After loud kisses and good-byes to all, Steve stiffly joined Falcon at the small table where he had already laid out their breakfast. It was a nice gesture, and she thanked him for it before remembering that she was still slightly miffed with him. They were both content to eat in silence.
Over a second cup of coffee, Falcon asked, "How old are your children, Steve?"
"Mary Ann's seven and Vince is five. It's hard to believe they'll both be in school in another six weeks. I still think of Vince as my baby."
"Yes, I heard you refer to a baby when you spoke with your friend, Lou."
Steve flushed when she realized he had heard her nasty comment and hoped he really did think she was referring to one of her children. "Anyway, I hate to leave them like this, but it goes with the territory, and it doesn't happen all that often, thank goodness.
I'm lucky to have my mother with me."
"She lives in your home, also?"
"Actually, we live in her house."
"And where are your mates?"
"Mates? Oh, you mean husbands. My father was killed in a car accident five years ago. As to my mate, he found somebody more compatible than I was."
Pain! The sensation speared Falcon's mind so suddenly he closed his eyes against it. It was horrible! How could she casually speak of something that hurt her so much?
"Falcon!" Steve jumped up quickly, knocking her chair over backward. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she grasped his clenched fists in her hands. "My God, what's the matter? Are you ill? What can I do?" Her voice was strained as she searched his face for some indication of the source of his pain.
Falcon regained control and slowly relaxed his hands, turning them over until he was holding hers instead. "I am so sorry, Steve. Let me help you." He released her hands and lifted his fingertips to the sides of her face.
When she saw what he was about to do, she pushed herself away from him. "I don't know what that is you keep doing, but I told you I don't want you touching me anymore. I thought you were in some kind of pain."
"I would not hurt you, Steve. It is not my pain, but yours. I feel I can ease it for you. I must help you because your pain is hurting me." His voice was barely a whisper of sound as he held his hand out to her. "Let me touch you. Please."
It was the desperate way he said "please" that did her in. Mechanically, she moved toward him and knelt again at his feet. His hands lifted to her face. When his fingertips gently touched her temples, she felt her eyelids close against her will.
Steve had not been aware that she carried a heavy burden, but she suddenly had a vivid picture in her mind of a huge boulder strapped to her back, weighing her down as she struggled to walk. Falcon came to her side and undid the ties. Effortlessly, he lifted the boulder from her back and tossed it aside. The weight had been there for so long she had thought it was part of her, and now it was gone. She was free! Her body felt lighter. Steve opened her eyes when Falcon removed his hands from her face.
"What are you?" she murmured. "A healer? Like an evangelist or something?" She became more skeptical as the vision of the huge boulder faded from her consciousness. "I don't believe in that kind of thing. What did you just do?"
"I think a healer is an adequate term. I am able to help people feel better, emotionally. You do feel better now, and therefore, so do I."
"It's hypnosis, isn't it? You better not have left any post-hypnotic suggestions or anything like that in my mind." Now she was afraid that her guess was right. If he was a hypnotist, that would certainly explain how she was so easily drawn under his spell.
"You are much too suspicious, Steve. I would not force you to do something against your will. I have already explained myself to you as much as I am able. Now I would like you to advise me of your conversation with Lou. I gather we will be going somewhere today."
Steve decided there was nothing he could say that would make her believe he had the power to heal, even if she did feel less depressed and pounds lighter than she had in years. It was obviously a trick of some kind. Again Steve assured herself she would not let him touch her in the future.
She repeated Dokes's end of the conversation for Falcon, filling him on the upcoming meeting in Miami. "The real kicker is that Underwood actually did come out of hiding just a few days ago. He was seen by a half- dozen different people in his New York office. The oddest thing was that he bought an entire wardrobe of women's clothing designed in the style of the Napoleonic era. Ill bet the trashy newspapers will have a field day with that information."
Falcon leaned forward in his chair. "Why do you say that?"
"Underwood isn't supposed to like women, at least no one has ever discovered a romantic relationship serious enough to warrant his buying clothes for a woman. It wasn't like he was picking out costumes for a party, either. All the clothes were to be made for one woman's measurements. The lady in question wasn't there. It's almost as if he's found himself a lover and he's dressing her up in private for some crazy fantasy of his. I wouldn't put anything eccentric past him, but it really doesn't fit in with everything else I know about him."
Steve noticed Falcon's forehead wrinkle in deep thought. She congratulated herself that perhaps he was beginning to let his guard down.
"Falcon?"
He stood up and paced for a moment before answering her. "Steve, you told me you were looking for a man, and that Underwood might have something to do with his disappearance. I, too, am looking for someone who has disappeared, but it is a young woman. Her name is Delphina, and we have reason to believe she is with Underwood." Falcon refrained from telling Steve about Delphina's talent for bringing other people's fantasies to life. She would never understand. It was her comment about Underwood having a crazy fantasy that convinced him Delphina was definitely with the man. "I must go now. Give me the address of the hotel in Miami you spoke of."
"I beg your pardon?" Steve asked sarcastically. "I must not have heard you right. It sounded like you're thinking of going without me, and I know you couldn't have meant that!"
