by Ginna Gray
Abigail sucked in her breath. Against her palm his arousal was hot and hard, throbbing. "Then... why did you stop?"
"Because, you're upset and it wouldn't be fair. Or right."
"But I wa—"
"Dammit, Abbey, you're vulnerable right now. You've managed to get yourself into one hell of a dangerous, situation, you're holed up with a man you barely know, to whom you've just spilled your guts after coming down off a world-class crying jag. I may not be an expert on women, but I know vulnerable when I see it. So you can just quit looking at me with those big eyes. I don't take advantage of women."
Hurt and anger fled, and Abigail gave him a melting look. "Oh, David. That's so sweet." She snuggled against him and tried to wind her arms around his neck, but he grabbed her wrists and pulled them down.
"Now, cut that out. We are not going to make love, and that's that. I may be a hooligan and a barbarian and all those other things you called me, but I'm not that big a bastard."
Smiling tenderly, she stroked his cheek, her fingertips threading through the five-day growth of beard. "No. You're not," she agreed in a whisper-soft voice. She raised her head and gave him a quick kiss. "You're not a bastard at all. What you are, David Blaine, is a very nice man. Even though you do work hard at trying to hide it."
David's gaze bore into her. "Don't kid yourself, Legs. I'm the meanest hard case you'll ever meet. When I have to, I fight low down and dirty. Whatever it takes to win. I've seen and done things that were anything but 'nice,' so don't make the mistake of romanticizing me into some kind of hero. I'm not!"
A smug smile curved her mouth, and her eyes sparkled at him. "Whatever you say."
"Dammit, I mean it, Legs."
"Mmm-hmm." Giving him a placating smile and a pat on the cheek, Abigail snuggled her head against his shoulder.
David gritted his teeth. God save, him from starry-eyed females.
Abigail sighed and settled against his side like an exhausted puppy. Within minutes her breathing was slow and even.
David held her close. He was acutely aware of her soft breasts pressing against his side, the small hand that lay curled on his chest, her warmth burning into him. His hand, resting on her hip, rubbed hypnotically. He stared through the darkness and listened to her even breathing. He'd been called a lot of things by a lot of people, but never-never, a nice man. He didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted.
One corner of his mouth twitched. Oh, baby. If you only knew. Hell, he was holding on to his lofty principles by his fingernails.
He needed a cigarette. Bad. For a long time he lay without moving. When he was sure she was asleep, he reached out with his free hand and groped across the bedside table. Cellophane crinkled as his fingers closed around the pack.
"Only a fool would smoke in bed, you know," came Abigail's sleepy murmur.
Damn!
***
The next morning Abigail awoke at her usual time. She dressed, fed Chelsea and took her ashore in the skiff, and was back in the galley preparing breakfast by the time David stirred.
He was grumpier than he'd been the morning before. Rumpled and bleary-eyed, wearing his threadbare cutoffs, he stomped around like a bear with a sore head. When he tasted her coffee, he spewed it out, along with a string of curses that would have made a longshoreman blush, and shot her a look that accused her of trying to poison him. Muttering under his breath, he stormed up on deck with the pot and flung the contents over the side. He snarled at Chelsea, glowered at Abigail, and complained about everything from the noise she made cooking to the way she scrambled his eggs.
They had no sooner sat down to eat than he gave her a narrow-eyed look and snapped, "What the hell happened to your face?"
"My face?"
"It's all red."
"Oh...that." Abigail touched her upper lip and felt heat rise up her neck. "It's nothing. Just, uh... whisker burn," she mumbled.
David stared at her abraded skin. To her surprise, and amusement, a dull red spread over his cheeks. Ducking his head, he dug into his meal without another word.
They ate in silence. Afterward, while she did the dishes he disappeared into the head. When he emerged, he was clean shaven, and there was a tiny scrap of toilet tissue stuck to a cut on his chin and another along the left side of his jaw.
Abigail was amazed. Clean shaven, that battered face looked almost handsome.
