She focused her attention back on him. "It's the least he can do after Ricardo saved my life," she insisted.
"I thought you still believed your uncle was innocent."
"Well, it's hard to believe that after what just happened to the plane, isn't it?"
"You could have just taken my word for it." He rubbed his forehead tiredly, not even looking at her.
"I'm sorry," she said, realizing her lack of faith in him had nearly pushed him away forever. "It's just so hard for me to accept that my uncle could turn against his own family." And if he'd turned against his own sister as she now suspected, his crimes were beyond forgivable.
"Some people have no conscience, Maddy. Your uncle is a psychopath."
Oddly, she still had to squelch an impulse to defend her uncle. Blood runs thick, she realized. Sam was right, though. Uncle Paul probably was a psychopath. After all, what normal brother would push his sister out of a tree, let alone cause her plane to crash?
Exhaustion overwhelmed her suddenly, and she lay back on the road the way Ricardo was doing and shut her eyes. With Sam nearby to protect her, she didn't fear that a snake or tarantula or even a jaguar would creep out of the wilderness to threaten her. The greatest threat came from within her own family, she ruminated, reeling inwardly. Miraculously, they'd all survived her uncle's heartless endeavor to end their lives.
Thank you again, Mom. I love you so much.
Chapter 16
Maddy cringed, turning her head instinctively from the source of bright light and the corresponding sound of a curtain being whisked open.
She rolled over, groaning at the stiffness in her neck and spine. Memories of the plane crash chased the pleasant dreams from her mind and brought her fully awake. She found herself in a hotel room in the queen-sized bed Sam had tucked her into at the crack of dawn that morning.
"Rise and shine, querida," he called out, sounding far more energetic and looking fully recovered.
As he came to stand over her, she noticed that he'd swapped his military attire for a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt that matched the color of his eyes. His tolerant smile gave her hope that he'd truly forgiven her for not believing him right away the previous night and for defending her uncle until the evidence became too overwhelming to ignore. "Feeling a little sore, I bet," he wagered.
She gave a tentative stretch and groaned. "Every inch of my body hurts."
"That's normal," he assured her.
"But you don't look like you hurt." If anything, he looked rested and bright-eyed.
He shrugged. "I'm used to crashing," he explained.
Her eyes widened. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She sat up slowly.
He shrugged. "Better get used to it. We both face danger as part of our jobs."
Excitement bubbled inside at the implication that a long-term relationship was now in the works. She sniffed the air catching a whiff of something delicious. "Do I smell breakfast?"
"More like brunch." He turned toward the desk where she caught sight of a tray heaping with food. "I took the liberty of ordering room service."
"Good. I'm starving." Putting her feet to the floor, she found herself completely naked which was, of course, how she normally slept. "When did I lose my dress?" she asked, a tad self-consciously.
"When you passed out on the bed the minute we got into the room. I was glad to find you wearing underwear," he added on a dry note.
"So pleased to have met your expectations," she countered sweetly.
"Don't worry, I snagged a change of clothes for you before we left town yesterday. They're in the bathroom."
Touched by his thoughtfulness—he'd grabbed her most sacred keepsake, too, her mother's journal—she thanked him as she moved into the bathroom. She showered briskly and scrubbed her teeth with the complimentary toothbrush. A pair of her most practical pants and a cotton blouse hung on the back of the door. The prospect of making love kept her from putting them on, however. Instead, she donned the fluffy white robe, courtesy of the Marriott and rejoined Sam in the bedroom. He'd already laid their meal on the desk and drawn up the recliner so they could both have a seat.
"This is cozy," she remarked, shivering privately as his gaze lingered on her plunging neckline.
Two steaming cups of coffee filled the room with a delicious aroma. He'd ordered them fresh fruit, a crepe, and an omelet, all piled onto a single plate. Casting the bed a regretful glance, she took a seat in the recliner and he pushed her closer before sitting next to her in the chair.
"Thanks," she said, picking up a fork. "Where are we again?" The final hour of their adventure was nothing but a blur.
