Gentle Pirate (12 page)

"Hello, you two. Enjoying yourselves?" Roger greeted Liz and Simon heartily while Kirsten stood stiffly at his side, wishing they had never walked into the River Inn lounge. Damn small towns, anyhow! The meeting didn't seem to faze Roger in the least, his savoir faire rising easily to meet the occasion. But she sensed a tension in him that surprised her.

From the depths of his chair Simon met her eyes, humor edging his mouth. "Good evening, Kirsten. Having fun on your little fling?" His gaze dropped pointedly to the rather daring neckline of the red dress and then returned to her flushed face.

"Yes, thank you," she muttered in a strained tone. What a mess she had gotten herself into! Why hadn't she stayed home tonight and read the latest issue of the tropical fish quarterly that had arrived that day? What was Simon doing with Liz Wilford? Couldn't he see she was only interested in him because of his position with Silco? Perhaps this was why Roger had invited her out tonight. Liz had thrown him over in favor of Simon Kendrick. Well, Kirsten admitted ruefully, it was only what she deserved. After all, hadn't she finally acknowledged the fact that she was using Roger in a way?

"I'm glad the evening is turning out to be a pleasant one," Simon was saying cheerfully. "Remember that when it comes time to pay for it…"

"What are you talking about, darling?" Liz crooned, her long-nailed fingers settling on Simon's arm with the same possessiveness they had once rested on Roger's. It didn't appear to bother Townsend.

"Nothing, Liz. A private joke between Kirsten and myself. Shall we dance?" Simon rose to his feet and the woman obediently got to hers. Just before he turned to follow his partner out onto the floor, Simon glanced at Roger, who seemed to flinch slightly.

"Keep in mind our little conversation this afternoon, Roger. I wouldn't want your career at Silco to suffer needlessly." With a casual nod at a stunned Kirsten, he disappeared into the crowd on the dance floor.

"What," breathed Kirsten with a sickening feeling, "was that all about?"

"Your friend Kendrick," Roger growled, "has no compunction about using his position at the company to get what he wants." His hard eyes never left the milling crowd of dancers.

"Did he threaten you, Roger?" Kirsten gulped.

"You could say that," he agreed, turning to meet her anxious eyes. Then he smiled. "Don't worry about it, Kirsten. I'll be all right. Come on now and let's enjoy what's left of the evening, shall we?" He seemed willing to put the incident behind him, but Kirsten was having none of it.

"But, Roger, what did Simon do? What did he say?" she pushed.

Townsend shrugged and, taking her arm, led her toward the exit. "Only that I was to keep my hands off you tonight."

"But he has no right to tell you what to do with your private life!"

"I know, Kirsten. But when a man like that holds power, he tends to use it for his own ends."

Silently, Kirsten followed her escort out to the car. A man like that, she thought. Was Simon capable of threatening another man over a woman? She knew the answer to that. Yes. A hundred times, yes! She shivered, wondering what to do now.

"I suppose you'd better take me home, Roger," she said in a low voice.

"I will, Kirsten. My home." She didn't like the note of resolution that had entered the man's voice. Roger sounded almost reckless.

"Please, Roger. I don't want to get you into trouble. Simon might do something drastic!" And I don't really want to go home with you, anyway, she added to herself. Ben Williamson had been easy enough to fend off when it came to good-night kisses. She sensed Roger Townsend might be a different proposition.

"Let me worry about Simon!"

"I would prefer to be taken back to my apartment, Roger. I've had a lovely evening. Let's not spoil it by quarreling now," she said more firmly.

"I'll show that bastard!" Roger whispered half under his breath.

"Roger!"

"Don't worry, Kirsten. I promise you I'm going to be a lot better in bed than that arrogant, overconfident…"

"Roger! Take me home. At once!" How much had the man had to drink tonight? Kirsten tried to count the cocktails he had ordered at the various places they had visited and came to the conclusion he was probably more than legally drunk. Dutch courage? Did he hate Simon so much he deliberately wanted to defy the man? Was that why he had dated her? Because he thought it would annoy Simon? Or was it the fact that Liz Wilford had shown a distinct preference for the other man? At the moment Kirsten didn't know or care. She wanted to go home.

