Men of Intrgue A Trilogy

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “May I come in?” he asked, and she stepped aside, noticing that he signaled covertly to two men leaning against a long black sedan at the curb. They were attired in almost identical gray suits, with cropped hair and an indefinable air of competence seasoned with menace.

  “Who are those people?” she asked him in a low voice, nodding over his shoulder.

  “Secret Service men,” he answered, flushing faintly, obviously embarrassed. “It seems I’m not a private citizen anymore. Your government insisted.”

  “You’re sure they’ll wait outside?” she asked warily.

  “I’m sure,” he replied firmly, and pulled the door closed after them.

  They stared at one another in silence.

  “I’m sorry I’m not dressed,” Helen began. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I came to give you this,” he replied, extending the envelope to her.

  “What is it?” Helen asked, taking it and ripping open the flap.

  “You’ll find out.”

  Helen removed the slip of paper inside and saw that it was a receipt, typed in Spanish.

  “There’s a translation on the back,” Matteo said.

  Helen turned it over and realized that he had given her a voucher for the price of a motorcycle of the type and year they had stolen from the street in San Jacinta. He had done as he promised—tracked down the owner and refunded the money for the bike they’d taken.

  “Thank you,” she said, touched. “But you could have mailed this to me; you didn’t have to come all this way. I know you must be... busy these days.”

  I want to kiss her, Matteo thought, drinking in the light blue eyes, the fine, pale brows, the edible mouth. He longed to remove the towel from her head and run his hands through her damp, golden hair.

  “I am busy. There’s a lot to do,” he said aloud.

  “Matteo, I was so happy when I heard the news about your country,” Helen said quietly, feeling that the words were inadequate.

  “I’m sure you were,” he answered, smiling slightly.

  “I felt like something had been given to me,” she went on. “I know it sounds silly.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” he murmured, taking a step closer to her.

  “So how’s Theresa?” Helen asked brightly. “Still running the show?”

  He nodded. “There’s no stopping her now. Everybody’s afraid of her.”

  “You, too?” she asked, smiling.

  “Oh, me,” he said casually, “I always was.”

  “And … Alma?” Helen asked carefully.

  “She’s fine. She has a new boyfriend, some friend of her brother’s.” He reached out and touched her shoulder.

  “Helen...”

  She remained still under his fingers. “Matteo, why did you really come here? I mean, this trip, those guards, you had to have a good reason.”

  “I do. I want you to come back to Puerta Linda with me.”

  “Back to Puerta Linda?” she repeated faintly, as if trying to understand.

  “Yes. As my wife.”

  Helen backed up unsteadily and sank into a chair.

  Matteo followed, looming over her, concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Helen managed. “I just wasn’t... expecting this.”

  “I know it must come as a shock, me suddenly arriving and announcing this, but surely you knew how I felt about you,” he said quietly.

  “I thought it was over,” she murmured, still trying to absorb his presence, the proposal.

  “Helen,” he said hesitantly, sitting next to her on the small sofa and looking into her eyes, “is there someone else?”

  “Oh, Matteo, don’t be ridiculous,” she answered, and leaned forward to put her head on his shoulder.

  His arm came around her and he said, “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

  “There’s something I have to tell you first,” she replied, her voice muffled by the cloth of his shirt.

  “What?”

  She raised her head and looked at him. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Helen, I don’t care, you can tell me anything. You’re a member of the secret witness program, your father is a spy, your mother was once a man, anything.”

  “I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

  His face went blank for a second, and then his eyes flashed to her middle, concealed by the oversized robe. She took his hand and guided it through the opening, allowing him to feel the full roundness of her belly.

  “How long?” he said huskily, when he had recovered.

  “How long do you think? Six months, I was in Puerta Linda with you six months ago.”

  “No, I mean when is it due?”

  “In three months, Matteo. Can’t you count anymore?”

  He closed his eyes. “And you weren’t even going to tell me?”

  “I thought you had enough on your mind, what with the revolution and all.”

  “Oh, darling,” was all he said as he pulled her into his arms. There was silence for several moments, and then he cleared his throat.

  “I can’t believe this,” he began, “I never dreamed, I mean of course I hoped, someday, but then when you left...”

  “You’re babbling, jefe,” she said, laughing.

  “We have to get married right away,” he said suddenly, letting her go and standing up, heading for the door.

  “Are you going by yourself?” Helen asked, enjoying the scene. She had never seen him like this, bewildered, at a loss. He was always in control, in command of any situation, and the thought that she and her news had reduced him to such a state gave her a heady feeling of power.

  “Get dressed,” he ordered. “We have to get papers, and I’m not a citizen; there might be a hitch with that. Maybe we should wait until we get to Puerta Linda, but no, that will take too long.”

