Bemused, Kat pointed him inside the cave. A pallet of a sleeping bag and a thermal blanket was neatly laid out at the rear of the cave. Closer to the entrance, a camp lantern sat on a natural ledge that jutted out of the rocks. A dark blue backpack leaned against the cavern wall, bulging from its contents. She dropped his toolkit next to her items. “Go over there.”
Sebastian scanned the cramped quarters. At six-three, the ceiling barely cleared his head. And while he couldn’t touch the side walls with his arms spread, it was a close thing. The cave was longer than it was wide, he noted, the lantern barely piercing the dark far wall. Probably thirty feet in length, the cave had burrowed deep into the mountainside. Depending on where she put his toolkit, he would be on his way inside twenty minutes. Unless she gave him cause to stay. And given the day he’d had and the endless legs on his captor, he could be persuaded. He made his way to where she indicated, muscles loose and ready. “Okay.”
“Open the backpack,” Kat instructed as she lit the camp lantern. “There’s a length of cord inside. Tie one end around your right wrist. Tie the other end to your ankles. No more than six inches of give.”
Sebastian followed her instructions, impressed by her sangfroid. Maybe she had done this before, he conceded. He moved to the pallet to sit and quickly wrapped the cord around his wrist. The bungee cord had clips at both ends, which he left free. “Done.”
Kat walked over to where he sat, tethered. She laid the gun behind her, out of his reach, and swiftly looped the remaining cord around his left wrist. She leaned in close to wind it behind his back. At that angle, her body brushed his, and a slow burn began in her belly.
Sebastian remained perfectly still, with only the thud of his pulse an indication that he was aware of her presence. He had no intention of remaining trussed up for long. As she assumed, he had been held captive once too often to be held for long. But for his plan to work, he had to focus on something besides the feel of her pressed to his side, a yielding of firm softness he found quite appealing.
Clipping the ends together at the base of his spine, Kat eased away from the strong, warm body that seemed to pour off heat. With a furtive look, she met his eyes, which were two points of fiery dark. She swallowed hard, and whispered, “I think that’s tight enough.”
A scent that reminded him both of the outdoors and sultry, sexy nights invaded his senses. He leaned close, the space between them disappearing. “You might want to check it again,” Sebastian suggested, the words a low rumble of sound.
“Ah, no,” Kat managed as she jerked away from temptation. Sebastian Caine was quite possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And the most dangerous.
Like the urge to sink in rather than run away.
He lured her, his body warm and alive. And she was cold. So very cold. Suddenly, the weight of the past hours crushed down upon her. She had to get out of here, get into the air to breathe. The fear and apprehension and grief wouldn’t let her breathe. Kat clambered to her feet, tears pressing behind her eyes.
Once again, she could hear Tio Felix’s voice pleading for mercy. A mercy the men refused to show him. Pursued by the sounds, she rushed out of the cavern and into the night. Everything was wrong!
She stood on the ledge, memories crashing through her, rending her. Burning sobs caught her hard, and she shook with grief for endless minutes. Then Kat noticed that the wetness on her cheeks was also coming from above. The summer storm she’d predicted had arrived on time. Fat drops of rain fell from the sky, drenching her in a matter of seconds. Kat stood in the torrent, her heavy mass of hair coming unbound to cascade around her shoulders. The thick skeins of chocolate brown fell to her waist, and she felt the weight of them at her back.
Abruptly, she felt something cool and hard press against her. A sob strangled out on a terrified laugh. “I left the gun inside, didn’t I?”
Sebastian nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “Yes, you did. And I carry a knife in my toolkit. You should have searched it. A rookie mistake, but you’ve had a hard day, Katelyn. Why don’t you come inside so we can talk?”
With a forlorn sigh, she turned to him, and he saw the silvery glimmer of tears. His hand lifted to wipe at the moisture, a tenderness that disturbed him. Women and weeping didn’t move him. Mata Hari had tried similar tricks, learned from her forebears. All the evidence pointed to Kat as a murderer, not a hapless young woman way out of her depth, shaking from the force of her grief.
