The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

by Kathleen Creighton

  So. The way McCall saw it, all he had to do was stay in the jungle, follow the perimeter of the ruins until he came to the causeway and then hang a left, meanwhile avoiding the other guards and not getting himself caught-or shot. And then hope and pray Ellie could do the same.

  He didn’t think about what he’d do if she didn’t make it. His mind just refused to let him.

  Not in a million years would he have imagined she’d get to the rendezvous point before him. Which was why, when she jumped out at him from behind a ruined pillar, he attempted to knock her into next week. And found himself flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him instead, and a rock that looked about the size of Iowa ready to smash down on his head.

  “McCall!” Ellie let go of the rock-actually a broken chunk of Mayan sculpture-and dropped to her knees in the sodden grass beside him. “Oh God-McCall, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-I thought-are you all right?” She didn’t hear anything but some strangled gasping noises. Leaping to her feet, she straddled his hips, got her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans and heaved upward. Lowered…then lifted again…lowered…lifted…and was finally rewarded with some really beautiful wheezing croaking coughs.

  “Dammit…enough…already!”

  She dropped to her knees, still astride him, weak with relief. “Oh…God…” And a moment later, furious and shaking, “Don’t scare me like that! I almost…I could have-”

  His arms came around her, and she was lying on his chest, their bellies bumping together with-of all things-laughter. “I guess-” and his whisper was scratchy in her ear “-I know now how you took care of those two guys the other night at José’s Cantina.”

  “That was the first time, actually-except for in class. You’re the second.”

  “Lucky me. Help me up and let’s get the hell out of here. The general’s men are going to be swarming all over this place in a minute. Wait a minute-” He paused in a half-crouch to haul in great gulps of air. Swiping a hand over his face in a futile attempt to get rid of the water, he lifted his head to glare at her. “How’d you get here ahead of me? I was running like a bat outa hell, and you were behind me.”

  Face-to-face with him in a similar crouch, she gave a breathless, exhilarated laugh. “Simple-you went around the perimeter of the ruin. I went straight across-took a shortcut.”

  “This place is a maze. How’d you know-”

  “Never mind that now. Like you said-we’ve got to get out of here before they figure out which way we’ve gone.”

  “Speaking of that…” McCall said morosely. He straightened up and made another swipe at the water in his eyes as he looked around him. “I have no clue which way the car is. I thought I had us covered there, but…I guess the rain’s taken care of that.”

  “Had us covered? What do you mean?”

  Even in the near-darkness she could see his look of chagrin. “Ah, hell,” he said with an embarrassed little throwaway gesture, “it was probably stupid anyway. I was just…you know, thinking about that ‘trail of bread crumbs’ thing. Seemed like it was worth a try…”

  “You left…a trail of bread crumbs?” She said it on a yeasty bubble of laughter, full of a strange lightness, warm and cozy as the smell of Aunt Gwen’s fresh-rising bread in the farmhouse kitchen of her childhood. “What on earth did you use?”

  He hesitated, trying again to wipe rain from his face. “Cigarettes.”

  Still laughing, she said incredulously, “Cigarettes? You used your cigarettes? So that’s what happened to them. I wondered.”

  “But,” he muttered gloomily, “I don’t imagine there’d be much left of ’em, not after this.”

  Ellie fought to straighten her face and failed miserably.

  “I’d think you’d be taking this a little more seriously,” McCall said in a crochety tone as he watched her double over with mirth, “considering we’re lost in a jungle in a tropical storm, Lord knows how many miles from anywhere, not to mention surrounded by cutthroat killers.”

  “You’re right,” she managed to mumble, winding down through a series of chortles, “except for the part about being lost. I can get us back to the car-at least, close enough. But first-”

  “You can get us-how?”

