by Julie Leto
“One,” he replied. “But there was a double set leading from the hut where you acquired your donkey to the river where you camped the first night.”
Mariah forced a grin and laced her words with as much innuendo as she could. “That was the woman’s husband. He wanted to make sure I got to my campsite safely.”
Farrow frowned. “He didn’t say anything about going anywhere with you. And believe me, he was well compensated for every detail he provided.”
She chuckled. “You might have a fat wallet, but his wife carries a damned big gun. There aren’t enough pesos in this country to have him admitting his… private tour… in front of his wife.”
She was taking a chance, bluffing like this. But what choice did she have? She glanced at the shadows around her, which had already grown deeper and fainter, fading into the natural darkness created by the thick canopy of trees overhead. She didn’t know how much longer she could waylay Farrow Pryce, but she intended to keep up the conversation as long as possible.
Farrow licked his lips, and suddenly, the fact that the top two buttons of her shirt had been ripped off in the struggle made her squirm. His stare wasn’t exactly lecherous, but Farrow Pryce was clearly a man who liked women and sex.
“So you seduced Armando by the river, not the mystery man?” he asked.
“His name was Andreas, and let’s just say that his wife isn’t the only one in that family with a damned big gun.”
The sound of Pryce’s men chuckling froze the sweaty hairs on the back of her neck. Despite the pain in her shoulders, she forced herself to lean, relaxed, against the trunk of the tree.
“Although,” she said, eyeing his weapon, “what’s a gun when you can have a sword?”
He grinned. “You noticed my prize, have you?”
“Hard not to. I’m a treasure hunter, remember? Baby like that could fetch a tidy sum with some of the collectors I know.”
“I paid a tidy sum for it,” he replied. “Well, at the very least, I offered a fool’s ransom. When the owner resisted, I simply took what I wanted.”
“Man after my own heart.”
He leveled the sword at her, but not in a way meant to threaten. She could see by the adoration in his eyes that he simply wanted her to admire the workmanship. The men who surrounded her started to shuffle uncomfortably. The topic had strayed away from sex, and they weren’t happy about it.
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
She took a deep breath and blinked, trying to remove some of the sand and grit from her vision. “Double-edged sword. Tempered steel. Spanish-style handle. Hand-forged by a master swordsmith.”
“And the gem?”
She met his gaze straight on. “Fire opal. About… thirty-five carats.”
His eyebrows rose a notch. “Forty. What are the chances, do you think, that this faceted beauty was cut from the same mother stone as the one embedded in the rock you stole from Valoren?”
She pressed her lips together tightly, considering his suggestion with a professional air. “Well, fire opals generally aren’t very large, though there have reportedly been some as sizable as a man’s fist. The color of yours there is a vivid red in the shade, but in the light,” she said, noticing there was very little left, “it’s a bright orange?”
He nodded.
She continued, “Well, I didn’t get much of a chance to look at the stone back in Texas, but they certainly look the same in terms of color and style of cut. But like I said, I didn’t have very long to look at it. My priority was to retrieve the Mayan coins. Velez will have my head if he doesn’t get those coins in the next few days.”
“How do you know I won’t kill you first?” Pryce asked.
“I don’t,” she replied. “But either way, I’m dead. Now, later—what difference does it make?”
Their stares didn’t break, and Mariah realized by the slightest twitch in Pryce’s right eyelid that she’d struck a nerve. He wanted her alive.
“After your thugs tried to steal the stone,” she continued, “I hid it. You likely searched all the most obvious places before you followed me here or you wouldn’t have bothered to come this deep into the jungle. Once I deliver the coins to Velez, I’m willing to negotiate with you for the stone.”
Farrow ran his fingers lovingly over the opal on the hilt of the sword, then down the blade, though he was careful not to cut himself.
“You’re not exactly in any position to negotiate,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Why do guys like you always say that? I might be trussed up and beaten up, but you still need me. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have followed me here, and you certainly wouldn’t have kept me alive this long.”
