“Besides…” Raine traced the fossil’s elegant whorls with a fingertip. “If Ashaway All has a mascot, a totem, here’s its symbol. Archaeopteryx ashawayi.”
“That was the fossil bird that John discovered?”
“Except that it’s the paleolithic ancestor of birds—a lizard-like critter with feathered wings that proves the link between dinos and birds. And Dad didn’t find ashawayensis. That was his twin brother, my Uncle Joe.”
“Ah, the legendary Joe. I never had the pleasure.”
And never would, since Joe Ashaway had died two years ago, in the same cave-in that killed his son, and crippled Raine’s father when he rushed to the rescue. They’d been tunneling into a cliff, excavating a Triceratops, when the entire face of the overburden collapsed. “Joe wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea,” Raine said now with a rueful smile.
For that matter, he wouldn’t have approved of Eric and James. “He was hard as nails. A real driver when he was hot on the trail of a fossil. But when he found the first specimen of Archaeopteryx in the Americas—” She touched the feather again. “He put Ashaway All on the map.
“Before that we were just another struggling little rock-hounds’ supply company. But with the recognition we gained from discovering the first fossil bird in the New World—to say nothing of its half-a-million-dollar sale to the Pittsburgh Museum…After Archaeopteryx, we were on our way to the top.” The fossil’s sale had financed a dozen expeditions, which led to more finds, which ultimately earned the scientific and popular attention that made Ashaway All known to collectors and museums worldwide.
Eric picked up the feather and turned it in the light. “Not only a pretty totem, but a powerful one! Where did Joe find it?”
“On a ranch in eastern Montana.”
“Topographic maps of central Borneo?” repeated the clerk in the map shop. “I don’t believe we have those in stock, Ms. Ashaway, but let me check.”
Standing one aisle away with his back turned, pretending to study a travel book on sex tours to Thailand, Szabo swore under his breath. So the Ashaway bitch was after the dinosaur, too!
All morning he’d been wondering what the blonde was up to, while he dogged her around the city. He knew women lived to shop, but this had been ridiculous—he was beat, just from watching her. She’d bought hiking boots and reef walkers, batteries and Swiss army knives. She’d cleared out whole shelves in a drugstore. She was setting up a first aid kit, he realized now.
“We have maps for the coasts, of course, but the interior?” said the clerk, returning. “It’s hardly been mapped at all. The first claimed crossing of the island by an American was made less than twenty years ago, and I understand he was lost most of the way. Lucky to come out alive. He certainly wasn’t surveying as he went.
“Now I can special-order the World War Two British maps, and another RAF series that was done in the late fifties, but I’d have to warn you that their accuracy leaves…ummm…much to be desired. Most of the mapping was done from the air, and considering that the geographic contours are hidden by the thickest, tallest rainforest canopy in the world…”
“Well, I’ll take whatever you can give me. But unless your special order comes in by, say, three o’clock tomorrow, I’ll have to travel without. Find something when I get there,” said the blonde regretfully.
Szabo almost fell over backward, craning his ears to catch the conversation. She had a low sort of growly-soft voice, like she’d laughed herself silly, sipping bourbon in some man’s bed. He could get a hard-on just listening to her, though she wasn’t his type. Too tall, too sure of herself, the way she cut through the crowded streets—reminded him of a tigress he’d seen once in Bangladesh, slipping through high cane.
Too much attitude and too light on the tits, he told himself.
“By three o’clock?” The clerk shook his head. “I couldn’t guarantee it, coming from London. But definitely by nine o’clock, the morning after.”
Ashaway sighed. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t do. I’m flying to Singapore tomorrow night.”
Damn! She was going after the dino hard and fast. Szabo flipped blindly past pictures of tiny Thai girls, dancing naked on a bar top. What should he do? Knock her on the head before she left town? For that matter, with the streets as busy as they were he could stroll up behind her. Slip an ice pick between her left-side ribs, then fade away, before the bitch hit the ground.
Onnnn the other hand, he reminded himself, her company was one of two he knew of, that offered to buy opalized fossils. And he damn sure didn’t mean to keep the dino once he found it. Might be smart not to whack an interested buyer.
