[Atlantean's Quest 01] The Arrival (3 page)

“If we’d have known we could have gotten you a going away present.” Jac grumbled, glancing at Brigit, who nodded.

Expelling a long breath, Rachel pulled out a couple of scraps of paper and a pen from her purse, scrawling while she spoke. “Listen, guys. I want you both to have this number—it’s my new cell. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in three weeks tops. I promise I’ll call when I get there. If you like I’ll check in every week.” She grabbed both their hands, shoving the paper in their palms while giving them a quick squeeze. “So, if you don’t hear from me in a week, send in the marines.” Rachel laughed at her own joke. “Or you could come, Jac,” she continued. “You had that SEAL training from your dad. I wish I’d—”

Jac frowned, her blue eyes clouding with pain from long ago memories.

Crap, why did I say that?
Rachel thought. “I’m sorry…you know I didn’t mean—”

“Forget about it. I already have.” Jac’s face resumed its normal flawless mask.

Rachel rubbed her temple, attempting to ease the tension that had taken up residence there. She could just kick herself for being so insensitive. Even after all these years, Jac still had a difficult time dealing with her father’s death.

The women were silent as they tucked the papers into their purses. Rachel hated upsetting her friends; they were the closest thing to family she had. If it wasn’t for Brigit and Jac, she’d have nothing to return to once the expedition ended.

A cold feeling brushed along Rachel’s spine and over her shoulders, as if someone had just walked over her grave. She shivered and rubbed her arms, deciding it was better to keep that little sensation to herself.

Chapter Two

Rachel stared out the tiny plane window. Dirt and bugs were smashed to an even yellow colored paste against the pane.

Through the grunge, snow-capped mountains rose in the distance, their height imposing even from the current altitude. A muddy river wound its way through the jungle alongside a set of sheer cliffs. The rock face was so steep and brittle even the best climbers wouldn’t be able to manage scaling its heights.

The turboprop plane swooped over the jungle canopy after circling a dirt strip that passed for a runway. The cleared patch didn’t look long enough to accommodate the plane’s wingspan, much less the rest of the aircraft. The endless sea of green managed to dwarf everything, including the tiny runway ahead.

Rachel tightened her seatbelt to the point of pain. The small airplane dipped and her stomach lurched and rolled violently. Her mouth watered as the nausea returned. Three hours earlier the turbulence had caused her to lose what little lunch she’d been able to eat.

The plane dropped and within seconds they were level with the treetops. Rachel’s heart remained up with the clouds. She started to pray, reciting Hail Marys even though she wasn’t Catholic.

Twin engines sputtered and the right wing dipped dangerously toward the primitive strip. The pilot pulled the nose up at the last second and slammed the wheels down. The jarring sensation rattled Rachel’s teeth. She probably wouldn’t be able to chew solid food again. “Thank God, we made it,” she mumbled, understanding now why some people kissed the ground when a flight ended. After this wild ride, she’d seriously consider other modes of transportation in the future.

She glanced out the tiny window as the dirt runway continued to rush past. By her calculations, the team should have already been here for five days. She had traveled the furthest since the Professor had left from a Chicago lecture, which meant she’d arrived last.

The plane halted, sending a cloud of swirling dust in its wake. Jet fumes flooded the main cabin, choking off the stale air.

She coughed, waving her hand in front of her face.

Rachel’s fingers trembled as she unfastened her seatbelt and stood on shaky legs. She had to hunch over in the aircraft, which was humorous, considering her five foot two height.

She grabbed her backpack, dragging it up the narrow aisle, and made her way to the open hatch. A crude step had been placed under the door by the pilot for an easy exit, but he had already vanished into the jungle.

Rachel looked down at the step and then back at her massive pack
. How chivalrous of him.

She stepped off the aircraft into the thick sticky air. The musky scent of earth and flowers surrounded her, permeating every pore, alerting every sense. Her skin tingled. A kind of physical déjà vu spiraled through her, haunting the corners of her mind, like a vision that had become a nightmare. Rachel pushed the dream away, as her body remembered the same strong smells and the dream man with the massive cock.

