A rambunctious, giggling toddler forced himself between Kat and Sebastian, and the slight boy tripped over feet, not quite ready for independence. He fell, sliding against the rough street. With seamless transition, the giggles became plaintive wails. Heads turned to discern the source of the cries, and traffic paused briefly.
Kat felt her throat tighten, heart race. Less than fifteen feet ahead, the sage green uniforms of the Bahia police moved through the crowd. At any moment, they too would turn to investigate the source of the weeping screams. She started forward, but Sebastian reached the child first. In an easy move, Sebastian scooped the boy up, removing him from the harm of oncoming traffic.
He judged the child to be no more than two or three years old, with bright, tear-filled eyes and a dusky complexion that was now smeared with dirt. “Hey, now,” he murmured to the child, whose wails had only increased after his rescue. “Come on, little man,” he urged in gentle Spanish. “Are you hurt? Can you tell me?”
The little boy stared up at the man who held him securely. He pushed a dusty thumb into his mouth and examined his rescuer. “I fell,” he announced in his native tongue, looking at the ground as though it had intentionally tripped him.
“Yes, you did. But you did a great job of it.” Lifting a corner of his poncho, Sebastian tugged out the filthy thumb and wiped at the smudges of dirt. Undaunted, the boy promptly replaced it with his other one. Chuckling ruefully, Sebastian cleaned that one too, then tried to improve the rest of the dirty-faced cherub.
“Sebastian.” Kat led the man and his passenger over to the side of the street, allowing the no-longer-interested patrons to continue on their way. “What will we do with him?” She sighed deeply. “Should I alert the police? We can’t just leave him.”
“Patience, Kat. He has to belong to someone.” Sebastian chucked the round chin that had angled up to watch the strange man in sombrero and poncho. “Do you belong to someone, little man?”
“I am Benito. I fell.” The string of Spanish appeared to tax the child, and he leaned forward to rest his head on Sebastian’s shoulder. In a loud whisper, he added, “Momma is going to be mad. I’m not to run. But I did.”
“Well, we can’t always do what our mommas tell us, can we?”
“Sebastian.” Kat’s note of censure was softened by an indulgent smile that recognized the kindred spirits. In English, she chided, “No corrupting the young.”
“I’m just giving him another perspective. Isn’t that right, Benito?”
In response, Benito snaked his chubby arms around Sebastian’s neck, dislodging the hat, which tumbled to the ground. Alarmed, Kat knelt to retrieve it, in time to see the appearance of sandaled feet racing toward them. “Benito!” The sandals belonged to a young woman, her pitch strident and exasperated, the intonation clearly the practice of a frazzled mother.
Sebastian recognized the mix of maternal resignation and embarrassment. Turning, he tucked Benito to his side, the short legs kicking as he squirmed for release. “I believe this is yours,” he offered in Spanish, face once again shielded by his sombrero.
Benito’s mother accepted the wriggling bundle, apologies tumbling from her lips. “He is nothing but energy,” she explained wearily. “Now he has transportation.”
Sebastian laughed, and the woman shifted Benito to her hip, balancing her basket on the other. The rich laughter had her fluffing out hair dragged flat by humidity. “I hope he did not disturb.”
“No, he did nothing little boys shouldn’t,” Sebastian demurred, ruffling Benito’s damp curls. “The world is wide, and he must know there’s a lot for him to see.”
When Benito’s mother seemed inclined to linger, Kat gave his poncho a tug. “We are late, dear. And our friends may be looking for us,” she murmured tightly.
“Oh, yes.” With a gallant bow, he bid the woman farewell and offered Benito an encouraging smile. The boy beamed at him and ducked his head into his mother’s neck.
“Do you flirt with everyone?” Kat asked under her breath as they resumed their escape.
Sebastian reclaimed her fingers and answered carelessly, “I breathe, my dear.”
