by Style, Linda
He studied the landscape. “There are plenty of trees. Think I’ll find one myself.”
Oh, sure. Easy for him. She cast about for an opening that didn’t have multiple layers of thick brush or leaves the size of her living room, and where who knows what might be lurking underneath. At least he could stand up.
She went one direction and he went another.
“Watch out for those poison dart frogs, too,” he called out.
“Oh, God,” she mumbled to herself as she searched for a good spot, yet staying within eyesight of their vehicle, all the while checking for living, breathing, crawling things.
Finding an opening in the bush, she unzipped, and in the forest with the car’s engine no longer droning in her ears, the jungle was alive with sounds.
Birds cawed and warbled, crickets made their insistent high-pitched hum, and leaves rustled above her. She looked up to see a bright green parrot and what looked like several parakeets fluttering from limb to limb. A shrill screech rent the air.
She jerked to her feet, nearly falling as she tried to stand and yank up her shorts and panties at the same time. She caught herself by grabbing a tree behind her and immediately felt something soft—and alive—under her hand.
Heart pounding, she jerked her hand back. The tree she’d grabbed was covered with dozens of little brown knots. When she looked closer, she saw they were bats and shuddered with revulsion.
With her breath coming in great gasps, one hand still struggling to fasten her shorts, she sprinted back to the car, swiping aside leaves and branches as she went.
Out of breath when she got there, she noticed that Adam hadn’t returned. She turned, her gaze darting. Something felt different.
She looked up at the tangled canopy of trees above her, so thick the sunlight barely pierced through. At once the forest seemed dark and ominous, and she had the weirdest sensation—as if someone was watching her.
A shiver crawled up her spine.
That was ridiculous. They hadn’t seen a soul on the road since they left San José. She leaned against the car to wait. If she didn’t move, she might not feel as hot.
She swiped her hair away from her face with the back of her hand, then checked her watch. A few minutes later, she checked it again. And ten minutes later, he still hadn’t returned.
“Adam?” she called. Jeez, she hoped he was all right. “A-A-dam?”
Nothing. What could’ve happened to him?
It was silly to start imagining the worst, but she was definitely thinking he might’ve been right. She should’ve stayed in San José.
A rustling sound behind made her jump. She swung around, her heart thudding double-time. Between the birds and the howling monkeys, she heard more rustling above, and then…a heavier growl.
On the ground…behind her.
CHAPTER TEN
ADAM SLASHED OFF A LARGE hunk of thready bark from the tree with his hunting knife. It was the only thing he’d found that had any substance. He hitched the bark under his arm and then hacked off another piece for good measure. If he layered the bark, it would cover the hole and be too big to fall through.
The forest floor was thick with ferns and masses of roots and flowers, so he’d marked his way and all he had to do now was follow his own trail back to the car.
As he neared the Volkswagen, he saw Jillian sitting inside, knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. All the windows were rolled up.
When he approached her window and rapped on it, she jumped a good six inches.
Her face was crimson, sweat beaded on her upper lip and forehead, and her hair looked like Little Orphan Annie’s. She wound down the window.
“Isn’t it a little hot in there with the windows closed?” he asked.
“I heard something making noise over there—” she pointed “—and then it growled and snarled. I didn’t feel like being dinner.”
“Did you see what it was?”
“No, and I’m glad I didn’t. I thought I heard mewing, too, like kittens.”
“Hmm. Could be a momma jaguar and her young.”
“You mean jaguar as in the large-cat species? As in lions and tigers and—”
“Since we’re not talking about a car, yes, that’s the kind I mean. Could be that, or an ocelot. A mother just being protective.”
A look of horror crossed her features. When that passed, she cleared her throat. “Well, if we’re going to make it to Mirador by nightfall, maybe we should get going as soon as possible?”
“Right.” He sauntered around to the driver’s side, chucked the bark on the floor at her feet and climbed inside. “See if that’ll keep your feet from going through.”
She glanced down. “What is it?”
“Bark from a tree.”
“Really?” She stomped on it, first with one foot, then both. A wide grin erupted. “Perfect.”
“Good. Now, let’s get this train moving.”
He avoided looking at her, because now she had one of those warm smiles on her face, as if he’d done something nice. He started the car, shoved the gear-shift into Drive and they were off.
“It won’t hurt the tree, will it?”
He glanced over. “What?”
“Won’t removing the bark damage the tree?”
Cute. She’s in the jungle with wild animals and possibly bandits, kidnappers and drug dealers and she’s worried about tree bark. “Take a look around. See all those trees with prominent orange roots? That’s the milk tree, also known as the cow tree. People have used it for many purposes for hundreds of years.”
Her brows shot up. “Really? What did they use it for?”
With all her questions, the woman was worse than his nieces and nephews. “They peeled off the reedy bark and pounded it out to make blankets, they drank the milky liquid produced inside the tree and ate the fruit. And the tree population hasn’t suffered at all.” Geezus, he sounded like a damned tour guide.
“Ah, so that’s why it’s called a milk tree,” she said with a satisfied smile. “How come you know so much about it?”
