Touch the Horizon

by Iris Johansen

  “Ménage à trois!” Billie exclaimed. “It was no such thing. We were friends, damn it. Your investigators have very dirty minds, Sheikh Ben Raschid.”

  “Perhaps. But you can’t deny you’ve been living with this Yusef at his home in a village near Zalandan for some time.”

  “With Yusef, his parents, and sundry brothers and sisters,” Billie said indignantly. “It was hardly the cozy little love nest you’re implying. What difference does it make, anyway? My morals are my own business. I haven’t been cross-examining you about your sex life.”

  For a minute there was a glint of amusement in Ben Raschid’s eyes. “I haven’t the slightest doubt you would do so if it suited your fancy.” His face darkened in a frown. “Your morals are no concern of mine. There are ways of ensuring fidelity if you became important to David. You can be sure there would be no more affairs once he decided he wanted you.”

  “Chastity belts, seraglios, eunuch guards with curved scimitars?” Billie scoffed. “This is the twentieth century, haven’t you heard? Lord, I can’t believe any of this.”

  “Nothing so primitive and uncivilized,” Ben Raschid said with a tigerish smile. “I’m a very civilized man, Miss Callahan.”

  “You and Attila the Hun.” Billie snorted.

  “I’ve been called a barbarian to my face before,” the sheikh said with soft menace, “but not by anyone who is still around.” He tossed the folder onto the chair. “All this is beside the point. I told you your personal affair with Ibraheim was not important—it’s your business relationship that concerns me.”

  “Business relationship?” Billie asked blankly.

  “I find it an odd coincidence that you should make the acquaintance of an employee of a bordello,” Ben Raschid said slowly. “It makes me wonder what other contacts you have in that area. I believe you’ve been told Ladram’s crime ring was into vice as well.”

  “Oh, no.” Billie groaned. “Now I’m a candidate for the position of madam of a bordello. What will you think of next?”

  “I didn’t say that, I just said it was a curious coincidence.”

  “And you and Clancy and all your errand boys don’t like coincidences,” she said gloomily. “I’ve heard that line before. Just what is the purpose of this little visit, Sheikh Ben Raschid? Are you trying to intimidate me into going away and leaving David alone? I don’t like scare tactics. I’ll leave when I’m ready, not before.”

  Ben Raschid shrugged. “I don’t know quite why I came here today. Perhaps to gauge your reaction to the report. Perhaps I just wanted to study you and see what David sees in you that appeals to him.” His face was suddenly weary. “Whether you go or stay is David’s decision after he reads the copy of the report I sent him.”

  Billie froze. “You sent a copy to David?”

  “Of course. As soon as it arrived by helicopter this afternoon, I had a copy made and sent to his apartment.” His narrowed eyes were studying her face. “He’s probably read it by now. Does that upset you?”

  It did upset her. It angered her far more than the thought of Ben Raschid or Clancy prying into the details of her private life, which was totally irrational. But then, why did she have to be rational or logical? That was for the Karims and Clancys of this world. She’d be as emotional and irrational as she damn well wanted to be!

  “Yes, it upsets me,” she said between her teeth. “I’m sick and tired of being treated like some kind of criminal.” She uncrossed her legs, jumped off the bed, and strode to the rosewood bureau across the room. “I didn’t ask to be dropped into the middle of your problems, and I’ll be damned if I’ll have my life stripped bare to interest your precious Lisan.” She was pulling jeans, a tunic top, and underthings haphazardly out of the drawers. “And I’m about to tell him so.” She marched toward the bath/dressing-room area. “Good day, Shelkh Ben Raschid. This audience is officially at an end. Please close the door on your way out.”

  The folder was lying open on the rosewood desk, and David looked up, unsurprised, as she stormed into the room without knocking. “Hello, windflower. I’ve been expecting you.” He glanced down at the paper before him. “Did you really apprentice as a clown in a circus? You must have enjoyed that.”