As she waited for Farrow to reply, she noticed something that sent another ripple of chills over her body.
The jungle was silent.
Dead silent.
Not a bird cawed. Not an insect buzzed. Even the wind seemed to have stopped tousling the treetops. In that instant, she realized that while darkness had not yet totally descended, the sun had set. And with it, an instant later, came a black and billowing fog.
It rolled out of the openings in the Mayan pyramid and covered them completely. She heard Pryce yell out, but the beams from the flashlights he’d called for could barely break through the soupy atmosphere. Fearing asphyxiation, she held her breath, but then her bindings suddenly sprang free and a sexy, familiar voice whispered, “Run,” in her ear.
Rafe took her hand. In seconds, they’d disappeared into the cover and the air cleared. She caught a brief glimpse of his eyes, watery from the smoke, before he pulled her tight against him, kissed her and caused them both to disappear.
Eighteen
The kiss cleansed him. Combined with the elemental magic he drew upon from the threads that weaved through the ancient jungle, Rafe spirited them back to the clearing beside the river where they’d first made love. He held on to Mariah, rubbing his hands all over her, partially to make sure she was not hurt, but mostly to erase the revolting touch of the man who’d searched for the stone.
She pulled away, and her eyes, first wide with shock, suddenly shut tight. She wavered, then pushed him violently, ran to a nearby bush and vomited.
He slid to his knees beside her, gathering her hair from her face as she retched up the contents of her stomach. “Mariah?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. He waited, smoothing his hand up and down her back until the sickness subsided. She rolled onto her backside, drew her knees up and gasped for calming breaths.
Closing his eyes, he conjured a bouquet of herbs, including one that not only would settle the stomach, but cleanse the mouth.
“Chew this,” he ordered.
She took it, but did not obey. “What is it?”
“Mint,” he replied. “Do it.”
She sniffed. Satisfied, she plucked a few leaves and put them into her mouth, closing her eyes as if bracing herself for another round of heaving. Rafe produced a canteen with fresh water. He held tight to the threads of the jungle as he did this, to ward off the aftereffects of using Rogan’s magic, but his grasp to the ancient power here, nearer civilization, was tentative at best. Night had fallen. They needed supplies. But they also needed to get out of the jungle before Farrow Pryce’s men backtracked and found them.
She took a sip of water, swished the liquid in her mouth and spat it and the masticated leaves into the bushes. She repeated the process three times, then slipped her hand into his and silently asked for his help to stand. She did so, but wavered until he wrapped her entirely in his arms.
“I’m dizzy,” she said.
“The consequence of our magical escape, I fear. We shall not travel that way again.”
“Good,” she replied.” But we need to get out of here.”
She glanced at the waterfall and pool beside them, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he caught a look of longing in her eyes.
“Pryce will have men guarding your plane,” he said.
She nodded. “More than likely. But we’ll have to work around that. There’s no faster way out of this jungle.”
After taking a tentative step, she shook him off, spanned a few more paces, then nearly lost her footing. He caught her again, this time taking her down to the floor, where he cradled her in his lap.
“They are miles away. You have time to recover.”
“All the flying I’ve done in my lifetime and I’ve got motion sickness? There’s irony in here somewhere, but I’m too light-headed to find it.” Despite his impression that she’d rather not, she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Pryce might contact any men he has stationed at the plane. They could come looking for us.”
“They have no idea where we are. They have no idea we vanished. ‘Tis dark and quiet here. Rest a few minutes. Allow me to hold you. I am so sorry, Mariah. The way that man touched—”
With another kiss, she stopped him from recounting her experience. The flavors of fresh water and mint exploded on his tongue, and the soft warmth of her mouth was a balm to his aching conscience. Even as he’d rested within the stone, accumulating power to fight the man who’d wielded his enemy’s sword, he’d been aware of Mariah’s plight. They were connected now. Deeply. By the magic, yes, but also by so much more.