  “Matteo,” she said gently, and waited until he turned and looked at her.

  “It’s Saturday; all the registry offices are closed. And the blood tests will take several days. I’ve been pregnant for six months and won’t give birth for another three. I think we have some time.”

  “But this is my child,” he protested, as if that answered her objections.

  “I understand that. Believe me, no one understands that fact better than I do. But I can’t run off with you right now. I have things to settle, people to tell, the apartment to sublet. It will take me a few days to get my life in order.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I should have realized; I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight.”

  “No!” she said in an astonished tone, and he grinned sheepishly. He joined her on the couch again, taking her hand.

  “Maybe you would like a wedding here, with your relatives,” he said. “Girls dream of such a ceremony, don’t they?”

  “Not when they have my family,” Helen said dryly. “Besides, I’m a little far gone for a white dress and a march down the aisle.”

  “And the groom is not exactly blue chip aristocracy,” Matteo added.

  “I wouldn’t have any other,” Helen said softly, touching his face.

  He seized her hand and kissed it. “Then you’ll come back to San Jacinta with me. We’ll have the wedding there.”

  “Theresa can be my matron of honor,” Helen said, pleased with the idea.

  “And Martin will stand up for me. We can be married in the church I attended when I was a boy; would you like that?”

  “I would,” Helen agreed, thinking that her whole life had changed in the space of the few minutes since his arrival.

  “I love you, majita,” Matteo murmured, bending to kiss her. She responded eagerly, and soon she was half lying in his arms and he was peeling the robe off her shoulders.

  “Wait,” she said abruptly, sitting up.

  “What for?” he asked, nuzzling her fuller breasts. “It’s a little late to worry about birth control isn’t it?” he added dryly.

  “As I rec
all, you never did worry much about it,” Helen replied, a smile in her voice, and he groaned, trying to reach her nipple with his tongue as she deftly eluded him.

  “I want to change,” she said to him, rising as he reached after her.

  “You want to change your clothes so I can take them off?” he asked incredulously.

  “Will you be patient?”

  “Patience was never my strong point,” he called as she disappeared into the bedroom.

  “Tell me about it,” she answered and shut the door.

  Matteo drummed his fingers on the coffee table, got up and looked out the window at his two companions and then sat down again.

  “What are you doing in there?” he yelled.

  The door opened and Helen emerged, carrying a two piece negligee on a hanger. Her expression was mournful.

  “What’s the matter?” Matteo asked, puzzled.

  “I bought this for you,” she said, extending the set which was made of beige silk appliqued with Alencon lace. “In case you came back for me.”

  Matteo glanced down at himself. “I don’t think it will fit,” he said, grinning.

  “It doesn’t fit me anymore, either,” Helen wailed. “And I wanted to look so nice for you.”

  “You do look nice,” he said, getting up and taking the garments out of her hand. “You always look nice.”

  “Oh, how can you say that?” she demanded, refusing to be comforted. “I certainly didn’t look nice in the camp, running around in Rafaela’s clothes.”

  “You certainly did.” Matteo held the set out at arm’s length and examined it. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve had this hanging in the closet since you got back, in case I showed up?”

  “Yes, and now I look like an elephant in it. An elephant in a silk dressing gown.”

  Matteo embraced her, letting the negligee fall to the floor.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do,” she responded, stiffening in his arms. “I wanted to be so glamorous, and I feel so... maternal.”

  “You’re beautiful. Beautifully maternal.” He undid the sash of her robe, and this time she offered no resistance, closing her eyes as his lips left a heated trail on her skin.

  “Look at you,” he whispered. “We’ll have to have more children.”

  “One thing at a time,” Helen answered, then went limp as he lifted her in his arms.

  “You’re heavier than you used to be,” he teased, hefting her as if weighing a bundle.

  “And to think you used to worry about my weight,” Helen replied.

  “I’ll always worry about you, princesa,” he murmured, kissing her neck as he pushed the bedroom door open with his foot. Then he stopped short and said, “Oh, oh.”

  “What is it?”

  “A bed, a real bed with clean sheets. I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make love to you in a real bed. I’m not sure I’ll remember how. Cots and dirt floors are one thing, but this... I don’t know.”

  “Very funny,” Helen replied, and then they both looked up as loud knocking commenced at the outer door.

  “Your friends must be wondering what happened to you,” Helen said to Matteo.

  He set her down on the bed and said firmly, “I’ll be right back.”

  She lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about how perfectly happy she was, until he returned.

  “What did you say to them?” Helen asked.

  “I told them to take a coffee break, that I was going to make love to my fiancée and would be a while.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Sure, why not? It’s the truth.” He undressed while she watched, tossing his clothes on the corner armchair and then joining her on the bed.

  “I suppose we have to be careful,” he said to her, taking her in his arms.

