“So who put me in this?”
He looked her squarely in the face. “The medic. And I.”
Incredibly, Cara felt herself blush. After all that had happened, how silly it was to feel self-conscious about it, but she knew she would.
“Cara...you’ve been through hell and back and I don’t know the last time you ate anything. The captain was good enough to send this up, so won’t you drink it?”
The thought of putting anything through her throat made Cara queasy, but it would be better than having Dave wheedle her as if she were a deficient child. She took the glass and drank a little, but handed it back almost immediately.
“Oh, that’s awful! I don’t want it.”
Something flickered in Dave’s eyes. Taking the glass from her outstretched hand, he turned to put it on the floor by the door. When his back was to her, he sniffed the glass and took a tiny sip. The milk did taste strange, thick and mildly bitter. Probably it was only local stuff, raw and unhomogenized, but it was just possible Arvisu had a long reach.
“All right,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel. “I’ll pour it out somewhere so the captain won’t get his feelings hurt.”
“When do you think he’ll let us go?”
“Tomorrow, perhaps, maybe the next day.”
“And maybe not,” Cara said harshly. “I’m not sure I like being a prisoner of the army.”
It was exactly what Dave had been thinking, but he was careful to keep his expression neutral. “Well, it won’t be long I’m sure, and before we go, we’re going to have to do something about getting you something to wear. You certainly are hard on clothes!”
“My clothes!” Cara breathed. “He took my clothes...”
“What are you talking about?”
“When...when I wrecked the truck and Buck took me to the Arvisus’ house. My clothes were there. He had packed everything and brought it with him.”
Dave’s brow creased. “That’s odd. Did he say why?”
“I asked him, and he said it was so that I’d have what I needed when he found me. I believed him,” she said bitterly, “but I’ll bet he never intended for me to be seen after that!”
“Then how did you end up back in Puerto Vallarta? They had you and your luggage; you were helpless. What happened?” Dave asked, intrigued.
“I remember I didn’t want to stay there. Buck was arguing with me, and I asked Señor Arvisu if I were a prisoner. He said no, of course not, and had his personal car take us back to town.” Cara stared at him with quizzical eyes. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe Arvisu didn’t know you were supposed to be killed. Maybe that was Buck’s idea alone.”
How could I have been so stupid? Cara’s mind cried. Stupid, stupid, stupid...
Tears dribbled from her eyes again. She didn’t realize she was weeping until Dave brushed them away.
“Go ahead, say it.”
“Say what?”
“I told you so. You tried to tell me about Buck and I wouldn’t listen.”
“You were in love with him.” It was a simple statement, flat and monotone, and it cost Dave a great deal not to say more.
In love? Love was supposed to be lasting and permanent; Cara had always believed that love should be uplifting and ennobling, a sustaining force, not a destructive one. Was that what she had been, or had she only been mesmerized by the grotesque mask of infatuation? Or was she now rewriting what had been to suit her current knowledge? Cara didn’t know. All she did know was that she wished she had never met Buck Tarrant.
But if she hadn’t, she never would have met Dave Burkhart.
The intensity of that realization startled her.
“Who are you?”
Lost in his own thoughts, Dave looked up, startled. “What? I told you...Dave Burkhart.”
“I know that, you keep telling me, and that tells me exactly nothing. Why did you kidnap me? Why did Buck and Murchison...” she almost didn’t stumble over their names, “...want to kill you? Are you a policeman? A government agent?”
“No, I’m not a policeman,” Dave said soothingly, “not of any kind. Look, Cara, it’s late and you should go back to sleep.”
Cara resisted his gentle efforts to lay her back down. “Then are you a criminal? Are you part of this drug thing?”
“No, I don’t have anything to do with illegal drugs or trafficking or anything like that.”
“Then,” Cara cried in desperation, “who are you?”
Dave looked at her for one long moment, his expression absolutely neutral. “I can’t tell you anything that you don’t already know, Cara Waters. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
Cara searched his face for any clue, but it was shuttered and opaque.
