Fever Dreams Page 4

  Two hours later, Ransom knew he was at a dead end. Whoever she was, he was never going to find her. He supposed she had known all along that she would leave before he awakened; that's why she had insisted he wait until morning to learn her name.

  It's your reward, if you're still here in the morning.

  “Hope you enjoyed your little joke, lady,” he snarled, tossing aside an empty pack of cigarettes.

  It might have been the most memorable night of his life, but he promised himself he'd forget all about it the moment he left this miserable city.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I'm terribly worried about your returning to Montedora, darling,” Preston Haversham IV told Madeleine. They were lunching together in an elegant French restaurant on the Avenue of the Americas in Manhattan. “It's such an unstable, violent little backwater. And you were just there six months ago. Surely you could send someone in your stead.”

  “I really can't,” she contradicted politely, seething with impatience. For a man who had proposed marriage but had not yet been accepted—Madeleine had promised to think about it—Preston was being awfully proprietary. “I've been there before, I know all the details, and I'm the one in charge of selling El Rancho Barrington. This German company's offer is the first nibble we've had since putting the ranch on the market. I want to sell that place this year.”

  “I can understand that, darling, but don't you have local people in Montedora who can handle this for you?”

  “No, I don't, Preston.” She heard the snap in her voice, saw the surprise on his face, and immediately felt contrite. He was only showing understandable concern. He professed to love her, and Montedora was an unpredictable and unsafe country. In truth, she didn't relish the thought of returning there, either; she had spent six months trying to forget what she had done there—without success.

  “I'm sorry, Preston. I didn't mean to be short with you. I appreciate your concern, and I'd honestly rather not go back there. But the local business manager is inefficient and, I suspect, dishonest. I don't want him to be the one to deal with the Germans.” It was important to do a good job, regardless of her personal feelings.

  “Of course. I see,” Preston said, too courteous to argue any more with her.

  “Besides, I'll be in good hands. My father is almost as concerned as you are. He's hired a security specialist to accompany me.”

  Preston frowned. “A bodyguard?”

  “Well, I suppose that's a better description of the man's duties with regard to this trip. Apparently he's quite familiar with Montedora and has important contacts there. He has served as a security consultant to the country's President.”

  “Veracruz? I believe you mean ‘dictator.'”

  “Yes, I do, but it's not a good idea to get in the habit of saying that. If I let the expression slip out while I'm in Montedora, I could theoretically be arrested.” She said “theoretically” because no one arrested, harassed, or intimidated a Barrington. Particularly not this Barrington.

  “Good God!” Preston exclaimed. “Arrested? Well, yes, I must say I agree with your father, and I am considerably relieved to know you'll be accompanied by someone who can protect you from any unpleasantness. If this fellow knows Veracruz, perhaps you'll even meet him; and surely the ‘President’ wouldn't arrest an acquaintance.”

  He would, and frequently had, but Madeleine passed over Preston's naive comment and said, “My father says we've actually been invited to stay with the President while we're there. I haven't yet decided what I'd rather do.” She didn't want to be the guest of a petty tyrant, no matter what his title. On the other hand, she couldn't face ever returning to the Hotel Tigre. There were too many memories there, all of them shameful. Unfortunately, there weren't many other options in Montedora City, particularly in light of the growing violence there.

  Madeleine didn't know what to do. She was usually so decisive and determined. But the anticipation of returning to Montedora, where she had made the biggest mistake of her life, was shredding her characteristic cool competence. Indeed, she hadn't been herself ever since returning from that country six months ago. She hid it well and didn't think anyone had really noticed, but she had become habitually impatient, ill-tempered, depressed, and distracted upon her return. And she only seemed to be getting worse. Sometimes it was such a struggle to continue being the woman she had always been.

  “So have you checked out this security man?” Preston asked.

  “Hmmm? Oh, no. No, I let my father handle that. It was his idea.”

