Tall, Dark and Deadly Read online

  “All this is new to me,” Dana admitted, “and very exciting.”

  Betty faced her, leaning back against the railing. “Yes, you are rather a novice.” Her brown eyes were hard and glittering. “I saw you with him.”

  “Him?”

  “Alex, of course. I thought you’d heard enough about him on the boat.”

  “I try not to listen to gossip,” Dana responded.

  Betty snorted with disgust. “You won’t have to worry about gossip if we’re here long enough. You’ll find out for yourself what a cold and ruthless man he is—”

  Dana was speechless at the angry words.

  “Oh, he’s interested in you,” Betty went on. “He always likes new women, but in the long run, he’s after one of two things. Sex or money. So remember to lock your door—and hide your valuables.”

  The knock on Dana’s door was a welcome sound. Without hesitation, she made her apologies to Betty and left the veranda. Millicent was waiting at her door.

  “Oh, there you are, dear. I’ve come to take you shopping.”

  “But we just got here, Millicent. I haven’t even unpacked or had a chance to rest—”

  “Rest, on your first day in Porte Ivoire? Ridiculous! You have to see the native quarter and go to the market. They’re just opening up again after the midday break. You won’t believe the beautiful fabrics. I know a little shop—”

  Dana started to respond, but Millicent was on a roll. “Rest!” she repeated. “I’m sixty-three. Did you know that? And I can go all day. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six,” Dana responded.

  “Then you can probably keep up with me.”

  “You bet I can,” Dana promised. “Let’s go shopping.”

  * * *

  DANA WISHED she could take back those words a dozen times during their shopping trip. Most of the villagers and half the inhabitants of the surrounding countryside seemed to be crowded into the Port Ivoire bazaar.

  Shoppers called back and forth and children chased one another among the thatched-roof shops that sold everything from live chickens to intricately carved figurines. The scents of cooking meat and stewing spices wafted on the air, mingled with the cacophony of half a dozen different dialects. The market was loud and frenetic, hot and dusty. And overhead the relentless sun beat down.

  The heat wasn’t all that got to Dana; so did Millicent’s relentless advice and cheerful instructions.

  “No, no, dear. Not that pottery. You can buy it much more cheaply at another shop,” she whispered, drawing Dana away from a display of brightly painted pots. “Besides, this is not nearly as special as the carvings. And of course the cloth. And, oh, I know a wonderful shop where you can buy jewelry, authentic pieces, hand set—”

  Dana asserted herself. “I’m not buying, I’m just looking, Millie. And I’m sure I’ll get around to all the shops eventually.”

  Millicent sighed. “Of course. I forget what it’s like to come here for the first time. But when it’s time to buy, let me be your adviser, dear, so you won’t be taken advantage of.” She wagged a warning finger.

  “Thanks, Millie. I will.” Dana stepped out of the sun into the doorway of a corner shop, hoping for a hint of breeze. There was none. She mopped at the dampness on her forehead with a tissue. “I’m a little overwhelmed by all this activity—and heat,” Dana admitted. “But I don’t want to hold you back, Millie.”

  “Well...” Millie adjusted her hat to better shade her face. “I am anxious to visit a friend at the other side of the bazaar. She sells the most fabulous handwoven rugs. I’m taking a few back to Brazzaville on consignment. You’d love—”

  Dana laughed at Millie’s energy and enthusiasm. “I’m sure I would, but I’m not going to carry rugs back on the plane. Go ahead, see your friend. I’ll wander around on this side of the market. It’s a little shadier,” she added.

  “Are you sure, dear?” Millie asked solicitously.

  “I’m sure. I’ll look around for a little while and then go back to the hotel.” Dana could tell she was cramping Millie’s energetic style. “Go on. It’s okay.”

  “Such a dear girl,” Millie said. “Now be careful what you eat around here or you might end up with toasted grub worms.” Millie chuckled at her humor.

  “I’m going to browse, not eat,” Dana called after her. “And I’m not buying anything.”

