Heir to Danger

by Valerie Parv

He frowned, distracted. “Then you have my sympathy.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was all she was going to get. Reaching for a change of subject, she said, “Last night in your study, I couldn’t help noticing your pictures of rock art from the gorge.”

  “Like you couldn’t help going into the gorge itself?”

  She felt heat flood her face. “All right, I have a scientist’s curiosity. This subject fascinates me. Imagine if someone had placed a new plant or animal species in front of you. As a ranger, could you resist taking a look?”

  His gaze grew warm, with approval she hoped. “Probably not,” he said.

  “I probably wasn’t supposed to look at them.”

  “As it happens, you can. They’re not from the gorge, but from another cave system that isn’t off limits to women.”

  Her excitement grew. “They look the same as those I glimpsed before Wandarra caught me. I saw you bring the pictures, right?”

  Pushing the plates to one side, he delved into his pack, coming up with a folder which he opened on the table. “These ones, you mean?”

  She bent over the pictures showing a variety of ancient rock paintings. In broad daylight she was even more sure of her ground. “In Q’aresh, I’ve been researching the tradition of Uru, the Great West Land common to the mythology of many people, including the Australian Aborigines.” She tapped the photos. “The people of Uru had a unique culture and social order.”

  His forehead creased. “The local clans have many culture heroes, as they call them. One of them is a being called Uru.”

  “According to my research, wherever the Uru legend persists—in places such as New Zealand, China, Tiahuanaco in the Andes—you also find people with different facial features and blood groups to the local people. Their language incorporates similar words, whether they’re found in Q’aresh, Peru or Australia.”

  “You think some of the Uru migrated to what is now Diamond Downs, and left these paintings behind?”

  She traced outlines with a finger. “This figure is also found in other parts of the world. See, the clothes appear almost Egyptian.”

  “You’re not suggesting they were aliens who came to Australia in their flying chariots?”

  She smiled. “It’s one of the wilder theories. In my country we have paintings of supposed astronauts, but I don’t think aliens explain them. The evidence suggests an ancient race migrated across several continents, taking their art and culture along.”

  “If Diamond Downs was home to these Uru people, it would be a significant cultural find,” Tom said. “To prove it, we’d need more than a few ancient paintings. They’re found all over the Kimberley and nobody knows who painted them. Wandarra’s clan credits the people of the Dreamtime.”

  “If these Dreamtime figures were part of the Uru, wouldn’t that prove they were the original inhabitants of your land?”

  “It might. We’d need more information.”

  “But if the information supports my theory, Diamond Downs would become famous. People would come from all over the world to look at these sites.”

  Tom looked thoughtful. “Other than the gorge, most of them aren’t taboo to outsiders. The present custodians can control where people go and what they see.”

  “Your foster father’s place would prosper without Max Horvath’s goodwill or the need to find a mythical diamond mine.”

  Tom nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Des would love it. And in his state of health, running tours would be a lot easier on him than cattle ranching.” Then he sobered. “All very well, but how do we prove this art was done by your Uru?”

  “When Jamal caught me aboard the plane, I’d been recording a meeting between him and his associates. They talked about staging a coup in Q’aresh.”

  Tom frowned as he gathered the pictures into the folder. “You told me you stashed the tape aboard the plane as evidence. What does that have to do with the Uru?”

  “Before that, I used the recorder to take notes about each of the rock-art sites I visited in my own country. One of the tapes was still in my bag when I decided to spy on Jamal. Once you hear it, the similarities will become obvious.”

  “So Jamal has the tape now?”

  Her heart picked up speed. “No. He listened to enough of it to assure himself it didn’t contain evidence against him, then he gave it back to me. He said it would keep me out of trouble during the flight here.”

  His friendly look warmed her. Only friendly, nothing more, she cautioned herself even as her pulse skittered.

  “Where is the tape now?”

  “I took it out of my bag at the cottage, and didn’t have time to put it back before you—persuaded me—to accompany you.” The memory of being tossed over his shoulder and carried to the car made her feel uncomfortably heated.

  The corners of his mouth twitched, as if at the same memory. He didn’t seem to find the thought nearly as discomfiting as she did. “Since it’s my fault the tape was left behind, I’ll go back and get it,” he said.

  “Jamal could have someone watching the cottage. He wouldn’t care that he’s trespassing on your family’s land.”

  “I can deal with him if I have to. You’ll be safer here.”

  She didn’t like the idea of him going alone. “I’m not safe anywhere as long as Jamal remains free,” she reminded him. “If I come with you disguised as Nudge, no one will think it strange that you’re showing your current protégé around.”

  He toyed with the corner of the photos. “It will look strange if Nudge disappears soon after Betty broadcasts news of his arrival.”

  Triumph shrilled through her, tinged by anxiety. “There, you see? If you don’t take me with you, you’ll probably be accused of disposing of me in some evil way.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time someone disappeared without trace in the desert,” he observed.

  She suppressed a shiver. As a woman of the desert herself, it should hold no terrors for her. Normally it didn’t. Only since she had been on the run from Jamal was she prey to irrational fears. Last night she’d dreamed of being chased over featureless dunes that eventually closed over her, burying her.

