The Other Half of Your Heart

by Janis Susan May

  The Arvisus were looking at her with expressions of pity.

  Realizing that she was babbling like the madwoman they obviously believed her to be, Cara made herself hush. It was harder than she thought. “Look!” she said and held out her wrist as evidence, then was startled to discover that the rope was gone. Cara hadn’t even noticed when he had removed it. There was only a slight chafing of the delicate skin, but no more than there would have been from a devoted husband leading his crazy wife through the jungle by the hand. “There was a rope there,” Cara cried desperately. “He had me tied like I was on a leash, and before that, he tied me to the bed and that dirty fat man came in and there was an old woman, too...”

  Both the Arvisus looked startled. The señora gave a little gasp and stepped behind the protective solidity of her husband. The señor’s glasses were heavily tinted, but there was a distinct glitter in his opaque eyes. Instantly Cara didn’t like him.

  “Honey, honey...” Dave’s face was a study in distress as he turned to their hosts. “I guess I had better tell you the truth...”

  “You should,” Cara snapped with triumph. “You kidnapping, criminal pervert...”

  Had it been anyone else but Dave Burkhart, Cara would have sworn his heart was breaking. He looked up at the Arvisus with a look that was half sorrow, half apology.

  “It was an accident... almost two years ago. Head injuries. The doctors said she was all right. We took this trip to celebrate her release from therapy...”

  “That’s a lie!” Cara shrieked, hovering much too closely to the edge of hysteria for comfort. “I don’t know this man. He kidnapped me!”

  “Cara... sweetheart...” Dave sounded genuinely heartbroken. Cara could have strangled him. “She blames me, you see... and she should. There was an accident… I was driving…”

  “Perhaps you should tell us what happened,” said Señor Arvisu tonelessly.

  “Yes,” Cara snapped. “Tell them the truth! Tell them how you kidnapped me from Puerto Vallarta and tied me up...”

  She had been leaning against him, held by a firm grip that was almost as welcome for its support as it was hateful because of his closeness. Now she tried to push away from him, but his grasp only tightened.

  It probably, she realized helplessly, looked like an affectionate gesture.

  “Pobrecita!” murmured Señora Arvisu in maternal tones, but her husband was made of sterner stuff.

  “It would seem that you have a great many accidents,” he said emotionlessly.

  Even in her current state of painful exhaustion, Cara could sense many layers of meaning in that simple remark. Her captor’s arm tensed around her. Would they believe her if she asked for asylum... What if they didn’t...?

  The señora made a gesture towards Cara’s foot. “My dear, she is bleeding. We must have her leg attended. Bring her inside.”

  “You’ve got to listen to me...” Cara had cried helplessly, but the moment was gone. They were looking at her as if she really were this man’s crazy wife.

  “Quiet, darling, everything’s all right,” Dave said tenderly, then took her hand in a crushing grip and whispered in her ear. “Better shut up if you want to live through this.”

  Surely he wouldn’t hurt her in this magnificent house with all these people around! On the other hand... Cara didn’t dare call his bluff. There were too many ways a ‘crazy’ person could die, and it would never be questioned. Later, if she could talk to the señora alone, maybe she could convince her to call Buck.

  Helped to the enormous but plain red-tile floored kitchen by one of the guards and Dave, Cara found herself plunked into a chair as a servant materialized with bandages and a very extensive first aid kit. Another servant pressed small glasses of a clear and lethally alcoholic liquid into their hands. Dave drained his at a gulp; Cara managed less than half the amount. It was like liquid fire throughout her body. Another glass or two of whatever it was and she would be ready to wrestle lions.

  “I couldn’t let anyone else carry her,” Dave had told the guard, even though he was almost visibly quivering with weariness. He was not too tired, Cara noted, to keep a harsh death grip on her hand. “She is my treasure.”

  “It is so nice to see a young couple who believes in staying together in spite of misfortune,” the señora said, watching the servant woman work over Cara’s leg while being careful to keep her long chiffon skirts out of the way.