Glowering at her, he lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the overhead. The look in his eyes dared her to say a word. Abigail was tempted but she wisely refrained, and he stomped past her and went up on deck. Within moments the sounds of banging and grunted curses came from the engine compartment.
All day he was gruff and distant. Every chance he got, he growled at Chelsea and was abrupt with Abigail if she so much as opened her mouth.
A few days before she might have been hurt by his treatment, or even frightened. But not now. She wasn't fooled. She knew that he was striving to put their relationship back on its former footing.
It was too late, of course; she had glimpsed the man beneath David's rough exterior. Not that she had any illusions. She knew he was as tough as nails, a warrior who could and would fight dirty if he had to. But deep down, where it counted, he was a decent, good man, a man who would never hurt her. Not deliberately.
On principle, she responded to his barbs and growls with cool primness, but she was well aware that things between them had shifted subtly, and that they would never again be the same. She suspected that David knew it as well.
David finished the repairs to the Freewind late that afternoon, but they waited for the cover of darkness to head back to San Cristobal. Because he was concerned that the boat would be recognized, they left it in the cove and took Pepe's skiff.
The first thing he did when they reached the cantina was place a call to Travis. He bit out a curse when his cousin's answering machine clicked on, but the next instant his expression cleared. His eyes sharpened and he stilled, suddenly alert.
"Oh, no. Don't tell me he still doesn't answer?" Abigail moaned, when he replaced the receiver and dug into his pants for more change.
"No. But that's okay. The message on his machine has been altered. Just a bit. If you didn't know what to listen for you'd never notice the difference. It's a signal between Travis and me. It means the line may be bugged, and to call him at another number—one known to just the two of us."
David wasted no time putting the call through. At the first ring the receiver at the other end was snatched up.
"Dammit, Cuz, what the hell kind of mess are you into now?"
Travis was a laid-back, daring devil who sauntered through fife with a cocky grin and rarely turned a hair over anything, not even in the diciest situations. The agitated edge to his voice put David on alert at once.
"Why? What's happened?"
"Well, for starters, the file on Patrice Johnson is red flagged as top secret, and access is on a need-to-know basis, so I couldn't do anything there. About all I managed to find out about Abigail Stewart is she's a former librarian turned bookstore proprietor.''
David started at the mention of Abigail's name. He'd almost forgotten he'd asked Travis to check her out. Subconsciously, he'd already accepted that Abigail was who and what she claimed. Not very professional, but sometimes a man had to go on instinct. "That jibes with my information. What else you got?"
"Well... she's thirty, never been married and has no criminal record. She was orphaned at a young age and raised by an old maid aunt." Travis's dry chuckle came through the earpiece. "Sounds like a real tough customer. I'd watch myself if I were you, Cuz."
"Funny. You're a regular barrel of laughs, McCall. Now tell me the rest."
"Not much left to tell. There was a little more in the file, but before I could finish reading it someone pulled the plug.
"I knew it had hit the fan when the computer screen went blank," Travis drawled. "But before I could shag my tail outta there a whole swarm of our upper echelon guys and t
hree CIA spooks were on me like ugly on an ape. Thanks to you, Cuz, I spent a damned uncomfortable night trying to explain why I was so interested in Miss Stewart. And why I'd tried to access the Johnson woman's file. To tell the truth, I've been wondering the same thing. I don't suppose you'd like to fill me in?"
"You're right. I wouldn't."
Travis sighed. "That's what I thought."
"So what did you tell them?"
"Well, I tried to tell them that I was just checking out two of my lady friends, but they didn't buy it. I finally had to fess up and admit I was doing you a favor."
There was a pause, and Travis added, "I gotta tell you, Cuz, they weren't pleased. It took me the rest of the night to convince them that was all I knew and that I had no idea where you were. They're going after this hot and heavy. It seems they're real anxious to know Miss Stewart's whereabouts. Yours, too, now. And believe me, Cuz, they're not looking to pin any medals on you."
