Silent Masquerade Page 5

  He was about to climb into the back of a semi when a vision of Cara snaked through his mind. Had he tied her too tight? He hefted one leg up onto the floor of the trailer, then hesitated. What if she got thirsty with that terry-cloth rag in her mouth? He hoisted his body up and turned to make sure no one had observed him getting into the truck. By morning she’d be really cramped from sitting in that chair all night. He stood up and started to slide the door shut.

  He could see her face as clearly as if it were there in the darkened truck with him, the eyes so frightened they’d become dark as night.

  * * *

  BILL’S HEART thumped wildly as he tore across the street and ran through the lobby of the motel, not caring what others would think of his mad dash. He didn’t know how he was going to explain his behavior to her, or what he’d do if she threatened to call the cops, which she had every right to do. He had to chance it. He just couldn’t leave her tied up like that.

  He didn’t wait for the elevator, but took the stairs two at a time.

  He felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath his feet as he came to a panting halt in front of the open doorway to his empty room.

  The chair where she should have been held captive had been replaced at the desk, and as his eyes scanned the room, he saw that his belt and necktie were neatly placed across the pillows on his bed.

  Still disbelieving, he cautiously made his way into the room and crept over to the bathroom. Nothing. The room was neat as a pin, with no evidence of his earlier crime. The girl was gone, along with every sign that she’d been there. Even the two glasses she’d filled with ice were replaced on the tray on the desk, and the bottle of wine was gone.

  He made the trip down to her room far more sedately than he’d reentered the motel. When he came to her door, he wiped his brow with the back of his arm before knocking.

  He was prepared for anger, prepared for righteous indignation and outrage. He was even prepared for the cops to be lying in wait for him.

  “Come in,” a pleasant voice called out. “It’s open.”

  He stood in the doorway and looked across the room to where she was seated at a table in front of the window, a floor lamp casting a soft glow across her hair and face.

  She had a plastic glass of wine lifted to her lips. A crossword-puzzle book lay open in front of her.

  “Hi, Bill,” she said calmly.

  “I...I...”

  “You’re just in time. Do you know a six-letter word for dangerous?” She picked up a pencil and held it poised over the puzzle page, an expectant look on her face.

  “I’m...sorry.”

  She shook her head, and her silky hair flowed around her chin. “That’s only five letters.”

  He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m sorry, Cara. Honest to God, I’m really so sorry.”

  “Well, let’s see,” Cara said, meeting his pleading eyes with a steady look, “you attack me in your room as I’m attempting to pour us a glass of wine, and then you tie me to a chair and gag me, and then you go off and leave me there with no way to call for help. Did I miss anything?”

  He didn’t—couldn’t—reply.

  “No? Okay. Well, I guess that’s everything. And now you say you’re sorry. I’m sure you are. And indeed you should be,” she said, in that same restrained manner.

  And then, suddenly, she jumped up from the table, knocking her chair over, and ran at him.

  “I thought you were some kind of perverted rapist, you big baboon!” she screamed, hitting him on the chest with both fists.

  He barely felt the impact of her punches, so amazed was he by the amazing array of her emotions. This was no shrinking violet, no helpless little mama’s girl, this...this woman.

  It hit him with greater force than her fists. Cara Davis, or whatever her real name was, could be anything—a spy for Alvaretti, a government agent, a Sunday-school teacher, a runaway teenager. Anything she chose to portray, she could carry it off with aplomb. It wouldn’t make it easier to trust her, but, by God, it certainly made it mandatory to respect her.

  He grabbed her wrists, only to put an end to the chaotic melodrama. She couldn’t get away, but he could feel how strong she was as she worked to break free of his greater strength.

  “I thought you were on their side!” he yelled, shaking her slightly.

  A sob caught in Cara’s throat, and she stopped struggling. “Th-their side? Who are they?” The sob became a hiccup.

  Bill opened his mouth to tell her and then realized he was right back where he’d begun. He couldn’t tell her. He dropped her wrists.

  “I can’t explain. I just wanted you to know it was a mistake on my part and that I was only trying to protect myself.”

  She stared at him, squinting. “Protect yourself from me? Did you think I was going to poison the wine?”

  “What?” He had to laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation. “No. Not from you. I mean, not from the wine. Well, yes, I guess I thought you were trying to get me drunk so you could...”

  “Could what? Have my way with you?” He had to laugh with her at that. The eruption of laughter felt good.

  It took a moment to remember their situation.

  “Look, let’s drop this. I can’t tell you anything more, and I only came back because I thought it was wrong to leave you helpless like that.”

  Cara stepped back and grinned, holding her wrists up. “Helpless? Me? Ha!”

  She marched back to the table, plunked down in her chair and picked up her wine. “Think again, big guy. Just because I’m having a few problems at home and I’m short on funds, that doesn’t mean I’m some helpless little wimp. I can take care of myself—and, for that matter, I could probably do a better job of taking care of you than you’re doing.”

  “What does that mean?” Bill demanded. What did she know? Who did she know?

  “I mean, you seem to think that being a loner is the solution. I say, whoever they are, they’re looking for a loner, a man on his own. With me at your side, you’re part of a couple, and they aren’t looking for a couple, are they?”

