Secrets and Lies

by Selena Montgomery

  Kat nodded. “But I’m serious about you staying away from my things.”

  Sebastian tilted his head in a gesture of contrition. “Occupational hazard. One I will try to curb for the next few days.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned again, his teeth a slash of white in the dim cave. “I’ll do my best.”

  Kat thought the warm smile more dazzling than the sunshine that streamed outside. Once again, her stomach did the flip that had become ubiquitous in his presence. She blinked slowly, mahogany lashes fanning across her skin. When she opened her eyes, his were staring intently, and the smile had vanished. In its place was a look she recognized from that morning. A look that turned the stomach flip into a somersault. Recognizing the need for retreat, she inched away from the tall, hard man and turned toward the camp stove. “Um, I can make us some breakfast before we head into town.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Sebastian took a step away, too. “I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, he whirled around, stopping to scoop up his bag, and strode out of the cave and into the morning air.

  Kat found herself releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Oh, my. What am I doing?” The silent cave offered no response. Figuring she wouldn’t get one, she moved to her stored equipment and retrieved the camp stove. With practiced moves, she set up the contraption, laid and lit a fire, and filled the pot with water. While it heated, she gathered ingredients for breakfast. Packets of oatmeal were stirred into the heated water, and the grains began to plump and thicken.

  She left the oatmeal to cook and turned to her duffel bag and satchel. Swiftly, she scooped out the Cinchona, still wrapped in its protective oilskin. The slicker had turned away the worst of the rainfall. Reverently, she opened the manuscript, lifting her head every few seconds to check for Sebastian’s return.

  If she’d had her druthers, she would have spent her time alone this morning comparing the Cinchona to the notes in the diary. But her new partner had confiscated the diary, she remembered with irritation. Of course, he thought it was the real Cinchona. If she was to finish her mission, she’d have to keep him believing it. Kat lifted her head again, listening for the scrape of boot against stone that would signal his return. Hearing nothing, a plan formed.

  She wrapped the manuscript in its oilskin and tucked the wrapped package into the base of her satchel, which she carried at all times. Then, after a glance at their bubbling breakfast, she did a quick search of the cave, looking for her stolen items. First, she opened his toolkit, rummaging through the interesting collection of metal rods and a wicked-looking knife with a serrated tip. Coming up empty, she turned to the rock face, wondering if he’d shoved anything inside.

  “You’re not going to find them, honey.” Sebastian walked back into the cave, skin damp from his bath.

  “Sebastian!” She dropped her hands from the crevice near his toolkit. He was dressed in the khakis and white T-shirt she’d found in his bag. The casual outfit highlighted the sheen of his skin and the exceptionally fit body beneath. “I was just—” She trailed off as he entered the cave, his eyes intent and focused on her.

  Sebastian had no doubt what she was looking for. The wallet, passport, and plane ticket were safely stowed in his pocket. As for the diary, he did what the best thieves had done for centuries—he hid the diary in plain sight. The small book was within a few feet of Kat’s searching hands, inside her duffel bag, but she was poking into the craggy rock, looking for their hiding place. “First rule of stealing, Kat. Never get caught.”

  With a sputter of frustration, Kat scrambled up from her search of the crevice near where he’d bedded down for the night. She leaned against the wall. “I wouldn’t have if you made noise like a normal man. How did you do that?”

  Sebastian wandered over to the wafting smell of oats cooking. He picked up a spoon and stirred the meal. Kat had set a stick of cinnamon and a miniature grater on the lip of the tripod. He gathered the tools and began to add the spice to the mixture. “How did I do what?”

  Kat watched as he seasoned the oatmeal. God, he has beautiful hands. Remembering his question, she muttered, “How did you come in without me hearing you? I have excellent hearing.” Annoyance mixed with approval. “You move like a shadow.”

  Finished with his task, he set the items down and turned to face her. “You’re not exactly a noisemaker yourself, Kat. In fact, you are quite aptly named. I didn’t hear you return this morning. Silent as a gata.”

  Kat flinched. “Don’t call me that.”