Her hair instantly frizzed and clung to her neck like a wet blanket.
Man, I thought Central Park in July was bad.

Searching through her pack, she pulled out a ponytail holder and secured the mop of hair on her head in a half-knot.

Much better.

Rachel shielded her eyes against the sunlight glittering off the silver aircraft. She reached into her shirt pocket and retrieved her sunglasses, slipping them on to fight the midday glare. Lifting her pack onto her shoulder, she hiked a short distance toward what appeared to be base camp. Her boots made soft crunching noises in the loose dirt.

Rachel had walked a few feet when the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end. She swung around, prepared to face an unknown enemy.

No one was there.

Muscles tense, she surveyed the area beyond the aircraft, taking in the dense rainforest. The light didn’t seem to penetrate its imposing façade. Her eyes darted along the edge of the vegetation, searching for any sign of movement—a stray monkey or sloth—anything to justify her sudden fear.

Come on city girl, get it together.
She shook her head and continued on.

* * * * *

Eros watched the woman exit the silver plane, his eyes lingering on the rounded curves of her hips and voluptuous breasts that begged for his touch. Would her nipples be like the ripe berries growing on the vines, red, tempting and oh so sweet?

The prediction had been correct—the woman from the seer’s vision had finally arrived. He’d staked out the encampment for five days, but hadn’t spotted any females.

Until now.

He released the breath he’d been holding. His large frame rippled with acute awareness. The woman seemed small, unusually so, but still…there was something about her that stirred him.

Her brown curly hair hung low across the womanly flair of her hips. He wondered what it would feel like to have that hair wrapped around his fist while he buried himself deep inside her.

Eros followed her movements, insatiable hunger searing through him. Her nimble fingers grasped the mass of curls, tying them quickly, exposing more of her ripe heart-shaped bottom to his seeking eyes. Would her feminine musk surround him tauntingly, enveloping his senses until his lust was uncontrollable?

His mouth went dry and his cock bucked beneath his loincloth, hardening instantly. Breathing became difficult. The need to possess, claim, conquer, overwhelmed him. Ariel, the seer, hadn’t mentioned these turbulent emotions when she told him about her vision.

Confusion swamped him.

The woman stopped midway and looked in his direction. Her full lips pursed and her pale complexion glowed against the sunlight as she searched the jungle.

She sensed his presence.

Eros smiled. He liked the fact she felt him, knew he watched her from the shadows. He stepped back, even though she wouldn’t be able to spot him in his hiding place amongst the trees.

He would take no chances when it came to this woman. She was too important to his people.

To him.

* * * * *

Men bustled from tent to tent. Temporary housing had been set up, covered wagon style, with the center being the main gathering area. Charred remnants from a fire dotted the middle like a wagon wheel. All flaps opened in, which seemed strange, but then again Rachel didn’t know much about camping, and this
was
the jungle.

Rachel reached the tent where most of the activity seemed to be occurring. She stopped outside the open flap, trying to shore up her courage to face Dr. Donald Rumsinger, or Professor as he liked to be called. Her boss, her nemesis, the biggest pain in the ass she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. He’d been jealous of her popularity at the museum since day one. Rachel had never considered herself a threat, but to Dr. Rumsinger she was. He remained convinced that despite her lack of seniority, when an upper level position opened, she would get it. Rachel shook her head and rolled her eyes.
As if…
She’d be happy with the promotion Donald dangled over her head at present.

Like it was yesterday, she remembered the day she’d learned what a truly vile human being he was. Donald had requested she meet him at his office to discuss a new find. When she’d arrived there had been a note taped to the door, saying he’d be right back and could she please retrieve the broom from the janitor’s closet and clean up the mess on the floor.

He’d shattered a glass.

She’d been aggravated that he considered her nothing more than a glorified cleanup girl, but decided it wasn’t worth arguing. So like a sap, Rachel went to the closet door and pulled it open…

Catching the Professor in the act of having sex with another man, Dr. Todd.

