One Touch of Topaz

by Iris Johansen

  “I guess it does. However, my work affords me a generous living, and sculpting is a career that’s hardly lucrative. You do intend to make it a career?”

  She nodded. “But I don’t need a lot of money.” She chuckled. “You’ll have to admit that I’ve had excellent training in doing without for the last six years.”

  His lips tightened. “All the more reason you shouldn’t choose to starve in a garret now that you’ve finished with St. Pierre.”

  “But I’m not finished with St. Pierre. Not yet. There’s Paco. I’ll have time to consider my options later. There’s so much I have to do. I’ll have to finish my formal education, as well as find a good art school.”

  He slowly put the statue on the ground beside him. “You still intend to stay here?”

  “Of course. There’s no reason to change my mind. Paco still needs my help.”

  “No reason except that you’re scared to death. No reason except that you could get yourself killed.” His voice was harsh. “Would your precious Paco want you to risk dying to get him off this damn island?”

  “No, but I have to do it, anyway. Paco is my friend.”

  “You don’t have to do it,” he said with barely leashed violence. “All you have to do is hop on that helicopter tonight.”

  She shook her head, gazing at him in helpless misery.

  His hand closed slowly into a fist. “Why do you have to be so damn stubborn? I’m giving you your life. Take it.”

  “He’s my friend,” she repeated, dropping her gaze to the water. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it. We’ll only argue and it will spoil things. We have such a short time before—”

  “Spoil things! You’re talking as if we have—” He stopped, took a deep breath, and rose to his feet. “Get out of there and dry off.”

  “I was going to wash my hair.” “Forget it.” He strode toward the fire. “It’s too cool in here. You’d probably catch a chill.”

  “I could dry it by the fire.”

  “Samantha.” Fletch’s voice was carefully controlled as he took a melon from the bucket and reached for the butcher knife beside it. “I’m trying to hold on to my temper. It would help if you wouldn’t argue with me.”

  She gazed at him uncertainly and then slowly waded out of the pool and began to dry off, her movements quick and efficient. The rough towel was a welcome abrasion against her chilled flesh. She began to dress. “I wouldn’t have caught a chill,” she said quietly. “I’m used to—”

  His voice cut through the sentence with the same sharpness as the knife slicing the melon. “I’m tired of hearing about how accustomed you are to discomfort. You’re beginning to bore me.”

  “Am I?” She tried to keep the hurt from her tone. “I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t think I was complaining.”

  “I didn’t think anything,” he muttered savagely. “I’ve discovered it’s better not to think when dealing with an idiotic idealist who doesn’t know better than to put her neck on the chopping block and letting—” He stopped as his gaze lifted and he saw her face. “And don’t look at me like that. It doesn’t do a thing to me. You are an idiot.”

  She swallowed hard. “I guess so.”

  “Well, I know so.” He glared at her. “And don’t you dare cry.”

  “I’m not going to cry.”

  “That’s right, big, bad guerrillas never cry, do they? They’re too tough. Isn’t that what you said? Don’t you want to tell me again how tough you are?”

  “No.” She didn’t look at him as she finished buttoning her shirt. “I don’t think I do.”

  “Come over here and eat.”

  “Okay.” She padded barefoot across the cavern and dropped down beside the fire. Her gaze avoided his as she took up the slice of melon he handed her. She stared at it listlessly, knowing she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite until she managed to loosen the knot constricting her throat.

  “Why are you just sitting there? Why don’t you shout at me?” Fletch asked thickly. “Why don’t you tell me to go to hell?”

  She shook her head, still not looking at him. “Because I don’t want to tell you to go to hell,” she said shakily. “I don’t know why you’re so angry, but I think it’s because I might have hurt you in some way.”

  “So you let me hurt you as some kind of recompense,” he said slowly. “How can you be so damn gentle? Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to hurt someone else to protect yourself. Most people do a pretty good job of hurting themselves without any help.” Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears as she lifted them to gaze at him. “Don’t they, Fletch?”

  He looked at her for a long moment without speaking. “Oh, God.” He tipped up her chin on the curve of his finger, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn there was fear as well as aching tenderness in his eyes. “Dear heaven, what am I going to do about you, Samantha?”

  “Be my friend,” she whispered. “Is that so difficult? I could use a friend right now.”

  “More difficult than you know.” His low voice had a somber ring. “I haven’t made a habit of practicing the art of friendship in recent years, particularly with women.”

  “What a chauvinistic thing to say.” She smiled mistily. “Couldn’t you try?”

  He was silent a moment. “Yes, I can try.” His hand fell away from her face. “I don’t make any promises, but I’ll try, Samantha.” He suddenly smiled. “If you’ll do me a favor in exchange.”

  “What?”

  He nodded to the slice of melon in her hand. “Eat. Not just a bite or two. I want you to eat like a lumberjack. Will you?”

  She nodded happily. She would have done a good deal more to earn again the rare warmth of his smile. “If you’ll join me.” She bit into the golden fruit of the melon. “It’s really very good.”

  “I can’t eat one bite more, so don’t tell me I need any more nourishment.” Samantha grimaced. “I’ve changed my mind about you needing a family. You’d probably bully them unmercifully.”