  “Not everyone is so conscientious,” pronounced her husband. He lit an enormously fat cigar and proceeded to fill the room with a cloud of vile blue smoke. “It seems that there are a number of people abroad in the jungle tonight. Just this afternoon we had a call from a young American man seeking his fiancée; apparently she had run away with another man.”

  Cara’s heart soared. It had to be Buck! He was looking for her, and she knew he would find her. He had to!

  “How sad,” Dave said, with every evidence of regret. “If a couple can’t trust each other...”

  “Perhaps she had a reason,” the señora replied with asperity. “He was not a nice man.”

  Cara’s hope crumpled like soggy paper. Not a nice man? How could the señora say that? Buck was a wonderful man! Unless it wasn’t Buck... but three groups of people, blundering about looking for someone in the jungle at the same time, was a little bit much to believe. Señora Arvisu must have been mistaken in her judgment.

  Kneeling protectively beside her, Dave Burkhart was squeezing her hand until Cara thought her bones might bend.

  There was a spate of Spanish between mistress and servant, then the señora said, “There. Your foot is not too badly damaged, I am happy to say. There is nothing broken, but the skin is badly cut and scraped and there may be some scarring. You must have her doctor look at it as soon as possible, Mr. Parker.”

  Mr. Parker? Who was Mr. Parker?

  “Thank you,” Dave said sincerely. “I’m just so glad she’s not hurt. Hear that, darling?”

  Cara glared at him as he clamped down even harder on her hand.

  “Come,” said Señora Arvisu, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “Inez will help you bathe and we will find you something decent to wear.”

  “I don’t like to leave her alone...” Dave Burkhart began, but the señora quietly overrode him.

  “Do not worry, we shall be with her.”

  His distress, as Cara was pried from his grip, was genuine. “You are most kind, señora, but...”

  “Your dear wife will be safe with me, I assure you. Come, my dear... Your devoted husband must have a few minutes of rest.” Apparently the señora thought Cara reluctant to leave, for when her guest did not respond to her gentle tap on the shoulder, she nodded to two of the hovering guards.

  “I’m not sure...” Dave began, seeming unsure of himself for the first time since they had been found by the Arvisu guards.

  “Let the women take care of your wife, Mr. Parker. She will come to no harm. Women know what to do for things like that.” Señor Arvisu puffed enthusiastically at his cigar, sending out fresh waves of blue smoke. “Come with me; there are things I wish to know.”

  “Do not keep the young man up talking too long, amor de mi vida. Remember, he too, has had an exhausting evening.”

  Even more smoke filled the room as Señor Arvisu pointedly ignored his wife. Cara had never before heard such a powerful silence.

  “And can you not find something for Mr. Parker to wear?” Apparently accustomed to being ignored by her husband, the lady of the house chattered on.

  Señor Arvisu nodded abruptly, as if the matter had already been settled. “Certainly, but I think what this young man needs more than anything is a good stiff brandy. You go on upstairs. Come along, come along...”

  If Cara had had any idea of confiding in the señora, she lost it on the way upstairs. Although she was feeling much stronger and had almost no pain in her leg, Señora Arvisu insisted on two of the guards, rifles slung tamely on their backs, helping her up the uncarpeted marble
steps. Despite their presence, once away from her husband, the señora talked incessantly, chattering away about clothes and foreign places Cara had never been and people of whom Cara had never heard. She had never heard such mind-numbing drivel in her life. What did make Cara uneasy was that even after they reached the starkly elegant guest suite, one of the armed guards was never more than a foot outside the door.

  Recognizing the difficulties of keeping her bandaged foot dry, Cara accepted the maid’s help into and out of the great bathtub, but drew the line at being bathed. When she emerged from the bath, pink and surprisingly refreshed, the señora had a selection of dresses waiting. They were all simple shifts of coarse cotton, Cara noticed, locally made and of haphazard craftsmanship, totally unlike the exquisite outfit her hostess wore. If that divine concoction of aqua silk and chiffon weren’t from Paris, Cara would eat it!