Suddenly, though, he had to know for certain. “Inside, Kat. Now,” he instructed gruffly.
Having little choice, Kat led the way inside the cave. The cool air inside chilled her wet skin, and she shivered. “Can I build a fire?” she asked quietly.
“Sorry, no. But you can wrap the blanket around you.” Sebastian tossed it to her, and he tried not to stare at the damp tank top. But the effect of the night air on the sweetly rounded curves the top attempted to conceal was having an equally potent effect on him. As were the tracks of the tears that were drying on her flawless skin. Though he knew better, Sebastian had a hard time believing a woman so despondent could be a cold-blooded killer.
Kat didn’t notice his attentions, focused instead on how miserably she’d already failed in her task. Resigned, she sank to the cold, hard ground and tucked her bare legs beneath her, scraping the skin. She’d lived in worse places, with more dangerous men. Still, more than likely, he’d kill her here, and no one would notice.
Eventually, her parents would miss her, but it would be weeks before they knew anything was amiss. Her e-mail from Canada had told them that she was on her way to her uncle’s home in Bahia. Though her parents’ home base remained in Miami, they were traveling through Gambia. Her mother had decided to trace the family roots in western Africa, and her father was investigating the sighting of a presumed-extinct insect in nearby Mauritania. They might pick up the message in a week, long after Sebastian had killed her and left her body to rot.
As though he’d read her mind, Sebastian took a seat on the cold ground beside her and offered, “I don’t plan to kill you, Katelyn. But you have something I need. I’m still willing to pay you for it, provided you tell me whether or not you killed Felix.”
Kat glanced at the gun beneath his hand. “No.”
“No, you won’t tell me?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t kill Tio Felix. And yes, he really was my mother’s older brother.”
Sebastian disregarded the surge of relief and focused on ferreting out the truth. He leaned back on his left hand, the muscles in his forearm bracing to support his weight. The right one remained on the gun. “You were there, Katelyn. I saw your footprints. You tracked his blood out of the house.”
She flinched and insisted, “I was there when he was stabbed, but I didn’t kill him.”
He arched a brow. “Didn’t try to save him either.”
The images swamped her again, jagged and painful. “No. I didn’t. I hid and did nothing to stop them from hurting him.”
“Them,” Sebastian repeated, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. He relaxed, knowing that the deceptive posture often lulled the frightened into comfort and confession. It held the added advantage of letting him block her should she try to run. The gun would serve as a prop only, with the safety on. “Who is ‘them’?”
“Three men.” She shuddered with the recollection and scrubbed briskly at her skin beneath the warmth of the blanket. From the hidden closet in the hallway, where she used to play hide-and-seek in the great house with its secret rooms, she listened to her uncle’s murder. “Two men held his arms while the third one stabbed him. He was such a slight man. They hurt him, squeezing his arms. I heard one break.” She caught her breath, refusing to break down again. “I hid. While they killed him, I hid.”
Straightening, Sebastian nodded. “Smart. You don’t engage anyone who has better firepower or more strength unless you’ve got some other superiority.”
“I let Tio Felix die.�
��
With a shrug, he countered baldly, “And you survived. That’s a net gain, kiddo. If you’d tried to help him, I’d have found both your bodies tonight.”
“Maybe you should have!” She snapped out the retort, her shoulders taut, hands emerging from the folds of the blanket to gesture anxiously. “I hid until they left, called an ambulance that never arrived. When you came, I stepped in his blood and ran away. I’m a coward.”
“You were smart.” Sebastian gripped her restive hands, always a sucker for a woman’s bravery. He released the butt of the gun, unconcerned. “Don’t be an idiot now. There was nothing else you could do. Try to play the hero, and they’d have killed you too. And I could have been one of them, coming back for the spoils. You called for help, then you did what you had to do. You got out alive. It’s the best any of us can do.” He watched his words slide over her, seeing that she didn’t believe. Sebastian knew from experience that she wouldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he focused on what he could accomplish. “Did they find what they were looking for, Kat?”
