Dateline: Kydd and Rios (8 page)

“No.” The white lie fell from her lips without thought. She had hoped he’d come, prayed he’d come, but she hadn’t
known
he’d come.

“Have you done anything to get yourself in trouble with the NSF?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I take it they’re just a complication and nothing personal?”

He was moving too fast for her, his questions coming too quickly. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, but all she could think about was that he’d come back to her, kissed her crazy, then gotten so mad he couldn’t see straight.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

“Dammit, Josh,” she whispered, reaching the end of her rope. “Don’t play the investigative reporter with me, and why should you care how many cops—” She stopped abruptly, realizing the stupidity of her question and the foolishness of the anger that had prompted it. Travinas had virtually put a price on his head, and although Josh didn’t know about the price or what it was, he knew he wasn’t safe in San Simeon. What he didn’t know was that he wasn’t safe anywhere, not with Brazia on his tail.

Time. There wasn’t enough time to persuade him to play the game her way. He’d never been a good follower, and the last thing she needed was another adversary. There were too many possibilities for disaster in her intricately pieced puzzle, too many volatile personalities, too many conflicting goals. Two days and the whole thing would be over. Then he could hate her for the rest of his long life.

“What’s the matter, Nikki?” His voice broke into the silence, and his hands tightened on her arms as he gave her a small shake.

“Nothing.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to argue with you. Thanks for coming. I’ll never forget that you came when I needed you.”

“Yeah, be sure to tell your Sulaco boyfriend.” He released her and turned back toward the entrance. “Looks clear to me. Do you see anything?”

She opened her mouth to explain away his misunderstanding, then immediately shut it again. A “boyfriend” in Sulaco might be a handy addition to her mixed bag of half-truths and lies. “I don’t see anything from here. Let me go first and check the stairwell.” If this was going to be her game—and it was—then she had to take full responsibility. No more falling into his arms. She had to stay sharp, on top of everything. She wouldn’t add inadvertent seduction to her list of crimes.

“No way.” He reached for her hand. “We’ll do this together. If somebody is in there, I don’t want them grabbing you. And if there’s somebody out here, I don’t want them grabbing you either.”

His concern unleashed a fresh wave of doubts, leaving her as disconcerted as his kiss had. She would never make it like this. She’d been alone too long. More than the memories of his lovemaking, the memories of his friendship had haunted her nights. They’d been so good together. “I’ve missed you, Josh,” she whispered, allowing herself one final weakness.

In the slightest of gestures, his thumb stroked down the length of hers. “Yeah,” he drawled huskily. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Luck was with them as they made their way up the back stairs of the old hotel. The little-used stairwell was dark, the railing rickety. Nikki felt her way along the wall until they reached the second floor landing. Taking the lead again, Josh checked the hall before he allowed her to walk down it to her apartment. When she had the door open, he joined her, quickly stepping inside.

She reached for the light switch, but his hand over hers stopped her from turning it on.

“Wait,” he commanded.

For an instant she thought he was going to kiss her again, and she steeled herself to reject him. Instead he strode across the living room and drew the drapes on the French doors leading to the balcony.

“Okay, you can flip on the lights.” He bent and turned on a lamp on her desk. Subdued light spilled from beneath the shade, revealing his rumpled and travel-stained clothing, and a man much different from the boy she’d left, asleep and beautiful, tangled in the sheets where he’d shared his love.

He looked older and harder than she remembered, more worn, his eyes more cautious, and he looked unbelievably good to her. Dark hair swept back from his face and feathered across his collar in shaggy layers, untouched by a barber’s hand for many weeks. His skin was still burned brown except for the thin scar tracing his temple, but the faint lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened.

The wide strap of a military-style satchel angled across his chest, a gray band against his faded dark shirt. Black canvas pants hung low on his hips and broke across a pair of scuffed hiking boots that looked as if they’d seen many miles. She remembered him not quite as thin, not quite as rough around the edges, and somewhere in the back of her heart, she knew he, too, had been alone for a long time.

“The lights, Nikki,” he repeated softly. He’d felt her gaze roam over him like a touch, and he wanted to see her, wanted to see the woman he’d missed in so many ways through so many nights. He wanted to see the face that came to him in his dreams.

“Yes, of course.” She flipped the switch and the light flooded over her, transfixing her in a pool of brilliance.

He held her eyes for a moment, then turned his head, taking in her apartment. “I had to twist your editor’s arm to get your address out of him. You forgot to tell him I was okay.” A grin curved his mouth, yet didn’t quite reach his eyes,

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning aside and laying her duffel bag on the counter dividing the kitchen from the living room. She had forgotten to tell David to give Josh Rios any information he requested, and if she’d forgotten that, what else had she forgotten? With shaky hands, she pulled the bandanna from around her neck and used it to mop her face. The heat in the closed-up apartment was stifling, and even two combined suites didn’t seem big enough to hold the two of them and her memories. “Thanks again for coming. I was afraid you wouldn’t get the message, or that you wouldn’t remember.”

“I remember everything up until the night you left. Things got a little hazy for a while after that.” The barest touch of condemnation crept into his voice. He tried to keep it out, really tried, the way he tried to force a smile onto his face. But it hurt to look at her, standing there with her hair falling down around her shoulders and her pretty face flushed.

She’d changed little over the years. Her hair was longer, her delicate features a shade more clearly defined, but her mouth still hinted at the sweet passion he’d found with her on a sultry summer night. The slender curves of her body still beckoned to him like a promise. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to walk over and pull her back into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice hoarse with regret.