"Steve, I am sorry, but I can travel much faster without you. You cannot know how vital my mission is to my people."
"Your people? What about my people? I knew I couldn't trust you! You bastard! What have you got, a private plane stashed somewhere? Is that how you got out to the middle of the desert? Well, let me tell you something. We're doing this together, and if you have transportation that's faster than mine, you better believe you're taking me along with you."
"I have no plane."
"Oh? No, wait. You sprout wings and fly through the air, right? Or better yet, Ill bet you have a Superman cape hidden in that bag of yours. Well, I don't care. If the man in the blue tights can take Lois Lane for a flight, I'm sure you could do the same!"
Falcon cringed inside. He could not reveal the truth, nor did he feel comfortable with the idea of abandoning her. He rationalized that he still might need her help. It would have to be her way for now.
"I have made you angry again. This time, however, I believe you are justified. Of course we will go together. When do we leave?"
Steve was only slightly mollified. He was hiding something, she was certain, and knowing that would help keep her guard up against him. "We are already booked on a flight this afternoon. With the three-hour time difference and two stopovers on the way, I'd say we won't get into Miami until at least midnight, but that should still get us there before Underwood boards his yacht. If we take turns watching and sleeping, we should be able to get to him the moment he arrives.
"In the meantime I don't have enough clothes for either an extended stay or for a variety of occasions. I need to hit a store before we catch the plane. Maybe Ill pick up a bathing suit, too. We can stop on the way to the airport."
Not knowing precisely what "hitting a store" entailed, Falcon merely nodded his head.
"Good. I'm sure well have time for you if you need anything. And don't worry about the money. We're rich!"
Steve's estimate of the
travel time to Miami turned out to be wishful thinking. It was three o'clock in the morning by the time they were settling in on the houseboat. Falcon took the first watch, insisting he was wide awake.
She shook her head as she considered why he was in that condition. The man was a white-knuckle flyer.
Falcon listened to the water gently lapping against the sides of the houseboat. The subtle rocking motion began to calm him in spite of his inner turmoil. Never in his wildest imagination could he have thought it was possible to survive what he had just experienced.
He knew the plane itself was rather primitive and that the risks of traveling on it were much too high for his peace of mind. What he had not expected was the blind fear emanating from several of the passengers, one of whom had bordered on hysteria. To make matters worse Falcon had absorbed the worry of one of the flight attendants. When he had touched her, he had learned that one of the cockpit crew was intoxicated and belligerent.
By the time they had landed, Falcon had experienced firsthand the heart-pounding, stomach-wrenching results of pure terror—an emotion he would not care to feel again in a thousand years. It had completely wiped out the bewilderment he had felt as he had accompanied Steve in the shopping mall. Romulus had certainly been right about that aspect of Outerworld life.
The sun was well above the horizon when Steve appeared on deck. "Good morning, Falcon. You shouldn't have let me sleep so long. You must be exhausted. Any sign of our man?"
"Good morning. No, it has remained dark on his yacht. I believe I will be able to sleep a little now." He rose, gave her a cheerless nod as he passed, and slipped inside.
Steve made herself comfortable on a chaise longue in the sun. She had put on a pair of shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt thinking she might catch a few rays while she took her watch. Opening the paperback romance she had picked up at the mall, she thought she looked like any other tourist along the Intracoastal waterway.
The parking valets and bellhops in front of the Fontainebleau Hotel were hustling madly. Steve guessed that at least a few of the couples arriving in limousines were associated with the Underwood gathering.
The Underwood yacht sat in the water directly in front of her, about a hundred feet away. A crew of men were topside. They must have all been asleep below when she and Falcon had arrived, but they were moving with a sense of purpose now. A shiver of anticipation followed Steve's awareness that Underwood was clearly on his way.
This time she did not think deception would help. Her plan was to approach Underwood head on, present him with what she knew, threaten to turn him in, then offer to make a deal. All she needed to do was get his attention.
Two black limousines pulled up to the curb. The sight of a small army of black-suited men exiting the limos made her drop her book. There was not enough time to wake Falcon. Quickly, she left the houseboat and headed for the far end of the yacht where a gangway had been extended to the sidewalk. Then she saw him—a bald head surrounded by dark-haired ones, surging toward the gangway.
"Mr. Underwood!" she shouted, breaking into a run. The men did not even slow down. Steve tried to wedge her way into the moving mass of bodies protecting her prey. "Please! I need to speak to Gordon Underwood! It's very important!" She yanked on one man's arm. He turned to look down at her through his dark sunglasses, but never missed a step. While several men continued to surround Underwood as he made his way onto the yacht, four huge men blocked Steve from following any further.
"It's about Nesterman!" she screamed at his back in a last-ditch effort to gain his notice. One movement gave him away. It was barely perceptible, but he had cocked his head automatically at the sound of the name. Then he was out of sight.
"I'm sorry, miss," one of the bruisers stated. "Mr. Underwood has had a tiring trip and will need to rest before seeing anyone. If you would like to leave your name—"
"Never mind my name. He knows what I want to see him about. I'm staying on that houseboat next door. Tell your boss to make it easy on both of us. He can come see me, or I'll catch up to him eventually. At the moment, I only want to talk."
