Authors: Perfect
"He said something about wanting to enroll his son in your handicapped physical ed classes. I told him we're full."
"Why in heaven's name did you tell him that?"
"Because I heard Mr. Duncan say something about us being overcrowded. Anyway, Mr. Stanhope said
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it was something of an emergency and that he'd call you back at seven tonight. I told him it was no use because our teachers don't work here that late."
In a flash, Julie realized Zack was wary of calling her at home in case her phone was tapped, that he hadn't gotten through to her when he tried here, and that he might not try again, and it was all she could do to keep her frustration and temper from lashing out at the principal's lazy, nosy secretary. "If he said it
was an emergency," Julie shot back with unprecedented fury, "why didn't you me in my classroom?"
"Teachers are not supposed to take personal calls during school hours. That is Mr. Duncan's rule. His very specific rule."
"It was clearly not a personal call," Julie said, her nails biting into her palms. "Did he say whether he intended to call me here or at home tonight?"
"No."
At six forty-five, Julie was sitting alone in the school's administration office, staring at the telephone on
the desk where the main line would light up if a call came through. If she'd guessed wrong, if Zack was going to phone her at home tonight instead of here, she was terrified he might think she'd changed her mind about joining him and then he wouldn't call back. Beyond the glass walls that surrounded the administration office, the halls were dark and eerie, and when the janitor poked his head in the door, she jumped guiltily. "You're workin' awful late tonight,"
Henry Rueheart said with a grin that displayed a missing front tooth.
"Yes," Julie said, hastily pulling a blank tablet in front of her and picking up a pen. "I have some …
some
special reports to write. Sometimes it's easier to think here than it is at home."
"You ain't doin' much writing, gazin' off into space like you've been," he said. "I thought mebbee you was
waiting for a phone call or somethin'."
"No, not at all—"
The phone rang shrilly at her elbow, and she grabbed for it, jabbing the button that lit up. "Hello?"
"Hi, sis," Carl said. "I kept calling you at home and decided to take a shot you were still at school when I couldn't reach you anywhere else. Have you had dinner yet?"
Julie raked her hand through her hair, trying to remember if Zack would get a busy signal or if the lines
transferred automatically. "I have a lot of work to finish," she said, tossing a harassed look at Henry, who'd decided to shuffle into the office and empty trash cans instead of finishing sweeping the halls.
"I'm
trying to write some reports, and I'm not making much progress."
"Is everything okay?" he persisted. "I saw Katherine in town a few minutes ago, and she said you've wanted to stay home alone every night this week."
"Everything is great! Terrific! I'm throwing myself into my work just like you advised me to, remember?"
"No, I don't."
"Oh, well it must have been someone else then. I thought it was you. I have to hang up now. Thanks for
calling. Love you," she said and hung up the phone.
"Henry," she burst out in distraction, "can't you leave
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cleaning the office for last? I can't think straight if you're going to bang trash cans around," she added somewhat unfairly, describing the minor noise he was making.
His face fell. "I'm sorry, Miss Julie. I'll just finish sweeping the hall then. Is that okay?"
"Yes it is. I'm sorry, Henry. I'm a little … tired," she finished with an overbright smile that looked anything but sleepy. She watched him shuffle off down the hall and saw the lights at the far end of it come
on. She had to stay calm, she warned herself fiercely, and not do or say things that were unusual for her and that might evoke suspicion.
At exactly seven o'clock the phone rang again, and she snatched it out of the cradle and answered it.
Zack's voice sounded even deeper on the telephone, but it was cold, curt, and clipped: "Are you alone, Julie?"
"Yes."
"Is there anything in this world I can say to dissuade you from your insane idea of joining me?"
It wasn't what she wanted to hear, it wasn't the way she wanted him to talk to her, but she concentrated on the words he'd written in his letter, refusing to let him trick or intimidate her with his voice. "Yes, there
is," she replied softly. "You can tell me that the things you wrote in your letter were lies."
"Fine," he said. "They were all lies."
Julie squeezed the phone in her hand and closed her eyes. "Now, tell me that you don't love me, darling."
She heard him draw a ragged breath, and his voice dropped to a tortured plea. "Don't make me say that. Please."
"I love you so much," Julie whispered fiercely.
"Don't do this to me, Julie—"
Her fingers loosened on the phone and she smiled because she suddenly sensed that she was going to win. "I can't stop," she said tenderly. "I can't stop loving you. There's only one solution I'm willing to accept, and I gave it to you."
"Christ, that's not—"
"Save your prayers for later, darling," she whispered teasingly. "You're going to wear your knees out when I get there as it is, praying I learn how to cook better, praying I let you get some sleep at night for a change, praying I stop giving you babies…"
"Oh, Julie … don't. God, don't."
"Don't what?"
He drew in a long, labored breath and was quiet for so long that she thought he wasn't going to reply, and when he finally answered, the words sounded as if they were being wrenched from his chest. "Don't
…
ever
stop loving me."
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"I'll promise not to in front of a priest, a preacher, or a Buddhist monk."
That wrung a reluctant laugh from him, and the memory of his dazzling smile made her heart soar as he
said, "Are we talking about marriage here?"
"I am."
"I should have expected you'd insist on that, too."
His attempt to sound disgruntled failed completely, but Julie went along with the game, eager to lighten his mood. "Don't you want to marry me?"
He declared the game over with one solemn word:
"Desperately."
"In that case, tell me how to get to you and what ring size you wear."
There was another torturous pause that strung her nerves to the breaking point, and then he began speaking, and she forgot everything but his words and the incredible feeling of elation sweeping through
her as he spoke. "All right. I'll meet you in Mexico City at the airport eight days from now, on Tuesday night. Early Tuesday morning, get into your car and drive to Dallas. In Dallas, rent a car in your own name and drive it to San Antonio, but don't turn it in.
