Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set (52 page)

She thought of
the framed photos of her parents that she'd tossed into the valise at the last moment, and a bitter smile touched her lips.

"Sure," she said. "No problem."

She got into the car and stared into the darkness while he shoved the key into the ignition. Good, she thought. Rogan wanted to be rid of her as much as she wanted to be rid of him. That certainly simplified things. There would be no fumbling attempts at conversation during the flight to Miami. Once they were on the plane, they didn't even have to sit together. All they had to do was get past passport control and then they never had to look at each other again.

Rogan's harsh voice breached the silence. "How well do you know these roads?"

Elena blinked. "What?"

"The roads. Do you know them well? You were brought up here, weren't you?"

She shook her head. "I... I don't know," she whispered.

"You don't know? What kind of an answer is that?"

"I was... I was thinking about my father..."

"I didn't ask you about your father," he said impatiently. "I asked you about the damned road. Is there another way to get to the airport besides this?" He glanced at her and then back at the road. "Is there a short-cut?"

She looked at him blankly. "I'm not sure. I..."

The car skidded from side to side as Rogan stepped on the brakes. Elena fell forward as they came to a sudden stop, and then he reached across the seat and grabbed hold of her.

"I'm only going to say this once, Princess, so you'd damned well better pay attention," he said, putting his hand beneath her chin and roughly lifting her face to his. "Are you listening?"

In the darkness, she could see little of his face, but anger gleamed brightly in his eyes. Elena nodded.

"You're worried about your father. Is that right?"

Of course I am."

"Uh huh. You're concerned about his safety."

Slowly, she nodded again. "Yes."

Rogan smiled. "That's touching," he said softly, and then, without warning, he took her by the shoulders and shook her. "But it doesn't help us one damned bit," he snarled. "I'm telling you right now,
senorita,
you'd better stop worrying about your old man's neck and start worrying about your own. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered. "The soldiers. And the rebels. But..."

"I'm the one you have to worry about, lady. Not the rebels. Not the soldiers. Just plain old me!"

She twisted against his hands. "You're hurting me
!"

"You're nothing but excess baggage, Princess. Spoiled excess baggage, at that. If
I were on my own, I'd be half-way to Mexico by now. Instead, I'm sitting in the middle of a road in the middle of the damned jungle..."

The sorrow that had almost overwhelmed her began to recede as her anger grew. The man was making it sound as if he were doing all this as a humanitarian gesture! Elena's shoulders stiffened.

"Aren't you leaving something out of this, Rogan? You'd be half-way to Mexico and a hell of a lot poorer."

His brows drew together. "What are you talking about?"

She swiveled away from him. "I don't know how much my father had to pay you before you'd agree to marry me..."

He laughed softly as he started the car again and pulled on to the road. "You mean Daddy didn't tell you the price of your freedom, Elena?"

Heat flooded her cheeks. "No," she snapped. "He didn't. But he made it clear that it cost a great deal. So don't try to sound like a martyr, Rogan. You're being well paid for what you're doing. Besides, your part in this is just about over. You married me and now all you've got to do is get us to the airport..."

"...and on that plane. Yeah, it sounds easy enough. But it may not be. We haven't run into any trouble so far, but who knows what might happen between now and flight time? All I'm telling you is that you'd better behave yourself and follow orders until we're
… Jesus!"

He jammed his foot down on the brake pedal and the car slewed across the road. Elena braced her hand against the dashboard as they came to a sliding stop.

"It's a roadblock," she whispered.

Rogan laughed sharply. "No kidding."

She stared out of the windscreen at a pair of vehicles angled across the narrow road. The glare of Rogan's headlights picked out the shapes of three men moving slowly towards them, rifles clasped in their arms.

"Rogan? Do you think they're soldiers?"

He shook his head. "They're not wearing uniforms."

A tremor danced along Elena's spine. "Then they're not police, either. That means they must be rebels
."

"Or bandits. When a country starts to sink, the scum always surfaces." The three men were almost at the car. One of them switched on a flashlight and directed the beam into their eyes. "Listen," Rogan said
softly, "you just keep quiet and let me do the talking, OK?"

"Yes, but..."

"No "buts", Elena," he said harshly. "All you've got to do is keep your mouth shut. Can you manage that?"

