“Sorry,” he said. “Of course not. I mean I don’t enjoy being shot at any more than the next man. And it might have been nice to take you for a spin in this plane after I had a little more experience under my belt, but the truth is I like knowing I can survive. I like the unexpected, the unpredictable.”
When he looked across at her this time, there was a faint challenge in his expression. “Just the way you do, princess.”
She regarded him incredulously. “Me? This is not my idea of a dream vacation, much less a life-style. I told you I want white picket fences and rosebushes in the yard. I’d be perfectly content if my biggest challenge for the rest of my days was crabgrass.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think so. You got too much satisfaction out of reminding me that you could have managed that escape entirely on your own. You’d be bored to tears in suburbia fighting your way to the bed-linen department at a January white sale.”
Suddenly Cara was tired. She could see where the conversation was headed, and she knew it didn’t bode well for their future. “Maybe so. Maybe I have idealized suburbia. But there’s a vast difference between knowing I can handle anything and wanting to test my limits constantly the way you do, the way Scottie used to do. I don’t want a life with Crocodile Dundee. I just want something that’s...” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t know. Normal, maybe. What would be so bad about living a quiet, normal life with 2.3 kids or whatever it is and a husband who comes home on time without somebody hot on his trail with a shotgun?”
“Nothing. That life is fine for a lot of people, princess.” There was a sad note in his voice that chilled her.
“Well, then?”
“Not for me.”
Tears stung her eyes and she refused to look at him. He’d only said what she’d known from the first instant she’d seen him, when he’d been standing by the Usumacinta River half naked, looking sexy as hell, with a gun in his hand. She had recognized a bold, unrepentant maverick. How the hell had she ever allowed herself to hope that she could tame him? Why, for that matter, would she even want to?
* * *
His declaration made, Rod tried very hard to concentrate on flying. He knew they were in a very sticky situation, and he admired the way Cara had held on through it all. The lady had more guts than even she realized. She was a woman who was more than equal to living the sort of life-style he’d chosen for himself.
But the point, of course, was that she had every intention of going back to New York and living in a glass-and-steel jungle until the day came when some man in a three-piece suit swept her off to Long Island. Rod hated cities, despised suits and especially detested the wide sweeps of lawn that required cutting at frequent intervals. Hell, on Long Island the damn lawns required manicuring. He ought to know. He’d cut one often enough during his marriage.
He glanced over at Cara. She was reading the flight manual and trying to work the radio. Her brow was knit in concentration, her lips pursed. As his gaze lingered on those lips, an entirely too familiar ache settled in his loins. He ignored it, but it was more difficult to ignore the constriction in the region of his heart. How in God’s name was he ever going to let her go, so she could have the life she claimed to want?
“Any luck?” he inquired in an even tone that belied his churning emotions.
“I’m still hunting for the formula.”
He grinned, his mood unexpectedly brightened by the mixture of irritation and determination he heard in her voice. He didn’t have to let her go yet. There was today. Maybe tomorrow. The future? Well, he was a man who only believed in todays.
“The formula?” he teased.
She glared at him. “You know what I mean. The code. Signal. Whatever.”
“Right. Have you considered just screaming for help?”
“It wouldn’t be professional.”
“Princess, we have a slight emergency here. I think they’ll excuse us if we skip some of the protocol.”
With a reluctant scowl, she lifted the microphone and began calling for the tower. She ran through the frequencies until they finally heard some static at least.
“Yes, come in,” an accented voice eventually responded.
“We need some help in reaching the field at Tuxtla Gutierrez,” she explained. She shot an apologetic look at Rod, then added, “We have an inexperienced pilot and we may need some help in landing.”
“I do not understand. What has happened to your pilot? He is ill? You are flying the plane yourself?”
“No, no, the pilot is flying it. More or less,” she added under her breath. Rod glowered at her disrespectful description. She grinned at him.
“It’s just that he’s...” Thankfully for his ego, she gave up trying to find a logical explanation. “It’s a long story. Can you help us?”
“Of course, miss. First, you must stay very calm.” He sounded as though he were speaking to a slightly demented child. Rod figured Cara would tolerate that tone for about five minutes. Maybe less.
“I am calm.” She was practically shouting. Rod grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. “I am very calm.”
“That is good,” the voice said with more of that deliberate patience. “We are able to see you on our radar. We will talk you in. There will be no need for you to reply. You must concentrate on the instructions.”
Cara heaved a relieved sigh. “Thank you.” She replaced the microphone.
“Tell him we need to get on a flight to Mexico City as soon as we land.”
“Rod,” she protested. “I have the distinct impression we’re already testing their tolerance.”
“Do you want to wait around that airport until Luis and his cohorts catch up with us?”
She picked up the microphone again. “Excuse me.”
“You are doing well, miss. There is no need for alarm.”
“I’m not alarmed. I have a rather unorthodox request.”
“I do not understand.”
“We must reach Mexico City as soon as possible. It is an emergency. Could you make sure we are on the next flight?”