What was she to do? She had never felt so unsure before. He had never truly hurt her. He had saved her life, probably more than once. From deep within her came a strange feeling bubbling slowly to the surface, one that she didn’t want to face but could not avoid.
“I do,” she whispered at last. “I don’t know why, and I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“I’m glad of that,” Dave said and meant it. Ruthlessly he pushed down the lingering echoes of his own inner unease. Wasn’t it obvious what she was? On the other hand, just because Buck Tarrant had tried to kill her didn’t make her innocent. In fact, had it been any other person he would have said the opposite. One less partner meant more for the survivor. “Well, I’m ready for some shut-eye. Do you think you can sleep some more?”
Cara surprised herself by yawning prodigiously. Amazingly, she was sleepy.
She nodded. “But I don’t want to. You’re so defenseless when you sleep.”
Defenseless. That was how Dave felt. Of course, she was afraid. He was too, but not of anything Buck Tarrant or his cronies were capable of doing. He couldn’t, shouldn’t do what he wanted to do more than anything. He was attracted to this strange, seemingly innocent woman, yes, but that didn’t mean he had to give in. Being close to her and yet constrained by decency from touching her the way he wanted, from taking her and loving her and lifting the veils of ignorance from her sensuality, would be the hardest thing he had ever done. He didn’t know even if he could do it. He was not a man accustomed to subduing his desires.
It seemed as if his body and his voice were acting of their own accord while his reason shouted unheard. All he knew for sure was that he couldn’t leave her alone, not here, not until he knew she was safe.
“Scoot over.”
Cara’s face reflected her confusion. “Are you going to stay?”
Dave stood at the door, his hand on the light switch. “Unless you tell me not to.”
Unable to speak, Cara nodded. There was a tightness in her throat that had nothing to do with having been strangled. Dave switched out the light and padded back to the bed, then slipped out of his shoes and crawled under the sheet.
“It’s just a single bed,” Cara said, snuggling into the safe haven of his encircling arm. “We won’t have much room.”
“We don’t need much room. Comfortable?”
Cara relaxed against the length of him. The coarse cotton of his army-issue trousers was rough against her scratched legs, but she didn’t care. His leaving them on was a delicate attention she appreciated...mostly. A part of her, though...
What kind of woman was she? First, she had been madly in love with Buck Tarrant, and dreaming of him making love to her, and now Dave Burkhart. But this was different. Very different.
“It seems, Miss Waters,” Dave teased in a dry tone, “that for two strangers, we are sleeping together an awful lot.”
Cara’s warm giggle made the darkness more bearable. Had anyone else said that, she would have been both frightened and offended. Now, with him, it became an intimate joke between them. Her head cradled by Dave’s muscular shoulder, his arm draped protectively around her, she felt as safe as she ever had in her life.
“Good night.” Ruthlessly stifling the rising s
well of desire that threatened to overwhelm him, Dave dropped a feather-light, avuncular kiss on the top of Cara’s head and lay back, leaving her feeling oddly dissatisfied.
What would it be like to be loved by Dave Burkhart? A blush, unseen in the dark, suffused Cara’s skin, but a trembling of excitement overshadowed it. Somehow, just the idea was so much more exciting when it was about him than it had been about Buck. Or was she revising the past again?
It didn’t matter. All Cara knew was that in spite of everything, she felt happy and protected and ...and whole. Her eyes blinked open and she stared out into the dark. Señora Fonseca’s words came back to her. Could Dave Burkhart be the other half of her heart?
Impossible! raged the coldly rational part of Cara’s brain. People often had romantic reactions to someone who shared a life or death situation. It was a staple situation of bad books and TV movies. Dave Burkhart had kidnapped her, threatened her, dragged her through the jungle...
He had also, Cara’s other side reminded her, saved her life, risked his own for her, protected her and, considering the situation, treated her with the utmost respect. If he wanted, he could have ravished her a dozen times over.
