Only A Whisper

by Gayle Wilson

  “An accountant,” she said.

  She could again sense his amusement from his quiet agreement.

  “If you will.”

  “For the other guys. The uptown boys. The cartel with all the class and polish,” she said. “Yeah, you fit better with that crowd. I was having a little trouble picturing you playing footsie with Escobar. Those people had no manners. No charm.”

  “Those slimy Colombians?” he asked sardonically. He didn’t bother to mask the bitterness in his tone. He waited for her reply, but when she said nothing, he moved on instead to what he had promised—information about her immediate future.

  “You may have a radio, and Diego will bring you books from the library here. It’s extensive and well cataloged. If you have preferences, write them down, and I’ll find them before I leave.”

  “You’re leaving? Leaving me here with Diego?”

  “You’re perfectly safe with Diego. I swear to you. As long as you don’t attempt to overpower him. You’re not really afraid of Diego, are you?”

  She considered briefly and knew that, as he had suggested, she really wasn’t. “No, I’m not afraid of Diego. How long will you be gone?”

  “Does that matter to you?” The teasing note that had been absent this morning was back, and she admitted to herself that she had wanted it there. “Will you miss me, querida?”

  “Like a toothache,” she mocked.

  “A toothache?” he echoed, his laughter as pleasant as she’d remembered. “You are definitely not good for my self-esteem. I’ll be gone three days. Behave yourself and I’ll bring you something.”

  “Someone’s head in a sack? Or is that the Mafia? No, that was a horse. Gosh, I’m getting my movies all mixed up. You people aren’t nearly that subtle.”

  ‘“You people’?” he repeated, and the teasing quality was gone, replaced again by soft bitterness. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t carry heads in sacks—horses or otherwise. I’ll see you when I get back. It would be nice if you could work through some of that prejudice before then. I’d be eternally grateful not to have to listen to the character assassination of my countrymen.”

  “It’s your character I’m assassinating, and I don’t think prejudice plays a role here. I have firsthand experience with your charm and style. I just find I prefer someone a little less physically threatening.”

  “Someone like Kyle Peters.”

  It made her sick to remember that she had given him that name, so she tried to downplay any significance he could attach to Kyle’s role in all this. “God,” she accused, laughing, “you sound like you’re jealous. You should hear yourself.”

  “You can do better than Peters.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I can certainly do better than you.”

  “I don’t think I issued any invitations, querida.“

  “I know. I’m just not your type. Too skinny and headstrong. You’d probably like ‘em weak and willing. Barefoot and pregnant. Luckily I don’t qualify. Have a safe trip. Diego and I will get on like a house afire, I’m sure. I’ll even work on not thinking too harshly of you and your countrymen. I’ll block all I know about ‘you people’ from my mind. You’ve been so charming. Enough to turn a girl’s head from all those misconceptions. I can’t imagine where people get the idea that you’re brutal and dishonest.”

  “There are many decent and hardworking people in my country. They have all been tarred with the same brush of suspicion and hostility that you are now using. Not all Colombians are dealing drugs.”

  “Well, forgive me, but all the ones I’ve ever come into contact with are. Are you suggesting that my line of work is at fault in producing the misconceptions I have about you?”

  “I don’t really give a damn what you think about me. I simply feel that you have judged the citizens of an entire country by the actions of a few individuals.”

  “It comes with the territory. Either you’re on the map with a less-than-noble reputation or nobody knows your name. Nobody asks you to the dance.”

  “Then perhaps I’d prefer being unknown.”

  “I think you can safely assume that while you may personally remain unknown, your country is another matter. Your actions certainly aren’t helping her reputation, so forgive me if I don’t buy this sanctimonious garbage about my prejudices.”

  “I have a feeling that this is an argument we won’t resolve today. Could we perhaps talk about other topics until I have to leave?”

  “Of course. The books and radio will be wonderful. Thank you for your consideration of my comfort,” she said with only a trace of sarcasm.

  “Why is it that I distrust all this gratitude and politeness?” he asked, laughing. “Where’s the hellion who so literally and effectively expresses her displeasure? Are you mellowing, querida?”

  “No, but you’re being reasonably accommodating, and I do appreciate it. And you haven’t done me in yet. I’m suitably grateful for that, too.”

  “And I haven’t touched you.”

  The memory of his hands on her body intruded between them, and she wondered what he could read in her face. She realized that in spite of his promise, she had been waiting for him to initiate some sort of repeat of last night, and his power over her physical responses frightened her.

  “I did think…” he began, and then allowed the pause to lengthen.

  “What?” she challenged, daring him to put it into words so she could deny it.

  “I have thought that, in spite of what you said, my touch was not repulsive to you. There are signals a woman’s body makes, quite independently of her will. I felt the response in your body, querida. Your mouth denies that you enjoyed my caresses, but your breasts and your skin told me something very different.”

  She wondered if she should bother to lie, but she knew that he spoke only the truth and that he was certainly sophisticated enough to read her body’s reaction.