Though if she beat him to the prize, she wouldn’t give him a nickel.
Yeah, either way, this was going to take some pondering. He swung around and—son of a bitch!—she was gone. Szabo found only the clerk looking at him, with his eyebrows raised and his mouth pruned up.
“Did you wish to purchase that, sir?”
“Nah, I’ve already licked the best pages.” He tore it neatly down the spine, then handed both halves to the clerk as he swaggered out the door.
Chapter 14
Trey had reserved her a window seat on the left-hand side of the jet, in Raffles Class, Singapore Airlines’ luxurious compromise between business class and first. Raine dumped her overnight bag on her seat, along with her parasol, then straightened to unsling her backpack, which contained a folding kayak, her clothes and trade goods.
“Hey now, little lady. Looks like you could use a hand,” drawled a man behind her as the weight lifted off her shoulders.
“Oh, thanks, but—” But he’d already jammed her pack into her overhead compartment with none of the care she’d have taken. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Her smile turned cool as his washed-out blue gaze made a leisurely tour from the V of her blouse to her toes, then back again, without once lifting to her eyes. A big, rangy, ugly customer, with a sprinkle of pox marks on his cheeks and a nasty case of razor burn. And a self-satisfied, oddly confiding smirk. As if he knew her—or knew what color thong she was wearing. Roughly her own age. Not my seatmate, she prayed, sliding on into her row. Not for the longest nonstop flight in the world! Eighteen hours of Mr. Smirky and she’d be ready for a parachute.
As he glanced at his ticket, then ducked into the row directly ahead of her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Another bullet dodged. She tucked the rest of her luggage under his spacious seat, then settled back in her own and closed her eyes. Whew!
The last two days had been a rat race, culminating in her running a wreck-strewn, nail-biting obstacle course down the Jersey turnpike with a speed-crazed Bulgarian cabbie, who’d sworn he knew the way to Newark Airport, and who demonstrably had not. But somehow she’d made it. Now she was ready to kick back and let the flight crew waft her up and away, into the midnight stars.
Mr. Smirky in the seat ahead must feel much the same. He slumped against his window and commenced a gentle, but insistent snoring.
Lovely.
Beyond her eyelids Raine sensed the loom of a large body. Something thumped into the overhead bin, a weight settled into the aisle seat beside her. Whoever you are, please don’t be a chatterbox. She opened her eyes to welcome the newcomer—and let out a yelp.
“Good evening to you, too,” Kincade said equably, as he buckled his seat belt.
“What are you doing here?”
“Take a guess.”
“Excuse me, sir?” A flight attendant stood in the aisle, looking down at Raine’s helper. Accompanying her was an elegant elderly Chinese woman, none too pleased. “Excuse me, sir, but I believe you’re in the wrong seat?”
The snores missed a beat, then resumed their rumbling rhythm.
“Please, sir…Sir?” The attendant leaned across to tap the man’s arm. Incoming passengers were stacking up in the blocked aisle. The sleeper snored on.
“Be a gentleman twice over,” Raine suggested under her breath to Kincade. “Give the lady you
r seat, and everybody will be happy.”
“No, thanks, I prefer the scenery where I am.” Cade inspected the personal video screen built into the seat before him. “So what’s our choice for movies?”
Quite possibly Murder, She Wrote, if he didn’t stop looking so damned pleased with himself. So…so coolly competent and put together. This was the first time Raine had seen him dressed down and if anything, it suited him better than formal wear. Striving for calm, she drew a deep breath—and felt her pulse wobble at a spicy whiff of bay rum. Damn, she’d forgotten his cologne.
In the embarrassment ahead, the flight attendant had apparently located Mr. Smirky’s ticket. “Ah, yes, ma’am,” she said distractedly as she studied it. “He does belong in Raffles class. In fact, his seat might even be preferable to this one. It’s farther away from the passenger lounge, which sometimes can be rather noisy if you’re hoping for a restful…” Soothing and cajoling, she led the indignant woman away, toward the far side of the plane.
Watching them go, Cade noted lazily, “He’s a long way from home.”