A shiver of cold reality slid down Cara’s spine in spite of the warm night. Buck Tarrant had been interested in her only because of what she could do for him, however unwittingly. Why would someone as fascinating as Dave Burkhart look twice at her unless he wanted something too? And from the way he was acting, he must not want much of anything, Cara reflected ruefully. Here he held her as one would a sick child. At the Fonsecas’ they had slept in the same bed as chastely as brother and sister. In fact, since that first morning in the jungle when he had kissed her so passionately in the Arvisus’ jeep, he had displayed almost no interest in her as a woman. Was he showing her respect or was it simply disinterest?
Cara had to know. “Dave?”
Her only answer was a soft but genuine snore.
* * * * *
Awakening to dazzling light, Cara was ravenously hungry and all alone. There was no sign that anyone had slept in that empty room, that narrow bed, but she. Had she dreamed it all? No, she definitely remembered how safe she had felt with his arm around her, how he had snored when she had decided to talk to him.
How long had he stayed? The entire night? Or had he left once she was asleep?
The curtains were pushed back and brilliant, crystalline light flooded the room, making it appear even more deserted and shabby than it had the night before. The only furniture was the rough metal cot on which she lay; the curtains were chunks of rough camouflage material. A shirt and pair of trousers lay at the foot of the bed and on the floor, there was a pair of sneakers, obviously worn but clean. Her own under things, washed and dried but looking very battered, were modestly tucked inside the shirt.
Well, beggars shouldn’t be choosers, Cara thought philosophically. She couldn’t help but wonder where her purse, luggage, and clothes were and if she would ever see any of them again. Vaguely the thought of how she would get back into the States without papers crossed her mind, then she ruthlessly shoved it back down. That was tomorrow’s problem. Right now...
Right now, she wanted to see Dave Burkhart.
There was a bathroom attached to the room and though it was primitive and a lot less clean than she liked, the plumbing worked. Sort of. At first, the pipes disgorged nothing but rusty water so thick it looked like blood, but after a while, there was a trickle of clear water. Although she had a raging thirst, Cara knew better than to take a single sip. Some kind soul had left a worn sliver of soap and a surprisingly thick towel on the basin. Cara managed both a quick bath and shampoo.
By the time she was dried and dressed Cara felt better than she had dreamed. Whoever had obtained these clothes for her certainly knew how to pick sizes. The sneakers fit almost perfectly over her bandaged feet. The man’s shirt hung with comfortable looseness, but the pants fit almost too well, clinging audaciously to Cara’s hips and thighs.
Dave and Capitan Fonseca were in what must have once been the manager’s office. After a lot of questioning looks, frankly appreciative stares and several missed turnings, Cara found them bent over a map, their expressions serious.
The capitan was overwhelming in his welcome, this time kissing both her hands.
“Thank you for finding me some clothes,” Cara said.
“It was nothing, señorita. My only regret is that we could not find something worthy of showcasing your beauty.”
It was a little early in the morning for such hyperbole, but Cara still found it pleasant. Dave did not. Cara could almost hear him growl.
“A fine compliment, sir. Still, I appreciate these. It must have taken some doing...”
Capitan Fonseca made an airy gesture. “With as many men as we have here now, it was quite easy to find someone of an appropriate size who had extra clothing.”
“I’m afraid I can’t replace it or even offer to pay...” Cara began, but Dave snapped impatiently, “It’s already been arranged that the uniform will be replaced later. Capitan...”
Reluctantly the capitan released Cara’s hands. “Alas, duty calls. A soldier’s life is never easy, señorita. However, it is time you ate. The cook has been keeping a plate warm for you. The kitchen...”
“I’ll take her,” Dave said abruptly. “We can finish this later.”
“You didn’t have to be rude,” Cara whispered a few moments later as Dave, his hand on her elbow, all but force-marched her down a long, mildew-spotted hallway.