Kat snorted at his response, but felt her mouth curl reluctantly. Her hand relaxed in his firm hold, the slightly callused grip sending shivers along her skin, shivers she couldn’t dismiss and couldn’t explain to her satisfaction. Who was this man who had become her partner? He was incorrigible, charismatic, and occasionally sweet. From charming Senora Martinez to rescuing little boys, he shifted from mood to mood, from situation to situation with hardly a break. Her father would have called him a chameleon, her mother would have deemed him a handsome rogue. Kat knew him to be a thief and a liar and a lifesaver and too insightful for her taste.
Winding through the mash of shoppers, she followed Sebastian’s lead blindly. Instead of watching the road, she stared at her boots, covered in the plumes of red dust kicked up by the stampede of feet. The rugged leather had tramped over soil on five continents, in hundreds of countries. She would have given anything to be home.
One foot stumbled, and Sebastian caught her around the waist to steady her. “You okay?”
God, no. But Kat bit off the sardonic retort. Tio Felix had handed her a legacy, and its outcome rest squarely on her. “Where are we going?”
“To Felix’s house. We don’t have a choice.”
“All right.” His arm about her waist felt solid and strong, and the depression that seemed to creep upon her without warning eased its bite. Kat looked up and confirmed that they had not only passed through the marketplace, they’d wandered along the dirt path that led into the fishing village.
“Hold on to me.” Sebastian slowed his pace, eyes scanning the street for cops. The itch that had settled along his spine refused to stop nagging him. The smart move would be to head back to the Martinez homestead and aim for the Ecuador border, manuscript in hand. He could leave Kat with her friend and send her half his reward. But the mystery of the Cinchona had him firmly by the throat, and he couldn’t leave Bahia until he’d solved it.
He hated curiosity.
Together, they hurried along, the roadway twisted into the sloping terrain of Bahia, where fishermen and vintners kept painfully tidy homes. Cobblestone and gravel wound through the tiny town, the bricks laid centuries before by Incans and again by Spanish conquistadors.
In Canete, African slaves had added their labor, scratching a town out of sheer cliffs and uncertain climes. Sebastian scanned the village and recalled his plans for the earlier heist. With a short tug, he indicated a path that slanted off to the left. In step, they ducked behind a long, narrow building constructed of wooden slats and a thatched roof. When he clambered over a low fence and motioned her to follow, she swung her legs over the gate, then leaned against the wooden structure.
Across the street, flashing lights swirled busily. Police vehicles blocked both ends of the street, and officers milled about, watching the deserted neighborhood. Sebastian counted the patrol cars and estimated that nearly a dozen of Canete’s force were monitoring the streets, awaiting their arrival.
“Follow me,” he whispered to Kat, an idea forming. Crouching, he led her into a backyard overgrown with flowers and weeds. The home had little to recommend it, except for its prime location. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 11
“Can you get us inside?” Kat whispered the question at the back door of an empty stucco house that faced Tio Felix’s mansion.
Sebastian refused to acknowledge the insolent question. Kneeling at the back door, he studied the doorframe and noted a simple alarm connected to a fuse box. He searched inside his toolkit. Seconds later, the blue door swung open silently. They crept inside and took up a post at the living-room window to watch the mansion.
An hour later, Kat felt the muscles in her thigh cramp into vicious knots, a sullen companion to the tension that grated at her spine like claws. Outside, spiky rays of sunlight had moved behind teasing clouds that promised rain. The
paved road sweated from the afternoon heat, steam rising in a hazy scrim.
“What are they doing in there?” she muttered. Reaching up, she peeled soaked cotton away from her hot skin. The red-and-blue woven poncho had been discarded forty minutes ago, when she began to bake inside the handmade blanket. Like most of the Bahian homes, air-conditioning was a luxury. A fan whirled languidly above them, moving the hot air. When Sebastian shifted his weight, she could hear his knees crack in response. He’d refused to let her move any furniture, had insisted they stay below the windows. With a roll of aching shoulders, she checked Sebastian’s position.
He looked relaxed and alert, at the same time. Kat marveled at his ability to do both at once, not that she was surprised any longer. Sebastian Caine managed to occupy opposite sides of every mea sure. He fascinated her, perplexed her. His studied candor distracted the unaware from his penchant for half-truths. When he gave a direct answer, she was never quite sure if he meant it or if it was another layer to the lies. Everything she knew of him warned her to run, and she couldn’t have moved if her life depended upon it.