"We'll stop at my place for a nightcap. Just what you need to put you in the proper mood," Roger told her, pronouncing his words with exaggerated care.

"Mood for what?" she asked, thoroughly irritated. When would Simon get home? Would he be alone?

"Come off it, Kirsten! You're not a little girl anymore, for God's sake! Be good to me and I'll take care of you later!"

"What in the world are you talking about?" she blazed.

"Simple. We'll enjoy ourselves tonight. No need to tell Kendrick, right? What he doesn't know won't hurt me!" Roger chuckled at his own humor. "You can keep seeing him and when you pick up interesting items, you can pass them along to me. He won't be around forever, you know. When he's gone we'll be able to be more open about our little relationship and I'll see you keep your good job at Silco. I'm not without a bit of power myself, you see," he told her, wagging a finger admonishingly in her direction.

"You've had too much to drink, Roger. Either take me home at once or let me out of the car," she said in a furious, almost savage tone of voice.

"That red dress does things for a woman like you. Yeah, I owe Kendrick something for pointing you out to me…" He took one hand off the wheel and reached out to touch her.

"Keep your hands off me!"

Roger's handsome features suddenly took on a vicious cast, which put Kirsten more forcibly in mind of Jim Talbot than Simon had ever done. She didn't stop to think. She wanted out of that car!

"Come back here, you bitch!" he screamed as she threw open the door while the big car slowed for a stop sign.

Kirsten didn't bother to answer, she was too intent on getting safely out of the vehicle with her small bag. The light wrap stayed behind. She was going to miss it if she didn't get indoors in a hurry. But not for the world was she getting back in that Cadillac. Anger and fear made her exit a speedy one. Quickly she started down the street in the opposite direction, reasoning that he wouldn't be able to back up the car and come after her. The traffic was light but sufficient to prevent that sort of maneuver. She needn't have worried; with a screech of rubber her erstwhile date shot away in the night, leaving her alone to try and find a phone booth. A post-winter chill hovered close and Kirsten began walking briskly, her delicate, strapped evening sandals tapping the sidewalk in an impatient staccato.

She discovered a phone one block farther down the street at a service station that was closed for the night. Stepping inside the booth, she closed the door, thus activating the light, and started digging through her purse for change. She was in the process of dropping the money in the slot when she first noticed the dark blue car. At least, it appeared blue. But in the poor light it was difficult to tell. In any event she didn't pay it too much attention, intent on dialing the local cab company. When the dispatcher finally came on the line she learned she was going to have to wait almost forty-five minutes for a cab.

Sighing, Kirsten told the unsympathetic woman on the other end of the line to forget it. She couldn't last that long in the cold night air. Mentally she ran through the list of people she knew who might be home on Friday night and who would be willing to come and fetch her. She tried two women from work, but neither answered. Finally, growing desperate, Kirsten dialed the operator and asked for Simon's new number. In his usual efficient manner he'd had the phone company install a telephone on the previous Monday. In a town of such rapid growth that had been a feat. Probably knew an ex-Marine buddy working at the phone company, Kirsten thought as she listened to the first ring.

There wasn't much chance she'd find him at home. After all, he had still been on the dance floor when Kirsten had last seen Simon. Perhaps he had taken Liz back to his apartment. Or back to hers. The lifting of the receiver on the other end put a stop to her speculations.

"Simon? It's Kirsten…"

"Where the hell are you?" he fairly exploded over the line, his voice so loud she had to hold the phone away from her ear. "You should damn well be home by now. It's after one o'clock!"

"Not everyone considers one o'clock all that late," she shot back, so annoyed she almost forgot why she had called. When she did remember, it struck her that the situation could be rather embarrassing. But freezing to death or having to summon the police for an escort home would be more so!

"For you it is! Especially when you're on a date with Townsend. Now, where are you?"

"Strangely enough, that's what I'm trying to explain! If you'll hush a minute I'll tell you all about it!"

"I'm listening," he informed her grimly.

Kirsten drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "Roger and I had a slight disagreement…" She paused as Simon swore not quite silently. But he managed to restrain himself from further commentary and she continued rapidly, wanting to get the whole thing over. "I hopped out of the car at a stop sign and the cab company says it's going to be forty minutes or so before they can pick me up. That's probably an optimistic estimate, knowing how overworked they are. Anyhow, I was sort of wondering if you…"

"Where are you, Kirsten?" he interrupted tersely.

