What was happening to the sensible, logical woman she was?
That question returned to plague her in Rio as she waited while her brother’s neighbor, whom Mark had said always had his spare key, let her into Mark’s place. Before her lay the wreckage of a once presentable bachelor’s apartment.
Everything was torn or shattered, nothing left untouched. Someone had searched this place very thoroughly, and she knew it was connected with Mark’s mysterious phone call the week before.
Samantha moved slowly into her brother’s apartment. Suddenly she knew the fear Diana felt looking down at the rushing river. And Samantha knew what she had to do next: go to the Amazon to Manaus.
CHAPTER TWO
Brock Slader watched the dark Latin man sitting across the table. He had dreaded this meeting, and now Brock paused to sip his thick Brazilian coffee and try to gain some control of himself, of the situation. The conversation was not going the way he had hoped.
Brock welcomed the stirring of the air from the overhead fan as his gray eyes met the man’s black ones. Each appraised the other. Brock concluded that the Latin meant every word of his threat.
Brock set his cup down and stared into the man’s dark eyes. “Okay,” he replied, “I’ll do it. It seems I don’t have any other choice.”
“No, my friend, you don’t.” The Latin stood, shook his hand, and left.
Disgusted, Brock tossed a few bills onto the table and started for the lobby of the hotel where he had to wait. He found a lumpy chair that had a clear view of the front door and sat down.
* * *
Samantha entered the lobby of the Grand Hotel and instantly understood why Mark had said the hotel didn’t live up to its name. The furniture with its faded material and scratched wood had seen better days. The tiles were worn and several ceiling fans were the only means of cooling the room. The humidity of the jungle city at the “wedding” of two mighty rivers, the Amazon and the Rio Negro, was stifling.
But at the moment Samantha didn’t care about those things. She only wanted to locate her brother, and this was the last place he had been heard from. Mark hadn’t returned to Rio as she had hoped; no one there had seen him in weeks.
She squared her shoulders and walked up to the reception desk, setting her suitcase on the floor beside her, then rummaging through her purse until she found the pamphlet she had been looking for. Spanish for the Traveler was the only thing she had had in her store, and though she had known Spanish wasn’t the official language of Brazil, she had grabbed it as she had left her store.
She flipped through the pamphlet until she came to the phrase she wanted, praying her high school Spanish would be enough in a country that spoke Portuguese. Why hadn’t she stocked up on some phrase books in Portuguese?
“Do you speak English?” Samantha winced at her awful imitation of Spanish. She had barely made passing grades in the subject in high school.
The young man behind the desk frowned and looked at her questioningly.
“Uhh…” Samantha scanned her phrase book. Weren’t the Portuguese and Spanish languages alike, at least enough for her to be understood? She tried again in her stilted Spanish, “Do you speak Spanish?”
The clerk began to speak rapidly, but not in Spanish or English. Samantha didn’t understand a word he said. Why did Brazil have to be the only country in South America that didn’t speak Spanish? Then she would at least have a fighting chance—well, maybe a fighting chance to be understood.
Samantha held up her hand to stop his flow of words, but it seemed he didn’t even understand sign language. She glanced about frantically, and her gaze collided with a man’s across the lobby. Amusement brightened his gray eyes. He rose to his feet and strode toward her in one fluid motion.
“May I help?” he asked in flawless English with a slight Texan drawl.
“You’re American!” Relief fluttered through her, and she smiled.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your little exchange with this gentleman. Trouble, ma’am?”
His silver-bright eyes took an inventory of her features and left a heated trail where they roamed. He catalogued and assessed, all in a minute’s time.
Samantha blushed. She waved her clutch purse in front of her face as if she were flushed because of the heat, not the stranger before her. She knew she should say something in reply to his question, but she kept wondering what the result of his appraisal was. She couldn’t tell by his closed look.
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Ma’am?”
This heat must be affecting her brain. She couldn’t seem to form a simple answer as she returned his bold survey, cataloguing his features as roughly hewn and bronze, assessing his appearance as rugged and earthy.
The clerk behind the desk said something to the man, drawing his intense gaze from her and breaking his hypnotic hold. He answered in what Samantha supposed was Portuguese. But then for all she knew it could be Spanish.
She clutched her purse to her chest and finally said, “I don’t speak Portuguese, and I’m trying to find my brother, who was staying here.”
The stranger’s gaze shifted back to her, and she felt warm again. His look was penetratingly disconcerting, as though it could cut right through to the heart of a person.
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Mark Prince.”
“I’ll see what I can find out," his gaze swerved to her left hand, “Miss Prince.”
For the next few minutes Samantha tried to follow the conversation but found her mind instead drawn to the man questioning the young clerk. His voice was deep and rich with a slightly husky timbre. He had broad shoulders and a muscular torso that tapered down to a narrow waist and slim hips. He was tall, with a self-confidence that Samantha didn’t see in many people. It was conveyed in how he walked, talked, carried himself.
“I’m sorry, but your brother isn’t here.”