She was deathly afraid her heart did.
“What are you thinking about?”
Startled, Kat said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve never been accused of murder before.”
Sebastian shrugged. “You get used to it.”
Kat stared at him, thinking about the slick response. He made a wonderful show of his nonchalance, of his lax morality. But she didn’t believe it. Couldn’t have it be true, when she felt herself falling. She let out a low breath, deciding that now was as good a time as any to find out whether her heart or her head had the right idea. “How? And how do you get used to never being able to depend on anyone?”
“Practice.”
“Don’t be glib, Sebastian.” Frustration had her closing the distance between them. She planted a hand on his chest and curled her fingers against his shirt. “Talk to me.”
Against his will, Sebastian bent forward, catching her scent. They’d been hunkered down in the living room, inches apart, and all he had been able to think about was her. The thin cotton that clung to ripe curves. The streak of courage that constantly surprised him. He covered her hand and tugged her closer. Juniper and lavender shot to his head like whiskey, burned in his belly like fire. With his free hand, he traced the line of her jaw in a caress designed to explore. That the glide of skin beneath his fingers brought him a brutal ache was of no consequence. None at all. “There’s nothing to say. You’re just scared.”
“No, I’m not. I’m terrified.” She slid forward, bringing her tensed body flush against him. Suddenly, she craved. Angling her head, she brushed her mouth across the pulse that leaped at his throat. His skin tasted of salt and man and safety. “I don’t know who you are or who I am becoming with you. Tell me how you do this.”
“I can’t.” The vow whispered out of him as she nuzzled, flicked wet heat across his skin. Trailed it up to his ear, where her delicate explorations hardened him in a keen rush. He gasped beneath her touch, grabbed her elbow. Yet, even as he thought to pull her away, he circled her waist, dragging her tighter. “Katelyn—”
She drew away, watching him. Desire warred with the conscience he denied possessing. Sebastian, her chivalrous scoundrel. Because he’d warned her, he wouldn’t take. Because she wanted, she would. “A kiss, Sebastian. That’s all.”
Without waiting for his capitulation, she streaked her open mouth along his cheek, capturing his mouth. Drawn to discover, she nipped at his closed lips, the hard line a challenge. Softly, she laved the satin flesh until his mouth parted on a groan of denial.
“We can’t.”
“Kiss me, Sebastian. Like before. So I can forget for a moment. Please.”
Unable to resist, he bound her against him and dived inside. Urgent now, he captured her teasing tongue, tangled it with his own. Hot, relentless, he savored the lush velvet that met his forays, spurred him to sweep and taste. One hand plunged into the mass of silken strands she’d knotted at her nape. Determined to plunder, he bowed Kat over his arm, her form wonderfully pliant, arousingly strong. Sebastian answered the call of blood that commanded a rhythm echoed by their dancing hips. “Kat.”
Twisting against him, she matched his movements. In the endless kiss, she sampled the hard edge of teeth, the black delight of his mouth. She touched him, skimming inside his shirt to feel the ridge of muscle that bunched and leaped beneath her palm. Flat male disks burned against her skin, rose at her urging. When he mirrored the caress, her breasts swelled, sensitive and greedy for more.
Sebastian bore them down to the threadbare rug. Tangling their fingers, he stretched her arms high above her head, stroked them over her body as she arched to meet his touch. Taut, firm globes curved beneath his hands, luring him. Opening his eyes, he broke their kiss, determined to savor more of the lithe, agile body that ranged beneath him. He released one hand to drag her top higher, revealing golden, sun-kissed flesh to his rapt gaze. Bending down, ready to yield to the yearning that raged through him, unrelenting, he murmured her name. Turning to taste, his clouded gaze vaguely recognized the muted room.