He sighed. “I was here before, remember?”
“Mmm, that’s right. You’ve forgotten who you were with.”
“Well, that isn’t quite true. I was here with my ex-wife, someone I prefer to forget.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “Well, thanks for fixing the hole for me. That was nice of you.”
Yeah, he was one helluva nice guy. Except that nice guys didn’t use people, even if it was for the greater good.
“It was nothing. Believe me.”
***
The car bumped along so slowly they could’ve made better time on foot, but finally, the road evened out and they picked up a little speed. They were closing in on Mirador, she was sure of it.
Adam hadn’t said two words since they’d made their potty stop and his attention seemed totally focused on the road. That… or maybe something she’d said was bothering him. Maybe it was her question about him being here before.
He’d made it clear that the subject of his marriage was off-limits, so she hadn’t pursued it. But it made her sad that he’d shut himself off like that. It wasn’t good to be so alone. Just because one relationship hadn’t worked out didn’t mean another wouldn’t.
Or maybe it was just that he didn’t want to get close to her. She might’ve thought so if some of the things he’d done hadn’t contradicted that.
In her book, actions spoke louder than words—and Adam’s actions, the scowl on his face now notwithstanding, said he liked her. He liked her whether he wanted to admit it or not.
And she liked him, too.
Maybe he was worried about what they’d find? Lord knows, she was. Her anxiety ratcheted up another notch at the thought. They were almost there, ready to face the imposter—if he was an imposter.
He had to be. She couldn’t imagine any other scenario. Well, yes, she could, but every time she did, it made her feel ill and she shoved it from her
mind. All she wanted to do was get this over with and go back to the comfort of her home in the suburbs—a place where families lived quiet, responsible lives and people didn’t go off searching Central American jungles for crooks and imposters.
Or a dead husband who might not be dead. She didn’t know whether to wish for it or hope it wasn’t so. But the more she thought about it, the more confused she became. If somehow Rob was alive and didn’t know who he was, wouldn’t that be good for all of them? Especially Chloe, who really needed a father. Now more than ever. But what kind of father, or husband for that matter, would he be if he didn’t remember them?
Whenever she thought about Chloe and home, she was filled with warmth and happiness. Despite being at odds on occasion, she and Chloe managed quite well together. If Rob were miraculously to turn up alive, what would happen to the comfortable world they’d built?
Would he like it that she’d moved to Chicago and had a full-blown career? He’d insisted she work only part-time, but that was because Chloe was a baby and needed her mother at home. Would he like that she’d made many friends in the community? Would he like her best friends, Dana and Logan and Patti?
He hadn’t encouraged her friendships with anyone she’d met at school, she remembered. And more than once when she’d invited a friend over for dinner, she’d had to cancel. She didn’t remember the reasons, just that there had always been one.
But regardless of the little glitches, which all marriages had, they’d had a good life together. Rob was the most caring person she’d ever known.
Adam, she realized, was that kind of person, too. His actions, however at odds with his words, were those of a caring person. He’d been thoughtful enough to buy her fruit for breakfast, he’d brought along a thermos of coffee for her, even when he’d had his fill. He’d taken her to a nice restaurant, instead of a dive, and he’d fixed the hole in the car for her.
He hadn’t been forced to do any of that. And knowing he really didn’t even want her along, the nice things he did seemed even more significant.
Yes, for sure, he was a different person from the one he made himself out to be.
“There, look ahead,” Adam said, breaking into her reverie.
Alongside the road was a cabin, made from wooden slats and held well above the ground on stilts. “Dare I hope we’re getting close to civilization?” she said. “A shower. And food. And I just realized I’m starving.”
He laughed. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s Mirador, not Chicago. It’s not even San José.” He glanced over. “And how can you be starving? You ate all that fruit single-handedly. You even broke down and ate a couple of the sweet rolls.”
“You said you didn’t want any of the fruit.”
“Yeah. I need something more substantial,” he groused. “Meat. Protein.”
“Junk food.”
“That, too.”
“You think we’ll find it here?”
“Maybe. But the only thing I really care about is finding our man.”
Right. That was why he was there. Why they were both there. And she’d be wise not to forget it. “I want that, too, so my life can return to normal.”
He kept his eyes on the road and made no comment. But she knew what he was probably thinking. If he was right about the man they were looking for, her life might never be normal again.
It was true. If Rob was alive, her whole life would change. Still, not knowing was even worse.
As they drove on, the night descended, bringing with it swarms of flying bugs that hit the windshield with tiny popping sounds and smeared the glass so much they could barely see the road. She’d expected mosquitoes, but never imagined the hordes of other insects.
A shiver of revulsion swept through her. She hated bugs.
A half hour later, they rolled into a town that she hoped wasn’t Mirador. A few tumbledown stores fronted the road they were on and behind those, a cluster of shacks with tin roofs.
“What’s with the stilts some of them are perched on?” she asked.
“It rains a lot,” Adam replied tersely. He let out a long breath. “Well, I think this is it.”
