The Sooner the Better (8 page)

As the sun sank in the west, Jack sat with his feet propped up, sipping from a bottle of his favorite
cerveza.
A smile touched his lips at the memory of Lorraine's reaction when she realized that the only thing he'd managed
to bring on board was the beer. The look on her face had been priceless. That expression of frustrated outrage had almost been worth the problems she'd caused. Almost.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sense of calm at the end of a day that had taken one unexpected turn after another. As far as his passenger went, he didn't like her, couldn't trust her and considered her a royal pain in the ass. Nevertheless he had to hand it to her; the woman had pluck. It wasn't everyone who could stand up to a powerful drug lord like Carlos Caracol.

Jack hadn't immediately figured out who Carlos was, but once he did, he realized what a lucky escape they'd had. The name was one he knew well. It astonished Jack that Carlos hadn't landed behind bars before now—or with a bullet in his back. He had a small band of followers and connections to a much bigger drug pipeline bringing in cocaine from other parts of Mexico and Central America. A few months ago Jack had talked to two government agents working in cooperation with the United States. Carlos's name had come up then. He was believed to be responsible for the death of a Mexican official, but nothing could be proved. The man was a known killer, but smart enough—and corrupt enough—to stay out of prison. He certainly wasn't the kind of enemy Jack wanted. What Carlos Caracol had been doing in a cantina in La Ruta Maya Jack couldn't begin to guess.

Remembering how Lorraine had whirled on the man and primly informed him he'd have to wait his turn had been one of life's more amusing moments. Jack couldn't suppress a chuckle. He would never have left her to deal with Carlos on her own, however appealing the prospect. But it'd given him a few minutes of pleasure letting her think he just might.

He'd spent several years in the Caribbean and the
Gulf of Mexico now, lived a life that was the envy of his friends. Plenty of money at his disposal and not a care in the world. Yet he'd felt more aware of life these past two days with Lorraine than at any time since he'd inherited
Scotch on Water.
This annoying, priggish, straitlaced woman. Who would've guessed?

Something else troubled him. She was beginning to look good. Too good.

The sound of a gentle splash startled him. He opened his eyes and sat upright. Lorraine had taken the plunge, literally, and was swimming around in her bra and panties like a porpoise, enjoying the water. She dove under, giving him an excellent view of her nicely rounded derriere. Her legs weren't bad, either. Shapely and trim. That led him to consider other parts of her body he had no business thinking about.

“She's married,” he muttered loudly enough to give himself a wake-up call. A fling with Lorraine was a fling with disaster, and he wasn't going to let that happen. No way was he that big a fool.

Getting too involved with
any
woman was a mistake, as he'd already learned, but getting involved with someone else's wife… He shook his head. At least Marcie hadn't been married when he'd fallen in love with her.

“Having a good time?” Jack stood and leaned against the gunwale, watching her frolic in the water.

Lorraine jerked around, her hair a froth of shampoo. She treaded water and looked up at him, blinking rapidly when the shampoo dripped into her right eye. “I thought…you were asleep. I didn't think you'd mind if I used your shampoo.”

“Not in the least.” He crossed his ankles and assumed a more comfortable stance.

“Since you were asleep and…and since we're anchored in freshwater here, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to wash my hair.”

“Excellent idea.” He covered his mouth and yawned. Still, he didn't move away, not when he could see how uncomfortable she was with him staring at her. After all, he deserved some reward for all the trouble she'd caused. Embarrassing her was an entertaining activity. He wasn't going to complain about the view, either.

“You're a brave woman,” he said.

“Brave?” She rubbed her eye, which had to be smarting by now.

“Maybe fearless is a better description.”

“Fearless? If you're talking about what happened this afternoon—”

“I'm not.” He shouldn't do this to her, but what the heck. “I'm talking about swimming in piranha-infested waters.”

A look of sheer terror came over Lorraine. He'd never seen anyone move so fast!

Jack couldn't help it; he burst out laughing.

