When the trays were taken away, she buried her mortified face in the inch-thick packet that Trey had faxed her at the last minute. Her in-country briefing, plus any other research or advice the expediter had put together.
“Gender Issues,” was the topic on page one. “Not a problem inland,” he’d written. “But both sexes are modest, so go easy on the bare skin.”
Raine snorted. She’d been taught that rule for Third World countries before she could skip rope.
Women are first-class citizens in the interior. Goddess and women warrior legends abound. Sex is enjoyed—no Puritans here—but rape is unknown. Family is crucial and children are treasured. No such thing as a bastard child.
However, the coast cities are another matter. The usual chaos of colliding cultures, with all the social norms and safeguards chucked aside. Watch out for American and Aussie oilies, (oilmen)—hard-drinking cowboys who see Borneo as their playpen. Also beware displaced and disgruntled island males who’ve watched too many Hollywood movies, and have yet to sort out fact from fiction. Unattached American women are fondly believed to be sex-starved nymphos, looking for help. Plus, in a short, dark-skinned culture, tall blondes are every guy’s fantasy. Stay out of bars, don’t wander alone after sunset—get inland pronto.
“Ye-es, Mother,” Raine muttered.
“Mmm?” Cade glanced up from the guidebook he’d been perusing.
“Nothing.” Raine flipped several pages. Snakes. “One hundred eighteen poisonous species in Borneo,” Trey had noted. “But many of these are sea snakes. In the jungle, only four are a real concern. Kraits, coral snakes, vipers and—”
“Eighteen-foot hamadryads!” Raine sat up with a shudder. A cobra that size would pack a wallop.
“Thirty-foot pythons,” Cade retorted, from his own reading, “but I’m more worried about leeches.”
“So turn around and go home—and leave this to the professionals.”
Just like that, the gloves came off. “And let you reap a windfall from Lia’s murder?” he growled. “I don’t think so.”
“You think I—Are you blind, as well as crazy? You saw me out on the street—you know you did! Not a minute after you dumped her out the window!”
“Yeah, you were down there—establishing your alibi. But who’d you hire to do your dirty work?” While she sputtered with outrage, Cade added in a voice that caressed as it carved, “Oh, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You wanted the tooth, not her death. But once you start strong-arming people, taking what’s theirs…”
His eyes gazed beyond her for a moment, at something faraway and unspeakable, then locked on again. “Once you go that route, you can’t control where it’ll end. The final sum of the damage. So you hired a thug to take what you wanted—what you couldn’t afford to buy—and Lia ends up smashed on the pavement like a china doll. Just one more little guy that got in your way.”
Could he honestly believe this? “Why didn’t you tell the cops, if you think I hired her killer?”
“Why?” The rage in his face froze like lava cooling—crystallizing to granite resolve, and bitter derision. “Because I’d rather settle my own score.”
They stared at each other, breathing as if they’d raced three times round the plane, then she jerked her head, and whispered, “Why? Why do you hate us?”
“I don’t. I gave up hatred years ago. It corrodes the hater more than the hated, and I’d promised myself I’d…thrive. You don’t have to hate a nest of cockroaches to want ’em stamped out.”
“But—” A shudder crawled along her skin; she barely contained it. “What did we ever do to you?”
His smile twisted to savage satisfaction. “That’s for me to know, Ashaway. And you to learn, on the day I—” His hands curled into fists. He looked down at them, blinked, then knocked them lightly together. “Soon,” he swore, barely audible. “Soon as I can manage.”
On the day you finish us, Raine realized bleakly as he rose and strode off to the lounge. As if he couldn’t sit still another instant. Or feared what he’d do if he stayed.
She blew out a shaking breath. That settles it. Now she had to beat him to the dino. Whatever his reason, Kincade with his millions meant to ruin them, wreck them. And money would be his crowbar and sledgehammer.
Trey had said Cade could outspend them a dozen times over. Then Ashaway All would need millions to survive his malice. The kind of fortune a fire opal T. rex would bring, when she brought it to auction. I need a big score. The biggest. A fire opal payday.
Too shaken to read, Raine pulled down her seat’s table and set to assembling her necklace, alternating glass beads with fiery opals. Knotting and stringing and inwardly worrying.
By the time she came to the fossil feather’s place in her design, she’d calmed enough for the thought to arise: When Cade charged her with Lia’s death, his words held a passionate conviction. No way could he have faked that!
Which meant…Raine rubbed her thumb gently across the stone feather, the Ashaways’ ancient luck. Which meant that if Cade truly believed she had killed Lia—hired the muscle that murdered the girl…Then whatever he is, he’s not a killer!
As he still meant to ruin them, she couldn’t say why that mattered.
But…it did. She touched the feather to her lips.
In the lounge, Cade sat for a long time, staring blindly down at the hazy blue curve of the Pacific. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper like that. But something about Raine Ashaway made him forget himself.
Something? He grimaced. Like being roused before dawn to find a slender feminine hand sliding up his stomach, exploring his pectorals—then to realize she was making love to him, all in her sleep? He’d bit back his groans and submitted to her dream, certain she’d wake any minute—find him ready and willing to join her in the Mile High Club. The cabin lights had been dimmed and everyone around them was fast asleep.