  Cara also noticed that the hall door was open, revealing part of the guard’s back and the rifle he carried. Even though he faced outward, she huddled out of sight line. One of the maids had washed the worst of the mud out of Cara’s panties and bra, but despite her best efforts with a towel they were still damp. Cara shivered a little as she quickly jumped into them. If the señora thought it peculiar that her unexpected guest should don wet clothing before going to bed, she made no sign, just as she seemed sublimely unaware of the armed man standing just outside the door.

  “Any of these should fit you,” her hostess said with an expansive gesture. “Take the one you like the best.”

  “Thank you very much,” Cara said slowly, “but don’t you have any trousers? I don’t mean to keep... I’d send them back as soon as I got...”

  Got where? Home? The hotel? Back to Buck?

  The señora didn’t notice her lapse as her self-conscious laughter trilled. “Trousers? Of course not! Jaime detests trousers on women and refuses to permit any to be worn on the place.” Her gaze rested briefly on the torn and filthy remains of Cara’s white shorts and gaily patterned shirt as one of the servants carried them disdainfully out the door. “Of course, in your situation he did make an exception. It was not as if you planned to come here...”

  Planned? Between the guards’ rifles pointed at them and the way they had been forced to the main house, Cara hadn’t particularly wanted to come at all!

  “Tell me about the man looking for his fiancée...” she said rashly. “Where was he going?”

  “Going? I do not know.” The señora shrugged, dismissing the subject.

  Cara was not so willing to let it go. “But don’t you have any idea? Didn’t he leave a number or something where he could be reached if she happened to show up?”

  “No... I do not think so. Jaime did not tell me if he did, and in any case, I do not think it would be doing the poor girl a favor to tell him. He was not a nice man.”

  That was the second time she had expressed that opinion. Cara could not stop herself from asking, “Why makes you say that?”

  The señora made a moue of distaste. “There are some men, my dear, whom women should avoid. They...”

  “Are you decent, honey?” came Dave’s voice from outside the door. Cara dived into the first dress she could grab. These might not be the people to whom she could appeal for help, but she was stuck here for the moment and there was no way she was going to let that pervert see her in her under things!

  The dress was bright pink cotton, its front embroidered in a riot of red, pink, and white roses. With her reddish curls still damp and tumbled from her bath, Cara had no idea of how appealing she looked. She did not, however, miss the flash of appreciation in Dave’s eyes. Suddenly she wished she had confided in the señora no matter how improbable the whole situation had seemed.

  “Now your husband,” the señora whispered, her eyes alight, “he is a real man.”

  The señora, Cara decided, had to be crazy. Choose this man over her handsome, perfect Buck? Of course, how good could her judgment be? She had married a man who smoked cigars and dictated what women wore!

  “I will leave you two alone.” The señora shooed the two silent servants from the room. “Buenas noches y hasta mañana...”

  Dave regarded Cara with a cold stare. “What did you tell her?”

  “N-nothing,” Cara stammered, startled at the hostility in his scowl.

  “I’m glad to see that you were sensible.”

  “Sensible! Nothing is sensible about this entire thing!” Cara’s voice rose to a shriek but without really knowing why, she dropped it to a mutter at his sudden, sharp gesture. “How dare you tell everyone that we’re married? What else did you tell that man?”

  “Not what he wanted to hear, I’m afraid. All he did was ask questions.”

  “And you kept telling him we’re married. Did you add any children? Or do we have dogs instead?”

  Dave glared at her. “This is no time to have hysterics, Miss Waters.”

  “Oh, so I’m Miss Waters again!” His comment about hysteria had cut close to the bone. Cara could feel the loss of control nibbling away at her, but could not stop herself. If she didn’t yell at him, she’d start screaming. “And how long is that going to last? Am I going to be your sister next time? Maybe I could be your mother...”

  “You are hysterical...”

  “Can you blame me? I’m crazy, remember?”

  Dave sighed and shook his head. “Be quiet! Getting upset won’t...”