“No,” she murmured, lost in her self-flagellation, her shoulders bowing beneath the weight. She’d failed Tio Felix, so quickly. Now, Tio Felix’s death would go unavenged, his life’s work sold to the highest bidder. Despite everything, though, Sebastian’s words brought a modicum of comfort. “I found it first.”
Sebastian froze. She found it first? Her admission brought a swell of relief, the first he’d felt since he stumbled over Estrada’s body.
As he suspected, Kat had found the Cinchona in her uncle’s safe. But he hadn’t seen it in the cave. He’d searched her gear when he’d freed himself, but all he’d come across was an old diary, which surely wasn’t the ballyhooed Cinchona. The Spanish on the pages was Castilian and some dialect he didn’t recognize. Still, he understood enough to know the journal contained the mundane ramblings of a priest unhappy with his assignment to the New World. Those writings were valuable to a nerdy historian, but not nearly worth what he was being paid to recover it. Since the diary wasn’t the prize, the Cinchona was still out there, somewhere. He was sitting with the one person who should know.
Keeping his voice gentle, he shifted toward her, probing, “Where is the Cinchona, Katelyn? Where did you put it?”
Katelyn heard the question, realized what she’d admitted. She glared up at him, eyes drenched but blistering. Jerking her hands free, she bit out, “I won’t help you.”
“Help me what?” he asked artlessly, eyes measuring her reaction. The high color and murderous look she aimed at him spoke volumes.
“I won’t help you steal the manuscript,” she spat, scooting away from him. Her spine brushed stone where it curved into the entrance. Sebastian sat feet away, tantalizingly close to the precipice. How had she fallen for his charade, the show of understanding cloaked in camaraderie? The brief surrender incensed her. She’d taken Psychology 101, understood the basic premise of befriending your prey. And had tumbled with the first good line.
Luckily, she hadn’t capitulated. Completely. If he killed her now, all he’d be able to show for her death was the diary of a priest named Father Borrero. Hardly worth her life, but obviously, she and Sebastian had different values. Still, he didn’t strike her as the type of man who would murder for profit. More likely, he’d try to charm her into submission, just like before. No doubt, given sufficient time and barriers as fragile as hers, he’d be a great success. The Cinchona would rot in the tree where she’d stuffed it before she told him where to find the manuscript. Feigning a bravado she didn’t feel, she demanded, “Do your worst. I won’t help you find it. I’ve put it where you’ll never find it.”
Her declaration had Sebastian revisiting his conclusion about the Cinchona. Surely, she didn’t imagine her childish game of hide-and-seek with a diary had worked. Hoping he misunderstood, Sebastian quizzed, “The diary? That’s the Cinchona?”
Katelyn startled. She’d stashed the manuscript near where she’d ambushed Sebastian and hidden the diary among her belongings, to read later to night. Had hidden well, she’d thought indignantly. Crossing her arms, the blanket slipped off her shoulders to pool around her in waves of deep blue. She leaned forward, annoyed. “You found the diary? How?”
“It’s what I do.” Had done, in fact, as soon as her back was turned. At her look of pique, he complimented, “Clever, though, using the torn lining of your satchel. But I’m a pro.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“With the diary?” He focused on her question, on the tension threading her words. “Is the diary the Cinchona?” Sebastian lost his smile of indulgent humor. “Is it?”
He had no idea. The realization struck her like a thunderbolt. Sebastian had no clue that the diary wasn’t the manuscript or that a second document existed. Latching on to the first glimmer of hope she’d had all day, she forced herself to nod reluctantly. “Yes,” she conceded.
“You hide a manuscript worth half a million dollars in the lining of your bag?”
The tone of professional consternation nearly broke her outrage. “I didn’t have much time to plan,” she apologized automatically. “If you hadn’t tracked me so quickly—”
“That’s no excuse. If you’re going to be in the business, you’ve got to take your job seriously.”
“My job?” Kat shook her head. “This isn’t my job, Mr. Caine. In fact, it bears no resemblance to what I do for a living.”
