by JoAnn Ross
He pushed himself out of his chair. "I'll meet you downstairs in the dining room tomorrow morning at six o'clock. If you're not ready, I'm not promising to wait."
As he turned to leave, Davina suddenly realized that the veiled emotion she had seen on Sam's stormy features was genuine concern. She told herself that she shouldn't take it personally. He was probably only worried about missing the opportunity, if anything should happen to her, to earn more money in a week than his sleazy cantina collected in a year.
Davina told herself that. But for some strange reason, she couldn't quite make herself believe it.
"Sam?"
At her hesitant tone, he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Steeling himself against the emotion he'd find in those wide eyes, Sam slowly turned around.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
Two little words. That's all they were. Certainly nothing so earth-shatteringly special. So why did they make him want to pull her into his arms and never let go? Shaking his head in annoyance, Sam told himself that yesterday's tequila must have killed off more brain cells than usual. The thoughts he'd been experiencing since this woman walked into the cantina yesterday afternoon were not only unsettling, they were impossibly ridiculous.
Sam had never considered himself a stupid man. A reckless one perhaps. And even, as Molly had pointed out on more than one occasion, an admittedly jaded one. But stupid? Never. Not until now, he qualified grimly.
"Get some sleep," he ordered.
As he returned to his room, Davina couldn't resist a slight smile. Sam McGee wasn't nearly as tough as he liked to let on. For some odd reason, she found that thought distinctly encouraging.
The premonition came upon him gradually, creeping into his consciousness as he tried to sleep. The nagging little fingers of impending misfortune that had taunted him over the past two days escalated during the long, sultry night in Valladolid, keeping sleep annoyingly at bay. Sam wasn't usually one to believe in premonitions, dreams, fortune-tellers or the like, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that danger was lurking out there, somewhere just beyond his reach.
A feeling had settled over him, like the slate-gray anvil-shape clouds that gathered every afternoon, and as he went downstairs to meet Davina, Sam couldn't shake the vague, uneasy feeling that he was walking straight into the eye of the storm.
At her first glimpse of Sam, Davina was shaken by the evidence he gave of a long and sleepless night. The dark circles under his eyes appeared almost black against his dark skin, and the lines bracketing his firm lips were deeper than she'd yet seen them etched into his forbidding, granite face.
"Good morning," she said quietly.
"Morning."
Well, Davina decided, it was obvious Sam was not a morning person. She made an attempt at casual conversation during the meal, but she could have just as easily been talking to a sphinx. After three aborted tries, she fell silent, sipping her coffee as she waited for Sam to finish his huevos rancheros. Not being a breakfast eater herself, the sight of the greasy fried eggs drowning in red chili sauce was definitely unappealing, but Davina wasn't foolish enough to offer any complaints.
As if by silent agreement, neither spoke until they reached Chichen Itza, twenty-six miles west of Valladolid.
Sam was the first to break the heavy silence. "Where are you supposed to meet this guy?"
The archaeological zone extended over an area of some three square miles, most of it concealed under a luxuriant growth of vegetation. Mayan buildings of great beauty crumbled quietly on one side of the roadway; on the other stood the gray architecture of the Toltecs, a warlike people from Mexico who had ruled in Chichen Itza after the Mayan collapse.
Davina didn't respond immediately. She was staring in awe at the Pyramid of Kukulcan. Excellently restored and exceedingly impressive in its classic simplicity, the square pyramid towered more than eighty feet into the bright blue sky.
Like most pre-Columbian buildings, the pyramid had been erected in strict accordance with astronomical and astrological requirements. The nine terraces symbolized the nine heavens, and the four staircases, rising at an angle of forty-five degrees, stood for the four cardinal points. Each of the staircases had ninety-one steps, making a total of 364. When added to the summit platform, the total came to the number of days in the year. At the top of the immense platform stood the temple.
"It's magnificent," she murmured with a sigh of sheer admiration.