  “Remember those tracking devices the general mentioned? What I told him was the truth-they were in my bag, and his men did throw it into the jungle. Except for one.” She tapped her ear, and McCall noticed that it was missing its earring. “This one I planted in one of the cages, when we were here earlier. That’s so government forces-” she paused for an ironic snort “-can find them later. But-” and she tapped the stud in her other ear and smiled broadly, radiantly “-this one’s a receiver, and it’s set to the frequency of the ones in my bag. All we have to do is follow the pings. But-” her smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of grim purpose “-there’s something I have to do first.” She looked around, squinting against the pummeling rain, then darted into the maze of cages with a breathless, “Come on-help me. It’ll be quicker…”

  Funny, how he’d already known what she meant to do. And even funnier was the fact that, as crazy a thing as it was to be doing under the circumstances, he didn’t even think of trying to talk her out of it. He didn’t say anything at all, just took one row while she took another, and together they ran from cage to cage, struggling to pull apart makeshift latches and untie sodden twine, throwing wide the rickety wooden doors. Behind them they could hear squeals and squawks and caws, a few confused flappings…and then the air seemed to fill with beating wings, brilliantly colored wings-all painted in primary colors, like the crayons in a small child’s toy box, but muted and blurred, now, by rain and twilight into a misty rainbow swirl.

  “Ellie,” McCall panted, “we have to go. Come on-leave the rest.” In the distance he could hear shouts…gunshots. Coming closer. “We can’t-”

  “I can’t leave them,” she gasped. “There’s just a few more…”

  Crazy woman. She was going to get them both killed yet. And, as much as he was beginning to love her crazy ways, enough was enough. Intercepting her in a narrow aisle and blocking her way, he caught her by the arms and gave her a little shake and shouted down at her through the wild storm-sound, “We can’t save them all. They’re coming-can’t you hear? You want to die for those birds? Because I sure as hell don’t.” He paused while she glared at him, charged-up and furious, spitting fire and water at the same time. Then he ducked his head down and kissed her cold, drenched mouth-kissed it hard, kissed it deep and with unmistakable intent, while the storm raged around him and the sounds of deadly pursuit got louder. He pulled away finally, breathing hard, and in a guttural growl he didn’t recognize, said, “I want to live, dammit! Those birds mean more to you than your life? My life? Our lives?”

  She stared at him with wide, dazed eyes. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear what she said. Then she shook her head and caught haphazardly at his hand and they were both running, heads down, as a half-dozen shadowy figures burst out of the jungle and into the courtyard and gunshots crackled through the storm like exploding firecrackers.

  “Which way?” McCall gasped as they ran.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she sputtered back. “Just…quickest way to cover.”

  Cover. Cover of jungle or of darkness? Neither one seemed very friendly to McCall. Either could be their salvation or their doom. Still, considering the alternative… “This way,” he hissed, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward a jumble of stone blocks and fallen pillars half-buried in vines. While there was still enough light to see by, he reasoned, the ruins would afford them more substantial cover than vegetation. Leaves couldn’t stop bullets. Stone would.

  The jumble of blocks turned out to be a collapsed section of wall. They scaled it together, pulling and pushing each other over the hard parts, scurrying like lizards over the easier stretches, using vines for handholds and praying they wouldn’t turn out to be snakes, and all the time listening for the crack of automatic rifle
s and the whine and zing of bullets, and bracing for the thunk of impact.

  McCall’s heart was a red-hot hammer in his chest by the time he boosted Ellie over the topmost block of the wall. He hoisted himself the last two feet and crouched there, listening to the scraping sounds she made going down the other side, then the definite but controlled thump of her landing. Darkness was almost upon them now; he couldn’t see a thing beyond the ruined wall but rain…and more rain.

  “Ellie?” he said hoarsely-a muted shout in all that noise. Hearing no response, he dropped over the side of the wall and after a bumping, scraping but thankfully short descent, felt the reasuring smoothness of stone under his feet. And Ellie touching him, one hand reaching for him, clutching at the leg of his jeans. “You okay?” he croaked, feeling oddly lightheaded-with relief, he imagined. “Hey-let’s get the hell out of here. Looks like it’s clear-” He took a step.

