“Are we?” Sabrina asked rather gently.
“Oh, yes. No doubt about it. I haven’t had this much to celebrate in a long time.” For a moment his eyes held hers across the patio, and then he turned to his son. “Come on, Brad. You get the potato chips. I’ll take care of the drinks.”
“Right, Dad.”
Thoughtfully Sabrina watched the boy dash into the apartment to carry out his father’s orders. “It looks like the two of you have found something in common,” she said softly as the screen door slammed.
Matt closed the knife tray. “I’m working on it.”
It was several hours later that Sabrina finally wandered into her bedroom and opened the closet door to find her robe. The first thing she saw was a neat, professionally pressed khaki shirt hanging where her robe usually hung. Below it was a pair of low boots, polished to a dull glow. To one side hung a pair of slacks that had been creased to perfection.
She was still staring into her closet when the bedroom door opened behind her.
“Since you’ve decided you didn’t hate yourself in the morning,” Matt said deliberately as he shut the door and stood watching her, “I saw no reason not to put my things in here instead of in Brad’s room.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll start throwing knives at you again?” she asked with a small smile.
“I’ll risk it.”
“Brave man.”
He shook his head. “No, just one with a lot at stake.” He came toward her slowly, the hunger plain in his eyes.
If the need in him had been simply for sex, Sabrina thought, she could have resisted. If the need in herself had been simply for sex, she could have resisted. But there was more, much more, that this man needed and wanted from her. And a growing amount she needed and wanted from him.
So she smiled and went into his arms.
It occurred to Matt as he carefully set the dials on Sabrina’s washing machine that what he was really cut out for in life was to be a househusband. Maybe he ought to pursue the career with gusto. He could sign up to sell Mary Kay Cosmetics door to door and start dressing in plastic wrap to greet Sabrina in the evenings.
Sabrina might like that. She had a connoisseur’s appreciation for true tackiness.
Opting for warm wash and cold rinse, Matt stepped back and let the machine go into action. He’d selected the longest wash cycle on the theory that Brad’s socks would need it. Things were improving now that Matt had taken him shopping in the mall where Sabrina had her store. At least the kid had enough pairs of socks to last for a week. But Brad’s chief fashion interest still centered on garments spattered with the colors of alien landscapes. Landscapes that held the promise of violence and death.
It was natural for young boys to be interested in a fantasy world of action and adventure, Matt reminded himself. He glanced out the window and saw Brad poised on the diving board of the pool that occupied the center of the apartment-complex grounds. The kid was still lanky and a little uncoordinated at times, but soon he would start filling out. There was a promise of strength in him, Matt thought with a sense of satisfaction. And the boy had a natural feel for handling a knife.
Sabrina had made it clear she wasn’t at all sure it was proper to be teaching Brad such potentially lethal skills. But since that afternoon a few weeks ago when she’d stepped out onto the patio and almost become a target, she hadn’t said anything more in front of Brad. Matt appreciated that. She seemed to understand that the knives were the first common ground of interest he had established with his son.
“I suppose you’re lucky,” she’d observed last night in bed. “You could have found him wearing a punk rock hairstyle and a safety pin through his nose.”
“Or found him tending toward your friend Alex’s persuasion,” Matt had agreed as he slid into bed beside her. He was pleasantly aware of just how comfortable it was to climb into bed beside Sabrina.
“There is nothing wrong with Alex’s sexual preferences,” she’d replied with a sniff. “And a lot to be said for his other interests in life.”
Matt had levered himself up on one elbow, smiling down at her as he began to coax her nipple out of its burrow with his free hand. He was getting addicted to the way her body responded to his touch. “What other interests?”
“Well, for one thing he doesn’t throw knives or play with guns. He prefers gallery openings and the ballet. He appreciates fine wine and French cooking. And I find his fashion advice invaluable.”
“I’ll bet.”
“It’s true!”
“Leather jeans and rhinestone cowboy shirts? That’s fashion?” Matt had grinned complacently. Sabrina’s nipple was taut now under the fine material of her nightgown. He went to work on the peak of her other breast, savoring the satisfaction he derived from arousing her.
