Where There's Smoke (65 page)

"I'll lock it behind you.
 
Should I make a reservation for you?"

"Not tonight, thanks.
 
I'll be in touch when, uh, a date's been set.

Is that okay?"

"Sure."

Still looking sheepish, he replaced his hat and waved goodbye.

Heather locked the suite and returned to the lobby.
 
As far as she could tell, no one had been there during her absence, nor had the search for the Northwest Passage grown more interesting.
 
She couldn't concentrate for thinking about Tanner.
 
He'd told her he would be at home studying tonight, but was he?

On impulse, she dialed his number, asked his father if she could speak with him, and was relieved when Ollie told her to hold on while he called Tanner to the phone.

"Hi, it's me.
 
Whachadoin'?"

"Studying history."

"Me, too.
 
It sucks."
 
She twirled the phone cord.
 
"I'm sorry I totally bitched you out after school today."

"It's okay."

Heather could tell by his tone of voice that it wasn't.
 
"Everyone was saying "Don't believe everything you hear."

That was a little too glib a response, she thought.
 
Why wasn't he denouncing the rumors and denying any interest in Mirusy Parker?

I'm losing him, she thought in panic.
 
She knew she'd never live it down.
 
"Tanner, why don't you come drive me home when I get off at ten?

Please?
 
I want to see you.

"Don't you have your car?"

Since when did he need an excuse to see her?
 
"I can tell my folks that it wouldn't start, so I called you."

"I guess I could."

"Okay."
 
She consulted the clock.
 
"I'll see you in thirty minutes.

Unless you want to come now and keep me company until the night clerk gets here."

"I'll be there at ten."

Peeved, Heather hung up.
 
She used the remaining thirty minutes of her shift to primp.
 
The reflection in her compact mirror was reassuring.

Mimsy Parker might have boobs the size of cantaloupes, but Heather still had the best hair, the best clothes, the best smile, the best eyes.
 
Nor were her boobs anything to scoff at.
 
Any bigger and they'd sag like Mimsy's in a few years.

Anyway, possession was nine-tenths of the law.
 
Tanner was still hers.

She just needed to guarantee that she kept him.

The night clerk, a pimpled geek who had a mad crush on her, arrived a few minutes early.
 
When Tanner pulled his car into the porte cochere, in order not to appear overanxious she pretended to be busy behind the desk with the geek.
 
After letting him wait a full five minutes, she joined him in his car.

"He's so dumb!"
 
she exclaimed in exasperation as she slid into the passenger seat.
 
"Honestly!
 
He's in the National Honor Society but hopeless when it comes to common sense.
 
Hi."
 
She leaned across the console and kissed his cheek.

Heather pretended that the spat had never taken place and that Mimsy Parker didn't exist.
 
She chatted nonstop about school and teachers, inconsequential things.
 
"I've got to get something to wear for the homecoming game.
 
I think Mother and I are going to Tyler Saturday to shop.
 
If we can't find anything there, we'll go to Dallas the next Saturday.
 
You're so lucky you don't have to worry about what you'll wear for the coronation during halœtime.
 
You'll be in your football uniform."

That was a subtle reminder that she had been nominated for homecoming queen and that he was damned lucky to be her official escort.
 
"Your football jersey will be all muddy, and when you take off your helmet, your hair will be sweaty.
 
You always look so sexy like that.
 
It makes me hot just thinking about it."

When she dropped her hand into his lap, she made it appear a casual gesture.
 
She felt his instantaneous response.
 
What a goose i've been, she thought.
 
What an idiot!
 
Sex was power.
 
Look at how much mileage her mother got out of it: all she had to do was whisper something to Fergus and look at him seductively, and she got whatever her heart desired.

From the time Heather had been old enough to recognize that kind of manipulation for what it was, she'd been scornful of it.
 
Maybe it was time for a change of heart.
 
Her sexuality was an unlimited and as yet untapped resource.

What was she saving it for?
 
Why not use it?
 
Now.
 
When it was needed.

Every other woman did.
 
Her mother.
 
That slut Mimsy Parker.
 
If she wanted to keep Tanner .
 
.

"Stop here," she said suddenly.
 
They were still a block from her house.
 
"I want to talk to you for a minute."

Tanner pulled the car to the curb, killed the engine, and cut the headlights.
 
"What about?"

She wanted to slap that surly smirk off his face.
 
Instead, she smiled beguilingly and drew him close.
 
"I don't really want to talk."
 
She pressed her open mouth to his and reached for his tongue with her own.

He was taken off guard but quickly recovered.
 
After a few tonguetwining kisses and some carefully choreographed moves, his erection was well defined behind his fly.
 
She ran her hand up and down it, massaging.

He reached beneath her sweater and seized her breast.
 
