Love Captive (6 page)

"No," Michael muttered, but he grinned down at Dorrie as she smiled up at him.

Suddenly Dorrie giggled, a delightfully schoolgirlish sound. "And the crazy thing is, dear Anne," she said, leaning down toward Anne with an impish sparkle in her clear black eyes, "the thing that Carlos is so proud about, our family—what is there to be so proud of, I ask you? Are we not people just like anyone else at heart?"

Dorrie laughed again, a rich, amused laugh, and Anne found herself smiling in response. But as her smile died away, she felt a sudden sharp pain in her heart. If Carlos was in truth the person that Dorrie had just described—but of course he was. She had seen enough of him to be certain the description was accurate.

Michael suggested they stop wasting time and begin making plans. When she'd run away from home, Dorrie had had sufficient presence of mind to bring with her some jewelry that was hers. "My mother left it to me," Dorrie explained. "It was to be mine the day I got married, and now I'm getting married, right?" The day before, Michael had met a man who claimed to have connections in Casablanca. This "connection" would happily furnish them with a forged passport for Dorrie in exchange for a piece of jewelry. "Then off we shall fly to America," Dorrie said, "to live happily ever after, yes?" Her eyes shone with joy.

"Now here's what we want you to do," Michael told Anne. "Go back to your hotel, check out, catch a cab to the airport. At the airport, exchange the ticket you have for one going out of Casablanca, going home by way of Paris. Once you've made that exchange, rent a car and come back here. Dorrie and I will be ready to go and together we'll drive down to Casablanca. That way, if Carlos is still tailing you, he'll be sidetracked to Paris, while we will be left in peace to get Dorrie's passport."

"All right," Anne agreed.

In an hour and a half she was back, her rented car pulling up in front of the small, whitewashed boarding house where Dorrie and Michael waited. The front door opened and out they came, Michael carrying two suitcases, Dorrie one. Between them they managed to get all the cases stashed into the trunk. Michael offered to drive. Dorrie sat in front beside him while Anne sat in back.

" 'So we're off on the road to Morocco'," Dorrie sang happily, and Michael joined in. Anne listened to them, smiling wryly to herself. What an exciting, amusing, splendid adventure they were weaving for themselves, and surely everything would work out all right as it always did in lighthearted, romantic movies. The villainous, black-hearted brother Carlos would be thwarted, and— Aware of a sudden sharp pain in her heart, Anne closed her eyes.

The day passed in a long, weary haze. The paved road along the coast down to the city of Rabat, though sometimes quite narrow, was easily traveled. Anne occasionally entertained herself gazing out at the gently rolling green hills; at other times she enjoyed the sight of the Atlantic Ocean. In Rabat they stopped to eat, going to a restaurant on the beach, the Caravelle, which served French food. After a pleasant meal, they were off again on the broad paved road from Rabat to Casablanca, a sixty-mile stretch which Anne drove, with Michael and Dorrie in back.

Somewhat to her surprise, Anne found, when they arrived in Casablanca, that it was a clean, shining, modern city, with wide streets and tall modern buildings. Somehow it made her feel even more homesick and she couldn't wait for this nonsensical trip to come to an end so she could fly home.

At midnight they drove to the airport. Finally it was time to bid Michael and his sweet, smiling Dorrie good-bye. Michael gave her final instructions about her stay in Paris. He gave her the name of a small, inexpensive
pension
where he had stayed when in the city. He would phone her there in two days, by which time, hopefully, everything would be settled and they would know for sure that they didn't need her anymore. Meanwhile, he insisted, she should relax and enjoy her stay in the most enchanting city in the world.

"You'll love it there, Anne, believe me," Michael told her, kissing her cheek in farewell. "And thank you so much again for everything. Take care, sis."

After Dorrie had kissed her too, Anne turned at last and walked onto her plane, deeply relieved to be leaving. In the mood she was in she might not love Paris, as Michael forecast, but it was bound to be an improvement on Tangier. And in two days— hopefully—she'd be free to fly home to her beloved Baltimore.

She settled down in her seat, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep.

Sleepless hours later, she dragged herself and her one case wearily off the plane at Orly Airport near Paris. Suddenly she felt her heart nearly stop. A tall, black-haired man stood watching the disembarking passengers.
Carlos
. So Michael had been right!

His watching eye caught sight of her and remained focused on her. Feeling instantly furious, Anne walked over to face him. Obviously, Michael and Dorrie understood him far better than she—Carlos
had
been following her movements, just as they'd predicted, and he'd fallen right into their trap! She was disgusted with herself for having halfway believed in him despite her brother's warnings.

"Well—Carlos. How in the world did you get here?"

His sensuous lips moved into a small, cold smile. "Easily enough. A dear friend was kind enough to fly me here on his private jet."

"Ah, of course. But—how did you know I'd be on this plane?"

Carlos's cold smile broadened a bit. "To trace the movements of an attractive, brown-haired, blue-eyed American girl in a North African country is not all that difficult," he explained.

