The Count From Wisconsin (7 page)

She gave an airy wave of her slim fingers, "You know how it is. My mind has confidence in you, but my body's main concern is self-preservation." She lifted an almost steady hand to smooth her tousled blond hair. "It always takes over when I'm that near death."

He laughed, then she caught her breath as the gleam of excitement returned to his eyes and he said, "Hold on, Katy love. He's picking up speed again."

"Ohhh, day-um," she wailed, at last seeing the logic in Heather's drawn-out expressions.

Actually, my life wasn't that dull, she thought as she was once again pressed back in the leather seat by the force of their speed. And anyway, is dull really that bad? I can live with dull. That is, if I live, I can live with dull.

She cut off the giggle that was rising in her throat. I will not become hysterical, she told herself slowly and carefully, but when he passed the ancient Saab on a blind curve, she knew she had lied. Clearing her throat, she tested her vocal chords for the protest whose time had finally come.

"Alex," she said, unable to recognize as her own the thin voice coming from her throat. "Alex, I'm not cut out for this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I'm really not."

"We're going to be friends, aren't we?" He didn't fool her for a minute with his sincere, kind tone. "Friends share experiences."

"Couldn't we share a glass of wine instead?" Then as they burst through a pass and were once again riding on the edge of a cliff, she gulped and added weakly, "On second thought, make that a double vodka."

This time when he laughed she wasn't so

complacent about accepting his amusement, not even when he said bracingly, "You're doing fine;**

"Compared to what—cardiac arrest?" she asked dryly, then slid liquidly lower as he swerved slightly to miss a rabbit.

After that she felt not the slightest urge to open her eyes again or even to voice a protest. For what seemed like hours she avoided thinking about the way the car seemed occasionally to slide sideways by reciting the racier bits of Robert Burns poetry that she and Heather had memorized as teenagers.

Kate had gone past racy and was well into bawdy by the time she felt the car slow down. " 'The wildbirds sang, the echoes rang, while Damon's arse beat time, Sir,' " she finished, opening her eyes cautiously.

She glanced first at Alex, unwilling to look out the side window again, and saw that his large frame was shaking with silent laughter.

"I've—" he began in a choked voice. "I've never met anyone who had all of Robby Burns memorized."

"Not all. Just the parts that would interest a randy teenager arid the one where he plows up a mouse's house." She chanced a peek out the windshield and saw below them a small valley, dotted with houses. "Is that Shangri-La?"

"You know," he said, smiling, "that may have felt like the Himalayas, but, comparatively speaking, they were very small mountains."

"I rarely speak comparatively," she said with acerbity. "So please just tell me straight-out—are we through with that crazy roller-coaster ride and can you find a nice flat way to get me home?"

"Home?"

He said the word reflectively, his voice quiet and casual. So why did she feel uneasy about that one word?

"Yes, home," she repeated. "My temporary home with my friends in Monte Carlo."

"Actually, Kate—" he began, then his eyes narrowed as he stared down below them into the green valley. "He's stopped. Close your eyes one more time, Katy. I want to see what he's doing."

Perhaps it was his automatic acceptance of her cowardice or perhaps she was getting used to terror, for, whatever the cause, the fast trip down the last incline leading to the small valley didn't even cause her heart to start pumping.

She was quite proud of herself when they passed the empty sports car slowly and pulled over to the side of the road beneath a stand of trees.

"He must be stopping for lunch," Alex said, almost to himself.

"Lunch?" Kate said hopefully. She had missed her lunch. Heavens, that seemed days ago. Glancing down at her watch, she found to her amazement that only two hours had passed since she had left Evan at the restaurant.

"Did you miss lunch too?" Alex asked with a wistful sigh. "I'm starving. And I have a feeling he's at the only tavern for miles around." He glanced back toward the village. "Why don't we go back and see what we can find?"

The tiny village consisted of an inn, an automobile garage with a lean-to-type structure attached to it that reminded Kate of a blacksmith's shop, a beautiful little church made of white stone, and a general store.

And the store was definitely general. It carried everything from freshly baked loaves of French bread and postcards to hammers and lipstick.