"What got into you?"
 
he panted as he unsnapped the front closure of her bra.

Mimsy Parker, she thought.
 
"I just love you so much.
 
Oh, yes."

When he lightly pinched her nipple, she placed her hand on the back of his head and guided it down to her.
 
"Tanner, I had the best idea tonight.
 
Listen."
 
She outlined her plan as she slid her hand inside his jeans.
 
"Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

"Yes.
 
Oh, Jesus, oh God.
 
Wait.
 
I have a rubber.
 
Want me to "No.
 
I want to see it."

"Faster, babe.
 
Yes.
 
Yes."

"Touch me, Tanner."
 
She opened her thighs and guided his palm to her center.

After several steamy minutes of dual masturbation, he dropped her at her front walk.
 
His eyes were still lambent, his face flushed; he was pathetically grateful and newly besotted.

Her confidence restored, Heather skipped up the steps of her house.

Mimsy Parker didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of stealing her boyfriend.

As she went inside, ready with an elaborate lie as to why Tanner had brought her home, she silently thanked that ex-con for giving her the idea that had saved her romance.

Chapter TWENTY- Three Corazon del Diablo gave his prisoners his most ingratiating smile.
 
His eyes flickered to Key, but after one curious glance they returned to Lara.
 
Key doubted that she realized she had sunk to her knees.

No sooner had the thought crossed Key's mind than she slowly came to her feet.
 
"I can't believe it.
 
Emilio, what "I am no longer Emilio Sanchez Peron," he snapped, his glassy smile vanishing.
 
"I have not been that naive, idealistic youth in a long while.
 
Certainly not since the revolution and your return to the United States."
 
He almost snarled the last two words.
 
"A nation I hold in utmost contempt."

Key hated what the young man said, but he was impressed by the manner in which he said it.
 
He spoke fluent English without a trace of a Spanish accent, although he didn't use contractions.

The squalid backdrop made his neatness even more pronounced.

He was smooth shaven and immaculately clean, not an easy condition to maintain in the middle of a jungle.
 
His black hair had been pulled back so tightly that his head was as sleek and shiny as a bowling ball.

He had a short queue at the nape of his neck.
 
The style accented his high cheekbones, the lean angularity of his face, the hard, angry slash of his mouth.
 
His eyeglasses had thin gold-wire frames.

Key had tangled with tough customers from all parts of the world.

He couldn't recall one who had looked more chilling than Emilio Sanchez.
 
He was slightly built, but the cold, dead quality in his eyes was symptomatic of unmitigated cruelty.
 
The eyes of a snake.

"If you hate the United States so much, why were you working for my husband at the embassy?"
 
Lara asked.

"My position there allowed me to receive information which others found very useful."

"In other words you were spying.

He flashed another grin.
 
"Between you and your husband, I always considered you the more intelligent."

"You were using the embassy as a source of information.
 
For how long?"

"From the beginning."

"You bastard."

A murmur arose from those around them who understood English.

El s smile slowly dissolved, as though it were melting in the heat.

"Having narrowly escaped with your life once, you were a fool to return to Montesangre, Mrs.
 
Porter."

"I came to retrieve my daughter's remains.
 
I wished to return them to the United States."

"You came in vain.

"I know that now.
 
I condemn the Montesangrens who buried her in a pit."
 
Tears formed in her eyes, but her posture was now unbowed.

"God damn you all."

"You'll find it difficult to attract God's attention from here, Mrs.

Porter.
 
He hasn't listened to the people of Montesangre for decades.

We no longer believe he exists."

"Is that why you found it so easy to murder Father Geraldo?"

"The drunken priest?"
 
he said scornfully.
 
Ricardo slapped him on the shoulder as though he'd told a joke.
 
"He had outlived his usefulness long ago.
 
He was merely another mouth to feed in a country of starving people."

"What about Dr.
 
Soto?
 
Surely he was useful to your regime."

"And also to Escavez."

"You are unforgivably wasteful.
 
Dr. Soto was a healer.
 
When it came to saving lives, he didn't think politically."

"Which was his downfall," El Corazon replied blandly.
 
"In Montesangre one cannot have divided loyalties.
 
Speaking of which," he said, his eyes moving to Key, "I'm curious about your loyalties, or lack thereof, Mr.
 
Tackett.
 
My curiosity alone has kept you alive."

"My life's an open book."

The soldiers guarding Key had allowed him to stand.
 
His ribs hurt like hell.
 
A couple of them had probably been cracked when he was kicked during the attack at the cemetery.
 
His head hurt worse.
 
The wound on his temple had scabbed over, but his whole cranium throbbed.
 
He itched from having had so much sweat dry on his skin, leaving a salty, gritty residue.
 
On top of everything else, he was hungry.