  With a strangled cry, Ellie wrapped her arms around his knees. He gave a startled yelp of his own and pitched forward, face first, into darkness. He put out his arms to break his fall, expecting to break one of them in the process, or a wrist, at least. Instead-and even more horrifying-his hands met…nothing. Just emptiness. Thin air.

  “McCall-” He could hear Ellie’s sobbing breaths. Her arms felt like a vise around his legs. “Hold on,” she was whimpering. “Please…hold on.”

  “I’m holding, I’m holding,” he managed, grinding sounds into words through clenched teeth as, using muscles he hadn’t even known about, he fought to bring his upper body back onto solid ground. When he caught a handhold-a vine? A root?-pain shot through his arm and shoulder and down into his back and ribs, taking his breath. Ignoring it-after all, what was one more pulled muscle, more or less?-he gritted his teeth and pulled himself onto the stone ledge where Ellie was lying flat on her belly, arms still wrapped in a death-grip around his knees.

  “Hey, you can let go now,” he said gently as he rolled over and lay back, propped on his elbows, breathing hard. And after a moment, looking around him at the darkness and rain. “What the hell is this? Some kind of well?” How calm he sounded, denying his hammering pulse and the chilling residue of adrenaline.

  “I think it’s a cenote,” Ellie said in a cracked, unsteady voice, shifting around so that she was facing him, on her knees. “I’ve read about them. That’s a collapsed cave-collapsed, then flooded. There are a lot of them around here. They must have used it as a cistern.”

  “I know what they are.” There was less rain and wind here, in the shelter of the wall. He could feel her reach for him…feel her touch his face. His heart surged frighteningly as he caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Thanks,” he growled against her palm.

  She gave an odd little hiccupping laugh. “No problemo.”

  Then they both went still as the sounds of momentarily forgotten pursuit grew suddenly loud and triumphant on the other side of the wall.

  “We’re trapped,” Ellie whispered. “Unless we jump. And I don’t know if there’s even any water in there, or how deep, or how far down it is.”

  McCall craned stiffly to peer into the void. “It’s too dark to see. We’d probably kill-”

  “Wait!” It was an excited breath against his cheek. “I have an idea. Quick-find a rock. The biggest one you can lift. Hurry!”

  He heard scrapes and bumps and some quick, urgent breathing. There were bumps and scrapes from the other side of the wall, too, and someone barked, “Cuidado, estupido!” Reaching, searching with his hands, McCall found a stone, something roughly round and oblong-shaped. His fingers located ridges and indentations that could only have been made by human hands. “Got it,” he grunted.

  “Get ready,” she gasped back at him, from only a foot or two away. “Follow me-do what I do. Okay?”

  Crazy woman…what’s she up to now? Yeah, but she was his crazy woman. And he was about to trust her with his life. Why didn’t that worry him? Why, instead, did he feel a strange, wild exhilaration, and more alive than he could remember feeling in…Lord, so many years?

  “Okay,” he breathed.

  He felt her hand on his arm, one fierce little squeeze. “When I scream, throw your rock into the pit…”

  “Gotcha. Ready when you are…”

  The pursuit sounds had reached the top of the wall, and had grown stealthy…cautious…listening. Even the storm seemed to pause. And in that brief respite, Ellie yelled, “Now!” and then cut loose with a scream like a dying banshee. McCall let go with a milder bellow himself, though she hadn’t asked him to, and at the same time heaved his chunk of rock into the void. A moment later he heard two distinct splashes, one right after the other.

  Shouts came from the top of the wall, changing rapidly in tone from triumph to dismay. McCall grabbed Ellie and pulled her down into the scrabble of vines and broken pillars at the base of the wall. With his arms wrapped tightly around her he crouched, holding them both as still as statues, praying with pounding heart for miracles, for invisibility, at least, while flashlight beams stabbed evilly through the rain curtains and arguments and questions in shouted Spanish flew back and forth in the darkness.