  * * *

  BACK AT THE HOTEL, Dana looked at her purchases. Why, when she’d only meant to browse, had she invested in yards of bright colored cloth, a carved leopard and a huge straw hat? She’d have plenty of time later to explore the markets at her leisure, maybe find some real bargains on items she actually wanted. Oh, well, she decided, her purchases were interesting.

  She tossed everything on a chair, kicked off her shoes and flopped onto her bed. As the fan whirred hypnotically, the sounds of the river seemed to recede and float away on the hot, moist air. Dana closed her eyes.

  She forgot about Millicent, her shopping trip, the useless purchases...and she thought about Alex. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t stop herself. Behind closed eyes, she envisioned his face, imagined his voice, even felt his touch on her shoulder.

  Betty was right. She’d heard about him on the boat coming upriver—and she had listened to the gossip; there was no denying that. Louis had told her about himself and Alex, that they’d been great friends until they’d argued violently over a woman. Louis also hinted that Millicent and Alex had some sort of deal going; he paid her a percentage for each guest she steered to his hotel. Even with engine trouble, the Congo Queen’s captain somehow managed to make it as far as the Stanley Hotel.

  What had Millicent said about Alex? As Dana tried to remember, his face drifted in and out of her mind’s eye again. She tried to hold onto Millicent’s words, but his face kept smiling down at her suggestively.

  Then she remembered. Millicent’s accusations involved smuggling. Diamonds? Gold? She wasn’t sure. But there was no doubt that Alex Jourdan had a reputation for walking a little outside the law.

  And what about Betty? Dana thought of her bizarre encounter with the journalist. Never had she seen a woman so bitter over a failed affair, and everyone on the boat seemed to be sure there’d been one between Alex and Betty. More gossip, which Dana had tried unsuccessfully to avoid.

  Now she put it out of her mind but couldn’t dismiss him so easily. Even as she felt herself drifting away on a soft wave of sleep, his face was still there. Then through the haze of drowsiness, she heard his voice again, but this time he was talking to someone. It sounded like Louis. They were arguing. Outside? On the veranda? In the hallway?

  The voices seemed real, not imaginary, not dreamlike. They were raised in anger. She tried to concentrate on their words. She caught one. Pygmy. Something about the Pygmies... Everything went fuzzy in her mind, but Dana hung on, listening. They were arguing about—what? An elephant or elephants? Then she heard her name. Or thought she did.

  Dana tried to hold onto consciousness, but she kept falling, falling. And then she slept.

  * * *

  SHE MADE IT to dinner that night with the conversation still ringing in her ears. And when she observed the two men seated at opposite ends of a long table, not speaking, their eyes rarely meeting, Dana decided the conversation hadn’t been a dream. But she chose to sit at their table anyway, rather than join Betty and Yassif or Mr. Longongo, who dined alone, or the captain and his crew, who shared another table.

  Dana sat down beside Father Theroux. Apparently, he often dined at the hotel. Tonight he joined Millicent in trying to keep up a lively conversation while Alex and Louis silently glowered. As for Dana, she had her own agenda. Pygmies. And elephants. That’s what Alex and Louis had been arguing about, and she was determined to get it out in the open. Curiosity guiding her, Dana directed her questions to the priest, a willing participant.

  Louis seemed disinterested, more concerned about his bottle of wine than conversation, while Alex lounged
back in his chair and observed the room. He’d obviously just bathed. His skin gleamed, and drops of water still sparkled in his hair. He’d changed into a clean, crisp white shirt of gauzy material that draped across the muscles of his shoulders and chest. His rolled-up sleeves revealed the strength of his lower arms, and the white shirt set off his tan and green eyes. Dana had to force her attention away from Alex’s physical attributes and back to the priest.

  “Yes, it is true that I have lived all my life in the Congo,” Theroux said in answer to a question, “but I have seen the Pygmy only a few times. And never has one member of the Mgembe tribe been converted to Catholicism.” His dark eyes glowed sadly. “It would gladden my heart if such would happen, but—” He shrugged his thin shoulders.

  “Maybe someday,” Dana said.