David's mind was working ninety to nothing, but he replied with a noncommittal grunt and a terse, "What else?"
"That's about it. By the time they let me go, I figured they'd had plenty of time to bug my telephone, so I changed the message and came here."
"Thanks, Travis. I owe you one, buddy."
"Hey, man. That's what kinfolks are for. But look, now that I've got my butt in a sling for you, the least you could do is tell me what's going on."
"Forget it. Believe me, the less you know, the better off you are."
"Okay, Cuz, have it your way. But watch your ass, will you? I don't know what the hell's shaking, but take it from me, you've stumbled into it deep. The big boys are in on this one."
David hung up the telephone and turned to find both Abigail and Pepe hovering over him.
"Well?" Abigail demanded. "Did he find out anything?"
David gave her a sour look. "Hell, Legs, when you get into trouble, you do it up brown, don't you? Not only are the KGB on your tail, now you've got the FBI and the CIA after you, too. After both of us."
"Dios mio," Pepe murmured, his face alive with anticipation.
"Our agents are looking for me? But that's wonderful!" Her excitement fizzled when she noticed David's dark look. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Isn't it?"
"That depends on why. If Patrice Johnson is working for the other side—and it looks that way—and they think you're in cahoots with her, then you could be in as much danger from our people as from the bad guys."
Chapter Nine
Heads swiveled, and the eyes of every patron zeroed in on them when they entered the bar. David faced the sullen silence with a flinty stare and a to-hell-with-you expression that Abigail could only admire. Not matter how hard she tried, she could not suppress the prickle of fear that rippled over her skin. The sensation made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Perched, as usual, in the side pocket of Abigail's purse, Chelsea poked her head over the side and bared her teeth at the room in general. Abigail put a restraining hand on the dog's head and edged closer to David.
The waterfront dive in no way resembled Pepe's Cantina. Stale air reeked of sweat, cheap tequila, and cheaper tobacco. Dirt gritted underfoot on wooden floors that hadn't seen a coat of wax or even a mop in years. Hies buzzed around spills on the pocked and water-ringed bar and tables. All were littered with overflowing ashtrays, bottles and cloudy glasses.
The rhythmic creak of an ancient ceiling fan marked the tense passage of time, but the blades' lazy rotation did little to stir the haze of blue smoke hovering along the low ceiling. Here and there a few hard-looking women lounged on bar stools or at the tables, but most of the patrons were men—toughs and back-alley crawlers who looked as though they would cut out your heart for the price of a bottle. Most sat hunched over their drinks, watching Abigail and David.
"There's Bates. C'mon," David said, and started for the table in the far corner.
Abigail scurried after him, her nerves jangling. As they cut a zigzagging path between the tables, she noticed a cockroach the size of man's thumb scuttling along the back of a chair and another feeding at a spill on a nearby table, antennae waving. Abigail shuddered and averted her eyes.
Halfway across the room her gaze happened to meet that of a man at the bar. He looked her over in cold calculation, and Abigail's heart lurched. She scooted closer to David and grabbed the back of his shirt with both hands.
He frowned at her over his shoulder and muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Lighten up, Legs. It's not smart to let these guys see that you're uneasy."
He turned his attention back on his quarry, and Abigail's glare bounced off the back of his head.
Uneasy? Uneasy? She wasn't uneasy. She was scared spitless! Terrified! Her heart was about to club her to death, for heaven's sake!
It wasn't every day she found herself the target of the intelligence agencies of two world powers. At the moment, however, even that paled in comparison to the immediate situation. She shivered again and gripped David's shirt tighter. Lord, help them. It would be a miracle if they got out of this dive without getting their throats cut.
She didn't care if she was acting like a ninny. She hung on to David for dear life and kept her gaze fixed on a spot between his shoulder blades. In a world gone mad, he was her only security;
So far he'd kept her safe. She had to believe that he would continue to do so. There had been a shaky moment or two when he told her what he'd learned from Travis, but when she had blanched and stammered, "Wh... what do we do now?" he had not even hesitated.