  Instantly contrite, Sebastian crossed to where she stood. How had he forgotten that the young woman had lost her uncle yesterday? The uncle who called her gata. Stopping in front of her, he laid a gentle hand on her arm, rubbing along the chilled skin to soothe. “How are you doing?”

  Kat felt tears threaten at the show of concern, but she willed them back. Instead, she let herself absorb the comfort of human contact and clung to her promise to Tio Felix. “My uncle is dead, and I’m partners with a thief.” The last escaped on a strangled sob. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Hell, you’re doing better than a lot of people, Kat. At least you’ve got a thief for a partner. Better than an arsonist or a mime.”

  She chuckled involuntarily and swiped at a stray tear that escaped. “You can’t be nice and funny. You’re one of the bad guys.”

  “No, I’m in gray. But you are clearly a white hat.” Giving in to impulse, Sebastian shifted her into a hug that brought her to his chest. She stiffened, then her arms slid around his waist to hold tight. Pressing her head into his shoulder, he whispered gently, “Felix would be proud of you, honey. You survived last night. And that’s all you can do. Survive each day.”

  “It hurts. Knowing I failed him. That I didn’t save him.”

  Sebastian brushed a soft kiss over the crown of her head. His hand stroked the long line of her back, pressing her closer. “Don’t be a moron, Doctor. You did what you could. Felix played in a game he understood, where men and women will kill to get what they want. In that game, someone has to die.”

  At his stark words, Kat shivered and squeezed him tighter, grateful for the warmth of his embrace. The sweep of his hand against her spine lulled her, reminded her that she hadn’t been so close to anyone in too long a time. The questions bubbled inside, spilled out. She tilted her head to watch him. “Do you kill? To get what you want? Would you kill me?”

  Sebastian’s hand stilled. His hold tightened. Above her head, he stared out of the cave into the distant hills. “No. I don’t kill. I’ve never had to. But I understand survival, Katelyn. I believe in it.”

  She inched away, and his arms permitted the movement. Kat raised her head to meet sable eyes that were hard and focused. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I won’t die for a noble cause.” Sebastian slackened his grip but left his arms in a loose circle around her body. To comfort and to prevent retreat. He kept her eyes locked in his, making sure she understood. “I play in a dangerous world, one I’m ready to get out of. Finding the Cinchona and this gold is my ticket out. I’ve stayed alive this long by following three simple rules.”

  Knowing he expected it, she whispered tightly, “What are they?”

  “One, I don’t sacrifice myself for anyone. Two, I don’t put anyone’s happiness above my own.” He paused.

  When the silence lengthened, Kat did what he expected, and asked, “What’s number three?”

  “Number three is simple. Stay the hell away from anyone who might make me forget one and two.” With that, Sebastian released her completely and walked over to the stove. “Breakfast is ready.”

  Chapter 6

  Katelyn lingered where she stood. Stay the hell away from me. The warning from Sebastian Caine couldn’t have been more explicit. This wasn’t a man to rely upon, to care about. At the wayward thought, she shook her head as though to clear it. Care about? She’d just met the man, and she di
dn’t particularly like him. He was a thief and a liar and everything she abhorred in humanity. Men like Sebastian were the reason she’d chosen to study ethnobotany. His ilk made their fortunes destroying cultures and raping the land. With no respect for history or the people destroyed by their actions.

  Trouble was, Sebastian didn’t fit neatly into the category of callous pillager. An admitted thief who slid from cajoling to comfort to maddening in an instant. Who had been genuinely outraged by Tio Felix’s murder. Whose kiss wound her up so tight, she could still feel his imprint on her mouth.

  “Are you coming?” From across the cave, Sebastian lifted a bowl and spoon expectantly. “We need to get moving soon.”

  “Sure.” Adopting his air of nonchalance, Katelyn quickly joined him at the makeshift table composed of a jumble of stone that had fallen from the cave ceiling long before they had arrived. She sank down onto the opposite side and extended her hand for the oatmeal. Steam rose from the dish, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since she got off the plane in Lima. Suddenly, she was ravenous. Katelyn tucked into the bowl, oblivious to the hiss of heat. “Perfect.”

  “Not quite.”