  “Yes, I really did that,” she mimicked as she strode over to the desk and picked up the folder. “And I really did all the rest of it too. You’ll be happy to know your investigators are very thorough.” Her violet eyes were blazing. “Of course, they have the minds of sewer rats, but that’s incidental, isn’t it? It must have provided you with some titillating predinner reading.” She drew a deep breath. “Well, I think it’s absolutely disgusting. This is my life you’re scanning so casually. How would you like it if I nosed around in your past, interrogating your friends and digging into records about a kid who doesn’t even exist anymore?”

  “But I believe she does exist,” David said quietly, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “I think that little girl is very much alive. And I think you know the investigation wasn’t my idea. I hope I would have found out all this myself in time.”

  “Yet you didn’t hesitate to read the report.”

  “Yes, I read it.” He leaned back in the chair and regarded her steadily. “I would have had to be a saint to resist the temptation to find out everything I could about you when it was right at my fingertips. I won’t even try to lie and tell you I thought you wouldn’t mind. I knew you’d be mad as hell at me for reading it.”

  “You’re damn right I am.”

  “You have the right to be indignant, of course. An invasion of privacy is a serious breach of friendship.” He took the file from her clenched hand and dropped it into the rattan wastebasket by the desk. “However, you’re more than indignant, you’re furious. Perhaps even out of proportion to the crime itself. Have you asked yourself why you’re reacting so violently? You’re a gypsy who skims the surface of life. Why should the fact that I know about that scared little girl matter so much?”

  “I wasn’t scared,” she said quickly. “I was never frightened. I was too tough for that. Orphanage brats have to be. You read the report. Rebellious and uncooperative. Does that sound like a pathetic Orphan Annie?”

  “No, it sounds like my strong, loving Billie striking out at something she doesn’t understand. It sounds like loneliness and despair and hurt.” His eyes were strangely bright. “God, I wish I’d been there to hold you and help you through it.”

  “I didn’t need any help,” she said defiantly. “Not after I understood the system. I learned very quickly how the world worked.” She shrugged. “Those people who fostered me couldn’t help it because they couldn’t love me. They had families of their own, and I wasn’t exactly Shirley Temple. I was scrawny, with fiery orange braids, and so shy I was afraid to say boo. They only did it for the welfare money and they did do their duty.” Her lips twisted. “I remember Mrs. Anders saying that when she took me back to the orphanage that last time. She told the matron they’d done their duty, but Billie was just too difficult to handle. Next time they wanted a more docile child.” She lifted her chin. “They stopped trying to place me after that.”

  As he thought of that vulnerable, proud, lonely Billie with a spirit so full of love and no one to give it to, he felt an aching protectiveness so intense, it was an actual physical pain. He wanted to reach out and touch, to cradle and soothe away the pain he could feel beneath that brash defensiveness. His hands clenched unconsciously to keep himself from doing just that. Not yet. He could see how finely balanced on the edge of uncertainty and fear she was. Afraid to trust, afraid to love, afraid to give herself for more than a moment. A loving nature so strong it had to give, but so afraid that love wouldn’t be returned that she refused to linger and chance rejection. Stay, windflower. Put down roots and let me show you that love doesn’t always go away. He slowly unclenched his fists and drew a deep breath. Not yet.

  “It would probably have been like trying to place a tiger cub with a household of tabbies,” he said lig
htly. “Who could blame them for wanting to keep a fierce little gypsy like you under lock and key?” He could see the tension ease out of her.

  “I wasn’t all that bad,” she said with a reluctant smile. “I just hated the idea of being a charity child. If they left me alone, I was even fairly civilized.” Then the smile faded from her face and she scowled. “All of that’s not really important. What’s relevant here is that blasted dossier.”

  “That ‘blasted’ dossier has gone into the wastebasket, and that’s where it will stay,” he said quietly. “Anything else will come only from you. You have my promise.” He smiled coaxingly, and she could feel the warmth begin to tingle through her. “Are you going to forgive me, Billie?”