Then just when he’d decided to lift her over onto his bed—she’d rolled away, and off into a nightmare. Total change of mood; he wished he’d struck while the iron was red-hot.
Which explained his outburst this morning. Sexual frustration jangling him on every wavelength. All he had to do was look at her and his imagination rioted. Scene after scene superimposed itself on reality—overlapping, writhing phantoms of delight: Raine straddling his legs, ripping his shirt open while he filled his hands with her rolling hips. Raine reaching down to—
Cade sat up, grabbed the book he’d brought along, and opened it on his lap. He glared quickly around the cabin, found nobody smirking, then leaned back with a scowl. Dammit! If anyone deserved the lash of his temper, it was himself. To let a woman—an Ashaway!—disarm him with a touch of her hand.
Not that they hadn’t been doing that since Delilah gave Samson a hair trim, but still. A man liked to think he was stronger than…
Sex? He had the grace to smile. Okay, so convict me. I’m human. And it changed nothing, he assured himself. He’d have her to his heart’s content before they were done—then he’d turn around and ruin her.
He would. He’d have justice at last.
Smile fading, he stared out the window.
Imagine it, Szabo gloated silently to Gran. Sixty-four choices of films and his own little video screen! Right now, he was on his fifth movie of the trip—a Hong Kong kung fu detective was getting his skinny butt kicked up through his screechy tonsils. Any minute now he’d get mad enough to forget his promise to his pacifist sweetheart with the amazing hooters. He’d start fighting back—kill forty-dozen bad guys in all kinds of creative ways.
Szabo adjusted his earphones, then spared a contemptuous glance for his neighbor. A Japanese businessman, heading to Singapore. He’d been plugged into his laptop, crunching numbers the whole dang trip.
At least the jerk was a heavy sleeper. Last night he’d pulled those terry cloth blinders down, and drifted off with a foolish smile. Hadn’t stirred once, when, between his second movie and his third, Szabo had stood, stretched, t
hen glanced casually around. Noted that everybody on all sides was sawing wood. Ashaway in particular lay motionless, with her cute little butt in the air, and her know-it-all face buried in her pillow.
The big guy next to her was out, as well, frowning as he dreamed. Not getting a slice of her in his sleep, and pissed off about it, Szabo guessed, as any guy would be.
With a clear field, he’d sat again—and pulled her carry-on forward, then up between his legs. Her wallet and passport weren’t in evidence; the sly bitch must be sleeping with ’em. That was too bad for her; in that case, he’d have to do this the hard way. For which he’d come prepared.
But first…Szabo had unzipped her cosmetic bag, and rummaged its contents. Found her perfume bottle, uncapped it—then wrinkled his nose. Reminded him of nothing but the early-morning ocean. Sand between his toes, and seagulls yelping. She paid good money for this?
A scalded-cat screech brought his mind back to the present. The kung fu detective was sneering at a guy with a blowtorch.
No sweat.
Once she’d finished the necklace, Raine looped it over her head, and tucked it inside her shirt. Magic was best kept secret, till needed. She turned back to Trey’s briefing papers, and flipped idly through.
Then stopped at the topic: “Korupsi=Corruption.” Trey had written:
In Indonesia, if it moves, bribe it. If you accidentally break any laws, or annoy anybody in power, or want a seat on the bus, (or want your kid to graduate), offer cash with a humble apology. Think of it the way they do—as just a cost of doing biz. A gift to ensure harmony all round. Note that this applies only to the “civilized” cities and towns. In the jungle there aren’t written laws to be broken, so nobody will have his hand out.
That doesn’t mean they don’t have expectations of good manners, inland. But a bribe won’t mend an offense; they punish rudeness mostly by withdrawal. (Reginald Cockburn died of starvation in the jungle, in 1955, when his guides walked out on him.) Supremely bad manners—i.e. violence—would likely be met with same.
“Okay, no violence,” Raine agreed cheerfully, flipping on.
“American Soldiers in Borneo,” was another topic. “If Lia was correct and that watch belonged to a U.S. soldier, here’s all I can find on short notice,” Trey had written.
During WWII, Borneo was occupied by the Japanese, as was most of the South Pacific.
The Allies didn’t fight them there till the very end, but in 1944 some bright boy back at HQ proposed an infiltration behind enemy lines. A single American squad of paratroopers was dropped into the center of the island—a night drop into jungle, for pity’s sake—with the notion that they’d recruit the natives. Maybe incite and lead a rebellion from the inside-out. Do a recon of Japanese strength and positions at the very least.
Far as I can learn, that was the last ever heard of the poor bastards. Considering the forest canopy is twenty stories above the ground, they probably snagged in the treetops and dangled there till—Well, you get the picture.
Anyway, here’s a list of the missing soldiers. It’s always possible that one or more of ’em survived for a while, stumbling around out there. A gold watch would have made a good exchange for food. Over the last sixty years it could have been traded a dozen times, till finally it reached the coast and Lia’s hands. But how this links to a dino is beyond me.