“I can’t. We can’t.” With an imprecation directed solely at himself, Sebastian wrenched his hands free and rolled aside. When she followed, blindly, he went under again, slanting his mouth against the full, rich mouth for another foray. To touch her, to taste her, this was all that mattered. Still, warnings jingled dimly in his head, and after a moment, he forced his hands to push her away. His voice gruff with longing, “Kat, no.”
Surfacing, she lifted heavy lids and focused on the sharply drawn face that demanded attention. Sebastian sat up, pulling her with him. When she looked away, he tipped her eyes to meet his. Staring intently, he glided a soft kiss of regret across her mouth, then set her firmly away. “We’ve got to be ready to move. And if I touch you again, we won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
Sebastian inclined his head to the kaleidoscope of lights. Just beyond the window, a middle-aged man sat on the hood of a police car. He had a sagging belly and an amazing bladder. Three Cokes had slipped down his throat, but he’d yet to excuse himself. Instead, he sat sentry, and any movement by them to leave the house would be discovered instantly.
“While we wait, let’s look at the diary again.”
Kat nodded and twisted to remove the diary from her bag. Now, she thought, she should tell him now that she had the Cinchona. Still, she resisted. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Despite his irritation, he couldn’t argue with her choice not to tell him about the real manuscript, Sebastian conceded. She was smart not to trust him, not to let him in on the truth behind the Cinchona. Tales of Incan treasure fueled the dreams of most treasure hunters in this area, especially in Bahia and Peru. If he hadn’t been fluent in Spanish, despite the Quechua, he wouldn’t know the diary was a fraud. Knowing himself, he might be lured by the promise of hidden gold.
Unfortunately for both of them, he’d been able to decipher much of the diary. Father Borrero’s journal contained no mentions of ancient Incan troves of gold. But it did speak of the Moche and Nazca dynasties—of a secret passed through centuries. Of an Incan treasure too precious to be revealed to the Spanish. In Borrero’s words, a secret treasure that his client would pay a king’s ransom to own.
“They’re leaving!”
Kat’s hushed excitement broke him from his reverie. Engines revved, and, one by one, the police climbed into their vehicles and pulled away from the home. The Coke cop was last to return to his vehicle, leaving the three empty cans to roll off and settle against the curb.
As the final car turned the corner, Kat shot to her feet inside the house. Sebastian yanked her back down, his grip on her arm hard and unyielding. Before she could protest, he leaned close, pinning her below the windows. “Stay down until I tell you to move.”
“But the police are gone,” she protested. The windowsill pressed against her back and she wiggled a bit
, and Sebastian yielded slightly. Still, she found herself caged between his thighs, his hard hands clenched around her upper arms. She tested his hold and found it immovable. Having straddled him before, she could attest to the obdurate confines created by his legs. She wasn’t going anywhere until he decided to release her.
“What are we waiting for? We need to get inside.” Anxiously, she studied Sebastian’s rigid profile, wondering why he hesitated. After nearly two hours, the window of opportunity was open at last.
“Not yet.” Sebastian didn’t look at Kat, instead focusing his attention on the now-deserted street. Like many of the towns in Bahia, rich and poor lived in close proximity, with little distance between. Estrada had built his mansion on the street where he’d grown up, the imposing structure tucked cheek by jowl beside modest homes owned by the vintners and fishermen who composed Canete. Parked were an aging relic of a van, a vintage Ford, and a Cadillac, whose primer peered through faded blue paint.
However, it was the black sedan that idled at the end of the street that captured Sebastian’s attention. The vehicle had been blocked by the crowd of police cars and trucks, but he now recognized the car as a Buick, a standard sedan. The type rented to visitors to Bahia at the local airport.
“Kat, don’t be alarmed.”
His instructions were accompanied by his hand shifting to readjust her position. With efficient movements, and faster than she’d noticed, he had her settled into place, her spine flush against his chest. Kat felt the hard ridge of muscles that ran from shoulder to hip, could almost hear the beat of his heart inside his ribs. She listed slightly, her balance shoddy from the endless crouching. Quickly, she clamped her hands on his rock-hard legs, keeping herself steady. In silence, Sebastian wrapped an arm around her waist, accepting more of her weight.
Secrets and Lies Page 12