Iris Johansen - Star-Spangled Bride

"I don't think you do." His gaze was fixed thoughtfully on her face. "You pack a punch that doesn't show up on the anatomy." He suddenly chuckled. "Or not in the usual places."

He was speaking of arousal, sexual response. She was used to much more graphic terms and yet she could feel the heat in her cheeks. "I think you need to get home to Mora Renord. Have you called her yet? I'm sure she'd come flying to your bed."

"To 'take the edge off'? I told you I don't use women." He leaned back in his chair. "And I don't want Mora here."

The explosive satisfaction that tore through her was a shock. She looked down at her coffee cup. "Why not?"

"Maybe I prefer Orphan Annie."

She looked up in confusion. "What?" She caught her breath as she met his gaze. "Me?"

"Oh, yes," he murmured. "Most certainly you."

He wanted her. It probably stemmed from propinquity and the provocativeness of their situation last night, but it hadn't ended at Fatima's. He still wanted to go to bed with her. She could feel the swelling of her breasts, the same tingling between her thighs she had experienced in that bed at the bordello.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" he asked softly.

"Sure." She lifted her cup to her lips. "You're probably so horny that Godzilla would look good to you, and I'm not Orphan Annie."

He chuckled. "And you're not Godzilla either."

"Nope." She shrugged, feigning casualness. 'But I have no intention of crawling into your bed to assuage a year of sexual drought." She sipped her coffee. "I only stuck around to say good-bye. After breakfast I'm on the road."

His smile vanished. "No way."

She ignored his words. "It's been an experience I won't forget. I hope everything goes well for you. Oh, and I'll need my camera and that cassette I gave you."

"You couldn't forget that," he said, acid in his voice. "Shut the door and walk away, but remember the camera."

"It's all I have," she said simply.

The grimness was wiped from his face. "Lord, what am I supposed to say to that?"

"Nothing. Just give me my camera."

He slowly shook his head. "I'd be a fool to do that. I obviously have a valuable hostage. That camera is almost a person to you. I'll trade you."

"For what?" she asked warily.

"Information. I'll give you your camera if you tell me what you're afraid of."

"No deal. I'll get another camera."

"But not like this one. It's been with you for such a long time, it's become almost a part of you."

He was right. She had saved for over a year for the money to buy that camera, and she loved it. "You bastard."

"Tell me," he coaxed. "What do I have to say to convince you that I won't betray you? ForLord's sake, don't you see I want to help you?"

"You can't help me. You blew it when you brought me here."

"Then I'll put it back together. What the hell do you think I'll do? I'm not going to hurt you, Ronnie."

He couldn't help her either, and she had never told anyone, not even Jed. She should keep her silence. She felt a surge of frustration at the thought. Lord, she was weary of that silence, of not being able to share.

"Ronnie?"

"I don't have a passport," she suddenly found herself saying.

"Is that all?" His expression cleared. "Did you eave it in Said Ababa? No problem. We'll get you a replacement. All we have to do is report the one you lost."

"That's not it. I didn't lose my passport. I still have it. It's just-" She stopped, then blurted out, "It's a phony."

He stiffened. "Phony?"

"You heard me. I bought it on the black market. It's a damn good one, but if anyone tarted delving, they'd find out it was a phony."

She stood up and started pacing. "How am I going to get back to the States? I'm a journalist,for heaven's sake, I need to go where the stories are. I suppose I could buy another passport under another name to use outside the country, but they'd alert U.S. Immigration and I'd never be able to-"

"Wait a minute," Gabe interrupted. "Back up. Why did you have to buy a passport to begin with? Why didn't you just apply for one?"

"Because I'm not an American citizen," she said jerkily. "My father was a naturalized American citizen. When he was convicted of arms running and lying on his citizenship application regarding the crime, he was deported and stripped of his citizenship before I was born."

"I see," he said. "And you're being tarred for your father's sins."

"Not entirely." Her smile was without mirth. "I was picked up by government agents in El Salvador for acting as a lookout for Evan. He managed to get me away from them, but that makes me a criminal too."

"And how old were you when you committed this heinous crime?"

"Eleven. Evan started using me for a lookout when I was eight. No one ever suspects kids." She gave him a sober look. "And it was a heinous crime. Evan says he only supplies a demandthat would be met by someone else anyway, but I've never fooled myself. Wars can't be fought without guns. You have to be responsible for your own morals and not worry about someone else's."

"You only did what your father told you to do," he said roughly. "You were only a kid, for God's sake."

"I dug in and told him I wouldn't do it any longer when I was fifteen, but it was too late. It's not going to make any difference to Immigration how old I was. I have a criminal record and the United States doesn't want undesirables like me in the country. Like father, like daughter." She tried to smile as she shrugged. "It's all in how you're perceived in this black-and-white world. Immigration doesn't recognize any grays."

"You're not gray, dammit. You're as-" He stopped and then said, "I take it you're afraid the media is going to unearth your unsavory past."

"You know they will. Within two weeks they'll know everything about me down to the number of fillings in my teeth… Your release is the biggest story of the year and it's going to start a press feeding frenzy. You'd read the riot act to any of your journalists who didn't search out every kernel of a story."

"My reporters don't go in for yellow journalism."

"You only say that because you're feeling guilty that you goofed in bringing me here. The truth isn't out of bounds to any reporter and it's not yellow journalism. I'd go after every detail of your story myself. It's only good reporting and-"

"All right, I'll grant you all that's true and I've put you in a rotten position. What's your solution?"

"I'll lie low and stay away from the U.S. Jed will give me assignments."

"In Yugoslavia, no doubt."

"Maybe."

"The hell he will," Gabe said violently. He pushed back his chair. "I'll think of something else."

"Like what?" She shook her head. "Do you think I haven't tried to think of another way out?" She swallowed. "I liked pretending I was an American. I felt… I liked it."

"If you're not American, what nationality are you?"

She shook her head. "My father thought my mother was Swedish, but he wasn't sure."

"Why the devil didn't he find out?"

"They both lived on the fringe." She smiled bitterly. "You don't know what it's like. You come together for a while and then you drift apart. You travel from country to country and never settle, never belong anywhere. You're the person your passport says you are, and when the passport becomes obsolete, your identity is too. Then you get a new passport and become someone else."

"Lord, what a hell of a life for a kid."

"You get used to it."

"Sure you do."

"You do. You just have to take one day at a time, enjoy every pleasure that comes your way, and ignore all the rest."

"I'd make a bet there were a lot of things you couldn't ignore."

"Some." She grimaced. "For Pete's sake, stop making me out to be a martyr. I had plenty to eat and a bed most of the time. You know, I could have been born in a place like Somalia."