Heart of Fire (9 page)

There wasn't any point in trying to lie about it. "I nearly jumped out of my skin," she admitted. "I wouldn't believe anyone could get used to it, but all of you acted as if it were nothing more than an alarm clock going off."

"That's basically what it is. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I'd thought I would. I must have been tired." Or maybe she'd felt safe sleeping beside him. Now, there was a ridiculous thought.

He stretched like a sleepy tiger, then draped a heavy arm across her shoulders and turned her to face the east. "Look," he said, his early morning voice deeper and slower than usual.

She caught her breath. The sun was a huge, gleaming ball hanging in a pearly sky with the trees silhouetted in stark black against it. The river was as smooth as dark glass, a ribbon of serenity curling through the teeming jungle. A few misty clouds seemed caught on the treetops, as if they were the last remnants of steam formed in the creation of the world. That was what it felt like, the beginning of time, caught here on this river where nature still ruled supreme.

Ben left her standing there, lost in the dawn, while he set about getting things organized.

Breakfast was coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, absurdly normal fare considering where they were, even though the eggs were powdered and the bacon was canned. Under Ben's efficient supervision, preparing the meal, eating, and cleaning up took less than forty-five minutes. Before she would have thought it possible, they were idling out of the cove, back into the river's current.

She had learned the day before that there wasn't a great deal to be done on board the boat to keep herself occupied, but the newness of the experience had kept her from being bored. She expected to be bored, though, on the second day. She expected to be, but she wasn't, even though the unbroken, towering tangle of vegetation lining the riverbanks like a living green wall never seemed to change. She caught glimpses of color in the dark green as bright-feathered parrots flew from perch to perch, and occasionally an extravagant orchid or some other flower would take her attention, but for the most part there was nothing to see but the unending jungle. And yet she was enthralled by the lushness and incredible scope of nature.

It could have been any number of things. Maybe it was the hypnotic throb of the engine, maybe it was the somnolent spell cast by the wanner climes that made it so treacherously easy to go tropical, but she was oddly content with the circumstances. The river itself was fascinating. It wasn't black at all, but the color of tea, changing in shade from a clear brown to gleaming amber. While the morning was still relatively cool, she made herself comfortable in the bow and let herself be lulled by the swirling patterns of the water as it rushed past.

A dolphin leaped beside the boat, startling her, and she scrambled to her knees with an exclamation of delight.

Ben turned the wheel over to Pepe and came to sit beside her. "Pink dolphins," he said, smiling at her expression.

She gave him a suspicious, half-warning look, but the lure of the dolphin was too strong and she turned back to watch. Now she could see that there were several of the playful mammals racing effortlessly alongside the boat, darting and jumping as if playing tag with the vessel. She propped her elbows on the side of the boat and leaned farther out so she could see them better. Immediately a big hand grabbed the waistband of her pants and tugged her back.

"Sit down," he ordered. "You'll see a lot of dolphins over the next couple of weeks. It isn't worth going overboard. The river's filled with piranha."

She sat, because it was only common sense to do so. He stretched out one leg to brace his booted foot against the other side of the V of the bow.

"Don't try to scare me with piranha," she said mildly. "You know and I know that I could go swimming and be perfectly safe."

He grinned, not at all abashed. Most people new to the Amazon basin were terrified of piranha, thinking that if they dipped a toe in the water it would be snapped off before they could draw back. But Jillian knew that it was blood that attracted piranha; if you weren't bleeding, you could splash around as much as you wanted.

"It'd be a lot of trouble to have to stop and fish you out," he said.

"That sounds more like it."

He sucked in a deep breath and let his head fall back as he exhaled. There was an expression of pure contentment on his face. "Damn, I love this river," he said, spreading his arms wide and letting them drape over the sides of the boat. She noticed cynically that the movement "accidentally" brought her within his embrace, albeit an open one, with his left hand just brushing her shoulder. "The Amazon's always a challenge, the way you have to read the currents and deal with the tides. A storm on the Amazon can be as wild as one on the open sea. But this river right here is damn near perfect. Great water. It's almost as pure as distilled."

His enthusiasm wasn't feigned, and she let herself relax back into enjoyment, watching the dolphins as they continued to play around the boat.

"The river's still in high water," Ben said, "or you'd see a lot more of them. Most of them have spread out in the palm swamps. During low water, obviously, they're a lot more concentrated."

"When is low water?"

"The rainy season's over, so the water has already started dropping, but the lowest levels start around October and extend through the end of the year. The natives like that season best because fishing is so much better. The river will drop about twenty feet from now until the rains start again. This area here will be nothing but white sand."

Long-tailed macaws, in brilliant shades of blue and yel-low, sailed among the tall palms. A snowy egret stood poised, waiting for breakfast to swim by. The light was so clear, the morning so fresh, that it almost hurt.

"This is probably paradise," she said.

"For the flora and fauna. It can be damn hard on humans. But as many times as I've been up this river, it's never been the same yet. Neither has the Amazon. Guess that's why I'm still hanging around after all these years."

She looked at him curiously. "How long have you been in Brazil?"

"Fifteen years. Since I was twenty. I hopped a freighter, and got off in Manaus. The only job I could get was helping a river guide. The life suited me, so that's what I've been doing ever since."

She wondered at the wealth of information he had left out, such as what a twenty-year-old had been doing hopping freighters in the first place. "What were you doing on a freighter, seeing the world on the economy plan?"

"Something like that." His voice was placid, and he seemed as laid back as it was possible for a good old boy to get, but she wasn't fooled. She frowned at him as he began to brush his fingers against her shoulder, and sat forward away from the contact. He gave a cheerful "well, I tried" type of shrug and continued as if the little byplay hadn't happened. "I lit out as soon as I finished high school. Home was okay, just not enough going on."

