by Sandra Brown
He looked at her bleakly. The muscles in his arms relaxed, and his hands dropped to his sides. Turning on his heel, he started for the door. “You’re wrong, Janellen. She didn’t refute me because I spoke the truth.”
The lamp on the nightstand came on. Lara woke up instantly and rolled toward the light, then sprang to a sitting position, her heart in her throat. “What are you doing in here? How’d you get in?”
“I picked the lock on the back door,” Key replied. “You forgot to change the code on your alarm.”
His eyes were drawn down to her bare breasts. Lara, still trying to orient herself, didn’t scramble for cover. His gaze remained fixed on her for several moments. Then, swearing softly, he snatched up the robe lying across the foot of her bed and tossed it to her.
“Put that on. We need to talk.”
Still dazed from awakening to find him in her bedroom, she followed his instructions without argument. She sat on the edge of the bed.
Key paced along the footboard, gnawing on his lower lip. Suddenly he stopped and looked at her. “We’d never get clearance to land. Have you thought of that?”
She was muzzy from the abrupt manner in which she’d been awakened. “No. I mean, yes.” She drew a head-clearing breath and pushed her hair off her face. “No, we’d never get clearance to land, and yes, of course I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“Well?”
“I’ve got a map marking a private landing strip.”
“A WAC?”
“A what?”
“A World Aeronautical Chart. A map specifically for pilots.”
“I don’t think so. It looks like an ordinary map.”
“Better than nothing,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”
“It was sent to me.”
“By someone you trust?”
“A Catholic priest. Father Geraldo. He befriended us while we were there. Randall made him the official embassy chaplain.”
“I thought the rebels had executed all the clergymen.”
“They’ve murdered many of them. He’s managed to survive.”
Key ruminated on that as he sat down in an easy chair beside the bed, so close to her that their knees almost touched. “Sounds to me as though your priest might be playing both ends against the middle.”
“Very possibly,” Lara admitted with a weak smile. “He claims to be bipartisan.”
“He goes with the flow.”
“That’s the only way he can continue to do the Lord’s work.”
“Or save his own skin.”
“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I have no reason to mistrust him. Anyway, he’s all we’ve got.”
Key blew out his breath. “Okay. Let’s temporarily shelve that and move to point B. Do you know if they have radar?”
“I’m sure they do, but it couldn’t be very sophisticated. Nothing there is. Technologically they’re decades behind the rest of the world.”
“How far from Ciudad Central is this landing strip?”
Mentally she converted the kilometers. “About forty miles.”
He whistled. “That’d be close. How am I supposed to avoid their radar?”
“There must be ways. Drug smugglers do it all the time.”
He looked at her sharply. “I’ve never smuggled dope.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Sure you did.” He held her gaze, then shrugged impatiently. “Fuck it. Believe what you want to.”
He left the chair and began to pace again. Lara had a thousand questions to ask but didn’t dare. She mainly wanted to know why he’d changed his mind. Like a caged animal, he restlessly prowled her bedroom.
“If we can slip through their radar, if this landing strip is where it’s supposed to be…”
“Yes?”
“How do we get around?”
“I can make arrangements for Father Geraldo to pick us up.”
“Go on.”
“There’s an underground organization that manages to slip supplies, letters, and such into and out of Montesangre. That’s how the map got to me. I waited a year for it, but I’ve had it for several months. Utilizing this underground, I can have Father Geraldo notified when to meet us.”
“It’ll take another year?”
“No. I put everyone on alert. They’re standing by.”
“You were that sure I’d agree?”
“I was that sure I’d do anything to see that you did.”
They paused, watching each other.
Key was the first to shake himself free. “Does this priest speak English?”
“Actually his name is Gerald Mallone. He’s an American.”
He swore. “Which means he’s doubly suspicious and is probably being tailed everywhere he goes.”
“I doubt it. He’s steeped in Montesangren culture, more Latin than Irish in temperament. Besides, he’s fully aware of the dangers. He’s been living with them for years and knows how to avoid them. The landing strip should be fairly safe. I’ve been told it’s on the coast, at the foot of a heavily vegetated mountain range.”
“Safe! Jesus. I’ll have to fly in at night, over open sea, dodging radar, and set that puppy down in the middle of a goddamn jungle, hoping all the while that we won’t run into a mountain or get blown out of the sky.” He saw her about to speak and raised both hands. “I know, I know. Drug smugglers do it all the time. No doubt on this very strip.”
He paced another few minutes. She didn’t interrupt his thoughts.
“Okay, say we land without crashing and burning, say we manage to leave the plane without having an army of rebels or contras shooting us on sight, say this semitrustworthy priest is there, where does he take us?”
“Ciudad Central.”
He dragged his hand down his face. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“That’s probably where my daughter is buried.”
His eyes moved to her tousled tawny hair. “You’ll stick out down there like a polar bear in the Sahara. Aren’t you afraid of attracting someone’s attention when you take a shovel into the graveyard and start digging?”
She took a swift breath.
