In Too Deep (19 page)

“Well,” she admitted, “there was just a moment there when I might not have been entirely in command of the situation.”

Rod's jaw clenched and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I'd say that's an understatement.”

She hurried on, not allowing herself to dwell on the memory Rod's growled comment unleashed. “But his hands were tied. What could he have done, really?”

“I hate to think about it, princess.” His voice was no more than an agonized whisper.

She didn't dare meet his eyes. She could not even bring herself to offer a reassuring touch. Her control over her emotions was too tenuous. If she allowed herself to relive the last few days, hysteria would set in. She would be useless to whatever plan Rod had in mind. She had to stay calm, controlled. She refused to crumble now. Her voice trembled as she forced a change in the disquieting conversation. “How did you find me?”

With the appearance of something akin to relief, Rod drew in a deep breath and accepted the diversion. He got to his feet and began pacing. He ran his fingers through his hair in an agitated gesture that had become endearingly familiar. Each time he neared Tomas's limp form, Cara had the feeling he was only barely resisting the urge to kick the man.

“The Lacandones helped,” he said at last. “They're outside now, keeping an eye on things.”

His expression turning grim, he became cold and businesslike. “Are there any more of these charming fellows around?” This time he did nudge Tomas with the toe of his hiking boot.

“I've heard several voices, but there's only one I've met, Luis. I haven't seen him since this morning—I guess it's yesterday morning, actually.” Surely by now the entire night had passed. It seemed like an eternity. She shuddered again unconsciously.

“I don't think Luis is much of a threat,” she went on finally, forcing her thoughts to focus on the present. “There's also some sort of boss they really seem to despise. As far as I could tell, he's the mastermind behind the smuggling. Neither Tomas nor Luis has the brains for it.”

“I don't suppose you've had a chance to look around.”

“No. I was unconscious when they brought me in, and I've been pretty much confined to my tent since then. Except for his sweet-talk, old Tomas here was pretty tight-lipped. I only know they were hoping you'd want me back badly enough to abandon the dam project.”

“So they said.”

Startled, she stared at him. “You've talked to them?”

“No. They left a ransom note of sorts at the pyramid. It made terrific bedtime reading.” Control fled. A low moan crossed his lips. “Oh, princess,” he whispered raggedly.

She could no longer ignore his pain or her own need. She struggled to her feet. Holding her breath, this time in far sweeter agony, Cara anticipated his touch. Finally, finally, he tentatively put his hands on her arms as if she were fragile, precious. His eyes searched hers, a lifetime of emotion in the quiet scrutiny. “Are you really okay, princess?”

There was an astonishing quiver in his voice, as if he were struggling with some entirely unexpected, powerful emotion. Fear? Anger? Possibly—her heart lurched—possibly even love.

“I'm fine,” she whispered, though her knees betrayed her by feeling like they'd turned to jelly once more. He caught her to his solid chest just before she could disgrace herself by falling. After all this bravado for his benefit, fainting would have been the ultimate humiliation. Still, she wasn't so set on courageousness that she couldn't enjoy the wonder of actually being back in Rod's strong, muscular arms. There had been moments, moments she had never once admitted to, when she'd been terrified that she would never feel his arms around her again.

Lifting her face to his, she saw once more that hunger that turned his eyes into fiery jewels. And then his lips were on hers. Tenderly. So tenderly, as if he feared she might yet break. Meant simply to restore warmth, his touch set off fire. His muscles were taut with the effort to restrain himself. It was Cara, finally, who deepened the kiss, whose tongue caressed and tasted and savored until Rod moaned and matched her intensity.

That kiss—passionate, lingering—restored strength, renewed her sanity. It banished terrible, frightening memories. It healed.

And, then, all too quickly, it had to end.

“We can't stay here,” Rod murmured, still nibbling on her lower lip.

“I know.” She kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I want you to go into the brush and wait with the Lacandones while I search the camp.” His lips found a sensitive spot at the base of her throat.

Cara nipped his ear. “No way.”

The playful tone vanished in an instant. Determination firmed lips that only a moment before had been softened by her caress. His jaw set stubbornly, but no more so than hers.

“Cara!” His voice rose ominously.

One blond brow rose in what Scottie would have recognized as a warning.

“I'm not going,” she said softly, steel wrapped in velvet. “Just look at what happened the last time we got separated.”

“I want you where you'll be safe.”

“And what about you?”

He touched the gun at the waistband of his pants. “I have my own protection.”

“And I have a knife now.”

“It's not the same.”

She gave him a disgusted scowl. “We're wasting time, I'm coming with you. I'm the one they kidnapped.”

“Getting even is not on the agenda for the moment. I want to look around for a few answers, and then we're getting out of here the minute it's daybreak.”

“I'm all for that, but I am not waiting in the jungle like some simpering, delicate flower while you snoop around satisfying your curiosity. We're partners in this.”

This time his eyebrows rose skeptically. “Partners? Since when?”

“I was trying not to pull rank,” she said demurely.

With that she turned and left the tent, leaving him staring after her. She counted her steps, guessing she had no more than ten before he'd catch up with her. Muttering expressively, Rod followed her. He grabbed her arm when she would have marched straight on to the next tent. She'd taken exactly nine steps.

“Slow down,” he demanded. “If you insist on doing this, at least use your head. You don't know who might be lurking inside that tent. Old Luis could be in there after all.”

“If he is, he's probably sleeping or passed out drunk.”

“Or waiting with a shotgun.”

Good point,
she admitted, though not aloud. She did give him the satisfaction of going ahead of her. It wasn't that she was turning cowardly all of a sudden. It was just the sensible thing to do. After all, Rod did have the gun.

To her disappointment—well, more or less disappointment—the tent was essentially empty. Rod lit a lantern and held it up to dispel the shadows. There were two cots, a carton of canned goods and a few cooking utensils. Still not speaking, he waved her outside.