Rachel had never suspected Dr. Todd’s homosexuality. Todd had taken her under his wing on her first day of work. They would usually have lunch together and had discussed problems the museum faced with future funding. On occasion they’d chatted about their personal lives or lack thereof.

She’d actually had a sort of schoolgirl crush on him, when she’d first hired on. She hadn’t done a good job of hiding that from him or anyone else. He was gorgeous and all the women at the museum wanted him.

After she’d discovered him in the closet with Donald, her dear friend Dr. Todd had been unable to look her in the eye.

She grimaced.

When she’d opened the closet door, the Professor had leered at her, his evil eyes glittering with amusement—while Dr. Todd looked mortified, scrambling to cover his impressive privates.

Donald did everything for his own entertainment and didn’t care who he hurt in the process.

The mean-spirited bastard.

She didn’t give one flip if Dr. Todd was gay. She missed his friendship.

Rachel blew out a breath. It was now or never. She pulled back the flaps and entered the canvas tent. Dr. Donald Rumsinger stood next to the satellite tracking equipment, his hands full of cables.

Black wires were strung out over the silver top as Donald studied topographical images. His orange-red hair lay slicked back with a goopy gel, and thick black glasses, suspended on a bulbous nose, enlarged his mud brown eyes to inhuman proportions. A long walrus tusk shaped mustache hung low, covering his jowls. His potbelly strained the buttons of his soiled shirt. The Professor’s bushy brows were furrowed and his face creased with what looked like worry.

As if realizing someone was staring, he looked up. His expression changed instantly to one of disgust. “Dr. Evans, how good of you to
finally
join us.” His voice was contemptuous as a slight smile split his ruddy face.

Rachel swallowed her automatic retort,
asshole
.

Play nice, Rachel
.

She wished she had the nerve to wipe that smug smile right off his rotund face. But even several thousand miles away from home, he was still her boss.

Rachel wouldn’t let the ”talking walrus” get to her. She was too close to obtaining her dream promotion to let petty differences get in the way.

She managed a smile. “Hello Professor. How nice to
see
you again.” She didn’t have to add
with your clothes on
for him to get the picture.

The man’s face colored at the emphasis.

She tried not to gag as she pictured Donald’s flaccid red prick dripping with semen as he pulled it out of Dr. Todd’s ass. Donald hadn’t even had sense enough to use a condom.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well…” Donald expelled a frustrated breath. “We’ll get started tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn. I just need to fix some of the equipment damaged last night.”

She looked around the rest of the tent at the disarray. “What happened?”

“Seems someone decided to try to sabotage our expedition by slicing through the back of the tent and cutting random wires. But,” he waved his meaty hand dismissively, “don’t worry, they didn’t succeed.”

“But who—what?”

“One of the natives, most likely. Superstitious bastards. I’ve told them if anymore
accidents
occur I’ll dock their pay.” He smiled, obviously pleased with the power he held over the poor locals’ heads.

Rachel planted her hands on her hips and her voice cracked. “What accidents?”

“One of the guides died down by the stream.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “No great loss.”

Rachel’s face flushed and she brought her palm to her forehead, rubbing it back and forth, trying to cool the area, as she considered the situation. “How?”

“Some sort of jungle creature. Probably anaconda or perhaps a black caiman.” Donald paused, pulling on his whiskers. “I suppose it could have been a cat.” He laughed. “Just one of the many risks that comes with the job. You don’t want to leave, do you?”

The hopeful note in his voice made Rachel’s stomach flip. Someone had died, and the Professor made it sound like he’d simply rid himself of excess baggage.

Asshole.

Rachel took a ragged breath. Her fingers trembled as she fought back the same cold fear she’d felt yesterday. “I didn’t think there were large cats in the area.”

“I had to tell them something to calm the group down. We can’t have the guides panicking, now can we? They must be willing to enter the rainforest.”

The man was truly a heartless bastard. If he weren’t in charge of the expedition, she’d tell him exactly where he could stick his attitude.