 

Thomas paced the small area outside the bedroom. Each time Azucena moaned, he had to stop himself from bursting through the bedroom door. She'd been in labor for twenty hours now, far longer than with either Antonio or Hector. According to the midwife, this baby was breech and the labor had proved to be far more intense. The birth would be complicated.

Exhausted himself, Thomas could only imagine how Azucena felt. He loved her and was grateful to her for giving him back his life. For years he'd gone listlessly from one insignificant job to the next, convinced that eventually something would happen to change his
circumstances. For years he'd believed that, somehow, Ginny and Raine would join him in Mexico. In his dream-world, he'd believed that it was only a matter of time before all would be forgiven and the charges against him dropped. Then he'd moved to El Mirador, been offered not just a job, but one he loved, one that meant something. He'd met Azucena then, too, and his life had been blessed from that day forward.

He'd loved Ginny, grieved at the news of her death, but Azucena was his future. He'd married her the day before, as soon as he could arrange it. She was his wife, the mother of his sons. The thought that he might lose her now overwhelmed him.

Fear seized his lungs and he could hardly breathe. Death was said to come in threes. His legs grew so unsteady they could barely support him. He sat and buried his face in his hands.

First Ginny. Then Ernesto's body had been found at the hotel, his throat slit. The investigation had left Thomas deeply shaken. The more he learned about Jason Applebee, the more outraged he became. To a large extent, Thomas blamed himself for Ernesto's death, since he was the one who'd asked the hotel proprietor to keep an eye on the American.

First Ginny, then Ernesto, and he prayed to God the third death wouldn't be Azucena.

“Papa.” Antonio climbed onto his lap and wrapped his small arms tightly around Thomas's neck. Thomas understood his son's need to hold on for all he was worth. In a way he was doing the same thing. He was worried sick about Azucena, and Raine was never far from his mind, either.

He trusted Jack to see his daughter safely out of the country, but there could be unforeseen problems ahead.
Jason Applebee was no novice when it came to using and abusing others. He was probably furious at having lost the stolen artifact, and furious, he'd be even more dangerous. News had come by way of the radio that the half of the Kukulcan Star discovered in Raine's suitcase had been returned to the museum in Mexico City. If Jason—

Azucena's scream shattered the silence and the blood drained from Thomas's face. In that moment he would have sold his soul for a doctor and a decent medical facility.

“Mama?” Antonio clung even harder to his father.

Thomas slid both arms around the boy and closed his eyes in silent prayer.

When she screamed again, Thomas put Antonio gently down and jumped to his feet. He threw open the bedroom door. The midwife, standing at the foot of the bed, glanced disapprovingly over her shoulder.

“Not now. Leave us. This is no place for you.”

“Is she all right?” he pleaded.

“Thomas?”

Azucena sounded so weak. “Should I get the priest?” he asked.
Dear God,
he thought again,
I can't lose her.
“Tell me! For the love of God, tell me what to do.”

Panic set in, and he didn't wait for an answer but raced from the house, certain he was about to lose both his wife and unborn child. He didn't stop running until he reached the church. He dashed through the front doors to find the parish priest kneeling at the altar in prayer.

“Father, Father,” Thomas gasped, sprinting down the center aisle.

Father Garcia was well over seventy and incapable of moving quickly. Now that he had the priest's attention, Thomas wasn't sure what to tell him.

“What is it?” Father Garcia asked anxiously.

“Azucena,” he said between deep breaths. “The baby's breech.” He covered his face with both hands, terrified of the future without her, and slumped to his knees at the altar.

The priest accompanied him back to the house. When Thomas opened the front door, the first thing he heard was an infant's wail. The overpowering relief that followed brought tears to his eyes.

“Azucena,” he sobbed. “Azucena.” Uncaring what the midwife thought, he rushed into the bedroom to find the older woman attending to the infant. Azucena lifted her head from the pillow.

“We have a third son,” she whispered.

Thomas grabbed her hand and kissed it. Father Garcia walked slowly into the room, and seeing mother and child alive, he crossed himself and looked toward heaven.

