Heat Of Passion

by Alice Orr

  “We have to talk,” she said.

  “We can talk later,” he replied, dragging her back into his arms.

  She sighed against him. She could feel the pressure of his arousal beneath the bath sheet he had wrapped around him. The taut smoothness of his skin grazed her cheek, and she was nearly lost to the power of her own desire. Somewhere in the depths of her besotted mind, a small but insistent voice told her she could not succumb to temptation now. Phoenix sighed once more and pushed him away again, hard enough this time to get his attention even above the clamoring of his own obvious need for her.

  “I mean it, Slater,” she said. “We have to talk now. Things have happened that you need to know about. Terrible things.”

  She turned away from Slater, walked to the bed and sat. The breezy, sunlit terrace beckoned through the open doors, but she couldn’t allow herself any more distractions now. She handed Slater the hotel robe that was lying on the bed. He put it on before pulling off the towel he was wearing underneath. Before he could tie his robe, she’d caught a glimpse of dark, tightly curled hair that made her all but moan. It was even more difficult to remind herself to keep on course this time.

  “What terrible things are you talking about?” he asked.

  Phoenix marveled at how calm he had become, almost as much as she marveled at how that mere glimpse of his body had nearly mesmerized her. She sighed yet again.

  “First of all,” she said, hearing how dispirited she sounded. “Porfiro is dead.”

  Slater had stepped back toward the dresser. He leaned there now, against the edge of it, watching her and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Does that have something to do with us?” he asked, even more calmly than before.

  Phoenix nodded. “He appears to have driven over a cliff on the highway between the city and Pie de la Cuesta.”

  Slater showed no reaction to that. She went on.

  “It happened yesterday afternoon, and it also appears that he was driving your rental Jeep at the time.”

  Phoenix could feel her pulse pounding and wondered what special talent allowed Slater to remain so steely and in control. A reminder of his probably criminal background flashed through her thoughts, making her feel more dispirited still. Maybe he’d been through lots of situations like this one.

  “What makes you think it was my Jeep?” he was asking.

  “I put two and two together along with the rest of it.”

  “What rest of it?”

  Phoenix almost sighed again but realized how much she’d been doing that and stopped herself.

  “They said he was on a special job for a man with a name like a musical instrument.”

  Slater was the one to sigh this time. “Sax,” he said.

  “That was my thought.”

  “Who were ‘they?’”

  “What?”

  “The people who told you about Sax and Porfiro. Who were they?”

  “Pablo was actually the one who told me. He heard about what happened to Porfiro from the other tour drivers at the stand in front of the hotel here. Pablo also put two and two together. The place where the crash happened, you and me making our getaway down the same road, the fact that when the tour drivers saw this man Sax, he was driving a black Ford Bronco.”

  “Has Pablo told anybody else about this?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Is he still around the hotel?”

  “He was in the lobby just now before I came up here.”

  Slater stared off toward the open terrace doors. Phoenix guessed he wasn’t seeing the sunlight or hearing the sounds of the surf and laughter from the beach and poolside several stories below.

  “Maybe we should find Pablo and make it worth his while not to share his conclusions with anyone else,” Slater said.

  “If you’re talking about paying him to keep his mouth shut, I already tried that and he refused. I don’t think he’ll tell anybody about us.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Slater’s cool way of questioning her felt like an interrogation. Phoenix didn’t like that feeling.

  “Because he seemed sympathetic to me,” she replied, knowing how flimsy that sounded. “And he said that Porfiro was mixed up in a lot of shady deals. Pablo didn’t approve of that.”

  “Did Pablo actually say that or do you just think he sounded like he might feel that way?”

  “He actually said it.”

  Her annoyance at this third degree was beginning to show, but Slater didn’t appear to notice.

  “How do you know it was my rental that Porfiro was driving for sure?” Slater asked, grilling her still.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it was a silver Jeep from one of the agencies at the airport. It was also headed back from Pie de la Cuesta at about the same time your Jeep went missing. That sounds like two and two to me.

