The Sooner the Better (6 page)

He hadn't expected the police to be this tight on his tail. The bandage on his hand must have alerted the clerk at the bus depot. His mistake, he realized, was assuming the bus stations hadn't been alerted. His photograph couldn't possibly have circulated yet—could it? In any event, he'd changed his appearance as best he could. Cut and dyed his hair, discarded his glasses in favor of colored contacts he'd brought with him from
home, changed his clothing. But he could do nothing about the deep cut on his hand. That must be what had given him away.

He'd linked up with Lorraine to confuse the authorities, yet no sooner had he checked into the hotel than the cops arrived. He'd barely had time to sign the register and go up to his room, such as it was.

He stepped quietly into the hallway to study the exits and saw that the proprietor had taken Dancy's words to heart and fully intended to keep a close eye on him. Dancy wasn't nearly as big a fool as his daughter.

Back in his room, Jason stuffed a few scattered things into his pack, including a switchblade he'd hidden under the pillow. The police either hadn't found the knife or weren't concerned about it. When he was done, he glanced out the small window that overlooked the street. A police car was just pulling up in front of the hotel. With no time to lose, he threw on his jacket and grabbed the backpack, then slipped quietly out the door.

Jason met up with the proprietor on the back stairwell. Their conversation was brief. The old man's mistake was thinking he could stop him. The struggle to silence him cost Jason precious minutes. He would've liked to avoid another death, but this one couldn't be helped. If anyone was to blame, it was Dancy.

By the time Jason reached the rear exit of the hotel, he could hear police coming up the stairs. That was close. Much too close.

Now he needed to find Lorraine. During the bus ride, he'd done his damnedest to talk her into checking into the hotel; however, he couldn't show his cards by being too demanding. But before he left her that afternoon, he'd learned where Dancy lived.

He hid until night had completely fallen and then found
his way down a series of back streets to the schoolmaster's house on the edge of town. Fortunately El Mirador was laid out in a simple grid pattern, and the moon was bright. He'd tracked people under more adverse conditions—quite recently, as a matter of fact. Lorraine shouldn't be hard to find.

She was the key. Once he had what he wanted from her, he'd just disappear again.

A dog barked as he crept down the dirt road. Fearing discovery, he ducked around the darker side of a small adobe house.

Then, in a wonderful turn of luck, Jason watched as Thomas Dancy hurried toward the houses shouting for someone named Azucena.

A pregnant woman rushed out of a house directly across the street and fell into Dancy's arms, sobbing.

The two were hugging each other as if they'd spent the past year apart. Jason's patience wore thin until he was able to make out the woman's words. So the police had already been to the house and found the artifact.
Damn.

“Where is she?” the woman asked in Spanish.

Jason was interested in learning that, as well.

“With Jack.”

“You gave her to Jack Keller?”

“What choice did I have?” Dancy asked. “I had to get her out of here before the police arrested her.”

Again Jason had to credit the man with some intelligence, unlike his daughter who was as gullible as they came. Dancy was right to send her away. The police would've made mincemeat out of her. He smiled, remembering how easily she'd believed his stories—and how willingly she'd told him all about herself. He almost hated dragging her into this, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

“Jack's a good friend,” Dancy said. He drew the woman as close as her swollen belly would allow and kissed the top of her head.

“I trust him to see that your daughter is safely returned to your country.”

“Mexico is my country now,” Dancy said, but even from a distance Jason could hear the sadness in his voice. “And soon you will be my wife.”

The woman lifted her head to look up at Dancy. Jason couldn't see her expression.

“I'm free to marry you,” Dancy explained.

“I don't need to stand before the priest to be your wife. In my heart, I am already your wife. My body shelters your child. In this house your sons sleep. I have everything I need.”

“I do, too,” Dancy said, sliding his arm around her waist and leading her back into the house.

Jack Keller, Jason repeated silently. Now that he had the name, he had everything
he
needed, too.

 

Lorraine awoke with the sun shining in her eyes. Her body rebelled from having spent the night on a deck chair. Her throat felt dry and irritated from being sick. Her neck was stiff, too. But the physical discomforts were minor compared to the ache in her heart. The events of the previous day ran through her mind, and she started to feel dizzy as she thought about everything that had happened. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd kissed Gary goodbye at the airport. And then the flight, the bus trip, meeting her father…and Jason's betrayal. The police. Jack's boat… A single day felt like a lifetime.

