The Other Half of Your Heart Read online

  “Stay quiet,” he ordered in that same hoarse whisper, then hesitantly removed his hand.

  Instead of hauling her to her feet and forging on, as Cara had expected him to do, Dave stood up and motioned her to stay, looming over her. She didn’t know what he was listening to so intently; all she could hear sounded like perfectly natural night noises.

  “What is it?” she asked at last as he bent down to help her rise.

  “Nothing, I guess. Thought I heard something.”

  “What kind of...?” Cara squealed as her uninjured leg twisted out from under her. Had it not been for Dave’s steadying hands she would have fallen again.

  His reaction was instantaneous. He pulled Cara close to him, wrapping her so tightly in his arms that he could feel her soft warmth against his flesh as exquisitely as if they had not both been fully clothed. That imagery set up a firestorm in his mind, quickening his breath far out of proportion to the physical energy expended.

  “You okay?”

  Drowning in his embrace, Cara nodded, then, remembering the shadow, which enveloped them, whispered, “Yes. My sandal...I think it’s broken.”

  “Your sandal?” he returned, not loosening his grasp. “Can you walk on it?”

  At the moment, Cara was unsure if she would be able to walk at all. Dave’s arms were like steel bands around her, holding her close to his chest. In the warm, moist night, it felt almost as if their two separate bodies were in some strange, moon-magic way, becoming one. She could feel his breath on her hair like a caress.

  “I don’t know...I sort of slid through it.” It sounded idiotic, but to prolong this moment of guilt-free pleasure, she would be idiotic if necessary.

  Dave took a deep breath, struggling to remember where they were and what she was. “Darn funny kind of shoes,” he muttered, making himself release her. “Let me see.”

  See? In this shadow world of chiaroscuro? Cara was tempted to laugh, but, recognizing it as the thin edge of hysteria, clamped her mouth shut to stifle it. Then she felt Dave’s hands, gentle as a surgeon’s, exploring her feet. She kept her mouth kept tightly shut, but it had nothing to do with laughter, not at all.

  The damage was obvious; of the six dainty straps interlaced over her left foot, one had broken free and another two were suspiciously loose, ready to give way with the next strain. Dave also noticed the suspiciously sticky wetness that clung to his fingers. Even if her shoes held together, she wouldn’t be able to walk much longer with her feet in this condition. Irrationally, he felt guilty.

  “Got an idea,” he said slowly, swabbing at his hands with a handful of crackling leaves as he stood up. “That shoe isn’t going to hold much longer. Why don’t I leave you here? I can travel faster by myself, and I can get help back to you.”

  Be careful what you ask for, Cara though sourly, you just might get it.

  At one time, she wanted nothing more than for this man to disappear, to simply vanish and leave her alone. Now it was her greatest fear. What better way to get rid of someone than to just abandon them in the forest? Unless Buck produced a second miracle, she probably would die out here and no one would ever know what happened to her. How better for him to hide his crimes?

  “Don’t even think about it! You’re not going to abandon me here! You took me, you got me!”

  “Actually, I didn’t take you the last time,” Dave said mildly, but he reached out unerringly in the dark and took her hand. “But that’s all right. We’ll take it slow. As I recall, these mountains are pretty populous, at least for this part of the country. We should run into a farmstead or something before long.”

  Cara didn’t believe him; either he was just trying to cheer her up or his idea of populous was completely different from hers, because the barn they had left was the only sign of human existence that they had seen. She was, therefore, quite surprised when Dave suddenly stopped and motioned her to silence.

  Ahead of them, drowning in a moonlit clearing, was a small cluster of native buildings perched on a small rise directly over the river. In the leaching light, they looked derelict to Cara, but that didn’t mean anything; half the buildings she had seen in Mexico didn’t look much better, in or out of the moonlight.

  “There aren’t any lights,” she whispered.

  “Farmers in this part of the world generally go to bed at sunset,” he replied. “I wonder...”

  “What? What do you wonder?”

  “Doesn’t look like anyone else has found this place. Come on.”