  “Two and two,” Slater said, nodding slowly. He was silent for a moment before continuing. “What else?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what else?’“ Phoenix wasn’t following his train of thought fast enough to keep up. That made her more exasperated still.

  “You said terrible things happened. That’s plural. Did all of those terrible things have to do with Porfiro, or is there something else?”

  “Yes, there is something else.”

  Phoenix had the urge to jump up from the bed and slap the cool, distant expression off Slater’s face. She couldn’t believe he was treating her this way. She gripped the bedclothes on either side of where she was sitting to keep herself from acting on that urge.

  “In case you really give a damn, and I doubt that you do,” she went on as one hot tear slid down her cheek, “my grandfather’s friend, Citrone Blue, has been kidnapped and if we don’t do something about it he’s going to end up as dead as poor Porfiro.”

  The rest of the tears came then. She squeezed her eyes shut but they wouldn’t stop. Suddenly, Slater was next to her on the bed, holding her in his arms and murmuring comforting words into her ear. Fortunately, he didn’t ask any more questions for a while.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Slater held Phoenix and rocked her gently while her sobs quieted to whimpers. She’d been through so much these past few days. She had to be close to bursting from it all and maybe from the secrets she couldn’t tell as well. Everything he’d found out about her in their brief but intense acquaintance indicated that she was not the deceitful type by nature. Secrets, especially dark secrets, can build up tremendous pressure inside an honest person. This is one of the things a cop learns. That particular lesson came in very handy in an interrogation room. Manipulating the suspect’s guilt about lying is a prime technique for extracting confessions. Right now, however, Slater wished he hadn’t studied that lesson quite so effectively. Right now, he was feeling some guilt for a deceit of his own. Phoenix trembled in his arms, and he almost blurted out the whole truth to her on the spot. Luckily or not, his cop mentality remained strong. The moment passed, and he said nothing as Phoenix gradually calmed herself to stillness again.

  “I care,” Slater said softly.

  “What did you say?”

  “A few minutes ago you said I probably don’t care that your friend is in trouble. I’m just telling you that’s not true. I care about anything that makes you unhappy.”

  Phoenix turned in his arms and looked up at him. Women were supposed to look a mess when they cried. She just looked flushed and moist with her eyes shining. Slater’s heart thumped so hard he couldn’t breathe for a minute, maybe two.

  “I thought you didn’t like Mr. Blue,” she said.

  “It isn’t that I don’t like him so much as that I don’t trust him.”

  “Why don’t you trust him? You hardly know him.”

  Slater almost blew it and told her how his cop sense gave him clues about people the instant he met them.

  “I just have a feeling about him,” Slater said instead.

  Phoenix stood up fast from the
bed and brushed off her slacks. That was the first time Slater had noticed she was wearing a new outfit. She looked very sophisticated and chic, even more of a woman than she was in her short shorts. Unfortunately, she didn’t give him much time to admire this new facet of her beauty. She had grabbed her purse from the bed and was headed for the door.

  Slater jumped up and followed.

  “Where are you going?” he said, waylaying her as she reached for the doorknob.

  “You have a feeling,” she said with more than a little anger in her voice. “Well, I have a feeling, too. My feeling is that my grandfather’s oldest, dearest friend is in trouble and I’m going to help him.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  Slater put his hands on her shoulders. His heart hurt as he registered the tension there from her holding herself rigid in resistance of him.

  “What do you want?” she snapped. “I’ve already wasted precious time sitting up here bawling like a baby. The message said they’d do something to him if I didn’t come soon.”

  “What message?”

  How could anyone have gotten a message to her? Nobody knew where they were. At least, that’s what Slater hoped, especially since he had a terrible suspicion that the “they” she was referring to was Sax and his hired thugs.

  “I called La Escarpadura and checked my room voice mail. There was a message from Citrone. He sounded terrified. You have to let me go to him.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you are not.”

