Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Topaz Dreams (12 page)
Steve noticed
Falcon's forehead wrinkle in deep thought. She congratulated herself
that perhaps he was beginning to let his guard down.
"Falcon?"
He
stood up and paced for a moment before answering her. "Steve, you told
me you were looking for a man, and that Underwood might have something
to do with his disappearance. I, too, am looking for someone who has
disappeared, but it is a young woman. Her name is Delphina, and we have
reason to believe she is with Underwood." Falcon refrained from telling
Steve about Delphina's talent for bringing other people's fantasies to
life. She would never understand. It was her comment about Underwood
having a crazy fantasy that convinced him Delphina was definitely with
the man. "I must go now. Give me the address of the hotel in Miami you
spoke of."
"I beg your pardon?" Steve asked sarcastically. "I must
not have heard you right. It sounded like you're thinking of going
without me, and I know you couldn't have meant that!"
"Steve, I am sorry, but I can travel much faster without you. You cannot know how vital my mission is to my people."
"Your
people? What about my people? I knew I couldn't trust you! You bastard!
What have you got, a private plane stashed somewhere? Is that how you
got out to the middle of the desert? Well, let me tell you something.
We're doing this together, and if you have transportation that's faster
than mine, you better believe you're taking me along with you."
"I have no plane."
"Oh?
No, wait. You sprout wings and fly through the air, right? Or better
yet, Ill bet you have a Superman cape hidden in that bag of yours.
Well, I don't care. If the man in the blue tights can take Lois Lane
for a flight, I'm sure you could do the same!"
Falcon cringed
inside. He could not reveal the truth, nor did he feel comfortable with
the idea of abandoning her. He rationalized that he still might need
her help. It would have to be her way for now.
"I have made you angry again. This time, however, I believe you are justified. Of course we will go together. When do we leave?"
Steve
was only slightly mollified. He was hiding something, she was certain,
and knowing that would help keep her guard up against him. "We are
already booked on a flight this afternoon. With the three-hour time
difference and two stopovers on the way, I'd say we won't get into
Miami until at least midnight, but that should still get us there
before Underwood boards his yacht. If we take turns watching and
sleeping, we should be able to get to him the moment he arrives.
"In
the meantime I don't have enough clothes for either an extended stay or
for a variety of occasions. I need to hit a store before we catch the
plane. Maybe Ill pick up a bathing suit, too. We can stop on the way to
the airport."
Not knowing precisely what "hitting a store" entailed, Falcon merely nodded his head.
"Good. I'm sure well have time for you if you need anything. And don't worry about the money. We're rich!"
Steve's
estimate of the travel time to Miami turned out to be wishful thinking.
It was three o'clock in the morning by the time they were settling in
on the houseboat. Falcon took the first watch, insisting he was wide
awake.
She shook her head as she considered why he was in that condition. The man was a white-knuckle flyer.
Falcon
listened to the water gently lapping against the sides of the
houseboat. The subtle rocking motion began to calm him in spite of his
inner turmoil. Never in his wildest imagination could he have thought
it was possible to survive what he had just experienced.
He knew the
plane itself was rather primitive and that the risks of traveling on it
were much too high for his peace of mind. What he had not expected was
the blind fear emanating from several of the passengers, one of whom
had bordered on hysteria. To make matters worse Falcon had absorbed the
worry of one of the flight attendants. When he had touched her, he had
learned that one of the cockpit crew was intoxicated and belligerent.
By
the time they had landed, Falcon had experienced firsthand the
heart-pounding, stomach-wrenching results of pure terror—an emotion he
would not care to feel again in a thousand years. It had completely
wiped out the bewilderment he had felt as he had accompanied Steve in
the shopping mall. Romulus had certainly been right about that aspect
of Outerworld life.
The sun was well above the horizon when Steve
appeared on deck. "Good morning, Falcon. You shouldn't have let me
sleep so long. You must be exhausted. Any sign of our man?"
"Good
morning. No, it has remained dark on his yacht. I believe I will be
able to sleep a little now." He rose, gave her a cheerless nod as he
passed, and slipped inside.