  Tom’s hand covered hers. “You okay?”

  She nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

  He looked at their joined hands and grinned as he withdrew. “Betty’s gossip will have nothing on the rumors that’ll start if we’re spotted holding hands with you looking like that.”

  She saw his point, but hadn’t minded the comforting touch. Comfort, friendship, she thought, taking stock. What next? Brotherly affection? “There’s no one around to see us.”

  “You’d be surprised who’s watching.”

  She knew Tom hadn’t meant to fuel her unease, and heard him curse as her expression clouded. “Sorry, I meant in the gossip sense. Oh, hell.”

  Alerted by his tone, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t look around, but Max Horvath just got out of a car across the road.”

  The butterflies in her stomach started fluttering again. “As you said, it’s a small town. He probably has business here.”

  “He does, with me. He’s coming this way.”

  She started to rise but he grabbed her wrist. When her nod indicated she’d stay put, he released her. “Running away will only tip him off. You’re Nudge, remember? Just do as you did with Betty and keep your head down. Leave the talking to me.”

  She was only too willing. Jamal had befriended Max Horvath. She buried her face in the folder, although the pictures swam in front of her eyes.

  A shadow dropped across the page. She made an effort not to tremble. But Max barely glanced at her before turning to Tom. “I’ve been looking for you, McCullough.”

  Her surreptitious glance revealed Tom balancing on the back two legs of his chair, his fingertips resting lightly on the tabletop. How could he look so relaxed? “I’m not hard to find,” he told the other man.

  “It’s not you I’m interested in, as much as a
certain lady you’re entertaining.”

  “I entertain a lot of ladies.”

  Her heart felt as if a giant hand had closed around it. A man as attractive as Tom was unlikely to lack female companionship, she knew, but hearing it from him so bluntly sliced through her like a knife.

  Max Horvath roared with laughter. If she hadn’t known he was an unpleasant man, that cold, humorless laugh would have told her. He was half turned away from her but the profile she glimpsed was fleshy and soft, and his coloring was pasty, as if he spent too much time in artificial lighting.

  She told herself not to underestimate him. He might be soft but he was as tall and broad as Tom, and possessed far fewer scruples. Like Tom, Horvath had been bred in a country not known for turning out weak men.

  “The particular lady I’m looking for is a princess,” Horvath stated. “Not just your average spoiled heiress, but an honest-to-goodness royal. A certain friend of mine is willing to pay handsomely for help in finding her, for her own good, of course. She’s a stranger to the outback, and he’s afraid she’ll come to harm.”

  “My brother tells me you’re willing to tear up Des’s mortgage if I help you find this princess, for her own good, of course.” Tom sounded sickeningly agreeable.

  Every muscle tensed as she waited for the inevitable betrayal. How could Tom go on protecting her when the price might be everything he and his family held dear? Could she let him do it?

  Tom was no longer holding her in place. What was stopping her from giving herself up to Horvath in return for leaving the Logan family in peace? The certainty that neither Horvath nor Jamal were men of their word, she accepted. She would be giving herself up for nothing. Worse, she would be betraying the people who counted on the royal family to keep them safe. With Jamal running the country, no one would be safe.

  But ultimately, it was knowing what Jamal might do to Tom if he thought his woman had been dishonored, that kept her from speaking out. Jamal would never believe nothing had happened between them. Jamal would see in her gaze how much she wanted Tom, and her foolish desires would become Tom’s death warrant.

  “I could be persuaded to do your father a favor, for the right consideration.”

  “You’d give up on the diamond mine as well?”

  “We both know that’s only a myth. But assuming it isn’t, I might consider a partnership to find and exploit it.” Horvath’s sly tone belied his statement. She wondered what Jamal had offered the man to make him so conciliatory suddenly.

  “If you believe the mine is a myth, why are you so anxious to get your hands on our land?” Tom asked.

  “Some of my men have traditional ties to that land.”

  “Men like Eddy Gilgai?”

  “I gave him a job and a place to live after he was banished from his traditional land. You can’t blame him for wanting to return to his own country.”

  “He was fired for stealing. His own people banished him.”

  “He tells a different story. I’m simply ensuring he gets justice.”

  “The kind you’d deny to Des Logan?”

  “It’s no more than he deserves. He and his daughter think they’re so much better than anyone else.”

  At the slur against his foster family, she saw Tom’s body go tense. Then she saw his awareness that his response was what Horvath wanted, and Tom made himself relax. “Not bad, coming from someone who has barely worked a day on the land in his life.”

  His shot had hit home, she saw when it was Horvath’s turn to tense. “I didn’t choose to be dragged to the city when my folks split up. This land is my birthright, far more than it is yours. I may not have gotten along with my father, but at least he isn’t serving a life sentence in prison for killing my mother.”

  She barely suppressed a gasp of shock. What did he mean? Was this the tragic past Judy had hinted at? No wonder Tom refused to talk about it. Her heart constricted in empathy with him.