  “But you're leaving the day after tomorrow, darling. Don't you think you should at least interview him? Not that I'm questioning your father's judgement, but surely—”

  “No, you're quite right.” She wished he wouldn't call her “darling.” It irritated her. “I've been too busy to think about it, and the man has very good references. Mr. Ransom is apparently a top level employee of Marino Security International.”

  “Those are good credentials,” Preston agreed. “Nevertheless, it—”

  “I'm scheduled to meet him today, in my father's office.” She had interrupted Preston twice in a row. What had happened to her manners? She glanced at her watch and said, “In fact, I'm meeting him in ten minutes, so I'd better get back to work.”

  Preston's face went very still, as it usually did when he wanted to snap or argue like a less well-bred person. However, he merely nodded and signalled the waiter for the check. Madeleine wondered if he'd had second thoughts about marrying her during the four weeks since he had proposed. She certainly hadn't been pleasant company lately. She didn't even know why she was still “thinking over” his proposal. She should just let him down gently and get it over with. She didn't love him and never would.

  She was only hanging on, she realized guiltily, because her loneliness had intensified so unbearably since her return from Montedora. If she would never love anyone, then why not marry Preston? He was a good man from a respectable family, he cared about her, and their children were likely to be healthy.

  As it always did when she thought about Preston's proposal, Madeleine's mind returned to the haunting memory of that single, mad night in Montedora City. The memory of that night was like a fever dream brought on by the anti-malarial drugs she had to take while in Montedora; crazed, intense, surreal. She couldn't believe she had done what she'd done.

  She'd done it, though. The marks the stranger had left on her skin left no doubt about that. They had taken days to fade.

  But if she remembered the timbre of the stranger's voice as clearly as if she'd just escaped from his room five minutes ago, if she recalled the teasing, slightly crooked smile he gave when he was amused, if she saw his glittering green gaze every time she closed her eyes, if she felt the touch of his hands in her dreams, if her body longed night after night for another taste of him ... Well, it was just an obsession brought about by the irrational fear that she would some day meet him again. That was all. There was nothing more to it. There couldn't be.

  But if it was hard to accept that she had slept—and done a lot more than that—with a perfect stranger, it was nearly impossible to imagine sleeping with Preston. He was a handsome man, well-built and elegant, who kissed and embraced with experienced skill, but Madeleine simply couldn't picture being intimate with him. If she married Preston, she could never behave with him as she had with the stranger.

  And that was just as well, she suddenly realized as she preceded Preston into the lobby of the Barrington Building on Fifth Avenue. She could never look Preston in the eye again if something like that happened between them. It was far too embarrassing. But fortunately, neither she nor Preston was the kind of person who would abandon all dignity and initiate the sordid sort of things that had happened in that hot, shabby room in the Hotel Tigre.

  But I am that kind of person.

  No, no, not at all.

  Yes. I bit and scratched and begged. I wrapped my legs around him and forced him to keep making love to me when he prete
nded he might stop. And later, much later, I followed him to the window and covered him with kisses, and I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. And I loved it! I loved every moment of it. When he pushed me up against the wall, so rough and impatient, I loved it so much I screamed. I didn't care who might hear. And now I want him again. I want him day and night. If he were here right now, I'd devour him, I'd...

  “Oh, my God,” she groaned in horror. Hot shame flooded her veins, but the pooling heat in her loins intensified, mocking her efforts to banish the visions she had just conjured up.

  “Darling, are you all right?” Preston asked quickly.

  “Hmmm? Oh. Yes. Fine, thank you,” she croaked.

  “You look flushed. Do you feel feverish?”

  “No, no, I, uh ... Perhaps my lunch was a little too heavy.”

  “But you barely touched it.”

  “Well ... that's because it was heavy. I'd better go up to my father's office now, Preston. I don't want to keep Mr. Ransom waiting.”

  “I'm coming with you,” Preston said.

