Red Leopard (The Vistaria Affair Series) (30 page)

“Debo hablar a su capitán. Por favor dejame entrar,”
she pleaded.

She heard a babble of Spanish behind her—close behind—and she carefully turned her head to look over her shoulder, hiding as much of her features with her shoulder as she could. A couple of men, unshaved, dirty, bleary-eyed, watched her.

She turned back to the fence, shook it a little and nodded her head towards the men behind her, hoping the soldier had seen them, too.

“Ella no es Vistariana!”
came the cry from behind her. She had been spotted as a foreigner.

She looked directly at the soldier in front of her. “
Conoce usted el leopardo rojo?”
she said quickly.

A hand came down on her shoulder and yanked at her, to make her turn around. She clung to the iron with a desperate grip. “
Ha oído usted de la dama fuerte? Dejame entrar por favor! Dejame entrar!”

“You, American!” The angry cry came from behind her. Another hand grabbed her arm. She couldn’t afford to look behind her and let them see her fair features. And she couldn’t let go of the fence, or they would pull her into the middle of the crowd her gut told her was forming behind her.

There were more mutters and murmurs around her now. She tried to keep her gaze locked on the soldier’s eyes, even as her grip on the fence began to weaken and her fingers uncurl.

Someone knocked the hat off her head and her blonde hair was revealed.

“
Ella no es Vistariana! Ella no es Vistariana!”
The angry cry echoed along the street. Taken up by one, then another, then another, it became a chant, a rally cry.

Callie swallowed and her throat clicked, completely dry. The fury in their chant...they were ready to boil over into violence.

The soldier next to the one she had been addressing took his machine gun in hand and cocked it. Abruptly, so did the other four soldiers, his action prompting them. The sound of cold metal slapping into place quelled the crowd around her, just as her strength failed and her fingers pulled away from the fence.

The hands on her shoulders and arms dropped away.

“
Márchese del portón!”
the soldier at the end of the row shouted.

Calli looked around. The men surrounding her sidled backwards, easing away from the gate as ordered. As soon as they had backed up six feet, all of them, one of the soldiers moved forward and slid the bar out of the gate, his machine gun still at the ready. He cracked the gate open a few inches.

“Come,” he said, waving to her. “Come.”

She picked up her hat, put it back on and slipped through the opening. The gate slammed shut behind her and the bar dropped back in. The soldier pulled her forward, between the other four guards. He hurried her over to the gatehouse, up the steps, inside the small glass enclosed building. There was a counter there and an officer standing at the window, watching the drama at the gate.

He turned as the soldier hustled her in. The soldier rattled off a stream of explanation and he studied her, then said something quiet.

The soldier tugged a little at her backpack. “Show,” he said.

She pulled off the back pack, unzipped it, and spread it wide so they could see inside. Then, obeying an instinct, she stepped back from the pack, giving them free access.

The officer and the soldier dug through the pack. The officer flipped through her passport and studied her, comparing her to the photo. She took off the hat again, giving him a better view. Finally, he spoke to the soldier, a quick word. The soldier saluted and ran back to the gate, where he took up his position once more. The other four had gone back to parade rest.

The officer examined her very carefully.

“You have reached a superior officer, as you requested, Miss Munro. Now what do you want?”

“You speak English. Great,” she said. “Please, you must tell me. Is Nicolás Escobedo in the city? I must speak to him.”

“Why must you speak to this person?”

“Look, I know you have no idea who I am, well, perhaps you may think you know—”

“I know exactly who you are, Miss Munro. After yesterday’s paper, most of Vistaria knows who you are.”

She winced. “Well, if that’s what it takes to convince you I have no evil purpose here, fine, I’ll own up. Yes, that was me. Normally I wouldn’t come within a hundred miles of Nick after all this, but it’s about one of his...friends, an officer, Duardo Peña, in Pascuallita, well, not him exactly—”

He held up a hand, signaling she should stop.

She fell silent.

“What did you call him?”

“Duardo?”

“That is not a Vistarian name,” he said.

“
Eduardo
,” she amended. “But he hates that. No one ever calls him that.”

“Except his superior officers,” the man replied. “Come here,” he demanded, beckoning with his finger.

She stepped closer to the counter. He leaned over and pushed aside her jacket with one hand, peering inside it. Then he smiled and picked up the telephone on the counter, dialed and spoke into it. After a moment he put the phone down. “Someone will be with you in a moment. They will take you to another place. A more secure place.
Comprende?
”

“Yes,” she said. She looked down inside her jacket, puzzled, and saw the St. Christopher’s medallion lying against her tee-shirt. She looked up at him.

“You know Nicolás, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Munro. He and I went through officer training together.”

“
Gracias
,” she told him.

“
De nada.”
He pointed to the door. “Your escort.”

Another soldier, this one without a machine gun, held open the door for her. She zipped up her backpack and followed him across the tarmac toward the legislative building. He took her around the back, slipping under the covered walkway and into the drive-through tunnel at the base of the building. The walls on either side of the tunnel were pierced by double doors and light spilled from them.

The soldier opened the right hand door and waved her inside. Stairs ran up and down from the small foyer. He indicated she should go down the stairs on the right. The corridor at the bottom was lined with anonymous doors with frosted glass panes. The floor was dark green linoleum, the walls a somber gray. The basement felt like all the government buildings Calli had ever visited in Montana. That reassured her immensely.