While Alex shopped, Kate used the store's phone to put through an overdue call to Heather.

The receiver was picked up on the first ring. "Heather?" Kate said, wondering for the first time just exactly how she would explain to her friend.

"Kate!" came Heather's frantic screech. "Katy Sullivan, where in hell are you? Why did you leave the restaurant like that? Evan said Alex Delanore followed you out. Kate, what on earth is going on?"

"Heather," Kate said, holding back her laughter with difficulty. "I'm fine. Evan was right. Alex followed me out and . . . and invited me to take a ride in the country with him. I just wanted to call and let you know the white slavers didn't get me."

"Alex Delanore," Heather gasped weakly. "How do you know— No, never mind that now; you can explain it all later. Just tell me when you're coming home."

Kate glanced over her shoulder and saw Alex at the counter, paying for his purchases. "I don't know, but don't worry about me; I'm fine. I just never imagined the second act would be quite so exciting."

"The second act? Have you been drinking?" Her voice became suspicious. "Kate, we don't know Alex Delanore very well; are you sure you can trust him?"

Kate didn't answer for a moment. She had known Alex for two days. Did she trust him? Across the room Alex smiled at her and began to walk toward her with his purchases.

"Yes, I do," she said softly, without reservation. "I trust him. I'd better go now, Heather. I'll see you . . . when I see you," she added vaguely, then replaced the receiver and turned to walk out of the store with Alex.

***

"Okay, I'll accept that," Alex said, taking another bite of cheese. "But if Lillian Gish is the all-time best actress, who's your candidate for the best actor?"

Kate took a sip of the wine they drank from brown pottery mugs and leaned her head back against the leather seat. They had returned to his car to eat their impromptu lunch in order to watch the road for the red Jaguar.

"Best actor, huh? That's a lot tougher. I can be objective about women because I don't fall in love with them, but men are different. The ones I prefer may not be the best actors; they may simply appeal to something in me," She reached into a bag on the seat to secure another handful of grapes. "You would be a better judge of best actor."

"Hmmm," he murmured thoughtfully. "We're talking about pure talent, right?"

She merely nodded in affirmation because her mouth was full of grapes.

"Then I guess I would have to say Lon Chaney."

"Do you really think so? I'll grant you he was a master of what he did, but to me acting is the ability to change characters without the makeup and all the external devices he used," she explained as she stole a piece of his cheese and took a reflective bite. "Becoming the character on the inside rather than on the outside."

He paused in tearing off another piece of bread. "Maybe," he conceded at last. "If that's so, then I guess my vote would have to go to Theodore Roosevelt."

"Disqualified," she said, laughing and choking on her wine at the same time. "Politicians aren't allowed." She paused. "Can't you just see awards handed out every year for the politician who has fooled the most people into thinking he knew what he was doing?"

"Are we going to talk politics?" he asked warily as he cleared away the remains of their meal and placed the bag in the backseat.

She tapped the mug against her chin, considering the question. "No," she said at last. "We're not. The sun's shining, I'm in France, and I'm full of good food. If there ever was a day for not discussing politics, this is one."

"Good," he said with a satisfied sigh as he leaned back in the seat. "Okay, tell me Elvis's all-time best record."

She considered the question for a moment, then finished her wine and placed the cup in the backseat. "It's a toss-up," she said at last. "Between 'That's All Right, Mama' and 'I Want You, I Need You, I love You.' "

"You're not even considering 'Jailhouse Rock"?" he said in amazement.

"Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "Maybe Teddy Bear,' but not 'Jailhouse Rock.' "

"Philistine," he said in disgust. "You obviously have a tin ear."

She laughed at his offended expression, then leaned back in the leather seat, drinking in the fresh country air.

He looked around them at the countryside. "Doesn't the air feel different here, Kate?" he said, echoing her thoughts. "It's not just that the people speak a different language and the houses are different. There's a different feel to France than there is to the United States ... at least to my part of the United States."

"Yes, it's different," Kate said. "But I've felt it before. In Texas. We don't get much in the way of a change in seasons so when we do it's something that sticks in your memory. The few days of spring and fall that we have always make me remember things that have happened in other springs, other falls." She smiled in reminiscence. "This reminds me of the first time I fell in love."