Steve made herself comfortable on a
chaise longue in the sun. She had put on a pair of shorts and a
sleeveless tee shirt thinking she might catch a few rays while she took
her watch. Opening the paperback romance she had picked up at the mall,
she thought she looked like any other tourist along the Intracoastal
waterway.
The parking valets and bellhops in front of the
Fontainebleau Hotel were hustling madly. Steve guessed that at least a
few of the couples arriving in limousines were associated with the
Underwood gathering.
The Underwood yacht sat in the water directly
in front of her, about a hundred feet away. A crew of men were topside.
They must have all been asleep below when she and Falcon had arrived,
but they were moving with a sense of purpose now. A shiver of
anticipation followed Steve's awareness that Underwood was clearly on
his way.
This time she did not think deception would help. Her plan
was to approach Underwood head on, present him with what she knew,
threaten to turn him in, then offer to make a deal. All she needed to
do was get his attention.
Two black limousines pulled up to the
curb. The sight of a small army of black-suited men exiting the limos
made her drop her book. There was not enough time to wake Falcon.
Quickly, she left the houseboat and headed for the far end of the yacht
where a gangway had been extended to the sidewalk. Then she saw him—a
bald head surrounded by dark-haired ones, surging toward the gangway.
"Mr.
Underwood!" she shouted, breaking into a run. The men did not even slow
down. Steve tried to wedge her way into the moving mass of bodies
protecting her prey. "Please! I need to speak to Gordon Underwood! It's
very important!" She yanked on one man's arm. He turned to look down at
her through his dark sunglasses, but never missed a step. While several
men continued to surround Underwood as he made his way onto the yacht,
four huge men blocked Steve from following any further.
"It's about
Nesterman!" she screamed at his back in a last-ditch effort to gain his
notice. One movement gave him away. It was barely perceptible, but he
had cocked his head automatically at the sound of the name. Then he was
out of sight.
"I'm sorry, miss," one of the bruisers stated. "Mr.
Underwood has had a tiring trip and will need to rest before seeing
anyone. If you would like to leave your name—"
"Never mind my name.
He knows what I want to see him about. I'm staying on that houseboat
next door. Tell your boss to make it easy on both of us. He can come
see me, or I'll catch up to him eventually. At the moment, I only want
to talk."
Steve turned her back on them and crossed Collins Avenue
to the hotel, as if she really did not care if they passed on her
message.
Counting on the assumption that Underwood would not be
leaving the yacht any time soon, Steve decided to abandon her post on
the houseboat and do some snooping. A stop in the Conventions Office
and a little white lie got her a copy of the schedule and locations of
the Underwood group's meetings and banquets. Nothing was scheduled for
that day, Saturday was crammed full, with separate groups meeting at
the same time in different rooms. The final event was a brunch on the
yacht Sunday morning.
Steve wandered out to the pool area, where a
sizable tip to the cabana boy obtained her a chaise longue next to
several wives of the directors involved in the merger. As she sat down,
Steve dropped the schedule of events on an older woman's rounded
stomach.
"Oh, excuse me," Steve said as she retrieved the paper.
The
woman opened her eyes, then smiled when she recognized the schedule.
"I'm Irene Wilson, Tom's wife. I don't think we've ever met." She
extended her plump hand bearing no less than ten carats of diamonds on
her fingers.
Steve returned the limp shake. "Hi. Sue Smith. My
husband's one of the attorneys for this deal." She assumed there were
dozens of lawyers involved, and she just hoped that one of them would
have a common name like Smith.
Irene introduced her to the other
women in her group, and Steve quickly involved herself in their
conversation. A wave at the cabana boy brought a pitcher of mai-tais
and iced glasses. Two hours later, Steve felt the heat of the sun on
her bare legs and arms and a flush in her cheeks caused by the two
drinks she had slowly nursed. It was a small sacrifice. She now knew
which meetings were preliminary rounds and which one Underwood would
definitely attend.
Before he was completely awake, Falcon knew he
was alone. The female's physical presence was gone, leaving only a
weakening trail of brain waves. A weight against his chest prevented
him from taking a normal breath. Where is she? Is she all right?
