Heartbreak Hero

by Frances Housden

  “It isn’t meant to be. Gimme the bag, lady, and stop wasting time.” The accent was American, but the message was just as threatening.

  She brought back her elbow, the strongest bone in the body, and hammered something built like a tank. Strike the fat guy from Tahiti off her list. Spinning on the ball of one foot, she reached for the huge mitt grasping her shoulder and received a push for her trouble and came to a halt against the fence. Too bad the hulk wasn’t as well informed. He lunged, pushing her back against the wires with the sound of water reminding her how close she was to taking her second leap over a cliff.

  Her jeans ripped on twisted wire as she led with a shoulder to his gut, pushing off and up like a sprinter at the gun. She swung her pack, hoping to catch him in the kidneys, the vulnerable area meres were designed to take advantage of. Judging by the sound of his moan, she succeeded. She ducked out of range and ran down the boulder-pitted path as if it were as smooth as a stadium track.

  Savage’s man should be thanking his lucky stars that Te Ruahiki’s lethal edge was still under wraps.

  She ran into another body as the mist faded. Herr Schmidt, again, with Kel at the foot of the path in the lanky guy’s wake.

  “Hah, Fräulein McKay, sehr gut. I saw you take the photographs. Our train is ready to leave.”

  Kel caught up with them. “Ngaire, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine now. I couldn’t see for the steam.” Schmidt seemed an okay guy, though a strong wind might blow him away.

  Kel, on the other hand, made her feel safe.

  For the rest of the trip she would stick to him as if they were Siamese twins. Once she got Te Ruahiki back home, the heat would be off, literally. And next time he started warming her back she wouldn’t shrug the sensation off because she was too busy.

  Kel nodded his thanks to Schmidt. Whatever Ngaire had been up to this time, the tall guy hadn’t been part of it. “Don’t miss your ride because of us. Ngaire and I can walk back while the others check out the shop. She doesn’t need any more souvenirs.”

  “Who says?”

  Schmidt laughed, nodding. “I haf seen her shopping. I’ll hold the bus if you are late.”

  “Since when did you get so bossy?”

  He breathed out through his nose, taking his time, choosing his words. “Since you started thinking you’re a superhero, and boldly going where no woman has gone before.”

  “I believe that was Star Trek, completely different. The other is fantasy.” She slid her arms through the straps of her day pack and stared, as if daring him to disagree. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders where it wasn’t caught under the straps.

  “And Star Trek isn’t?”

  “Not in the same way. Those superheroes couldn’t possibly happen, but I know we’ll go to the stars one day.”

  “Well, I know your hair is coming loose—” he dropped his gaze to her legs “—and you’ve ripped your jeans.”

  “It’s the fashion.”

  “Well it wasn’t in fashion this morning, so how did it happen?”

  When all she did was shrug, he hunkered down and took a look for himself. “Damn, don’t tell me a gashed calf is the latest on the catwalks. You’re bleeding, doll.”

  Standing, annoyed with himself as much as her, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “This is clean. Pull up the leg of your jeans and let me wrap the wound before we add infection to your list of misadventures.”

  The sight of blood had made his stomach turn. Not that he was afraid of blood, he’d seen enough in his time, but it hadn’t been Ngaire’s. His reaction made him doubt his own feelings and his ability to do the job that earned him a living.

  “It’s not that bad. I hardly felt it.” She turned in the direction she’d come when she’d almost mowed Schmidt down. The water vapor had thinned since the geyser had shrunk to a garden-size fountain. Looking up at him she pulled at his hand. “Let’s do it later, when we reach the bus.”

  Damn, he was a sucker for those eyes and that face with its stubborn little chin and a nose that didn’t fit, yet made everything else perfect.

  He slung his arm around her shoulder, crowding them both into a space meant for one. A silky strand of hair tickled his wrist and he wound it round his finger, like Ngaire had done to him.

  “How did you do it?” Her head shifted and grazed the underside of his chin. He read her action and said, “The leg?”

