Night of the Condor (7 page)

Leigh awoke with a cry, and sat up, her heart thudding hollowly against her rib cage. She swallowed, trying to steady her breathing.

Oh, get a grip on yourself, she adjured herself impatiently. You're not a little girl any more to be upset by nightmares. Wait until you really have a problem before you start going to pieces.

She felt like the prophet of her own doom when she emerged from the tent and found that Rosita and the hobble had gone, and so, one frantic all-encompassing glance revealed, had the tack, all her spare gear and the provisions.

Leigh fell to her knees beside the grey embers of the little fire, wrapping her arms protectively around her body. All the time she had felt so alone, someone must have been tracking her, watching her, waiting for the right moment to rob her. Her head throbbed, and she felt sick at the very thought, although some stark logical corner of her mind told her that she had probably escaped lightly.

She could only be thankful that she had used her shoulder-bag as a makeshift pillow, so that she still had her passport and what remained of her money. But even when added to the tent, and the clothes she stood up in, it didn't amount to a great deal.

She tried to calm herself, to think, to make some kind of plan. Pablo Ortega had assured her the next village was within easy walking distance, but she suspected their definitions of 'easy' might differ. She couldn't manage to carry the tent and sleeping bag, so they would have to stay where they were until she could acquire another mule and return for them. She bit her lip. She had had enough trouble getting her hands on Rosita, and she couldn't keep passing over handfuls of
soles
as if there were no tomorrow. Any more losses on this scale, and she would soon be running out of money, and that was unthinkable.

Or she could go back, she thought, then tossed her head, flicking her tawny hair back from her face with fingers that shook a little. That was defeatist talk. Of course she would go on. Every mile she covered, after all, was taking her nearer to Atayahuanco.

She glanced round uneasily, wondering if she was still being observed—if the thieves were planning further pickings. She picked up her bag and put the strap over her head, slanting it across her body. Her secluded stopping-point no longer seemed so safe or peaceful, and she couldn't wait to get away.

The tent looked forlorn, and she hated abandoning her one form of shelter, almost glad when a bend in the track finally hid it from sight. She began to hurry until she was almost running, her senses on the alert for some sign that she was being followed. Although what she would do if that should prove the case, she hadn't the faintest idea. She kept stumbling, her boots slipping on the earth and loose stones, and she forced herself to slow a little, because the last thing she wanted on her plate at this juncture was a broken or even a sprained ankle.

After three hours, she was conscious of a feeling of desperation. She was hungry and thirsty, and her headache had returned full force. Oh, where the hell was this village? She needed some aspirin, a police station, and a meal, not necessarily in that order.

Her boots were hurting again, and she began to suspect she was developing a blister. When she saw the glint of a tin roof in the valley below, she cried out aloud in sheer relief, and hurried forward down a steep gravelly slope. It couldn't be the promised village, but at least it was a sign of human habitation. And even the humblest shack would be better than nothing, Leigh thought feverishly, as she stumbled the last few yards.

It was a comparatively large dwelling, built of adobe bricks, and surrounded by cultivated land. A few chickens pecked round the earth yard which fronted the building, and a turkey emerged from some scrub gobbling with hostile curiosity as Leigh passed, but she hardly noticed. Her gaze was riveted on the loaded mute which stood docilely before the entrance.

Rosita, Leigh thought dazedly. She had caught up with her. At that moment, a man, tall and broad-shouldered, came out of the house and walked to the mule, making some adjustment to its harness. She broke into a run, her lungs feeling as if they were bursting. Her voice sounded high and cracked, like a stranger's. '
Por favor
. . .'

The man turned with almost shocking abruptness, and as he faced her, Leigh knew that her nightmare had returned. The dark face beneath the concealing shadow of a broad-brimmed hat, the topaz eyes, narrowing in angry disbelief, belonged to Rourke Martinez.

She tried to check her crazy, headlong run, but the impetus carried her forward, almost into his arms. His hands gripped her shoulders, ready to tear at her like the claws of the giant condor which had preyed on her in her dream, she thought, her head spinning, her breath catching dizzily in her throat. She gasped. 'It was you—you robbed me…' Then his shadow blotted out the sun, and there was nothing but darkness.