  It was Bill’s turn to stare. He went over and sank down on her bed, staring at her with his mouth ajar.

  “A couple,” he said, his voice heavy with awe.

  “Right. Like a disguise. We’d be a disguise for one another. My people won’t be looking for a couple, either.”

  Bill ran a hand through his hair and then shook his head, trying to clear it. The problem was that she made some sense, and that made no sense.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Less than an hour ago you thought I was a rapist—and, in fact, I did attack you and tie you up. Why should you trust me now.”

  And for that matter, why should I trust you? he thought.

  “Or why should you trust me?”

  “Are you a mind reader, too?”

  Cara shrugged and shot him a complacent grin. “Isn’t the enemy you know safer than the one you don’t know?”

  He had to grin, too, at her ridiculous logic. “I think I need that wine now.”

  He didn’t wait for her response, but got up to pour it himself. With his back to her, he tried his thoughts out loud. “You’re right about one thing—they know there hasn’t been a woman in my life. They wouldn’t expect me to be involved with anyone this quickly.” He tilted his head back and drank some wine.

  “For that matter... Wait a minute.” He spun around. “Are you talking about a permanent arrangement?”

  “Define permanent.”

  “Like for...weeks, months...whatever.”

  She nodded. “Wouldn’t renting an apartment as a couple, looking for work as a couple, be good cover?”

  Now he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “We’re talking...um, separate bedrooms, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’d be willing to tie yourself down to me for the duration?”

  “Better than you tying me to the nearest chair!”

  Bill fl
inched, and Cara immediately regretted her sarcasm. “Sure, I’d trust you, Bill. You had second thoughts and came back to let me go, didn’t you?”

  Bill nodded and took a big gulp of wine. “Let me think this over.”

  He went to the door. “I’m going out to get us some coffee. I’m going to need a clear head to give your idea close consideration.”

  While he was gone, Cara peered through the drapes, waiting to see him emerge from the front of the motel. Her suggestion had been made out of the blue, without a lot of thought on her part. She really didn’t know anything about him except that he was in terrible trouble, a lot worse than the trouble she’d run from. And she didn’t even know if he was on the wrong side of the law. But even if he was, he meant no harm to her, she was sure, or else he wouldn’t have come back to free her.

  He came through the front door just then, and she looked down at the top of his head. Nice hair. And he had good carriage, the sort of thing her mother always noticed in people. She liked his easy stride and the natural way he stopped to look up and down the street. A casual bystander wouldn’t guess he was checking to make sure it was safe.

  Altogether, an attractive man, in a dark and dangerous way. Had she jumped from the frying pan into the fire? She remembered then the way her hand had felt in his, and the easy comfort of the hours they’d lingered over dinner...and she knew it was too late to change her mind.

  Chapter Four

  They were on their way to Santa Cruz.

  “Close your eyes and point,” Bill had ordered, holding a map of the Bay area in front of her.

  It seemed a good omen that she’d hit on Santa Cruz. She’d become friendly with a woman on the bus who had a small baby. The woman had mentioned Santa Cruz in casual conversation. Cara wondered if she’d somehow been drawn to that spot on the map by suggestion, as if it were a kind of psychic magnet.

  But, of course, she didn’t share that thought with Bill. She was learning to guard her wayward thoughts from him. Words like friend, for example, seemed to have an adverse affect on him. The man trusted no one. Not even her, really. One wrong word or gesture and he became hostile and suspicious.

  It was going to be interesting trying to live with a man who would find hidden meaning and threat in a wrong-number phone call or the need to run out for milk at eleven at night. Still, she was sure she was right about the situation being mutually beneficial for both of them, and now she could hardly wait to get there, to find an apartment and a job.

  She glanced over at him, half hoping she’d catch a glimpse of a similar expression of excitement on his face. He had a great profile—strong, virile, resolute. But there was no sign of excitement. His jaw was set, and his eyes squinted slightly as he concentrated on the road.

  Would it be possible to find a way to bring a little fun and fantasy into this guy’s life? Cara mused. Right now, he was all mystery and menace, but she was sure that once they settled down and he felt safe from whoever “they” were he’d relax and show more humor.

  Then her mind flashed back to the incident in San Francisco, and she knew Bill wouldn’t find much humor in the secret she was harboring.

  She’d had to wait for him at the Museum of Natural History while he took care of some mysterious business elsewhere. He had told her he was going to buy a car, among other things, so that they could drive to Santa Cruz.

  She’d wandered from exhibit to exhibit, but she’d found it hard to focus on anything, when her imagination was so preoccupied with Bill Hamlin and his “business.”

  She came to the earth and shake hall and debated going in to try the “shake table,” which simulated the feeling of an earthquake. She’d decided against it, thinking it made no sense to anticipate the worst. Anyway, she’d had a feeling that living with Bill Hamlin would cause her as much quaking as a woman could handle.

  She didn’t know how long she’d stood just inside the doorway, trying to decide whether or not to enter the hall, but when she went back around the corner to leave, she’d bumped right into the man from the motel in Mount View.