  “I walked into a fence.”

  “Walked into it backward?”

  She reached up and curled a beseeching finger around his. “You see too much. I was blinded by the steam. Something scared me and I stepped back into the fence.”

  They’d reached the road. The train had long gone, but other visitors clustered around the view of subdued geysers. He didn’t give a damn who saw them, he turned Ngaire into his arms and, when she looked up, framed her face between his big hands.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “Don’t ever feel you can’t admit you were afraid, not to me. You don’t have to be brave all the time. If anything ever frightens you, anything at all, come to me. I’ll be there for you, day or night.”

  And with his mouth being so close to hers what else could he do but kiss her? Again and again.

  She tasted like sin and looked like an angel, the kind he’d like to find on his Christmas tree. Slowly, he ran his tongue round her lips before taking a bite at her full bottom lip. The promise was still there as his tongue dove inside her mouth and played with hers. The promise he’d looked for in his wife and never found, had given up on, he’d now discovered in the last place he’d wanted to look.

  Reluctance shaped his hands as he released her. “We’d better go. Schmidt won’t be able to hold the bus forever.”

  They trudged up the road through the trees, the direction Myrna had taken, as though they didn’t want to arrive. Didn’t want to be surrounded by curious faces that would nod their understanding, or knowing hands that would say what their owners couldn’t voice in English.

  Her eyelids flickered as she sent him a quick questioning glimpse of her eyes. “If what you said back there was about last night, about being afraid to tell you if I got pregnant, I didn’t lie to you. It won’t happen.”

  That’s when he realized she didn’t know that he hadn’t spilled his seed inside her, hadn’t come near to making a child with her even if she had lied.

  “I didn’t mean that, I meant anything. You don’t have to hold back with me. If you need me, I’ll help.”

  As he reached the corner he took a last look at the steamy basin and wondered if it was anything like hell. He heard Ngaire begin, “There’s…”

  But the rest was lost as he saw a mountain of a man watching from above the now-languid geyser. He should have known Myrna wouldn’t be alone. He’d caught Ngaire out in a lie, and at that moment he couldn’t stand to hear any more of them. “Let’s move on out. We can’t keep them waiting forever.”

  Chapter 12

  T he next leg of the tour, the flight from Rotorua to Nelson in the northwest corner of the South Island, was delayed for two hours. Both Kel and Ngaire had been assigned seats beside strangers, and he’d been glad of it. Glad to have the pressure taken off if only for an hour. It didn’t stop his gut from churning at having caught her out in another lie, or the gnawing pain of wanting a woman who was no better than she should be.

  Thank God, his glimpse of the huge American had interrupted the flow of her worthless confession; he’d had enough of being taken as a fool for one day. The moment he saw the blonde from San Francisco he should have looked for her boyfriend. Judging from Ngaire’s condition the meeting hadn’t been any too friendly. The need to smash his fist in the other guy’s face had competed with knowing she’d brought it on herself by the company she kept. It tore him up inside.

  It had put an end to him thinking of tempting her to tell him about the formula. Of wanting to help her sever her ties to the drug cartel and clean up her act.
r />   Help yourself, more like, Jellic.

  How hard was it to admit he wanted her to fess up and leave the way clear for him to bed her without staining his conscience?

  Damn hard.

  Hard to confess he’d wanted to put himself first and duty second for once in his life. That he’d almost abandoned his scruples the way his father had, and all for a woman.

  Was that what had led to Milo Jellic’s downfall? A woman? If so he could almost pity him. But it was only speculation and not worth worrying about, or caring why. Better to set his mind to the question of how many more people were after the formula.

  He’d counted five, so far, including the Maori he’d met up with in Tahiti. He’d known the guy was a New Zealander since the previous evening. Chaly had produced the information after revealing the search had got them nowhere.

  “Son of a bitch!” he’d cursed. After all he’d put himself through he’d felt entitled to swear. Neither side of the mission could be counted as a gain, as he knew to his cost.