“My love,” Azucena murmured so quietly he could barely hear. She wiped the tears from his face and pressed her palm to his face.

Thomas turned to look at the midwife. “Is she…will she be all right?”

The woman nodded. “You have a fine healthy son.”

“Thank God,” Thomas said, fighting back the emotion. “Thank God.”

J
ack threw back his head and howled with laughter at the sight of Lorraine thrashing through the water in her eagerness to reach the boat. His amusement increased as she sputtered at him, her head full of shampoo with bubbles dripping onto her face.

The last laugh, however, was all hers.

Madder than a mean-tempered wasp, she agilely heaved herself out of the water and into the boat. Her wet underwear left precious little to the imagination. Jack's humor quickly faded, and his throat went dry. He'd been too long without a woman, he decided, if Lorraine was affecting him like this.

With a wedding band on her finger, she was strictly off-limits. He wasn't interested in an affair, however brief. His love life had been robust for a number of years, with only one hard-and-fast rule.

No married women.

Ever.

Jack was a good-looking guy and he knew it. Girls had started flocking to him from the time he was in junior high. There'd never been a shortage of single women, and frankly, he wasn't interested in creating unnecessary
enemies. Like husbands. In addition, this was the daughter of a friend. A good friend, who trusted him to get her safely back to the United States.

One look at Lorraine's full breasts and the shapely curve of her hips glistening in the light from the setting sun, and the hard-and-fast rule was becoming merely a guideline. He couldn't make himself turn away. Damn, she was beautiful. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed earlier. Anyone could see that, prissy attitude aside, she was gorgeous. But Jack had forced himself not to respond…until now. He'd done a convincing job of pretending he wasn't aware of her, hiding the attraction behind a barrage of insults. The questions about her love life had been an ill-advised attempt to remind himself that she was off-limits.

Then it hit him. Hard.
He wanted her.
Without any trouble whatsoever, he could envision her in his arms…and his bed. It was so easy to imagine her smiling up at him….

A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He rubbed his eyes to dispel the image of Lorraine in his bed while he struggled to breathe evenly. He instructed himself to remember the nameless woman in Belize and Catherina Efrain, a woman he'd had a brief fling with a year or two earlier. He'd met her when she was on vacation in Campeche and was later surprised to learn she worked for the Mexican government. Thinking about Catherina helped—but not enough.

Being stuck with Lorraine in the close confines of the boat wasn't going to make things any more tolerable. Jack had to forcefully—and repeatedly—remind himself of something that, until now, had been instinctive.

Lorraine was hands-off.

Squinting and muttering, she swept her shampoo-
coated hair away from her face and glared in his direction. The effect was somewhat undermined by the rapid blinking of one eye. “There aren't any piranhas here, are there?” she demanded.

She stretched out her arm, groping for a towel. Apparently she'd brought it from belowdecks before she entered the water.

“How'd you guess?” he returned, his voice rough. Whatever wit he'd once possessed had vanished while he struggled to disguise the effect she'd had on him.

“Oh-h-h,” she groaned, stumbling blindly around.

He couldn't figure out what she was doing. It took all his self-control not to stare openmouthed while she paraded half-nude in front of him. He finally realized she was searching for a bucket. Now that she'd found one, she leaned over the gunwale, presenting him with yet another blood-stirring view….

Jack slammed his eyes shut while she lowered the bucket over the side, then opened them just in time to watch her pour the water directly over her head. Lather and suds cascaded down her body.

“I hope you're happy,” she shrieked. She reached for the towel, burying her face in it.

“Ecstatic.”

Furious, she whirled around and in her rush stubbed her toe. She gasped in pain, then grabbed her foot, hopping madly around on the other. “Darn, darn, darn!” she cried between small intermittent groans.

“Darn?” Jack couldn't believe his ears.

“What's wrong with
darn?
” She scowled at him as if he'd purposely dropped an anvil on her precious foot.

“You stubbed your toe, right?”