The soldier opened a door to one of the rooms, showing her a wooden table surrounded by four folding chairs. The wall on the right was broken by a large expanse of mirrored window. The one-way kind, she assumed. There was no other furniture and the floor was the same dark green linoleum. The room was as soulless as a tax interview office. Almost cheerful, Calli sat on the table and dropped her backpack down beside her. It was the first time she had felt truly safe for several hours now.

Two hours later, she still felt safe and quite bored and very tired. No one had looked in on her and when she looked out along the passage way she saw no one else. She had been tempted to go looking for people in case she had been forgotten, but then she remembered the officer in the gatehouse, his recognition of the St. Christopher medallion and knew that she would not be ignored or forgotten.

Forty minutes later Calli heard people in the passage outside and saw a shadow on the glass panel in the door.

She held her breath, her nerves prickling to the alert.

The door opened and Nick stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him, and stood looking at her.

“Nick, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come here if I’d had any other choice. I’d have stayed away forever. It’s Minnie, Nick. She’s gone to find Duardo—”

He crossed to the table and she braced herself, wondering if he would vent his anger in closer quarters.

But his arms went around her and crushed her against. He kissed her thoroughly, deeply, until all her thoughts scattered and her body began to tingle with thick, warm arousal.

She groaned beneath his lips, then gave a small cry as his hand found her breasts beneath the jacket. He pushed her hat off and held her head in his hand and rained kisses on every inch of her face and finally her lips again.

“Sweet,” he said, his lips against hers.

“Nick—”

He made a small sound. “I dreamed of you whispering my name last night,” he said, his voice rough. “Just as you did then.”

Her heart gave a tiny leap. She had expected Nick to be angry when she finally stood before him. She had braced herself for it, even while in her heart, deeply buried, was the tiny hope that he would be pleased to see her. But she had not expected this. She had not dared hope he might speak of missing her, even indirectly.

Before she could speak he kissed her again, while his hands roamed over her body. It was as though his passion was reaching out and wrapping itself around her, and she let herself be surrounded, held. Her worries, the sick guilt, slid from her.

This was Nick. He would make everything all right. Strong, capable Nick.

He tugged at her tee-shirt and she slipped off the jacket, giving him access. She held her breath as he pulled up the tee-shirt, exposing her breasts. She anticipated his touch and her body tightened, ready to welcome the sharp spike of pleasure from it.

He groaned and lowered his head to take a nipple in his mouth, his hand hard against her back, bringing her to him.

The tugging and stroking at her nipple sent a sharp shock slithering down to her clitoris and she gasped. He transferred his attention to the other nipple, sliding his tongue over the tip, lapping at the breast and nipple together, while his hot fingers spread across her abdomen, keeping her steady. The moist caress loosened her knees, spreading a weakening fire through her belly, her clitoris and pushing her cares far from her mind. Her head fell back, her eyes closing.

Take me now. Please
, she pleaded silently. The need to have him inside her, hot and thick and hard against her, was as powerful and compulsive as the need to breathe. While that need went unmet, she could think of little else.

Nick wanted her as badly as she needed him. Her soul soared joyfully.

Boldly, she reached for his belt and slipped it undone in two quick movements. Then the button beneath, which eased undone without resistance. She found the zipper and was about to slide it down, when Nick’s hand grasped her wrist in a painfully tight grip.

He lifted his head from her breasts and looked at her with eyes that seemed to peer deep inside her.

He straightened and moved away and Calli opened her mouth a little, almost voicing a protest. The ache to feel him inside her, that first hard thrust...it throbbed throughout her body. But for whatever reason Nick had pulled back, reined in his passion. It was not to be.

Calli climbed stiffly to the floor, pulling down her tee-shirt as Nick moved toward the door.

Well, at least she knew he still wanted her. Even if he had the strength, the discipline, to rise above that need for a higher purpose, she could cling to the knowledge. It brought her small comfort—Nick had been touched, even a little, by their two days together.

Her pulse leapt when he turned the old fashioned key lock with a soft click. He watched her, probably reading every emotion on her face. His eyes were dark, the lids lowered.

She dared not breathe for fear that it would break the spell of the moment.

Nick came towards her, moving slowly, almost as if he didn’t want to startle her and scare her away. “I dream of you still,” he said in the same low gravelly voice she recalled from her own dreams, from the first night they’d met, from every moment she had known him when he spoke of something close to his heart, that stirred his emotions.

The sound of his voice now sent a shiver through her. She had not thought she would ever hear it again.

He stepped around her and when she tried to turn towards him, his arms came around her, turning her back to face the table. He stood behind her now. When she looked into the mirrored window, Nick’s dark gaze watched her from over her shoulder.

His hands moved restlessly on her hips. “I dreamed of you and woke to drenched sheets and a throbbing body.” His voice rumbled right by her ear. “Two mornings now, I have woken in my lonely bed and cursed myself for wasting all the moments I did have with you. I crave with an addict’s need for just one moment more. Just a single moment.”

In the mirror she saw him studying her shoulder and he bent his head to kiss the nape of her neck. His lips were hot and moist and she shut her eyes momentarily, swallowing, for her heart seemed to be lodged there, beating hard and fast. Even though Nick spoke the words, she felt that at any second something would happen to make him recant them. It seemed impossible that he should be saying such things.

Impossible, but almost inevitable.

The hope that she had buried so deep in her heart had been created because she had recognized that Nick ended their liaison with deep reluctance. She had pushed the hope away because the reasons for ending it were overwhelming.