“That guy’s got a line that turns my stomach.”
“You could use a little polish like that,” Cara replied, all tender feelings of the night before submerged in a wave of irritation.
“Yeah. Apparently it works really well suckering the ladies. Buck Tarrant had a good line too, didn’t he?”
Cara stopped dead, unbidden tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s a hateful thing to say.”
“But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Señorita... Señor...”
Cara and Dave looked into the distraught face of Señor Arvisu. His once-fine clothes were soiled and wrinkled. His hands were tied behind him and there was a burly soldier on each side with a painfully tight grip on his arm. A stubble of salt-and-pepper beard covered his sagging jowls. This bedraggled, desperate man looked very little like the prosperous autocrat they had met before.
“Why?” he asked, his eyes pleading. “Why is this happening? I have nothing to do with drugs...A little marijuana in the garden, yes, for my own use, but nothing else, nothing... I am innocent, I swear...”
Without breaking stride, the soldiers pushed him along. His protests of innocence carried along the hallway long after he was out of sight.
“Everyone’s always innocent when they’re caught,” Dave said cynically.
“He sounds so sincere. Did you see how frightened he looked?”
“You’ll believe anything, won’t you?”
The kitchen was a cavernous room, outfitted with the oversize cauldrons and gigantic pans of mass food preparation. Capitan Fonseca hadn’t been kidding when he said this was a large operation.
The cook, a jolly, spare little man in an apron the size of a tent, greeted Cara and Dave with a voluble spate of friendly Spanish, which Dave answered more slowly, receiving a good laugh in return. Cara sat at the old kitchen table, its wood top scrubbed to blinding whiteness, and an enormous platter of beans and rice and fried eggs drenched in red sauce placed in front of her. There were fresh tortillas in a surprisingly dainty napkin, sweet rolls the size of a sugar bowl and a big glass of milk. Dave received a cup of coffee.
Cara’s stomach rumbled in anticipatory appreciation. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
Dave shook his head. “I had breakfast with the capitan and his men this morning. At dawn. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
So he had stayed with her through the night. For some reason that made Cara happy. He couldn’t start
snoring every time she wanted to talk to him!
Right now, though, her main focus was on eating. She literally couldn’t remember the last time she ate and now she intended to make up for lost time. Cara ate an egg and rolled a tortilla with beans and rice and salsa. To Dave’s gentle amusement, she ate one of the huge sweet rolls and then another egg.
She was still eating when a soldier came in and told them that things were in hand and that a jeep was waiting to take them to Puerto Vallarta.
“Well,” Dave said in a soft tone that curdled Cara to her very bones, “it looks like our big adventure is over.”
* * * * *
If Cara never ever rode in another jeep, it would be too soon. She was safely buckled into the front seat, which Dave said should give her a gentler ride. He perched in the back seat, his hands braced against the roll bar, a wise precaution since their young soldier driver was obviously confused about the difference between a jungle trail and the Daytona 500.
It was also a way that Dave didn’t have to talk to her. It would be necessary to shout to be heard over the revving engine and even that unsatisfactory means of communication would be fraught with the constant danger of biting their tongues completely off at any of the frequent jolts and lurches.
The jeep dropped away from beneath them, diving several jarring inches to the bottom of a rut and then, with great roaring and lunging, launching itself out again. It was a performance that had been repeated almost constantly since they had left Capitan Fonseca, waving from the sagging verandah. Cara was beginning to wish she had not been so enthusiastic about breakfast.
Other than to ask her if she were ready to go, Dave had not spoken a word to her since the soldier’s announcement. They had nothing to pack, nothing to get, nothing to take with them, so there had been nothing to do but get up and walk out to the waiting jeep. Cara was distressed at how eager Dave seemed.
Is he another Buck? she had wondered as he buckled her seat belt and muttered something about an easier ride. Is he just telling me what I want to hear until he gets what he wants?
The Other Half of Your Heart Page 14