Songs for Perri (18 page)

"Yes." She didn't add what else she was feeling...that she had not had enough, that she wanted more, because she saw that they were about to be joined by a busload of tourists who were making a project out of coming down the rocks.

"Thanks for the song and the comfort. It was just what I needed."

"Anytime!" He emphasized the word in that deeply seductive voice that carried so much meaning, making her heart swell with a loving affection.

"I didn't realize I was pushing myself so hard. I feel much more rested now...and hungry."

"Then let's go back and eat."

The taxi returned them to the Golden Zone and they approached the restaurant again, where they were instantly mobbed by three enterprising young boys who wanted to sell them blankets and pottery. Perri recognized them...they had tried to sell to her yesterday.

"No, thanks," Perri waved them away—she could not buy from everyone—but they persisted...turning to Hugo as a softer touch.

"Buy these for your lady friend. Please, mister," they begged.

"One each, then," he compromised—perhaps to get rid of them, for they acted like they were set to stay—bargaining for a tri-colored blanket and a soft cotton scarf.

The third boy was harder to deal with. He insisted Hugo buy a certain jar out of his wares, refusing to even bargain for one of the others. This jar and only this jar was for the señorita. He personally had chosen it for her. It was the loveliest of them all and the only one deserving of such a one as she.

"All right. Here," Hugo handed the persistent peddler his price and took the jar, which didn't look all that much different from the others.

"
Gracias.
It is very special, señorita." The boy turned to go, hesitated, then stepped closer to Perri to whisper, "Inside."

Her face paled. Was this the contact from Owen she had been waiting for?

Hugo carried the items over to the cafe table and laid them carefully next to her chair. "And what did the young man say? That I was a pushover?"

"No, he...ah, he said I was very lucky to have you for a friend."

"Ha! I'll bet." He motioned the waiter over and they ordered. "That boy should go far. He knows what he wants and goes after it."

"Just like you do?" she teased, eyes alight with joy.

"Just like I do," he drawled.

They ate slowly, Perri in a euphoric haze, and then meandered through the rest of the stores. Her attention was no longer on the merchandise, but on the items Hugo carried, the pottery jar in particular. It was very narrow-necked. If there was a message in it, she might have to break the jar to get it out.

She would have to claim to have accidentally dropped it.

At fever pitch once again, she could barely wait to get back to the hotel and look inside.

When they reached her room, Perri thanked Hugo for the blanket, scarf and jar as he set them down. Not being able to think of anything more original, she pleaded a headache and a desire for an early night.

"I could have some food brought up again," he suggested, standing hip shot, all his weight resting on one leg, loathe to leave.

All Perri's attention focused on the jar. "No. Thanks, but I don't feel much like eating."

"No? Tell you what. You take an aspirin and rest an hour or so. Then, if you change your mind, give me a call. We can always eat later."

"Well...," she hedged, trying to get rid of him, "don't call me. Sometimes I sleep right through when I'm tired like this. So if I don't call—”

"Don't bother checking? Okay. Get some rest, dearest." She accompanied him to the door and he turned sharply, caught her to him, and kissed her again.

She couldn't respond; her mind was on Owen and the possibility there might be a note in the jar. All she wanted was to get Hugo out of the room.

"Guess you do have a headache, after all," he muttered, letting her go. "G'night, then."

She wished him good night, practically pushing him through the door; and even then he dallied around talking until she impatiently shoved it shut in the middle of his monologue.

She would never make a subtle spy. Locking the door, she hurried over and turned the jar upside down and shook it.

Something was inside, she could hear it rustle. She tried to look, but the neck was too narrow to let in enough light. Another good hard shake and a piece of folded paper fell out.

Breath held, she unfolded it and read.

"Come to the restaurant when you can, the one where you lunched today. Wear a red blouse if you got this message; something white if the man with you is Okay. Bring a
good
camera. O."

Perri looked at her watch. It was barely five p.m. Joe didn't usually come until after nine. There was no way to get in touch with him.