Leave it in the rental car lot at the airport, they'll find it eventually. With luck, the authorities will think you're driving somewhere to meet me instead of flying
and they won't alert the airports as quickly.
Altogether, the highway traveling should only take you a few
hours. A plane ticket for the four o'clock flight to Mexico City will be waiting for you at the Aero-Mexico
ticket counter in the name of Susan Arland. Any questions so far?"
Julie smiled at the realization that he'd expected the call to end like this when he made it, because he'd obviously researched all the logistics already. "One question. Why can't I meet you sooner?"
"Because I have some details to finalize first." Julie accepted that, and he continued, "When you leave your house Tuesday morning, don't take anything with you. Don't pack a suitcase, don't do anything to give anyone the idea that you're leaving. Keep your eye in the rearview mirror and make sure you aren't followed. If you're being followed, do some errand or other, then go back home and wait to hear from me again. Between now and then, watch your mailbox closely. Open everything, even
advertisements. If
there are any changes in the arrangements, someone will contact you either that way or in person. We can't use your phone at home, because I'd bet my life there's a tap on it."
"Who will contact me?"
"I don't have the vaguest idea, and when he does, don't ask for identification."
"Okay," Julie said as she finished writing down his instructions. "I don't think I'm being watched. Paul Richardson and David Ingram—the two FBI agents who were here—gave up and went back to Dallas last week."
"How are you feeling?"
"Wonderful."
"No morning sickness or anything?"
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Her conscience jabbed at her, but she tried to soothe it by not actually lying to him. "I'm a very healthy female. I think my body was made for motherhood.
And it was definitely made for you."
He swallowed audibly at the sexual reference.
"Tease me now, and you'll pay later."
"Promise?"
He laughed then, a throaty laugh that warmed her, but not as much as his husky words. "I miss you.
God, I miss you." As if he were afraid to let either of them relax too much, he said, "You realize that you won't be able to say good-bye to your family? You can leave them a letter somewhere where they won't find it until several days after you've gone. After that, you'll never be able to contact them again."
She squeezed her eyes closed. "I know."
"And you're prepared to do that?"
"Yes."
"That's a hell of a way to start a life together," he said tautly, "tearing your family apart and severing all
their connections to you. It's like inviting a curse."
"Don't say things like that!" Julie said, suppressing a shiver. "I'll make them understand in my letter when I tell them good-bye. Besides, leaving them to go with you is practically—biblical!" To distract both of them from the grim mood stealing over the conversation, she said, "What are you doing now?
Are you
standing or sitting?"
"I'm in a hotel room, sitting on a bed, talking to you."
"Are you staying in the hotel?"
"No. I got the room so I could use the phone in privacy and get a decent connection to the States."
"I want to go to sleep tonight, seeing what you'll be seeing when you lie in bed. Describe your bedroom to me and I'll tell you what mine looks like, so you'll know."
"Julie," he said gruffly, "are you trying to drive me to new heights of frustrated sexual desire?"
She hadn't any such intention, but the notion was gratifying. "Can I do that?"
"You know you can."
"Just by talking to you about bedrooms?"
"Just by talking to me about anything."
She laughed then, as easily and as naturally as she'd been able to laugh with him from the beginning.
"What size is it?" he asked with a smile in his voice.
"My bedroom?"
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"Your ring finger."
She drew in a shaky breath. "Five and a half, I think.
What size is yours?"
"I don't know. Large, I guess."
"And what color is it?"
"My finger?"
"No," she said with a chuckle, "your
bedroom."
"Smart ass!" he chided, but he answered and his voice got deep. "It's on a boat right now—teak walls, a
brass lamp, a small dresser, and a picture of you I cut out from a newspaper hanging on the wall."
"Is that what you see when you fall asleep?"
"I don't sleep, Julie. I just think of you. Do you like boats?"
Julie drew in another shattered breath, trying to memorize each tender thing he said. "I love boats."
"What's your bedroom like?"
"Frilly. White ruffles on the bedspread and canopy and dressing table across the room. A picture of you on my night stand."
"Where did you get it?"
"From an old magazine at the library."
"You swiped a magazine from the library and cut a picture of me out of it?" he said, trying to sound shocked.
"Certainly not. I have scruples, you know. I explained I'd damaged it beyond repair and I paid the fine.
Zack—" she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, "the janitor is hanging around outside the glass wall. I don't think he can hear me, but he doesn't normally just loiter around like this."
"I'm going to hang up. Keep talking into the phone after I do. Try to mislead him with an innocuous conversation if you can."
"All right. Wait, he's walking away. He must have needed something from the cart."
"We'd better hang up anyway. If there's anything you need to take care of before you leave, do it in the next week."
She nodded, speechless with regret at the thought of letting him go.
"There's one more thing I need to say to you," he added quietly.
"What is it?"
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"I meant every word I wrote in that letter."
"I know you did." She sensed he wanted to hang up, and she added quickly, "Before you go, what do you think of what Matt found out about Tony Austin? Even though Matt doesn't think there's anything we
can do legally, there has to be some—"
"Stay out of that," Zack warned her, his voice turning icy. "And leave Austin to me. There are other ways to handle him without involving Matt."
"What sort of ways?"
"Don't ask. If you have problems with any of the arrangements I'm making for you, don't look to Matt for help. What we're doing is illegal and I can't let him get involved beyond what he's already done."
Julie suppressed a shiver at his ominous tone. "Say something sweet before you hang up."
"Something sweet," he repeated, his voice softening.
"What did you have in mind?"
She was a little hurt when he seemed unable to think of something, and then he said with a smile in his husky voice, "I am going to bed in exactly three hours. Be there with me. And when you close your eyes,
my arms will be around you."
Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. "I love that."