Free Captive Heart by Patti Beckman Page A

haired, mustached man glaring from under bushy eyebrows.
Gustamente por Presidente
was proclaimed in foot high letters.
    Miguel proceeded to give her a discourse on Peruvian politics for the rest of the trip home. It seemed that Jorge Del Toro was bitterly opposed to Gustamente and was throwing his considerable influence behind the opposing candidate, Sergio Mendez de Cardova. Miguel painted a dismal picture of Geraldo Gustamente's qualifications and what would happen to the country if he were elected.
    But the matter was of no importance to JoNell. She tuned out Miguel's running chatter and dozed the rest of the way back to Del Toro's mansion.
    After a four o'clock lunch of delicious hard-crusted bread, butter and tea which was waiting for her in her room, JoNell stretched out on the enormous bed and was asleep in seconds.
    It was dusk when a tapping at her door awakened her.
    "Who is it?" she called sleepily.
    "Miguel."
    "Come in, Miguel," she said, sliding off the bed and heading for the door.
    The door opened and a huge white vase filled with long-stemmed roses bobbed toward her.
    "For you, seňorita," said Miguel's voice from behind the advancing flowers.
    More flowers, and her room already looked like a rose garden in full blossom! The roses were gorgeous. She cupped her hands around a cluster of damp buds and sniffed their rich fragrance. Under any other circumstances, she would have been delighted. She did love the flowers, no matter that they did come from Del Toro. But his card that came with them made her both furious and frightened:
    "
A symbol of our first kiss and what is yet to come
…"

    "What was yet to come" for reasons JoNell could not fathom did not develop into the problem she anticipated during the next two weeks. She saw practically nothing of Del Toro except for the scheduled flying times, which he kept religiously. But when he did arrive at the airport for the lessons, she could see that he was being pressed for time. He often arrived with an entourage of cars. Business-suited men and secretaries followed him across the airfield to the waiting plane. He discussed business and dictated notes up to the moment that he climbed into the airplane beside JoNell.
    She could tell that he was under a strain. He looked haggard and weary. She assumed it had something to do with the presidential election that Miguel had talked about. But it was none of her business, and she had no intention of inquiring about it. She was just thankful that Del Toro was being kept too busy to follow up on the threat he had made that day on the beach, "
I will have you when the time is right
. …"
    She had not drawn an easy breath for two weeks, worried about what kind of new trick Del Toro might have up his sleeve to trap her into another dangerous, intimate situation like that day on the beach. But, except for daily bouquets of roses accompanied by notes of apology for not being a better host, he had shown no personal interest in her. He was preoccupied during the flying lessons, and she was cold and professional.
    She had come to the conclusion that love was a game, a pastime to a philanderer like Del Toro. During that first flying lesson, he'd had a little time to spare, and he had been in the company of a young woman. So, he amused himself by seeing how far his charms could get him with her.
    It had meant no more to him than that, and she would be grateful forever that the moment had stopped short of her making a terrible fool of herself.
    The ten hours of flying lessons were completed on schedule. JoNell was packing to leave. And none too soon. Her mother phoned her that afternoon, her voice full of worry. JoNell's father was suffering a depression. Health and business worries had pushed him to the verge of an emotional breakdown.
    JoNell managed to keep her voice cheerful and reassuring. "I'm through here, and I'm arranging to catch the earliest possible commercial flight home. Don't worry, Mom. Everything is going to be