For both Erin and Mara, love, an affliction he still planned to avoid, had figured heavily in solving their problems. Love required steadiness and perseverance and paying attention to someone else’s needs, none of which were in his genetic coding. But the contentment he’d seen in both of them had caused a reaction that felt too close to longing for his taste.
On the ground, mud tracked over rock, a sign that someone had recently driven out of the valley and up the drier terrain. Sebastian steered the truck to follow, his eyes sharp on the land revealed by the high beams of the headlights. He wished he’d taken more time to study the topography of Bahia. That he hadn’t was a sign he was getting too settled for a life that demanded constant alertness.
Not, he cautioned himself, that he regretted the past fifteen years of petty larceny and grand heists—twenty, if he wanted to get technical. He enjoyed the thrill of finessing the tumblers of a lock, the ingenuity of jury-rigging a rappel to escape from a Swiss chalet with a million dollars in bearer bonds. At thirty-five, he appreciated the style to which his line of work had permitted him to become accustomed. His penthouse on West End Avenue in Manhattan was a far cry from the sixth-floor apartment in Harlem where he’d lived as a child.
“All courtesy of flexible morals, a genius for acquisition and a keen eye for the bottom line,” Sebastian congratulated himself aloud. He lived a life most men only dreamed about. No cares, no commitments, and ample money to stay that way as long as he breathed. Snorting, Sebastian dismissed the minute ache that had taken up residence just beneath his breastbone. Probably just indigestion. Seconds later, a loud pop signaled the blowout of his right front tire.
He jerked the wheel hard to the left, just in time to hear the rear tire on the passenger side explode, rock spurting beneath the shredded rubber. Stone bounced against metal, and the truck listed dangerously. Slamming on the brakes, he guided the truck to a skidding stop. He killed the engine, but left the headlights on to break the dark. Beside his duffel bag, he kept a toolkit with his tricks of the trade. Gathering the bag, he leaped out and circled the truck, bemused. Two blowouts in as many seconds meant either his truck was crappier than his supplier warned him or his ascent had been discovered. The tingling at his nape warned him that Luis had not sold him a bad ride.
Crouching, he crept around the vehicle to catch sight of his assailant. Beyond the ragged tires, shadowed hills mingled with slate gray rocks and stubbornly green bushes clinging to rock face. Sebastian scanned the hills and the thick nests of trees, but in the heart of night, even his excellent vision had its limits.
After almost three minutes of steady observation without another incident, he reconsidered the possibility that his natural alarm had failed him. His skin still prickled with suspicion, but he had no proof. No more shots had rung through the valley. He cast for signs of movement in the clumps of green but heard nothing but the rustle of wind and light movement that could only be the most graceful of animals. He knew of few humans who could melt into the scenery so well and move quietly enough to fool even the birds.
No, he decided. The assailant he had to contend with was Fate, which left him with two flat tires in the middle of the night on a hillside. With a sigh, he moved with a fluid stride to the rear of the vehicle and started to rummage for a jack and a spare tire. He circled the truck to the front flat.
The tingling became a terrible itch seconds before a blunt, heavy object hit the side of his head and he went down, toolkit flying a few inches in front. Just out of reach.
“What the hell?” To evade the next blow, he scrambled forward, abrading his palms on the rough terrain. He managed to surge into the glow of the headlights and began pushing himself up, ears ringing. Before he gained his feet, a warm weight landed on him, corralling his hands and blocking his arms. “Ooof!”
In the next moment, three things occurred to him. One, he always needed to trust his instincts. Two, Bahia was not a soft country. Rocks and other pointy objects littered every free surface, as the jagged edges digging into his abdomen attested. And three, he was 90 percent certain that Estrada’s Kat was straddling his prone body and had a gun to his head.
“Who the hell are you?” the dusky voice demanded against his ear.
“Sebastian Caine,” he answered quickly. “I am a friend of Felix’s. Who are you? Kat?”
The cool metal pressed firmly against his temple. “I’m asking the questions,” came the hard retort, but the gun wavered at the mention of her name.
As punishment, she shifted her weight, and Sebastian gasped as stones pressed into his kidney. And lower. He spat out a curse. “If you plan to castrate me, there are more humane ways,” he muttered.
