Love Captive (5 page)

So—Michael hadn't shown up after all.

This was Anne's first thought as she woke in the morning. She swung up to a sitting position, feeling ashamed for her brother, and, by extension, ashamed of herself.

As she walked toward the washroom, yawning, she wondered where Carlos was, and whether he was terribly angry.

As she emerged from the washroom, Carlos came striding in carrying a mug of coffee. His stern face, framed by the thick, gleaming black hair, was every bit as handsome as she'd remembered it. His black eyes not meeting hers, he handed the coffee mug to her.

"This will have to do for breakfast, then we're on our way. After a stupidly wasted night!" He spun on his heel and left the cabin.

Within a few minutes they were off the boat, walking down the short wooden pier to where Carlos's car was parked. Carlos strode silently at Anne's side, barely controlled fury on his face. As they hurried along, Anne glanced briefly over her shoulder, her attention caught by the bright blue water that stretched away in one direction toward the horizon.

"Carlos, I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea where we are. I know Morocco borders both the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, but which body of water is this?"

Momentarily Carlos ignored her, then he glanced contemptuously around, eyes spitting arrogant sparks. "You may not know your way around Morocco," he responded condescendingly, "but we're still on the planet earth, where the sun continues to rise every morning. It's about an hour after sunrise, so if you'd bother to look, you could figure out for yourself which body of water this is. I presume that you do know in which direction the sun rises."

As his ridiculing voice died away, Carlos's black eyes focused for a moment on Anne's face, then with a contemptuous smile he circled his eyes away again. Her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, Anne glanced into the sky for the sun. She located it low on the horizon to their left. They were walking south, she calculated, therefore it was not the Atlantic Ocean behind them but the Mediterranean Sea.

"Thank you, Carlos, for straightening me out," she murmured icily, "and for doing it so graciously."

"You're welcome," he snapped, and nothing more was said.

After they'd climbed into the car, however, Carlos swung to face her, black eyes blazing, and addressed her again.

"There's one message I wish you to give your brother for me," he remarked with cold fury. "Tell that fortune-hunting scoundrel that while
Dorrie
comes from a reasonably wealthy family, she herself is all but penniless—and if she goes through with her plans to marry him, she'll remain penniless, I can assure you. Father will immediately cut her out of his will and so shall I. The fortune our family has at the moment does not come from inherited wealth, but from the labors of my father and myself. Forty years ago, our father, who was educated as an engineer and happens to be a brilliant man, founded a company for marine engineering, which for the past few years I have run in his stead, and it is from this company—which has full control over various patents that my father and I have filed—that our present wealth comes. If it weren't for this, we'd be part of the impoverished nobility scattered all over Europe, people who can barely scrape together the wherewithal upon which to live. But if your brother is under the impression that he has won a girl who is wealthy in her own right, I—"

"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't think that," Anne interrupted furiously, "and wouldn't care in any case!"

Carlos's black eyes fastened on her, flashing righteous contempt. "And I'm just as sure he
does
care," he ground out, and lapsed into angry silence.

The same heavy silence lay between them all during the hour's drive back to Tangier. Anne tried to lift her depressed spirits by eyeing the unfamiliar countryside, but the effort didn't succeed. In time Carlos drew the little car up in front of the Grand Hotel Villa de France, as Anne had requested. He remained silent, staring straight ahead, as Anne reluctantly climbed out.

She stood by the open door a moment, undecided as to what to say. "Well—Carlos, I'm sorry about last night, sorry about everything," she murmured at last. When he still didn't speak, simply nodded imperiously to indicate he had heard, she felt she had no choice but to close the car door and let him leave.

Though Anne had been at the Grand Hotel briefly the afternoon before, just long enough to check in and leave her baggage in her room, she hadn't paid much attention to her surroundings. This morning she forced herself to glance around. The hotel, set in a luxuriant garden, was really quite impressive. As she entered the lobby and walked across it, Anne was even more impressed by the interior, which was superbly appointed with Moroccan-style decor. But as hard as she tried to be pleased with her surroundings, they did little to lift her spirits. Why hadn't Michael come to the boat last night after agreeing that he would?

In her room Anne took a long, soothing bath, put on a fresh white linen dress, and managed to get an outside line on her telephone. She dialed her brother's number.