“He only wears those things to the shop. It’s a joke between us to dress as tacky as the tourists expect,” she’d insisted.
“Okay, okay, I’m not arguing with you about Alex,” Matt had soothed, bending his head to brush his mouth along the base of her throat. As soon as he’d realized that Alex had presented no competition for Sabrina, he’d dismissed the other man from his mind. “I’m sure he’s a great guy.”
“The best. Alex and I have a lot in common, you know.”
Matt had slid her an interested sidelong glance. “You do?” he’d inquired politely.
“
Ummm
. He’s fated to become the uncle who’s a tad ‘different’ and I’m fated to become the aunt who’s eccentric.”
“Let’s talk about something else besides Alex,” Matt had ordered, losing interest in the conversation in direct ratio to his own increasing arousal.
Sabrina had sighed and reached out to twine her arms around his neck. Just before his mouth had closed over hers, however, she’d asked, “Know what I like best about Alex?”
“What?”
“He’s the only man I’ve ever met who doesn’t try to give me orders.”
Matt had canceled the rest of the remarks about Alex by crushing Sabrina firmly back into the pillows.
Remembering the scene in her bedroom now as he finished setting the dials on the washing machine, Matt smiled with a touch of complacency. He’d felt good these past few days. Better than he had in a long while. He realized he was beginning to feel focused again. Once upon a time his career had provided that point of reference, but now it was becoming clear that other factors worked just as well. Maybe even better, he thought wryly as he opened a cupboard door to check on cereal supplies. Brad ate a ton of dried cereal in the mornings and Sabrina was turning out to be rather haphazard about such matters as organized marketing. Matt made a note to add cereal and milk to the shopping list.
Getting the household organized had occupied him fairly well for the past few weeks, but now that a routine had been established, Matt knew he was going to have to face the one big, unsettled area of his changing life.
He was going to have to find a job.
There was a monthly income from the bookshop, of course, but while it was sufficient to maintain himself in Mexico, things were different in Dallas. Matt had realized that with a shock when he’d paid the motel bill and bought a few groceries. And now he had to maintain not only himself but Brad. In addition, it was of paramount importance that he be able to at least match Sabrina’s income. The very last thing he could allow was that she foot more than her share of the bills.
He’d never actually lived with a woman other than Ginny, Matt realized. None of the few, fleeting affairs in which he’d been involved had ever gotten to that stage. Living with Ginny had been so goddamned difficult he hadn’t wanted to try it with anyone else.
But things were different now. Life was different. His whole world was different. The only thing that wasn’t different was the need for money. Matt opened the refrigerator and got out a beer. Then he wandered out onto the patio and flopped down into a lounger to consider his future prospects for a career.
Bleak was the first word that came to mind. There was always the possibility of working in a bookstore, he supposed. But there was no way a clerical job such as that would let him hold his own with Sabrina’s apparently healthy income. Perhaps the answer was to open his own bookstore, he mused.
That last prospect would take capital. He could raise some from the sale of the shop in Mexico, but it could be months before he found a buyer. If he did get a new store established here in Dallas he was fairly certain he could make a go of it, because he’d learned one vital lesson about the book business down in Mexico. You gave the customers what they wanted, not what they had been told they should buy. Matt had no philosophical qualms about stocking a bookstore with sleazy men’s adventure fiction, slushy romances, and novels about neurotic New Yorkers. He’d also learned another important marketing lesson. You never let the customer know what you really thought of his selection. He never sneered when he rang up the latest sale of a horror novel, for instance.
Yes, he might be able to make a go of it, but it would take time. Time and capital to invest. He remembered Rafferty Coyne’s offer. A month of work and twenty-five thousand in cash.
He was still thinking of Rafferty Coyne’s offer the following afternoon when he got back from the supermarket with Brad and found Coyne sitting in an air-conditioned car in front of Sabrina’s apartment.
Coyne nodded at him through the window and then opened the car door. He was alone, Matt saw.
“Brad, take the groceries into the kitchen and then go take a swim, okay?”
“I already went swimming this morning,” Brad complained, but he reached into the backseat for a sack.
“It’s hot. Take another. I have to talk to someone.” It was an order, delivered in the calm, emotionless tone that even Brad respected.