"Near the Asunción International Airport. Which would you prefer, the omelet or the crepe?"
"I'll take the crepe if that's all right with you."
He carved a piece off the omelet by way of an answer.
"And Ricardo stayed with his contact?" she inquired, taking her own first bite from the assorted fruit.
"Yes, his friend was going to drive him back to his wife and baby."
"Now, that's dedication," Maddy mused.
"That's the kind we're going to need," he gravely informed her. As he chewed his first bite, he studied her face intently. "You know the odds are stacked against us, right? A long-distance relationship is one thing. My being a SEAL and you being a global environmentalist doesn't make things any easier."
Only slightly daunted, she selected a melon wedge. "Trying to get out of it?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow at him.
"Actually, I thrive on challenges." A glint of determination shone in his green eyes.
"So do I," she insisted with a determined smile. "But I hardly know anything about you, whereas you've been told everything there is to know about me," she pointed out. "I hardly think that's fair."
"There was nothing in your files about your propensity for going commando," he objected, working on the omelet.
"But you found that out on your own."
"Yes, I did." His gaze dropped again to her cleavage, now visible between the two halves of her robe.
"You're trying to distract me," she realized, hunting down another piece of fruit. "What makes you love challenges so much?" she asked him, wresting his gaze from her cleavage.
He chewed thoughtfully. "Being born without privileges, I guess. When I realized hard work and determination actually got me somewhere, I didn't want to stop."
Intrigued, Maddy waited for more, but that was all he said. "Why are you being so vague? You can tell me specifics, Sam. I'm not going to judge you. That's not my style."
His expression remained shuttered. "You want to know where I come from?" he asked on a harder note, but he didn't look up at her. He played with his food, instead.
"Yes. I want to know every hardship and obstacle you ever overcame," she insisted.
He blew out a long breath. "That could take a while." He glanced over at the clock beside the bed. "And your father is due at the airport any moment."
Darn. So much for making love after breakfast. She relinquished that hope while pursuing the topic more avidly. "Sounds to me like you're making excuses. What are you afraid of, Sam?"
She knew he wouldn't like the inference that he was afraid of anything. Putting down his fork, he sat back and crossed his arms in a defensive posture. "Fine," he said, staring hard at her. "I'm the grandson of a Cuban refugee."
"Really?" Maddy smiled her delight. "I love Cuban food," she asserted. "And Cuban music. And Cuban poetry."
"José Marti," he tossed out with a hint of a smile. "You've read his works?"
"Plenty of times, but we're talking about you," she reminded him.
He lifted his chin in the air. "I was born a bastard," he stated.
Maddy just looked at him. "If you're waiting for me to run away screaming, I can save you some time."
He loosed a reluctant laugh at her droll remark. "My mother was fifteen when some college boy at Miami U got her pregnant. We lived in a poor C
uban neighborhood with my grandmother, who raised me while my mother finished school. She met my stepfather when they were in college, and a year later we moved to a single-family home in the same neighborhood."
"Did you like him?" Maddy asked, referring to his stepfather.
He shrugged. "We got off to a rough start, but now I can see he's the best thing that ever happened to me. He always told me if I didn't want to be thought of as a Spic and a gangster then I needed to work hard in school and get the hell out of there. It took a while to get that message through my thick head, but I finally got it. I did what he said."
"Good for you," Maddy interjected.
"Don't patronize me."
Her smile froze at his harsh admonishment. "I'm not, I'm cheering you on," she insisted on an equally firm note.
"Sorry." He shook his head. "I'm a little sensitive about my history, that's all."
"I can see that. Sam, you're a self-made man. You should be proud of how hard you've worked to get where you are."
"I am proud of it," he replied.
"Good. So am I. Is that okay? Can I be proud of you?"
He looked uncomfortable with the mere idea. Suddenly her phone gave a shrill ring. Maddy leaped up and immediately regretted moving that fast as she hobbled toward the bed where her phone lay.