  “You didn’t eat, you nibbled.” Fletch scowled. “It’s no wonder you’re so thin that you’re almost invisible.”

  “I’ve had enough,” she said firmly. “It’s still several hours before we can leave for the glade. What do we do now?”

  A purely masculine smile curved Fletch’s lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Samantha’s breathing quickened. It was going to happen again, that wonderful, fiery magic. “Yes?”

  He reached out and touched her cheek with caressing fingertips. “I suggest we—” He stopped, studying her eager face. The sensuality slowly faded from his expression, and his hand fell away from her face. “What do you usually do to while away the time?”

  Samantha tried to mask her disappointment with a careless shrug. “I work on one of my statues or read a book. I have an entire trunk filled with paperback books, if you’d like to take a look at them.”

  “I don’t think so.” He stood and picked up the lantern. “I’m restless. I think I’ll go exploring. You said there were several other rooms like this one in the cavern?”

  She nodded. “You’re going away? Perhaps I’d better come with you. You might get lost or—” She broke off when she saw he was shaking his head. She nibbled at her lower lip. “Will you be gone long?”

  “I don’t know. But don’t worry if I’m not back for several hours.” He turned away.

  “Fletch?”

  He glanced at her inquiringly.

  She smiled tentatively. “It’s just that I thought we might spend some time together today. It would be nice to talk and get to know each other.”

  His expression was unrevealing. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’m not feeling very sociable.”

  “We could play cards. I forgot I had a deck of cards in my trunk.”

  His gaze searched her face. “What are you trying to say, Samantha?”

  She was silent a moment.
“Please stay,” she whispered. “You’ll be gone so soon. I don’t want to be alone today.”

  His expression became even more shuttered. “And what will you give me if I stay?”

  “Anything,” she said simply.

  A muscle jerked in his left cheek. “I know you would, and if I stayed, I’d probably be bastard enough to take whatever was offered.”

  “There’s nothing wrong in accepting gifts.”

  “No.” He smiled cynically. “But there’s something definitely shady about accepting bribes. I may play hardball, but I’ve always tried to play it fair.”

  “I see.” She tried to smile. “I understand. I’m sorry I was so pushy. You must be very bored here, and I’m sure you’re sorry you jumped off that helicopter. I told you there was nothing of interest or value on St. Pierre.”

  “But I think I have found something of value here.” He turned slowly to face her. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

  “A deal?”

  He nodded. “How many statues do you have here in the cavern?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why just the two heads and three smaller pieces. I gave the rest away when Ricardo sent the men to their homes.”

  “I want them.”

  “All of them?” She looked at him in bewilderment. “Why?”

  “A whim. I’m a rich man, and I can afford to indulge my whims. What do you want for them?”

  She shook her head. “You can have them. I don’t want your money.”

  “You will starve in that garret.” He groaned. “Don’t give away your work. Charge me, dammit.”

  “All right.” She paused. “Stay with me.”

  Suddenly the silence between them was charged with tension. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said slowly.

  “I didn’t think it was so much. Only a few hours—”

  “Harder than you think.” He walked toward her and set the lantern back down beside the fire. “But I’m taking what I want, anyway.”

  “And paying for it?”

  “And paying for it.” He dropped down beside her. “Through the nose. All right, I’ll be your court jester and help you fight your personal dragons. Get that pack of cards, Samantha.”

  ________

  The whir of the helicopter’s rotors broke the stillness, and Samantha’s hands slowly closed into fists at her sides. It was almost over. In another few minutes the helicopter would be on the ground and Fletch would be climbing into the passenger seat. She would probably never see him again. Pain twisted through her, and she closed her eyes to block out the sight of the slowly descending helicopter. She’d had many partings in her life and this was just another. It wasn’t reasonable this one should hurt so much more than the ones that had gone before.

  “Samantha?”

  She opened her eyes to see Fletch gazing down at her, his expression tense in the moonlight filtering through the trees. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled. “I guess we’d better get out there and meet your pilot.”

  “In a minute.” His gaze was fixed on her face. “It’s your last chance, Samantha. Change your mind and come with me.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. Not while Paco is still here.” She held out her hand. “Good-bye, Fletch. Thank you again for all you’ve done.”

  He took her hand. “Just like that?” His voice was suddenly savage. “Good-bye, good luck, have a nice life?”

  “What else?” She blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “I doubt if we’ll ever run into each other again even if I—” She stopped and wearily shook her head. “We hardly move in the same circles.”

  “No, we don’t.” His hand tightened on hers with crushing force. “I can’t say I number any martyrs among my acquaintances.”

  “Don’t be angry,” she whispered. “You gave me something very special. I don’t want to remember you like this.”

  “How do you want to remember me?” he asked. “The man who stole your last bite of food, not to mention your virginity?”

  She flinched. “You stole nothing. Everything was given freely.”

  “I forgot. Your peculiar ideas of hospitality.”

  “I didn’t realize this would be so difficult.” She tried to draw her hand away from his, glancing at the helicopter, which was now hovering only a few feet above the ground. “I think I’d better leave you.”