“I’m sorry. That is not possible. It is due to leave momentarily. There are schedules to be met. Besides, there will be an inquiry when you land. There are procedures that must be followed.”
“And a ton of forms to fill out,” Cara muttered.
“Please, señor.” She turned on her most seductive charm. Rod could almost visualize the collapse of the man’s defenses. He was probably hiding the book of regulations at this very moment.
Cara’s voice turned low and sultry. “It is very unusual, I know, but I would be very grateful for your help.” She glanced at Rod and he nodded at the unspoken question. “We will make it worth your while.”
The offer was met by a lengthy silence. “I will do what I can, señorita.”
From that moment on, the controller’s manner became even more helpful. He gave clear, concise instructions to Rod until they could see the airport below them.
“I have cleared all other traffic for the moment,” he said as he guided them into a landing pattern. He went through a checklist of the instrument panel. Rod heard the reassuring click of the landing gear being locked into place.
“You are ready?” the controller asked finally.
Cara looked at Rod. He nodded.
“We’re ready.”
Under the controller’s guidance and Rod’s instinctive handling, the plane came down as effortlessly as a hang glider. There was a jolt when the landing gear touched down and the nose dipped dangerously, but they came to a stop no more than a hundred yards from the terminal. A Mexicana jetliner was sitting at the gate. With any luck, Rod thought, that plane was bound for Mexico City.
Two grim-faced officials came across the runway to meet them.
Rod shot Cara an encouraging look. “Okay, princess, it’s time to do some fast talking.”
“I’ll do it.”
“No, you’d better leave it to me.”
“Rod, I know their type.”
She had a point. “If you’re sure.” He handed her some money. “Here. You’ll need this.”
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
When he glanced at her, he was astonished at the transformation. Though she was streaked with mud, though her hair was tangled, though her clothes were anything but the polished corporate look touted in upscale fashion magazines, she was suddenly the haughty businesswoman who’d turned up at his camp less than two weeks ago. She emerged from the plane with a smile on her face, her hand outstretched.
“Gentlemen,” she said smoothly, allowing just a hint of smoldering sensuality into her voice. It was a combination that could have wilted stronger, more powerful men than these midlevel bureaucrats. “We can’t tell you how grateful we are. Your controller has saved our lives. We would like to see that he is generously rewarded.”
There was a tiny crack in the icy reception. “This has been most unusual, señorita. You would care to explain what has happened?”
“Actually, we would love to, but as we told your excellent air-traffic controller, we have an emergency. We must get to Mexico City at once.”
“We have held the plane, señorita. It can wait long enough for explanations.”
Rod watched as she deftly passed the folded bill to each of them. She carried off the bribery as coolly as if it were something she did every day.
Two sets of avaricious eyes widened at the denomination of the currency. The men exchanged a glance. “It is against all regulations.”
“I realize that. That is why I am so grateful.” She held two additional bills tantalizingly out of reach.
“I suppose it would be possible for you to speak to the authorities in Mexico City.”
“Thank you. That would be perfect.” The smile never faltered for an instant as she handed over the additional cash.
Their escort whizzed them into the terminal, to the gate and onto the plane in record time. With the officials to smooth their way, Rod didn’t even have to explain why he was carrying a loaded gun in his flight bag.
It was only when they were in their seats and the plane was in the air that Cara turned to him and said, “That was disgusting.”
“Just business, princess. You’re a natural.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to take that as a compliment.”
He grinned. “Whatever. Now, let’s talk about our friend Pedro.”
“Yes, let’s do discuss that slime Luis. Until we got sidetracked by your stunt flying, I meant to inquire just how that man got onto the WHS payroll.”
“He’s a charter pilot. We keep him on retainer for Mexico and Central America.”
“Apparently someone else does, too.”
“Any idea who it might be?”
“None, but at least I understand how he fits in. He must be the one who gets the relics across the border.”
The stewardess approached with a drink cart. Rod got them each a Scotch and waited for her to move on before asking, “You still don’t think he’s behind the smuggling, though, do you?”
“No. I heard him talking with Tomas about the jefe. He hates him as much as Tomas does. He’s just a little more cowardly about openly defying him.”
“Which leaves us right back where we started.”
“Does it really matter? Can’t we just tell the authorities what we know, hop on the next plane for the States and forget all of this?”
“I like resolutions.” He lowered his voice and asked, “Besides, can you really forget those Mayan ruins so easily?”
He was asking much more, and they both knew it. He was pleading with her to remember in every sensual detail their time together. Cara refused to meet his eyes.
They made the rest of the flight in silence. Not even the second Scotch was enough to numb his nerves to the astonishing effect of her rejection. She was going to fly out of Mexico and put the whole experience behind her, him included. It hurt. It hurt like hell and, worse, he didn’t know why. He should be grateful. He should be thanking his lucky stars that he’d escaped love one more time unscathed.
The problem was, of course, he hadn’t.