“Yeah.” He pulled a fresh cheroot out of the case, then lifted the satchel strap over his head and dropped the bag on the couch. He’d wanted to see her, and now he had.

So much for the reunion, he thought, his jaw tight. With a flick of his wrist, he struck a match off his pants.

Surprised, she asked, “When did you start smoking?”

“About . . . three years . . . ago,” he said between puffs. His eyes met hers over the flame, daring her to ask him why.

He was angry, still so angry about the past, she thought, amazed. She didn’t say a word when he dropped the burned match into her crystal candy dish.

“Okay, Nikki. Tell me why I’m here.”

No polite inanities preceded his demand—no “how have you been” and, thankfully, no “why did you leave.” He wanted the facts, his “helluva good explanation.” Last chance, Nikki, she thought. She did a light-speed search of her heart and didn’t come up with even a shred of the courage it would take to tell him the truth. Deception it would be, the safety of deception.

“Travinas has offered me a deal,” she began, then paused to swallow hard. The bandanna was a twisted ball of damp cotton in her hands. “I need your help to pull it off.” She stopped, watching him carefully for any sign of a reaction.

“Go on,” he said with a calmness he was far from feeling. The mention of the general’s name hit him like a hard punch to the stomach. Nikki and Travinas. In his mind the combination spelled certain catastrophe.

“He regrets breaking off diplomatic relations with the United States, and now he wants back in, but on very limited terms.” Days of practice kept the lies moving off her lips, smoothly if not easily. “He doesn’t want anyone in his government to know what he’s doing. He’s only interested in setting himself up in case he loses San Simeon.”

“What’s he offering you?”

“He’ll release my mother before he leaves.” She stood absolutely still, afraid to look away from him.

“And what’s he offering me?”

“Nothing. You’re my idea, and I’ll give you exclusive rights to the story when it breaks.” Come on, Josh, she prayed, buy it. Let me keep this as simple as possible, so I don’t go under, so I don’t screw everything up and get us all hurt.

“Why? What do you need me for?”

“You reported the Washington beat for a while. You must have connections.” He hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow since she’d started, and that made her very nervous.

“A few,” he agreed. “But your editor lives there. I met David a couple of times, and believe me, he’s loaded with State Department connections.

“This is personal for me, not business. All I care about is getting my mother out, and I don’t want to be pressured by anyone with a different agenda.” A tiny bead of sweat ran down the side of her face, forcing her to untangle her fingers from the bandanna. She dabbed at her face while he watched her.

“Then why the trip to Sulaco?” he asked with a lift of an eyebrow. “A little rest and relaxation before you got too serious about all this maternal freedom business?” His gaze roamed down her body, indolent and contemptuous, as if he could just imagine how she’d relaxed.

Nikki cringed inside at the galling insult, at the pictures he was forming in his mind. “No,” she said, failing to keep the tremor out of her voice. “It was no vacation. Carlos is holding a safe house for the release.”

Carlos
. He’d set himself up for that painful piece of information, Josh thought. But Nikki, beautiful, conniving Nikki . . . He didn’t know what kind of game she was setting up. She had a good, straight story, but like the newspaper article, it was too good, too straight, and it was based on an impossible motive: Travinas seeking asylum in the United States. The general would no sooner do that than he’d cut his own throat. Uncle Sam took a very dim view of drug lords, and Travinas had financed his whole revolution through a labyrinthine maze of coca plantations, Caribbean banks, and New Orleans money men.

Either Travinas was using her or she was lying, and he knew the lady too well to believe she would let anybody use her. Every fact and instinct he had told him to walk out the door and never look back.

He’d be damned if he would admit why he was going to stay.

Nikki sat on the edge of her bed, a bath towel draped across her shoulders, her head buried in her hands. Many more nights like this and she’d never live to see thirty, she thought. Even a long, stinging hot shower had failed to loosen the tight muscles across the back of her neck. The ache was beginning to rattle her brain.

Outside her door, she could hear Josh prowling through the apartment. For half an hour she’d been listening to him circle through the pair of adobe arches connecting her office and living room. He’d opened the refrigerator three times, undoubtedly for beer, and tried the stereo once.

Sighing, she lifted her head and pushed the skinny strap of her camisole back up on her shoulder. She could have told him the radio only delivered static and rhetoric. Otherwise she would have turned it on hours ago, to fill in the tense silence they’d suffered through until she’d found the grace to show him the guest room and say good night.

Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow they’d be in Sulaco, surrounded by Delgado’s troops. She’d rest easier when Josh was safe.

But first they had to get there, and for that she needed a helping hand. With another weary sigh, she picked up the phone, pausing in the path to her ear to dial the single digit for the front desk.

When the night clerk answered, she asked him to transfer her to maintenance. When maintenance answered, she asked for Paco.

“
Sí
?”

“Paco, it’s Nikki Kydd. I need ten gallons of gasoline by six o’clock tomorrow morning. Can you get it?”

“
Sí
. Three dollars a gallon.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her fingers across her brow. His price was outrageous, but at least he wasn’t complaining about short supplies. “A dollar a gallon,” she countered.

“Two-fifty.”

“Two, and you fill up the tank.”

“Deal. Where’s your Chevy parked? In front or in back?”

“Two blocks east, on Simeon Boulevard.”

A short silence preceded his soft laughter. “You did it to me again,
chica
. Now I have to carry ten gallons of cheap gasoline for two blocks. Just once you should let me make a good deal.”

“Next time for sure,” she said around a big yawn. “I’ll leave your money at the desk.” She hung up the phone and again buried her face in her hands. Lord, she hoped she could get some sleep that night.