There was darkness too when she eventually opened unwilling eyes. Her whole body felt hollow and bruised, her stomach was raw, and her head throbbed. She felt like death.

Perhaps she was dead, she thought wildly, and this hot, all-encompassing blackness was some shallow grave, scratched out in the dirt. She tried to scream but no sound came, gulped in a mouthful of stale air, and collapsed back on what she dimly realised was a bed—hard, lumpy, and musty-smelling, but supportive.

The next time she awoke, there was light—a lamp, with a wick burning steadily. Rourke Martinez walked into its glow, and said, 'How are you feeling?' His fingers encircled her wrist, seeking her pulse, and she tried to pull her hand away.

'Where am I? What am I doing here?'

'That was going to be my next question,' he said grimly.

Memory was flooding back, and Leigh sat bolt upright glaring at him. 'You took Rosita! You took my mule. You were following me and…'

He shook his head. 'I've taken nothing from you. I didn't even know you were in the vicinity until you came running in from nowhere, and passed out at my feet, babbling some nonsense.'

'It isn't nonsense!' Leigh's voice rose stormily. 'I bought a mule in a village yesterday. I tied her up properly last night, but this morning she'd gone, and so had all my gear.'

'You're out on your timing,
querida
. All these adventures happened nearly three days ago. You've been ill. You've had an attack of
soroche
—altitude sickness. Didn't they warn you in Cuzco to take things easy until you were thoroughly acclimatised?'

Leigh sank back again. 'Yes,' she admitted sullenly.

He held a tin cup towards her. 'Drink this.'

She sniffed the faintly herbal aroma with acute suspicion. 'What is it?'

'Coca leaf tea. A remedy of sorts for the
soroche
, although rest is the primary cure.' He paused. 'Jos
é
and Maria have agreed to let you stay here until you're fully recovered, and then José will get you back to civilisation somehow. I presume you've sufficient cash to pay him for the inconvenience.'

Leigh sipped the tea with distaste, although it was not unpleasant apart from a slight bitterness. 'Coca leaf,' she said. 'Isn't that…?'

'Yes.' His mouth curled slightly. 'But if you're hoping to get high on it, forget it.'

'I wasn't,' she denied curtly. Her head was clearing slowly. 'I saw a mule outside. It's mine.'

He shook his head. 'No, it actually belongs to José and Maria, but I've hired it from them, in exchange for the use of my jeep. It's a permanent arrangement. You can compare brand marks if you don't believe me.'

'Brand marks?' she repeated doubtfully.

Rourke's brows lifted. 'It should be on your certificate of ownership. You do have one?'

There was a silence, then Leigh said defiantly, 'It was a perfectly legal sale. Now she's been stolen, and I want it reported to the authorities.'

'Without a certificate of sale, you haven't a prayer.' He frowned. 'How much did you pay for this animal?'

'Eighty-five thousand
soles
? she said defiantly. 'She was a bargain.'

He laughed harshly. 'You were robbed long before your mule disappeared,
seňorita
, and probably by the same person. A
gringa
with more money that sense must have seemed like manna from heaven. No doubt the mule would have been sold back to you further along the trail, if you hadn't wandered off it.'

She had suspected she might have been lost, but having Rourke Martinez confirm it somehow made it worse.

She said, 'This José—does he have another mule— one that I could hire?'

'No.' The monosyllable was harsh and uncompromising. 'You've taken all the risks you're taking, Miss Frazier. The only place you're going is back to Cuzco in the jeep. I thought your visit from Pedro Morales would have convinced you that you were biting off more than you could chew, but you're more stubborn than any bloody mule, aren't you,
querida
?'

'So you sicked those policemen on to me!' she exclaimed furiously. 'I might have known!'

He shook his head. 'You over-estimate my influence. But naturally they were concerned about any crazy schemes you might have in mind, and would have done their best to deter you.' He gave her a contemptuous look. 'But not even their best was good enough for you, naturally. You've been cheated, robbed and ill. You could have been raped and murdered, but you're still hell-bent on your own crazy way.'