  There was no question of that, she thought helplessly. He was so disarming, she could feel the anger vanish as if it had never been. “I suppose so,” she said grudgingly. “But that doesn’t go for those protective lions you have prowling around you. They can just keep their noses out of my affairs. I’ve had it with being a suspect for everything from murder to vice queen of Marasef.”

  He gave a whoop of laughter. “Poor baby, did he accuse you of that too?”

  “Well, almost,” she said, her lips quirking. “I’m not sure if even he could find me plausible in that role. I think he was just a little upset that I’d called him a barbarian.”

  “Karim would definitely take umbrage at that.” David’s eyes were dancing. “He’s been trying to civilize that strain of barbarism out of his character since he was a kid. It’s not exactly safe to hint that he’s not been very successful.”

  “I gathered that.” She shrugged. “Oh, well, he won’t have to put up with me for very long. You did say the mechanic had almost finished repairing my Jeep.”

  “Almost.” David’s smile vanished. “This afternoon the helicopter should have brought the part he needed to fix it.”

  The sudden jab of pain she felt made no sense at all. “Then I’ll probably be on my way in a day or so,” she said lightly. “And Karim and Clancy can breathe a joint sigh of relief.”

  There was a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion on his face, before it was masked. “Something else arrived on the helicopter besides the replacement part,” he said as he pushed back his chair and stood up.

  “That package you were expecting?”

  He nodded. “It’s something in the nature of a replacement too.” He was crossing to the carved teak armoire, and glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door and reached inside. “It’s a present, and I’m not taking no for an answer this time. I don’t have anyone else I can give it to.”

  “I told you I wasn’t accepting any—” She broke off as she saw what he had in his hands. A Spanish guitar, so exquisite that it was a true work of art, the mellow golden wood silkened to a warm, glowing patina.

  But no more glowing than David’s eyes as he carried it across the room and halted before her. He held the lovely thing out to her with a gentle smile. “It’s a very good guitar. I know it’s not your old friend, but, given time, perhaps it can be a new one.” He frowned uncertainly as he saw the look of shock on her face as she stared at the guitar as if she couldn’t tear her gaze away. “It’s not really a replacement, Billie. I’ve sent the old one to Madrid to have the major surface damage repaired. There’s no way the sound would ever be the same without practically rebuilding it, and I didn’t think you’d want that. I thought you’d rather set it somewhere in a place of honor, with all its honorable patches intact.” When she still didn’t speak, his frown deepened. “Billie?”

  She reached out slowly and touched the guitar with a hesitant finger. “It’s beautiful,” she said huskily, “so beautiful.” And she wasn’t speaking only of the guitar. She felt as if she were breaking apart inside. Such a wonderful, caring thing to do. “I love it.” She drew a deep, shaky breath, and the eyes she lifted to his were starry with tears. “And you’re right, I want to keep my honorable patches.”

  The worried frown disappeared. “That’s all right, then,” he said with a relieved sigh. “I was afraid I’d blown it.”

  “No.” The word was a broken little murmur as she suddenly pushed the guitar aside and came into his arms like a little girl searching for home. “Oh, no.” The word held an element of desperation as her arms slid around him and her head nestled against his shoulder. The tears she could no longer hold back were dampening the crispness of his blue oxford shirt. “No one’s ever done anything so beautiful for me before. Please, I want to give you something. Let me give you something too. What do you want?”

  She heard his chuckle reverberate beneath her ear as his free arm slid around her. “That’s a hell of a question to ask a man who’s verging on sexual starvation. I’m tempted to give you the age-old answer, but I detest clichés.”

  She could feel the color rise in her cheeks, and that only bewildered her more. She had never been this unsure before, and with David it was even more perplexing. She’d always felt so natural and at ease with him. “Don’t joke. I mean it.”

  His hand reached up to stroke the tumbled curls at the nape of her neck. “I know you do,” he said softly. “You can’t bear to take and not give back, can you, Billie?” His fingers were beneath her hair now and massaging the neck muscles. “Don’t worry, I’m going to let you give me a present. Something I want very much.”