  Grabbing Cara’s hand, Dave sprinted across the open area like a track and field star. Too startled to protest, Cara stumbled enthusiastically along behind him in spite of her loosening shoe. Another strap released as they ran and the rough ground stabbed at Cara’s exposed sole; gritting her teeth Cara ignored it and ran on. Some things were more important than a moment’s pain. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what would happen if they were seen by... who?

  Up close, the buildings that had appeared to be ramshackle proved to be utterly derelict. Composed mainly of dry palm leaves and rotting straw mats haphazardly lashed over a rickety framework of rough saplings, they looked as if they would go over with the first good wind that came along. The laughing gurgle of the river mocked them.

  “Okay!”

  Cara began to shake. One shoe was dangling precariously only, by the ankle strap, her feet were bruised and cut, she was tired and hungry and didn’t have an idea about anything that was happening, and yet this monster was laughing because they had discovered a tumble-down...whatever it was. Tears of pure rage welled up in her eyes and she yanked free, then punched him as hard as she could on the back.

  “Stop that! Stop laughing! Stop it...stop it....stop it...”

  Dave Burkhart’s reflexes were cat-quick. Before she could land a second blow, he had turned and captured Cara’s flailing wrists. He might appear slender, but there was steel in those lithe arms and more than enough strength to reduce her attack to a frustrated wiggle.

  “Hey! What’s this?”

  “Don’t you laugh! There’s nobody here! We’re just as lost as we ever were...”

  An errant beam of moonlight peeked through a hole in the sagging roof and turned the tears in Cara’s eyes to glittering diamonds. There was a smudge on her cheek, a leaf clinging to her impossibly tousled hair, and suddenly Cara Waters, whatever else she might be, was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  Dave pulled her to him, holding her gently, but tightly enough to keep her immobilized. It wasn’t really necessary; the fury of the moment had spent itself and she sagged against him. Racked by a series of hiccoughing little sobs, she shook in his arms.

  “Poor little Cara,” he crooned. “You didn’t dream it would turn out like this, did you? Well, it’s not as bad as it seems...I know were we are.”

  Cara raised a hopeful face. In the fitful light, it was a pale disembodied oval that, dirty and tear-streaked, still managed to be as beautiful as a pearl on dark velvet. “You do?”

  “Yes. I’ve been here before. This used to be a kind of a day resort for tourists. There was a swimming hole and they had trail rides and volleyball...”

  “Here?” Disbelieving.

  He nodded. “Here. This used to be pretty luxurious, as luxurious as a deliberately primitive place can be. It was a knock-off of Chico’s Paradise, but it was too far out for most people, though the restaurant was pretty good, as I remember.”

  “Restaurant?” Instantly, Cara picked up on the one important word. “A restaurant? Maybe...?”

  “‘Fraid not,” he said with a smile. His own stomach was protesting. “That was years ago. But I know where we are. Just about thirty miles down that river is Puerto Vallarta.”

  The illumination stayed constant, but the light died out of Cara’s face. Thirty miles! It might as well be thirty thousand. She didn’t think she could walk thirty more feet, let alone thirty miles.

  “Thirty miles?”

  He heard the slight break
in her voice and was touched by it. She had been so brave and so uncomplaining. Whatever else she had done, if it hadn’t been for her courage, he’d be a dead thing tied to two uprights in an old barn. That alone was enough to guarantee his admiration and his thanks; the desire for her that hammered through him, the longing to hold and protect her had nothing to do with the incidents of the last few hours. It had been growing steadily within him ever since he had first seen her back in Dallas.

  “That’s tomorrow’s problem,” he said comfortingly. “Right now we have a roof over our head, sort of. What we need to do next is get some water, see what we can do about your shoe, and then get some rest. I wish there was some food, but...”

  Cara gave a brave little snuffle. “I’ve been meaning to go on a diet anyway...”

  More supportive now than confining, Dave’s hand slid slowly from the nape of her neck down her back, lingering at her trim waist before gently outlining the gentle swell of her hips. “Why?” he asked in genuine bewilderment. “You’re just about perfect as it is...”

