The Other Half of Your Heart Read online

  The sunshine was back in Buck's expression. “That's my girl. Deal!” He gave her hand another big smack, stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, honey. We've got lots more to see and do.”

  “More surprises?” Cara asked cautiously.

  Leaving the small, secluded park for the crowded street, Buck tucked Cara's arm through his. The swirling crowd of tourists and locals swept around their leisurely pace, buffeting them with surprising force. At first, Cara had worried that her white shorts and gaudy T-shirt, hastily purchased from the hotel shop, might not be right for anywhere but the beach. One look at the other tourists, however, had reassured her that anything went. The cobble-stoned streets made Cara grateful that she had at least packed her athletic shoes, especially after seeing one stylishly dressed woman from one of the cruise ships tottering perilously by in incongruous high heels.

  “Maybe. If you're a good girl.”

  “Most men usually say exactly the opposite.”

  Buck laughed. “And how many men do you know, my sweet innocent little girl?”

  Cara dug a teasing finger into his rock-hard ribs. “Don't be such a...” Her voice trailed off like a broken string.

  “Calling me names, sweetheart? Now surely your mamma told you that wasn't the way to win a man's heart...”

  “Buck, I just saw...” Cara said in an entirely different tone of voice.

  His rock hard jaw tightened. “Saw who? Honey, what are you talking about? What did you see?”

  “Down there.” Cara pointed ahead of them. “I saw that man from accounting...”

  “That weedy little weasel again?”

  “No...” Cara placed a restraining hand on Buck's tensed fist. “Not him. The ugly one who always scowls so. His name’s Murchison.”

  “Where?”

  Cara stared through the swirling mass of sunburned tourists. Unfamiliar sunburned tourists. “I don't know. I don't see him now. He was over there, by that pile of piñatas...”

  “Sure you aren't imagining things, darling?” Buck's chuckle rumbled like distant thunder. “Silly little girl...”

  Somehow, his dismissal rubbed Cara the wrong way. She stopped abruptly, planting her feet on the rough cobbles, and ignoring the tourists flooding around them.

  “I know what I saw, Buck. It was Murchison. He even frowned at me.” Cara had never understood why the ugly, shambling little man from Accounts Payable always seemed to dislike her. He had never been friendly with anyone at Brownley/Spaulding, but lately he had taken a taken a positive dislike to Cara, glowering at her every time she came into his field of vision. Cara had begun to feel somewhat paranoid, until some of the other women had begun to swap similar experiences.

  What a shame that sourpuss had to be in Puerto Vallarta the same time as they were! Cara was disappointed, but still she was determined nothing was going to ruin her perfect holiday with her perfect man!

  This had been more than Murchison’s usual scowl, though; it had been vicious, hate-filled...

  “Well,” Buck said easily, “I suppose everyone has a double, even old what’s his face.”

  “Murchison.”

  Buck grinned and hugged her so tightly her bones squeaked. “Now I just want to know why you're thinking about this Murchison character instead of me.”

  “I wasn't thinking about, I just saw him... or someone who looks an awful lot like him,” Cara amended quickly under the probe of Buck's stern glance.

  “That's better,” he said, his expression instantly reverting to sunny smiles. “Now, what about one of those frozen-fruit-juice-on-a-stick things? There's bound to be a little cart around here...”

  “Buck! We just had lunch a little while ago...”

  “I tell you, sugar, this shopping sure takes it out of a man...”

  “Amateur!” Cara couldn't help laughing. “You'd never make it all the way through a mall back home.”

  Oblivious of the people crowding around them, he bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “Well, why don't we just find out when we get back? In the meantime, I still want one of those frozen things. Sure you don't?”

  “No, I'm still stuffed. We're sure to come on one of those carts in a minute, though, if you're so weak...”

  “Tell you what, sugar, I saw one just go down that street yonder half a second ago. It won't take me a minute to catch up with it. Stay right here like a good girl, won't you?” he asked, then gave her a melting smile and dashed off through the crowd, dodging the tourists with the same panache as he once had charging linebackers.