"Painful or happy?" he asked, giving her an understanding glance.

"Definitely happy. He had me totally captivated while it lasted, then let me down easy when it was over."

"I can't imagine you being captivated," he said, and there was something close to envy in his expression. "How did this paragon of virtue manage it?"

"He had blond curry hair, clear blue eyes, and lots of money for a start," she said, curling her legs up beside her and resting her chin on her hand. "But I think maybe the thing that really made me fall head over heels for Billy Wayne Turner was his ability to make the most remarkable noises simply by putting his hand under his arm."

"He sounds like pretty tough competition," he said, chuckling. "I think I probably fell in love for the first time in grade school too."

"Grade school?" she said, raising an arched brow. "It was last year."

She loved to see him laugh. He did it with such enjoyment and the rich sound always spread through her blood like brandy, warming her completely. For a moment she felt that if she were suddenly given one wish it would be to spend the rest of her life listening to his laughter.

She shook the thought away, wondering in astonishment what had gotten into her. A sentimental wish like that was just not like her.

"Kate?" He shifted his position slightly so that he was much closer than before, lifting a hand to smooth a stray curl back from her forehead. "We've eaten and we've talked and it still looks like we have some extra time on our hands." His fingers drifted down to rest on her shoulder so that his arm was around her. He stared down at her with a hopeful expression. "You wanna neck?"

She gave a choking gasp of laughter. "You wanna neck? Geez, how romantic can you get?"

"I'm not romantic," he said with an unselfconscious shrug. "I thought you had figured that out by now. That doesn't mean I'm not exciting and terrifically sexy. So how about it?"

She almost choked on her indrawn breath. He thought he was teasing about being exciting and sexy, but actually he had hit it right on the nose. She had been trying with difficulty all afternoon to keep her thoughts away from the way she had felt last night.

"No," she said, giving a shaky laugh at the lie. "I don't. I would realty like for you to tell me a little more about what's going on." She glanced up at him to study his strong face carefully. "You haven't given me an awful lot of information up to now."

His dark eyes met hers as she spoke and after a moment of silent communication, he shrugged. "I may be wrong," he said softly, "but I got the idea that you had reasons of your own for coming with me. Reasons that had nothing to do with why I'm chasing that man."

How could he know that? How could he know that Plate had viewed their meeting and the subsequent events as a kind of challenge that life was throwing at her, a challenge she had to meet or be condemned to accept her ordinary existence as unworthy?

She glanced away from him uneasily and said, "Okay, I'll accept that, but now I'd realty like to know more about what's happening."

"It's a long story. One that starts a lot of years ago." His eyes took on a faraway look. "What's important is that an old friend of mine is being blackmailed."

A chilled shiver ran up her spine. She had taken everything so lightly until now, but this was not something she could shrug off. She wanted to ask more—who and why—but blackmail indicated a need for secrecy. She couldn't ask him to give away secrets that weren't his to give. "By the man in the Jaguar?" she asked quietly.

He was silent for a moment. "I don't think so. Don't ask me why. He's the man who is making the demands, but somehow It just doesn't jell.-" He shrugged. "So I'm following him to try and get to the bottom of the thing. I want to know who's behind it and why. I also need to recover some things that are potentially harmful to my friend's well-being."

"Do you know the man in the car?"

"I've met him," he said, his voice grim. "Our man is one Rene Alvarez, born in Paris of Spanish parents. He's been a hanger-on for most of his life and—as far as I can tell—will do anything for money." He swirled the wine in his cup, concentrating on the ruby liquid, then gave a rough sound of frustration. "In the last few months I've been to enough parties to last me a lifetime. I've cultivated Alvarez and his friends, trying to make some sense out of the whole thing. I've purposely acquired a ... a tainted reputation so that he would feel free to brag about what he's doing."

Kate's eyes widened in surprise. So he knew what people were saying about him. And he didn't sound as though he enjoyed the reputation he had gained.

"And did he?" she asked, without comment.

He laughed harshly before tipping back his head to finish the last of the wine in his mug. "He's bragged about using and selling several illegal drugs," he said without looking at her. "He's bragged about being the go-between in an art swindle and about other activities that you wouldn't want to hear about, but so far, not one word about Tony."

