“You should come in to bed, Kathleen. The plane leaves early in the morning.”
“In a little while, Martha.”
Soft breezes blew against her face, bringing with them the fragrance of exotic flowers and the sound of nocturnal birds. Kathleen leaned against the balcony railing and inhaled deeply. She couldn’t bear to sleep away her last few hours in Africa. In her emotionally charged state, it seemed to her that as long as she could hear the sounds and smell the fragrances that were unique to the dark continent, she would be close to Hunter.
“You and Jake go inside and get your beauty sleep. I’ll be right there.”
“I’ll go in, but I don’t like it. I promised Hunter I’d take care of you.”
“You’ve already fulfilled that promise. You drove like a snail coming to the hotel. Tomorrow we’re going to start anew. We’re going to race to the airport like carefree sports setting out on a wonderful holiday.”
Martha laughed, which was exactly what Kathleen had intended. As the French doors closed behind her Kathleen wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shivers.
Something was wrong. She could feel it.
The sense of foreboding pressed at her until she had to catch the railing to keep from swooning.
“Just fatigue,” she whispered, but in her heart she knew better.
If you leave, you’ll never see him again.
The thought came unbidden, borne to her on the night breezes. She sank to her knees and pressed her face against the cool wrought iron. Was she buying her independence at too high a price? Suddenly all the lonely years without Hunter came back to her, the desperate longing, the secret reading of his letters, the emptiness.
“What am I doing here?” she whispered.
Hunter needed her and she needed him. She had let her own fierce pride tear them apart.
In the dark there was the soft whirring of wings as a night bird lifted toward the stars. Somewhere a tomcat called out for his mate. Sounds of late-night traffic drifted up from the streets below.
She didn’t know how long she stayed where she was with the cool railings against her skin. Hunter filled her, body and soul. It was almost as if he were there beside her, calling her name. “I’m coming,” she whispered. The sense of urgency was so strong that she would have gone to him then if it hadn’t meant waking Martha.
Tomorrow would have to be soon enough. “Hang on, my love....”
o0o
He waited in the dark.
The old woman and the dog would be out for a while. He’d used powerful tranquilizers.
He glanced toward the balcony. The woman knelt there like some fanatical moon worshiper. What in the hell was taking her so long?
Suddenly the French doors opened and she came into the room. He shrank against the wall and watched her grope her way to the bathroom. Midway there she stopped.
“Is anyone here?” she said.
He hadn’t made a sound. What was she? Clairvoyant?
He squinted, trying to see in the pale moonlight that filtered through the French doors. The woman started up again, her foot barely missing the dog stretched out by the armchair.
He held his breath. It was important that she not scream. He’d caught the others unaware. After he got the dog, the fat old lady had been no problem at all. When he stuck the needle in her, she’d rolled over on her back like a hippopotamus wallowing in the mud.
The dog hadn’t gone down as easily as he thought. He should have used a stronger dose. That mistake could have been fatal.
The bathroom door closed behind her and he heard the sound of running water. She might be in there awhile. Women were like that. He settled back to wait. He had all night.
o0o
Kathleen was calling his name.
Hunter jerked awake expecting to see her standing beside his bed with her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders. Instead he saw the eternal blackness of the jungle and the glow of his campfire.
The sound of her voice whispered through him once more, and he saw her, standing on the other side of the campfire wearing white.
“Kathleen?”
Impossible. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. When he looked, the vision had disappeared. In his need, he’d conjured her up, just as he had that first night in Jefferson Parish.
An overwhelming sense of loss crept over him, and with it a nameless fear.
He started to pack up camp, get in his plane and go straight home. He was halfway out of his sleeping bag before reason restored itself. His overprotective instincts were what had gotten him in trouble in the first place.
He had to learn to give Kathleen the independence she needed. He settled back into his sleeping bag. There was nothing to do but wait.
o0o
There was a muffled sound, a heavy footstep falling on thick carpet, and the sense of an overpowering presence. Awakened from a sound and dreamless sleep, Kathleen lay perfectly still, listening.
“Martha?” she said softly.
The silence was dark, brooding, oppressive. Suddenly Kathleen knew she was not alone. Someone was in the room with her, someone who smelled of stale liquor and rank clothing... someone who would never have gotten past the door if Jake were all right.
It would be useless to call for her dog. Kathleen tried to control her terror.
And what of Martha? Was she sleeping or had the intruder done something with her?
Kathleen’s terror turned to rage. Did they think she was helpless because she was blind?
After they had checked in, Martha had taken her on a guided tour of the room. If she remembered correctly, the phone was on a table beside the windows. It would be useless to her.
She eased her hand toward the bedside table. Her fingers touched the base of the lamp. One good jerk should pull the plug loose from the wall.
She closed her hand around it and waited.
The smells became stronger as the intruder closed in. Her muscles tightened in readiness. Her weapon wasn’t much and she wasn’t strong, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
He was close now, so close she could hear his breathing. How close would that be? Close enough to swing the lamp and hit her target?
She tried to focus all her senses. Did he have a gun? A knife? Should she scream first and then swing? If she screamed now, would anyone come? Would he kill her?
The smell of stale liquor almost overpowered her. Biting her lip to stop herself from trembling, she tightened her grip on the lamp.
Her mind was filled with silent screams.
Hunter. Hunter.
o0o
Rick found Martha huddled in a chair in the hotel room crying. When she saw him, she burst into a fresh gale of weeping.
The dog was stretched on the carpet at her feet.
“She’s gone,” Martha wailed.
“What happened?”
He tried to remain calm and seem very much in charge. The truth of the matter was that he was quaking in his boots. Broken glass was scattered on the carpet, and the lamp lay beside the bed with its base dented and its shade smashed.
“I don’t know,” Martha said. “When I came out of the bathroom to go to bed, she was on the balcony and Jake was on the floor. Poor Jake.” She swabbed her dripping eyes and nose and tried to regain her composure.
“He’s breathing.” He knelt and inspected the dog. “He’s heavily tranquilized, but he’ll be all right.... You’ve called the police?”
“Yes.” Martha surveyed the wreckage of the room, then pressed her soggy handkerchief to her mouth as the hysteria threatened once more. “What are we going to do?”
“The first thing I’m going to do is put a team of private investigators onto the case. The next thing I’ll do is try to find Hunter.”
Being careful to touch nothing, he walked to the bed. There was blood on the sheets.
“Hunter will kill the man who did this to her.”