  If ever a man stood inches from death, Horvath was that man, she thought. Every muscle in Tom’s body was corded with tension. She wouldn’t have blamed him for smashing his clenched fist into Horvath’s fleshy features. She wanted to do much the same thing herself, on Tom’s account.

  She saw Tom restrain himself by a superhuman effort of will. She doubted if many men could have withstood such provocation. “Get out of here, Horvath,” he snarled. “You’ll never get Diamond Downs while I’m still breathing. And you can tell your royal friend to get the hell out of Australia. There’s nothing for him here.”

  “Too bad.” Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Horvath sounded shaken. “It would have gone easier on you and your ragtag family if you’d handed the princess over.” He thumped Shara on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t stick around this loser too long, kid. Unless you want tips on street brawling and spouse abuse.”

  “Don’t, Tom,” she murmured as Horvath stalked away. “He isn’t worth it.”

  Tom looked as if he’d like nothing better than to follow his adversary and pound him into the dust. Never had she seen a man more primed for violence. Oddly enough, his behavior didn’t frighten her, although it probably should, given what she’d just learned about him.

  She knew him, she realized. Without knowing how, she sensed that whatever was in his past wasn’t in Tom himself, although she doubted if he had the same certainty.

  Like a bomb being painstakingly defused, she saw him claw himself back from some unknown edge. “You’re right, he isn’t worth it.” He pushed his chair back so hard it almost toppled. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 10

  The heavy breakfast felt leaden in her stomach as she followed Tom back to the Jeep. His past was a heavier burden than she had suspected. She longed to put her arms around him in silent support, but in her present disguise, she could imagine the attention they would attract. So she kept her head down and the ranger’s hat pulled low as the town stirred to life around them. Everybody seemed to know Tom, but he returned their greetings with grunts.

  He didn’t open the door for her but this time she was prepared, and got into the passenger seat without hesitating. Pretending to be male had its advantages, she decided. No worrying about how you sat or sprawled, or waiting for someone to open a door when you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

  Tom didn’t start the engine right away, but clamped his hands on the steering wheel, staring unseeingly out at the street. She felt anger radiating off him in waves.

  “Tom?” she probed gently. “Was it true, what Max Horvath said about your parents?”

  “You mean, am I the son of a murdering wife beater? Yes, it’s true.”

  Hearing the bitterness in his tone, she flinched.

  He saw and misunderstood. “Now you understand why I wouldn’t make love to you last night. You deserved to know the kind of man you were getting involved with.”

  “I already know,” she said, her tone ringing with certainty.

  He swung around to glare at her. “Do you? You were born in a palace and raised as a pampered princess. You’ve never had to dodge a father who wanted to beat out of you where your mother was hiding. Or lived through his trial for murdering your mother, knowing you betrayed her to him because you couldn’t hold out against the pain.”

  The image shocked her to her core, but not because she thought any less of Tom. Somehow she had to make him understand. “You’re not responsible for your birthright any more than I’m responsible for mine,” she insisted. “Life is a lottery.”

  “Then you must have drawn the winning ticket.”

  She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Listen to yourself, Tom. I’m on the run in a strange country. I’m being stalked by a man I’m supposed to marry against my will. And you think I’m fortunate?”

  “You’re alive,” he said, but she heard his tone thaw fractionally.

  “For the moment,” she agreed. “Because of that, I intend to live every minute as fully as I can, without regrets or self-recrimina
tion.”

  “Being alive is better than the alternative,” he said, sounding as if he didn’t really believe it. Like a man coming slowly back to life, he gunned the engine.

  At the sound, she let her breath rush out. No regrets, she repeated to herself. Whatever Tom could be to her was in the future, not the past, his or hers.

  Tom didn’t know what he had expected from Shara, but it wasn’t understanding. He hadn’t been surprised to see her flinch. Hell, after his father’s trial, there were times when he’d turned away from his own reflection in a mirror. Then over the years, he’d made something of himself, gradually convincing himself that he had a right to breathe the same air as men like Des Logan.

  His confrontation with Max Horvath had shaken that belief for the first time in many years. He hadn’t felt driven to solve a problem with his fists for a long time, and he knew what had baited him this time. He had wanted to tell Shara about his past in his own way and time.

  She’d tried to cover it up but he hadn’t missed her shocked reaction when Horvath blurted out the ugly truth. Not that Tom blamed her. There was no easy way to explain that your father had killed your mother, but Tom had let himself fantasize about telling Shara in a way that made her look at him with tenderness instead of horror.

  As a princess, she’d probably been taught to conceal her true feelings, but her calm reaction made him wonder if she’d heard him properly. His father might have wielded the knife, but Tom had aimed it by telling his father where his mother was hiding. The counseling he’d undergone after the murder may have convinced him he’d been too young to fight off his father, who had broken Tom’s arm trying to get answers from him. But it hadn’t stopped Tom agonizing over what else he could have done to help his mother. Lied to his father. Endured the punishment without breaking. Anything.

  “No.” Tom wouldn’t give Horvath the satisfaction of twisting him around like this. There was nothing he could have done to change what happened. As a child, he’d lacked the physical strength to deal with his father’s drunken rage. As it was, it had taken three burly police officers to arrest Dave McCullough.