrina called through the screen door.
“Well, there’s this girl. She’s new here and I was sorta thinking about asking her if she wants to eat with us. Is that okay?”
Sabrina blinked. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Brad sounded almost grateful. “I’ll go tell her it’s all set. Be right back.” He dashed off in the direction of a young girl wearing a bikini, who was trying to look terribly unconcerned and aloof as she sat by the pool.
“Christ.”
Matt shook his head. “The kid’s turning into a fast mover.”
“Like his father.”
Matt eyed her thoughtfully. “This has been a little rough on you, hasn’t it? Me landing on your doorstep with a kid in tow.”
“It’s been a change, that’s for sure.” She grinned, wondering at the seriousness behind his words. “But I think Brad and I are showing a high tolerance level for each other.”
“How high exactly is your tolerance level, Sabrina?” Matt downed a long swallow of beer, planting himself in the middle of the kitchen floor as if he were getting ready to do battle.
Instantly wary, Sabrina paused before answering. “Why do you ask? Planning a little test?”
“Could you handle him alone, by yourself, for a month?”
“What?” Dumbfounded, she stared at him.
Matt said something under his breath, something aimed at himself. “Forget it. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I get the feeling I may not want to hear this fascinating bedtime conversation you’re planning. This has something to do with that little twerp with the briefcase, doesn’t it?”
Matt peered attentively out through the screen door. “Brad’s coming back. Grinning like a fool. I guess the girl accepted the hot date.” He seemed relieved at the interruption.
“Matt, I want some answers.”
He sighed. “Later.”
“I had no idea,” Sabrina muttered several hours later as she emerged from the bathroom into the adjoining bedroom, “how painful it is to watch young love in bloom.” She knotted the sash of her yellow terrycloth robe and flopped down into a chair. “Poor little things, they don’t even know how to make conversation at that age, do they? Or maybe it’s just that they have trouble making conversation in front of us adults.” She recalled Brad’s alternating awkwardness and excitement as he had tried to entertain his young acquaintance over Instant Genuine Texas Panhandle Chili. Cindy Tyler, also thirteen and equally ill at ease in front of grown-ups, had gone through long stretches of silence broken by moments of stark politeness as she asked for catsup or potato chips. The two had found a common bond in a television show after dinner and then Cindy had said she had to go home. Brad had gallantly walked her back across the lawn that separated the apartment buildings. He had returned in less than ten minutes.