Yet did she need to? She could go now, contact Owen, and set things up for Joe to meet him later tonight. She had no camera with her. She could buy one at the gift shop, if she knew what Owen wanted it for.

Impatient, she changed into a red blouse and black skirt, picked up her purse and left the hotel.

Once outside it was a simple matter of taking the first taxi handy and letting it drive her into the Zone. It never entered her mind to look back to see if anyone was following.

Her mind was set upon where she was bound and she didn't look around, not until she entered the restaurant, and even then she was looking only for Owen. The tables were full, forcing her to stand until one was empty.

The wait wasn't long, and she was given a table towards the back of the room. At least it would be easy to see Owen when he came in, she thought and went ahead and ordered dinner. While waiting for the food to come, she tried to look mildly interested in her fellow diners, without giving the appearance of waiting for someone. Whether she was successful or not, she didn't know.

But Owen didn't appear, nor did the boy who had sold the jar to Hugo.

Maybe she had come too soon. Her meal arrived and she ate, picking slowly at her food, trying to drag out the time, but it was finally finished and the young waiter brought the check.

There was no way she could stay seated at the table, she'd have to continue waiting outside. She had pretty well used up her reason to be in here; there were other people waiting for tables, standing at the door. Maybe Owen had wanted to meet her outside.

The waiter was still standing beside her, waiting for payment and Perri glanced down at the total. The check was larger than she had counted on. The food hadn't seemed that expensive when she'd eaten here with Hugo, but then he'd paid for it. She fumbled in her purse for the right amount, pulling out an exorbitant amount of cash. "Here you are."

Puzzled, the waiter looked at the pile of money, then at the bill. "This is not right," he said, taking the piece of paper from her hand while picking up the money.

"It seemed like a lot—”

"Someone wrote this wrong. If the
señorita
will come with me, I'll get it changed."

"Oh, no. That's all right," she insisted, wanting to leave.

"The
señorita
is very nice, but I insist; we must fix the bill. Please. This way." He pointed toward the back, and Perri felt compelled to obey, to avoid a scene if for no other reason. He smiled in embarrassed apology and led the way through a curtained doorway, into the kitchen.

Slightly annoyed, Perri followed. It couldn't be helped, of course. She didn't want to draw attention to herself. Head down, grumbling silently, Perri stepped past the heavy concealing curtain.

Without warning a large hand was clapped tightly over her mouth, preventing any sound and sending her heart racing in fear. Frantically she clawed at the strong fingers, trying to free herself as the man's other arm lifted her off her feet.

It was no use. She was bodily yanked into a dark room while the door shut behind them with a thud.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

All the terror that abides in a woman alone filled Perri's mind. Twisting and turning she fought to be released. What had she walked into?

"Whoops! Take it easy, Wildcat." A familiar voice laughed triumphantly in her ear as a light was turned on, and she was spun around and released. It took her less than a second to recognize the happy, teasing face of her step-brother, complete with a full beard and longish brown hair.

"Owen!" She threw herself into his open arms and hugged him tightly in joyful relief. "You fool, you scared me silly, grabbing me like that." Forgiveness came instantly upon recognition.

"Scary Perri." The nickname, said now with a welcoming fondness, was years removed from the sing-song teasing tone he used as a youth to egg her into doing something that frightened her. "Man, am I ever glad to see you!"

She hugged him again, her voice expressing her thankfulness in finding him safe, even if dressed like a hippie drop-out from society. "And I'm glad to see you. Why did you grab me?"

"So you wouldn’t yell my name. Why did Dad bring you, of all people?"

"One of your friends called him, only I think he was already here. I came down to help."

"A friend of mine? I never asked anyone to call."

"But he said...."

"Describe him."

She did, in as detailed a manner as she knew how. "The one who called had an unusual accent. He didn't sound Mexican. The guide is definitely a local."

Owen shook his head. "I've never seen him. They might be relatives. This family seems to be fairly large." He motioned toward the other side of the room and for the first time Perri noticed the man standing just inside a door. "This is Alvaro. He's the one all the trouble is over. He doesn't speak English."