She nodded, biting down on her lower lip. She leaned
against the side of the boat and carefully examined her big toe for damage.

“
Darn
's the best you can do?”

She looked up at him, her eyes questioning. “Do?”

“That's your strongest swearword?”

She frowned at him.

“Sweetheart, I'm gonna have to give you lessons.”

“I don't need you to teach me anything,” she said furiously.

“Darn?”
He didn't know why he found this so hilarious. Probably because he needed something to take his mind off how incredibly sexy she looked. She continued to frown at him. The longer she frowned, the more amused he became.

His laugh began as a small sarcastic chuckle.

Lorraine's eyes narrowed with outrage. “You're extremely rude, do you know that?”

He laughed harder.
“Darn?”

“In fact, you're impossible.” She wrapped the towel around her waist and walked away from him.

“Don't worry, I'm a good teacher,” he called after her. “We'll start off with the basic four-letter words, then work our way up to the more complicated phrases. By the time you're back in the States, I'll have you saying things that would make a longshoreman blush.”

“I hope you enjoy making fun of me.”

“More than you'll ever know.” Still grinning, he wiped the mirth from his face. His reaction was way out of proportion, but it was either laugh or risk kissing her—which was the one thing he couldn't do.

Lorraine paused and glanced at him over her shoulder, then sadly shook her head and disappeared belowdecks.

Jack heard her rummaging around. Thinking he'd
made a narrow escape, he settled down in his chair and congratulated himself on his restraint.

 

Lorraine didn't understand Jack Keller. Furthermore, she had no intention of trying. As far as she was concerned, he was a Neanderthal. She waited until her underwear was almost dry before she put her linen suit back on. Then she ran a comb through her tangled hair, wincing as she encountered one snarl after another. The man was impossible. Impossible! He'd purposely terrified her with that comment about piranhas. Like an idiot, she'd believed him.

Apparently just scaring her wasn't enough. He'd taken great delight in ridiculing her, as well. And then offering to teach her to swear! Her mother had claimed swearing was the sign of a poor vocabulary; Lorraine herself considered it in bad taste.

The way he'd laughed made her clench her hands and yank the comb hard, bringing tears to her eyes. Just when she was beginning to have kind thoughts about him, too. Still, she had to admit she didn't know what would've happened if he hadn't intervened with that horrible man. He'd helped her even knowing she'd taken his money.

Jack, being Jack, had made sure she knew that
he
knew what she'd done. But he hadn't gone on and on about it. She almost wished he had; it would make hating him easier.

One moment she was feeling warm and generous toward him, the next she felt outraged by his obnoxious behavior. The man was puzzling, and her reactions to him equally so. She hated him, despised him, and yet she'd deliberately flaunted herself in front of him, making sure he got a good look at her body. Her skin went hot, then cold, as she owned up to the truth of what
she'd done. She'd actually wanted him to kiss her. Touch her. She disapproved of flirting with a man this way, and it really wasn't like her. While she wasn't married as he believed, she
was
engaged and she owed her loyalty to her fiancé. Lorraine didn't understand her own behavior any more than she understood Jack's. Perhaps it had something to do with what had happened back at the cantina. He'd saved her in a situation that might have been life or death. A shiver ran down her spine whenever she thought about it.

Had she been able to find a means of making herself comfortable, Lorraine would have remained below. Spending any additional time in Jack's company was too risky, in too many ways. But once she'd gathered her courage, she climbed back to the main deck to discover Jack poring over sea charts by the light of a gas lantern.

“Where are we headed next?” she asked.

“Pucuro.”

Lorraine glanced down at the table, hoping to find the place Jack had mentioned.

“Here,” he said, pointing his finger at the notation on the map. “We need supplies. Remember?”

Seeing that he'd already purchased supplies twice, this probably wasn't a good time to complain that he never consulted her regarding their plans. If it hadn't been for his rather unappetizing leftover fish and the plate of food he'd brought on board in La Ruta Maya, they'd be starving by now.