  Cara watched in dismay as Buck vanished into the swarm of tourists. What was he doing, chasing after an ice cream vendor, of all things? Sometimes it seemed as if you couldn't move ten feet without running into one of the small pushcarts with the tinkling bells. He didn't have to go away and leave her alone like a reluctant rock in the middle of all these people!

  A sharp shove in the middle of her back sent Cara stumbling forward toward the cobble-stoned street. With an automatic response, she flung herself sideways, any way away from beneath those hurrying wheels and rough, viciously hard stones, and ended up draped around the husky form of a sombreroed, sun burnt tourist.

  “Hey, lady,” he growled before dusting her off like a worrisome insect, “what do you think you're doing?”

  “I'm so sorry,” cooed an unmistakably southern voice from behind a large and pointy metal sculpture of an idiotically smiling sun. “It's just managing this thing, you see...”

  Cara muttered something vaguely apologetic, then started sidling toward the nearest building, her temper fraying with each step. Surely Buck didn't have to vanish like that, at least, not without taking her to a safer place...

  A safer place! Cara made herself laugh. She was starting to sound like the die-away heroine of a Victorian romance. This was one of the vacation meccas, as evidenced by the profusion of tourists. If she could get out of the worst of the traffic, she would be as safe as houses.

  Something small and round jabbed her ribs as a firm grip descended on her shoulder.

  “Be quiet,” a voice whispered in her ear, “and you won't get hurt.”

  It was something directly out of a bad old movie. Cara couldn't help herself; she started to giggle.

  “Stop that!” the voice commanded and the object against her ribs pressed harder. It was small. And round. And flat. And suddenly Cara didn't feel like giggling anymore.

  “You. What...”

  “Smile,” said Dave Burkhart.

  Clad in a T-shirt and jeans, he looked very different from the suit and tie image on which the accounting department insisted. If it weren't for his military-short hair, Cara might not have recognized him with a glance. Without loosening his grip on her shoulder, he let his arm drape companionably across her back, as if they were two lovers out for a stroll. A light sweater hung casually over his other hand, so Cara couldn't see what was hurting her ribs, which was just fine with her. At the sight of a gun against her body, she knew she'd lose all control and start screaming hysterically.

  “What do you want?”

  “First of all, you might try smiling... Do you want people to think you're not having a good time?”

  “I'm not! Let me go or I'll scream...”

  The object in her ribcage pressed harder into the skin; another millimeter and it felt as if it might start bleeding. “Smile!”

  Cara pasted an idiotic grin on her face; it was the best she could do. Everyone else was intent on their own business and didn't seem to notice.

  “This way...” Roughly, he steered her toward a narrow, practically deserted side street.

  Cara knew that her chances were much better on the main thoroughfare than on a poky little street with no souvenir shops and little traffic. Once she went down that way, there'd be no one to rescue her.

  If she shouted for help here, she might be shot. Of course, he'd be giving himself away doing that, but fat lot of good that would do her if she were dead!

  She just c
ouldn't give in without a struggle!

  Cara twisted, ready to scream, but he was faster and a lot stronger than he looked. He caught her flailing arm and pulled her close to him as if they were lovers. His fist, shielded by their bodies, rose sharply and sent Cara spinning into darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Soft hands touched Cara, holding her gently, arranging her legs and arms. It was more wonderful than she had ever thought it could be. How right he had been to wait, to wait until it was just perfect. The bed was soft. There was a soft, flower-laden breeze... She had come close to spoiling it all by having an ugly bad dream, but he had taken care of her...

  “Buck...” she murmured dreamily.

  “Sorry.” The edged voice cut through the silence, jerking her from semi-sleep into nightmare.

  It hadn't been a bad dream. Dave Burkhart stood at the foot of the bed, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, staring at her with a queer mixture of insolence and anger.

  Someone else angry with me, Cara thought blankly. Why was everyone so mad at her?