"Where was home? Somewhere in the South?"

"Alabama. It's still home, always will be."

"Obviously." A strand of hair blew across her face and she pushed it back as she smiled at him. "Fifteen years in Brazil, and you still have a southern accent."

"As Popeye says, I yam what I yam. What about you? Where's the place you call home?"

"Los Angeles. I'm one of those rare creatures, a native-born Californian."

"How did you settle on being an archaeologist? That's kind of like being a river guide; it's not a mainstream occupation."

"Dad was a professor of archaeology, so I grew up with it. Maybe it's in the genes, but I never wanted to do anything else. It's a lot of fun."

He looked doubtful. "Yeah, I can see where digging up bones would be a barrel of laughs."

The boats moved steadily through the water. They passed by an assortment of other vessels, mostly canoes of all sizes but also some other motorized craft. During high water, all travel was by boat. He told her how, when the river was low, the natives netted cardinal tetra for the huge aquarium trade, supplying the colorful tropical fish for the world's enjoyment. Not that the natives made much from it; most of the money was on the other end. River traders would stop by the villages and trade supplies for the fish, but at such a low rate of exchange that the villagers were often deeply in debt.

She wasn't foolish enough to relax her guard around Ben, but she enjoyed the conversation so much that she sat there long after the heat had grown uncomfortable. Finally she couldn't stand it any longer and moved to the shade under the roof, where she made a comfortable seat from the boxes of supplies and settled back. Ben took over the wheel from Pepe. Idly, Jillian decided that this wasn't a bad life at all.

If there were just this one boat making its way upriver, she would have been blissfully happy. Her private little contest with Ben was exhilarating, though of course she wouldn't let him know that. She would be on her way to find proof of the Anzar, an accomplishment that would not only clear her father's reputation but would raise her own stature dizzyingly high. It would be the find of a lifetime, something any archaeologist would give an arm for and the vast percentage could only dream about. There just weren't that many old civilizations left undiscovered.

All of her problems were in the second boat. She didn't turn around and look, but she shivered a little knowing it was back there. The time spent on these boats would be the most peaceful, for once they took to the land she wouldn't have any time away from Rick, Kates, and Dutra. Were they using the opportunity to plan, or were they already getting on one another's nerves? Were any of the other men likely to throw in with Kates, or would they find a way to tell Ben anything they overheard?

They had scarcely gotten under way again after lunch when the wind picked up and a fast-moving storm came into view. The rain was normal; only the time the storms hit differed from day to day. Ben immediately began searching for a safe place to tie up, for the waves during a violent storm could turn the boats over. If they had had larger boats they could have proceeded, though the ride would definitely have been a bit rough, but he wasn't going to chance capsizing when he didn't have to.

He started to edge toward a protected bank when he saw another boat already moored there. There was plenty of room, but he swung back into the current.

"Why did you do that?" Jillian asked, appearing at his elbow. "Shouldn't we be mooring too?"

"Not there," he said.

"Why not?"

He glanced briefly at her before returning his attention to the rapidly worsening weather, but she saw the way his eyes gleamed. "Smugglers."

"How do you know?" She swiveled to get another look at the boat in question before it disappeared from view. Nothing about it distinguished it from fifty other boats they'd seen since leaving port.

"I've been running the rivers for fifteen years. Experience."

"Would they actually shoot at us?"

"It's possible," he drawled. "I wouldn't push it."

"Are there a lot of smugglers on the river?"

"Enough, sweetcakes. The safest bet is to keep to ourselves."

An abundance of smugglers meant that Kates, if he should get his hands on the Empress or any other artifacts, would find it fairly easy to get the contraband out of the country. She was sure he would have noted this, too.

A sheet of rain swept toward them as lightning crackled. Ben put his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the shelter of the tarps. "Get behind the tarps and hold on. It could get a little rough before I find a place to tie up."

Since she saw no point in getting wet when she didn't have to, she did as he said, seeking shelter and bracing herself against one of the poles that held up the top. The boat began pitching as the waves increased, and the wall of rain hit them without any warning pattering of drops. Jorge, holding tight to another pole, shouted something at her, but she couldn't hear what he was saying over the pounding rain and reverberating bass of the thunder. The boat pitched forward into a trough, then rose alarmingly. It was like white-water rafting, only she didn't have either a helmet or a life jacket, and she couldn't see a blessed thing inside the sheltered area.

She wasn't frightened; the storm didn't seem rough enough, or the waves high enough, for them to be in real peril. Discomfort, yes, but nothing more. Of course, everything was relative; if she'd been in an airplane and it had been pitching the way the boat was currently doing, she'd have been saying her prayers.

After a few minutes she felt the boat begin to turn and ease its way into more sheltered waters. The pitching settled down, though the battering of the rain still made normal conversation impossible. The chill brought goose bumps to her arms and she hugged herself, drawing her knees up to preserve as much body heat as she could.

Pepe and Ben tied the boat securely and ducked under the shelter to wait out the rest of the storm. Both of them were as soaked as if they'd jumped into the river. Ben pushed his dripping dark hair out of his eyes and made his way over to where Jillian was sitting. When he got close, she could see the brightness of reckless excitement in his eyes.

"Good ride," he said, raising his voice so she could hear him. He hooked his sodden shirt off over his head and tossed it aside. Jorge threw a towel to him and he deftly caught it, rubbing it first over his hair and face, then down to his chest and shoulders. All the while he stood right in front of her, never taking his eyes off of her.