  She glanced up, eyes quizzical. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t see any coffee in your bags.”

  The hopeful note in Sebastian’s voice made her mouth curve into a rueful smile. “I don’t drink coffee. Caffeine has its medicinal uses, but I prefer not to become addicted to stimulants.”

  “Don’t let Starbucks hear you.” Hopes dashed, Sebastian settled instead for the canteen of water and two small cups he’d located. He filled one for Katelyn, then drank deeply from his own. After a few minutes of silent eating, he decided the time had come for information. “So, Dr. Lyda, what does the doctor stand for?”

  “I’m an ethnobotanist,” she explained after a quick swallow. “I study the native uses of indigenous plants. My specialty is pharmacognosy.” At his raised brow, she expanded, “Pharmacognosy explores medicinal and toxic products from natural plant sources. Like cocaine from the coca plant used by the Cogi tribes in Columbia. Or the original uses of the poppy plant in Afghanistan.”

  “You study how cocaine and opium can save the world?”

  “Not exactly,” she demurred, reaching for the tube of honey he’d set out. She opened the top and squirted a thin, sticky stream into her bowl. With a quick stir, she expounded, “Cocaine and opium are narcotics that have particular uses no longer tied to their original medicinal natures. I study cultures that have forgotten or forsaken the underlying, historical uses of plant life.”

  Sebastian appreciated the straightforward reply, no hint of arrogance. Her kind had a tendency to overcomplicate in order to sound even smarter. He smiled and added a squeeze of honey to his meal. Apparently, Kat had a sweet tooth. “A plant detective. Interesting. Do you work with medical doctors or in a lab?”

  Hearing genuine interest, Kat warmed to her subject. Her day job didn’t always lend itself to cocktail conversation. Not everyone cared about the exciting life of an ethnobotanist. “I do a bit of both,” she replied, swallowing her oatmeal, the plump, sticky grains sating her hunger. “Before modern synthetic medicines, pharmacologists and medical researchers worked closer together. We looked to the native uses of plants for clues on best remedies. The best researchers understood the connection between nature and health care.”

  “What happened?”

  “We advanced.” She lifted her spoon and chewed thoughtfully. “Like everything, once we found a quicker, cheaper way to save lives, most researchers abandoned plants as the source of health care. Industrialization supplanted information and we—” As she wound up as she always did for this particular lecture, she glanced up when she realized her audience of one was laughing at her. “What’s so funny?”

  “You take this seriously, don’t you?” Sebastian noted.

  “Of course, I do,” she began, until she noticed that she was waving her spoon emphatically and that a glob of beige oatmeal clung to the side of Sebastian’s cheek. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She came to her knees and bent across the stone table to wipe at the oatmeal just as he reached up to remove the offending mess.

  Sebastian trapped her hand beneath his, pressed against his unshaven cheek. He moved her palm to his mouth and calmly sampled the food that had migrated there. “No apologies necessary. You are obviously very passionate about your work.”

  “Yes.” The answer was a bare whisper of sound. Tingles shot along nerve endings Kat hadn’t known were connected to her hands. The gymnasts that had taken up residence in her belly seemed to be aiming for Olympic gold. “What are you doing?” she murmured.

  “Cleaning us up.” With slow, firm strokes, he licked away the oatmeal spiced with cinnamon and honey. Taking his time, he explored the bold tracery of lines that swept across skin that was firm without being rough. And held her eyes captive in his. “Tell me about your favorite plant, Kat.”

  “My favorite plant?” she repeated dumbly.

  “Anyone who loves her work as you do must have a favorite. What made you choose ethnobotany?” He drew her hand along his cheek again, held the trembling palm there. “Tell me about it.”

  “Cinchona.”

  The name slid out and Sebastian frowned, tightening his grip in reflex. “Cinchona? The manuscript?”

  Kat stiffened and jerked her hand free, and Sebastian released her. Sitting safely on her side of the table, she scrambled to come up with a plausible explanation that would not reveal too much. Thinking quickly, she explained, “Cinchona is the scientific genus of a tree. The one that produces quinine.”

  “The treatment for malaria?”