She nodded.

"We're on our honeymoon," he muttered. "Just remember that...
Buenas noches,"
he said as he put down his window.
"Buenas noches, compadres."

His voice was pleasant and smooth. But his Spanish, so perfect in the market-place two weeks before, was unmusical and clumsy. Elena looked at Rogan in surprise. He was babbling away in a combination of broken Spanish and English, talking a blue streak at the three men who were standing beside the car.

"...never dreamed the little lady and I would find ourselves in the middle of so much excitement," he said, putting his hand over hers. "Say hello to the gentlemen, sweetheart."

Elena forced a smile to her lips. "Hello," she said, staring at the men. There was a sullen unpleasantness to their faces. The one with the flashlight pointed it into the back seat and then motioned to them.

"I think he wants us to step outside, sweetheart," Rogan said, clasping her hand in his. "Let's just oblige them."

Rogan's arm came around her as they got out of the car. Elena shivered, uncertain as to whether it was from the sudden dampness of the night air or from fright.

"Rogan?" she whispered.

He drew her more closely against him. "It's all right, love," he said. She knew, by the way he spoke, that he wanted the men to hear him. "Just think of what an exciting story we'll have to tell when we get back to the States."

She shivered again as she burrowed against him, and his arm tightened around her, the hard warmth of his body offering her comfort. The men poked into the car's interior, mumbling softly to each other. One of them turned to Rogan and snapped his fingers.

"What does he want?" Elena murmured.

"He wants his throat slit," Rogan said pleasantly. "But I suspect he'll settle for the keys. Here,
compadre,"
he said, tossing them to the man. "Take a look in the trunk, if you like."

"Suppose he understands English, Rogan? Suppose..."

"Easy, Princess. You just concentrate on looking like a blushing bride."

"Yes, but..."

The keys landed at their feet with a metallic jingle. Rogan picked them up and grinned at the three armed men.

"What you doing here?" the smallest—and meanest-looking—demanded.

"I told you," Rogan said easily. "We're on our honeymoon."

The men conferred together and then the small one turned to them again. "
“Why here, in San Felipe? There has been—talk,
si
?—talk of trouble here..."

Rogan grinned and drew Elena against him. "Yeah, I guess. We've been travelling for a couple of weeks, you
see, and we were so busy with other things that we just didn't pay too much attention." He chuckled softly and bent his head to hers. "You know how it is when you've only been married a little while."

His lips touched Elena's cheek. The men mumbled among themselves and then they laughed. The small one said something to the others, something crude that Elena understood all too clearly. She drew in her breath, but before she could speak, Rogan's fingers bit into her flesh, warning her to remain silent.

"Well, if you guys don't mind, we're going to move along now," he said. His hand urged her forward and immediately the three men tensed. "It's getting kind of late and we want to get some miles on us before morning." One of the men shifted position and his rifle barrel began to move. "Lovely country you have here, fellas."

Elena moved forward slowly, her eyes never leaving the moving rifle. "Rogan?"

"Keep going," he whispered. "That's the girl. Now, get into the car."

She did as he told her, an empty smile on her face as she slid across the front seat. Despite the
coolness of the
night, sweat had plastered her clothing to her body. The men watched in silence and then, suddenly, the tallest of the three stepped forward and angled his rifle towards the car. Elena heard Rogan's swift intake of breath; quickly, before he could respond, she scrambled across the seat and hooked her arm around his neck.

"Ask them if they know of some sweet little inn where we can stay the night, Blake honey," she purred. Rogan's eyes registered sudden understanding and something more. She managed a girlish giggle as she pressed her face into his shoulder. "I know you wanted to drive straight through to the border, but after all this excitement, I'd really like to, you know, stop for a while."

There was silence again. Elena kept her face buried against Rogan's jacket, but every fiber of her being concentrated on the sounds outside the car. She could hear the shift of feet on gravel, hear the whispered voices, and then, finally, the raucous sound of male laughter. The smallest of the men called out something and he slapped the car door with his hand.

"
Vamos,"
he said.

Blake stepped down on the accelerator. "Yeah," he muttered, "I agree. Let's get the hell out of here."

Elena breathed a sigh of relief as the car shot forward. "Thank God," she whispered.

