Dangerous Journey (mobi v.9/12)

by Joanne Pence

  “It is?” Her mind was spinning. Had Yeng gotten Alan released? Or, if he hadn’t done it, who had? And why?

  “One way or the other,” Darius said, “Alan is the key to everything.”

  A chill swept over her. “I see.”

  “He’ll try to contact you here eventually, and I suspect Yeng’s men will be watching your every move.”

  “Great. Now I’m a prisoner in my own hotel room.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “You don’t have to stay here. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t mind staying with you.”

  “Really? In that case, got a pack of cards?” She gave a half-hearted smile. “I’m a whiz at gin rummy.”

  He eyed her. “I’ve got a better idea, Cinderella. Tonight your pumpkin turns into a coach.”

  She was puzzled. “But I thought—”

  “We won’t be able to leave the hotel, but it has a restaurant and even a cocktail lounge with a dance floor. What do you say? Does it sound like fun?”

  Fun and then some, she thought. Did she dare go? She could stay here and rest, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She could stay and worry about Alan, but that wouldn’t help. Knowing him, she half expected him to call and say British intelligence realized their mistake and he was going back to the Peace Corps in Sarawak.

  “All right,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so breathless. “Let’s do it.”

  “Great.” He stood. “I’ll change into something more presentable. Maybe even a tie and dinner jacket. I’ll be back in no time.” Then his eyes narrowed. “But first, promise me that if Alan calls and has another bright idea, you will not leave this room without me.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, C.J.” She had already learned that when he called her C.J. he was deadly serious. “If I return,” he continued, “and you’re gone, I will personally wring your neck. Do you under—”

  “Yes, yes, yes. Now get out of here.”

  He looked as if he wanted to speak, but he didn’t. Instead, he quickly turned and left.

  She placed her fingertips against her lips as she watched the door close behind him. In a moment she threw back the covers and jumped off the bed. She had so much to do to get ready.

  She ran to the closet: two slacks, one skirt, three blouses, and only one dress, a practical rust-colored synthetic no-wrinkle sundress. Her heart sank. Packing for the jungles of Sarawak just didn’t include glad rags. As she reached for the hanger, being careful not to touch the dress itself with her greasy hands, she realized that she didn’t own the kind of clothes she would want to wear on a date with Darius.

  She had to wash her hair, do her nails. She looked down at her hands and suddenly felt dizzy.

  All her excitement dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. The terrors of the day came flooding back, and she abruptly sat on the edge of the bed again, still holding her hands out in front of her.

  What am I doing? she wondered.

  She carefully washed the ointment off her palms, reapplied only small dabs on the blisters and then covered them with bandaids. She leaned forward, her heart pounding, trying to recover her composure.

  She reached for an emery board and began methodically trying to salvage something from the mess her nails had become. As she worked, her breathing returned to normal.

  Darius would be back soon; she had to pull herself together. She wondered what he would look like in a tie and dinner jacket—probably like a caged animal. The idea was incongruous. Darius belonged outdoors; he belonged where a man could be free to live by his wits and his strength. He was as wild as the jungle, and she loved him for it.

  Loved him? No, she shook her head, not love. She was fascinated, intrigued. Maybe even a bit in lust. Who was she kidding? There was no maybe about it.

  But not love. She wasn’t the type to fall in love, and she definitely wasn’t the type others fell in love with. As the years passed, she had become ever more accepting of her solitary existence.

  Yet if she were the type to fall in love, it would be with someone like Darius.

  She put down the nail file, surprised at how her hand was shaking, then headed for the shower.

  She dried her hair, took special care with her makeup, and was applying a dab of cologne when she heard a knock at the door. Darius called out, “It’s me.”

  Pulling her robe tightly around her, she opened the door.

  How could I have been so wrong? was the first thought that came to her. The second was that she should shut her mouth, because she must look ridiculous with it gaping open.

  “May I come in?” Darius asked, standing in the door way.

  She stepped aside, still speechless. To think that she had imagined he would look out of place in a dinner jacket. The obviously expensive jacket was light gray, worn with slacks in a darker shade. His shirt was white, and the tie blended pink and gray in diagonal stripes.

  His tan was even more striking than it was with his usual, sportier clothes. The golden ends of his hair curled lazily around the collar of the shirt, and his eyes were captivating as ever.

  “Is anything wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Well, then, charming as you are standing there in that robe, unless you’d like me in a similar state of undress, I suggest you put some clothes on.”

  She looked down at herself. “Oh! Please, sit down. I’ll just be a minute.”

  She took her dress into the bathroom and finished getting ready. The sleeveless dress had a simple V neckline, a long sash around the waist, and hugged her full figure.

  As she stepped into the room, Darius stood, his eyes shining as he drank in the soft material that emphasized the curve of her breasts, her waist and inviting hips.

  “Maybe you are Cinderella! You look beautiful.” His voice was quiet, intense.

  She felt herself blush at his compliment, wanting, but not daring, to believe him. No one had ever accused her of being beautiful before.

  “Here, I brought this for you,” he said.

  C.J. hadn’t even noticed the small box he had been carrying as he entered the room.