Who were these people, these ancient Maya, that they could have erected such a tribute to their god-king long before the establishment of what was now considered civilization? The abandoned pyramids stood in silent tribute to a people who had come from the depths of a mystery—and had disappeared the same way.
"You won't get an argument from me," Sam agreed. "You didn't answer my question," he reminded her pointedly. "Where are you meeting your map salesman?"
Davina dragged her gaze away from the large stone snake head on the stairway. "At the Sacred Cenote," she murmured absently. "Look, Sam!" she exclaimed, pointing toward the majestic white ruin of the nearby Temple of the Warriors. "Isn't it incredible?"
As he muttered something she took for agreement, Davina's eyes roamed the site, drinking in the excavation. "Do you realize," she said quietly, "that while Europe was wallowing in the Dark Ages, these people practiced an astronomy so precise that their ancient calendar was as accurate as the one we employ today? They plotted the courses of celestial bodies, and their priests predicted both solar and lunar eclipses. Somehow they calculated the path of Venus with an error of only fourteen seconds a year and pioneered the mathematical concept of zero."
She took a long, deep breath. "How I'd love to know their secrets."
Sam wondered if Davina realized how lovely she was, her face alive with enthusiasm. "When you find Naj Taxim, you can ask them," he said dryly.
"You don't have to be so sarcastic; I'm sorry if I got carried away."
Sam surprised them both by squeezing her shoulder in a brief, reassuring gesture. "You're entitled. It is admittedly overwhelming. I've been here more times than I care to count, and each time it's like the first time. I hope I never get so cavalier that I can remain unaffected by such splendor."
Surprised by his depth of understanding, Davina looked up at him. "Do you know, Sam McGee, just when I've convinced myself that you're impossible, you turn around and display a genuine streak of thoughtfulness. Why can't you just remain a rat so I know where I stand?"
A silken strand of hair had escaped her thick braid and Sam looped it casually behind her ear. The heavily tinted lenses of his sunglasses obscured his eyes, but lines crinkled outward from them, suggesting that they were smiling.
"If that's really what you want, I'll try my best to oblige. After all, you are the boss."
Her lips curved up at the corners. She wasn't aware of leaning imperceptibly toward him. "And don't you forget it," she warned lightly.
He trailed a finger down her cheek. "Are you threatening to dock my pay?"
Davina felt as if he had taken a flaming torch to her skin. It's the sun, she assured herself. Only the sun. And this stifling jungle heat. "I think it's time to check out this Sacred Cenote," she said quietly.
Sam felt her backing away from the light, carefree moment and knew intellectually that Davina was doing the right thing. But, dear Lord, how he wanted her!
Davina didn't protest the touch of Sam's hand on her back as they turned up the processional causeway toward the most famous of Yucatan's wells. The peninsula boasted many such cenotes—sinkholes in the limestone—that provided the Yucatec Maya with virtually their sole source of water.
A sunny tranquillity enfolded the Well of Sacrifice. Swallows and butterflies darted and fluttered above the opaque green water. Small, blind fish from underground streams that fed the cenote wiggled just below the surface—silver flashes that appeared for an instant before disappearing into the jade-colored depths.
Silence. Serenity.
Davina stood at the edge of the cenote, looking down at the altar, seventy feet below. People had indeed died here but, except for unfortunate children, not as sacrificial offerings, but as part of a ritualistic rite believed to forecast the future of the tribe. In the early morning an unlucky individual would be thrown into the cenote. If he survived until noon, he would be rescued; and supposedly having visited the raingod, Chac, he was now prepared to prophesy about the rainfall in the coming year.
"Isn't it lovely?"
"Lovely," he admitted. "And deadly."
"Nothing personal, Sam, but you're a lot easier to take when you're biting my head off." She patted his arm reassuringly. "It's almost time. I promised my source that I'd meet him alone."
His fingers locked around her wrist. "I never agreed to that!"
"Oh, but I did."
"You're crazy," he muttered furiously.
"So you keep telling me. Now if you'll just release me before we draw a crowd, I'll get on with the business of getting my map."