  “Yes, but not too careful,” she replied, and he laughed.

  Matteo made love to her gently, but thoroughly, and as they lay together afterward Helen said, “Tell me what our life in Puerta Linda will be like.”

  “Well, I’d like to say that it will be luxurious and carefree, but that would be a lie.”

  “Matteo, if I wanted that I’d live with my mother.”

  He stirred, settling her into the crook of his arm. “It will be hard to build a country from scratch,” he said honestly, “and you probably won’t see that much of me in the beginning.”

  “That will be a lot more than I’ve seen of you since I left Tres Luces,” Helen said tartly. “I think I’ll be able to take it.”

  “And you’ll be busy,” he said, kissing her forehead, “with the bebe.”

  “Bebe?”

  “That’s ‘baby,’ in Spanish.”

  “Thank you. I never would have guessed.” After a moment she added thoughtfully, “I think I’d like to teach. That’s what I was planning to do before you arrived today.”

  “What about your paper?”

  “It’s finished.”

  “So you haven’t spent all your time pining away for me,” he said, turning her onto her back and looking into her face.

  “I pined,” Helen said seriously. “I pined plenty.”

  “So did I.”

  “Really? I assumed you didn’t give a thought to me until you had taken over the government and then you said, ‘Gee, what about Helen? She was a swell girl. I wonder how she’s doing?’”

  He let her go, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “If you assumed that you were wrong,” he said quietly.

  Helen propped herself up on her elbows, tucking the sheet about her, putting her hand on his shoulder.

  “Matt, I was kidding,” she told him.

  “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that it was very hard for me to let you go, do what I did; and you were on my mind every day, whether you believe it or not.”

  “I believe it,” she said softly.

  He turned to look at her. “What if you had stayed and were hurt while carrying the child?” he asked.

  “You did the right thing; I’m not arguing with you,” Helen said, taking his hand and pulling him back down on the bed. “Though you couldn’t have convinced me of that when I left.” She smoothed the dark hair from his forehead. “I thought I would never see you again,” she went on softly. “Do you know what that did to me?”

  “I think so,” he responded, and kissed her. The kiss deepened, and he lifted his mouth from hers to inquire, “Can we, again?”

  “Are you asking my permission?” she said, smiling.

  “What about the baby?”

  “I don’t think we can ask him yet.”

  “Helen,” he said in a frustrated, anxious voice.

  “Yes, we can,” she said, laughing and putting her arms around his neck.

  And they did.

  – THE END –

  DANGER ZONE

  Doreen Owens Malek

  –

  Published by

  Gypsy Autumn Publications

  P.O. Box 383 • Yardley, PA I9067

  –

  Copyright 1987 and 2012

  by Doreen Owens Malek

  www.doreenowensmalek.com

  The Author asserts the moral right to

  be identified as author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  First USA Printing: 1987

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Colter woke in the middle of the night.

  He’d been dreaming about Karen. Again. She was so close, right in the next room, and he couldn’t forget it. He was waging a war within himself and he was losing.

  Suddenly the door to the bedroom opened and Colter shut his eyes, feigning sleep. She was stoking the fire.

  He slitted his eyes and looked at her through his lashes. What he saw froze him and he hardly dared to breathe.

  Karen was wearing a floor length batiste nightgown, but as she stood in front of the fire the light shone through it, making it seem almost transparent. Colter swallowed hard.

  Karen finished with the fire and turned, stopping when she noticed the pile of his clothes on the floor. Her eyes moved upward to his face, and she gave a visible start when she saw that he was awake.

  “Come here,” he said huskily.

  Chapter 1

  Karen Walsh looked around at her fellow hostages and wondered how much longer they would be held. She knew that in the end they’d either be released or killed, but the waiting had them demoralized to the point that even the latter fate would almost be welcome. After five days of captivity the underground supply room that served as their prison seemed like hell, where hope was abandoned and all dreams ended in a formless, pointless despair.

  The heat in the basement was intolerable. Karen pushed her damp hair back from her brow and pulled her clinging blouse away from her midriff. The women around her were no longer even exchanging glances with one another, but sleeping fitfully or staring at the floor. Like shocked rats in a cage, they had given up and merely marked time until something—anything—happened to relieve the tedium of their incarceration.

  Karen was no happier than her companions, but felt they could have been treated worse. They received food and water at intervals and were permitted to sleep undisturbed on the floor. To her knowledge no one had been beaten or molested, but she couldn’t speak for the men, who had been taken to another part of the building. Karen’s group, an assortment of secretaries, clerks and minor functionaries, had an armed guard posted outside the closed door of their improvised jail. They could hear him pacing back and forth, back and forth, a metronomic counterpart to the heavy silence that filled the stifling, airless room.