Jillian cast about for more buildings, but there were none. Her hopes sank. “This can’t be Mirador. It doesn’t look like there’s any place to stay. Maybe this is just the outskirts and we haven’t hit the real town yet. Maybe there are more commercial buildings ahead.”
He snorted and shook his head. “You think we’re in suburbia?”
“You know what I mean.” She smacked his arm.
“I hope you’re right. But don’t count on it.” Adam pulled up to a house painted in bright parrot colors, red, blue and yellow. A neon cerveza sign flashed in the window.
It appeared to be a small bar or restaurant of some kind. She sniffed the air. “Mmm. Smell that. It smells like a backyard barbecue. Steak on the grill. My mouth is watering already.”
“It’s probably monkey meat.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, whatever it is, it smells delicious. And at least we know they serve something.”
“I’ll check. Maybe we can get a few questions answered.”
She started to get out of the car when he did, but he stopped her. “Maybe you should wait here with our gear.”
She glanced up and down the vacant street. “Are you worried someone’s going to rip us off? There’s not a soul around.”
He cast a glance behind her and inclined his head slightly. “Oh, they’re around,” he murmured, then scratched his chin, which now sported a five-o’clock shadow that was darker than his sandy hair. “On second thought, you better come with me.”
He looked worried, though she didn’t know why. “I’m fine either way. Do you know something I don’t?”
“Just chalk it up to experience and say I’m cautious.”
“Maybe overcautious? This isn’t L.A., either, you know.”
“That’s what scares me. C’mon, let’s go inside. I’ll keep one eye on the car.”
He waited until she reached his side, then guided her up the wooden steps with a hand at the small of her back. When they entered the establishment, he pulled her closer.
While the scent of food activated her salivary glands, the touch of his hand, separated from her skin by only the thin cotton of her top, activated something else entirely. It was the same feeling…the same awareness that had been activated the first time she’d seen him at the market, the same feeling that had shivered through her last night when he’d taken her to her room at the hotel and suggested she might be in danger if he stayed any longer. Desire, pure and simple and powerful. And in the face of it, all her careful considerations and good sense could fade faster than fog in the sunshine.
As they went inside, a man appeared from behind a bright red-and-yellow floral-printed curtain. The room didn’t look like a restaurant, but set near the front window were two small tables, one with four chairs and the other with two. Each was covered in a red-checked tablecloth.
“¿Habla, usted Inglés?” Adam asked the man.
He shook his head. “No. No Inglés.”
At that, they entered into rapid-fire conversation in Spanish, and the only words Jillian recognized were hotel, food—and Corita Sullivan. When they finished talking, Adam smiled, thanked the man and then motioned at the tables. “Let’s sit down. It’s dinnertime.”
“Great. I’m starved.”
“There’s no menu—we get what they have.”
“Whatever they’re cooking is okay with me, monkey meat or not,” she said, and as if on cue, her stomach rumbled.
Adam pulled out a chair for her and took the seat opposite. He adjusted his chair so his back was toward the kitchen, which she presumed allowed him to watch the car.
“Don’t expect a banquet,” he said. “Ticos typically eat their main meal at midday and a lighter one in the evening, usually soup and toast.”
“Ticos?”
“From Tiquismos, an expression peculiar to the Costa Rican
culture. It’s how the natives refer to themselves.”
The man came out from behind the curtain again and, grinning hugely, said, “Sopa de mondongo. Muy bueno.”
“He says the soup is good.”
“I know. That much I can understand.”
Then the man asked if they wanted anything to drink. That, too, she understood.
“Dos cerveza,” Adam held up two fingers to the man before turning to Jillian. “Hope you’re up for beer. Our friend here said they have no bottled water or soda.”
“Beer is fine and soup sounds delicious.”
Adam’s eyes glinted. “Tell me that later.”
After the man brought the beer, she leaned toward him, lowered her voice and asked, “Why did you ask about the woman and not the man you’re looking for?”
“If she’s from this area, someone might know where she lives, even if they don’t know anything about her husband.”
“And if you find her, you might also find her husband,” she concluded.
“Right.” He picked up his beer and saluted her. “To a successful mission.”
“Cheers.” Jillian raised her beer, his toast a good reminder of why she was there. That she found Adam Ramsey attractive and sexy had nothing to do with anything. Most likely the only reason he excited her hormones was that she’d been celibate for too long; a touch from any attractive man might do the same. She was sure the urge to leap over the table and kiss his strong, sensual mouth could be attributed to her deprivation.
In fact, everything she was feeling could be easily explained away.
Still, she could almost hear Dana’s voice in her ear. Do something wild and crazy. Indulge yourself. Yeah, easy for her friend to say. Not so easy for someone who’d been with only one man in her whole life.
Or was it?
Wasn’t she the girl who’d struck out on her own at fifteen? Hadn’t she thrown caution to the wind and moved with her seven-year-old daughter from L.A. to Chicago without knowing a soul—except a motherin-law who’d once thought she wasn’t good enough for her son? Hadn’t she disregarded the naysayers when she’d started her business on a shoestring? And then through hard work and determination, expanded one store into a profitable chain?