Songs for Perri (4 page)

"It's very nice," Perri said. “A little more expensive than where I usually stay.”

"Is it next to the ocean?" he asked, holding his rucksack by one shoulder strap. "I came in from Frisco. I don't want to be any further from the water than I have to."

"It's right on the beach...but lots of the hotels are."

Her suitcase retrieved, she pushed through the crowd of people trying to interest her in attending a tour of their time-share facilities, asked for a taxi to the Hotel San Juan, and was led to one of the many yellow cabs being loaded.

Seven other people joined her, all headed for the same hotel. A honeymoon couple took a taxi by themselves, and Carl Freedman and another single man shared a cab, barely getting in all their luggage.

Perri took the third cab in line and was instantly joined by a tall man who looked like he had swaggered out of a biker's movie. Dressed entirely in black, with dark glasses and broad shoulders, he startled Perri into instant awareness with his physical presence.

With a broad smile, he plunked himself down practically on top of her, pinning her between himself and the left side of the car; leaving so much vacant space on his right that a redheaded woman leaned in and asked, "Do you mind sharing? I don't have any luggage, just my camera."

Hoping to discourage the stranger, Perri waved her in. "No. Hop in. Anyone else want to share a ride?"

"How 'bout me?" the youth with the rucksack asked, pointing to the seat next to the driver.

"Why not?"

The driver slammed the doors shut and they were on their way, each mile taking them closer to Mazatlan...and Owen. What had her step-brother done to make someone want to kill him? It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. He was such a good-natured person.

Perri stared out the side window, trying to ignore the solid length of masculine thigh pressed up against her in the confines of the cab. It was crowded with three on the seat...but not that crowded.

The man was the type a woman alone avoided—if she was a nice girl. He exuded the masculine image of the macho male: swaggering, confident, overbearing. His only flaw was a sunburned nose already peeling to reveal the new pink skin underneath.

He appeared to be around her age, maybe slightly older. Her heartbeat had accelerated as soon as he joined her. His movements were sensual, and the smooth line of his jaw, the full lips, were enticing. He posed a different kind of challenge: dangerous and exciting; undependable. Fire. The lure of forbidden fruit.

The excitement he offered was physical. Tempting, but unwise. She would have avoided him no matter what she was doing.

Brooding, Perri remained silent, not speaking to anyone. Then the young man in the front seat complimented her on her pendant, saying it was unusual.

He was probably in his mid-twenties, slight of build, with light brown hair, wavy and bleached by the sun, a pleasant though boyish smile and pale green eyes that regarded her with a sharp interest.

Was this her contact? So soon? But if so, how had he known she had caught that flight?

She looked down at the pendant. She'd been unconsciously playing with it as they traveled along. Intricately carved, it portrayed the face of a young maiden with long flowing hair, lips parted as if about to speak, eyes lifted as if beseeching a lover.

The pendant had probably seemed a safe opening to him. A way to start a conversation. Deliberately she took her hand away.

"This your first time to Mexico?" the young man asked curiously, half-turned in his seat to see her better.

"No. I'm a buyer for the Bon Richard's department stores. I come to Mexico at least twice a year."

"Not on vacation, then?"

"No." Her answer was short and almost curt. She didn't have time for men on this trip.

Perri had a direct way of looking at people that concentrated her interest upon them, stemming partly from the habit of making sure Walt could read her lips. Men had misread that look before as a sign of special interest in them alone. Knowing this, she blinked and looked out the window, not wanting to encourage him.

"Oh. Well...." He was disappointed, evidently struggling to think of words to keep the conversation going.

The deep voice of the man sitting beside her interposed itself. "You must get some time off." In spite of herself, she liked the sound of his slow cowboy drawl. Reluctantly Perri turned her attention to him, feeling her heartbeat speed up again.

He looked like Trouble.

Trouble—clad in scruffy black jeans and a tight, dark pewter gray T-shirt that showed off a powerful, muscular mass of arms and chest. He was carrying a black leather jacket and wearing black, heavy leather boots.