Steve turned her back on them and crossed Collins Avenue to the hotel, as if she really did not care if they passed on her message.
Counting on the assumption that Underwood would not be leaving the yacht any time soon, Steve decided to abandon her post on the houseboat and do some snooping. A stop in the Conventions Office and a little white lie got her a copy of the schedule and locations of the Underwood group's meetings and banquets. Nothing was scheduled for that day, Saturday was crammed full, with separate groups meeting at the same time in different rooms. The final event was a brunch on the yacht Sunday morning.
Steve wandered out to the pool area, where a sizable tip to the cabana boy obtained her a chaise longue next to several wives of the directors involved in the merger. As she sat down, Steve dropped the schedule of events on an older woman's rounded stomach.
"Oh, excuse me," Steve said as she retrieved the paper.
The woman opened her eyes, then smiled when she recognized the schedule. "I'm Irene Wilson, Tom's wife. I don't think we've ever met." She extended her plump hand bearing no less than ten carats of diamonds on her fingers.
Steve returned the limp shake. "Hi. Sue Smith. My husband's one of the attorneys for this deal." She assumed there were dozens of lawyers involved, and she just hoped that one of them would have a common name like Smith.
Irene introduced her to the other women in her group, and Steve quickly involved herself in their conversation. A wave at the cabana boy brought a pitcher of mai-tais and iced glasses. Two hours later, Steve felt the heat of the sun on her bare legs and arms and a flush in her cheeks caused by the two drinks she had slowly nursed. It was a small sacrifice. She now knew which meetings were preliminary rounds and which one Underwood would definitely attend.
Before he was completely awake, Falcon knew he was alone. The female's physical presence was gone, leaving only a weakening trail of brain waves. A weight against his chest prevented him from taking a normal breath. Where is she? Is she all right? Unbidden, an image of Steve sitting on deck appeared in his mind. Accustomed to allowing his powers to work for him, he closed his eyes again and relaxed. He saw her drop her book and dash off the houseboat. There was no sound, but he had no trouble comprehending the meaning of the scene that followed. Of all the rotten luck. If he had had the watch, he would have had no trouble breaking through the wall of muscle protecting Underwood. All he would have needed to do was touch him for a moment and the game would have been over.
Touch? Falcon realized he had not touched anything just now and yet he had seen the events involving Steve as if they were occurring at this very moment. Even when he picked up images from touching inanimate objects, the picture was usually blurry, not clear like this. What had prompted this vision? His questions? Quickly, he tested that theory by asking himself several more, about other people and places, including some about his mission, but nothing more came to him.
Was it only questions about very recent, local events then that triggered such lucid images, or was it because the questions involved Steve? He recalled the uncomfortable feeling that had accompanied his thoughts about her and knew that had to be part of the answer.
But still he was puzzled. He thought of Romulus and Aster who were his friends. He cared for them, and yet he had never felt such concern for their safety, only absorbed their worries about each other.
Falcon wanted to work this out logically. There was no doubt he had acquired another new power, but a new emotion had been uncovered as well. He could not help but wonder....
Footsteps alerted him to Steve's return. He would analyze the changes later. Right now he had to deal with her.
Steve smiled. Falcon had apparently slept through her absence. To be certain, she tiptoed up the narrow stairs to the bedroom.
An obstacle burst into her path, almost causing her to fall back down the short flight. Two strong hands gripped her shoul
ders and shook the breath from her. The sight of topaz eyes glittering with anger temporarily immobilized her.
"What do you think you were doing?" Falcon growled in a voice too loud for the close space.
Steve recovered from her shock enough to determine she was not in serious danger. "I—I was only coming up to see ... Is something wrong, Falcon?"
"Yes, something is wrong. You were not here when I awakened. It was irresponsible of you to go off on your own. We are supposed to be working together." His voice quieted, but he did not loosen his tenacious grip which held her balanced one step below him.
Steve's temper caught fire. "Irresponsible? Who the hell do you think you are? I told you I don't work with partners, and I never agreed to take orders from you. What would have been irresponsible is if I had wasted the time to wake you up first. As it is, I came back here with more information than we had to begin with, and I would never have gotten it if you'd been with me." In spite of her irritation with him, she related what she had learned.
As she talked, the pressure of his fingers eased from her shoulders and began a creeping ascent up her neck and into her hair. His thumbs found the pulses beating below her ears and rested there. Nowhere else was he touching her, yet she was aware of him in every cell of her body. The reason for her annoyance was forgotten.
"So, uh, we now know he, uh ..." Steve kept her gaze on his eyes, where his anger melted into desire. She slowly moved her head to rub her cheek into his palm, wanting greater contact. "... will be at the four o'clock meeting tomorrow."
Want ... more ... she thought.
Falcon pulled his hands away from her so abruptly she had to grab the railing to keep from falling. He was at the bottom of the stairs when he spoke without turning back to her. "I am taking a walk. Do not wait dinner for me."
Topaz Dreams Page 11