  “No!” Fletch’s voice was suddenly sharp, and his grasp tightened on her hand. “Come with me to the helicopter.” He drew a deep breath, and his tone took on a mocking lightness. “You’re so fanatical on the issue of hospitality that at least you can see a guest to the door.”

  She gazed at him in bewilderment. His demeanor had changed from biting anger to mocking lightness in the flicker of a heartbeat, but she could still sense the disturbance swirling beneath that controlled facade. “If that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want.” His hand released its grip on hers, and he took a step back. “It’s not all that I want, but it will do for a start. I’m learning to do without quite a few things I want since I met you.”

  She turned away and started across the glade. “Has it been that bad? I know conditions in the cavern were pretty Spartan, but I’d hoped I’d made you comfortable. And we did have a good time this afternoon.” During those hours playing cards Fletch had revealed an entirely new facet of his personality. He had been witty, outrageous, even whimsical. She almost wished he hadn’t shown her how charming he could be beneath that rough exterior. It made this parting even more difficult. She glanced back over her shoulder. “And you have to admit I did give you something you wanted—those statues in your backpack. They don’t have any real value, but you said—”

  “They have value,” Fletch said, interrupting.

  “I’m glad you like them.” She smiled. “I like to think of them displayed in one of those fine houses you own. Don’t stuff them in a closet somewhere, will you?”

  “No, I won’t do that.”

  “Good. Then I’ll feel much better about parting with them. Who knows? Maybe someday you’ll give a fancy dinner party, a famous art critic will see one of my statues, and I’ll be discovered. Perhaps you’ll be able to sell them for enough to make it worth the trouble of lugging that load down from the caverns.”

  “It’s worth the trouble now. I have no intention of selling them.”

  “Then they’ll be something to remember me by,” she said softly. “I’ll like that even more.”

  An emotion Samantha couldn’t identify flickered on Fletch’s face before he gave her an equally baffling smile. “I have no intention of remembering you, Samantha.”

  Hurt tore through her. Stupid. She was so stupid to react like this. Why should he want to remember her? she thought. A fleeting sexual encounter with a clumsy, inexperienced virgin, twenty-four hours of discomfort and danger. “Well, I’ll remember you,” she said tremulously. “My very first tycoon and my first—oh, God, run, Fletch!” She grabbed him by the arm and broke into a dead run toward the helicopter.

  A bullet tore past her ear.

  “The patrol,” Fletch muttered. “They must have sighted the helicopter last night and been waiting for us.”

  Soldiers were pouring out of the rain forest and thundering across the glade toward them.

  They still had several yards to go, but she could see the passenger door of the helicopter being thrown open and heard the engine revving.

  Another bullet screamed by her, this one much closer. She cast a desperate glance over her shoulder. A soldier with a drawn pistol was gaining, but he wasn’t pointing it at her now. He was aiming at Fletch, the larger target!

  “No!” Without thinking, she fell back, dashing between the soldier and Fletch’s broad back. Agonizing pain tore through her, and for a moment she didn’t comprehend what had happened. Then she realized she’d been shot. Was she going to die? There was blood …

  “God!” Fletch’s features were drawn with pain i
n the moonlight. “Why—” He broke off as Samantha started to crumple to the ground. He snatched her up as if she were a rag doll and covered the last few yards to the helicopter in a desperate sprint.

  “Take off!” he shouted as he jumped into the passenger seat.

  “The door—”

  “To hell with the door!”

  The helicopter rose from the ground just as the first soldier reached the open door. The soldier grabbed, missed, then dropped back to the ground, cursing as the helicopter rose another twenty feet and skimmed toward the opposite end of the glade. A spray of bullets hit the metal of the helicopter.

  “Cripes,” Skip yelled. “I hope they didn’t hit the gas tank.” He rose another thirty feet, barely skimming the tops of the trees where the glade ended and the rain forest began. “I think we’re out of range now. Can you reach over and close that door? Open, it doesn’t make for great speed.”

  Fletch shook his head. “Not yet. I don’t want to move her until I find out where she’s been hit.” His arms tightened around Samantha’s slight body. “I’ll see if I can stop the bleeding before she regains consciousness.”

  “Do you think it’s bad?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Fletch’s voice was harsh with pain. “I’m no doctor. She could be dying and I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

  “I couldn’t see much in the darkness. Why did she fall back? She could have made it if—”

  “She was protecting me. She took the bullet for me.” Fletch’s mirthless laughter held a thread of desperation. “I should have known she’d do something like this, if she had the chance. I swear the woman has a martyr complex. Dear Lord, she did it for me.”

  Skip cast him a sidewise glance. “She must be a pretty brave woman.”

  “She doesn’t think so.” Fletch’s hand was trembling as he smoothed back the chestnut hair from Samantha’s face. She was as pale as marble in the dim light cast by the control panel. Fear clutched at his throat. Then he saw the faint movement at her temple, and relief pounded through him. She was still alive. “She thinks she’s a coward. She was so afraid …” Fletch roused himself and begun to unbutton Samantha’s bloodstained shirt. “Get me that first-aid kit under the seat, then radio Damon’s Reef and tell them I want a surgeon and a nurse when we land at the heliport.”