“What?” she asked, startled by his accusation.
“There is a particularly spiky rock that’s close to limiting my family options,” Sebastian explained brusquely.
Mortified, Kat scrambled to her feet. “Slide over, facedown.” When he started to move, she cautioned, “Remember, I’ve still got a gun.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he muttered. After he’d found a comfortable spot, Sebastian exhaled in relief, then glanced up at his captor. Even from his awkward vantage point, he could see that she was tall, willowy, and lushly curved. In the light, she was pale brown, a sun-kissed shade; her face had been composed of broad strokes with an artist’s delight. Toffee-colored eyes glared at him from beneath winged brows that arched into natural distrust. Beneath the wary eyes, diamond-edged cheekbones drew his gaze to a wide mouth that was bold and deliberately unpainted. No classic beauty, Katelyn was a gorgeous Amazon, a true femme fatale with a fierceness to match.
Sebastian invited smoothly, “Feel free to climb back aboard.”
For the umpteenth time, Kat realized she was out of her depth. She had been perched on a cliff, watching the dark truck scramble higher into the foothills, eerily following her exact path. She’d used Felix’s gun to shoot out the tires, as she’d seen raiders do once in Uganda. Like it had there, the truck spun out, and the driver left the vehicle for safety. A stout branch had taken care of the rest. She wasn’t trained for interrogation or espionage or guerilla warfare. She was a scientist and a scholar, whose most exciting adventure had been eating supper with the Rom in Hungary. Now it was up to her to figure out who the very tall man sprawled on the hillside was and what he had to do with Felix’s murder.
As she thought of her uncle, the grip she held on the pistol tightened. Adrenaline mixed with sorrow, and the combination fueled the fury that had kept her upright.
She’d seen the faces of her uncle’s killers, but she didn’t recognize the man who called himself Sebastian Caine. All she knew at that moment was that he had look of a dark lord—tight, sexy, and remorseless. He reminded her of a younger Merlin she’d seen in a movie once, where he had whipped the sea into a frenzied storm upon command. Watching Sebastian, she imagined that should she come too close, he would cast a spell over her, binding her to his fate. Instinctively, she took a couple of steps away.
“Who sent you?” she demanded urgently. When his gaze followed her retreat, she forced her feet to move her closer, to stand near his prone body but a safe distance away. Shrugging off the fanciful thoughts of wizards and warlocks, she leveled the gun. Better this way, she told herself. Superior positioning, in case he tries to make a move. Holding the pistol steady, she barked again, “Who sent you?”
“Felix. He told me to find you.” Sebastian figured the truth couldn’t hurt. The moon hung high in the mountains, illumining the woman who had taken Estrada’s life. She didn’t strike him as a killer, but he’d been wrong about women before. “He told me to look for Kat. Just before he died from that stab wound you gave him.”
The news of Felix’s death nearly buckled her knees, her vain hope that her call would save him snuffed out. Only her promise to him kept her upright. Play it out, Kat, she warned herself silently. Tio Felix is depending on you.
The man who had snuck into the house as she crept out
had not been one of the men who tortured Felix, but she didn’t trust him. But he seemed to believe she was the murderer. She had to know why. Trying for bravado, she nudged Sebastian’s hip with her booted foot. “Felix is dead. Which should remove any lingering doubt from your mind about what I’m willing to do to you,” she snarled.
“Given the handy way you shot out my tires, I have no doubts about you at all,” Sebastian retorted, watching the play of emotion across the mobile face. “So, what kind of niece are you, exactly?”
“Niece?” The word startled her. How did he know so much about her?
“Your message on the answering machine. You called him Tio Felix. Is that the Spanish equivalent of a sugar daddy? Did he owe you money or something?”
Katelyn sputtered. “Are you accusing me of being his whore?”
“Not with a gun to my head, no.” Sebastian decided to risk looking at her directly. His attacker was turning a lovely shade of pink. “We’re both adults. If Felix was your lover, that’s between the two of you. If, however, he was related to you, I have to wonder why you killed him.”