  Cara’s head tipped back, her face luminous in the moonlight. He couldn’t resist. With deliberate, pleasure-prolonging slowness, he touched his lips to hers, softly at first, then harder as he lost control of his restraint. Her mouth clung to his, and he rejoiced in the sweetness of her.

  An insistent pulse thudded through him, drowning out all his thoughts and senses. Nothing mattered except that she was here, in his arms, and that she was kissing him back with the fervor he had dreamed of seeing in her. With a groan, he tightened his grip, as if he were trying to pull her inside the very shell of his being.

  “Well,” said a familiar voice, “isn’t this cozy.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cara thought she just might faint. Her stomach knotted and dropped like a stone. How had this happened? How could she ever explain being in this situation to herself, let alone to...

  “Buck!”

  He switched on a camper’s lantern that illuminated the rotting shed like a movie set. Cara wished he hadn’t, that way she could see his face, and he was a stranger.

  Oh, it was Buck Tarrant, all right. The same man who had been kissing her only a few hours ago, the same man who had romanced her with fine words and grand gestures, but he was still a stranger. His once-handsome face contorted until it resembled a primitive devil-mask and his eyes...Cara wanted to look away from those two pools of raging hate, but she couldn’t.

  “You witch!” he roared, without warning, gave her a backhand blow across the face that sent her sprawling.

  Dazed, Cara didn’t know quite what happened next. As she struggled to pull herself back from the brink of oblivion, there were ugly sounds of blows against flesh and the sickening crunch of a body slamming against the earth. Then there were steel hands clamping on her shoulders and lifting her up.

  “My feet hurt...” Cara was amazed to hear her mouth say. It was true, but her rational mind, cowering in the back of her consciousness, didn’t really think it was the time or place to say it.

  “Your feet hurt?” Buck shouted in a tone that was so familiar and yet so unlike him. “Is that all you have to say after what you’ve done, you stupid, vicious, hateful female?” Then he really began to swear, screaming horrible, hideous words that Cara, in her innocence, had never known existed but which grated against her ears like blows.

  “Buck...Please...”

  “You say, ‘Please,’ you...!” Buck spat out a stream of profanity that scraped against Cara’s mind like sharp rocks. “It was you that killed him, wasn’t it?”

  The odd conversation had taken a distinctly odder turn. How had he known? Had Buck been there? Had he seen? If so, why hadn’t he helped them? Or if he wasn’t close enough, why hadn’t he called out?

  “Murchison? I didn’t mean to...”

  He shook her like a rag doll, snapping her head back and forth until Cara thought her neck would break off sharply, like fatigued metal.

  “Of course, Murchison! Waylon Murchison! He was my only real friend…”

  Even in the uncertain light, Cara could see the fury in his eyes, the angry foam that clustered in the corners of his mouth. “Your friend…?” The world rocked and shifted around Cara, and suddenly, nothing was as she had known it.

  “We were in the orphanage together. He kept me alive when I got sick. He was all I ever had. Even after we grew up, all we had was each other. He was the only person I ever really loved…so of course you had to kill him, you...”

  “He was going to kill us!”

  Too far gone in his rage, Buck didn’t even hear her. “You couldn’t stand it that we…! He was gentle and kind and giving, but you didn’t care about that, did you, you stupid, selfish…!”

  “Buck...”

  He didn’t even hear her. “You’re just like everybody else, greedy and jealous and hateful...” His foul abuse flowed on like a flood of polluted water, but Cara barely heard. Truth was swirling around her like a tornado, ripping away the last vestiges of her innocence. So many little things should have warned her, but she hadn’t paid any attention.

  He had taken care to keep her busy and happy enough that she wouldn’t pay that kind of attention.

  Why?

  She had to survive to find that out.

  Dave Burkhart, whoever he was in this jumble, wasn’t going to be any help. He lay still in a boneless, uncomfortable heap across the floor. Cara couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

  Well, Cara was and she intended to go on doing so.

