Songs for Perri (6 page)

"I see." He sounded like he didn't quite believe her. That too was a normal reaction.

She turned her level gaze fully upon him. "And you?"

"Uh...me?" His voice dropped to a mumble. "Uh...I'm a mechanic. Cars, boats; nothing spectacular. Vacationing."

"From what city?" she asked, when he offered no more information.

"L.A."

"A mechanic from L.A." She nodded. "I expect you have lots of business."

He grinned in return, a little-boy sideways grin that was totally disarming. "Right. I make enough to come here every few years." He looked around at the other people filtering into the room before continuing. "Where're you from...if you don't mind?"

"Phoenix."

"Hum." He shrugged, offhand, half-apologetic. "If your car breaks down you can't very well bring it to me, can you?" He glanced around once more at the large room. A bar was being opened at one end, and more people were arriving. Carl Freedman and Junior wandered in, looked around, nodded to Perri and walked out again. "You...umm, staying here; in this hotel?"

"Yes."

"Same here. Uh...if you'll excuse me, I gotta go now. See you."

"So long." She followed him out of the dimly lit lounge and watched him move quickly over to the elevators. She wouldn't mind getting to know him better, but was thankful he wasn't as persistent as the pest.

It was growing late. Perri found one of the hotel restaurants and looked at the displayed menu. The smell of charcoal broiled steak increased her hunger, but the prices made her wince. That would put a hole in her bank account.

How much cash did she have? She might need extra for this trip.

Curious, Perri opened her wallet and looked inside. As she reached for the few bills, she saw something that stopped her short.

The place where she kept her major credit card was empty, its slot like an open mouth, mocking her. A hurried rifling through the rest of her cards showed she hadn't misplaced it.

Lost? No, stolen. Shocked anger crashed over her. She had had it when she registered. It was on the counter when she dropped her key and would have been easy picking for the pest.

She'd probably never see it—or him—again.

Her in-hand cash totaled three dollars and twenty-two cents. Until she got a new card—or Walt arrived—she would have to put things on her hotel tab. How long would it take him to get here?

Deeply upset, she thrust her cash back into her wallet, not noticing the approaching man until he grasped her firmly by the arm.

"Well, well, well...you came after all." The softly spoken words, drawled slowly with a hint of simulated disbelief, alerted her. Her eyes traveled rapidly from the black, well-shined boots, dark trousers and white shirt—open halfway down the front to reveal dark brown, curly hair—up to the reflective glasses. Him again!

If she were blind, she would still have known who it was...from the slow, measured cadence of his speech. If he had stolen her card, what was he doing here?

CHAPTER FOUR

Perri glanced around the lobby at the people all going about their normal business. No thief would be this brazen, would he? Was she wrong? Maybe the "pest" hadn't taken her card.

"You weren't expecting me to take you in there, were you?" he asked, as he tipped his head toward the hotel restaurant.

"Of course not!" Perri snapped. She wasn't planning on eating with him, anywhere. She pulled away from his restraining hand, her chin lifted, gaze defiant, as she prepared to tell him where he could go. And it wasn't with her.

He ignored the rejection obvious in her manner. "Good," he said with an emphatic flick of his fingers. "Their food doesn’t live up to their prices." Impervious to her resistance, he clasped her arm again in a grip that was firm and commanding, and propelled her toward the main door. "I know where there's a good restaurant. Authentic Mexican fare...it hasn't been Americanized."

"Wait a minute." Planting her feet, she stopped them both. "I was not waiting for you!"

"Sure, you weren't," he drawled, making her temper rise again. It didn't sound like he believed her any more than the clean-cut young man had. "Then what were you doing?"

"Finding out—” She stopped short, nearly biting her tongue.

"Broke?" he mocked.

"How did you know—?"

"Your face," he explained. "It's very expressive. Beautiful, but easy to read. Besides, you were looking through your wallet and chewing on your lip."

"I lost my credit card. Or someone stole it." Giving a sharp tug, she pulled her arm away, glaring at him. "You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"

"Me?" he replied; his expression behind the dark glasses as unreadable as ever.