Reminding herself to play along, Kat prompted, “Why do you think? I’m sure you have a theory, since you followed me up here. After all, if I am a murderer, you’ve taken a terrible risk. Why?”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes, all traces of humor vanished. “Because I think you know where the manuscript is. I think you stole it from Felix.”
The condemnation in his tone lured Kat. Perhaps he, like her, had stumbled into this mess. He used Tio Felix’s name as though they’d been acquainted. Even friends. Kat took a hesitant step forward, the vise on her chest easing for the first time in hours. Maybe Sebastian Caine knew what Tio Felix had given her, what he’d entrusted to her care. Intrigued by the unexpected possibility of an ally, she leaned closer, and asked softly, “Why do you care? What does it matter to you if I did?”
“If you’ve got the Cinchona, I’ll pay you $250,000 for it.”
Disappointment tumbled against a sudden wash of sorrow. He was not a friend, Kat realized. Which made him an enemy. “You’ll buy the manuscript? The one I stole from a dead man?”
Sebastian heard the disgust, but refused to be discomfited. After all, the lady had stolen it and likely killed to get it. How dare she be disappointed in him. He had a job to do, and he’d gladly part with a share of his fee to get this entire gig over with as soon as possible.
With a nod, he confirmed his offer. “Give me the manuscript and after I pay you, I’ll forget Felix Estrada and his entire family, nieces included.” Rolling onto his side, he propped himself up on a bent arm and smiled winningly. Overhead, bright stars danced in a clear indigo sky. “Come on, Kat. Do we have a deal?”
Chapter 3
Taking a chance, Sebastian eased into a sitting position, his hands above his head. She seemed distracted by his offer, yet her grip on the .22 millimeter remained steady. “Felix Estrada was a good man, but he’s dead now, God rest his soul. You have something I need, and looking at you, I expect a cool quarter of a million dollars wouldn’t hurt you.” The faded khakis shorts she wore hugged generously rounded hips and framed sleek thighs. Her tank top was frayed around the edges, the indiscriminate color of its origin now a dingy gray. What ever she did for a living, it didn’t pay well. As good an explanation as any for murder.
“And all you want is the manuscript?” Kat repeated. My uncle’s life for your fortune.
“That’s it. Plus, I swear not to mention your name to the authorities. Money and anonymity. It’s a great offer.” He didn’t mention that the only name he could offer the police was Katelyn. A small clue—not worth the breath. Besides, Sebastian didn’t voluntarily speak with cops. Ever.
“You’re the type of man to make this kind of offer, aren’t you?”
“What? The lucrative kind?”
“No. Amoral.” Kat cocked her head, examining him. The hollowed cheeks, the clever, brown marble eyes, the arrogant curve of a mouth that seemed to permanently smirk. Beautiful, she thought, but empty. “You barter with a murderer for paper? No pesky conscience?”
“Getting a lecture about conscience from a woman who, at the very least, left her uncle to die seems a bit absurd to me,” offered Sebastian pointedly. He was the first to admit that his moral code contained very few lines. But the lady had no right to judge him. Still, the slight pang he felt reminded him vaguely of chagrin. “A conscience is inconvenient in our line of work, isn’t it?”
“Convenient?” Kat waved the gun, as though to beat back his pronouncement. More to herself than to her captive, she whispered, “There wasn’t time.”
Dropping his hands, Sebastian propped his elbows on his knees. His toolkit was within reach, and he had a knife in the bag. Assuming he could distract her. Keep her talking, he decided. “Time for what? To wait for him to die? Or to at least cover the body before you made a clean getaway? Even those of us of flexible honor make time for the niceties.”
“I didn’t—that is, I don’t—there wasn’t time.” Kat shook her head. “Oh, God.”
Sebastian watched as she slowly began to tremble, her body silhouetted against a cropping of trees. Kat, the murderer, fascinated him. In one instance, she blushed at the thought of being Felix’s lover, and in the next, she calmly admitted to deserting the dying man. Now she trembled like a leaf. A trickle of warning skittered along his spine. Complicated women had an appalling effect on him—he became distressingly forthright, honest, and dependable. He frowned. “Why did you kill him, Kat?”