  She was too close to use the flying kick she had before, but she had watched a lot of television. With a viciousness she didn’t know she possessed, she brought her knee up against Buck. The angle wasn’t really right for as hard a blow as she wanted, but it was enough to make him give a high-pitched, womanish scream and loosen his grip. That little bit was all she needed. Wiggling free of his grasp she turned and dashed out into the darkness.

  With the maniacal timing of inanimate objects, the last strap of her sandal broke halfway across the clearing and she stumbled, falling headlong on the grass. Buck was on her before she could breathe. Hulking over her, he flipped her on her back and, straddling her, grabbed her upper arms in a grip that threatened to break her bones.

  “Did you know how we laughed at you?” Buck was screaming. There were tears in his eyes. “We’d sit in our room at home and laugh and laugh and laugh. It was so funny! He listened to your phone calls with me, you know. When we got here and you asked if the furniture in my room was sturdy, I had to put something in his mouth to keep him from laughing out loud...”

  “Buck...” Cara’s arms were going numb. In a minute, he would break her arms off completely if he didn’t let go.

  “And you couldn’t stand it, so you killed him...”

  “I killed him because he was going to kill me!” Cara shouted at the top of her voice.

  The sudden noise seemed to work. Buck blinked, then like lifting a veil, the madness passed, and he regarded her with calm eyes that were almost the same as they had always been, eyes that once she would have sworn had looked at her with love.

  “But that’s what we’d always planned,” he said in a hideously normal tone.

  The bleak, unreal world around Cara shook, shimmered, and threatened to dissolve. There it was, stark, unadorned, and ugly, the truth she had been seeking.

  Part of it.

  “Why?” she asked in a distressingly piteous tone. “You made me think you loved me...”

  “Love you?” The fury blazed in his eyes again. “You killed Waylon...”

  His hands left her arms; Cara was intensely grateful for the pain to end, at least for the microsecond before he grabbed her neck and began to squeeze. The pain in her neck and throat was terrible, but what was worse was the pinging in her head. She gasped for breath, could feel her chest heaving and her lungs burning, but no air could get past the blockade of Buck’s hands. There were white sparks in her eyes and her chest felt as if it wer
e being crushed. Reality began to melt and spin away.

  She was dying.

  Buck was strangling her, and she was dying.

  Cara knew she only had seconds left, seconds that would tell if she were to live or die. If she ever lost consciousness, she was as good as dead; Buck would keep at it until he was satisfied that she was gone...

  Clawing her fingers, she used the last bit of strength to lash out at his eyes...the same eyes that had once given her looks that had melted her foolish heart, the same eyes that she had dreamed about...

  Stupid...Cara thought as she sank into darkness.

  * * * * *

  His mind fuzzy, Dave Burkhart thought he must have been hit by a truck. He hurt all over. He was lying doubled up in a position that was both painful and unnatural, his face so close to the ground that there was dirt in his nose.

  There were voices...two of them, two men blathering in excited Spanish. He should understand what they were saying, he spoke Spanish of a sort, but the words escaped him...

  Someone was pulling at him, rearranging his limbs into a normal human shape again. It didn’t feel like anything was broken. On the other hand, didn’t they know you shouldn’t move an accident victim?

  “Señor Burkhart! Señor Burkhart!”

  A loud explosion like summer thunder rolled through the sky.

  Great. Now it was going to rain. First he had been hit by a truck, and now he was going to get soaked.

  Señor...Burkhart...

  Not thunder.

  A shot.

  Suddenly awake, Dave opened his eyes and looked straight into the concerned face of Señor Fonseca.

  “Cara?”

  The older man shrugged. As Dave struggled to rise, he pushed him down, muttering things about rest and injuries, but Dave shoved him aside. Something was awfully wrong; he could feel it in his bones and it flooded him with a sickening fear.

  Staggering and halfway falling, Dave charged into the clearing. The moon gave the scene a ghastly, unreal look, but it was also unrelenting in its clarity. He could see the whole scene like a photograph. Arms flailing, a hulking man vanished at a dead run into the blackness of the woods. Another man, a rifle raised to his shoulder, knelt in the center of the clearing over...