Tall, Dark And Deadly

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Millicent bearing down on him like a locomotive. He stepped under the shade of a palm tree and waited. Millicent wore a large straw hat, and her stocky form was encased in what Alex called the Colonial costume, khaki safari jacket and trousers.

He leaned forward as she approached and gave her a kiss, knocking her hat slightly askew. “I see you’re still dressing the part, Millie.”

“Good for business,” she replied in her crisp British tones. “The tourists expect it, but Lord, it’s hot! We’re going to be with you a little longer than expected,” she added. “I’m told that the engine is totally out of commission this time, and the captain has to radio Brazzaville for a part.”

Alex grinned. Bad news for the passengers was good news for his pocketbook. Besides, he could use the extra time for his own purposes. Concealing his thoughts, he said, “It amazes me that people still book passage on that old tub.”

“Ambience,” Millie replied. “Tourists want to experience the real Africa.”

The other passengers began to straggle along the path toward the hotel. “Who’s the blonde?”

“I thought you’d notice her,” Millicent said with a knowing look in her pale blue eyes. “Her name’s Dana Baldwin. She’s an American. A professor.”

He looked past Millicent to the dock. The woman was having trouble with her luggage, and Louis was there to give assistance.

“How did you get away so fast, Millicent? All the other passengers seem to be stuck down there searching for their baggage.”

“You haven’t noticed in the past, Alex? I have a deal with the captain and his crew. They locate my things for the porters.”

“Of course. How stupid of me,” he said with a laugh. “I should have known you’d have an angle. Now about the blonde. What’s her name...Dana? How’d she get hooked up with your tour?”

“On a whim. She was spending the summer at some kind of language institute in Tangiers. She’s fascinated with this region of the Congo and has an obsession with the Pygmies. I told her, of course, that we weren’t trekking inland, only doing the river cruise. No Pygmies at all. Just hippos, chimps, the odd leopard on the bank and, of course, my wonderful birds.”

“Of course,” Alex said, mimicking Millicent’s speech. An expatriate British citizen, she’d turned her love of nature into a business and was an avid bird-watcher.

“Dana was determined to come along. Said she had a real need to see the area.”

“Hmm.” Alex was watching Dana at the wharf and wondering about her.

Millie removed her hat and fanned herself rapidly. “Forget it, Alex. She’s just an overzealous language teacher with no hidden agenda.”

“Maybe, but you know my philosophy, Millicent. People have only two reasons for traveling to this part of Africa, and that woman is no exception. Either she’s running toward something...or away from it.”

“You’re far too cynical,” Millie chastised.

“Porte Ivoire will do that to a person.”

“Why don’t you get out?”

“You know why, Millie. I can’t find a buyer for this damned hotel.”

“But you have other irons in the fire, don’t you, Alex, other schemes and deals?” Behind thick glasses, her blue eyes were inquisitive.

“Here come the guests,” Alex said, ignoring her question. “Time to play the gracious host.”

Alex and Millicent watched the commotion at the dock as Father Theroux, surrounded by a phalanx of villagers, turned in the opposite direction, toward his mission, while the others trudged toward the hotel.

Moments later, Betty Weston swept by, eyes cold, head high. “My usual room, Alex?”

“Check with the desk clerk, Betty. You’re first in line so you can have any room you want.” The muscular young man with her shot Alex a dirty look and followed after Betty.

Millie raised her eyebrows. “Cold shoulder, eh?”

“Icy, I’d say. I wonder why the hell she’s here.”

“Free-lance journalists are always on the lookout for a story,” Millie told him. “I ran into her in Brazzaville. Told her I had some magazine contacts in London eager to buy pieces about wildlife along the river. I assume the boyfriend, Yassif, is for recreational purposes.”

“And to put me in my place.”

“Did she succeed?” Millicent asked.

Alex laughed. “I’m just relieved that she has someone to occupy her time.” He was still watching the wharf. “Wonder what’s keeping Louis and the American?”

“Be patient, dear boy.” Millicent started to turn toward the hotel, but Alex stopped her. “Stay and introduce me, Millie. And nicely.”

“If you insist.” Millicent stepped off the path into the shade of the trees. “But let me remind you that it’s too late for ‘nice.’ She’s heard all about you. Remember that we’ve all been together for days on the boat. The talk—”

“Gossip, Millicent.”

“Talk, Alex. You can’t spend years behaving badly and not expect stories to get around. Your reputation precedes you.”

* * *

DANA FELT comfortable with Louis. He smelled of French cigarettes and spicy after-shave. A good twenty years older than she but barely taller, he was attractive in a sophisticated, slightly dissipated way—a world-weary man. She’d misplaced a bag; he found it for her. Over her protests, he tipped her porter. Then he took her arm, and they headed up the path toward the hotel. She stopped for a moment, shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare and took a long look at the building that was their destination.

“So that’s the Stanley Hotel.” It was constructed of old brick, faded and mellow, surrounded by a two-story veranda. Charming from the distance, the building looked more and more rickety as they approached. The paint was peeling, the roof sagged and a tangle of vines displaced the mortar between the bricks.

Louis gave a little chuckle. “Not exactly a four-star establishment, eh?”

She was about to respond when someone else did.

“What the hell would you know about four-star hotels, Louis?”

A tall man had stepped out of the shadow of the palm trees and blocked their path. Millicent was standing beside him, but Dana scarcely noticed. She was lost in the greenest eyes she’d ever seen, cool eyes that met hers with a look of long and thorough appraisal. Dana tried to look away, but it wasn’t possible. Her eyes were locked on his.

She heard Millicent’s voice. “Dana, this is Alex Jourdan. Our host. Alex, meet Dana Baldwin, one of our tour members not yet initiated into the ways of Porte Ivoire.” Millicent gave an amused little twist to her smile.

Dana could feel Alex’s energy reach out to her, and the sultry African sun grew even hotter under his speculative gaze. Dana had to tilt her head to meet Alex’s green eyes; he had to be half a foot taller than her own five feet eight inches. He wore a faded blue T-shirt that molded the muscles of his arms and chest like a second skin. His cutoffs were frayed, his sandals scuffed, but the casual look didn’t hide his animal magnetism.

His full and sensual mouth curved in a half smile. His thick, dark brown hair grazed the neck of his shirt. Dana registered subliminally that he needed a haircut. What he didn’t need was one more ounce of virility. Sensuality simmered in the midday heat.

Dark, handsome, dangerous. Those were the words that came to her mind and wouldn’t go away.

“Bienvenu. Welcome to Porte Ivoire and to the Stanley Hotel,” he said at last in a voice that was deep and husky with a trace of French accent. Only a hint, enough to make it both memorable and sexy as hell. She’d heard a great deal on the boat about women who’d fallen under Alex Jourdan’s spell. Now she understood.

“I hope you enjoy your stay,” he added when she didn’t reply.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for a response. Dana finally managed to include the hotel in her gaze while not quite tearing it away from Alex. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy every moment.” God, she thought, every moment! Why did she say that?