I didn’t. The protest caught in her throat, and she could hear her uncle again, demanding her promise as she knelt by his side, trying to stop the rush of blood that seemed endless.
The Cinchona, Kat. Take it. Finish my work, gata. And return it to its people. Tell no one.
I have to call the ambulance. I have to get help.
No! Finish this and return the Cinchona. Do not fail me. Swear it.
I swear.
She’d called the ambulance and retrieved the manuscript and diary from its hiding place, only to discover another intruder in Tio Felix’s house. He’d warned her to go, and, because she’d promised, she ran.
Stop it, she told herself sternly. Perhaps she could have done more, but she hadn’t. The only way to make it right was to fulfill her promise and finish his quest. And find the men who killed him.
She had one lead to follow. One other human being who knew the name of the Cinchona. Sebastian Caine. He would tell her where she could begin.
“We’re not going to talk about this here.” Resolved, Kat motioned to him with the gun. “Stand up. Slowly.”
Sebastian gained his feet and rubbed at the back of his head. “What the hell did you hit me with?” As soon as he asked, he saw the stout limb lying behind her. “You could have given me a concussion,” he accused.
“Next time, I’ll try harder.” With a slight smile, she gestured him toward the thicket of trees. “It’s going to rain soon. We need to move.”
Sebastian stared up at the clear, cloudless sky. “No way.”
Kat didn’t argue. Instead, she moved behind him and jabbed him once with the barrel. “Walk slowly. Straight ahead, between that stand of quina trees. We’ve haven’t much time.” She inhaled deeply, nodding to herself. The unpredictable weather of the Andean range in the summer meant brief but powerful thunderstorms that rarely made it beyond the mountains to the ocean. Rains appeared suddenly, then disappeared in a flash. They had twenty minutes, she guessed, to make it to the cave where she had set up camp.
Sebastian stood his ground. If she didn’t want the money, he had no idea what she’d do with him the higher they went into this remote section of the Andes. He’d rather take his chances with a disabled truck and the Canete authorities. Luckily, the keys were still in the ignition. If he could get to them. With a self-deprecating grin, he asked, “Can I get my stuff from the truck? I assume you may want to keep me hostage for a while.”
K
at shook her head. “I’m not an idiot, Mr. Caine. I let you near the truck, and you’ll disappear. No way. We move. Now.”
Thwarted, Sebastian took defeat in his stride. “Worth a try. Can you at least grab my toolkit?”
She bent to retrieve the bag, eyes trained on Sebastian. Feeling its weight, she decided to hold on to it. “Let’s move.”
Obediently, he began to hike over the hilly soil, following a trail of sorts. His captor moved like a gazelle, leaping over the snarled branches and treacherous stone at an admirable pace. He fancied himself in excellent shape, but within minutes, his breathing was heavy, tightened by the altitude. Behind him, Kat barely sounded winded.
“Are you from the mountains?” he puffed, as they scrambled over a ridge. “You haven’t broken a sweat.”
“I’ve lived in many places,” she admitted. “I’m adaptable.”
Sebastian stopped his climb, turning to face her. “Are your parents missionaries or something?”
“A naturalist and an anthropologist,” she responded without thinking. When she realized what she’d revealed, she glowered at him. “No more questions. We need to move quickly.” Kat gestured to him with the gun again, and he began to hike faster.
Minutes later, they emerged from the trees into a clearing. Her Jeep stood in the middle of the open space, shrouded by the surrounding foliage. At the edge of the clearing, a cave hollowed out the sheer wall of stone. Branches had been readied for a fire, which would have to wait.
“I assume you plan to tie me up somehow,” Sebastian offered. “Tell me where the rope is.”
“You’re very cooperative,” Kat said, suspicious of his good nature. “Why?”
“I believe in honor among thieves, Katelyn. We do what we must to survive.” He shrugged philosophically. His good humor was part cunning, part nature. Anxiety clouded the judgment and made a man act sloppy. If the sleek, gorgeous Kat found him agreeable, they’d reach a mutually beneficial arrangement all the sooner. “Obviously, Estrada did something that made you think you had to kill him. My goal is to not give you a reason to shoot me. So, where do I go to be bound?”
Secrets and Lies Page 3