Carrying the lantern, they approached the remaining tent with similar caution. Again, there were no sounds to indicate that anyone was inside, but he gave her the light to hold and motioned for her to wait. Almost as soon as he'd taken the first step inside, he came to an abrupt halt. She saw his hand move slowly. Her heart began to pound, but then she realized he wasn't reaching for his gun after all. He was holding out his hand for the lantern. She gave it to him. Once the soft glow erased the shadows inside, she heard his low whistle of astonishment.

“What is it?”

He stepped aside and held open the tent flap. “See for yourself.”

She looked inside and gasped. Mayan relics filled the tent. Carvings, the most beautiful she'd ever seen, were stacked haphazardly. The amount of pottery was staggering. There were bowls and pitchers and other vessels, some plain, some decorated with hieroglyphics and simple figures. Some were broken or chipped, but even to her untrained eye it appeared that many of the pieces were museum quality. There were several limestone stelae, all carved, some decorated with the red paint that, according to her talks with Rafael and Jorge, held some religious significance.

“My God!” Cara breathed, excitement rushing through her. “It's incredible. This must be worth a fortune.”

“I'm sure it is, especially on the black market,” Rod said wryly. “Since law forbids the removal of these things from the country, private collectors with no scruples will pay dearly for them. I just wish I could figure out how they've been getting the things across the border. Not that the border isn't like a sieve down here, but I would think it would be difficult to move this much stuff without arousing suspicion.”

“The burlap,” Cara murmured to herself.

“What?”

“I was just thinking aloud.” She continued to toy with the idea that was forming. “In the tent where they held me there were sacks of burlap. Didn't you notice it?”

“Princess, the only thing I noticed in that tent was that man attacking you.”

“Well, the place was filled with burlap, all with the insignia of some American grain company. What better way to get something across the border without notice than by hiding it in a much-needed shipment of grain.” She met his eyes. “What do you think?”

Rod swept her into his arms and planted a hard kiss on her lips. “You're a genius.”

“Just observant,” she said modestly. “Do you really think that's it?”

“I'd stake my career on it, which, by the way, I might have to do, if we don't get out of here and report in to Scottie soon. He must be frantic.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“We'll get back to my campsite and clear everything up. It shouldn't take more than a few hours. Then we'll meet the pilot. We'll have him take us straight to Mexico City. I can't wait to turn this entire mess over to the authorities. Then I think WHS owes us both a long vacation.”

Cara didn't allow herself to consider the implications of that remark. “What if the pilot's already left? We're late getting back.”

“He won't leave. WHS is paying him very well to stick around until we turn up.”

When they turned to leave the tent, they found the Lacandones waiting patiently outside. The first pale light of dawn was shimmering through the trees. In that subdued light, Juan Castillo studied Cara with serious eyes.

“You are well?”

“Si, gracias.”

Apparently satisfied not so much by the answer as by what his eyes told him, he nodded slowly, then looked to Rod. “What will you do now?”

“We need to get back to my camp without anyone following us,” Rod said. “Can you help us?”

“We will guard the man here and watch for others. One of my men will follow along the trail behind you, another will go in front. No one will approach unless you indicate that it is your wish.”

Cara watched these two men, so newly acquainted, yet so obviously kindred spirits. Despite the vast differences in culture and life-style, they shared similar values and respect. Each, in some ways, thought the other was poor, yet neither made judgments.

“We will find some way to repay you, my friend,” Rod promised. “Food, supplies, whatever you need.”

“Our gods provide for us.” There was no arrogance in the words, just supreme confidence in a way of life. Cara had never before witnessed such self-possession, such quiet command.

“Then we will send what the gods cannot provide,” Rod said.

When they were on their way, Cara glanced at him. “What exactly do you think it's in your power to give them that their gods can't?”

“Some Mozart,” he said with a grin. “Maybe a little Beethoven. I might even send along a tape of the Beatles. That should really confound them.”

Cara laughed. “It might make more sense to send fishing rods,” she said dryly.

“Ah, princess, you're entirely too practical sometimes.”

“It comes in handy when you're trying to run a company.”

Rod opened his mouth, but she held up a hand, “So help me, if you suggest I take time to stop and smell the roses, I will find a snake and tuck it into your sleeping bag.”

For the first time since he'd found her, Rod's uninhibited laugh echoed through the jungle. “I don't think I need to worry about that.”

She regarded him suspiciously, just a little disappointed that he hadn't taken the admittedly idle threat more seriously. “And why is that?”

He returned her stare with a look so innocent the angels would have been fooled. “Scottie told me what happened in Brazil.”

Her eyes widened. Surely her father would not have revealed that one time in her life when she had utterly and completely lost her cool. “What exactly did Scottie tell you?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘When she saw that snake all curled up, the fool gal screamed so loud, you could have heard her dear to Rio. I thought the whole damn tent must have been on fire.'”

So much for her image as a woman who could handle anything, a woman who could cope quite nicely in any environment. For some reason, during the past few days it had become increasingly important for her to prove that to Rod.

“Scottie talks entirely too much,” she grumbled.

“Don't look so embarrassed, princess. He thought it was cute. It made him feel needed.”

“What about you? Do you suffer from the same male malady?”

“Are you asking if I prefer my women to lean on me?”

“More or less.”

“I suppose every man likes to fall into the role of strong, male protector occasionally.”

“Would you have preferred it if I'd swooned back there, so you could have ridden in on a white charger and saved the day?”

“I thought I had.”

“Stop it. I'm serious.”

He sighed. “Princess, I am very glad that you did not fall apart under pressure, that you had devised a scheme to escape. My ego can handle the fact that you don't have to rely on me to survive.”