"It's my father," she relayed, recognizing the number. With a tremulous smile and no small amount of relief, she greeted him. "Hi, Daddy."
* * *
Sam listened to their exchange with only half an ear. An unaccustomed mishmash of emotions held him in thrall. Having told Maddy about his humble past, he felt naked but also oddly liberated. Just as she'd promised, she hadn't seemed to judge him. If anything, she'd been proud of him, but that only made him feel inferior, which he hated feeling.
"We're at the Marriott right by the airport," he heard her relay. She surprised him by not mentioning their brush with death last night. "Oh, great," she said instead, though she sounded vaguely disappointed. "We'll see you soon then." She ended the call and met Sam's gaze. "He'll be here in twenty minutes."
Just perfect. Annoyance competed with the other confusing emotions running amok inside him. He'd been hoping for a chance to part the two halves of the robe that had been tantalizing him over breakfast. "You didn't mention our forced landing last night," he pointed out as she took her seat beside him, phone in hand.
"There's time for that later," she said with a careless shrug. "Right now I'm more interested in hearing about the rest of your life." She sat back down in the seat she'd just vacated.
Suddenly, he wasn't in the mood to relive his past. "There's not much to tell. I joined the Navy out of high school, went to night school to earn my degree—"
"In what?"
"International politics."
Her eyes brightened. "That's a lot like my minor in global studies." She cut off a corner of her crepe and stuck it in her mouth.
"Except that I took my classes online. I didn't go to a prestigious college like Rice." His tone mocked her choice of universities.
"You know what college I attended?"
He shrugged. "It was in your files. The detail stuck with me."
"And when did you decide to become a Navy SEAL?" she asked.
He thought back. "At OCS, Officer Candidate School. I didn't like the Senior Chief telling me I wasn't officer material. Wanted to prove that not only could I lead, but I could kick his ass to the next planet."
Maddy searched his face with a thoughtful expression.
He ducked his chin self-consciously and worked on putting away the fried potatoes. They'd been overcooked, not nearly as good as his mama made them.
"Now that you've proven the world wrong, you should be able to relax and bask in your accomplishments," Maddy reasoned.
He considered her logic with cynicism. "It doesn't really work that way," he replied. "Better drink your coffee before it gets cold," he added changing the subject.
She wisely let the topic drop. They moved on to other matters, like what would happen next and when she might be allowed to return to Mariscal Estigarribia to finish her research. She polished off half of her crepe then retreated into the bathroom again, this time emerging in the clothes he'd brought for her—not nearly as sexy as her dress but somehow still sexy on her remarkable frame.
"I hope Daddy takes me shopping soon," she muttered, grimacing at her reflection.
Sam stiffened at the telling comment. She was obviously used to being pampered. How was he supposed to compete with a billionaire on his modest salary?
Her phone rang as if on cue. She took the call with the same brightening of her expression. She loved her father—that much was clear. "He's waiting in the lobby," she announced, looking for Sam's feedback. He pushed the tray away. "We'll be right down, Daddy," she added.
Three minutes later, they emerged from the elevator to find a weary-looking Lyle Scott in a rumpled suit, his thick head of silver hair mussed, dozing on one of the lobby's sofas. Three bodyguards stood at a discreet distance, looking rested and vigilant, along with a familiar-looking older gentleman. Where had Sam seen him before?
"Daddy!" Maddy roused her father by shaking him gently awake then lowering herself into his lap.
Sam felt like a third wheel as he sized up Lyle Scott's watchdogs out of the corners of his eyes. Paul Van Slyke didn't stand much of a chance of killing his brother-in-law now.
Lyle returned his daughter's embrace with a hug so fierce Sam feared he'd snap Maddy's ribs. "Sweetheart, I'm so glad you're safe!" His bloodshot gaze traveled over her shoulder to where Sam stood with his hands in his pockets. "Lt. Sasseville."
Without releasing his daughter, Lyle Scott managed to come to his feet. Keeping Maddy anchored by his side, he extended Sam a forceful handshake, one that showed no sign of easing up. "Son, looks like I owe you again," he said with a throb of real emotion in his voice.