She was so absorbed in her study of the man that it took a few seconds for Samantha to realize he was talking to her in English. She blinked, wishing she had been listening to what he had said, not how he had said it.
“Your brother isn’t here,” he repeated.
By the sparkling gleam in the stranger’s eye, Samantha could tell he knew why she hadn’t been paying attention, and it had had nothing to do with her concern for her brother’s welfare. “He was staying here last week. When did he check out?” She really wasn’t surprised that her brother wasn’t there. She had come to the hotel because it was a starting point for her in her search.
More words were exchanged between the men before he turned to her and said, “He didn’t check out.”
“I thought you said Mark isn’t here.”
He smiled, a slow uplifting of the corners of his mouth that could only be described as sexy. “He isn’t. It seems your brother skipped out on paying his bill a week ago.”
Shock stole her next words. But her shock quickly receded to be replaced by the fear that she had been fighting to control ever since her brother had called. Mark would never do that. Unless…
“Did he take his things with him?” Samantha asked, feeling as though the expansive lobby were rapidly moving in on her.
“No, this man put them in a back storeroom.”
“Please ask him if I may have them.”
The stranger spoke to the man, then said to Samantha, “For the price of your brother’s hotel bill.”
“How much?” Samantha asked warily. When he mentioned a ridiculously high amount, she exclaimed, “For this place?”
“I think he’s throwing in some for his trouble. It really isn’t all that much in American dollars. It just sounds like a lot in Brazilian currency.”
“Very well.” Samantha withdrew her wallet and counted out the money, practically slamming it down on the counter. She was frustrated, confused, tired, hot, and getting absolutely nowhere.
“Anything else, Miss Prince?”
S
he looked up at the man. “Yes. Would you please see if he has a room available for me?”
“Here?”
She nodded.
“Are you sure? There are better places to stay than at the Grand Hotel, especially for," his gaze traveled down the length of her then back up to her face,“ for a woman alone.”
“Are you staying here?” Her question came out in a breathless rush. She had never felt so possessed by a look and to surprise her even more, not in a bad way.
“Yes, but I’m—”
“A man,” she said dryly, ready to defend her female status.
He chuckled. “I am a man. I can’t deny that.”
And neither could Samantha as she matched the challenge in his eyes with one of her own. His regard held an intensity that she had seldom encountered, and yet it was strangely unfathomable.
“But that wasn’t what I was going to say, Miss Prince. I’m familiar with the language and you aren’t. No one here speaks English.”
“Or Spanish.”
“You should stay at one of the bigger hotels.”
“I can’t. My brother might return for his things.”
“Not if he skipped out.”
“But he didn’t! Something’s wrong. Mark isn’t like that.”
Surprise widened his eyes for a few seconds. “When was the last time you saw your brother?”
“Two years ago.”
“A lot can happen to a person in two years,” he said as though he knew from experience.
She lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m staying. It would be easier if you asked the clerk—please.”
The man shrugged and made the arrangements for a room for Samantha. The young clerk insisted that she pay for two nights in advance and again she dug into her wallet and paid the man his price. So this was what it was like to travel and stay in a hotel. Mrs. Carson could have it although she was sure her customer didn’t stay at places like the Grand Hotel.
After signing her name to the register, the clerk escorted Samantha and the stranger to the storeroom to retrieve her brother’s one suitcase.
Back in the lobby, Samantha turned to the man and said, “I’m Samantha Prince. I’d like to treat you to lunch for helping me.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to.”
“Please. If you hadn’t come to my rescue, I’d still be trying to figure out what the man was saying, Mr…”
“Brock Slader.” He glanced about the lobby, indecision in his eyes. Then suddenly, as though he had made up his mind, he looked at her and replied, “Fine. I’ll meet you here in an hour then.”
As Samantha started to pick up the two pieces of luggage, Brock intercepted her and took them instead. Their hands touched and a bolt of electricity streaked up her arm. She snatched away her hand.
In answer to the question probably written all over her face, he said, “There are no elevators in this hotel. The third floor is a long way up.”
As they climbed the first flight of stairs, sweat rolled down her face. It must be because heat rose or possibly because of the one hundred percent humidity. “I’m in your debt again. After all the traveling I’ve done in the last forty-eight hours, I don’t think I’d have made it up this first flight with the luggage.”
“It’s nothing. And it can take," he shot her a look, "people a while to get used to the climate here."
Samantha had to agree that the two bags appeared to give him no trouble at all. He apparently was a man who prided himself in keeping in shape, a man capable of taking care of himself if he got into trouble. She instantly thought of Harper in Jungle Fever.
At her door he placed the suitcases on the floor. “Maybe it would be better if you got some rest this afternoon. As I said, the jungle has a way of sapping a person’s strength—male or female.”
His half grin sent her heart beating at a fast pace. “I have to eat. I’ll rest tonight.”
Tilting his head forward in a slight nod, he drawled, “Very well.”
