Iris Johansen - Always

He was a man of action, not a poet or a gardener. He straightened his shoulders and turned back to the house.

And now it was time for him to do what he did best. Lisa had said she was leaving in the morning, and that meant there wasn't much time to accomplish his purpose. He'd have to phone Galbraith and Berthold and give orders and instructions. There'd be no trouble with Galbraith, but Berthold might balk. He showed definite signs of becoming a problem. The easy life did that to some people. Clancy's pace quickened with brisk determination as he entered the library. His former weariness was forgotten as he headed for the phone on the desk. There wasn't time to indulge himself to that extent. He had a kidnapping to arrange.

The warm night air was like a gentle caress against her cheek, and the moonlight silvered the dark waters of the surf beneath her balcony with an exquisite radiance. It was winter in New York now, Lisa remembered with a shiver. She had always hated winter. What would it be like to live forever on an island where winter never came? Wearily she brushed back a lock of hair from her temple. She would never know, and it was foolishly fanciful even to wonder. Singing engagements on tropical islands came very rarely. She had been elated when her agent had told her about the offer of this job on Paradise Cay, and she'd jumped at the chance to get away from the snows and slush of New York.

Well, it was obvious she had jumped too readily at the carrot Clancy Donahue had dangled before her. Martin again. Would she never be free of him?

Sometimes she felt he would always be there, casting a dark shadow, igniting memories of Tommy- No, she mustn't think. As long as she didn't think, that part of her remained frozen and blessedly painless. She had fought hard to gain that shield of ice, that forgetfulness. If she'd been forced to yield laughter and a zest for life in exchange, she still regarded it as a fair trade.

The phone rang and she started in surprise. It was after midnight and she knew no one who would call at this hour.

Except Martin.

For the past three years, Martin had called her at all hours of the day or night from whatever part of the world he happened to be in. It had done no good to change her telephone number; he always found out the new one eventually. She wouldn't answer it at all, she thought with swift panic. But she knew she would. She always did. She turned and strode swiftly to the bedside table in her room and picked up the receiver. "Hello."

"Are you all right?" Clancy Donahue's tone was harsh. "For heaven's sake, the phone nearly rang off the hook."

She felt limp with relief and sank down on the bed. "Of course I'm all right." She drew a deep breath and tried to steady her heartbeat. "It's after midnight. Didn't it occur to you that I might be sleeping?"

"Were you?"

She didn't answer the question. "Why are you calling, Mr. Donahue? I thought we had said all there was to say."

There was a short silence. "I decided to give you achance to change your mind," he said finally. "Will you help us?"

"No, I will not," she said. "You don't seem to be able to understand a refusal, Mr. Donahue. My bags are packed and I have reservations on the eight o'clock flight to Miami. You can look elsewhere for bait for your trap."

"You're the only bait Baldwin finds appetizing," he said tersely. "You're quite sure?"

She sighed. "I'm quite sure. Give up, Mr. Donahue."

"Why? The battle has just begun." His voice lowered. "I'm sorry. Believe me, I didn't want it this way."

He rang off before she could reply, and a faint frown knotted her brow as she slowly replaced the receiver. Donahue's last remark had filled her with uneasiness. The man himself made her uneasy. He was one of those bigger-than-life figures one ran into-thankfully-with great rarity. He was too much of everything for her to feel comfortable. Too intelligent, too confident, too virile. He emitted an aura of power that disturbed her. It was just as well she was leaving tomorrow. Nothing must be allowed to break through the wall that surrounded her emotions, and she had an idea that Clancy Donahue didn't believe there was a wall in existence that he couldn't burst through. Yes, it was just as well she wouldn't see him again.

Lisa stood up and strode into the bathroom. She opened a small plastic container, took out two sleeping pills, and swallowed them quickly. Although she had been cutting down on the medication for the last two months, she knew she wastoo upset to sleep dreamlessly tonight. And the dreams must not come. Not again. She set her travel alarm, took off her robe, and slipped between the sheets. Then she reached over to flick off the light and settled back against the pillows. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and tried to relax every muscle and empty her mind of everything. She felt a tiny flutter of panic in the pit of her stomach and crushed it down swiftly. There was no reason to be frightened. The sleeping pills would take hold soon and there would be no dreams. No dreams at all…

There were dreams, but they weren't the heavy, somber nightmares that she had dreaded. These were strangely disjointed fragments, a sharp prick on her arm, masculine voices, lights, and then the dreams were lost in shifting darkness that billowed and flowed with moments of misty clarity.

"Dammit, she's unconscious. That drug was only a mild sedative. It shouldn't have knocked her out. How the hell much did you give her?" Clancy Donahue's rough voice. She supposed it wasn't all that unusual. One t›f the last things on her mind before she had gone to sleep had been Donahue, but she wished he wouldn't sound so angry.

"I gave her the dosage you told me." A younger voice… definitely defensive. "How did I know she was on sleeping pills? We found these in the bathroom, when we couldn't wake her up."

"Damn, this prescription is potent. I don't even know if the drugs are dangerous to mix. I'll have to call the lab in Sedikhan. Watch her closely. Ifthere's any sign of respiratory failure or deepening unconsciousness, call me on the double."

The darkness deepened again. She was being carried. Mint. Donahue. The same after-shave she had noticed earlier in her dressing room. It was fresh and pleasant, just as the arms that were holding her were pleasant. Warm and strong and as gentle as his voice was harsh. She made a contented sound deep in her throat that was almost a purr and nestled her cheek closer against that hard, muscular chest. How wonderful to relax and be held so protectively. Surely arms this strong could keep away the dreams. "Safe." The word was only a whisper.

The arms tightened around her. "That's right." Donahue's voice was no longer harsh, but velvet soft. "You're safe, Lisa. I'll keep you safe from now on."

It wasn't true. No one could keep her safe from the dreams. Yet it was nice to pretend for a little while. "Thank you," she murmured drowsily.

His chuckle was a bit husky as it reverberated beneath her ear. "I doubt if you'll be quite as grateful to me when you regain consciousness." She was being placed on something soft and cushioned, and.the arms were suddenly gone. She muttered a protest. "It's all right, I'm still here." The mattress sank beneath his weight, and he gathered her hands in his warm clasp. "I'll be here when you wake up. I won't let you go." One hand loosened its clasp to brush an errant tress back from her forehead and then began to stroke the hair at her temple. "Go to sleep."

"You'll keep the dreams away?"

His hand halted its motion for the briefest instant before resuming the stroking. "If that's what you want."

"Oh, yes, please," she whispered. "That's what I want."

"Then I'll keep the dreams away. Go to sleep, Lisa. I won't let the dreams come back."