  “Oh, Darius,” was all she could say when she opened it.

  Inside was an orchid, a blend of orange, yellow and rust— exactly the same shade as her dress. Her gaze lifted to his.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, running her finger over the soft petals. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one of these before.”

  “The men you knew were really blind, C.J.”

  She searched his eyes, expecting to see that he was joking, but his expression was that of a man looking at a woman he admired. Her throat tightened, and she dropped her gaze, flustered.

  “Here,” he said, taking the orchid in his hand. “Let me help you.” He stepped close to her, the heady, masculine scent of his after shave filling the air. “Hmm,” he said, “where should it go?” He turned the corsage this way and that in the vicinity of her shoulder.

  “Right here.” She pointed to a spot on the shoulder of her dress. “This way.” She turned the orchid right side up, brushing his hand with hers as she did so. She scarcely breathed.

  The heat of his fingers against her skin caused a quick intake of her breath. Quickly, she clasped her hands behind her back, not trusting them with him so near.

  “Thank you,” she said, having trouble regaining her voice.

  He didn’t step back, but he did move his hand from the neckline of the dress to her neck, then ran his finger along her throat, then upward.

  She stood rigid, scarcely breathing.

  His eyes bored into her, studying her face. His expression filled with tenderness as he dropped his hand. “I told the desk clerk where we’d be, so if Alan calls, they’ll be able to find you,” he said.

  Alan. Of course. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that Darius’s main—probably only—reason for being here was Alan to track down the White Dragon and claim the reward. She nodded.


  “I’m sure he’s all right,” Darius said as they headed for the elevator.

  At the far corner of the lobby, near the main entrance to the hotel, hidden behind a partition of ferns and lattice- work, was a cocktail lounge. A lonesome piano stood in the corner.

  Darius led C.J. to a small table. The bar was empty, except for the two of them and the bartender.

  “This is nice,” C.J. said. “The ferns remind me of a place near my apartment called Muldoon’s. Thursday nights they serve a great pasta spread. I usually go. It breaks up the monotony of the week.”

  “Muldoon’s sells pasta in a fern bar?”

  “It’s L.A.” C.J. shrugged.

  Chuckling, Darius walked to the bar to order a whiskey sour for her and scotch on the rocks for himself. When he returned to the table, she pointed at the piano in the corner. The combo hadn’t yet shown up.

  “I’m sure no one will mind if you play something.”

  He grinned. “You know me and pianos. Once I start, you have to pry me loose from the keys.”

  “So play.” She touched his hand. “Play something for me. Please?”

  He placed his other hand on top of hers and squeezed gently.

  “If that’s what you want.” He got up and spoke briefly to the bartender. C.J. saw the man nod and shrug in a way that indicated he couldn’t care less. Darius sat down at the piano, looked at her and winked.

  He played a medley of popular tunes, If Ever I Would Leave You, Love Look Away, A Time For Us, and ending with Somewhere from West Side Story. The songs were beautiful and sad, and Darius played with all the emotional intensity the work deserved. People came into the bar as his playing progressed, not to drink, but to listen.

  When he stopped, they applauded warmly. He looked shocked. He’d been concentrating so intently on the music that he hadn’t even been aware when they entered.

  “Encore!” they clamored, but Darius thanked them, shook his head and joined C.J.

  She smiled at him. “That was beautiful. I love the way you play,” she whispered.

  “I’m glad, Carina. Now, how about some dinner?”

  She nodded as he led her from the lounge.

  “Hey, fella,” the bartender called as they walked toward the exit, “anytime you want a job here, see me. We could use some class.”

  “Thanks,” Darius said. “I’ll remember.”

  Past the cocktail lounge was the restaurant. A waiter showed them to a table by the window.

  “Tell me,” she said, in an offhanded way. “Do you own a piano?”

  “Sure.” He opened the menu and began studying it.

  She opened hers. “Where is it?”

  “Pretty sneaky way to ask where I live, isn’t it?” he said without looking up.

  She peered over the top of the menu. “Now, why would I want to know such a thing?”

  He smiled. “The piano is at my parents’ home in Massachusetts, just outside Boston.”

  “I see.” She dropped her gaze and began to study the menu, and she didn’t look at him as she spoke. “Do you go there often?”

  “Nope.”

  “Too busy?”

  “Nope.”

  “Just don’t want to?”

  He shut his menu and took her hand, careful of the bandaids. “I rarely see them anymore, all right?” He paused, and then more words tumbled from his lips. “I also have a daughter, and an ex-wife, and I never see them either.” His voice was soft as he spoke.

  C.J. felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She tried not to show her shock as she removed her hand from his, unfolded her napkin, and placed it on her lap. Then she picked up the menu again and opened it, her eyes downcast. “A daughter?” she said. “How old is she?”

  “Five and a half.”

  She paused. “And you don’t get to see her?”

  “I don’t see her.” He sat back in his seat, his expression enigmatic and very far away. “Her name is Alicia. In pictures, she’s a pretty little girl, black hair like her mother, and big green eyes like her old man. But the situation…” He stopped speaking.

