Maybe the real problem wasn’t that he was going to be working with Lou in Sonora. Maybe the real problem, he thoughtas a wave of inexplicable fear rippled through him, was that he was going to be working with Lou up close.
Chapter Three
“So, how was your dinner with André last night?”
Lou eyed Mason blandly. “Albert. His name isn’t André, it’s Albert.”
“Whatever.”
“It was fine. We had a very nice time together.”
Lou and Mason were enjoying the last of their own Friday dinner at Lou’s tiny kitchen table—a consolation meal for Mason since he missed out on his usual Thursday repast—and Lou supposed she should be grateful for even this small, if sarcastic, communication from him. He’d been way too quiet this evening. And he was wearing the striped Oxford shirt she gave him for his birthday with his faded jeans. It was clear he was trying to make up for being a jerk the other night.
“Is Michaud aware of the fact that you work for one of the most widely read and highly respected newspapers in the nation?” he asked. He punctuated the question by pointing his fork at her, as if he were accusing her of a heinous crime or trying to draw her attention to a stain on her gray sweatshirt.
“Of course he is,” she said, dropping her chin to inspect the upside-down words, American University, emblazoned across her chest just to be sure she hadn’t lost part of her supper there. “I’ve been very up front about myself.”
That was the understatement of the century. Lou and Albert had become instant friends long before Wednesday night. Almost immediately after meeting at the embassy, theirs had become a strangely comfortable relationship, like that of two friends who had come together after years of being apart. Whatever romantic ideas either of them might have initially been entertaining at the embassy reception, they’d vanished by evening’s end. The two of them had ended up talking nonstop about everything from their childhoods to where they hoped to retire. Both had left with the realization that they simply enjoyed each other’s company and wanted to spend time together as friends. Albert had even told Lou about his recent, nearly devastating divorce from the only woman he’d ever loved, and Lou had poured her heart out to Albert about her feelings for Mason.
She was reasonably confident now Mason was off base in his assumption that the new regime on Sonora was going to be as repressive and secretive as the old one. Not that she would draw any conclusions for certain until she’d seen and investigated for herself. But she had amazingly good instincts where people and situations were concerned, and her gut told her Albert Michaud was a very nice man who had only his country’s best interests at heart. She couldn’t believe someone like him would have anything to do with a man like Marco Papitou unless the general’s goals for Sonora were honorable.
“Are you all packed and ready to go to Sonora?” Mason asked as they cleared away the remnants of their meal.
“I know what I’m going to take, but I haven’t started the actual packing yet. Why?”
He shrugged as he reached for a dish towel. “No reason.”
Lou stared at him until he looked back at her. “Mason, if you think you’re going to talk me out of going, then you’ve got another think coming.”
He gazed back at her mildly. “Lou, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re getting awfully paranoid.”
“Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean you’re not out to get me.”
“No one’s out to get you, Lou. I just want to make sure you pack everything you’ll need.”
“I’ve got notepads, pens, and pencils, a tape recorder and tapes, camera and film, a few items of clothing appropriate for the tropical weather. What else could I possibly need?”
“How about mosquito repellent?” Mason asked. “Something for stomach queasiness and dysentery? First-aid kit, bottled water, sunscreen, antiseptic, a Swiss army knife if you have one, and a couple of paperbacks for all the times you’ll be waiting around for something to happen.”
Gazing down into the soapy dishwater, Lou rubbed too vigorously at a gravy stain. “I would have remembered all those things,” she said. “Probably.”
“Yeah. Probably. Boy, I won’t be able to let you out of my sight for a second down there. God knows what you’ll wander into.”
“I’ll be fine, Mason,” Lou said evenly.
“You’ll probably wind up with Montezuma’s revenge or a severe piña colada reaction. But then my job of babysitting you will be done for me, and I can write the story, and we can both get back to living our lives again.”