Unbidden, an image of Steve sitting on deck appeared in his mind.
Accustomed to allowing his powers to work for him, he closed his eyes
again and relaxed. He saw her drop her book and dash off the houseboat.
There was no sound, but he had no trouble comprehending the meaning of
the scene that followed. Of all the rotten luck. If he had had the
watch, he would have had no trouble breaking through the wall of muscle
protecting Underwood. All he would have needed to do was touch him for
a moment and the game would have been over.
Touch? Falcon realized
he had not touched anything just now and yet he had seen the events
involving Steve as if they were occurring at this very moment. Even
when he picked up images from touching inanimate objects, the picture
was usually blurry, not clear like this. What had prompted this vision?
His questions? Quickly, he tested that theory by asking himself several
more, about other people and places, including some about his mission,
but nothing more came to him.
Was it only questions about very
recent, local events then that triggered such lucid images, or was it
because the questions involved Steve? He recalled the uncomfortable
feeling that had accompanied his thoughts about her and knew that had
to be part of the answer.
But still he was puzzled. He thought of
Romulus and Aster who were his friends. He cared for them, and yet he
had never felt such concern for their safety, only absorbed their
worries about each other.
Falcon wanted to work this out logically.
There was no doubt he had acquired another new power, but a new emotion
had been uncovered as well. He could not help but wonder....
Footsteps alerted him to Steve's return. He would analyze the changes later. Right now he had to deal with her.
Steve smiled. Falcon had apparently slept through her absence. To be certain, she tiptoed up the narrow stairs to the bedroom.
An
obstacle burst into her path, almost causing her to fall back down the
short flight. Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and shook the
breath from her. The sight of topaz eyes glittering with anger
temporarily immobilized her.
"What do you think you were doing?" Falcon growled in a voice too loud for the close space.
Steve
recovered from her shock enough to determine she was not in serious
danger. "I—I was only coming up to see ... Is something wrong, Falcon?"
"Yes,
something is wrong. You were not here when I awakened. It was
irresponsible of you to go off on your own. We are supposed to be
working together." His voice quieted, but he did not loosen his
tenacious grip which held her balanced one step below him.
Steve's
temper caught fire. "Irresponsible? Who the hell do you think you are?
I told you I don't work with partners, and I never agreed to take
orders from you. What would have been irresponsible is if I had wasted
the time to wake you up first. As it is, I came back here with more
information than we had to begin with, and I would never have gotten it
if you'd been with me." In spite of her irritation with him, she
related what she had learned.
As she talked, the pressure of his
fingers eased from her shoulders and began a creeping ascent up her
neck and into her hair. His thumbs found the pulses beating below her
ears and rested there. Nowhere else was he touching her, yet she was
aware of him in every cell of her body. The reason for her annoyance
was forgotten.
"So, uh, we now know he, uh ..." Steve kept her gaze
on his eyes, where his anger melted into desire. She slowly moved her
head to rub her cheek into his palm, wanting greater contact. "... will
be at the four o'clock meeting tomorrow."
Want ... more ... she thought.
Falcon
pulled his hands away from her so abruptly she had to grab the railing
to keep from falling. He was at the bottom of the stairs when he spoke
without turning back to her. "I am taking a walk. Do not wait dinner
for me."
Once again Steve was left staring at empty space.
Falcon
ran blindly, oblivious to the people he passed on the sidewalk. He
crossed the street between two hotels and ran toward the ocean. Tearing
off his shoes and socks, he ran in the wet, sucking sand.
He ran until he thought his heart would explode through his chest. But he could not escape what was happening to him.
He
had laid his hands on her in anger. How could he have done such a
despicable thing? He still felt her satiny skin against his fingertips
and carried her sweet scent in his nostrils. He had no idea what she
had said to him; he was lost in her eyes, and would have pulled her
closer and kissed her again, had he not heard the two words "want . . .
more." He had not touched her mind, nor had she spoken. Yet the words
had come to him all the same. They jolted him because he had never
before heard an untrained person's thoughts that way. They frightened
him because they were an echo of his own thoughts. Was it truly her
wish, or had he unintentionally planted the desire in her mind?