Sam stood his ground. It was his job to protect her, dammit, and he had never been one to shirk his duty.
"I don't like this," he objected. "It's too dangerous."
Davina exhaled a frustrated breath. "Sam," she argued, "take a look around; this place is overrun with tourists. The man wouldn't dare try anything. He'll simply take my money, give me the map and be on his way."
His amber eyes narrowed as they roamed the grounds. "Dammit, Davina—"
"Really, Sam," Davina protested, "you worry too much. I'll be perfectly safe."
He wanted to shout at her, to shake her—anything to keep her from going through with this stunt. Despite every vestige of common sense he possessed, Sam was filled with a dark, uneasy premonition that this place was evil.
"I still don't like it." It irritated him to have his authority questioned.
"Tough," Davina retorted. "If you come with me, you'll ruin everything." She glared up at him, frustrated by the infuriating dark glasses that prohibited her from seeing his eyes. "And if you did that, I'd never forgive you, Sam McGee."
She tugged free of his light restraint and continued toward the crumbled ruins of a sweat house at the edge of the cenote, where ritual purifications had once taken place.
Jamming his hands into his pockets, Sam ground his teeth as he tried to keep an eye on Davina while he scanned the crowds at the same time.
She was no more than fifty feet from him when it happened. Sam watched carefully as a lone man approached Davina, offering a bit of jewelry that gleamed gold in the brilliant sunshine. In turn, he saw Davina take the packet of bank notes from the straw bag she carried over her shoulder. The exchange took no more than sixty seconds, but Sam could not miss the smile of satisfaction that blossomed on Davina's face as she slipped the necklace over her head. The man melded into the clutch of gawking tourists.
Davina turned toward Sam to wave victoriously, when an Indian she had vaguely noticed watching her earlier suddenly bumped against her arm as he passed her on the narrow walkway. Struggling desperately for balance, she teetered precariously on the edge of the well. Before Sam could get to her, Davina had toppled over the edge.
7
As Davina tumbled headlong into space, she heard a frightened voice drying out Sam's name, unaware that it was her own. Seconds later, she plunged into the water, disappearing under the surface, going deeper and deeper until she felt as if her lungs were going to burst. Clutching the medallion around her neck with one hand, she kicked violently in a desperate attempt to return to the surface, to light.
Her vision blurred, stars swam on a backdrop of black velvet as she refused to give in to the dizziness that was threatening to overcome her.
Just when Davina thought she couldn't hold her breath for another heartbeat, her head broke the surface of the water. She gasped, choking water from her lungs as she struggled to regain her breath. Thunder roared in her ears like a summer storm threatening on the horizon. Forcing herself to take several deep, calming breaths as she trod water, Davina looked up, her anxious eyes searching for one man: Sam.
High on the wall, she saw a flurry of activity. The word had obviously spread throughout the site that some foolhardy tourist had fallen into the Well of Sacrifice. Now that her lungs didn't feel like overinflated balloons, Davina's feeling of panic subsided ever so slightly. After all, Sam McGee was somewhere up there in that throng of people; he'd never let her drown.
When he had been forced to watch impotently as Davina disappeared, an iron fist had squeezed his chest in two, giving Sam firsthand knowledge of what a heart attack must feel like. Forbidding himself to dwell on the intense pain shooting through him, he raced to the edge, not realizing that those whispered, desperate prayers were coming from his own lips until Davina's blond head suddenly bobbed to the surface and Sam realized they had been answered.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Davina, can you hear me?" When she appeared neither to hear nor to see him, Sam shouted at the gawkers. "Dammit, shut up so I can get her attention!"
There was no one in the group who seemed willing to challenge Sam's authority. Immediately an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Giving them one last blistering glare in warning, Sam tried again.
"Davina? Wave if you can hear me!"
Davina didn't think she'd ever seen anything so beautiful as the sight of Sam, standing so tall, so strong, on the edge of the cenote. At his words, she stopped treading water for a moment in order to follow his instructions. As she lifted her arm out of the water, she went under. A collective gasp rippled through the tourists, followed by a deep sigh of relief as her head became visible again.