Blake glanced at her. "Don't be so modest, Princess," he said with a soft laugh. "That was pretty quick thinking. You got us out of a tough spot."

"I hoped it would work. Latin men sometimes get so caught up in being male that they forget everything else. I mean, I figured if I could get their minds off other things and on me..."

"Well, it sure as hell worked. You almost had me convinced."

The car swayed through a curve and Elena suddenly realized she was still sitting tucked tightly against him. A blush spread across her face and she scooted across the seat until she was as far from him as the narrow confines of the car would permit.

"I'm just glad it worked," she said, staring straight ahead.

"The honeymoon's over, hmm? Well, thanks anyway, Princess. For a couple of minutes there, I was afraid I was going to have to take on the three of them."

"Three men and three rifles?" She shuddered. "You'd have lost."

He laughed softly. "Maybe."

Her eyebrows rose. "Maybe? Aren't you overestimating your abilities, Rogan?"

"Blake," he said. "It sounds more convincing if you call me by my first name. After all, I'm your husband, remember?"

"Only for the next ten minutes or so,
Mr.
Rogan," she said with deliberate emphasis. "The airport is just over that rise. We should be able to see the lights from it any minute now."

He nodded. "Maybe we're going to make it, after all. What the hell, except for that little run-in we just had, it's been quiet ever since we left the Embassy."

Elena turned towards him. "What do you mean, "maybe we're going to make it"?" she demanded. "My father said there was a plane."

"I know what he said, Princess. But he's not a magician. When we left the city, the airport was still in government hands. That was a long time ago. By now..."

"Look," Elena said, leaning forward, "do you see the sky?" She pointed to a red glow on the horizon. "The sun's coming up—it's almost dawn." A smile curved across her face. "Maybe the fighting will stop when daylight comes. Maybe..."

Blake threw his arm across her as he stepped on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt at the crest of a hill and Elena drew in her breath as she stared at the airport in the valley below.

It wasn't sunrise that was touching the hills with fire. Everything—hangars, planes, and buildings—was consumed in flame.

Elena stare
d in horror at the scene that lay below the ridge. The airport buildings were fiery masses of twisted metal, angry red flames still shooting into the sky from the gutted structures. Several small planes were burning brightly; a larger one, next to what had been the terminal, was nothing but a charred ruin.

She heard the rasp of Rogan's breath beside her, and then he sighed. "Well," he said finally, "so much for the plane to Miami."

"But... who would do such a thing? It doesn't make sense. No matter who wins in San Felipe, they need the airport."

He shrugged as he pulled the car on to the road again. "What's the difference who did it? The airport's gone. That's all that matters."

"Yes, but..."

"There are no "buts". It's finished. Dead.
Muerte. Comprende,
Princess?"

"Shouldn't we go down and see if there's anybody who needs help?"

"No."

She looked at him. "No?"

His voice was rough with impatience. "It's the same in Spanish and in English. No, Elena. We're not going anywhere except out of here."

"But there might be people hurt down there. They might need us."

Blake's eyes scanned the burning wreckage. "Believe me," he said in a flat voice, "there's nobody down there who needs us. Not anymore."

Tears glistened in her eyes. "How could anyone have done that?"

"Listen, Princess, if you want to discuss the deeper meaning of what's going on in San Felipe some time, I'd be happy to oblige. We can meet in Miami and talk about it over a drink. For now, I just want to get the hell out of here. Take a look in the glove compartment and see if you can find a map."

"I don't believe you, Rogan. My country is collapsing all around me, and all you can think of is yourself. Can't you understand how I feel? Don't you have any feelings?"

"Yes," he said grimly. "I have this strange attachment to my own neck, and I'm determined to hang on to it. Now, see if there's a map in that compartment."

"See for yourself," she snapped. "It's your car and your neck and...are you crazy?" she gasped, grabbing for the dashboard as he slammed on the brakes.

He was across the seat before she could finish the sentence, his hands gripping her shoulders so hard that she could feel each finger imprinting itself in her flesh.

"Spare me the holier-than-thou attitude, Princess. If this is "your country", why do you live in the States?"

"How do you know that?"

His lips curved back from his teeth. "I'm a real romantic," he said coldly. "I found out everything I could about my prospective bride."