She'd gone to sleep without washing her face and brushing her teeth for perhaps the first time in her life. Her hair
was uncombed and her stomach empty. What she'd eaten the night before had ended up feeding the fish.

A sound startled her and she glanced up to see Jack standing on deck, hands on his hips as he squinted out at the bright blue water. He didn't look any better in daylight than he had at dusk. If anything, he seemed even more unkempt and unfriendly.

“Good morning,” she ventured.

He glared at her and didn't return the greeting. Apparently he wasn't a morning person.

“Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee?” she asked. Despite his grudging manner, she wanted him to know she was grateful for his help. And she was more than willing to do her share.

“Cook up some eggs while you're at it,” he snarled.

She hesitated, not understanding the malice in his voice. “All right. How would you like them cooked?”

“Over easy,” he said. “I prefer the yolks runny.”

“Okay.” She wasn't entirely sure how she'd manage, but she'd learn that soon enough. “If you'll kindly tell me where the coffee and the eggs are, I'll see to it right away.”

“Where the coffee and the eggs are?” Jack repeated, speaking with exaggerated slowness. “You don't
know?
”

“No.” She hadn't seen them the night before when she'd brought him the orange. Perhaps there was another fridge somewhere, or a cooler.

“My supplies are back in El Mirador.”

“But…” It took a while for the implication to register in Lorraine's mind. “You mean to say we don't have any food?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

She was ten times hungrier now than before she knew
this. “What are we going to do?” she asked in growing alarm.

“Fish. Sardines make good bait.”

She grimaced.

“What's wrong now?” he demanded.

It seemed silly under the circumstances, but he
had
asked. “I have trouble watching anything die, even a fish.”

He laughed as if he considered that uproariously funny. “Then do without.”

T
he woman was utterly useless. If he hadn't known that before, Jack would've ascertained it in about two seconds.

“I'll fish,” Lorraine finally said after a lengthy silence, “but I refuse to…clean any.” She turned her back on him. Disapproval radiated off her like sonar waves. Her nose was so high in the air, he thought with amusement, it was a wonder some bird didn't land on it.

“Do you have a problem with pulling your own weight?” he asked, not that he was looking for an argument. He was more interested in seeing how far he could push her.

“Of course not. I'll pull my own weight.”

It was too early in the morning to argue. Besides, he was hungry. He missed his morning coffee and was in no mood to deal with an unexpected passenger, especially one who'd inconvenienced him as much as this woman had. Not only that, she didn't seem to recognize that he was doing her a favor by saving her stupid ass from jail.

“I want to know what you plan to do about our predicament,” she said next.

Well, excuse me.
All he needed now was for Her Highness to start issuing commands.

“I already told you.” With his back to her, he worked at rigging up the first fishing pole. He secured the bait—the sardine was nothing he'd seriously consider eating himself—and locked the rod into place. Once he'd finished that, he set up the second pole. With two lines in the water, he doubled his chances of scoring breakfast. He hadn't so much as caught a fish and already Miss Pull-her-own-weight was letting it be known that she wasn't about to dirty her delicate fingers.

“Sight of blood makes you squeamish, does it?” he taunted.

“Hardly,” she said in a huff.

He arched one eyebrow and finished with the second rod.

“I find the idea of fishing barbaric.”

“You can have breakfast or, as I said earlier, you're free to do without it.”

“Fine.”

Unlike him, she'd enjoyed a decent dinner—the dinner
he
should've had over at Thomas's place. Whether or not she ate breakfast was her choice. Jack couldn't care less.

“Um, I realize how that must sound,” she said, apparently reconsidering. “It's not that I don't appreciate the offer….”

“Hey,” Jack said as he moved forward, “you go ahead and do what you've got to do.” He started the engines and the boat took off at a slow easy troll.

Lorraine looked as if she was about to be sick again. Her face went from healthy pink to ashen, followed almost immediately by a faint tinge of green.

Jack resisted asking her how she was feeling. That seemed too cruel, even for him. One look said it all.

Her Highness staggered back to the chair and collapsed into it.

Luck was with him, and in less than ten minutes he'd snagged his first fish. A red snapper, which made for excellent eating.