Samantha couldn’t resist the temptation of watching him saunter away. She was again reminded of Harper’s quick reflexes and animal grace. When Brock was at the end of the hallway, he glanced back and touched an imaginary Stetson in salute. Samantha winced at her blatant behavior and immediately turned her attention to inserting her key in the lock.
When she was inside her room, she swung Mark’s suitcase up on the bed and tried to open it. It was locked. She took out a metal fingernail file and tried to pick the lock, but that didn’t work and she decided to give it up for the moment. She hid the bag under her bed, then sat down.
For the first time she took a moment to examine her surroundings. It was a small room that had an old bed with no headboard and a faded bedspread, a table with a water stain in the middle of it, and one chest with several long drawers. At least, Samantha thought, the room seemed clean, and there was even a small balcony that overlooked the street.
Suddenly Samantha experienced an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. She wanted to be home, back in the safe world of her store and house. Even the New Orleans traffic would be a welcome sight at the moment—it was familiar, something she could handle. She wasn’t at all sure she could handle this place, this situation.
She was used to being independent, and already she was depending on a stranger—a very appealing man, but a stranger nonetheless. Well, the sooner she found her brother, the sooner she could return to New Orleans and the security there.
Samantha pushed herself off the bed and headed for the tiny bathroom. After splashing some water on her face and neck, she felt a little better. She changed into a fresh sundress, pale yellow cotton with thin straps and a soft flowing skirt. She left her hair in its long braid and twisted it on top of her head. Even that was cooler in this heat. And just a week ago she had wanted to vacation in a warm, exotic place. This city was certainly warm, but she couldn’t say it was exotic.
As she left the room to meet Brock Slader in the lobby, she mentally listed the things she had to do that afternoon. First she would go to the bank where the money had been wired to Mark. Then, if she had to, she’d go to the police. And lastly, she would visit as many hotels in the area as possible.
Going over her list, Samantha knew it wasn’t going to be easy if the bank and police couldn’t help her. But maybe Mark had checked out of the Grand Hotel and was staying somewhere else in Manaus. She had to exhaust all possibilities before…
She shook her head to rid her mind of any unpleasant thoughts. Mark was okay. He was like a cat, always landing on his feet. And like a cat, Mark seemed to have nine lives.
When she entered the lobby she spied Brock, reclining against a white pillar, his arms and legs loosely crossed as he watched people entering and leaving the hotel. His stance looked casual, but for some reason Samantha felt there wasn’t anything casual about him.
Even in white pants and shirt she could tell his body was muscular and well-conditioned. If it weren’t for his gray eyes, a startling combination against his dark features, he could easily have been mistaken for a Latin American because of his tanned skin and black hair.
Samantha realized she only knew his name. Beyond that, all she knew was that he spoke fluent Portuguese. Usually she was very cautious, especially where men were concerned, but she had no one else to turn to. She knew no one in this country and she realized she needed help if she was going to find her brother.
He looked her way. Their gazes caught and held. Brock unfolded his arms and legs and eased away from the pillar. Striding toward her, he kept his eyes fastened to hers. She felt the heat of his probing assessment, and suddenly she wondered if she were plunging into something that was way out of her league.
When they were a few feet apart, Brock’s gaze swept down her body, pausing for the briefest moment at her small waist. If any other man had looked at her so thoroughly, she would have instantly been on guard. But ever since this journey began, nothin
g had been the same. Samantha felt like a different person, which at times was even more confusing than her brother’s disappearance.
“You can do a lot in an hour’s time,” Brock said in his southwestern drawl.
“I feel like a new woman,” Samantha replied, meaning it on more than one level.
“We don’t want to eat here. I know a little restaurant a few blocks away that has good food and reasonable prices.”
“That sounds like my kind of place.”
Brock touched her elbow to lead the way and once again she felt tingles streaking up her arm. Her instant physical response to him was unnerving. Would it always be like this, the slightest touch triggering off a chain reaction in her body? What was she thinking? After today, they would part ways.
Samantha no longer had to wonder if she were plunging into something out of her league; she felt it deep within her, and knew she would do nothing to stop this exciting journey into the unknown.
At the restaurant Brock asked for a table in the corner that afforded them a view of the rest of the room. After assisting her into a chair, he sat with his back to the wall next to her, much too close for her peace of mind.
Samantha allowed him to order for her, since she couldn’t read the menu. Besides, she didn’t think she would eat a bite when the food did arrive. Her stomach was twisted into a huge knot. She told herself it was because of her brother, but in her heart she knew this man next to her was the real cause.
After the waitress left, Brock reclined in his chair and studied Samantha a moment under lowered lashes. “You’re here because your brother is missing?”
“Yes.” Her throat was so dry that her answer came out in a whisper.
“For how long?”
“A week.”
“Lady, that isn’t long in this town. People often disappear into the jungle for much longer.”
His piercing gray eyes seemed to penetrate, trying to read her mind. She looked away and wished the waitress would return with her drink. “There’s more to it than just that.”
Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors) Page 2