“I’m sorry. Strike that for insensitivity.” He returned to the chair and continued in a kinder tone of voice. “I doubt very seriously they’ll let you exhume the casket, Lara. Do you know which cemetery your daughter would be buried in?”
“No.”
“How about Father what’s-his-name?”
She shook her head. “The last word I had from him is that he’s checking into it. Civil records have been haphazardly kept the last several years. By the time we get there, I hope he’s uncovered a clue.” She smiled apologetically. “That’s the best I can do.”
“What if he can’t obtain any more information?”
“I’ll do the detective work myself.”
“Christ. That’s impossible.”
“It’s not as hopeless as it sounds,” she said with as much conviction as she could garner. “There’s a Montesangren who worked in the embassy, a savvy young man who knew his way around. He was initially hired to do clerical work, but soon became invaluable to Randall by translating official documents. Randall had only a rudimentary understanding of Spanish. Emilio is smart and intuitive. If I can find him, I know he’ll help us.”
“If you can find him?”
“He might not have escaped the attack on the embassy. His name didn’t appear on the casualty lists, but I doubt the lists were complete. If he wasn’t killed, he’s probably in hiding. Anyone who’d worked in the American embassy would be regarded as a traitor by the rebels.”
“Suppose he’s dead or otherwise unavailable. What then?”
“Then I’m truly on my own.”
“You’re willing to take that risk?”
“I’ll go to any lengths to bring Ashley back.”
“Right,” he said. “You’re even willing to offer your sweet body to dirty old me.” He was staring at her thighs, wh
ere the robe had parted a few inches above her knees.
Lara said nothing and sat very still.
Abruptly he stood. “Tap in to this underground network. Gather all the information you can. Don’t discount anything. Don’t trust your memory, either; take copious notes. I want to know everything. Time of sunrise, sunset, temperature, population, the speed limit, every frigging fact you can think of. Let me be the judge of what’s significant and what isn’t. In situations like this you never know what scrap of information might mean the difference between living and dying.
“We’ll travel light. Take only one bag you can carry easily. Don’t take anything you value, nothing you couldn’t drop and run away from, literally. Keep in mind that if we’re successful, we’ll be carrying out a casket. That may be all we can handle. Questions?”
“What about the airplane?”
“I’ll arrange for it and the weapons.”
“Weapons?”
“You didn’t think I’d go to a turkey shoot without a gun, did you? Can you shoot?”
“I can learn.”
“We’ll start lessons as soon as I’ve got the guns. I’ll handle the transactions alone, but I expect to be reimbursed for all expenses.”
“Of course.”
“There’s only one condition: Don’t ask me any questions about the arms or the plane. If the feds get curious and start asking questions, you can honestly say you don’t know.”
“What will you say?”
“I’ll lie. Convincingly. When do you want to go?”
“As soon as you can get an airplane.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Lara stood. “Thank you, Key. Thank you very much.”
He came to stand directly in front of her, his movements and speech no longer brisk. “As to my fee, does your offer still stand?”
She gazed into his dark, brilliant eyes and tried to convince herself that the weakness in her knees was caused by relief over his agreeing to make the trip, that it wasn’t a reaction to the sexual energy he radiated.
Lowering her head, she pulled apart the ends of her sash. The robe separated. She waited only a moment before peeling it from her shoulders and letting it fall onto the bed behind her.
She stood before him naked.
The silence was dense, the tension tangible. Although she wasn’t looking at him, she felt his eyes moving over her. Her skin tingled, as though his gaze were actually touching her, leaving brush strokes of heat. Breasts, belly, sex, thighs, all were touched with his eyes.
She turned warm. She grew damp. The tips of her breasts tightened and strained. Her earlobes pulsated feverishly. And somewhere deep inside her she throbbed with carnal awareness.
“Look at me.”
She raised her head.
“Say my name.”
“Key.” At first a whisper, she repeated it. “Key.”
He slid his hand around the back of her neck and lowered his head. His kiss was rough and possessive. Behind each thrust of his tongue was a hint of anger… at first. Then it seemed to be searching for something it couldn’t find. Perhaps a desire as thick as his own.
He found it. Only he never knew. Because as abruptly as it began, it ended.
“I’ll take ten thousand now.” His voice was amazingly calm, but there were lines of strain around his lips, which moved woodenly. “We’ll negotiate the balance of what you owe me when and if we come back alive.” He turned away.
She whipped the robe from the bed and held it against her. “Key?”
He stopped on his way through the door and, after a long hesitation, turned around.
“I know why I’m doing this, but why are you?” She shook her head with misapprehension. “What changed your mind? What have you got to gain?”
“Except for a measly ten grand, absolutely nothing. The point is, like you, I haven’t got a goddamn thing to lose.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Did you love my brother?”
The question came out of nowhere.
Lara had closed her eyes, but she wasn’t dozing. She was too nervous to sleep, though her eyelids were gritty from lack of it. She hadn’t slept well for the last several days before their departure.
It had been at least a half-hour since Key and she had exchanged a word. There’d been no sound in the cockpit except the drone of the two engines. They’d left Brownsville, Texas, late that afternoon. For hours thereafter, the rugged terrain of the interior of Mexico had stretched to the horizon. After crossing the Yucatán peninsula, Key had flown out over the Pacific Ocean and made a wide U-turn. No land was yet in sight as they approached Montesangre from the sea.