Lorraine didn't move from her throne the entire time it took him to reel in breakfast. Nor did she show any signs of interest when he took his catch below, gutted, filleted and fried it up in a skillet. The scent of the fish frying made his mouth water. It didn't come any fresher than this. He could have eaten in the galley, and often did. Not now. With a good deal of ceremony, he dragged another chair onto the deck and placed it beside Lorraine's. Then he carried up his plate, along with a cold beer, and settled down. She glanced once in his direction, and Jack recognized the look. Hunger. After insisting that she didn't like fishing, her pride wouldn't allow her to give in and enjoy a fine meal—even if he did say so himself.

“I don't mean to be a pest…” she began.

“It's a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Being a pest. You appear to have a real talent for it.”

That shut her up for a few minutes, as he'd suspected it would.

“What are we going to do about the lack of supplies?” she asked after a while.

Jack could tell from the forced evenness of her voice that she was having trouble controlling her temper. He figured she probably didn't lose it often; a fine Southern belle like Lorraine had good manners drilled into
her the way boot camp had taught him the basics of soldiering.

“I'll answer your question if you answer mine,” he said, savoring the last bite of fish and washing it down with a swallow of beer. There was plenty left in the galley, but he didn't mention that. If she wanted breakfast she'd have to ask for it.

“All right,” she said with obvious reluctance.

The boat bobbed gently, and she'd regained some of her color. A good sign, he supposed. Until she found her sea legs she'd be miserable. Jack wasn't sure which he preferred. Sick as a dog, she still managed to be a nuisance. He hated to think how much she'd annoy him when she was a hundred percent herself.

“You wanted to ask me something?” She sounded impatient.

He weighed his thoughts. Teasing her was definitely entertaining, but he felt a little confused about this unaccountable need to learn what he could about her. It must be on account of Thomas; he simply wanted to know what kind of woman his friend had for a daughter. “I realize this isn't any of my business,” he said, “but I'm afraid curiosity has gotten the better of me.” He chuckled dryly. “What's your husband like? Is he as much of a prude as you are?”

Her gaze fell to the wedding ring on her left hand as though she was surprised to see it there. Forgotten Mr. Whoever-he-was already?

“I imagine the two of you are quite the pair,” he went on. “Do you ever jump each other's bones?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, get so hot for each other you can't wait to get your clothes off. That's when sex is best, don't you think?”

Her eyes went wide as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. “I find you both vulgar and offensive.”

Jack laughed. It was far too much fun baiting this woman. “You don't like me any better than I like you. That's perfectly fine by me. But you can't blame a guy for being curious about the type of man who'd marry someone as highfalutin as you.”

“I don't know what—”

“I bet you and your stuffed-shirt husband make love every Wednesday and Sunday nights, regular as clockwork.”

“That's none of your business!”

He laughed again. “I'm right, aren't I? You do it in the dark, too. And when you're done you make polite little sounds, give each other a peck on the cheek, then roll over and go to sleep.”

“Is there a reason you're so interested in my love life?” she asked. She was pretending to be bored but not doing a very good job of it. He watched as color seeped up her neckline and into her cheeks.

He ignored the question.

“Are you interested in the love life of
every
woman you meet,” she asked, still faking disinterest, “or is it just me?”

Jack snickered as if to suggest someone like her would be the last woman on earth to tempt him. “Just wondering,” he answered. “I'm not doing a survey or anything.” However, much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. He didn't normally provoke women. There was just something about her….

It was the clothes she wore, he decided. The conservative pantsuit. No one wore white out here. Not that it looked so white anymore. And it didn't help matters that it fit her like a glove. She'd removed the jacket and the
short pink top hugged her waist and allowed him to speculate about the soft swell of her breasts beneath. He shook his head. The woman had no sense; if he'd had nefarious designs on her—which he certainly didn't—she'd be in trouble.

“You've asked your question, Mr. Keller, stupid as it was, and now it's my turn.”

“Feel free.” He gestured toward her.

“You've already started drinking. I don't think that's a good idea.”

“You get to ask me a question, sweetheart, not preach a sermon.”

“All right.” She cast him a look of pure disgust. “What
exactly
do you intend to do about the lack of supplies?”

He laughed at the sheer foolishness of her question. “You don't have anything to worry about, Your Highness.”

To her credit, she ignored his teasing. “So what are we going to do?”

The answer seemed obvious. “Buy more, of course.”

 

Lorraine had never disliked anyone so fiercely in her whole life. Jack Keller was rude, insensitive and vulgar. It was beyond comprehension that her father had freely handed her over to this…barbarian. Reluctantly she had to conclude that her situation must be far more dangerous than she'd realized.