'I'm looking for Evan.' Leigh's heart was pounding again painfully. 'I'm going to Atayahuanco to find him, and you won't stop me. I'll walk behind you every step of the way, if that's what it takes, but you're not dumping me here!'

His face was thunderous, his mouth thinning. 'Forget it, Miss Frazier. I have better things to do than escort some spoiled, moneyed brat across the Andes. Have some sense, for once in your life. Go back to Daddy where you belong. You don't need Evan Gilchrist. The world's full of equally worthless layabouts. You'll soon find consolation.'

Her face flamed. 'You unspeakable swine,' she said thickly. 'I love Evan, and I'm going to be with him. You may be a little tin god up at Atayahuanco, but you don't rule me!' She was struggling with the blanket which swaddled her. No wonder she had thought she was dead and buried. This thickness of fabric round her made her feel positively claustrophobic.

She struggled free, only to realise too late that someone had removed her top layers of clothing, and that she was next door to naked in flimsy bra and briefs. A fact that Rourke Martinez was openly and cynically appreciating.

It wasn't just her face now. She was burning all over, but she wasn't going to give him satisfaction by grabbing for the nearest covering like some outraged Puritan.

He said softly, 'Then perhaps this will give you pause for thought, Miss Frazier. Do you really want to trust yourself to the company of a man who's already shown you very clearly that he fancies you? The nights can be long on the
puna.
'

She looked back at him, her chin tilted inimically, armouring herself in hostility. 'Well, the attraction isn't mutual, Doctor Martinez—or are you threatening me with the rape you mentioned earlier?'

He smiled, his eyes travelling down her body, reminding her starkly that he had half-stripped her that night at her hotel, and she had been powerless to prevent him.

'Rape is for the inadequate, Miss Frazier, I don't place myself in that category.'

She shrugged. 'Then I have nothing to fear. And I would have thought a real man would have respected someone else's woman.'

His mouth twisted cynically. 'Under normal circumstances, I would. But the fact is,
querida
, I don't believe you're anyone's woman—at least, not yet,' he added casually.

'You're—crazy,' she said huskily. 'I—I belong to Evan in every way. Why do you think I'm so—desperate to be with him again?'

He said harshly, 'I can think of at least one very good reason—and it has nothing to do with sex.'

His sudden change of tack startled her, but to her relief she had at last spotted her clothes, folded neatly on a small wooden chest which appeared to be the room's only furniture apart from the bed. And she had realised why it was so dark too. There was no window. She grabbed her jeans, and stepped into them, dragging up the zip, then began to fight her way into her shirt.

She said sharply, 'Well, whatever my motives— and they're no concern of yours—I'm going to find Evan.'

'Everything that happens at Atayahuanco is my concern.' His voice bit at her. 'And I'm not having the project put at risk because of your boyfriend's criminal tendencies!'

Somehow Leigh maintained her composure, although inwardly she was reeling. Had Evan really found something valuable? she wondered. Could he possibly have stumbled across the Inca treasure they had joked about? Had he scaled the mountain of glass, and found the golden apple? Even if he had, that didn't make him a thief. She wasn't sure what the law was relating to such objects, but she would find out, and if his discovery had to be handed over to the authorities, then all well and good. There was no need for Rourke Martinez to be so—scathing.

She said quietly, 'You have no right to say that. When Evan comes back he'll have a satisfactory explanation for everything he's done. And I'm partly to blame, if he has broken any laws. Anything he's done, he's done for me.'

'To keep you in the manner to which you're accustomed?' The dark face sneered at her. '
I
don't doubt that, Miss Frazier. It's a pity no one's ever made you count the cost of the luxurious life you take so much for granted. Maybe a trip to Atayahuanco might do you some good after all. It might shatter that gold-plated complacency of yours for ever.'

They said words couldn't hurt you, but that wasn't true. His contempt left her feeling mentally bruised. She had never met anyone in her life before who had such a lousy opinion of her, or who had expressed it so openly, she amended silently.

She said in a low voice, 'I don't care what you think as long as you take me there.'

For a long moment, the topaz eyes surveyed her abrasively, then he gave an abrupt nod. 'I'm leaving tomorrow. If you think you can take it, then tag along.'