"I'll check at the desk." Her words were curt and she turned her back in dismissal, but he followed, as tenacious as a pup determined to beg a ride with its owner.

The clerks were profusely apologetic, they hadn't seen it. This happened too often—they had the company's phone number if that would help. Soon Perri was promised a new card, to arrive the next day.

She sighed heavily, the emotional tension of the day having worn her down. "Now what?" she asked, feeling more alone than ever.

"You can eat here," the head clerk told her. "Put it on your bill."

The pest shook his head. "Breakfast, maybe. I'm hoping Miss Linn will have the evening meal with me."

"No, thank you. I'll eat here."

"Having trouble, Hugo?" the head clerk teased with an upward glance of masculine understanding.

"She seems to think I'm not to be trusted." He hung his head in mock chagrin.

"I'll vouch for him," the clerk said. "Hugo's my friend."

Hugo. The name tugged at Perri's memory. Her mother had known a man called Hugo. Had counted him as a good friend.

If Hugo stayed at this hotel, he had to be sufficiently well off; so wouldn't need to steal credit cards. Or was that why he stayed here? How confusing.

"You’ll vouch for him?” she said and the clerk nodded. She wondered how long he’d actually known Hugo. Still, if anything happened, he would know who she’d left with.

“Go to the Shrimp Factory,” the clerk suggested.

”Too far,” she said.

“I know a place close by. It’s small, but the food is great," Hugo said.

Perri struggled with her feelings. His type of man—one unrestrained by the convention of normal manners or common courtesy—usually made her feel uneasy. Yet she wanted to go with Hugo. "Oh...okay." Her agreement sounded reluctant because it was. "But I need to be back by eight."

"That's fine with me. Let's go."

As they walked across the polished marble floor, Perri wondered if she was being unwise to go with him. Yet she had to eat, didn't she? And she hated to eat by herself.
You've done that hundreds of times on your buying trips
, she scolded herself.
Admit it, you're attracted to this man. There's something about him that draws you
.

"If you like, I could loan you some cash," Hugo said, as he flung open the outside door.

His comment stopped her abruptly, mid-way through the opening, forcing him to lean hard against the massive door to keep it from swinging back on them. Was he being generous? Or feeling badly because he had left her with no funds?

"You heard the clerk; my credit's okay," she said.

"You aren't a rich heiress, though?" Hugo asked in that slow musical drawl of his, eyebrows lifting hopefully above the blankness of the glasses.

"Hardly." If he was looking for that, he'd be disappointed. "Were you wishing I was?"

"On the contrary. Rich heiresses aren't my style."

Outside the sun was still shining, but had lost its fierce heat. Hugo led the way out to the curb, where he stopped and looked down the street. Instantly a taxi slowed down, its driver looking expectantly at him, but he shook his head and the taxi moved on. A yellow bus came next. Stepping out into the street, Hugo held up his hand and it stopped.

"Come on," he called, climbing aboard and handing the driver the handful of pesos necessary for their fare. Perri clambered in after him, following him down the aisle.

The seats were full so they stood, hanging onto the overhead rail as the bus proceeded down the street, leapfrogging with other busses to pick up the most passengers. The song "Eres Tu" played on the driver's tape recorder, loud enough so all could hear, the emotional words stirring Perri's heart.

"Ever ridden these before?" Hugo asked.

"Yes," she replied. "As long as they're going where I am." In fact, Perri preferred riding the busses in Mexico. They came often and stopped at the end of each block, so it was no inconvenience to ride them. Many tourists used them, as the fare was only a few cents.

Her escort had to duck his head every so often to watch for landmarks. The route wound through the Golden Zone, where most of the hotels were located, and then into old Mazatlan. Before they had progressed very far, he pushed the overhead button to get the driver to stop.

Quickly they stepped out the back door and he led her more leisurely down a narrow side street and into a cafe consisting of seven circular tables.

Her companion's manner was bold and masterful—qualities Perri viewed with suspicion. They were qualities she approved of, but only if tempered with kindness. They could be the mark of a leader...or of a tyrant.