  Phoenix pushed at Slater. The move took him by surprise, and he stumbled backward as she reached past him to the door and pulled it open.

  “Wait,” he commanded, knowing how futile that sounded in the face of her obvious determination. “I’m with you for this ride whether you want me there or not.”

  “I’m not waiting for anything. If you insist on tagging along where you’re not wanted, then you’d better get a move on.”

  She was out the door then and walking in long, purposeful strides down the hall. Slater grabbed garments from the dresser and pulled them on fast—briefs, slacks, a polo shirt, deck shoes. He was still pulling off store tags as he dashed out into the hall and yanked the door shut behind him. With some luck, the elevator would be slow arriving and he’d catch up with Phoenix before she got on. It occurred to Slater that, with him in these duds and her in those slacks and that blouse, anybody who saw them would be bound to think, “Look at that nice, normal couple.” How wrong they would be. On the other hand, Phoenix’s efforts at changing their image were already taking effect.

  PHOENIX HAD RENTED another Jeep for the day before she called Escarpadura and heard that frightening voice mail message. Citrone’s distress had been unmistakable. He said she had to come to the place she’d scrawled on a piece of paper from her purse or the people who had abducted him promised to hurt him badly, maybe even kill him. The time signature on the message tape indicated that he’d called three hours ago, which meant he could be in even worse trouble by now. That realization sent Phoenix scurrying out of the elevator the instant the doors slid open at lobby level.

  Another elevator had arrived at the same time, and Slater stepped out of it to follow hot on her heels. She thought about telling him one more time to stay here at the hotel, but she doubted that would do much good. The best she could do was to make certain he didn’t feel particularly welcome. With that in mind, she didn’t say a word to him or even glance in his direction as they walked fast across the elegant hotel lobby, rounding the fountain on their way to the front entrance and the parking lot where the rentals were kept

  “Let me drive,” Slater said as they approached the lot attendant’s booth and Phoenix pulled the Jeep rental agreement from her purse.

  “The vehicle is in my name,” she said. “I have to drive.”

  She wished that weren’t the case. She really didn’t feel like taking on the responsibility of being behind the wheel at the moment

  “I can take over as soon as we get out of this guy’s range,” Slater said quietly as they came into earshot of the attendant.

  Phoenix nodded. That sounded like a good plan to her. The attendant took the agreement and pointed out a Jeep. Remembering that other Jeep also reminded her of what had happened to it. She grabbed the agreement papers back just a bit too abruptly, and the attendant looked at her curiously.

  “Muchas gracias,” she said quickly and pushed a tip into his hand.

  That brought a broad smile to his lips. “Muchas gracias to you, señorita,” she heard him calling after her as she took off toward the Jeep with Slater, once again, right behind her.

  Phoenix let Slater take over the driving not far from the hotel entrance. He sped away almost before she could get her seat belt on. She’d already told him the instructions Citrone had left on her voice mail. They were to go to the village of Coyuca and wait at the cantina just off the main street at the side of the river. Phoenix had never been to Coyuca. She did know it was on the same highway as Pie de la Cuesta but much farther along. Part of renting a vehicle in Acapulco was the signing of an agreement not to drive that far beyond the city. The first time she rented a car she’d read that document thoroughly. It left her wondering just exactly what the rental company might be worried about. Tourist encounters with bandidos? With federales? Both? There was no spare tire in any of the rentals she’d seen here. She suspected that was an additional incentive to keep turistas close to town. Phoenix didn’t give a damn, at the moment, about violating her rental agreement, or about bandidos or federales, either. But, she did hope they wouldn’t get a flat tire.

  Meanwhile, she was aware that she hadn’t been be-having as rationally as usual, at least not since she slammed down the phone after hearing Citrone Blue’s message. Who was he, anyway? Somebody her grandfather had shared some good times with decades ago. Somebody she knew as little about as she’d accused Slater of knowing. Yet, she’d never really questioned that she would do everything in her power to help him, including this drive at top speed down the highway into whatever might lie ahead.