  Millicent spoke up. “I’m appalled that the Mgembe still hunt elephant, which is an endangered species. Everyone knows that.”

  Conveniently, Millicent had switched from Pygmies to elephants, almost as if she’d been guided by Dana. “Is that true?” Dana asked. “Do they still hunt?”

  “Elephants are protected,” the priest said, “but the Pygmies obey no rules except their own. Who knows what they do, hidden away in the rain forest.”

  Alex suddenly leaned forward, his gaze on Dana. For an instant she thought there was suspicion in his eyes. Or was it just curiosity, like her own? “Why are you so interested in the Pygmies?” he asked. “Most of the world has never heard of the Mgembe.”

  “I inherited my interest from my father, Phillip Baldwin. He was in the Congo years ago and began a study that I would like to complete. If only I could get to the Pygmies...”

  “Not much chance of that,” Alex said dismissively. But if he paid little attention to her goals, he paid plenty to her, surveying her with his potent gaze.

  “It’s true that not many people know about the Mgembe,” Dana agreed. “Except for Monsieur Bertrand.” She smiled at Louis, who was pouring himself another glass of wine.

  “Louis is a wonder, isn’t he?” Alex commented. “So eager to share his knowledge, especially if the questioner is young and pretty.”

  Dana felt herself flush, and to cover, she turned on Alex. “Louis was only being polite by answering my questions.”

  Millicent, who’d watched the byplay speculatively, directed her remark to Alex. “You and Louis used to be such good friends, I hate to see you on the outs.”

  Louis rose from his chair. “Alex is not an easy man for one to remain friends with, madame. If you will excuse me...” Wineglass in hand, he headed for the veranda.

  “I’ll see after him,” Father Theroux offered.

  “Coffee?” Alex asked the women without skipping a beat, as if nothing had happened. “Perhaps in the garden...”

  Millicent spoke for both of them. “That would be delightful. And a little cognac, too, Alex, dear.”

  But Millicent didn’t make it to the garden. Mr. Longongo cornered her, and as Dana passed by his table, she heard a snatch of his long, involved questions about a partial refund of his tour fee since the boat had broken down. He reminded Dana of a ferret with sharp little features and darting black eyes. There was something creepy about the man, she decided as she drifted into the garden alone.

  The air was sweet with the fragrance of jungle flowers and, as always, the dark mysterious scent of the mighty Congo. Dana wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath, throwing back her head, breathing the rich, heady scent of the jungle air. The moon rode low in the sky, huge, round, so close she felt she could touch it. Despite the delays and problems, the petty arguments of the others, she felt wonderful.

  She was in Africa! A stone’s throw from the Congo, and even if she never saw her first Pygmy, this was already the adventure of her life. She closed her eyes and inhaled pure excitement.

  She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching on the sandy path, and when a hand touched her shoulder, Dana jumped, startled. “Don’t be afraid,” a voice told her, in a tone so soft and low that it heightened her fear rather than dispelling it. She started to move away, toward the hotel, and then she recognized him.

  The vague shadowy figure in the moonlight was Alex. “I decided to skip the coffee,” he told her. “My cognac is excellent. French. A hundred years old and saved for special guests.” He handed her a glass.

  “Thanks.” For an instant his long fingers curled around hers. He was so near that she could smell the scent of his tangy after-shave and hear the even flow of his breathing. There was something dark and compelling about him that made her nervous even as it attracted her. She didn’t know how to behave around him, and she certainly had no idea what he would do next.

  She took a step away from him and raised the glass to her lips. A warm glow began in the pit of her stomach and spread upward, but she couldn’t relax. Not when Alex was still too damn close to her, not when her heart refused to slow down.

  She wanted him to move away. The blatant sexuality that emanated from him made her uncomfortable. He seemed so damned sure of himself, as if she was his for the asking, as if she’d arranged a romantic rendezvous in the garden especially for him. To cover her nervousness, she took another sip from her glass.

  “Like it?” His voice was as smooth and rich as the cognac, and she was afraid that it could have the same power over her.

