Free My Love Betrayed by April Lynn Kihlstrom Page A

moment, Charles looked up and his eyes
met mine. He looked away first, choosing a spot
over my head to stare at. “Just one more thing,
Ellen. I saw Rick this morning. He’s going to be
difficult. About you.”
    “Why, Charles? Why is he so bitter?” I asked
softly, not bothering to hide the pain.
    Still he looked over my head. “I don’t know. But
it’s not just you. He’s bitter at the world and
everyone and everything in it. As though it owed
him something he’s never gotten.” Almost, I could
feel Charles touch my cheek, although he sat
several feet away, as he said, “Don’t let it hurt you
too deeply, Ellen.”
    I tried to smile but couldn’t. Fumbling with my
purse, I stood. “Thank you for telling me, Charles.
I’d better get back to work now.”
    I didn’t wait for an answer; I was unable to bear
any more sympathy. Instead, I fled back to my
office and the men who would be laughing.
    Again, I left a few minutes early. We had
completed a sequence of runs, and several hours of
preparatory work would be necessary before we
could run any more programs through. And, yes,
to be honest, I couldn’t bear to see Charles again so
soon.
    It was a warm afternoon and I decided to walk back to the hotel. At the most, it would take an
hour and perhaps help to clear my head. Was it
safe for me to walk that distance? Was I dressed
too conspicuously? I didn’t think so when I set out.
I wore a light rose pantsuit with a green scarf and
carried a leather shoulder bag. Hardly enticing,
hardly wealthy looking, I would have said. I was
sure no one would bother me.

    But I was wrong. I seemed to have an unusually
large number of admirers. Not knowing Spanish
kept me from having to answer any of the
comments they made. Until, that is, I ran into a
few who knew English. I tried to be polite but firm
about my refusals and the men took it philosophically enough, usually with a shrug and a grin. So
by the time Pepe came along, I was almost
enjoying myself. After all, I’ve never considered
admiration an insult.
    I was only a block from the park near the hotel
when he fell into step beside me. He was better
dressed than most of the men I had encountered.
“Buenos dias, senorita,” he said with an air that
was almost respectful.
    “I don’t speak Spanish,” I said firmly.
    “Oh, Americano. That is very good. I like
Americanos. I am Pepe. You are here on
vacation?”
    I was not stupid enough to admit that I was
alone. “Yes,” I said, “with my husband.”
    It was a lie, but an effective one. Usually. But
instead of backing away, Pepe took hold of my
elbow, drawing me toward a side street. “Oh? But
that is so unfortunate. I have not seen you with a man. And you are too lovely to be tied to just one.
You must let me take you to dinner. I know a
place-”

    By now, he was almost dragging me, but I was
still not seriously alarmed. Impossible to think of
danger in the clear afternoon surrounded by
people. Surely, Pepe was merely overzealous.
    “Let me go,” I said calmly, twisting my arm free.
    “I am sorry, senorita, I cannot,” he said, as his
other hand clamped down on my arm.
    Panicking now, I opened my mouth to yell. His
hand closed over it, jerking my head back, and, for
a moment, I couldn’t breathe. As I struggled,
someone else grabbed my waist. I bit down hard
on the hand over my mouth and tried to pull free.
Someone swore in Spanish. By now, we were well
down the deserted side street.
    Still fighting, I glimpsed a car nearby. Hope
rose, immediately crushed by the voice hissing,
“So sorry, Senorita Steffee, you must come for a
ride with us. Someone wishes-”
    A hand was clamped over my mouth again as I
started to scream. I couldn’t breathe and I felt
myself growing weaker. Suddenly, there was a
police whistle nearby. Hands released me as
footsteps pounded toward us. I teetered, then
leaned against the wall as the nearby car roared
away.