His hair was dark brown with just a tinge of red, heavy and needing a cut. Although clean and wavy, when combined with the dark glasses, it made him look like a hoodlum. The only favorable thing she noticed was that he wasn't wearing an earring.

His aggressiveness was strangely exciting, causing the blood to pound in her veins. Angry at herself for such a school-girlish response, she snapped, "Time off? Not this trip. I'll be busy." She turned her face away in dismissal, gazing at the harsh dry landscape as if fascinated by the few cows and scattered horses that dotted the small farms alongside the road. Owen was out there, somewhere, she reminded herself, maybe hiding in one of those buildings.

The scruffy stranger wasn't easily discouraged. "You don't intend working tonight, do you?" he scoffed, laughing. His voice vibrated with a quality of barely restrained power as he forced the subject. "The first day in?"

"I might." She felt attracted in spite of herself by his persistent efforts. She could guess where this was leading...his approach was not subtle. If they had been alone in the cab, he might have turned even more aggressive.

"You'll need to eat, if nothing else. Join me."

The way it was said made it a dare...for her to step outside her well-regulated, protected life and enter his for a moment. If she’d been younger, less experienced, she might have accepted. He had all the appeal of the carefree rouge. As it was, she didn't like being put on the spot in front of strangers, so felt no need to respond to him.

The dark glasses he wore—with mirror lenses—completely hid the color and movement of his eyes. They created the impression that she was talking to an anonymous, disembodied voice. Perri found the sensation much more intrusive than talking to someone on the telephone where neither party could see the other.

What if this...this disturbing man was her contact? Or worse, one of those trying to kill Owen? She couldn't trust anyone except the person who used her mother's name.

His voice lowered, enticing, almost whispering in her ear. "We'll eat around six; I'm busy afterwards. That wouldn't keep you from anything important now, would it, sweetheart?" His lips curved slightly, wickedly knowing, as if he could see right through her, while he stayed smug and confident behind the anonymity of those one-way mirrors.

The seductive invitation in his expressive voice made her distinctly uncomfortable. Everything about him made her uncomfortable.

Except...the tonal quality of his voice. It had a resonance that was unusual...almost like music. It carried even when he whispered, as though it had been trained for the stage. Perhaps he was an actor. That would explain the "come-on" she was getting.

An actor? Ugh! Her natural father was an actor—a lying, cheating man who failed to separate his roles from reality, falling in love with each new leading lady, marrying and divorcing with clocklike regularity. Crystal had divorced him when Perri was three. She became a physical therapist. That was where she’d met Walt, while helping him recover from his accident.

The stranger moved unnecessarily harder against her, stretching out his long legs as if they had cramped on the plane. Perri tried to edge away from the contact but couldn't. There was no space left to maneuver.

Her anger flared for a moment and she glared at him. His grin grew broader, which only made her more upset. But he did move over to give her some room, finally.

Had he been on her plane? Thinking back, she couldn't remember seeing him. He had probably come in on the Frisco plane, too.

The redhead had been listening to their conversation and suddenly said, "Why not take Hugo up on it?" She was older than Perri, probably in her thirties. "He's a free meal, if nothing else," she added sarcastically.

"There, y'see," the dark stranger insisted with cocky assurance, ignoring the insult behind the words. "You're out-voted."

The first man, the younger one, scowled at him over the back of the seat. "I didn't vote," he declared. "She can go out with me, if she'd like."

"Junior here wants to take you out," the man taunted him from behind the protective glasses.

The younger man's face reddened, his eyes briefly displaying white-hot anger. "What's wrong with that?" he demanded.

"You're too young." Thus dismissing the youth, he turned back to Perri. "She's older than she looks — aren't you?"

Perri scowled at him. It was irritating that he could see her expression clearly while she could scarcely read his at all. She found herself hating those glasses with an emotion surprisingly strong.

Usually things like this didn't upset her; but her feelings were intensified on this trip. On edge, sensitive — vulnerable. "Quite a bit older," she snapped.

"Thought so." He nodded his head.