  She caught his eye. “Like the situation that causes you to drift around Asia?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” The pain in his words was palpable.

  “We never talk about you, Darius. We blither on about me for hours. And Alan—we go on and on about him. I want to know about you.”

  “I’ve heard the prime rib here is very good. But if you’re interested in shellfish, the lobster comes highly recommended.”

  She sighed, shutting her menu and laying it aside. “Prime rib. Medium rare.”

  He placed his menu on top of hers. “A woman after my own heart.”

  A slight grin came to her lips. You got out of that one, Darius Kane, she thought, but someday I’ll get you to talk. Someday you’ll understand how much I want to know.

  They ordered dinner and Cabernet Sauvignon. The combo began to play Twelfth of Never. “Let’s dance,” Darius suggested.

  On the dance floor, as much as C.J. liked his nearness, his arm around her, her hand in his, the few sentences he’d said about his past had made her realize how little she knew him. He had an ex-wife and a child. The thought kept going round and round in her mind, blotting out everything else. There was so much she wanted to know, but didn’t dare ask. She had no right to ask. She was nothing to him; it was none of her business, but still…

  Darius sighed and stopped dancing. She looked up at him in confusion.

  “Come on, Clytemnestra,” he said, leading her back to the table, the sound of resignation heavy in his voice.

  “But the dance…”

  He led her back to the table without saying anything else.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked as they sat.

  “Don’t look so innocent. You know exactly what’s wrong.” His jaw was firmly set, and his eyes showed no emotion as he began to speak. “I’ve been divorced for five years. I have never regretted getting the divorce, and I still don’t. My only regret is not seeing Alicia. It’s easy on her; she was just a baby when I left. Her mother has since remarried twice, so Alicia’s had her share of surrogate fathers. Not that it’s right. Not at all. Sometimes it hurts like hell when I let myself think about her.”

  “You don’t have to tell me—”

  “It seems I do.”

  She held her breath, anxious over what she might hear.

  He paused for a moment. “My ex-wife lives in New York City, so if you think I’m still carrying a torch for her, or vice versa, give her a call. Her name is Nadia Balensky. You may have heard of her.”

  C.J. felt a shock ripple through her. “Not the violinist?”

  “One and the same.”

  She was speechless. His ex-wife was talented, wealthy and beautiful. Darius was clearly the kind of man who could attract and marry such a woman. If he could have a Nadia Balensky, why would he give a second glance to a C.J. Perkins? The answer was obvious; he wouldn’t. But then, the whole idea of the two of them together was preposterous anyway. She fought the urge to leave, to go back to her hotel room alone. “I see.”

  “No, you don’t see. My relationship with Nadia is over. Finished. It’s something I wouldn’t even talk about except when an interesting young woman decides to write me out of her life because I made the mistake of once having been divorced.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I’m not…I mean…” She looked up at him. “Maybe I was.” He seemed to be hanging on her every word. But surely, she was misreading him. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Here I was thinking of you as someone who sprang full-grown from the jungle like a modern day Tarzan, and instead I learn you’re more like Henry the Eighth.”

  He grinned. “One ex-wife, not six and she’s still got her head. At this stage, I might add, I no longer regret it!”

  “Good,” she said.

  He stroked his chin. “Tarzan, is it? Then you must be my Jane.”

  Her eyes widened in
surprise.

  “Jane! Aha! That’s it, isn’t it? There’s no other reason for you to look so startled, like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. Jane. I’m right, aren’t I?” He took a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving hers. “I guess we’re telling all our secrets tonight.”

  “Okay, you guessed that one.” She grinned.

  “And the C?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “A girl’s got to keep some mystery, you know,” she replied.

  As Darius had promised, the dinner was excellent. After dinner, they returned to the cocktail lounge for martinis. The combo played lots of ballads, a few cha-chas, all up beat and light. Darius pulled her onto the dance floor. He was an excellent dancer, as she had expected. He was the kind of dancer any woman loved to be with, one so good, he made her feel light and graceful.

  She could have stayed in his arms forever.

  “Someday,” he said as they danced, “I’d like to really take you out on the town. San Francisco’s a lot of fun at night. I wish I could show it to you.”

  “I wish you could, too. Maybe, when this is over.”

  “I know, Carmelita. I know.” With that, he held her closer and laid his cheek against her hair. She shut her eyes, shut away everything except the bliss of holding him..

  A short while later she was surprised to hear the alto sax player announce the last dance, My Funny Valentine.

  “Already?” She looked at her watch. “I’m so turned around by the time, I don’t know if it’s night or day anymore.”

  He smiled and wrapped her in his arms again. It felt too good to be with him, and there was danger in that. Danger to her well-protected heart.

  He’ll go away soon, she told herself as they danced. Back to that strange existence he was living in Hong Kong. She felt it as surely as she knew her own name: one day he would leave her. But that’s what you want him to do, she reminded herself. Exactly what you want.

  “Time to go,” he said as the music ended.

  She let her arms fall to her sides. “Yes. Alan hasn’t called yet, either. I guess I’ll be awake all night waiting for the telephone to ring.”

  He grinned. “Want company?”

  Chapter 10