She rattled off the address, turning around in the booth to read the street sign. As she did she saw the blue car again. It was parked on a side street and probably had every reason in the world to be there, but it was late at night and she was alone on the street corner and it made her nervous.

"Simon, I'm not going to hang around this booth. There's a car parked down the street and I think there's someone in it. I'm going to wait on the other side of the gas station. I'll watch for the Mercedes." Without giving him a chance to respond, she hung up the telephone, collected her purse, and stepped out of the booth.

She wasn't all that far from her apartment, Kirsten reflected. Simon should be able to reach her in a few minutes. She knew he'd come immediately. With another glance at the blue car she hurried into the shadows of the opposite side of the station.

She had barely stepped around the corner when she heard a car's engine switched on. Knowing instinctively it was the blue car's, a small shiver coursed down Kirsten's spine. A shiver not induced by the cold. Worriedly she cast a quick glance up and down the street but nothing looked inviting. It was a commercial section of town with no friendly houses to try. Everything was closed for the night. The penalty of living in small towns!

She circled the gas station, keeping the building between her and the blue car, which could be heard making a sweep down the street. Tensely she waited for the engine noise to disappear in the distance but it didn't. Instead, the driver seemed to come to a stop, make a U-turn, and start back in her direction. Kirsten knew how frightened she was now by the fact that the cold no longer seemed very important. When would Simon get here?

She was standing at a window on the side of the station and took a close look at it. Maybe the place had a burglar alarm she could trigger by breaking the window. The noise would serve to draw the police and perhaps scare off the blue car. thoughfully she leaned over to select a rock suitable for hurling through windows, noticing the snags in her dress as she did so. So much for the lovely red vamp gown, Kirsten groaned, as her fingers closed over a nice-sized rock. She was working up her nerve to destroy private property when the sound of another engine, the engine of a car moving at very high speed, stayed her hand. On the chance that it was Simon, Kirsten picked up her skirt and hurried around the corner of the building. Across the drive-through gas lanes she spotted the Mercedes slamming to a stop, and she started running.

Never had the sight of a very large person looked so reassuring. Her fears dropping away in an instant, Kirsten ignored the quietly disappearing blue car. Simon was out of the Mercedes and moving toward her, light glancing from the steel on his left arm. She didn't hesitate. Kirsten hurled herself against him from two feet away, secure in the knowledge that his rocklike strength could absorb the impact easily. His right arm closed around her immediately, crushing her face against the rough warmth of his jacket. She was lifted off her feet without a word, carried swiftly to the comfort of the car, and tossed lightly onto the leather seat.

"Where's the car, Kirsten?" he demanded, briskly chafing her cold arms with his hand.

"I heard it leave as you pulled up," she answered quickly, uncaring now that all danger was past. "Just some rough type out cruising on a Friday night who happened to run into a lone female. Nothing happened, Simon, I'm fine, honest!" It was true. She had been fine since the moment she had reached the shelter of his arms. The realization came unheralded into her mind and it shook her.

"Oh, Simon…" she began wonderingly, trying to read his expression, which was so well hidden in the darkness of the car.

"Don't 'oh, Simon' me, Kirsten Mallory," he snapped in a tone of voice he'd never used with her until now. "I've been through hell tonight and I'm not in the mood for any more games! In fact, as I think I once explained to you, I'm much too old for games, period! Tonight we put an end to them!"

The drive back to the apartment was accomplished in silence. Simon's harsh reaction to the evening's events had immediately destroyed Kirsten's impulse to confess the change in her feelings toward him. As she sat huddled in the far corner of the Mercedes she told herself she was glad he'd interrupted her before she had said something she might have regretted. She wanted to tell him now that he had no business acting as if she were a schoolgirl who had overstayed curfew but couldn't work up the courage to confront him. She sneaked a glance at his hard profile and swallowed her words. But nowhere in all the discomfort she felt was there any sensation of genuine fear such as she had known with Jim Talbot. She was musing on that point when Simon swung the heavy car into the apartment parking lot and stopped the engine with a swift movement.