  Bed? Awareness came to Cara in chunks. She was on a bed, but it wasn't hers, and this wasn't her room. Their luxury hotel probably didn't have a storeroom as bleak as this tin-ceiling, dirt-floored cubicle. The bed was double and covered with a ratty chenille spread in a startling pink. She couldn't see any other furniture.

  “Where am I? Why did you bring me here?” Cara would have leapt up at that moment, except suddenly there was a terrifying new chunk of knowledge. She was bound hand and foot to the bed.

  Panic filled her like a flash of lightning. She was in a foreign country and, because of Buck's romantic desire to keep their holiday secret, no one knew where she was. Now she had fallen into the hands of a demented pervert who was going to do God only knew what to her and Buck had no idea of where to find her. She flopped in fear, flinging herself against the bonds without being conscious of the pain.

  “Wait a minute!” Her tormentor threw himself across her, pinning her to the sagging mattress and stifling her screams with a harsh hand over her mouth. “Calm down!”

  The weight of his body drove the breath from Cara's lungs. It also hurt as the rope bit into her wrists and ankles.

  “Ouch!”

  Her exclamation sounded more like a gurgle, but he arose instantly, keeping only his hand over her mouth.

  “Sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you. Are you going to stay quiet?”

  Cara thought for just a moment, then nodded.

  He lifted his hand slowly. The silence was thick and broken only by muted sounds from outside. Cara could hear the crystalline notes of a wind chime dinging in the wind. Visions of tabloid horrors danced in her head.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “A lot less than you deserve.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Cara asked indignantly. He wasn't only perverted, he had to be mad!

  “Good, Miss Waters, good. Now we've got to keep you quiet...”

  “I promised...” Cara flinched at the dirty red bandanna in his hand.

  “But we both know how long that promise would last after I left, don't we?”

  “Left? You can't leave me like this...”

  “You're not in control now, Miss Waters. I am, and I call the shots.”

  Cara could only gurgle in impotent rage as he tied the rag over her mouth. It wasn't painful, but it was efficient, reducing her to guttural growls. She pulled against her bonds, succeeding only in tightening them. He was very good at this kind of thing. Obviously, he did it often, which didn't make Cara feel any better. She found herself trying to remember if there had been any unsolved murders recently.

  “Hey! Don't struggle so much. You'll hurt yourself. Now you'll be all right until I get back, but lie quiet. You don't want to cut off the circulation.”

  Cara tried to scream and succeeded only in sounding like a frightened frog.

  “That won't do any good, Miss Waters. Probably no one would hear you even if I left the gag off; I just don't want to take a chance.”

  Cara gurgled at him.

  “Now you just stay here and I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  Cara growled impotently as he left, closing the door behind him.

  To go where? And do what?

  Cara forced herself to be calm. Nothing was ever gained by panic, no matter how comforting hysterics might be. She had to think. What did this man want? She was afraid she knew; the skillful way he had tied her in this obscene position meant that he had done it before. Obviously, he was a nutcase, one so obsessed that he had followed Buck and her to Mexico.

  Buck!

  Could that pervert be going after Buck?

  She had to warn him. She had to get out of here before he got back!

  Cara strained against her bonds, but they held and her struggles only made them tighter still. When her fingertips began to tingle warningly, she finally had the sense to lie quietly. Heaven only knew when that monster was coming back, and if she did cut off the circulation, it wouldn't be pleasant.

  Where was she? The single window had a dirty piece of sacking hung over it, but somehow she didn't think she was in town anymore. There was the sound of the breeze and that rapidly annoying wind chime, but there was no rumble of traffic or smell of exhaust, nor any sound of voices.

  Tears welled in Cara's eyes. What was she going to do?

  * * * * *

  Dave Burkhart closed the rough wooden door behind them, then stood listening as the bed groaned beneath his prisoner's frenzied thrashing. He had expected no less from her; that was why he had taken the time to tie the special knots, which would hold her tightly but not injure her. It would be a shame to damage such a prime piece of womanhood.