"Michael? Michael, what happened? Why didn't you come last night after you said you would?" Tears of anger—of fatigue—of depression, flooded into Anne's blue eyes.

"Now, hold on a minute, sis," Michael said in a low tense voice. "I did come—but I'll explain it when I see you. Are you alone now? Are you back at the hotel? Good. Go downstairs, catch a cab to the Solazur Hotel, Avenue des F.A.R., which is right on the beach, and I'll meet you in the lobby. See you there."

In twenty minutes Anne climbed out of her cab at the Solazur Hotel and when she entered the lobby Michael came striding up to meet her. With an affectionate grin, he pulled her close for a brotherly hug. His sandy hair flopping boyishly down on his brow, he drew back again to stand and smile at her.

"Anne, I appreciate what you're doing for me. I can't tell you how much. Let's go walk on the beach."

As they strolled along the white sandy beach a few minutes later, Michael kept peering behind them to make sure they weren't being followed. Anne, reminded of Carlos's comment that Americans, having seen too many movies, dramatized everything, was beginning to find it annoying. Wasn't Carlos right? At this particular moment she felt far too hungry, tired, and depressed to appreciate the veil of mystery that Michael was throwing over everything, and she honestly doubted the need for it. If only she could forget this whole stupid business and begin enjoying her vacation!

"All right, Michael, why didn't you show up last night?" she demanded to know.

Michael's light green eyes met hers. "Not now, Anne, please. I did come—but I'll explain it all to you in just a few minutes. Let's duck back to the street and catch a cab."

"But—but I thought we were already near where you live, within walking distance!" she snapped in exasperation.

"Hardly!" Michael responded, laughing. His attractive young face glowed with health in the early morning light.
He's enjoying this, all this dramatic nonsense
! Anne thought, and more than ever she agreed with Carlos. Michael, and possibly Dorrie too, had simply seen too many adventure movies, and now they were delightedly creating a phony adventure for themselves. If they'd just meet with Carlos, sit down and talk reasonably with him, surely some sensible resolution could be reached.

They soon managed to hire another cab which took them through narrow streets lined by closely crowded, whitewashed structures. In about twelve minutes, Michael motioned to the cab driver to pull over. He paid the driver, jumped out of the cab, and pulled Anne out.

"We're living right around the corner from here. Dorrie has a room toward the back, while I'm sleeping in one at the front of the boarding house. We've told our landlady we're brother and sister, here on vacation. She's a deaf old woman who doesn't seem to pay much attention to anything. Here, here we are."

Michael glanced carefully up and down the street, then hurriedly pushed open a heavy, whitewashed door and motioned Anne in. She stepped into a narrow, dim hallway. Michael followed her in, closed the door, and led her off down the hall.

He stopped before an open door. Frowning, Michael stepped through it, pulling Anne in after him. "Dorrie? Dorrie, where are you?"

Scowling, Michael dropped Anne's arm and stepped away. Glancing around, Anne found she was in a small room with white walls and a brightly woven carpet on the floor. A narrow cot was placed along the front wall. Strung across the room were various ropes, with drying wash slung over the lines. Michael ducked under the nearest line, momentarily disappearing from view. A moment later he reappeared at Anne's side, his green eyes nearly frantic.

"She doesn't seem to be here. You don't suppose—"

At that moment soft steps came into the room. As Anne swung around, she saw a lovely, fair-skinned, black-haired young woman who bore a strong family resemblance to the man from whom she had parted only two hours before.

"Oh, thank God, here you are!" Michael exclaimed. He rushed over to close the door behind the girl. "For God's sake, Dorrie, don't scare me like that. When I saw you weren't here, I almost had a heart attack."

"Silly." The girl smiled lovingly at Michael. She reached up to press a kiss on his cheek. A moment later she stepped over to Anne, extending her hand. "Hi. I'm Dorrie, and you must be Anne. I'm so delighted to meet you. You know, of course, that I'm madly in love with this brother of yours!"

Dorrie's dark eyes danced. She put her arm through Michael's and drew him up close beside her. "My family, of course, objects strenuously, but I won't give Michael up and no one can make me. I love him dearly and he loves me and we're going to be married, no matter what!" Dorrie's sparkling black eyes looked adoringly up at Michael, while his attractive young face beamed down at her.