All right, that did it. Turning to him again, Lou settled her hands on her hips and threw him a furious look. “Mason, your job down on Sonora will not be to act as my babysitter. And I’ll be the one who writes the story, since you’ll probably spend the whole time sightseeing with Sonoran Tourist Barbie. Albert says there are some beautiful beaches and great casinos on Sonora, and I know how much you like to entertain big, blond bimbos.”
“Now, just hold on there,” Mason interrupted. “They don’t have to be big. Or blond, for that matter.”
Lou ignored him. “It wasn’t my idea to bring you into this. It was Paula’s. She thought that since I’m kind of inexperienced, another reporter might be helpful. She was the one who picked you, not me. If I’d had a choice, I would have asked for Charlie Addison.”
He gaped at that. “You think Charlie Addison is a no-talent bore who can’t write worth a damn.”
“I’d rather spend my time down there with a no-talent bore than an egocentric Romeo who can’t get it out of his thick head that he’s not my brother and he’s not…my…keeper!”
For a long moment, they only glared at each other in silence. Then Mason wadded up the towel and threw it onto the countertop and straightened to his full six-foot-two height—flexing every muscle in his arsenal as he did. Lou’s cheeks flamed with heat, though whether it was a result of her anger or her fascination with Mason’s posture, she wasn’t sure. But she refused to back down. They’d been building up to a showdown for a long time, and high noon had finally arrived.
“What are you implying?” he asked quietly. A little too quietly for her comfort.
Lou inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m not implying anything. I meant exactly what I said.”
Another moment dragged by before he spoke again. And when he did, his voice was quiet and laced with something that almost sounded hurt. “Do you really think I’m an egocentric Romeo?”
That was all he could say? He wasn’t going to mention the part about him not being her keeper, which was the point that was supposed to be the most important? Everyone who knew Mason thought he was an egocentric Romeo. Even Mason thought that in some version. So why did he look so wounded? And why was he ignoring her other accusation? It was settled. Mason Thorne was the most exasperating man she’d ever met.
It would be pointless to argue with him in his state. Lou wasn’t retreating from the confrontation. She wasn’t. She knew they’d have to address this again. Eventually. But Mason had a one-track mind, and if he was focused now on her opinion of him as an egocentric Romeo, then nothing would distract him from that for a while.
“Oh, just forget it,” she muttered as she went back to doing the dishes. “Everything will be fine on Sonora. You won’t have to worry about me.”
Mason watched Lou’s withdrawal with mixed emotions. He was relieved their conversation hadn’t escalated into another one of Lou’s litanies that she could take care of herself without any help from him. But there was something combined with his relief, some weird response he hadn’t experienced before. Confusion, that was it, he realized with a start. Which was weird. Why should he be confused by what was becoming a daily event—his having to take Lou aside and explain the facts of life to her? Not the figurative facts of life, since she had to already know about those, right? It was the literal facts of life he kept having to make her see. The ones where she had to face the fact she’d been so sh
eltered growing up, she had to be extra careful how she acted now.
Her outburst only proved that. If she were the mature, capable adult she kept claiming to be, she wouldn’t be so emotional. Mason sure as hell never overreacted like that. He really was going to have to keep an eye on her once they arrived on Sonora. There really was no telling what might happen to her down there.
****
As the plane banked sharply to the left, Lou got her first glimpse of Sonora. To say she was excited would be a gross understatement. Not only was it her first sighting of the island nation whose land mass was slightly smaller than Puerto Rico to its northeast, and whose population hovered at just over three and a half million, but it was her first time out of the country and her first opportunity to have Mason all to herself.
Despite the political troubles and social problems that had plagued the small country for more than half a century, Sonora was reputed to be a topographical paradise. Endless stretches of sparkling white beaches surrounded the island, lined with palm trees and quaint, pastel-hued houses. The capital city of Madriga was described as a progressive center of commerce, offering a variety of hotels, restaurants, nightclubs and places to shop. The average annual rainfall was less than twenty-five inches. The median high temperature a delightful seventy-six degrees. Culturally, Sonora was a mix of French and Spanish, and the local language was a lively mix of both Albert had assured her neither she nor Mason would understand. However, Spanish and French, as well as English, were spoken by nearly everyone, and because Lou had taken four years of French in college, she was confident she would do fine.