The morning had seemed interminable. The sun beat down with an intensity that robbed her of strength. All wit had abandoned her. Jack seemed to take great pleasure in ridiculing her and calling her ridiculous names like Your Highness. He spouted insults, and when he wasn't mocking her, he called her Raine. The only person who'd ever called her that was her father. When Jack said it, he
made it sound, somehow, as though he was speaking to a disobedient child.

The one positive aspect of the morning was that she'd finally adjusted to the boat's movement on the water. She wasn't sure if it was the lack of anything in her stomach or if she'd found what he referred to as her sea legs. Whichever, she was grateful. She'd never spent any time on a boat before and had no idea what else to expect.

Gazing out at the horizon, Lorraine suddenly saw land—an outcropping of lush green hills far in the distance. That excited her so much she climbed awkwardly out of her chair and shuffled toward the rear of the boat.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Mexico.”

“
That
much I know,” she returned, trying not to sound sarcastic. At this point, it was difficult. She sighed, loudly and expressively. “Are we buying supplies here?” she asked.

“That's the plan.”

She couldn't quite hide her relief. It was clear to her, if not Jack, that they couldn't continue this voyage without obtaining some food.

As they headed toward land, Lorraine noticed a number of high-rise luxury hotels in the distance. “What city is that?” she asked when curiosity overcame her unwillingness to ask him any further questions.

“Campeche,” he said, and didn't elaborate.

Lorraine remembered reading about the town in the information she'd gathered when she was researching the Yucatán Peninsula. If she recalled correctly, the city was one of the fastest-growing tourist spots in the region. There were a number of Mayan ruins close by.

“Don't get your hopes up,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?”

“We aren't going to Campeche.”

“We aren't?” She frowned in disappointment. “But—”

“We can't risk it.”

In her opinion, they'd probably be safer in a large city where they could get lost in anonymous crowds. Not that he'd given her any say in the matter, nor did he seem at all interested in her opinions. “Well, if not Campeche, where
are
we going?”

“La Ruta Maya,” he said. “That means route of the Maya. It's a small village down the coast from Campeche. Tradition says the village was on the main artery for Mayan traders a thousand years ago.

“I've docked there in the past,” Jack added, “and I can buy supplies with a minimum of fuss. That way we can be in and out of port quickly.”

“I see.”

“I don't think you do,” Jack said, narrowing his gaze. “We can't risk you being seen. With that suit of yours and that blond hair, you'd stick out like a red flag to a herd of bulls.”

“What do you want me to do?” she demanded. “Jump overboard and hold my breath until you get back?”

“Don't give me any ideas.”

Lorraine had to clamp her jaws shut to keep from saying something she was sure to regret later. No one had ever infuriated her faster than this shiftless, worthless, good-for-nothing bum. She wanted as little to do with him as possible and actually felt grateful that he assumed she was married. She could only guess how much more obnoxious he would've been if he'd figured she was up for grabs. Wearing her mother's wedding band had turned out to be a fortunate thing.

“You're going to have to stay out of sight while I'm in town.”

The implication didn't hit her right away. Then, “You want me to go down there—belowdecks?” It would be stifling holed up in that dreadful little place.

“You got it,” he said. Then, as though he understood her objection, he told her, “I'll be as fast as I can.”

“How long?” She supposed she could endure anything provided she had some idea of the time involved. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Already she could feel the suffocating heat crowding in around her.

“If everything goes smoothly, I should be back in about forty minutes.”

“Forty minutes!” she exploded. Just how long could it take to purchase a few necessities?

“Possibly a bit longer.”

Lorraine had to bite her tongue. He was doing this on purpose, she knew he was, to punish her for their predicament. The more she objected, the more time he'd take. She wouldn't put it past him.

He slowed the boat long before they reached the village. “Go on below,” he said tersely.

“But…” Lorraine closed her mouth rather than protest further. It would be pointless to mention that they were well out of sight of the village and no one was likely to see her. Any argument would only be grounds for trouble with Jack.

Her steps were mutinous as she climbed the few steps into the cabin and slammed the door. The heat hit her like a furnace blast, and sweat immediately dampened her brow.

Jack pounded down the steps and opened the door. A sweet cooling breeze whistled through. “Listen and listen good,” he said in a clear, calm voice. “I'm going to close
these doors once I've docked. I don't want you to come out until I tell you it's safe to do so. Understand?”