Midnight rainbow

"Who?"

"Turego."

Amusement laced his voice. "Honey, I promise you, he’ll be taken care of. Don’t worry about it. Now that you’re safe and sound, steps can be taken to neutralize him."

"You’re using some ominous sounding phrases. What do’taken care of’ and ‘neutralize’ mean?"

"That he’s going to be spending some time in those gracious Central American jails that everyone hears so much about. Go to sleep."

She obeyed, her lips curved in a contented smile, his arms securely around her.

*****

Someone had pulled strings again. It could have been her father, or the mysterious "friend" of Grant’s who kept arranging things, or possibly Grant had intimidated someone at the embassy. However it happened, the next afternoon they had passports. They could have taken the next flight to Dallas, but instead they spent another night together, making love in that king-size bed, the door securely bolted. She didn’t want to leave. As long as they were still in Mexico City, she could pretend that it wasn’t over, that the job wasn’t finished. But her parents were waiting for her, and Grant had his own life to go back to. She had to find another job, as well as take care of the little chore that had gotten her into so much trouble to begin with. There was no way they could stay in Mexico.

Still, tears burned the back of her eyes when they boarded the jet that would take them to Dallas. She knew that Grant had booked separate flights for them from Dallas; she was going on to New York, and he was flying to Knoxville. Their goodbyes would be said in the vast, busy Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, and she couldn’t stand it. If she didn’t get a tight hold on herself she’d be squalling like a baby, and he wouldn’t want that. If he wanted more of her than what he’d already had, he’d have asked her, because she’d made it more than obvious that she was willing to give him whatever he wanted. But he hadn’t asked, so he didn’t want her. She’d known that this time would come, and she’d accepted it, taken the risk, grabbed for what happiness she could get. Pay up time had come.

She controlled her tears. She read the airline magazine; and was even able to comprehend what she was reading. For a while she held his hand, but she released it when the in-flight meal was served. She ordered a gin and tonic, gulped it down, then ordered another.

Grant eyed her narrowly, but she gave him a bright, glittering smile, determined not to let him see that she was shattering on the inside.

Too soon, far too soon, they landed at Dallas and filed out of the plane through the portable tunnel. Jane clutched the dirty, battered backpack, for the first time realizing that his boots and fatigues were in it along with her clothing. "I need your address," she chattered brightly, nervously. "To mail your clothes to you. Unless you want to buy a bag in the airport shop, that is. We have plenty of time before our flights."

He checked his watch. "You have twenty-eight minutes, so we’d better find your gate. Do you have your ticket?"

"Yes, it’s right here. What about your clothes?"

"I’ll be in touch with your father. Don’t worry about it."

Yes, of course; there was the matter of payment for dragging her out of Costa Rica. His face was hard and expressionless, his amber eyes cool. She held out her hand, not noticing how it was shaking. "Well, goodbye, then. It’s–" She broke off. What could she say?It’s been nice meeting you? She swallowed. "It’s been fun."

He looked down at her extended hand, then back up at her, disbelief edging into the coolness of his eyes. He said slowly, "The hell you say," caught her hand, and jerked her into his arms. His mouth was hot, covering hers, his tongue curling slowly into her mouth as if they weren’t surrounded by curiously gawking people. She clung to him, shaking.

He set her away from him. His jaw was clenched. "Go on. Your folks are waiting for you. I’ll be in touch in a few days." The last slipped out; he’d intended this to be the final break, but her dark eyes were so lost and full of pain, and she’d kissed him so hungrily, that he couldn’t stop the words. One more time, then. He’d give himself one more time with her.

She nodded, drawing herself up. She wasn’t going to break down and cry all over him. He almost wished she would cry, because then he’d have an excuse to hold her again. But she was stronger than that. "Goodbye," she said, then turned and walked away from him.

She barely saw where she was going; people blurred in her vision, and she stubbornly blinked her eyes to keep the tears back. Well, she was alone again. He’d said he’d be in touch, but she knew he wouldn’t. It was over. She had to accept that and be grateful for the time she’d had. It had been obvious from the first that Grant Sullivan wasn’t a man to be tied down.

Someone touched her arm, the touch warm and strong, a man’s touch. She stopped, wild hope springing into her breast, but when she turned she found that it wasn’t Grant who had stopped her. The man had dark hair and eyes, and his skin was dark, his features strongly Latin. "Jane Greer?" he asked politely.

She nodded, wondering how he’d known her name and recognized her. His grip tightened on her arm. "Would you please come with me," he said, and though his voice remained polite, it was an order, not a question.

Alarm skittered through her, jerking her out of her misery. She smiled at the man and swung the backpack by its straps, catching him on the side of the head with it and sending him staggering. From the solid’thunk’ it made, she knew Grant’s boots had hit him.

"Grant!" she screamed, her voice slicing through the bustle of thousands of people."Grant!"

The man caught himself and lunged for her. Jane began running back in the direction she’d come from, dodging around people. Up ahead she saw Grant coming through the crowd like a running back, shoving people out of his path. The man caught up with her, catching her arm; then Grant was there. People were screaming and scattering, and the airport guards were running toward them. Grant sent the man sprawling, then grabbed Jane’s arm and ran for the nearest exit, ducking past the milling crowds and ignoring the shouts to stop.