  “Hello again!”

  The man had acted as if he didn’t know her. He’d seemed both shocked and embarrassed when she persisted.

  “Don’t you remember? The motel in Mount View. We met at the ice machine in the hall, and you asked me if I knew where—” She took a deep breath. “And by the elevator. You were already in it, and we were...”

  “Yes. Yes.” He’d almost run from her. She’d furrowed her brow as she watched him retreat, almost running down the hall.

  And then she’d stood there, thinking, Bill is going to find this one coincidence too many.

  But the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that, except for the coincidence of having run into him again, there was nothing sinister about the man.

  For one thing, he was way too attractive to be some kind of thug. And for another, both here and in the elevator of the motel, he’d seemed more frightened than frightening.

  Still, she knew she should tell Bill, let him be the judge. But then, when he showed up with the car, she’d been so excited at starting the last leg of their journey that the meeting with the stranger had gone clean out of her head.

  She’d given no further thought to the coincidence—until now. And now she knew that if she mentioned it, Bill would be furious with her for waiting so long.

  “We’ll stop up there at that café,” Bill said, pointing over the steering wheel to his left, up ahead. “I’ll bet you’re hungry by now.” The roadside café was lit up like a Christmas tree, beckoning to all the traffic trudging up the mountain.

  “Oooh, that looks great!” Cara sat forward to get a better view of the place.

  Bill glanced over at her and grinned. “You please easy, don’t you?”

  “I guess I do,” Cara admitted. “But isn’t that better than being a malcontent?”

  “Who? You mean me?”

  “Boy, you really are paranoid. No, I don’t mean you, I mean in general.”

  Bill was in line behind another car, waiting for an opening to make a left-hand turn. He barely muttered his response.

  Cara turned the sun visor down to look at herself in the mirror. She could use a bit of freshening up, she decided. A flash of red beyond her reflection caught her eye. She moved her head and saw a red car about two cars back. She was just about to fold the visor back in place, when she glimpsed a face on the passenger side of the red car that seemed familiar.

  Was it the face of the bus driver who’d taken over when they left Mount View on the replacement bus?

  “Bill?” She put her hand on his arm, but he was still concentrating on crossing the road.

  “Hmm?”

  “Bill, I think that’s...”

  “Damn!” Bill slammed on the brakes as the driver of a blue pickup changed his mind about letting him pass in front.

  Cara grabbed the dashboard for support and then sat back with a shaky laugh when Bill turned to make sure she was all right.

  “Sorry,” Bill muttered. “I thought the guy was slowing to let me cross.”

  “It’s okay,” Cara said, pushing her hair back behind her ears.

  Suddenly Bill grinned at her.

  “What?”

  “You look a lot younger today. Like a teenager.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  His grin hung on. “I don’t know, that depends. What kind of a teenager were you?”

  She gave him an impish grin. “Adorable.”

  He laughed softly, and their eyes clung for a moment. A moment in which they both suddenly found the interior of the car way too confining and their proximity far too stimulating.

  The moment was interrupted by the blaring of a horn, and both of them looked up to see that a gray Datsun had come to a stop and the driver was gesturing for them to make the turn into the café’s narrow parking lot.

  The interior was as gaudy as the exterior, with highly varnished knotty-pine walls and booths
that appeared almost gold. There were colored lights hanging from every surface, including the rafters.

  Just as they were finishing lunch, Cara remembered the guy in the red car. She decided she’d been mistaken, that the man only looked like the bus driver. Replete with good food and Bill’s surprising good humor, she decided it wasn’t even worth mentioning.

  It did occur to her that the coincidences were piling up, and that she was developing a habit of hiding things from Bill. But she promised herself that once they were settled in Santa Cruz, she was going to pay more attention and let Bill know if something made her suspicious.

  * * *

  THE SECOND-FLOOR furnished apartment they found was only two blocks from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, which meant plenty of foot traffic along their street. Bill felt a kind of security in the number of people who surrounded them as they went to and from their building.

  The building itself was white stucco, a three-story structure with a flat roof where some of the tenants placed lounge chairs and sat out to catch the sun and the sea air.

  Without discussion, Bill set Cara’s gym bag in the larger of the two bedrooms, the one with a partial view of the pier and the ocean beyond. Cara thought it was a kindness at first, but then realized that Bill wanted the room that faced the front of the building and the street where “they” might appear.

  Cara loved the apartment.

  “Look, Bill, it’s got a dumbwaiter. What do you suppose it’s for?”

  Bill came over and peered into the shaft. “Smells like they still use it to send garbage down to the basement. That used to be what these things were for in fancy apartment buildings.”

  Cara nodded and shut the doors. “You can tell this was one of those buildings. Did you see the concierge stand in the lobby?”

  “Yeah. They had those things in the hotels in Paris when I—” He stopped in mid-sentence.

  Cara put a hand on his arm as he started to walk away. “Go on, Bill. You were in Paris? When? What for?”

  Bill pulled his arm from her grasp, as if her touch burned him. “Never mind, I don’t have time to talk right now. We need groceries. Make a list and I’ll go shopping.”