“We'll leave at first light and reach Pucuro around noon tomorrow. I need your word of honor that you'll do exactly as I say when we get there. I want you to stay out of sight this time.”

“All right.”

“I'm serious, Lorraine. I can't have you sneaking off again. Not in Pucuro.”

“I already gave you my word. What more do you want?”

“I want you to spell it out.”

He sounded as if he distrusted her, which offended Lorraine—but then again, she'd given him ample cause. Speaking slowly and clearly, she said, “I promise I will stay belowdecks. I will not come up until you tell me the coast is clear.”
Literally,
she thought. For the first time in her life, that expression described the actual truth.

“Pucuro isn't like La Ruta Maya. I've been there once before and…” He paused, leaving the remainder unsaid.

“And?” she urged, wanting him to continue. She needed to know what they were getting themselves into.

He shook his head. “It's dangerous there. Pucuro is the last place I'd normally take a woman,” he said, “but we don't have any choice. We need to stop somewhere, and soon.” He sounded none too pleased by that fact.

“How long will it take you to get what we need?” she asked.

“Half an hour, tops,” he replied, then tagged on a question of his own. “Have you ever fired a weapon?”

Her breathing went shallow at the thought. “You mean…a gun? No, never.”

His response was an irritated sigh.

“There's no need to get mad about it. I've never even held a gun.”

“That's what I was afraid of.”

“I have no desire to learn, either.”

Jack's eyes were cold and serious. “You're going to have to learn.”

“This is a joke, right?”

“I might make light of a great many things, but I don't joke about guns.”

He hurried belowdecks, returning a moment later with a small gun. “This is an automatic Glock .22. You might need to defend yourself when we're in Pucuro. I want to step off this boat knowing that if anything goes wrong, you can take care of yourself. Understand? When we finish with that, I'll show you how to run the boat on your own.”

“You're overreacting,” she said stiffly. “First, I don't need a gun to defend myself, and second—”

“You need the gun.” His voice left no room for argument.

“Jack, this is ridiculous!”

“You're going to learn how to fire this weapon, and that's all there is to it.”

“Fine,” she said, looking down at it distastefully.

Under protest, she listened as he explained the inner workings of the gun. When he'd done that, he demonstrated how to load the thing. Then he expected her to do it herself.

Lorraine finally complied, but not happily. He ignored her complaints, making her repeat the procedure until he was satisfied that she'd learned what he wanted her to know.

“Next I want you to fire it.”

“No way!” The idea of actually shooting was repugnant to her. Besides, she didn't even have a target to aim for.

“Raine, this isn't open for discussion.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” she muttered. She stepped back and waited for him to reveal the finer techniques of handling a gun.

“Hold it,” he insisted.

“I already did.”

His jaw tightened and, sighing heavily, she reached for the weapon.

“I want you to get the feel of it,” he explained. “Balance it in your hands, get accustomed to the weight of it.”

“I did that earlier.” She hadn't, not really. She wasn't usually so disagreeable, but Jack seemed to bring out the worst in her. The fact that he was standing this close bothered her, too. Her heart beat a loud thudding tattoo; she was sure he could hear it. And she was
so
hot. Even with her hair piled on top of her head, sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Jack was sweating, too. His skin glistened with it in the moonlight. She found him far more provocative than she wanted. Now that he'd shaved she recognized that he was far too attractive for his own good—or hers.

“You ready to fire?” he snapped, cutting off her musings.

“Oh, all right, if it'll make you happy.” She stretched out both arms and took aim at the dark ocean.

Jack moved directly behind her. His arms came around hers and his hands supported her wrists. Lorraine drew in a deep breath at the way her body reacted. For one mad second she actually forgot about the gun in her hand. Instead, she felt the warmth of his body against hers, his taut muscles and solid strength. She had to struggle to pay attention to what he was saying. He seemed to be losing patience with her, because his directions became clipped and short.

“Now,” he said, “pull the trigger.”

Lorraine gently squeezed.

Nothing happened.