“And pooped—he fell asleep in record time,” added Raine to a medley of snores. Are we really going to sit here chatting like two civilized strangers? As if three nights ago, they hadn’t played tug-of-war with a half-conscious man? Played dirty and for keeps, she was fairly certain.
“In that case, he’s a doctor,” Cade declared. “I’ve never met one who couldn’t go lights-out in thirty seconds or less.”
Mr. Snores and Smirks looked more the type to inflict wounds, than one who stitched them, Raine thought privately. And knowing Trey, she knew another sort who could sleep at will; it was a soldier’s trick.
Once they’d leveled off in their flight, and the attendant came to take their order, Raine curled her fingers around Cade’s forearm. “Join me in a drink?”
His eyes flicked down to her hand resting on his blue shirtsleeve, then up to her face. His dark brows drew together. “Great minds think alike. The champagne?”
“Of course,” she said absently, her attention focused on the tactile. She smoothed her palm along the hot hard swell of his muscle, squeezed gently, then retreated under his ironic smile.
Cheeks glowing at her own nerve, she frowned into space while he asked for two glasses of Piper Heidseick. No bandage. She’d slashed him across the forearms, back there at Ravi’s window. Not deeply, since his sweater had snagged her blade and she’d been afraid of slicing Ravi, but still…She met his gaze as he handed her a flute. Could you heal that quickly?
Cade lifted his glass to her and in reflex she echoed the gesture. “To…” He cocked his dark head. “To Borneo?” The crystal chimed above the drone of the engines.
“Oh,” she said sweetly. “Is that where you’re headed?”
“You tell me. Whither thou goest…” It sounded ominously like a vow.
Her palm was still tingling from the feel of him. She’d always liked her opals rough, and her men with an edge. But this one was all edges. No bandage, she mused, at least not on his left arm. But then Kincade was a tough guy; maybe he’d opted to do without? And he was no fool. If there was anything for her to see, he’d never roll up his sleeves the entire trip.
All I want is to be sure, one way or another, she told herself as she sipped burning bubbles. Her brain insisted that her troll and Kincade had to be one and the same. Who else could it be? There was nobody else in the picture.
Yet her instincts kept balking at the logical conclusion. Demanding that before she condemned a man with forearms that felt like that, attached to a body that sang to hers…to say nothing of his mouth…and his eyes…and his—
“Yes?” Cade inquired on a warm note of mockery.
Proof, she reminded herself, holding his gaze as they drank, not bothering to respond. If Kincade was a murderous troll, she’d better know it. If he could switch on and off—turn from killer to charmer and back again in the blink of an eye—she needed to know it before she could deal with him. Beat him.
Survive him, where they were headed. Racing a two-faced killer through the world’s deepest jungles for the find of a lifetime? Sleeping within inches of Kincade, would be ordeal enough!
If he’d had any sense, Cade would have searched her bag while she went to the restroom. Beyond Singapore, she’d made no reservations with a credit card. Not according to the B-frog. Which means she’s stopping there for a while. Plans to buy her ticket onward when she’s ready to fly?
Or she’d made other plans. Borneo was roughly three hundred miles southeast of Singapore. She could catch a connecting ferry or steamer, though those would be slower.
There was nothing slow and easygoing about Raine Ashaway. Which means?
It meant he ought to search her bag—check for tickets, or directions to the ferry dock, or whatever clues he could find. He’d done plenty worse, stalking the Ashaways, but somehow, just for this moment, it stuck in his craw. He could still feel the blood pulsing, where she’d touched him.
And when she returned a short while later with her hair the color of moonbeams and raindrops brushed out on her shoulders…Plus she’d changed to a loose silk T-shirt that failed to conceal the fact that she’d removed her brassiere for the night…Cade was just as happy he hadn’t bothered. When the time came, he’d do what he had to do, but for tonight? Call it a truce.
She tipped back her seat to horizontal, so he did the same. All the better to fantasize.
Raine sniffed and pulled the privacy screen out between their seats. But that was hardly more than symbolic, blocking only their faces from each other.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, and his voice had gone too husky by half. But then she knew what he was thinking. Tonight, they rode the same clouds.