"We'll make contact with our guys and set up a meeting—on our own terms—and try to find out what the hell is going down."
"How do we do that?"
"Don't worry. I know—or know of—most of the deep cover operatives in the western hemisphere. It may take a while, but a few phone calls, the right word in the right ears, a triggering phrase—and the message will be received loud and clear. I guarantee it."
Sure enough, two hours after he'd begun sending out feelers, a teenage boy had arrived at Pepe's with a note for David. It said simply:
Meet me at El Galto Enfadado at one. Leo
David came to a halt, and Abigail slammed into his back.
"Oh, for Pete's sake."
Heaving a sigh, he reached behind him and pried her fingers loose from his shirt. With a hand clamped around her wrist, he hauled her around in front of him and stuffed her into the corner booth opposite an unsavory-looking character.
"Hi ya, Blaine." The man's oily grin didn't reach his eyes. "It's been awhile, ol' buddy."
"Cut the crap, Leo. I want to know what the hell's going on."
"Hey, man!" Leo affected a wounded look. "Ain'tcha even gonna introduce me to your lady friend?"
He leered at Abigail and smiled around the filterless cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. She shrank back on the seat and tried not to grimace.
Sly yellowish eyes, sharp features and pointed, nicotine-stained teeth combined to give the man a foxlike look that made Abigail's skin crawl. Brown hair hung across his forehead in greasy strings. His sallow skin was pock-marked, and a scar puckered his lower Up on one side. Dark stains formed half circles beneath the arms of his grimy shirt, and an unpleasant odor emanated from him.
He was neither as big nor as muscular as David, but there was something feral and menacing about him that Abigail found chilling. Of all the sleazy characters in the place, she knew, instinctively, that Leo Bates was the most dangerous. That he worked for the U.S. government amazed and appalled her.
"Just answer my question, Leo. What's this operation about?"
Leo took a drag on the cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. As it drifted upward to join the cloud hugging the ceiling, he flicked an inch of ash onto the floor. His scarred mouth quirked in a taunting smile. "What operation?"
"Don't give me that. I want to know what you Langley spooks want with a small-town bookstore owner?"
"Hey, man. If someone'
s interested in Miss Stewart, I don't know anything about it."
"Is that right? Then how is it you know her name?"
Leo took another pull on his cigarette and considered David with his foxy eyes. "You're quick, Blaine. But then, you always were. Never could figure out why you left the Bureau. Seems like a waste of talent, if you ask me."
"Like I said, Leo, cut the crap, and just tell me what you know."
"I'm telling you, I don't know nothing. Except that everyone in the sector is suppose to be on the lookout for the two of you and report your whereabouts if they spot you."
"Why?"
"How the hell would I know? I'm just a lowly field man. You think they tell me anything? Look, I need another drink." He stubbed out his cigarette and slid from the booth. Pausing, he swept them with a sardonic look. "How about you two?"
Abigail almost gagged at the thought of consuming anything the place might serve. David waved Leo off. As he ambled toward the bar, Abigail shivered. "He's, uh... an unusual man."
"He's pond scum." David fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, squinting his eyes against the curl of smoke. Ignoring Abigail's pointed look, he flipped the match into the ashtray and inhaled. "But useful pond scum," he added. "A sleaze like Bates can infiltrate at levels that most agents can't. He has hundreds of contacts in Mexico and Central America who feed him all sorts of useful information."
"How did you know he was on Alhaja Verde?"
"I didn't. For all I know, he may not have been. I placed a call to a number on the Mexican mainland."
Leo returned with a mug of dark Mexican beer. After taking a deep draught, he expressed his appreciation with a gusty exhale, swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let loose a booming belch.
Abigail clamped her lips and looked at her hands clasped together in her lap. Leo grinned again. His yellow eyes glittered with malicious glee.