Falcon's forehead wrinkle in deep thought. She congratulated herself
that perhaps he was beginning to let his guard down.
"Falcon?"
He
stood up and paced for a moment before answering her. "Steve, you told
me you were looking for a man, and that Underwood might have something
to do with his disappearance. I, too, am looking for someone who has
disappeared, but it is a young woman. Her name is Delphina, and we have
reason to believe she is with Underwood." Falcon refrained from telling
Steve about Delphina's talent for bringing other people's fantasies to
life. She would never understand. It was her comment about Underwood
having a crazy fantasy that convinced him Delphina was definitely with
the man. "I must go now. Give me the address of the hotel in Miami you
spoke of."
"I beg your pardon?" Steve asked sarcastically. "I must
not have heard you right. It sounded like you're thinking of going
without me, and I know you couldn't have meant that!"
"Steve, I am sorry, but I can travel much faster without you. You cannot know how vital my mission is to my people."
"Your
people? What about my people? I knew I couldn't trust you! You bastard!
What have you got, a private plane stashed somewhere? Is that how you
got out to the middle of the desert? Well, let me tell you something.
We're doing this together, and if you have transportation that's faster
than mine, you better believe you're taking me along with you."
"I have no plane."
"Oh?
No, wait. You sprout wings and fly through the air, right? Or better
yet, Ill bet you have a Superman cape hidden in that bag of yours.
Well, I don't care. If the man in the blue tights can take Lois Lane
for a flight, I'm sure you could do the same!"
Falcon cringed
inside. He could not reveal the truth, nor did he feel comfortable with
the idea of abandoning her. He rationalized that he still might need
her help. It would have to be her way for now.
"I have made you angry again. This time, however, I believe you are justified. Of course we will go together. When do we leave?"
Steve
was only slightly mollified. He was hiding something, she was certain,
and knowing that would help keep her guard up against him. "We are
already booked on a flight this afternoon. With the three-hour time
difference and two stopovers on the way, I'd say we won't get into
Miami until at least midnight, but that should still get us there
before Underwood boards his yacht. If we take turns watching and
sleeping, we should be able to get to him the moment he arrives.
"In
the meantime I don't have enough clothes for either an extended stay or
for a variety of occasions. I need to hit a store before we catch the
plane. Maybe Ill pick up a bathing suit, too. We can stop on the way to
the airport."
Not knowing precisely what "hitting a store" entailed, Falcon merely nodded his head.
"Good. I'm sure well have time for you if you need anything. And don't worry about the money. We're rich!"
Steve's
estimate of the travel time to Miami turned out to be wishful thinking.
It was three o'clock in the morning by the time they were settling in
on the houseboat. Falcon took the first watch, insisting he was wide
awake.
She shook her head as she considered why he was in that condition. The man was a white-knuckle flyer.
Falcon
listened to the water gently lapping against the sides of the
houseboat. The subtle rocking motion began to calm him in spite of his
inner turmoil. Never in his wildest imagination could he have thought
it was possible to survive what he had just experienced.
He knew the
plane itself was rather primitive and that the risks of traveling on it
were much too high for his peace of mind. What he had not expected was
the blind fear emanating from several of the passengers, one of whom
had bordered on hysteria. To make matters worse Falcon had absorbed the
worry of one of the flight attendants. When he had touched her, he had
learned that one of the cockpit crew was intoxicated and belligerent.
By
the time they had landed, Falcon had experienced firsthand the
heart-pounding, stomach-wrenching results of pure terror—an emotion he
would not care to feel again in a thousand years. It had completely
wiped out the bewilderment he had felt as he had accompanied Steve in
the shopping mall. Romulus had certainly been right about that aspect
of Outerworld life.
The sun was well above the horizon when Steve
appeared on deck. "Good morning, Falcon. You shouldn't have let me
sleep so long. You must be exhausted. Any sign of our man?"
"Good
morning. No, it has remained dark on his yacht. I believe I will be
able to sleep a little now." He rose, gave her a cheerless nod as he
passed, and slipped inside.