  “But—”

  He took her elbow in a firm grip and escorted her onto the elevator that led to her father's private office at the top of the building. “Not only am I worried about your health at the moment, Madeleine, but I also want to meet the man who will be responsible for the safety of my fiancee.”

  “We're not engaged,” she reminded him faintly.

  “No, I know. Sorry. Didn't mean to presume.”

  She barely heard him. She concentrated on trying to banish the memory of the stranger's hands on her body, of the way his smooth, broad back had felt beneath her palms, of the heavy, primitive, soul-deep way he groaned when he climaxed, of the slight, serious frown his handsome face bore when he slept.

  Oh, God, it was appalling to know such intimate things about someone. She hadn't been able to bear the thought of facing him in the morning. What did you say to a man after you'd touched and tasted every square inch of his body and he'd done the same to yours? How could you look a man in the eye after you'd sweated and begged and screamed with passion in his arms? What on earth did you say to someone over breakfast after you'd whispered horribly vulgar things to him all night long?

  She had once worried about him learning her identity and exposing the fact that Madeleine Barrington had had a one-night stand in Montedora. But the things he knew about her after that night went far beyond an embarrassing piece of scandalous gossip. He had discovered facets of her personality that she'd never suspected existed and that she would give anything to forget about.

  Although slipping out of his room before dawn may have been the most cowardly thing she'd ever done in her life, she had simply been incapable of facing him again.

  * * * *

  Ransom paced around the tastefully appointed penthouse office like a wounded tiger. Thackery Makepeace Barrington, an elegant, stiff-necked guy of about sixty, watched him with detached curiosity. Ransom didn't give a damn. He hadn't wanted this job, and he wasn't going to pretend to be happy about it. He felt mean as a hungry bear today—which was how he had felt most days since waking up alone in a hotel room in Montedora City six months ago. And now his boss, Joseph Marino, was sending him back to that hellhole, with all of its memories.

  Barrington glanced at his twelve-thousand dollar watch. “Madeleine is late. This is most unlike her.”

  “I'm not waiting around all day,” Ransom warned.

  “I don't see why not. We're paying for your time,” Barrington said mildly.

  “Rich people are all alike,” Ransom said with open disgust. “Look, man, you don't own me just because you hired me. Got that?”

  “Yes, that's quite clear, Mr. Ransom. However, I don't think asking you to wait for your charge to arrive is unreasonable.”

  Ransom was annoyed. Didn't this guy get offended? Didn't he know when someone was trying to start a fight or get himself fired? He glared directly into Barrington's steel blue eyes. What he saw there made him hesitate. Oh, yes, Barrington knew what Ransom was doing; he just wasn't affected by it. If anything, he was somewhat curious about why a highly recommended specialist was behaving like such a jackass when he was about to be well-paid for an ordinary assignment. Ransom sighed. Barrington was obviously a lot smarter than Doby Dune—which was probably just as well, since Doby Dune was the whole reason Ransom had to leave the country.

  But Montedora? No way. He decided to lay his cards on the table.

  “Look, Mr. Barrington, I just don't think I'm the man to babysit your daughter on her business trip, okay?”

  “Why not?”

  “You know I'm in trouble, don't you?”

  “I know that rock star...”

  “Doby Dune.”

  Barrington's face wrinkled with distaste. “Yes. Quite. I know that he's threatening to file a lawsuit against you and Marino Security. I understand you publicly insulted him, and when he hit you, you hit back.”

  “So, that doesn't make me the kind of guy you want to have looking after your daughter, does it?”

  “I sincerely doubt that Madeleine will draw you into a public shouting match, Mr. Ransom. And I feel quite certain that she will not instigate a round of fisticuffs.” Barrington paused before adding, “And my old friend Joseph Marino also confided that he hopes Mr. Dune can be convinced to forget the whole matter, if you're out of the country for a while.”