Anne found herself both touched and annoyed by this pretty picture of young love. "Yes, yes, I know," she responded with a touch of tartness. "But why must it be done this way? I was with your brother Carlos last evening, you know, and he is terribly anxious to meet Michael and talk with him. Surely you can't expect your family to approve your marrying a man they have never even met? Yet though Michael agreed to come, and set up the place of meeting himself, still he failed to show up."

"Anne, I
did
come, I swear it," Michael responded with an answering touch of tartness. "Just ask Dorrie. I left here right after your call, hired a cab, and headed out to where the boat was moored. But I've had sufficient experience with dear brother Carlos, and I've listened to Dorrie carefully enough, that I also took precautions to make sure I wasn't being led straight into a trap. And believe me, sis, last night I was."

In exasperation, Anne snapped, "Oh, come on, Michael, you were not. You're just making a big cops and robbers thing out of this when it needn't be that way at all. For a time I too thought that Carlos and I were being followed, but I learned I was wrong. There were only two of us on that boat last night waiting for you, Carlos and I. And that's the truth."

"On the boat, yes," Michael agreed, his expression now serious. "But as we approached the pier, I had the cab driver shut off his lights. We passed the pier, swung back around, and then I had him suddenly switch his lights back on—and you know what we saw? Both of us saw it. Two men crouched under the pier, enjoying a smoke, waiting for me to walk along the pier so they could rush out and jump me. Somehow, in spite of all our precautions, Carlos was able to arrange it. So I had the cab driver speed up and get me out of there."

As Anne stood staring at her brother, her head spun. She couldn't quite believe him, yet how could she not believe? "But—but why would Carlos want to do that?" she sputtered at last.

Dorrie threw her head back and laughed. Stepping forward, she took hold of Anne's arm with her small, soft hands. "Oh, you naive Americans! You and Michael too, you are both so naive. You just don't understand a man like my brother—a clever, devious man like that—he's quite beyond your experience. Dear sweet Anne, don't you understand even yet? My brother is bitterly opposed to this marriage and will stop at nothing to find me and drag me home. So what if it means assaulting Michael and kidnapping him?"

Anne's startled blue eyes flew from Dorrie's face to her brother's. "And you—you think that's what those two men were there for?"

"Of course I do," Michael snapped impatiently. "Carlos figures that if he could grab me, and keep me locked up somewhere for a week or so, that would force Dorrie out of hiding and he could grab her too. The man will stop at nothing, don't you understand?"

Dorrie ran her arm through Anne's and led her forward, under the lines of drying wash, toward the cot by the wall. Smiling, she pulled Anne down to sit on the cot.

"But please don't look so unhappy," Dorrie pleaded softly, looking upset herself at Anne's distress. "It's not that my brother is really a monster; he just can't help being the way he is. Don't you see, from the day he was born he was taught to rule, constantly reminded of his responsibilities and aristocratic duties. Our mother, before she died—God rest her soul—worshipped the ground he walked on. He is accustomed to power, to giving orders and having them obeyed… instantly."

Dorrie paused, a soft smile spreading across her well-formed mouth, a mouth—Anne thought as she stared at it—so like her brother's that last night had kissed her.

Dorrie smiled sadly. "Now you must see, Anne, that he loves me very much. He feels that as my older brother, it is his duty to care for me. Carlos expects me to marry a man my family knows and approves of. He does not believe in love at first sight—"

"Is he married?" Anne interrupted suddenly, not knowing she was going to ask any such thing. She bit her lip nervously, self-consciously, wishing she could draw the question back.

"Married?" Dorrie echoed sadly, with the same soft smile. "No, dear Anne, he is not. I know that on occasion he has been—how shall I say it?— romantically involved with women he considers inferior to him, but he would never think of marrying such a woman. Someday he will, of course, marry some dull, bloodless woman he considers his social equal, and they will live together in their dull, bloodless marriage without a hint of happiness or passion, while I"— Dorrie's dark eyes danced and she jumped up suddenly and wound her arm possessively through Michael's—"while I shall be deliriously happy with my even-tempered, considerate, sweet, sweet Michael! When one thinks of it that way, one has to feel sorry for poor Carlos, no?"