  “I’ll do what I want!” Hot tears bubbled at the back of Cara’s eyes, upsetting her more. Her voice rose to a frenzied shriek. “I’m tired of you telling me what to do all the time! I’m tired of...”

  Cara hadn’t known he could move so fast. In between her tumbling words, he was suddenly across the room and standing right in front of her, his hands like vises on her shoulders as he shook her like a stuffed animal.

  “Be quiet! You’ll bring the whole house down on us.”

  “I won’t...”

  “Shut up and lie down!”

  “I will not!”

  “I said,” he growled and a thrill of fear ran through Cara, “lie down on that bed!”

  Cara lay down. Where on earth had she gotten the idea that he was a soft, nerdy weakling? Dave Burkhart exuded a power that was as palpable as radiant heat. Wherever he had gotten his new clothes, it hadn’t been from Señor Arvisu; they were far too skimpy ever to have fit on their host’s chunky frame. The white cotton pants and striped polo shirt almost didn’t fit over Dave Burkhart’s wiry body. The shirt stretched tightly over his shoulders, outlining and defining a surprisingly muscular build. The trousers... Cara’s eyes widened.

  “It might be a long night,” he said in a gentler voice, “and you might as well get as much rest for your leg while you can.”

  As if attached to a spring, Cara sat right back up again. “A long night? What...?”

  He ignored her. “And as for the reason I told them we were married, don’t you think it’s better than telling them the truth?”

  Cara blinked as, turning his back on her, he turned out the lights and strode to the window. Somehow, she had the idea that she should be saying something like that to him, rather than the other way around.

  He cautiously slid the heavy drapes back, flooding the room with light.

  “Is it morning?”

  “Security lights. Going to make getting out of here difficult.”

  “Out of here?” Cara shrieked.

  Moving with startling swiftness, Dave clapped his hand over her mouth hard enough to hurt. “Shut up! Do you want them all back in here?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Cara snapped when he released her, but she kept her voice to a whisper. “There’s nothing but jungle out there! And whatever makes you think that I’d go anywhere with you?”

  “You’d rather stay here?” He was back at the window, cautiously peering out. “It’s not going to be that long before they figure out who you are, if they haven’t already.”

  “They know who I am,” Cara said, then
reconsidered. “No, they only know who you told them I am.”

  “And that doubt is about all that’s saving our skins right now.”

  Cara felt as if she had fallen down the rabbit hole. She could hear and understand every word, but none of them made sense. She also had a terrible feeling that it was very important that she understand. “Saving our skins? Why would the Arvisus want to hurt us? They’re nice, even if he does smoke cigars...”

  “Nice?” He turned to her with an expression of terrible pity. His voice dripped sarcasm. “Nice? Do you think nice people live in fortified houses and have their own private armies? My lord, woman, don’t you realize these people are probably your buyers?”

  “My...” Cara put her hands up to hold her aching head. “I don’t understand a thing you’re saying!”

  He had walked from the window to the door, moving quietly on the balls of his feet. “If you say so... Drat!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Your nice people have locked us in.”

  Cara’s stomach lurched. People didn’t lock their guests in...did they? “Locked? Really locked? Are you sure it’s just not stuck?”

  “Yeah. Lucky it’s just a knob lock and not a dead bolt...” From the back pocket of the tight pants he pulled a fearsomely efficient-looking pocketknife and set to work chipping away bits of wood.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Saving our lives, I hope.”

  “You’re scarring the wood...” Cara watched in dismay as big chips fell to the floor.

  “Better it than us. There!” The lock gave with a little pop. “That’s done...”

  His words were cut short by a savage chorus of howls from outside. Even through the filters of glass and stone, it was a soul-chilling sound and Cara shivered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Guard dogs. Sounds like they caught something.”

  “Dogs?” That unearthly noise hadn’t sounded like any dog Cara had ever known.

  “Yeah. There are at least three teams of them patrolling the grounds, and that isn’t going to make things any easier.” He stood up and held out his hands. “Come on; we’ve got to get out of here now.”