* * *
In Mexico City, Rod bought vouchers for the cab ride to the Museum of Anthropology as Cara stood by. He certainly wasn’t wasting any time. Now that he knew where things stood between them, he probably couldn’t wait to see her leave so he could get on to the next adventure.
On the plane she’d chewed her lower lip so hard that she was surprised it hadn’t bled. At least she hadn’t cried. Now she was clenching her teeth so hard that her jaw ached.
Just let me get back to New York before I make a fool of myself, she prayed as the cab drew to a stop on Paseo de la Reforma at the side of the museum.
“This is it, princess. You all set?”
“It would have been nice to have a shower first,” she grumbled with a sudden attack of feminine conceit. A dress, a silky camisole next to her skin, a dash of perfume—the mere thought was heavenly.
“Until we’ve actually exposed this little smuggling operation, we are still in danger. But I promise the minute we take care of this, we’ll find a nice hotel and stand under the shower for hours.”
The statement was disgustingly devoid of any sexual innuendo. Apparently he planned separate but equal showers.
In the vast museum lobby, the guard took one look at their bedraggled appearance and suggested they leave at once. Rod took him to one side, and whatever he said had an instantaneous effect. Cara noticed that no money changed hands, either.
Leaving them where they were, the guard went to a phone and made a call. When he returned, he told them that someone in the National Institute of Anthropology and History would see them at once, and gave them directions to the office.
Whey they found the room, Rod knocked briskly.
“Come in.”
They opened the door and discovered Jorge Melendez seated behind the desk, a twisted smile on his aristocratic face.
“So,” he said. “You are here at last. I have been expecting you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For one brief, foolish moment Cara was grateful to find a familiar, trusted face in that room. Despite the oddly desperate expression on his face, she actually believed Jorge meant to help them. Only when Rod tensed beside her, his shoulders going rigid, his expression hardening, did she begin to realize her own naïveté.
“Come on, Cara,” he said, clasping a firm hand around her wrist. “I think there’s been some mistake.”
“No, Señor Craig,” Jorge said coldly, his voice unbelievably menacing. There was no pretense of charm.
The truth registered with Cara at last. Jorge had been behind everything, the sabotage, Diablo’s death, her own kidnapping. In that instant, for the first time in her life, she knew the awful disappointment that went with betrayal, the hot fire of hatred, the urgent desire for revenge.
Jorge moved to the door and closed it behind them, cutting off the one route of escape from the suddenly too-small office. The lock turned with a quiet, well-oiled click. Cara felt her stomach muscles tighten, her hands clench. She forced herself to ignore the anger that raged through her, to put on a facade of friendly composure. Holding herself erect and still, she waited.
“There has been no mistake,” he said. “You feel you have important information, according to the guard. I am here to take that information.”
Though she would have preferred to remain standing, Rod practically pushed Cara into a chair, then settled down into the one next to her. His relaxed, insolent posture gave the appearance of a man totally in control of the situation, a man more than willing to be reasonable.
With one surreptitious glance Cara dispelled that carefully calculated illusion. She recognized the cold, dangerous fury in his eyes.
“But you already know everything I have to say, don’t you?” he said to Jorge.
“Perhaps. Why don’t you begin and we will see where our k
nowledge differs?”
“If you have no objections, Jorge, why don’t we call one of the institute’s investigators in, or perhaps someone from the legal department? I’d like to hear what they have to say about that site we stumbled across in the jungle.”
Jorge’s dark eyes narrowed. “If that is your idea of a joke, señor, then it is a bad one. Perhaps you do not realize that it is I who am in control, not those fools Tomas or Luis, who could be tricked by a mere woman.”
Cara did not waste time being insulted by the scathing description. She stared at the young archaeologist as if he were a stranger. How had she ever thought he was charming? There was a cunning about him now that she should have recognized from years of watching unscrupulous business competitors.
“And I am no woman,” Rod reminded him.
Jorge smiled, the effect somehow chilling. “No. You are most definitely a man and I think a very wise and pragmatic one. I think, once you have had time to consider, you will see the need for cooperation. It will only benefit all of us.”
His pointed gaze at Cara sent a shiver through her. Rod did not react visibly to the implied threat, but again she could see the glint of ice in his eyes. Jorge was pushing him close to the edge.
“Do Rafael and Maria know of your duplicity?” Rod asked.
Jorge laughed at that. “So that worries you, does it? Do you really think they would have allowed me to stay had they known? Your doubts would insult them. No, amigo, you will be relieved to know that your friends are too pure for that. Besides, it served my purpose well to keep them in the dark. After all, their idealistic protests worked to my advantage. And being in their camp, so to speak, enabled me to know at all times where the expedition was, to assure myself that they would not stumble onto my own very lucrative find.”
Ironically, Cara felt only relief at his admission. He had cleared Rafael and Maria. They were guilty of nothing more than speaking out on behalf of their own ideals and, perhaps, an unhappy willingness to accept the benefits of some unknown terrorist’s violence.
“How, Jorge?” Cara asked at last. “How did you get Rafael to hire you?”
In Too Deep Page 16