The redhead joined in, talking as if from experience. "Don't pay any attention to him. He's always like this." At that, the younger man scowled and turned in his seat to talk to the driver. He was still visibly angry and Perri didn't blame him. If looks could kill, her tormentor would have been ready to bury.

The woman introduced herself to Perri. "I'm Anna Meyers. What's your name?"

CHAPTER THREE

"Perri Linn," she said automatically, then wondered if it would help her find Owen if she used his last name. It might just confuse the issue, so she didn’t say more.

"That's pretty," the older woman remarked, cheerfully staying in the conversation. Perhaps she had noticed how uncomfortable Perri appeared and took sympathy on her. "Your work sounds interesting. What all do you do?"

Glad to change the subject, Perri leaned past the irritating stranger to talk to the woman beyond. He added his questions liberally, draping his arm around behind her, his hand barely brushing her shoulder, disturbing her enough to interfere with her train of thought.

Determined not to give him an opening, Perri stayed in her forward position, managing to continue the conversation the next twenty minutes until they reached their hotel at the northern edge of the "Golden Zone," the main tourist area in Mazatlan. There she retrieved her suitcase and carry-on bag, and started to pay the driver her share of the fare.

"Let me." The deep, overly-confident voice of the stranger spoke almost in her ear, its resonant quality sending a shiver of awareness through her. He was probably in his mid-thirties, judging from the depth of his chest and the power of his voice.

"No, I can—”

Over her protest, he paid for them both, plucked her case from her fingers and carried it to the desk while she followed, fuming at his high-handed manner. Wasn't she ever going to get rid of him?

He motioned to the desk clerk. "Got a room for Perri Linn?"

"Un momento,
sir.
Sí.
Room 435." The clerk grinned broadly and handed him her key.

The stranger held it suspended above her outstretched palm for a moment as if debating whether to hand it over.

Oh, great,
she thought angrily.
Now he knows my room number.
"Thanks," she told him, snapping the words off so that no thanks was implied, while she snatched the key away. "I can manage from here."

His voice was smooth as deep water, slow moving and quiet. "No problem. Glad to help."

Pulling out her credit card, she paid for a week's stay.

Someone had reserved a room for her. In her agitated state of mind after receiving the phone call, she hadn't even thought of calling ahead. Owen's friend must have done it.

How long would she have to wait before being contacted by him? What should she do in the meantime? Wait in her room? Or the lobby?

In the process of registering, her key was somehow knocked off the edge of the counter and she stooped to pick it up. The stranger barely gave her room to bend over, making her temper flare.

"Will you back off?"

"Sure. Don't get excited." Stepping back a few inches, he paused, as if to consider his next offer. "I'll see you up...if you like."

"I don't like." Perri shook her head, frowning fiercely at him, but the slight smile remained on his face, contemplating her reactions with a quiet amusement.

"I'm staying here, too," he stated, and added presumptuously, "Remember, dinner tonight...six o'clock."

Before she could formulate a suitably cutting reply, he sauntered away with an arrogant swing to his walk. Sputtering to herself, she signed the register. Egotistical beast. She didn't need to be fending off men like him this trip.

The red-headed woman was standing behind Perri, next in line. She smiled sympathetically before stepping up to the desk. "That one's probably never been told "No" in his life. Going to take him up on it?" Her high voice carried well beyond them.

"Not on your life. He would be even harder to get rid of then."

"Anna Meyers," the woman told the desk clerk. "Room 220. Any messages?" She added to Perri, "Want to eat with me tonight? I've no plans. And it's more fun doing things with someone else."

"Not tonight. Maybe later."

Anna picked up a message from the clerk and turned back to Perri. "Call me if you want to get together."

"Okay." The woman looked like she'd be a pleasant enough companion. Perri hated to eat alone and would have taken her up on her offer if it wasn't for Owen's trouble.

The man with the pack sack was still eyeing Perri, his interest seemingly cooled after being called "Junior." He was next in line. Forced to tend to business, he asked the clerk if there was a single room still available.