  “What is it?”

  “Stay with me for a little longer, windflower. That’s what you can give me.” His voice was a velvet croon in her ear. She felt the light touch of his lips on her ear, and his warm breath was like a caress in itself. “There are so many things we haven’t been able to do together yet.”

  “You mean…”

  He laughed softly. “The blossoming? Oh, yes. I meant that too. But I meant other things as well. We’ve never worked side by side. I’ve never shown you my garden. We’ve never ridden in the desert at dawn.” He pushed her away to gaze down at her with a tender little smile. “And I’ve never heard you play a guitar or sing one of those songs you told me you make up. I want all those things very much. Will you give them to me?”

  She nodded, blinking furiously to stop those idiotic tears from falling. “I’ll stay for a while.” She laughed shakily. “Though you may be getting more than you’ve bargained for. You’ve never heard me sing. Olivia Newton-John I’m not.”

  He carefully kept the relief from his face. Another reprieve. Another step closer. “I won’t mind,” he said with an easy grin. “I’ve been accused of being tone-deaf anyway.” He stepped back and handed her the guitar with a mocking little bow. “Just make noise and I’ll be happy.”

  “Noise,” she said indignantly. “I’m not that terrible either.” She ran her fingers over the strings in a loving caress. “It’s so lovely.”

  “Why don’t you sit down and get acquainted with your new friend?” he suggested. “I have some revisions I want to do on the new book. We’ll send for dinner later.”

  “I’d like that,” she said absently, kicking off her shoes on the way to the wide bed across the room. She settled cross-legged on the end, frowning in concentration as she began to tune the guitar.

  David shook his head in rueful amusement. He was already forgotten, and it seemed likely that condition would last for some time. He dropped down in the desk chair and cast one more glance at the shining copper head bent so eagerly over the graceful instrument. Then he clicked on the typewriter and his eyes narrowed in concentration as he, too, became lost in the rich garden of words and characters that was as absorbing for him as Billie’s new friend was for her.

  FIVE

  BILLIE WAS HUMMING softly as she opened the door to her suite carrying her guitar with the care her treasure deserved. It had been a lovely evening, she thought dreamily, and as unusual as the other moments spent with David Bradford. Unusual? There had been nothing really extraordinary about those hours in David’s suite. She’d spent the time playing her guitar and composing snatches of songs for her own
amusement while David worked on his book. He’d only thrown her an absent-minded word or smile a few times during the hours she was there, and they’d never gotten around to eating dinner. It was the warm, silent intimacy that had made those hours so precious. She’d paused a few times just to gaze at his intent face bent over the typewriter, lingering on the leashed tension pulling the blue shirt taut over his broad shoulders. There was an undercurrent of restrained excitement about him as he was caught up in his story that caused a surge of maternal tenderness to flow through her.

  “I have been waiting for you. There is something you should know.” Yasmin rose gracefully from the cane chair, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

  Billie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Don’t tell me the sheikh wants to see me again,” she said with an impish grin. “I didn’t think he’d be able to put up with me twice in one day.” She tilted her nose in mock hauteur. “You’ll have to tell his royal arrogance that I’m no longer receiving tonight.”

  “No, It’s not the sheikh,” Yasmin said, biting her lower lip worriedly. “It is something that I heard from one of the guards. There is much gossip in the Casbah, but I think this is probably true.” She ran her hand distractedly through her smoothly coiffed hair. “I did not know what to do.”

  Billie’s smile faded as she slowly crossed the room to lean her guitar in the corner closest to the bed. “Then, why don’t you tell me what you’ve heard and we’ll try to decide together?”

  “Sheikh Karim is holding your friend prisoner,” Yasmin blurted out in a hurried rush.

  “What friend?” Billie asked bewilderedly as she dropped down on the bed. “What are you talking about?”

  “An enormous giant of a man,” Yasmin said quietly. “With long, wild hair and the strength of ten.”