"Not at all," Sam muttered, seriously concerned that Maddy's father might start to cry.
"Daddy, we think Uncle Paul sabotaged our plane last night," Maddy gently inserted, regaining her father's attention.
Lyle's brown eyes widened in horror. "What?"
"He put a bullet in one of the wings, causing us to lose fuel," she explained. "We had to crash-land in a field two hours from here, but we're fine, thanks to my colleague Ricardo who was piloting the plane and found us a ride to this hotel."
Her father turned to the man Sam had recognized but hadn't identified. "Did you hear that, Harry?" he demanded. "The bastard tried to kill my daughter. With a plane crash!" he added, visibly blanching.
"Sit down, Daddy," Maddy urged, reading his shock accurately.
The man named Harry moved closer to them and also urged Lyle Scott to sit. "Special Agent Hodges," he said to Maddy, including Sam in his introduction. "FBI. We met the night of the shooting in McLean."
How could Sam have forgotten? Hodges was the one who'd tried suggesting Sam was in cahoots with the shooter. "Mr. Scott tells me you believe you've identified the shooter as Van Slyke's bodyguard?"
"I'm sure of it," Sam said. "He fits the description from the ring he wears to the wrestling move he pulled on me."
Hodges nodded. "I've accompanied Mr. Scott to Paraguay to question Van Slyke in person. It's apparent that he's got a motive for wanting your father out of the way," he said, addressing Maddy. "And you believe he sabotaged your plane?"
They spent the better part of the next hour hashing out the details of Maddy's escape from Mariscal Estigarribia. "Honestly, I think my uncle might have intended to poison me over dinner with the wine he was serving."
Sam blinked and stared at Maddy in disbelief. "Why didn't you mention this before?"
"Because I didn't drink it. No worries," she assured him with a shrug.
"What makes you think it was poisoned?" asked the FBI agent and her father at the same time.
"He kept foisting it on me, trying to make me feel guilty if I didn't drink some."
> "We'll look into that," the agent promised, but his tone remained skeptical.
"And I think maybe..." She swallowed hard, darting an uncertain look at her father who looked more haggard by the moment. "When our plane was going down last night, it occurred to me that... my uncle might be responsible for my mother's death as well," she said quickly.
"Maddy!" her father exclaimed in horror.
"Just let me finish," she begged, squeezing his hand in a gesture of sympathy. "We know the cause of her crash was water in the fuel tanks, correct?"
"Yes, we know that. It was an unfortunate circumstance caused by a downpour the day before. Someone must have left the fuel cap open. Those planes are notorious for their faulty caps."
"But what if it wasn't an unfortunate circumstance? I've read Mom's journals, Daddy, including the one we recovered from the wreck. I know you haven't read them because it's too painful for you. So maybe you never knew how much she opposed drilling in El Chaco. She wrote down all of her objections in the journal, and she was flying home to beg you to stop the prospecting. She didn't want Scott Oil drilling in Paraguay; however, I'm certain Uncle Paul did."
Lyle Scott's brown eyes glazed over as he retreated into dark thoughts.
Special Agent Hodges eyed her dubiously. "I'd say that's a bit of a stretch," he drawled. "I can't imagine Van Slyke would attempt to murder his own sister."
"He pushed her out of a tree when they were children," Maddy argued. "What kind of brother would do that?"
"We'll look into it," Hodges said again. "There is no statute of limitations that would prevent us from charging him with murder if we find there's evidence," he added reassuringly.
"So what happens now?" Maddy asked. "When can I go back? I've got work to finish."
"Not yet." Her father, although clearly exhausted, shook his head implacably. "Until your uncle is in custody and denied bond, you're staying as far away from him as possible."
"Who's running the company?" she inquired.
"For the time being, it's the board of directors. I'll have to name a replacement for Paul, but if the man I trusted most in the world has turned on me, who can I trust?" he wondered out loud. His stricken expression made Sam feel sorry for him.
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