Looking over at her companion, she saw Mason was still fast asleep. How could he be so relaxed? Probably because he’d been seeing and doing things like this for a long time, something he loved to remind her about. Over and over again. Especially when she was reminding him she wasn’t a child anymore. He also liked to remind her he was eleven years her senior and, biologically speaking anyway, old enough to be her father. And when Lou tactfully asserted that eleven years old wasn’t generally considered the standard age males became potential fathers, Mason always lifted his head proudly and announced it was for all the Thorne men.
How had she fallen for someone like him? Too old for her. Right. Who did he think he was kidding? There were times when she felt like his parent. She’d experienced a lot more than most women her age. Her enrollment in the school of hard knocks had come a long time before she left Hack’s Crossing. Before she even met Mason Thorne. Life in the mountains could be brutal. Before Steven Destri pulled her family into his drug operation, she’d never thought about the world outside her hometown—one where houses had more than four or five rooms and claimed electricity and running water that worked the way it was supposed to. In Hack’s Crossing, Lou’s day had begun before sunup, and she’d fallen into bed exhausted when people like Mason were just getting ready to party. Times were hard for the people in her community. But somehow, they’d been strong enough to make it through one more day.
Lou had spent the last six years trying to convince Mason of her own strength. But there was something in him that refused to believe she could survive without help from him. He thought she was fragile and naive, in danger of breaking under the slightest stress. She just couldn’t make him understand she’d never been that kind of person. Not before he met her, and not now.
In spite of that, there was a part of her that kind of liked having Mason to lean on. Her mother died when she was six, leaving her to cook and clean for a bear of a man and five monstrous older brothers. Then, when her father was killed in a mining accident just after her twelfth birthday, his brother, Lou’s Uncle Fairmont, had stepped in as her guardian. But little else had changed. Along with Steven Destri, that gangster in snake’s clothing, Lou’s male role models when she was a kid had mostly inspired her to keep men at a distance whenever possible. And it had scared her senseless to realize that as long as she lived in Hack’s Crossing, she’d be dependent on men like them for survival.
Then she went into D.C. one day with her cousin under the pretense she just wanted to see what the big city was like, and seized the opportunity to escape for a few hours and seek out help from someone who could put a stop to the terrible things going on in Hack’s Crossing. That had led her to Mason’s desk at the newspaper, and everything else had just fallen into place. It was strange how one thing led to another that way. What could have been the worst thing to ever happen to her—Destri’s arrival in Hack’s Crossing—had ended up bringing her the best life had to offer instead.
She felt a soft nudge at her elbow, and then Mason mumbled something quietly in his sleep and wrapped both hands possessively around her upper arm. He was dreaming, she knew, but that didn’t keep her heart from humming at the feel of his fingers on her bare skin, even if he wasdreaming of someone other than her. She continued to watch him as the airplane began a more rapid descent, marveling at the length of his dark blond eyelashes, waiting for the moment when they would lift to reveal eyes as clear and blue as the Caribbean below. Gradually, he began to stir, turning his face more fully against her arm, and then he pressed his lips to the sensitive flesh exposed above his fingers.
Something grabbed hold of her heart and set it on fire at the tantalizing caress. Wishing it could go on forever, but knowing that was an impossible dream, Lou covered his hand with hers and whispered, “Mason.”
Slowly his eyes began to open, but not before he murmured something frankly erotic against her arm. Heat seeped from her breasts into her face at the explicit suggestion. Then suddenly, he seemed to realize who he was talking to and snapped to attention in his seat. Quickly, he released her arm and settled her hand into her lap beside the other one. He took a deep, hasty breath and released it, ran his hands through his hair to straighten it and proceeded to pretend she wasn’t there.