"Wait right there," Sam called down to her. "I'll be right back."
She tried to nod, not wanting to experience going under the water again. Seeming to understand, Sam waved his arms encouragingly before turning away and running back toward the Jeep.
Davina continued to slowly move her arms and legs, treading water as she looked around the cenote. Even as frightened as she admittedly was, she couldn't help being struck by the fact that she was now one of a choice group of individuals who had ever viewed it from this angle. When the idea that several of those chosen few had ended up sacrificial offerings to Chac—the long-nosed god of rain— proved decidedly discomforting, she turned her attention to her immediate surroundings.
A majestic egret sunned himself regally on a clump of floating twigs, appearing to take her intrusion in stride. Halfway up the side, two gorgeous birds, blue-green mot-mots, were engaged in a territorial battle for a limestone edge. Nearby, a fish broke the surface, appearing like quicksilver in the blazing sun. The edge of the well was now lined with curious onlookers, none appearing anxious to do anything but gaze down in awe of this tourist who had been foolish enough to fall into the Well of Sacrifice.
Sam encountered little actual opposition to his rescue plan. In the beginning, a handful of official-looking individuals had made the mistake of foolishly stepping in front of the Jeep in a futile attempt to stop him from driving through the site. But when he stepped down on the gas, they obediently scattered.
He brought the Jeep as close as he could to the edge of the well and lashed a thick hemp rope onto the length already coiled around the winch at the front of the vehicle.
"I'm going to throw this rope down to you, Davina!" he shouted to her. "I want you to loop it under your arms so I can pull you out of there. Do you understand?"
Davina nodded.
Taking a deep breath, Sam flung the free end of the rope out over the cenote. It landed with a splash less than three feet from where Davina was treading water. It only took her a moment to swim over and wrap it under her arms as he'd instructed.
"That's the way," he murmured under his breath. "Hang on, sweetheart, and we'll get you back on solid ground in no time."
Even as he heard himself saying the words, Sam was forced to admit he was the one he was attempting to reassure, not Davina. The truth was, he
had no idea whether his scheme would succeed. He only knew that he could not allow himself to fail. Inch by treacherous inch, he began to lift Davina from the water.
Her ascent up the sheer limestone wall was maddeningly slow, achingly laborious. Once, when she made the mistake of looking down, a never-before-experienced attack of vertigo caused her to become suddenly light-headed. Her body went limp. With the united cry of the crowd ringing in her ears, for one horrifying moment Davina thought she was going to fall back into the well.
As Davina dangled precariously over the blue-green water, Sam struggled to remain outwardly calm while his heart was pounding with a furious, out-of-control rhythm that couldn't possibly have been normal for anyone.
"That's it," he called down encouragingly as she grasped the rope with renewed strength, pushing the soles of her feet against the sheer wall of limestone. "You're doing great."
Well, that was definitely an optimistic overstatement, Davina considered, slumping against a narrow outcropping of stone. Whenever possible, Sam permitted her to stop for a brief rest, but the sides of the cenote were steep, those welcome respites few and far between. But it did seem that she was making steady progress, despite her snaillike pace. Fortunately, the ascent took every bit of her concentration, disallowing her to dwell on her fright.
By the time Davina finally reached the top of the cenote, her arms felt like dead weights and her palms were stinging from the rough hemp rope.
"Don't say anything," Sam warned as he hauled Davina into his arms. His voice was sharp, close to angry.
Earlier, intent on rescuing her, Sam had not let himself think about the risk involved. Except for that initial jolt of panic, he had forced himself to think only of how to get her out of that damned well. He hadn't dared consider the possibility that his efforts might have failed. Now, with her safely on firm ground, fear came slamming into him, harsh and unrestrained. His arms tightened around Davina, and he held her as if he'd never let her go.
"Not one word," he warned, pressing his lips against her wet hair. "Not yet."