“He didn’t hurt me,” she reassured him. “Humiliated me, yes. Pissed me off, definitely. But I’m okay. I’m with you. You saved me.”
He smiled. “We’re even.”
“Where’s the stone?” she asked suddenly.
He removed it from the pocket of his jeans. “I retrieved it before I went into the pyramid and created the cloud that gave us cover to escape.”
“That was very clever,” she complimented him.
“Gypsies are nothing if not cunning.”
She took a moment to run her hand softly over his cheek, and though he thought she might kiss him again, instead she tried to stand.
“I’m better now,” she said. “Not that I wouldn’t want to stick around here and relive last night, but we’ve got to move. These are the times I wish I had backup.”
“Backup?” he asked.
She made it to her feet on her own this time. “Someone whose job it is to stay behind and ride to the rescue in an emergency. I used to do that for Ben. Or him for me.”
“I shall fill that role now,” Rafe insisted.
“Yeah,” she said with a gentle grin. “You already have.”
Rafe experienced the soft wave of emotion rolling off of her before she pulled away. She marched again to the edge of the forest, her energy regained. At the wall of foliage, buzzing with activity from the insects, reptiles and birds that made the jungle their home, she turned and held out her hand.
“Coming?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he replied. “But perhaps after we return to Texas.”
* * *
“She’s down there,” Cat said, experiencing a surge of sensation not unlike riding the crest of a roller coaster. Since Ben was a fairly good pilot, she knew the phenomenon didn’t come from their flight. Mariah’s watch was burning in her hand. After two hours en route and another circling above the jungle, Cat had made the connection.
“Is she close?”
For speed, Ben had taken a light, twin-prop jet from the Chandler Enterprises fleet—one that would get them across the border quickly and could land, he claimed, just about anywhere. Yet in this part of the world, a clearing amid thick trees wasn’t easy to come by. She wasn’t exactly sure how they were going to help Mariah if they couldn’t get on the ground.
“Not far,” Cat answered. “The vibration I’m getting is weak, but I’m thinking it’s the best I can do.”
“No,” Ben said, consulting a map that looked old and hand-drawn. “This makes sense. There’s an airstrip nearby that the drug runners used to use. Treasure hunters, too. I’ll put down there and we’ll see what you can pick up from the ground.”
Cat pressed her lips tightly together and tried, once again, to rein in her jealousy, which had become easier to do now that she knew that Mariah Hunter must be in serious trouble if she was willing to accept help to escape. Cat couldn’t imagine that Mariah would be thrilled when her former lover and his new girlfriend flew in to her rescue after what happened in Valoren, but if the vibes she was picking up were any indication, the treasure hunter might not care.
“How long till we get there?” she asked.
“Ten minutes. We’re not far. It’s a tricky landing. You might want to double-check your seat belt.”
If the descent was any indication, this wasn’t going to be fun. When a pocket of air sent them flying upward and then dipping until Cat’s stomach slapped her toes, she reached out from the copilot’s seat and clutched Ben’s thigh hard. He didn’t complain, but concentrated on leveling out the aircraft and adjusting his instruments for a landing without the benefit of light.
Until an explosion at the end of the dirt runway lit the sky like the Fourth of July.
“Whoa!” he said, pulling up hard as flames shot up directly in front of them.
“What was that?” Cat screamed.
Ben didn’t reply. He banked hard right and gained altitude just as the watch in Cat’s hand burned against her palm again.
“She’s down there,” Cat said.
“You’re sure?” he questioned.
She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the bounce and roll of the plane as Ben made the maneuvers necessary for a second attempt. They had no choice but to put the plane down. Mariah needed them. Cat could feel her fear, even from a distance.
“She’s there, Ben. And she’s in trouble.”
“What’s new?” He cursed, making adjustments as he once again aligned the plane with the strip of dirt some crazy drug runners once called a runway. “As soon as we touch down, get to the hatch. And take this,” he said, reaching under the seat to retrieve a gun. “Just in case.”
