Tall, Dark And Deadly

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...”

“I think there’s a compliment there somewhere,” she managed, “but he’s so damned arrogant—”

“On this we agree.” Louis took her arm. “Shall we walk by the river and cool off? There’s a delightful breeze, and I assure you I’m quite sober now. And unlike my rude friend, I shall make no passes.”

Dana hesitated, but Louis held her firmly by the elbow and kept the conversation going. “You see, the problem with Alex is that he is only one half French. His mother was American, and he spent many years in the States. This is not to say anything negative about your country,” he added graciously, “but over there he lost something of the French savoir faire women so much admire.”

“He’s lacking something. You’re right about that,” Dana muttered. “Manners, to begin with.”

“Indeed,” Louis replied. “He does not have an abundance of manners. Also, he can be quite ruthless when he has to be. But enough talk of Alex. He is only an innkeeper in an outpost far from civilization. Instead, let us speak of the Pygmies, which we both find so fascinating.”

“I thought perhaps you had lost interest in the subject.”

“And why is that, my dear?”

“Well, at dinner—”

“Oh, yes. I avoided conversation,” he admitted.

“So did Alex.”

“Hmm.” Louis stopped. “May I smoke?”

“Of course.”

He lit a narrow black cigarillo and inhaled deeply. “We both avoided conversation at the table tonight, Alex and I,” Louis said. “The reasons for this are very complicated.”

Dana waited, wondering if he would mention the other conversation, the one she’d heard—or thought she’d heard—as she dozed off in her room.

“But I will not bother you with this,” he said.

“Please, it’s all right.”

“No, no,” he insisted. “There are more important subjects for us to talk about.”

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by the approach of another couple coming toward them along the path. Betty and Yassif.

They stepped aside. “Lovely evening, is it not?” Louis asked pleasantly.

Betty nodded, but Yassif only scowled.

“Pleasant fellow,” Louis joked when they were out of earshot.

“I wonder what she sees in him,” Dana began before realizing the naïveté of the question.

They stopped at a crumbling wall near the riverbank. Thick green vegetation crept toward them, seemingly overwhelming everything in its path. A hazy mist enveloped the night and magnified the great silence that surrounded them. It was both fascinating and eerie.

“About the Pygmies. You wish to travel even farther into the mysterious jungle in search of them,” Louis said.

“Yes, I do. Now I have the perfect opportunity, since we’re going to be stuck here for a while. I realize you’re reluctant to take me to them, but maybe there’s someone you could recommend.”

“There are no guides in this village, but perhaps some miles upstream.” Louis puffed silently and stared out into the blackness. “A man named McQuire once took me deep into the rain forest.”

“McQuire,” Dana repeated. “An Englishman?”

“Irishman, I believe. He has been a guide for over thirty years. Of course, I don’t know if he is still alive.” Louis shrugged elegantly. “As I have told you, the jungle is a dangerous place.”

“I understand that,” Dana said impatiently, “but maybe I could see the fringes, at least. What’s the point of being in the Congo if I can’t have an adventure or two?”

Louis looked amused “Indeed, what is the point of life...without an adventure or two? And nowhere is there more possibility for excitement than here on the banks of the Congo. A thousand miles of brown ribbon cutting through a carpet of green, and on the river time means nothing. We live for the day.”

“How romantic,” Dana said.

“When a Frenchman speaks of the Congo, it is always romantic,” Louis replied with a smile.

“There’s just one problem.”

“And what is that, dear Dana?”

“The mosquitoes!” They were buzzing around her head. She slapped at them ineffectually. “They’re driving me crazy. I’m afraid I’ll have to go inside.”

“I understand, although they seem to avoid me,” Louis said with a soft laugh. “Perhaps it is the smoke from my cigarillo. Meanwhile, remember your antimalaria pills, a must here in Africa.”

“I will, but for now—”

“Yes, go to your mosquito netting,” Louis said, “and as for me, I shall stay here a while longer and smoke.”

“Then good night,” Dana said. “I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe we can find that McQuire fellow.”