“Me, too,” Raine murmured, as she scanned the twelve names he’d included. It read like the roll call from a Norman Rockwell Fourth of July picnic—just a bunch of American Joes, a long cruel way from home.
Benally, Carleton, Gonzales, Johansen, Jones, Kennedy, Kopesky, Peckham, Rosenblatt, Szabo, Tilley, Van Den Dries…Shaking her head, she sighed for them, turned the page and read on.
This confirms our phone call of last night. I did catch up with my pal Ohara. He’s on leave from his offshore oil rig off Borneo. Currently visiting his temporary wife in Malaysia, as opposed to his temporary wife in Cambodia.
Trey and his funky connections! Raine growled to herself. She’d approve of men taking temporary wives, when women hired temporary husbands.
She noted Trey’s warning:
Do NOT argue women’s rights with him. He’s incorrigible, and an Aussie (I guess I’m repeating myself), but he comes with a heart of gold, as I reckon his wives would tell you. He’ll collect you at your Blue Moon Hotel, at 1500 on Thursday. Then he’ll fly you in his Cessna to the city of Pontianak, in the Indonesian province of West Kalimantan—Borneo.
Once there, he’ll introduce you to a pilot of the MAF, the missionary air service, to take you into the interior. You need this guy, Raine, so don’t get a burr under your saddle. He may even be able to arrange an oil company chopper to fly your field crew in, then hook your dino out of there, once you dig it.
Raine made a face. True, this scouting trip was only the first step. If it ended with a find, then she’d need somebody with connections for the actual excavation. Preferably somebody who didn’t need to be bribed.
Ohara can also be counted on—period. If you run into trouble, you can run to him. He owes me.
“Everybody and his uncle owes you,” she muttered affectionately. And Trey would never say for what. Still, that was good to know.
Not that she planned on any trouble.
Chapter 16
Cade returned silently to his seat as lunch was served. They’d both ordered the satay, Raine noted. But he was in no mood to talk so she went back to reading, while she nibbled on a skewer of spicy grilled shrimp dipped in peanut sauce.
“Found a bit more on Kincade,” Trey reported on the next page without preamble.
Got a line on a retired guard from the reform school where he did time, and the old guy remembers Kincade, all right. Three escape attempts in his first year, at age fourteen, then he settled down and turned into a model inmate. Reason for incarceration was he assaulted a sheriff.
Raine frowned. So the potential for violence she’d sensed was there—or it had been, twenty-odd years ago.
Details were fuzzy—but it seems the sheriff had shown up to foreclose on the family ranch, and to escort the kid to a foster home. Kincade took exception.
With a wry smile, she nodded to herself. Whatever Cade was, he was nobody to be pushed around; apparently never had been. She stole a glance his way—then jumped when their eyes locked.
“What?” he growled.
“Ohhh…nothing.” His suspicious look said he wasn’t buying that, so she added, “Actually, I was wondering. Want to trade me a shrimp-stick for one of my beef?”
He complied without comment, and Raine went back to reading.
I asked about family; visitors? The old guy couldn’t remember any. Said he believed there was a grandfather who used to have custody, but that—get this—Granddad was doing time at the Montana state pen! For beating the bejeezus out of somebody, and damn lucky that it wasn’t for manslaughter.
So…Raine was no longer amused. A history of violence, ill temper, stretching back generations. Can I really be certain that he didn’t kill Lia? Wasn’t the troll at the window?
“What are you reading, your own obituary?” Cade reached for her sheaf of papers.
“No way!” She held it off to one side. “Proprietary info, Kincade!”
“Ah.” He shrugged and backed off.
She wondered if he would have, in less public surroundings. She returned to her briefing, but there wasn’t much more.
That was all the guard knew. I’m trying to get a handle on Kincade’s granddad—where he is, what happened to him, name of his victim—but so far, no luck. Prison records that far back aren’t computerized, and it’s occurring to me that if this guy was a maternal grandfather, then I don’t even have a name.
I’ll keep on digging, but by the time I find anything useful, you’ll likely be out of touch. Meanwhile, while we still have no explanation for his grudge against Ashaway All, the facts suggest that Kincade’s a hard case with a dangerous temper. But you knew that alread
y, right?
How do you do it? she marveled. The famous Trey-nose for trouble! She’d have sworn she’d said nothing to make the expediter think she was attracted to Kincade.
Attracted? She sniffed and flipped the page—to find only two words printed on the next.
Right, Raine?
When the jet halted at the terminal and the passengers scrambled stiffly to their feet, the big guy removed Ashaway’s pack from the overhead bin. He stepped back to let her go ahead of him up the aisle.
Szabo barged out between them, giving her pal a gotcha wink when he glared. He caught up with Ashaway in the tunnel. “Whew! Talk about a buttbreaker! If I don’t sit down for the next month, that’ll be fine by me.”
She gave him half an inch of cool sidelong smile and kept walking. Her pack had to go fifty pounds, but she swung right along, carry-on hooked over one shoulder and folded-up parasol in hand.
“How ’bout you? You stopping here in Singapore or flying on?” He’d need to handle things differently, depending.
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