  “Out of sight, out of mind,” Ransom said glumly, not really believing it. Doby Dune was a malicious, vindictive sonofabitch, and Ransom doubted that even Joe Marino could calm him down. “Anyhow, the truth is, Mr. Barrington, that whole mess wasn't entirely Dune's fault. I'm a surly, mean-tempered bastard.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Barrington's tone was dry. “However, I trust you, and I'm never wrong. My father may have built this empire, Mr. Ransom, but I've held it together through three decades of political, economic and social crises. I'm a good judge of men, and I judge you to be capable, honest, and intelligent.”

  “Oh.” Ransom sagged into a chair across from Barrington's position behind his desk. However grouchy he had become in recent months, he was capable, honest, and intelligent. “Well.”

  “Besides, I have no doubt that Madeleine can handle a man who is surly and mean-tempered.”

  “Oh?” he said apprehensively. If she was as hard-nosed as Ransom, this would be a hell of a trip.

  “Indeed. I've never known anyone she couldn't handle.”

  “She sounds like a sumo wrestler,” Ransom said sourly.

  “On the contrary. She's a very beautiful woman.” With a subdued expression of fatherly pride, Barrington picked up a framed photograph which sat facing him. “My daughters. Caroline, Charlotte, and Madeleine. Taken last year.”

  Ransom looked at the picture. There was a hippy in her mid-twenties, a plump woman in her late twenties, and a cool, beautiful blond—

  It was her.

  He remembered those golden-lashed, blue eyes looking at him, first with hesitancy, then with passion. He remembered the scent of that flaxen blond hair, the taste of that alabaster skin, the feel of those elegant hands skimming over his back. Her mouth was painted with lipstick in the photograph, but he remembered it soft and sweet against his forehead, hungry and wet against his chest, warm and salty against his lips, hot and shameless as she knelt before him in the dark.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Ransom swallowed. “The ... really blond one,” he forced out. “Madeleine?”

  “Yes.” Barrington was looking at him intently. “You've met before?”

  “We, uh...” His mind was a blank. He didn't know how to respond. After all, he had done things to Barrington's daughter that would make most fathers want to shoot a guy.

  Jesus! The woman in his hotel room had been Madeleine Barrington? Of the Barrington empire? Food products, hotels, land, stocks, and wealth beyond his imagining. There was a Senator Barrington, and there were other relatives in th
e Justice and State Departments. Ransom knew all this because of the background material Joe had given him before sending him on this assignment.

  He didn't understand. How could Madeleine Barrington have been that pensive, lonely woman in the Bar Tigre, who'd had no luggage, no change of clothes, no hotel room, and no name?

  No names, she had said.

  Ransom set down the framed photograph with a thud, ignoring Barrington's gaze. Had she kept her identity a secret because she expected him to blackmail her after they'd had sex? Is that why she had disappeared? Is that what she really thought of him, after what they had shared?

  The meanness he had felt for the past six months was nothing compared to the fury that flooded him now. Did she think that because she was a Barrington she could simply pick him up to play with, then drop him again without a thought?

  “Mr. Ransom, I sense a certain air of disquiet about you.”

  “I'm pissed off,” Ransom snapped.

  “May I ask why?”

  “Ask all you like. You won't get an answer.” This was between him and Madeleine.

  “I see.” Barrington glanced at the photo. “Are you going to quit this assignment?”

  “Quit? Hell, no. I'm in for the whole ride, pal.”

  There was no way in hell he'd let her go back to Montedora without him. He scarcely even understood the resolution that flooded him.

  And he'd show that self-centered society bitch a thing or two about integrity. He wouldn't let his personal feelings enter into it for one minute. He'd take her to Montedora and make sure that her hair didn't even get ruffled. Let her remember that the next time she thought she was too good to tell her name to a guy after she'd fucked him.

  “Mr. Ransom, while I don't wish to intrude on your privacy, I would like your assurance—”

  “You've got it. I'm a professional. She'll be safe with me.”

  “May I have your solemn word on that?” Barrington held out his hand.