Steve made herself comfortable on a
chaise longue in the sun. She had put on a pair of shorts and a
sleeveless tee shirt thinking she might catch a few rays while she took
her watch. Opening the paperback romance she had picked up at the mall,
she thought she looked like any other tourist along the Intracoastal
waterway.
The parking valets and bellhops in front of the
Fontainebleau Hotel were hustling madly. Steve guessed that at least a
few of the couples arriving in limousines were associated with the
Underwood gathering.
The Underwood yacht sat in the water directly
in front of her, about a hundred feet away. A crew of men were topside.
They must have all been asleep below when she and Falcon had arrived,
but they were moving with a sense of purpose now. A shiver of
anticipation followed Steve's awareness that Underwood was clearly on
his way.
This time she did not think deception would help. Her plan
was to approach Underwood head on, present him with what she knew,
threaten to turn him in, then offer to make a deal. All she needed to
do was get his attention.
Two black limousines pulled up to the
curb. The sight of a small army of black-suited men exiting the limos
made her drop her book. There was not enough time to wake Falcon.
Quickly, she left the houseboat and headed for the far end of the yacht
where a gangway had been extended to the sidewalk. Then she saw him—a
bald head surrounded by dark-haired ones, surging toward the gangway.
"Mr.
Underwood!" she shouted, breaking into a run. The men did not even slow
down. Steve tried to wedge her way into the moving mass of bodies
protecting her prey. "Please! I need to speak to Gordon Underwood! It's
very important!" She yanked on one man's arm. He turned to look down at
her through his dark sunglasses, but never missed a step. While several
men continued to surround Underwood as he made his way onto the yacht,
four huge men blocked Steve from following any further.
"It's about
Nesterman!" she screamed at his back in a last-ditch effort to gain his
notice. One movement gave him away. It was barely perceptible, but he
had cocked his head automatically at the sound of the name. Then he was
out of sight.
"I'm sorry, miss," one of the bruisers stated. "Mr.
Underwood has had a tiring trip and will need to rest before seeing
anyone. If you would like to leave your name—"
"Never mind my name.
He knows what I want to see him about. I'm staying on that houseboat
next door. Tell your boss to make it easy on both of us. He can come
see me, or I'll catch up to him eventually. At the moment, I only want
to talk."
Steve turned her back on them and crossed Collins Avenue
to the hotel, as if she really did not care if they passed on her
message.
Counting on the assumption that Underwood would not be
leaving the yacht any time soon, Steve decided to abandon her post on
the houseboat and do some snooping. A stop in the Conventions Office
and a little white lie got her a copy of the schedule and locations of
the Underwood group's meetings and banquets. Nothing was scheduled for
that day, Saturday was crammed full, with separate groups meeting at
the same time in different rooms. The final event was a brunch on the
yacht Sunday morning.
Steve wandered out to the pool area, where a
sizable tip to the cabana boy obtained her a chaise longue next to
several wives of the directors involved in the merger. As she sat down,
Steve dropped the schedule of events on an older woman's rounded
stomach.
"Oh, excuse me," Steve said as she retrieved the paper.
The
woman opened her eyes, then smiled when she recognized the schedule.
"I'm Irene Wilson, Tom's wife. I don't think we've ever met." She
extended her plump hand bearing no less than ten carats of diamonds on
her fingers.
Steve returned the limp shake. "Hi. Sue Smith. My
husband's one of the attorneys for this deal." She assumed there were
dozens of lawyers involved, and she just hoped that one of them would
have a common name like Smith.
Irene introduced her to the other
women in her group, and Steve quickly involved herself in their
conversation. A wave at the cabana boy brought a pitcher of mai-tais
and iced glasses. Two hours later, Steve felt the heat of the sun on
her bare legs and arms and a flush in her cheeks caused by the two
drinks she had slowly nursed. It was a small sacrifice. She now knew
which meetings were preliminary rounds and which one Underwood would
definitely attend.
Before he was completely awake, Falcon knew he
was alone. The female's physical presence was gone, leaving only a
weakening trail of brain waves. A weight against his chest prevented
him from taking a normal breath. Where is she? Is she all right?