There was only a sliver of moon; Key had planned their trip around the lunar cycle. He’d eliminated the lights on the wingtips of the craft. The stygian darkness was relieved only by the muted illumination of the instrument panel.
She had sensed his mounting tension as he mentally prepared for the difficult landing and hadn’t distracted him with meaningless conversation. They’d left Eden Pass at noon and flown to Brownsville, where they’d eaten. She’d had no appetite, but Key had insisted she clean her plate. “You don’t know how long it’ll be before your next meal,” he’d said.
He’d refueled the airplane, which she assumed belonged to the man in serious debt since it was a Cessna 310. As agreed, she didn’t ask. In preparation for the trip, Key had removed all but two of the five seats—in order to make room for the casket, she assumed. He’d also equipped the plane with a navigation aid radio.
“It’s called ‘loran,’ ” he explained. “I can set the latitude and longitude of the landing strip and this baby finds it for me. Can you get me the coordinates?”
Through the underground, she had obtained this vital information, but they had experienced some anxious days before it arrived. “We can’t go during a damned full moon,” Key ranted. “If your priest doesn’t come through by the twenty-fifth, we’ll have to wait another month.”
They could have waited a month, but mentally they were geared up to go. Waiting longer would have increased their stress. They had talked the topic to death. Their nerves were raw. Fortunately, barely making it under the deadline, the priest came through with the coordinates Key needed.
Behind their seats he’d stowed the duffel bags in which they’d packed a few changes of clothes and toiletries. Her doctor’s bag had been packed to capacity. Key had also brought along a camera bag carrying a 35mm camera and several lenses. If they were questioned by anyone in authority—and he assured her that wasn’t likely—they would pretend to be a couple on their way to Chichén Itzá to photograph the pyramids.
There was a hidden compartment in one of the wing lockers. He’d placed a rifle there. He’d kept the two handguns in the cockpit. She had recoiled the first time she saw the weapons.
“This one’s yours.” He held a revolver.
“I can barely lift it.”
“You’ll be able to if you have to, believe me. Grip it with both hands when you fire.”
“Randall wanted to teach me to fire a gun when we moved to Montesangre, but I didn’t want to learn.”
“You don’t have to be a good marksman with this. It’s a Magnum .357. Just point it in the general direction of your target and pull the trigger. Consider it a hand-held cannon. Whatever you shoot at, you’ll destroy or severely damage.”
She shuddered at the thought. Ignoring her aversion, he’d given her a crash course on how to fire and load the revolver.
They were as prepared as they would ever be. Now they were close to their destination. A million things could go wrong: some of them he’d shared with her, many he had probably kept to himself, she thought.
Was his unheralded question about her loving Clark his way of diverting his mind from the dangers they faced?
She turned and looked at him in profile. He hadn’t shaved in a week. “Built-in camouflage,” he’d said when she mentioned the darkening stubble. The beard only intensifi
ed his good looks, adding the dubious charm of disreputability.
“Did I love Clark?” she repeated. Facing forward again, she stared through the windshield into the unrelieved blackness. She tried not to think about this flying island of technology being all that was between her and the Pacific Ocean. To her mind, aerodynamics defied logic. The craft seemed awfully small and terribly vulnerable in this vacuum of black.
“Yes, I loved him.” She felt the sudden movement of his head as he turned to look at her. She kept her gaze forward. “That’s why his betrayal was so devastating. He threw me to the wolves and watched from the safety of his elected office while they ripped me to shreds. Not only did he fail to come to my rescue, but, by his silence, he denounced me. I wouldn’t have thought that Clark was capable of such disloyalty and cowardice.”
“He showed no lack of courage when he took his lover into his bed while her husband slept down the hall,” he observed. “Or was that stupidity? Sometimes there’s little distinction between bravery and ignorance. What made you do it when there was such a good chance of getting caught?”
“Love is a powerful motivator. It makes us its victims and causes us to do crazy things, things we wouldn’t ordinarily do. During that weekend at the cottage, the atmosphere was… charged. Expectant.”
She looked down at her hands, rubbed her palms together. “Desire that strong obscures conscience and better judgment. It overpowers the fear of discovery.” She sighed and raised her head. “I should have read the warning signs. They were glaringly apparent. In hindsight, I realize that disaster was inevitable and imminent. I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“In other words, you were so eaten up with animal lust that common sense didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”
“Don’t sound so superior. Your ‘animal lust’ for a married woman got you shot! Besides, that’s ancient history. Why bring it up now?”
“Because if I don’t make it out of this godforsaken banana republic, I’d like to think I died for a noble cause. I’d like to believe that you were more than a roll in the sack for my horny brother, and that for you he wasn’t just a convenient diversion from an unhappy marriage.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to hell. But, in effect, she had placed her life in his hands. Without him, her chances of surviving this trip were nil. Like it or not, they were comrades with a common goal. Infighting should be kept to a minimum.