  At least keeping the matchbook from Tahiti had paid off. He’d discovered the fingerprints on the matchbook belonged to Ray Hohepa, a nickel-and-dime bad guy with family ties in California that smelled of the mob.

  Then there was Schmidt and his mismatched wife. They had been on Ngaire’s trail longer than he had. So far, there’d been no news from Jo or Rowan on the German pair.

  Lastly, the American whose face he wanted to smash, and Myrna, his blond sidekick, who might or might not be Leena. She fit the description like a glove. In his mind’s eye, he turned over a scenario where the blonde was being forced to cooperate, and dismissed it out of hand. He was making excuses as if she actually was a friend of Ngaire’s. A blind man could see no coercion was involved. Myrna wasn’t simply a traveling companion, they were sleeping together. The signs of intimacy between them that night on the ferry had been unmistakable.

  Which, like all other roads he’d taken recently, led him straight back to Ngaire and how it had felt to be inside her. Better for his peace of mind to close his eyes, go to sleep and catch up on the zzzs he had missed last night.

  Keeping tabs on six people at once was too much even for him. He was only one man, and the sooner Chaly got his act together and found him some real help, the happier he’d feel.

  He shut his eyes, wondering why Jimmy Chen had been bent over as if tying his shoelace outside Ngaire’s room that morning, when he’d been wearing loafers?

  As he drifted off to sleep, Kel changed the total to seven.

  A Farewell from Nelson sign raced toward them as the town thinned to a stray house or two set among rolling green pasture, dotted with shade trees. Ngaire nudged Kel with her elbow, jabbing a comment at him, “The sign should have read, Don’t Let the Door Hit Your Heels on the Way Out.”

  They’d been allotted the same seats as on the last bus, but little had changed besides the scenery disappearing past the window. “This must be the quickest tour of any town we’ve visited so far. Not even a stop to shop.”

  “Don’t let the withdrawal symptoms get you down. There will be heaps of other tourist traps. All of them just waiting to lighten your pocketbook. Be happy. If not for the delay, you might be a lot poorer now.”

  The bus swayed as it took a tight corner, throwing her against Kel, tempting her to cling and break through the negative energy he radiated.

  “Looks like the driver is desperate to make up some time.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re safe. There’s no graveyard listed on the itinerary,” she murmured, astounding herself. More than half a day had passed without her doing a running total of how much time she had left until her D day.

  Squaring her shoulders, she put her weight on one foot and shoved upright. The movement tightened the handkerchief Kel had tied around her calf. Darn, it must have stuck to the wound.

  A trip to the onboard facilities to soak it off seemed like an idea, but the moment the thought was born, Kel shifted his long legs, twisting in his seat to punch his headrest to fit better.

  Just as well. A walk to the back of the bus meant passing Jimmy Chen and being subjected to another query on the state of her health. The man was obviously worried she might sue, and although she didn’t hold him to blame for her trip over the cliff, the sly undertone to his ever-present obsequiousness made her skin crawl.

  Finished with his fight with the adjustable headrest, Kel turned his attention to her. “Who have you bought all those souvenirs for? I hope they appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to.”

  “There’s the people I work with, and Leena, of course.” He’d asked her about Leena before, digging into her past as they drank too much coffee, and eventually when they had to force down an airport lunch while waiting for their plane to arrive.

  “Yeah, you couldn’t forget her. Where is it you work? It can’t be with Leena, you don’t look like a beauty salon product.”

  His tone was dry and she wasn’t sure if she was meant to take his remark as a compliment or not. She could never tell exactly what Kel was thinking. His dark eyes were full of shadows that he hid behind. Even when making love to her he hadn’t opened up completely. Just once she’d like to see him lose control.

  A shiver zapped up her spine and she couldn’t blame it on Te Ruahiki; he rested in the pack between her toes. No, it was the thought that wishing for Kel to lose his composure might be compared with begging to reap a tornado. And like Dorothy, she might not like what she found in Oz.

  No, a controlled Kel was best.