  With a short nod, Kat expanded, “Among other purposes. It was a favored remedy to treat fevers. The priests called it ‘Jesuit fever bark’ and exported it back to Europe.”

  Sebastian considered the likelihood that her favorite plant and his ticket out would carry the same title. Especially when she watched him so steadily, as though measuring his reaction. He drained his cup of water and poured more from the canteen that lay between them on the stone. “Why would a manuscript about Incan gold be named after a tree that produces a malaria treatment?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose the value of the tree to the Incas and to the Jesuits made the cinchona worth its weight in gold.” She held her breath, hoping he’d accept the fabricated response. During her visit to recover the Cinchona, she’d read more of the text, and she wasn’t ready to admit to herself what she had read. “I guess.”

  “Good explanation.” Rather than challenge her, Sebastian gained his feet and reached down to stack her empty bowl inside his.

  She studied his face, unable to tell if he believed her or not. But the bold sweep of planes and angles held no clue to his thoughts. “No more questions?”

  “Not yet.” From years of practice, he balanced the cups atop the pile, shoved the spoons into the bowls.

  “You do that well.”

  “A recovery specialist has to be versatile, darling.” To show off, he lifted the pile with one hand, balancing the stack with ease. “Ta da.”

  From her vantage point on the ground, Kat smiled at the display. “What else have you done?”

  “Waiter. Curator. Executive chef. Assistant to a philologist,” he responded, and smiled. “I’ve been a jack of most trades. Occupational perk.”

  “Then why become a thief? If you can do so many other things?” Clearly, he was intelligent and multitalented. She didn’t understand why a man with so many options would choose the most dangerous one.

  Giving her an appraising look, he lowered the dishes. He rarely explained his choices. To himself or anyone else. “My mom was a house keeper in New York. A good family. But I wanted more. So I got it.”

  “By stealing?”

  “It’s a living.” He shifted the stack and plucked up the honey and cinnamon to drop into her lap. “I’ll go rinse these out in the seep. Break down the camp. We still need to go ba
ck to my truck before we head into town.”

  Katelyn rose to join him. Sable strands escaped the braid she’d twisted into a knot at her nape. Moving so they stood toe to toe, she folded her arms and captured his impassive gaze. “So we’re clear, Mr. Caine, I don’t take orders from you.”

  Sebastian appreciated the picture she made, fierce and determined. And wrong. “You are free to do as you wish, Dr. Lyda. But in fifteen minutes, I’m leaving for my truck, and I’m taking the diary and your passport with me.” Because his hands itched to brush back the wayward strands that curved around her cheek, he turned on his heel and strode out of the cavern.

  Katelyn stared after him for seconds, annoyed. “He’d leave me in a second,” she muttered to the open air. Poking her tongue out at his retreating form, she did as instructed. Not that there was much to do. She was an expert camper, and she always kept her gear in ready-to-move shape.

  Her two bags, the army duffel and her satchel, quickly joined the camp bag where she stored the stove and lantern. That bag stood open, awaiting the bowls and utensils Sebastian was cleaning.

  Which shouldn’t have taken so long. The seep was near the truck and filled with rainwater. Maybe he’d left her, she thought abruptly. Had hidden the diary outside and was going to leave her behind. The thought lodged in her mind, and she felt her ire rising. Crossing the cave, she imagined what she’d do if he tried to desert her. Bahia was full of fun plants that could make a grown man beg for mercy.

  As she exited the cave, she smacked into Sebastian’s still form. Without turning, he reached behind him to steady her, then drew her unresisting form to his side. In companionable silence, Sebastian draped an arm around her waist. Katelyn stood stiffly at first. When he did nothing more, she followed his lead and stared out across the valley.

  Though both had been out already that morning, she too was captivated by the scene. Outside, the morning sun had already begun to bake the brown earth of the foothills, light dancing among the piñon and sage. The russet hills descended to black rivers that snaked through the valley floor. Ripe green vineyards dotted the banks closer to Canete, but she had chosen a site that was miles from the homes and farms. The blue canvas of sky had been sketched with pure white clouds, a dance of alabaster and azure that met the Pacific Ocean at the horizon.