Unbidden, an image of Steve sitting on deck appeared in his mind.
Accustomed to allowing his powers to work for him, he closed his eyes
again and relaxed. He saw her drop her book and dash off the houseboat.
There was no sound, but he had no trouble comprehending the meaning of
the scene that followed. Of all the rotten luck. If he had had the
watch, he would have had no trouble breaking through the wall of muscle
protecting Underwood. All he would have needed to do was touch him for
a moment and the game would have been over.
Touch? Falcon realized
he had not touched anything just now and yet he had seen the events
involving Steve as if they were occurring at this very moment. Even
when he picked up images from touching inanimate objects, the picture
was usually blurry, not clear like this. What had prompted this vision?
His questions? Quickly, he tested that theory by asking himself several
more, about other people and places, including some about his mission,
but nothing more came to him.
Was it only questions about very
recent, local events then that triggered such lucid images, or was it
because the questions involved Steve? He recalled the uncomfortable
feeling that had accompanied his thoughts about her and knew that had
to be part of the answer.
But still he was puzzled. He thought of
Romulus and Aster who were his friends. He cared for them, and yet he
had never felt such concern for their safety, only absorbed their
worries about each other.
Falcon wanted to work this out logically.
There was no doubt he had acquired another new power, but a new emotion
had been uncovered as well. He could not help but wonder....
Footsteps alerted him to Steve's return. He would analyze the changes later. Right now he had to deal with her.
Steve smiled. Falcon had apparently slept through her absence. To be certain, she tiptoed up the narrow stairs to the bedroom.
An
obstacle burst into her path, almost causing her to fall back down the
short flight. Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and shook the
breath from her. The sight of topaz eyes glittering with anger
temporarily immobilized her.
"What do you think you were doing?" Falcon growled in a voice too loud for the close space.
Steve
recovered from her shock enough to determine she was not in serious
danger. "I—I was only coming up to see ... Is something wrong, Falcon?"
"Yes,
something is wrong. You were not here when I awakened. It was
irresponsible of you to go off on your own. We are supposed to be
working together." His voice quieted, but he did not loosen his
tenacious grip which held her balanced one step below him.
Steve's
temper caught fire. "Irresponsible? Who the hell do you think you are?
I told you I don't work with partners, and I never agreed to take
orders from you. What would have been irresponsible is if I had wasted
the time to wake you up first. As it is, I came back here with more
information than we had to begin with, and I would never have gotten it
if you'd been with me." In spite of her irritation with him, she
related what she had learned.
As she talked, the pressure of his
fingers eased from her shoulders and began a creeping ascent up her
neck and into her hair. His thumbs found the pulses beating below her
ears and rested there. Nowhere else was he touching her, yet she was
aware of him in every cell of her body. The reason for her annoyance
was forgotten.
"So, uh, we now know he, uh ..." Steve kept her gaze
on his eyes, where his anger melted into desire. She slowly moved her
head to rub her cheek into his palm, wanting greater contact. "... will
be at the four o'clock meeting tomorrow."
Want ... more ... she thought.
Falcon
pulled his hands away from her so abruptly she had to grab the railing
to keep from falling. He was at the bottom of the stairs when he spoke
without turning back to her. "I am taking a walk. Do not wait dinner
for me."
Once again Steve was left staring at empty space.
Falcon
ran blindly, oblivious to the people he passed on the sidewalk. He
crossed the street between two hotels and ran toward the ocean. Tearing
off his shoes and socks, he ran in the wet, sucking sand.
He ran until he thought his heart would explode through his chest. But he could not escape what was happening to him.
He
had laid his hands on her in anger. How could he have done such a
despicable thing? He still felt her satiny skin against his fingertips
and carried her sweet scent in his nostrils. He had no idea what she
had said to him; he was lost in her eyes, and would have pulled her
closer and kissed her again, had he not heard the two words "want . . .
more." He had not touched her mind, nor had she spoken. Yet the words
had come to him all the same. They jolted him because he had never
before heard an untrained person's thoughts that way. They frightened
him because they were an echo of his own thoughts. Was it truly her
wish, or had he unintentionally planted the desire in her mind?
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