Lou allowed him the luxury of ignoring her for all of fifteen seconds before saying, “We’ll be landing any minute.”
“Good,” he ground out hoarsely. Then, clearing his throat roughly, he added, “Seat belt fastened?”
“Yes.”
“Cigarettes extinguished?”
She bit her lip to keep from grinning. He knew full well she didn’t smoke. “Yes.”
“Seat in an upright position?”
“Yes.”
“All carry-on luggage stowed safely below your seat or in the overhead compartment?”
Now she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes.”
Finally, Mason turned to gaze at her, his eyes bright with some unknown fire, his smile warm and playful, as if he were letting her in on a big secret. “Ready for an adventure?”
Lou nodded and smiled back. “Yes.”
“Then let’s get this show on the road.”
****
The Hotel San Sebastian was about as five-star as an establishment could get, Lou decided as she gazed around her room on the fourth, and highest, floor. Not that she had spent any length of time in luxurious surroundings to make comparisons, of course, but a person didn’t need an excessive amount of touring experience to realize that the cream silk bedspread, blue damask wing chairs, and marble Jacuzzi in the bathroom weren’t budget lodge accessories. There were fresh flowers on the walnut dresser and an enormous basket of fruit on a table beside French doors that led out to a balcony overlooking the sea. Albert had been more than generous in making the arrangements for her and Mason.
After changing from her travel clothes into a short, sleeveless sundress of gauzy yellow, she stood on that balcony and stared out at the Caribbean, spilling like a bright blue sheet of glass toward the horizon. To her left was Mason’s balcony, and to her right below was sprawled the city of Madriga, its pastel stucco and stone buildings glittering in the afternoon sun like a string of beads. For the next nine days, she promised herself, whenever she got a break from her assignment for the paper, she was going to do everything the guide books recommended.
A knock on the door connecti
ng her room to Mason’s interrupted her planning, and she pulled herself away from the sunny vista to allow him entry into her room. He, too, had shed his earlier outfit for one more suiting the tropical climate. Now he wore loose khaki trousers and a white, short-sleeved shirt of lightweight cotton. He didn’t look pleased as he pushed past her into the room, taking in her attire as he did.
“You can’t run around dressed like that while we’re here,” he said, waving his hand toward her general vicinity. “It’s completely inappropriate.”
Puzzled, Lou glanced down at her dress before asking, “Why not? I’ve been watching people out in the street pass by for the last twenty minutes. This is just like what other women in Madriga are wearing.”
“The women out there aren’t journalists,” Mason told her. “They’re tourists. You’re in the press corps, baby. And news people like us wear the standard-issue and internationally recognized uniform of this.” He grabbed a handful of fabric from his pants. “Khaki. It’s spoken everywhere.”
So that’s why she always felt so overdressed at newspaper and communication functions, Lou thought. What a revelation. They really should provide a class in journalistic fashion trends as a requirement toward the degree.
“I didn’t bring anything khaki.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to do the best I can with my other things.”
Mason offered her a hopelessly disappointed expression. “Maybe we’ll be able to find something for you in town. Come on. Let’s have a look around.”
For the remainder of the afternoon, Lou and Mason explored Madriga, whose city limits consisted of less than fifteen square miles. Within that area, though, she found more to stimulate her senses than she could remember since the first time she’d gone into D.C. She practiced some of her French and was delighted to discover she could understand and be understood, and she saw that, by and large, most of the citizens in town were very happy Marco Papitou had assumed the highest government position. Everywhere she went, Lou noted examples of a daily life seemingly uninterrupted by political unrest. Still, she knew better than to think everything was perfectly safe and normal. Just yesterday, she’d been told, there had been an outburst of fighting between loyalists and rebels in the hills outside of town. But all in all, an orderly pace had apparently been established on Sonora, and the population seemed, for the most part, content.
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