  “You’re a very experienced man. My body responded to that experience.”

  “Does that mean that you are experienced, too? How many men have touched you as I did? For how many of them have your breasts lifted and your skin flushed under their lips? Do you like making love or does your body lie about how much it wants to be loved?”

  “I can’t help what my body feels when you—” she hesitated, unwilling to put those intimacies into words “—do things like that.”

  “The body is not separate from the mind, Rae, and that’s what frightens you. You don’t understand what’s between us. Your mind can’t accept what your body feels, and yet, somehow, you can’t make your body reject what it wants. You are in a very difficult position.”

  Damn straight, she thought, bitter at how well he read exactly what she felt. Her voice, when she answered, however, expressed none of that agreement. “Which you have taken advantage of at every opportunity.”

  “I’ve kissed you.” His pause was as brief as hers had been. “And I’ve touched you. You’re a very beautiful woman. I don’t deny my attraction, but I have not tested the boundaries of that attraction. And I won’t, Rae, until you want me to. What is between us goes no further unless you decide you want it to. You have my word. I don’t make love to unwilling women.”

  “If you’re waiting for permission, don’t hold your breath.”

  “I see,” he said softly, but the amusement was definitely back. “While I’m gone, think about how pleasantly we could spend the remaining days—and nights—you’ll stay here.” Subtly his tone changed again, the sincerity she’d mocked before once more apparent. “I want you, Rae. And you should have no doubt about how much.” He paused again, waiting, but suddenly breathless, Rae could manage no response to that confession, and finally he continued, “I’ll be back in three days. Try to miss me at least a little. My ego is suffering from all this rejection.”

  She laughed at the wistfulness he’d managed to inject into his voice. “Somehow I think your ego will manage to survive. Besides, you already have Dieg
o as your willing slave. Why would you want me, too?”

  “Try not to take advantage of Diego while I’m gone. You could probably outwit him easily enough, but he would be very upset about any failure in his mission. And his ego is not nearly so secure as mine.”

  “A nicely veiled threat. If I do decide to deceive poor Diego…?”

  “Then you will both bear the brunt of my anger. And Diego doesn’t deal well with my displeasure.”

  “I wonder how you inspired such loyalty.”

  “Diego is my friend. Just remember that.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  He waited a long time before he asked, “I don’t suppose you would like to send me off with a goodbye kiss?”

  “Are you serious?” she mocked. “My God, you are. Do you really think that I’m going to let you kiss me after last night?”

  “I had hoped I was forgiven for last night.”

  “In your dreams. I don’t care if you go, and I sure don’t give a damn if you never come back. I don’t give kisses to men who tie me up and drug me.”

  “Definitely not forgiven,” he acknowledged. And then the voice deepened again, caressing. “I’ll miss you, querida. I’ll think about you every night when I lie down to sleep. I’ll think about what you’re doing, and I’ll know that you’re thinking about me.”

  And now that he had planted the seed, she would.

  “Has anyone told you that you don’t play fair?” she responded, laughing at his attempt at psychological seduction.

  “Certainly not with all the cards stacked against me. Try to be a good little girl while I’m gone. I promise I’ll dream about you.”

  She shook her head, choosing not to answer the velvet stroke of his voice, and finally he called Diego. She bit her lips to keep them closed when the giant reappeared, determined that no word of farewell would reward his master’s confession.

  “At least tell me goodbye, querida,“ he urged her softly, once more almost as if he could read her mind. “You might not see me again. And in spite of what you’ve said, I think you would regret that. It’s not so much to ask.”

  She stood at the door, commanding herself not to speak, but she knew that, like Diego, her will was no match for the force of his.

  “Goodbye,” she whispered finally. She didn’t wait for Diego. She turned the handle herself and left, climbing to the room at the top of the stairs and closing its door behind her. Seconds later she listened to Diego engage the lock.

  You might not see me again…I think you would regret that. His words echoed in her mind. She wondered if whatever he was about to undertake was as dangerous as that sounded. Or was he simply using her emotions to get his own way, to make her admit that she was attracted to him? Because there was no longer any doubt that he knew exactly how he affected her.

  I’ll know that you are thinking about me. And she would be, damn him. She, too, knew that she would.

  She lay down across the bed and pillowed her face on her forearms. She didn’t raise her head when, much later, Diego brought her lunch. It was only as he was leaving, unable to resist, that she asked.

  “Is he gone?”

  “Just after you came upstairs.”

  “Is it dangerous? Whatever he’s going to do?”

  Diego was quiet so long that she turned over to watch him reach the decision to answer her.

  “Everything he does, everything he’s ever done, is dangerous. It’s an addiction, a drug, to him. A costly one,” he said. “It’s cost him more than you can imagine.”

  He closed the door and again she listened to the lock engage. She turned her face back to her arms and closed her eyes to erase the fears Diego had confirmed. When he brought the promised radio and a selection of books with her dinner, not even the possibility of contact with the events of the outside world could break her concentration on willing his safe return.