"Hola, Señorita."

"Aló. ¿De dónde es usted?"
She was curious as to where he was from. Something about the way he talked....

"Cuba."

Perri switched back to English. "That's the accent of the man who called me, Owen. He must be Cuban, also."

"Which would make him no friend of mine, or of Alvaro's. You warn Dad, and be careful yourself. I've never had everything blow up on me so completely before."

"What happened?"

"Everything we try falls though. People kept getting killed...all my contacts...people I'd bet my life on. I've barely missed being killed twice. Perri, you have to be careful. Something's terribly wrong."

"Papa wanted me to leave, but since he couldn't find you, he hoped you would see me, instead."

"It worked," he declared happily. "I saw you Sunday. On the motorcycle. I was inside a house; nearly broke my neck running around to the next street to see if it was really you. Talk about the unexpected. I would have tried to get your attention then, but wasn't sure about your friend."

"He knows nothing. I met him here."

Owen was still holding her, his hands loosely clasped behind her, and he gave her backside a playful pat. "Only interested in you, eh? I don't blame him, you sure look swell to me. The poor guy is probably wondering why you're bent upon chasing all over Mazatlan, though."

Perri laughed. "He doesn't care what we do, as long as he can tag along."

With a grin, Owen switched to more important matters. "Does Dad have any help?"

"Yes. Joe Nolan."

"Hmmm." Owen shook his head. "I don't recognize the name, although names often change with assignments, you realize. Uh....uh...."

“I know. CIA.”

“You know? Good! I wondered when they were going to tell you.”

"Alvaro?" The voice came from another room, and Alvaro excused himself and left.

"He's quite a guy," Owen said, nodding in his direction. "You should hear some of the things he's done."

It was so wonderful, being with Owen again, knowing he was safe for the moment. Perri beamed with joy.

"I'm surprised Crystal let you come. How did you ever get around her— What's wrong?" he interrupted himself, noting her swift change of expression from happiness to distress.

"I forgot...no one's told you."

"What?"

Perri lifted stricken eyes to his alarmed ones, knowing that she'd have to tell him now that her expression had let so much slip out.

"Mother's...dead, Owen," she explained, her voice halting as she tried to make soft what could not be softened. "She was in a car crash."

The news, with absolutely no forewarning struck him cruelly, wiping the color from his face, leaving it an ashen gray.

"Araah..." he groaned, his arms tightening around her as if to curtail the pain. He bowed his head upon her shoulder in agony, teeth clenched, and Perri cradled him to her as best she could, rocking slightly. There was nothing else she could do.

After a long pause, he swallowed, then said in a voice choked with emotion, "Why does it always happen to the best of people?"

"I don't know." It was the same thing she had pondered, many times over.

"When?"

"Almost two months ago."

"How?"

"She hit the rocks just past the driveway. It kept her from going over the edge, but she was injured so badly—”

"Anyone with her?"

"No. Papa should have been."

"Lucky."

"Joe thinks it wasn't an accident."

"He doesn't? Why?" He held her away from him then; bleakly searching her face as she gave him the small amount of information she had.

"There was a message inside her pendant. Did you know it's hollow inside?"

"No." He appeared as a man dazed, unable to assimilate what she was saying. His hands were hard on her shoulders, hurting them as he squeezed too hard in the intensity of the moment.

"Look." She gave the pendant a twist, showing him how it opened.

He nodded, releasing her shoulders as she closed it again. His hands hung uselessly at his sides. "I see. What did it say?"

“‘Scorpion here.’ She wrote it. Joe thinks she wanted to give it to Hugo Donnelson."

His face changed, became even more hard, more grim. "The Scorpion?"

"Does it mean something to you?"

"Sure. It's the name of a hit man. The Cubans use him. No one knows what he looks like."

"But how did she—”

"I told her just before I left—we were talking about things like that. I showed her the symbol of a scorpion he leaves behind after he's killed a man...as if he wants people to fear him. How on earth did she come across it?"