“Oh, all right. Who’re you going to talk to? That little guy with the fancy briefcase?”
“Get going, Brad.”
Grumbling, Brad got out of the car. He threw a mildly disgusted glance in Coyne’s direction and then carried the groceries into the apartment.
Matt climbed out of the car and let the door shut behind him. He waited, forcing Coyne to cross the distance between them.
“I don’t think I care for Texas,” Coyne murmured.
“It’s rather warm, isn’t it?”
“No worse than Mexico.”
“Ah, but in Acapulco one had that lovely view of the bay and in the evening there was often a pleasant breeze. I’m surprised you left. I’m even more surprised that you haven’t returned.”
“I had to take care of a few things.” Matt folded his arms and leaned back against the Ford.
“So I see. A fine-looking young man, your son.” Coyne nodded in the direction in which Brad had disappeared.
“How did you find me, Coyne?”
“With a bit of work. The same way I found you in Mexico. You weren’t trying to hide. If you had been, I might not have been successful. At least not this quickly. You have a reputation for being able to disappear.”
Matt tilted his head thoughtfully. “I do?”
“So Ramon Valdez says. I’m told you should never have made it out of the jungle that night two years ago, let alone with your surviving men.”
“Disappearing in a jungle is much easier than disappearing in Dallas, Texas.” Matt straightened away from the car and started toward the apartment. “But now that you’ve found me, you might as well come inside. Still recruiting, I see.”
“Oh, yes. Still recruiting. Valdez won’t work with anyone else, I’m afraid. And you owe me an answer, I believe. I expected to hear from you last week.”
“I got busy.”
“So it seems. Too busy to listen to a proposal that pays twenty-five thousand dollars?” He followed Matt into the apartment and glanced around with mild interest.
“I haven’t forgotten the deal. Want a beer?” Matt headed for the refrigerator, glad to see that Brad had followed instructions. Through the kitchen window he could see the boy sauntering out to the pool, dragging a towel behind him. Even as Matt watched, another young teenager appeared from one of the other apartments, a girl in a very small bikini. Brad appeared to see her at the same time. He immediately lifted the towel off the ground and slung it nonchalantly around his neck.
That’s it, kid. You
gotta
be cool to impress the ladies. Just look at how your old man is trying to impress Sabrina. A drink when she walks in the door and a home-cooked meal every evening. But I don’t think that’s going to make up for the fact that I can’t pay my half of the rent much longer. Being broke was definitely not cool.
“I don’t care for a beer. Have you any fruit juice?” Coyne asked politely.
“Orange juice.”
“That will be fine. Have you switched from whiskey to beer?”
“Everyone drinks beer in Texas. I’m trying to acclimate.”
“I see. You’re planning on staying here, then?” Coyne accepted the orange juice as he sat down on the persimmon-colored sofa. He appeared to be examining the juice closely to be certain it hadn’t been doctored.
“I’m thinking about it.” Matt dropped into the leather seat of a chrome-framed chair and decided that for all his dapper arrogance, Coyne looked a little drab against Sabrina’s brightly colored furniture. Her bright, modern taste was cheerful, to say the least, and Rafferty Coyne would never in a million years look cheerful. The tacky postcard collection framed and hanging on the wall behind Coyne’s head made the severe, aloof man look even more ridiculous. Sabrina’s home seemed designed to deflate the pompous. Matt wondered if she’d achieved the effect deliberately or if it had just come naturally.
Coyne looked at him. “I will tell you quite frankly that I need you on this job, Matt. Valdez won’t work with anyone else. A most untrusting man.”
Matt shrugged, sipping the beer. “He’s got reason to be. The U.S. government has been known to be untrustworthy when it comes to dealing with independents such as Valdez.”
“It’s his own fault,” Coyne snapped, showing a rare trace of emotion that quickly evaporated. “If he would simply ally himself one hundred percent with us, we would be happy to back him one hundred percent in return.”
“But allying himself one hundred percent with us would mean taking orders from the U.S. government. Valdez has no intention of committing himself so completely. He has a vision of independence for his little island,” Matt pointed out coolly. “Outdated, old-fashioned, and basically quite revolutionary, but there you have it.”