Perri found his cocky confidence welcome at the moment. She might regret it if she had a hard time getting rid of him later, but at the moment his air of dauntlessness bolstered her spirits. And she was going to get food.

She had eaten nothing today. With the smell of food came overwhelming hunger.

Evidently the restaurant personnel were used to him, for the waiter immediately brought two coffees, black, along with a handprinted menu. "Ah, you have a lovely señorita with you tonight, Hugo," he teased in Spanish. "It's about time. A man like you, should have a different
querida
every night."

"
Gracias,
Miguel," Hugo answered easily. His deep musical voice was even more beautiful while flowing over the soft Spanish words, and Perri's well-trained ear noted how fluently he spoke. "But you must watch what you say. This señorita speaks Spanish well. ¿
Verdad?"
He gazed meaningfully at Perri.

"Sí. Es verdad,
" Perri admitted, switching to the Spanish tongue. "It's the main reason I got my job. I speak several languages fluently."
But how did Hugo know I speak Spanish? I don’t remember using it since I got here.

"Miguel knows I like my coffee black, but is that what you want?" Hugo asked.

"I prefer the Mexican version, with lots of chocolate," she said, and Miguel immediately replaced hers while they looked at the simple menu.

They ordered and Hugo tilted his chair idly back in nonchalant relaxation, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world. Perri frowned, irritated that she couldn't figure him out. He was displaying little of his earlier obnoxious behavior. What had happened to change him?

Did he have her credit card or not? And was her brain up to finding out?

Perri knew she looked tense and frazzled...like she had worked three shifts without stopping. She was worn out, hungry and frustrated by the mystery surrounding him.

She stared at him fixedly for a full minute before realizing what she was doing. Hugo stared back at her, full lips quirked in that cocky grin he sometimes wore, having the advantage of the anonymity of dark glasses.

"Well?" he prompted, his lip curling ever so slightly, as if something about her amused him.

Perri stirred uncomfortably on the hard chair. She was tired of looking into a one-way mirror. "Take off those stupid glasses," she demanded crossly.

"Why?"

"So I can see you," she muttered, too weary to fence with him and in no mood to behave herself with the conventions required for polite manners. If he ignored them, so could she. "I don't like talking to a blank wall." He was so good at guessing everything else about her, he should have known that without her telling him.

His grin widened, suddenly mischievous, and he pulled the offending glasses down slightly, peering over the top for a brief moment. He had a slight scar that lifted one eyebrow. "Boo!" he said softly, clipping the word short, before settling the glasses back on again.

It wasn't enough time to really see what he looked like, but Perri gained an impression of power in his dark eyes, just barely restrained. His gaze had seared her with an intensity that left her shaken. No wonder he wore dark glasses, if he looked at everyone like that. She almost preferred the mirrors.

"Satisfied?" he drawled, bringing his chair down with a thump and leaning an elbow casually on the table.

"Partly." She helped herself to a steadying breath before continuing. "What's your name...besides Hugo?"

"Brandt. Hugo Brandt.”

“How did you know I spoke Spanish?”

“You told Anna on the way in from the airport. You said you spoke several languages fluently. Which ones?"

"Oh...Spanish, French, German, Italian. And a smattering of other dialects I've come across. I've always had a knack for languages. My...my mother spoke both French and German and she used to talk to me in different languages as I grew up. And then—” She stopped short.

Her mother...Crystal...gone, her love forever lost. Unwanted tears formed in Perri's eyes and she had to bite her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

She had gotten over the shock of her mother’s death and the period of denial and had now entered the emotional stage. The pain of her loss cut sharply across Perri's emotions at unexpected times, leaving her vulnerable to whoever was watching.

And this time it had to be Hugo! Annoyed, Perri fought her grief. She wasn’t going to break down in front of this overwhelmingly confident man.

Hugo stayed quiet, his large frame at ease, slouching indolently, the only sign of emotion being the tightening of his lips into a hard straight line as she wiped her eyes dry with a fingertip. He was probably deciding he really didn’t need to share a meal with a weepy woman.