"I don't have to explain anything to you!"

"Then don't preach to me, either. It wasn't my idea to have you for a travelling companion."

He was holding her so tightly that she wanted to cry out, but somehow she managed to lift her chin and meet his furious stare with a cold one of her own.

"Meaning?"

His blue eyes narrowed. "Meaning," he said softly, "that you'd better remember who's in charge here, Princess. Otherwise..."

Her eyebrows rose. "Otherwise?" she challenged.

"Figure it out for yourself," he said, thrusting her from him. "And if you have difficulty coming to a conclusion, just remember that I can make better time alone than if I have to drag you along with me.
Comprende?"

"You're a despicable human being," Elena whispered. "If my father only knew..."

The tires squealed as he gunned the car forward. "Your father didn't choose me for my personality. He saddled me with you because he knew you'd never make it without me."

"Saddled you? Paid you, you mean, and paid you handsomely, I'll bet."

Rogan's lips drew back from his teeth. "Yeah," he said softly, "the price was right. But it was for a quick wedding and a plane ride."

Something in his words chilled her. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"Just look for a map, will you? The sun will be up soon and this road won't be the safest place in the world."

A cold fist seemed to have settled just beneath her heart. "Listen," she said softly. "If you've got any ideas about leaving me behind..."

Rogan turned towards her, his eyes glinting with cool amusement. "Would I abandon my sweet bride?"

The laughter in his voice was barely concealed. Elena felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

"You'd just better remember that you won't collect a penny of your money if you get to Miami without me."

"Is that a threat, Princess?"

His voice was soft as silk, but there was an edge of hardness just beneath it. The cold fist within her knotted tighter and Elena's breathing quickened.

"No," she said quickly, "not a threat. Just a reminder. "

"Good. Because I'd hate to have to tell you it was an empty threat."

This time, the silken voice was wrapped around steel. Elena clasped her suddenly trembling hands tightly in her lap.

"Stop playing with me," she said softly, her eyes on his impassive profile. "What are you getting at?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "My fee for this job's already been taken care of."

"That's impossible."

He grinned. "Bad business, maybe, but not impossible."

She took a deep breath. "Are you saying my father paid you in advance?"

Rogan shrugged. "That was the deal," he said casually, flexing his shoulders.

"But then...then..."

A wolfish grin spread across his face. "Yes," he said. "Exactly."

No, she thought, staring at him in disbelief, no, it had to be a lie. Her father wouldn't have done anything so foolish. You didn't pay a man like Rogan in advance; even she knew that. But if Rogan had insisted on getting his money up front, what choice would her father have had except to pay it? Besides, who would have dreamed that the plane that was supposed to take her to safety would end up a charred piece of metal, squatting like an obscene travesty of modern sculpture on a deserted runway?

Now what? she thought, lacing her fingers together. There was no plane to Miami, Rogan had his money, and here they were racing along a road that led God only knew where, while civil war raged all around them.

She glanced at the man beside her. His firm jaw was set, jutting forwards as if he were ready to take on the world. In the grey light of the dawning day, she could see dark stubble already showing on his chin. He'd discarded his tie sometime during the previous hours, and his shirt was opened half-way down his chest, showing a profusion of flat, dark curls against tanned skin. The civilized exterior had given way to the real Blake Rogan, the one she'd known was there all along, the one who was hard and violent and uncaring.

There was only one thing to do. Elena cleared her throat.

"All right," she said finally, "take me back to Santa Rosa."

"Don't be
an idiot."

“
You can keep the money. I'll tell my father to let you..."

"Jesus," he said, slapping his hand against the steering wheel, "don't you ever come down from that ivory tower? I wish to God I
could
take you back to Santa Rosa. Believe me, I'd like nothing better."

"Then do it. We haven't come that far. We could be there in a couple of hours."

"We could be dead in a couple of hours," he snarled. "Wake up, Elena. Your world is gone. There aren't any more fancy mansions and finishing schools."

"Don't lecture me, Rogan," she said angrily. "You don't know anything about me.
” "I know all I need to know."

"Look," she said, "there's no point in arguing. Just turn the car around and take me back."