  “Yes, it’s wonderful. But now—” She handed Alex the glass and attempted to step around him.

  Holding her with his his eyes, he let both glasses slip from his grasp and drop onto the sandy path. She looked down at them, startled. Then he encircled her waist with his hands and pulled her close. “You’re not running away from me, are you, Dana?” The strength that she’d feared in his voice had become a power of intimacy—and danger.

  “No, of course not,” she lied. “I just want to get away from, I mean get out of, the night air. It’s...” Her voice trailed off and she realized she didn’t want to get away at all, not when she saw Alex so clearly in the moonlight, his lips parted in a smile to reveal even white teeth that gleamed against his tanned skin. Hungry light glowed deep in his green eyes. Dana shivered, and she didn’t know why. Was it excitement—or fear?

  He still held her, easily now, with one hand lingering on her waist, the other at the small of her back. The warmth from his body reached out and caressed her. She felt an urge to touch his face, run her fingers across his cheek and chin. But she willed her hands to stay at her sides. Alex Jourdan was trouble.

  He looked at her with a knowing, intimate smile as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for you, Dana.” His breath was warm against her face.

  “What do you mean by waiting?” Her voice sounded breathy, surprised, not like her at all. And her heart—why couldn’t she control its erratic pounding?

  “Waiting for a long-legged blonde to come into my life. Now you’re here, and I’m glad.”

  He slid his hand from her waist upward along her back, beneath the fabric of her blouse. His touch was sensual, practiced, erotic. And her skin tingled wherever he touched her.

  Alarm bells went off inside Dana’s head even while her body responded. Alex Jourdan was handsome and exciting, and there was a part of her that wanted to know him, that desired to be swept away by his dark, romantic power.

  But the other side of her was more careful, even wary. He was a man with a disreputable past, a womanizer and, according to the gossip, a probable cheat if not a possible crook. He was certainly a stranger, not someone to be alone with in the dark night.

  Dana struggled to get her voice under control. “I didn’t come here for a romantic fling.” Even as she made the statement, she realized how uptight and foolish she sounded.

  To make her seem even more ridiculous, he repeated the words. “A romantic fling?” His voice was amused. “I never suggested that, Professor. But since you mention it, just why did you come to Porte Ivoire?”

  To find you. The thought blazed across her mind even w
hile she fought to keep from saying it aloud. The intensity of it frightened her. And when his eyes met hers in a long look, she was held by what she saw there. Recognition. Acceptance. Desire. For an instant in the moonlight his face was serious, almost brooding, and she was overcome again by an irresistible urge to touch his face, draw his mouth down on hers.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and shoved against his chest with both hands. “Let me go, Alex. If you don’t I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” he teased. “You don’t seem like a violent woman.”

  “I’m not,” she snapped. “But I might become one. Now let me go.”

  He took one step backward, shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed at her, a sardonic smile playing around his lips. He appeared more amused than perturbed by her reaction. “You have even more fire than I imagined, Dana Baldwin. I like that. Cool on the outside, hot and—”

  Dana turned and walked away with his words echoing in her head. Her legs were shaky, and her hands were damp with perspiration. Dammit, she was doing just what he’d said. She was running. Fleeing from him and herself. She was confused by her reaction to Alex and the emotions he unleashed. She hadn’t handled the situation well at all, and she vowed to be more in charge next time they met. Or to stay away from him. That was the best way, she decided as she hurried up the steps, across the veranda—and straight into Louis Bertrand.

  Chapter Two

  “Chérie, slow down. You will hurt yourself.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, drawing in the night air in huge gulps. “I’m a little...” She struggled for words.

  “Agitée?” He looked over her shoulder toward the shadowy form in the garden. “Alex. I should have known. You must forgive him. He does not stop to think. For Alex, to make love is as natural as to breathe.”

  “Make love? No, he just made a pass, he didn’t—”

  Louis chuckled softly. “In French ‘make love’ can be no more than to touch or even suggest. It is all lovemaking in our language. And when a beautiful woman appears...”