She nodded. She wasn’t exactly a crack shot, but she could make a showing if she needed to. First and foremost, they had to land without crashing.
At the southwest end of the runway, they saw a structure ablaze. The flames burned white-hot against the darkness.
“Jet fuel,” Ben said as he made his final approach. “But not on the runway. Still, be prepared for anything.”
“I’m with you, aren’t I?” she quipped. “ ‘Prepared for anything’ should be sewn into our underwear.”
Their banter stopped when Ben touched down and engaged the brakes, then shouted a warning for her to hold on as he threw the airplane into a controlled spin that had them facing the other direction. They stopped with a jerk and he gave her a quick nod before he started preparing for an instantaneous takeoff.
Cat tore out of her restraints and set to work on unlocking the hatch. She’d strapped Mariah’s watch to her own wrist, but while she tried to send out a psychic vibration to the woman the way she had to Paschal during his rescue back in the Texas hill country last year, she doubted the message would get through. Mariah had no particular talents with the paranormal beyond stealing items that possessed the souls and spirits of men who, by all accounts, should have been dead.
And yet, the moment she’d flung open the hatch and dropped the steps, a man appeared, dragging Mariah with him, half in his arms.
“Is she hurt?” Cat asked.
The man shook his head. “Motion sickness.”
Ben had ripped off his headphones and seat belt and had a second weapon aimed at the man’s heart. “Mariah doesn’t get motion sickness!”
“She’s changed.”
Cat didn’t need any psychic powers to read the hidden message in that statement. Whoever this gorgeous hunk of man was—and she had a strong suspicion, even if Ben didn’t, that this dark-haired, silver-eyed devil shared genetics with her one and only—he knew Mariah. Biblically.
“Get in,” Cat ordered, helping drag Mariah on board even as she groaned in protest. Cat leaned out to retrie
ve the door when a bullet flared across her path. The unidentified man pulled her back, then completed the procedure on his own and with surprising expertise. While he attended to the latches, she’d pulled Mariah into a seat and started to buckle her in when she realized that Ben hadn’t moved.
“Ben!” she shouted.
“What? Oh.” He turned back to the cockpit and revved up the idling engines.
“What happened?” Cat asked as the stranger joined her beside Mariah.
After assuring himself that Cat had done an adequate job with Mariah’s, he pulled on his own seat belt. Mariah groaned again and her head dropped against his. He reached across and cradled her intimately.
“Just hang on,” he encouraged, whispering to Mariah, though she appeared nearly unconscious. “We’ll be in the air soon.”
Ben yelled to Cat, who realized she was the last one standing. She slid into the copilot’s seat and hung on as Ben hit the throttle and they bumped over the uneven runway, gaining speed. Pings and pops sounded on the hull, but they suffered no damage—even after a bullet hit them directly on the windshield.
She turned to see the mystery man sitting, eyes closed and concentrating, his mouth turning deeper and deeper into a frown.
She swallowed thickly. The bullets were ricocheting off them because of magic.
They were airborne. Once they’d achieved the right altitude, Ben engaged the autopilot and turned to face Mariah, who was finally coming to.
“Who was firing at you?” Ben asked.
Mariah swallowed thickly. Cat could see the woman hadn’t quite gotten her bearings yet. The dark-haired man was feeding her what looked and smelled like mint. “Men hired by some jerk named Farrow Pryce.”
“Pryce is dead,” Ben retorted, exchanging meaningful glances with Cat. Neither one of them had been one-hundred-percent sure that Pryce had died when he took a nosedive off a California cliff, but they’d hoped. The fact that he’d had a magical sword in his hand at the time had possibly delayed his demise.
“Someone forgot to tell him,” Mariah shot back.
Cat smiled. It was hard to remember whenever she was around Mariah why she was so jealous of her. She might be a thorn in Ben’s side, not to mention his heart, but she was interesting, at the very least. They might have been friends if they hadn’t slept with the same man.