  Darn, but she was good looking! Dave hadn't thought Cara Waters would be so desirable, nor so vulnerable. To look at her, he never would have guessed what she was up to. He had had no qualms about knocking her out; considering what she was, she deserved worse than that. At least, he had thought so until she had looked so frightened when he had pulled her off the street, until she had lain so soft and sweet and desirable in his arms, until he had needed to tie her down and her flesh had been warm in his hands.

  Sucker!

  He knew what she was, and he wasn’t going to forget it.

  * * * * *

  Cara awoke with a jerk, surprised to have slept. She would have sworn that she had only closed her eyes for a moment, just to ease them after she had finished weeping in sheer frustration and rage. The sun had been up then, because the room had been light;

  dark blue shadows filled it.

  Panic threatened again. Was he going to just leave her here? The window was only a glassless hole in the wall, covered with nothing more than some ragged sacking; what kinds of carnivorous animals did they have here in Mexico? How could she defend herself if she couldn't get loose?

  Cara tried to yank at her bonds once more, but hours (how many?) of being stretched into an unnatural position had put her limbs to sleep. She couldn't even feel pins and needles. The tears rose again.

  The darkness quivered and then turned dirty yellow as the door opened. First there was an oil lamp, then the face of an old woman, as wrinkled and immobile as if it had been a walnut. Her expression didn't change as she backed out, closing the door behind her.

  “No! Don't leave...” Cara gurgled incoherently into the gag. “Please don't leave...”

  Cara could have wept again, but in spite of the disgusting wetness of the cloth in her mouth, she was too thirsty. She also needed to use the bathroom. Badly. How dare that monster go away and leave her with no water! Didn't he know people could die of dehydration? Or was that what he wanted?

  Why?

  What on earth could he have against her?

  Cara searched her memory for any kind of clue, but came up with nothing. Barely twenty-four, she had led a life so ordinary it was just this side of boring, small town high school, secretarial school, a couple of jobs before she landed
the plum position of office manager of the R&D section of Brownley/Spaulding Pharmaceuticals. There was little to distinguish her from a million or so other young women of her age and background.

  So why was she tied to a bed in the wilds of Mexico?

  He had to be a madman!

  Where was Buck? Was he all right? Was he looking for her now? Would she ever see him again? Now the doubts she had had about becoming his wife seemed silly. If she ever got back into his strong, muscular arms, she'd never leave them again!

  After what seemed an eternity, the door opened again. This time the light was stronger. The old woman had turned up the flame on her lamp. And she wasn't alone. There was a man with her.

  Enormously fat and wearing dirty jeans and a dirtier T-shirt, he was as ugly a creature as Cara had ever seen. His hair was long and greasy and his mustache still carried the stains of his dinner. What was worse, though, was the way his eyes flared with an unholy light at the sight of Cara bound spread-eagled on the bed. Unconsciously he hitched his jeans and ran an obscenely pink tongue over his puffy lips.

  The old woman spat out a string of harsh, staccato Spanish. The man replied and there was a spirited exchange of which Cara understood not one word, but the woman won out, leaving him looking oddly deflated. Like a child doing an unwanted chore, he jiggled over to the bedside and bent to untie the ropes, taking exaggerated care not to touch Cara's flesh.

  For one glorious moment, Cara rejoiced, then groaned as the pain set in, turning all her muscles to fire. Taking her hand with a surprising gentleness, the man moved to pull Cara to her feet, making her scream.

  “What the devil...?” The flimsy door crashed back as Dave Burkhart barged into the room, somehow filling it.

  Giving a surprisingly girlish shriek, the old woman turned and fled, carrying the light with her. Even though the room was now plunged into profound darkness, Cara had no difficulty knowing exactly what happened. There were two repellently squishy sounds, and a substantial, if lardy, thud as the fat man hit the dirt floor with a force that made the bed shiver. Finally, a lean, hard hand clamped around her wrist with unerring accuracy.