  It came to him there, in those moments of utter terror and despair, that he would protect the woman in his arms, if necessary, to the death. His head felt clear and calm while he made his plan. He would make a stand here, he decided; hold them off, keep them busy while she made her escape back over the wall of the cistern. She had the receiver-she could make it to the car by herself. And most likely she could get the VW running by herself, too-he was beginning to believe there wasn’t much his crazy Cinnamon couldn’t do, if push came to shove.

  Even as his heart swelled within him, though, his sense of nobility and purpose were tempered with irony. Funny, he thought, that he’d spent so many years trying to hide from his White Knight tendencies, only to finally die because of them. No regrets, though; no use trying to outrun destiny. He began to feel pumped-up and ready…charged with passion. So must Sir Galahad have felt, riding out to face the dragons.

  It was about then he realized the shouts were becoming fainter and more distant.

  Ellie stirred against him. He felt rather than heard her croak, “They’re going.”

  “Yeah…” He felt odd, suddenly. Cold and clammy, hollow inside. His voice seemed to echo as he added, “They’ve gone to tell the general.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Her voice was shaking, incredulous. “It worked. They think we jumped. I don’t believe it.”

  “’Course it worked,” he mumbled. His wonderful, incredible, quick-thinking Cinnamon Girl… “C’mon, let’s get out of here…” The general might not be so easily fooled. McCall rose to his feet. And realized, to his utter horror, that he was about to pass out.

  He sat down again, much more abruptly than he’d intended to.

  “McCall? Are you all right? What’s wrong? McCall-” And she was touching him in the darkness, her fingers cold on his rain-wet face. Her hands slipped to his shoulders…his arms…clutched him-hard.

  Pain knifed through him. Breath hissed between his teeth and nausea threatened.

  “McCall! Oh God-McCall, you’re bleeding. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

  “First I knew of it,” he muttered, trying very hard not to throw up while her fingers were exploring his upper arm.

  She said in an appalled tone, “I think you’ve been shot.”

  “Just a scratch.” He felt quite pleased with himself at that. He thought it seemed like something Clint Eastwood would have said.

  “There’s an awful lot of blood for ‘just a scratch,”’ she said accusingly. He heard rustling sounds as she straightened, then nothing as she thought it over. Then she bent down close to him again and shouted, as if he’d suddenly gone hard-of-hearing, “Are you okay? Can you make it to the jungle?”

  “I’m fine,” he barked back at her, and was gratified to discover that it was more or less true. At least the nausea had passed, along with most
of the dizziness, now that his heart rate was returning to normal. Suck it up, McCall. If you don’t make it, neither will she. There’s not a chance in hell she’ll leave you here…

  He stood up again, more carefully this time, and announced that he was ready to get the hell outa there. It was pretty much the last thing he remembered with any degree of clarity about that night.

  By her watch, it took less time than Ellie had expected to find the car; the smugglers’ path through the jungle apparently hadn’t followed a straight line. But just as on that blindfolded trek, the walk out seemed much farther and longer than it really was. Mostly because she was just so worried about McCall. He was hurt-she had no idea how badly. He’d lost blood-she had no way of knowing how much. Oh God, she thought, what if he’s bleeding to death, right now? She didn’t know what she’d do if he collapsed on her-he was too big to carry, and there was just no way in the world she was going to leave him. Not now. Not after…after what? The way he’d saved her life? That didn’t seem all that big a deal right now.

  So…what? After she’d gone and fallen in love with him?

  Okay, that was a very big deal. And the biggest of a whole series of shocks and confusing turnabouts that had left her reeling and not really sure about anything at the moment.

  “I’m fine. Quit fussing over me,” he growled at her, the fourth or fifth time she asked him how he was feeling, sounding reassuringly like his old cranky McCall self. “You make it awful damn hard for a man to be manly and intrepid.”