  Only when she finally slept did she release those fears and replace them with the images of assuaging the desires he had suggested she felt for him. Desires she had refused to admit. In her sleep, however, she was powerless to deny what she had known from the beginning. She didn’t understand it, but the attraction had been there from the first, as if what she felt were predestined.

  She had never believed in reincarnation or love lasting beyond the grave, but she had known from the first time he’d touched her that she wanted him. As if his soul and hers had been joined at some time in the past. As if their destinies had been entangled by the old gods who were laughing at her resistance to what they had ordained. No matter who or what he was, she was tired of fighting what he made her feel. She had never felt this way about any man in her entire life. She wanted his touch, his lips and his strong, sure fingers against her face and body as they had been last night.

  As she tossed in restless sleep, dreaming of what he had offered her, she felt the pull of his darkness replacing all the light that had guided her since childhood. And then finally, at least in her dreams, she ceased to fight against that force.

  Chapter Seven

  The days passed slowly. Rae had found an oldies station that really understood the term, and the music that now filled the room eased the tension of enforced waiting while her mind ran in endless circles around the problem.

  Had the courier been what her captor had implied—a suggestion that went against every intuition she had felt about the man? Who had killed the others in the task force and had tried to set her up as the next victim? She composed ten different scenarios to explain the events, but there were too many pieces missing and, locked up in this room, she had no way to solve the rest of the puzzle.

  She tried to talk to Diego when he brought her meals, but he gave her as little information as she expected. He was meticulous as far as security was concerned. His routine never varied, and it was safe and practical. He never removed his eyes from her when he was in the room, staying only long enough to leave the tray or the books on the chest near the door.

  “Did the cook die?” she asked on the second day of hardboiled eggs for breakfast and sandwiches for lunch and dinner. “Or maybe her job description includes more than cooking. Maybe she accompanied your boss to provide his fringe benefits,” she suggested. Jealous? her mind jeered.

  “There is no cook,” Diego said firmly against her mockery, closing the door sharply.

  “Well, at least not anymore,” she agreed, touching the unappetizing object on her plate.

  She read to occupy her mind, and to forget—both her situation and what Diego had told her about his master’s mission. She could not, however, control her dreams, and it was there he tightened his hold on her emotions. In spite of all her best intentions, the long nights became erotic fantasies with a never-changing cast of two. They were so real that she often awoke shivering from the phantom touch of his lips. Then she buried her head under the pillow and thought of her family, her job, anything but him.

  On the morning of the fourth day she spent a long time in the claw-footed tub. She had listened for his return the night before and had finally drifted off to sleep without hearing the sounds that she thought would signal his arrival. She dressed in a black sundress that exposed a lot of shoulder and back. She put up her hair, pulling down tendrils that curled in the humidity around her face. She even added makeup.

  “Diego will be impressed,” she told the mirror image, mocking the care she was taking with her appearance, but the woman in the glass was reassuringly familiar and, in spite of the fact that she felt like no more than a pawn in this game, she somehow still managed to look in control of her own destiny.

  By the time Diego came with her lunch, she put aside her pretense of indifference. “Is he back?”

  “No.”

  “But it’s the fourth day. Surely he—”

  “It’s possible he was delayed.”

  “Are you worried?” she asked, wanting his reassurance.

  “There’s no reason for concern. He’ll come back when he’s finished,” h
e said stoically as he left her sandwich.

  The day passed more slowly than the others. She waited in her room until dinner and knew by Diego’s face, knew without asking, that he hadn’t returned.

  “Maybe tonight,” Diego said as he placed the tray on the dresser. “Don’t worry,” he reassured before he closed the door, revealing exactly how transparent she was.

  Rae rejected a delicate lace gown and determinedly put on another of her long T-shirts and lay listening through the dark hours. She never knew when she finally fell asleep. She awoke once to watch the numerals on the digital clock of the radio change until she drifted back into sleep and into the dreams of him that were now always part of her nights.

  “YOU’RE EXHAUSTED,” Diego accused. The reactive bitterness was briefly apparent in his master’s face, and then deliberately replaced by amusement.

  “But I know how it was done, Diego. All of it. Money never lies.”

  “You traced the money in her account?”

  “Back to a man named Grajales. What do you know about him?”

  “A name,” Diego said, shrugging. “Do you want me to try to find out about him?”

  “He had nothing to do with the bogus account created for Rae Phillips. The channel for that money is what we’re interested in. At least for now, Diego.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Only one man was given information about the courier. One phone call. We’ve always known that.”

  “And?”

  “The call was clean. The best equipment in the world. No one listened in. There was no problem with the phone.”

  “Then it comes back to that man.”

  “So it would seem. But in tracing the money that was deposited into Rae Phillips’s account and considering the people who might be involved, I found the record of a highly interesting transaction. And we set the trap.” He paused, remembering. He stretched, trying to relieve the aching stiffness of his long day.

  “Why don’t you go to bed?” Diego suggested. “You can tell me the rest in the morning.”