  “Having trouble remembering? You do work, don’t you?”

  “I do, in a small gym. Nothing as glamorous as Leena, just lots of sweat. I was trying to decide if I should be insulted by your beauty salon tag line.”

  Kel fitted his head into the corner of the headrest and curved his shoulder away from her so that she barely heard him murmur, “It wasn’t an insult.”

  Satisfied, Ngaire smiled at her reflection in the window.

  The next overnight stop was in a hotel consisting of a cluster of two-story log cabins edging a rock-strewn beach. They crouched under the cliffs below the main highway at Punakaiki, as if sheltering from the gales that swept in from the Tasman Sea.

  Kel only had time to throw his bag on to his bed and sluice his face before Ngaire was knocking on his door. Although their rooms were adjoining as usual, they had no connecting door, which ruled out spying on her.

  He was almost pleased. The exercise had taken on voyeuristic connotations, and he didn’t need a fiber-optic lens to remember what she looked like naked. Her image burned in his brain, keeping him horny as a bull in spring. But the memory also dragged up regrets for the method he’d used to keep her occupied. He’d lain in bed going over his role in the deception, seeing Ngaire’s blue eyes cloud over as he’d brought her to completion and wishing the hell he’d grabbed himself some of the same.

  Damn, he’d been a teenager the last time he’d had to look after himself, and if the act brought him a short span of relief, it had brought him no satisfaction.

  As soon as he opened the door he realized Ngaire had been running on gas. She’d taken the time to change out of her ripped jeans into the thin white pants she’d worn in Auckland. The ones that allowed her skin to shine through. Her hair hung long and straight down her back, skimming her waist, and it took all his control not to grab two fistfuls and drag her mouth to his. He’d had more dangerous assignments, but none that had left their mark on him like this one would.

  Jaw clamped tight on his inclinations, he asked, “You hungry?”

  “Ravenous. But I’ve had my fill of communal living for today. I fancy walking up the highway to that small shopping strip. What do you say? I’m sure I saw a restaurant among the souvenir shops as we drove past.”

  “Sounds good to me. I could do with the exercise. It will be light for a while yet, sunset’s much later in the South Island. So if you want to walk off dinner afterward, we can take in the tourist attraction.”

/>   “I thought you’d never ask.” She hugged her day pack, her eyes gleaming, and he knew exactly what she had in mind, so he said, “Now, let’s get this straight, I’m talking about the Pancake Rocks, the blowhole, tourist-brochure stuff.”

  “Yeah, that, too,” she giggled, and pulled on his hand. “C’mon, let’s move on out.”

  He wanted to laugh with her, but the effort would have killed him. As it was he felt drained. There was so much more to Ngaire, a vitality, a radiance he’d never found in any other woman. Even now she lit up the wood-lined corridors with her presence.

  He wanted her. Oh, man, did he want her.

  But she had spoiled everything by mixing herself up with drug runners.

  He bought a bottle of red wine to go with the steak they’d chosen and drank more than his share. But not enough to enhance his disposition. Ngaire wished she knew what was going on behind the thick black line his eyebrows formed as the gap between them narrowed, shading his thoughts.

  She wanted to see his smile again, the one that had teased at her memory the day she met him, and now couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else. Still she persisted, flirting, laughing, happy to catch a brief, if sardonic lift of those dark brows, instead of watching him eat with a hunger more mechanical than enjoyable.

  He finished before her and threw back the last of the wine in his glass. Her silverware made a sharp, off-key sound as she laid it down. He eyed the remains of her food. “Is that all you’re going to eat?”

  “I lost my appetite about halfway through the steak. The salad was good, though.” She’d pushed it around until the pile looked small enough for the waitress not to ask if there was something wrong with her meal. “I’m ready to go now.”

  “Good, I’ll go settle up. Wait for me by the door and we’ll cross the highway together.”

  Anger, kindled by being practically ignored while they ate, flared. “I’m not a kid. I can cross the road on my own.”