"Dammit, will you listen to me? There is no going back. Not with everything going to hell in a hand basket. The only good thing about this mess is that the car is pointed north."

"North," she repeated. "Towards the border, you mean?"

Rogan nodded. "Exactly."

Her eyes met his. He was right, of course. There was no turning back, if not for her own sake, then for her father's. She knew that, just as she knew that she could never cross the endless miles ahead without Rogan's help. He was watching her through narrowed eyes, waiting, waiting... and suddenly she knew what he was waiting for.

It took all the determination she had to ask what had to be asked. When she finally spoke, her voice was subdued and papery.

"And me?" she whispered.

Rogan shrugged his shoulders, but she was sure she saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes. "What about you?"

It seemed to take enormous effort to form the words. "Will you... will you take me with you? Or..."

"Or?"

She swung her head towards him, her eyes bright with anger. Was that laughter she heard in his voice? His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, his mouth a straight line, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told her he was enjoying every minute of her humiliation.

"Look," she said, her voice tightly controlled, "let's stop playing games, OK? My father made a deal with you. You were supposed to get me on a plane to the States..."

"You're leaving something out, Princess," he said softly.

"Leaving what out? I..." Color rose quickly into Elena's cheeks. "All right, yes, you were supposed to marry me."

"Supposed to? I
did
marry you, Elena. How could you forget a ceremony that meant so much to both of us?"

The color in her cheeks darkened. "OK," she said through her teeth, "what's the bottom line?"

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You're right, Princess, it's time to put all the cards on the table. It's almost dawn," he said, leaning over the steering wheel and peering at the pewter-colored sky. "I don't want to be sitting here like a target once the sun is up." He turned towards her and his eyes fixed on hers thoughtfully. "I could leave you here." His voice was soft, almost a caress, and Elena felt herself paling beneath it. A cool smile twisted his mouth. "We both know what a bastard I am, don't we?"

She drew in her breath. "Listen, Rogan..."

"Come on, don't be shy. You've told me what you thought of me. In fact, you've told me several times."

"Dammit, if you're going to dump me out here, do it! Don't toy with me."

A muscle clenched in his jaw and he looked back at the road. "I know it's going to come as something of a disappointment," he said finally, "but I'm going to take you with me."

The sun was rising over the mountains far ahead of them, its golden rays spreading quickly across the grey landscape. Rogan pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

"Just understand, it's not going to be a walk in the park."

Elena looked at him, but his eyes, hidden behind the mirrored lenses, were closed to her.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I'll get us out of here—but I'm not sure how I'm going to do it. There'll be all kinds of problems.."

Her eyes followed his as he looked at the fuel gauge. "We're all right so far," she said quickly. "We've got half a tank of gasoline left."

"You mean, we've already used half a tank."

"It comes to the same thing," she said impatiently. "And we haven't seen anyone since we got away from those three men."

"Not if you don't count a burned out airport, no."

"You know what I mean, Rogan. We haven't bumped into a car or a wagon or..."

"Right. Which makes me wary as hell. This is the main road out of Santa Rosa. And we're in the middle of a rebellion. Where in God's name is everybody?"

He was right, she thought, casting a worried glance out of the window. Everything was much too quiet. Not that she wanted to run into any armed men—the encounter during the night had been quite enough. But wouldn't troops or rebels or somebody be all over this road by now?

"I... I hadn't thought about it," she admitted slowly.

Rogan's jaw clenched. "Well, I have, believe me. Things might get interesting any time now." He paused and then he looked at her, his expression blank. "Which brings us back to our deal,
senorita.
If you want me to take you with me..."

If?
She sat up straight and stared at him. "But you said…"

His voice cut through hers. "If you want my help, you'll have to agree to my terms."

"Your terms? What do you mean, "terms"? You were already paid to get me out of here."

He sighed. "How quickly we forget,
Princess. I've already met my part of the deal, remember?"

“I hate when you call me that! And you haven’t.”

“Yeah, I have. I got you to the airport. It's not my fault the plane burned, is it?"

Elena drew in her breath. "That's not the point
."

"You're right, it's not."

She looked at him quickly. She hadn't expected such a quick concession, but he was smiling agreeably. Dear God, why was she suddenly so nervous? And why was he looking at her that way?