–

Originally Published

as

DESPERADO (1986)

–

The Author asserts the moral right to be

identified as author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author or Publisher.

First USA printing: 1986

All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For my godchildren, 

Keith Francis Malek 

and 

Stephen Baldwin Freiberger

Chapter 1

The Florida sun was losing strength, but still brilliant, as Cindy and Paula emerged from the restaurant in late afternoon. Cindy shielded her eyes, and then dropped her hand when they turned to walk down the street.

“How far is it to your apartment?” Cindy asked, watching as her friend pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and put them on.

“A couple of miles,” Paula replied. “The complex is right outside of town.”

Cindy nodded. Paula had picked her up at the Clearwater airport a couple of hours before, and they had stopped for a bite in Council Rock before traveling on to Paula’s house.

“When are you going to start the research?” Paula asked, rummaging in her shoulder bag for her car keys.

“Monday, I guess.” Cindy smiled slightly. They’d spent the whole meal catching up on their social lives and had never discussed in detail the reason for Cindy’s visit.

“So you’ve already contacted somebody from the university,” Paula said.

“Yes, the department chairman is going to see me.” Cindy was a graduate assistant in the folklore department of the University of Pennsylvania. The subject of her master’s thesis was the legends of the Seminole Indians, and she’d come to northern Florida to research the topic in the section of the country where the Seminoles had lived for hundreds of years. Paula was a college friend who’d offered to have Cindy stay with her when she heard that Cindy’s work was taking her to the Tampa area.

“What about your supervisor?” Paula inquired, glancing at Cindy.

“I have to mail him my ideas and get approval of my outline, but I don’t think that will be difficult. He’s working in the field himself.”

“Huh,” Paula replied skeptically, snaring her keys and then holding them aloft like a trophy. “Good luck to him. That egghead stuff you write all looks like nonsense to me.”

Cindy was about to reply when a thunderous crash made both women spin around and then jump back. In disbelief, Cindy watched as the picture window of a hardware store fronting the street exploded into sparkling smithereens. Glass fragments flew in all directions as two figures hurtled through the window. Cindy and Paula both threw up their arms to cover their faces. Shards tinkled to the ground as the men who’d shattered the window tumbled to the walkway, almost at Cindy’s feet, rolling over and over, locked in combat.

When the glass finally stopped falling, Cindy peeked through her fingers to see what was happening. One of the men was flat on the ground, face down, with his arms pinned behind him. The other was sitting astride him snapping handcuffs on his wrists.

Cindy looked at Paula, who appeared remarkably undisturbed by the whole episode, observing calmly as the taller man hauled the captive to his feet. Cindy turned her head to watch also. The prisoner stumbled along unwillingly as the victor dragged him to a pickup truck parked at the curb and unceremoniously cuffed him to the rear bumper.

Cindy leaned in to her companion and said in an undertone, “Paula, what is going on here?”

Paula shrugged. “It’s just Drew Fox bringing in another one.”

“Another what?” Cindy demanded, bewildered.

Before Paula could reply the front door of the store flew open with a bang. An irate man, obviously the owner, started berating the tall man in a loud voice, to the vast entertainment of the small crowd that had gathered. The object of his tirade patted his shoulder reassuringly, speaking to him in a low, comforting tone. Mollified, the proprietor calmed down, and was even managing a small smile when a patrol car glided silently to a stop in the street, its blue light pulsating. The fettered prisoner looked on grimly, resigned to his fate.

“Cheese it, the cops,” Paula muttered, and Cindy grinned. There was something amusing about this scene, which shouldn’t have been funny. But the nonchalant stance of the man who had initiated it all, lounging with his hands in his pockets and greeting the policemen affably as if he were the host at a block party, struck her as absurd.

“Look at that guy,” she said to Paula. “You’d never think he just splintered a pane of glass with his head.”

Paula chuckled in response, and the two women watched as the police took charge of the prisoner and led him away to the patrol car. As soon as it pulled away, the crowd began to disperse and the tall man sauntered over to them, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Hi, short stuff,” he said casually, talking to Paula but looking at Cindy.

“You’re out of date, Fox,” Paula replied dryly. “My brother stopped calling me that when I was twelve.”

“You still look pretty short to me,” Fox observed, smiling just a little with his eyes, which remained on Cindy’s face.

“Everybody looks short to you,” Paula said.

“Are you ladies all right?” he asked. “Some of that glass came pretty close to you.”

“We’re fine,” Paula replied, for both of them. “But I can’t say the same for you. You do realize that you’re bleeding?”

Fox blinked, surprised, and put his hand to his head again. It came away stained red.

“I thought my hair felt wet,” he said. He pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and tied it around his head like a bandanna.

“Oh, very good,” Paula said. “Nice and sanitary. Why don’t you come by the emergency room tonight? I’ll tape that up for you.”

Paula was a nurse who worked the night shift at Lykes Hospital. “I just might do that,” Fox replied, still watching Cindy.

“I’m surprised to see you jumping through windows again, Drew,” Paula said. “It reminds me of the old days. I thought you’d long ago graduated to international criminal types.”

“I was doing a favor for Sheriff Tully,” Fox replied. “That joker escaped from his jail. I chased him into Barney’s store from the alley out back.” He glanced at Paula, then his gaze returned to Cindy. “Who’s your friend?”

“I’ve missed you too, Fox,” Paula observed acidly, and he grinned.

“Andrew Fox,” he said to Cindy, extending his hand. Cindy grasped it.

“Lucinda Warren,” she replied, her fingers lost in his big palm.

“Lucinda,” he repeated. “Sounds like the princess in a fairytale.”

“Everybody calls me Cindy,” she responded softly. She was mesmerized by his green eyes, which swept over her face, taking in every detail.

“But I’m not everybody, Lucinda,” he replied, continuing to hold her hand. He towered over her, his big, compact body at ease, and yet somehow alert, as if he were ready for anything at any moment.

He’s Indian, Cindy thought, gazing up at him in mute absorption. She could see it in his straight, midnight hair and in the dusky skin, a combination of copper and terra cotta, which complemented his high cheekbones and strong, prominent nose. His other features were European, however: light eyes and a finely molded, thin-lipped mouth. It was an arresting combination, a harmony of opposites that made him, not handsome, but unforgettable.