  If asked for a reason for her behavior, as she had a feeling she would be asked by Slater eventually, she’d have to say there probably was no reason in terms of the precise definition of that word. What she was doing now had nothing to do with reason. She was acting on pure emotion. Her grandfather had meant everything to her, and he would want her to save his friend. Whether that expectation was reasonable or rational didn’t matter to Phoenix at the moment.

  “Did Blue mention who snatched him?” Slater asked shortly after he took over the driving.

  “Who else?” Phoenix said, marveling at how cold and flat her voice sounded all of a sudden. “The same person who’s been doing everything he can to screw up our lives for the past three days. I guess he’s using Citrone now to get to you through me. He must have seen me with Citrone or found out from the hotel clerk or God knows what.”

  Slater glanced over at her. “Are you talking about Sax?”

  “Yes, of course. Sax. As I said, who else?”

  That was when Slater’s foot had tromped down to the floor and they’d started moving at top speed.

  They weren’t very far past the turnoff to Pie de la Cuesta when the scenery began to change. Phoenix imagined this was what people were talking about when they referred to “the real Mexico.’’ The land had a rough look to it with clumps of vegetation and trees between the modest homesteads of a small house and several outbuildings set in a patch of mostly dirt. Pigs, goats and cackling chickens roamed free through these farmyards. Phoenix and Slater passed a field of Brahman cattle as rawboned and strange as this region. But that was only off to the right side of the road. To the left, the landscape was much more lush and green, almost as if they were driving down the dividing line between two Mexicos, one hardscrabble dirt farm country and the other a tropical paradise. Phoenix had experienced both in the past few days.

  Meanwhile, she and Slater were the objects of som
e interest to the occasional farm folk along Highway 200. Apparently, they encountered few gringos out here. The longer they drove, the more ill at ease Phoenix became with how far out of their element they were venturing. The town of Coyuca, when they finally reached it, made her most aware of that. The main street was lined with rundown stores and cantinas, poorer than the poorest buildings she’d seen in Acapulco. Her gaze was met with cool stares from the local citizens clustered in front of the buildings, letting her know how much she did not belong. It occurred to her that if she and Slater got into trouble here, they might not find the locals as helpful as they’d been on that white-and-blue bus yesterday.

  She was relieved when they left the crowded main street and turned into a quieter road along the river. Slater pulled up in front of an open-air cantina with multicolored Christmas lights strung along the edge of the roof. Mexican music played on a radio. Unfortunately, the twinkling lights and lilting music did little to put Phoenix in a less apprehensive mood. She followed Slater to a table on the river side of the cantina. The waitress took their order for two colas then shuffled away. Phoenix tried to watch the women beating their laundry against white rocks beneath the nearby bridge over the river. Ordinarily, she would have found that fascinating. Today she was too agitated to concentrate on the rustic scene.

  She could tell that Slater was agitated, too. His occasional glances around the cantina and along the road outside and the riverbank might appear casual to anyone who didn’t know him, but Phoenix sensed intense alertness in the surveillance he was keeping. Still, there was no sign of Sax or anybody who might have been working for him, either. Nobody was paying much attention to Phoenix and Slater at all. Then, the waitress returned with two sweating bottles of soft drinks on a small, round tray. A folded piece of paper lay between the bottles.

  “Señor McCain?” she said to Slater.

  “Sí,” he said. “I’m Señor McCain.”

  “This is for you.”

  She indicated the folded paper on the tray. Phoenix was impressed by the way Slater managed to maintain his cool facade even then. He picked up the paper as if he couldn’t have cared less what message it contained. He rummaged in his pocket for pesos for the waitress and smiled as he put them in her hand. She smiled back, and the flash of her dark eyes reminded Phoenix of how attractive Slater really was. She put her hand on top of his on the table in a gesture she was surprised to make. The waitress shrugged her shoulders and walked away, swinging her hips rather than shuffling this time. Slater’s hand was warm beneath Phoenix’s palm. She could feel both strength and tension there.