She growled something wordless and sat up again. Found the airline’s complimentary sleep mask and pulled it down over her eyes—then lay back on her pillow.
Somehow that mask only made her sexier. More vulnerable. A stranger could come down out of her darkness…savor those luscious lips…and if she sighed, then stretched and opened to him? He lay for a long time, propped up on one elbow, eyes on her mouth, imagining from there.
Szabo hadn’t been this beat since the rock pile at Leavenworth. He’d had to hump it, raking enough cash together for this flight. They called him a robber, but look at this airline; they oughta be ashamed, what they were charging!
It had taken nearly half the wad in his money belt to buy a first-class ticket, after Ashaway picked up hers. He’d been expecting she’d go for the best and had come prepared to match her; still it had been a hard pill to swallow.
And the counter agent had gone all big eyed and doubtful, when he laid down the cash. Like it wasn’t as good as a credit card. Like only terrorists and drug dealers paid with Uncle Sam’s own dollars. What was this country ever coming to? “Don’t worry,” he’d felt like saying. “It’s been laundered with care.”
She could trust him not to use the same bills he’d taken off the rich bitch with the baby in the stroller. He’d waited till they rolled out of the ATM booth, then he’d picked up her kid, jiggled it and grinned. Promised he wouldn’t bounce little Jake or Gabriella or whatever-it-was on its head, while she dashed back in to clean out her accounts.
Silly bitch had dropped her card three times, she’d been blubbering so hard. While he stood there cooing and sweating, fearful a patrol car would cruise by before they’d finished their business. Or the baby would do his.
He’d had to pull variations of that gig twice more, each time in a different part of the city, before he’d put together his traveling kitty. Then the laundry man had taken twenty percent to change dirty bills for clean, and his necessary purchases had taken a chunk more. Now these airline thieves had taken another bite; he was down to his last five thousand.
But he sure didn’t plan to rob any banks where they were headed; it was a take-him-out-and-whack-his-hand-off part of the world. No notion of the Bill of Rights. No, from here on o
ut, if he needed any more spending money, he’d just have to take it off a tourist, then make sure there were no complaints.
Right then Ashaway drifted past, bound for beddy-bye. He couldn’t help leering, but she was too stuck-up to notice.
Just as well. Even when tempted, a deer hunter should never wave at the deer.
Unlacing his boots, he tipped back his seat till it became a bed. What he got for that extra thou or so; the poor bastards back in cargo class would have to sleep sitting up. With a luxurious sigh, he pulled his blanket to his chin and turned on his side—then grimaced and rolled back again. The cuts on his forearms were halfway to healed, but Lia’s souvenir? That was something else. Her bite was starting to smart some.
Chapter 15
Blame it on the champagne, but Raine’s sleep had been plagued by vivid dreams: a migrating dinosaur herd—thousands of Centrosaurs—drowning at a river crossing. Then jump ahead seventy million years, and she and Kincade were digging up their tangled bones. Ravi stood over their trench with a gold watch, scolding, asking truly, what could they be thinking? Did they want to be late for Lia’s funeral?
She’d rolled over and reached out to touch warmth—Otto in bed with her? She’d stroked his marmalade fur and he’d morphed into the hot, delicious contours of a man, who’d caught her hand and held it against his beating heart.
She tugged free and rolled away—off into a nighttime jungle, torrents of monsoon rain, with a Tyrannosaurus rex crashing through the trees, hard on her pounding heels. A T. rex that shimmered and glowed in the dark like a forty-ton fire opal. When he caught her, she’d let out a cry, and the T. rex had stroked her hair and whispered, “Hush…You’re safe, it’s all right…I’m here.”
So she’d sighed and drifted off, but she’d woken the next morning, distinctly surly. With a seatmate to match. Kincade looked as grouchy as a hungover pirate, in piratical need of a shave. Then she’d stumbled over his long legs, getting out into the aisle—and he’d grabbed for her and caught her round the hips. Three cups of coffee and a superb breakfast later, she could still feel precisely where his thumbs had pressed into her bottom.
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