"Your friend?"

He nodded. "I can't figure out the connection," he said emphatically, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "And the more he talks the more I believe he's only a hired messenger."

She gave him an inquisitive glance. "You mean someone picked him up at the local 'Hoods "R" Us'?"

"Something like that." He chuckled. "No, if this whole blackmail scheme were his idea, he'd have asked for money right away and that would have been the end of it. . . until he wanted more. But there have been no demands for money. Someone wants Tony to suffer."

She glanced down at her hands for a moment, mentally putting a lid on her curiosity as she recognized the sincerity, the urgency in his voice. "What demands have there been ... if not for money?" she asked.

"In the beginning, Tony merely received letters that let him know that someone was in possession of certain . . . facts concerning his past." Alex's features were grim as he spoke. "Then they started to become more threatening." He paused. "Tony has been offered a wonderful opportunity, an opportunity that could change his whole life. Whoever wrote the letters wants him to give up that opportunity ... or they will make certain things from his past public."

She examined his face in detail, the worried lines around his eyes, the sternly held lips. "This is really important to you, isn't it?" she asked finally.

'Tony's important to me," he said quietly. "It's not often that you get to pay back a debt the size of the one I owe Tony. I won't let the chance go by. I'll fix this for him because I owe him and because I love him."

She had never heard a man confess his love for another man. But there was no hesitation in Alex's voice, no embarrassment. In her eyes he grew another three feet, and there in a car parked outside an unknown village in France, Kate thought for a moment she had glimpsed the beginning of the third and most important act of her life.

As though he read the change in her eyes, Alex caught his breath and began to lean slowly closer. "This time I won't ask," he said softly, then bent the final few inches to press his lips against hers.

And this time she wouldn't have said no, she thought as she felt the warmth of his full lips on hers. She closed her eyes and waited for the powerful sensations that were caused only by Alex to return to her.

But it took only a few seconds for her to realize that it wasn't at all like it had been the night before. Then she had been confused, even frightened, by the new feelings he aroused. Now, as the vibrating warmth raced through her limbs, she felt as though his touch and the accompanying pleasure were things she had been waiting for forever.

Although her feelings were even more powerful than they had been the night before, she no longer felt threatened by them. It was as though her body had finally accepted the strange sensations as a part of her.

Her lips parted naturally beneath his and the kiss deepened by mutual consent. Groaning, he slid his seat back and pulled her into his lap. "I was wrong," he whispered, staring into her eyes. "Kathryn is not for making love. Kathryn is too cold for someone as warm and receptive as you are. You're Katy . . . my Katy love."

He moved his head the fraction of an inch it took to cover her lips and she received him hungrily as though he had been away for years instead of seconds. His fingers were spread wide on her rib cage, resting just below her breast, and she felt every centimeter of the flesh there as though his touch magnified ordinary sensation.

He pressed her down against him, flexing his thighs slightly at the same time, and the delicious magnification spread to other aching places. A pulsing need grew within her, urging her to get closer and even closer.

He pulled back, just a breath away, and touched her lips with his tongue, then leaned the side of his head against hers, his breathing unsteady.

She stared straight ahead and after a moment whispered a soft, breathless "Wow."

Alex made a rough noise that could have been a laugh. He sounded breathless too. "I was thinking something more along the lines of hot damn!"

With a hand on her neck he turned her head back toward him. When she moved a flash of red caught her peripheral vision. As his lips grazed hers, she murmured, "Aren't we supposed to be watching for the Jaguar?"

"Hmmm?" he said against her lips.

'The red sports car. The . . . um . . . the—" She forgot what she had intended to say as he deepened the kiss.

"The sports car?" He dipped his head to her neck, then sat up straight. "The Jaguar! Hell and damnation," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and down his neck. "He could at least have stayed for dessert."

As he touched her swollen lower lip with one rough finger, his eyes held deep regret. "I guess it's time to move on, Katy love."

It took a while for Kate to regain her equilibrium. He left her dazed and she felt she should be analyzing the strange things that were happening to her mind and her body.