The sneering condescension rankled, but Sebastian dismissed her contempt. Few accepted his line of work as a reasonable means to the ends he preferred. “I steal. So do most people, but when you tell a person she’s being taken, it’s called commerce. Is that what you are, Kat? A capitalist?”
Despite the maelstrom churning inside her, Kat found herself biting back a rueful smile. The man, for all his faults, was effortlessly charming. Almost funny. Steeling herself, she retorted, “What I do for a living doesn’t require fleecing anyone.”
“Good for you.” So, she wasn’t in business. That left thousands of other options. Seemed he’d have to spend some time figuring out exactly what Katelyn Lyda did that paid her so poorly. Lucky for them both, he wasn’t one for idle or unasked questions. “Then why did your uncle bring you here? What exactly could you have contributed?”
She started to respond, then remembered abruptly that they weren’t acquaintances getting to know one another. “None of your business. In fact, none of this has anything to do with you. I have the Cinchona, and you don’t.”
“Technically,” Sebastian corrected, “I have the Cinchona. And the gun.” He lifted the black metal in sympathy. “I’ve got all the cards, Kat.”
“Will you kill me if I don’t answer?” Kat scooched farther away until her back hit the wall. “Or will you wait for your friends to join you?”
Sebastian started to move toward her. She flinched, a subtle movement that scratched at his underused conscience and bothered his ego. Women rarely recoiled from him, never in fear. “They weren’t my friends, Kat.”
“So you say,” she taunted.
Clear dark brown eyes shifted to shadow in an instant. Sebastian rose to his feet lithely, no movement uncertain. “So I say, Katelyn, so I mean. I am not a killer.”
“Then let me go.”
Sebastian spun on his heel and gestured to the cave opening. “Fine. You can go, but I’m keeping the Cinchona.” He looked down to where she sat cross-legged on the ground. The sight of the frayed shorts and shabby tank top disturbed his sensibilities. Fair was fair—she found the diary, she shared in the pot. “But the offer is still on the table. How does $100,000 sound to you?”
Though she had no intention of taking the money, the cut-rate offer galled her. “Sounds like less than half of what you offered earlier,” Kat protested. “You said two-fifty.”
Sebastian shot her a disdainful look. “That was before I found it myself. Price went down.”
“You found it in my bag,” she argued heatedly. “You’re a c
heat.”
He scowled, disliking the description. Thief and liar, he didn’t mind, but a cheat was a lower form of life. Like a killer. “I’m a businessman. So we’ll split the difference at $175,000. Deal?”
“No.” Tired of staring up at him, she scrambled to her feet. “I don’t want your money. I want to do what my uncle asked of me.”
Coldly, he reminded her, “Felix is dead. Any promises made are null and void.”
“Not to me. I keep my word.”
“Bully for you. I don’t give mine.” Often. He kept the rest of the sentence to himself, remembering with a pang the promise he’d made to Estrada. Sebastian lied with impunity, but he was a scrupulously honest broker. He didn’t take jobs he couldn’t do, didn’t seek payment when he failed. And he rarely gave his word because he didn’t break it. Ever. “What did you promise your uncle?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Then we’re at an impasse.”
Knowing she was losing the battle, Katelyn cast about for a way to get the diary. She had the Cinchona, but Tio Felix seemed to think they were connected. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. In the darkened space of the cavern, lit only by lanterns, the light threw shadows into every corner. She halted just out of his reach, her eyes somber, her voice steely. “You don’t know what the Cinchona manuscript is, do you?”
He shrugged. “My client hired me to find a rare manuscript and deliver it. I don’t delve too deeply into the nature of my targets. That’s not my style.”
“Perhaps it should be,” Kat recommended.
“A difference of opinion.” He didn’t care for the details unless the details mattered. Her snide tone grated at him, but he resisted the urge to retort, with effort. Instead, he shrugged again. “Fine, enlighten me. I assumed the Cinchona was an obscure Spanish manuscript about the conquistadors or something.”
Secrets and Lies Page 4