"Ah, of course," Anne said again. "But—next and final question, I hope:
Why
are you here?"

Carlos didn't answer at once. He grabbed up Anne's case, took hold of her arm, and began leading her out of the airport. "Because, my dear Anne McCullough," he said finally, "I am tired of playing this cat-and-mouse game with your lying scoundrel of a brother, and I've learned of a new development that means I no longer have to. When I phoned home yesterday morning after I left you off at your hotel in Tangier, I learned from my aunt that your brother not only abducted my impressionable young sister, he also stole thousands of dollars' worth of jewelry, some of the pieces priceless heirlooms that have been in our family for centuries. So—don't you see?—I no longer have to pursue him myself, all I have to do is go to the police and have them issue a warrant charging him with grand theft. Simple, yes?"

As Anne stared in shock, she felt her knees almost give. "But—but Dorrie took that jewelry, which she says belongs to her. Michael didn't steal it—how could he have? He was never in your home, he and Dorrie met in Salamanca. How do you dare claim he stole anything?"

Carlos gazed scornfully at her out of cold, black eyes. "That may very well be," he murmured. "However, point one, though much of the jewelry will one day belong to my sister, when she marries with our father's approval, it is not hers yet. Point two, surely it is only a technicality that your brother was possibly not right there on the scene. Do you imagine that when I report this theft to the police, they will pin me down on unimportant details like that?" Smiling, Carlos shook his head as though saddened by the incredulity of this naive American girl. "Ah, no, there will be no problem, I assure you. If the case should ever reach court, your brother might be able to clear himself. Who knows? I seek merely to have him found and arrested, not thrown into prison. Shall we proceed?"

As Carlos again led her forward, Anne felt weak with shock. Despair threatened to overwhelm her; she'd never in her life felt so powerless. Then Carlos turned to her once more.

"However," he said, "our family has always shunned publicity and loathed having our name appear in the public press. Even in a situation as serious as this, we still instinctively recoil from being in the public eye. So when your brother phones you, as we both know he will, I wish you to give him this message: I will refrain from reporting any of this to the police, on one condition—that as long as he has physical custody of my sister, I shall have physical custody of his. If you both agree to this, you and I will drive together to my home. There your brother will join us, returning my sister unharmed, and unwed, to us. At that point I shall return his sister to him, also unharmed and unwed. If you don't agree—" Carlos gazed steadily at her with a cold little smile.

I'm going to faint
, Anne thought, as her knees started to give. "Then—then what you're saying—?"

"Is that you and I shall drive together to my home in Palencia, Spain," Carlos repeated rather impatiently. "It's either that, or the police. For as long as my sister remains your brother's prisoner, you shall be mine. It's as simple as that."

Carlos began leading Anne forward again, his fingers angrily clutching her arm. Oh no, Anne thought, still feeling faint. Carlos and herself—their immediate futures now welded together quite as closely as Michael's and Dorrie's. Unless—unless, of course, she could think of some way out.

As they walked toward a line of waiting cabs, Carlos asked, in a reasonably friendly voice, "Where are you staying?"

Anne felt her pulse give a frightened leap. "Give me a minute to think, please." She drew her arm free of Carlos's hold and stepped nervously out of the path of the crowd leaving the airport.

With a look of disdain, Carlos followed. His well-shaped mouth moved into a small, scornful smile. "Surely you know where you plan to stay, so what is the point of this childish delaying tactic?"

Her pulse racing, Anne tried to consider the situation, to see whether there wasn't some way out. She was
so
tired, so ill equipped at the moment to deal with this stupid mess. Should she admit to Carlos where she planned to stay, or would that simply be playing into his hands? Was it possible that he was only bluffing, that he hadn't the least real intention of going to the police with his utterly false charge? Oh, why had Michael dragged her into this ridiculous affair in the first place? All she wanted was to walk back into the airport, buy a ticket, and return home!

With her pulse suddenly racing even faster, Anne reached what she told herself was a firm decision. Her eyes circled around to challenge the arrogant man impatiently waiting at her side.

"Carlos," she said, "I've decided that I've had all I want of this stupid cops and robbers business. Michael was never in your home and could not possibly have had anything to do with your sister's taking the jewelry, which in any case she claims belongs to her. Therefore I'm not going to cave in under your threats and be blackmailed into going anywhere with you." Anne took a deep breath, then added in an even firmer voice, "What I am going to do is walk right back into the airport, buy a ticket on the first available flight, and return home. The three of you may resolve this mess any way you like, but from now on count me out."

An amused glitter sprang to life in Carlos's black eyes. "Fine." He again took hold of her arm. "I'll walk you back in, and to prove there are no hard feelings, I'll even remain long enough to make sure you have no problem making your wishes known, though possibly you are so proficient in French you need no help from me or anyone.
Vous parlez fran
ç
ais, non
?"