Midnight Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  "A royal one?"

  "One of the old family, of the old ways. Only they have the pure blood to ensure his sleep."

  "And you believe this?” Her tone lacked its usual incredulity, drawing Cobb's notice.

  "Not only me. We have lost almost a third of our workers. No amount of money could make them stay. To keep up production, the bosses have to run shifts all night long, then they have to pay those who work at night an extra bonus. They threaten and they bribe, but they cannot make the fear go away. Only an altomisayoq can put those fears to rest."

  "A what?” Cobb interrupted.

  "A ritual specialist. A curandero or shaman who cleanses and appeases the spirits."

  "And do we know of any of these specialists?"

  "My grandfather is one,” Paulo stated quietly.

  "I need to meet this man."

  Paulo gave him a hard look. “But will he want to meet you, civilizado? He has no love of the white man or the outsider. You have nothing to offer that will interest him."

  "Oh, I think I do,” was Cobb's mysterious reply. Then he looked toward their host. “May I see your daughter, Phillippa?” At the man's first sign of hesitance, Frank added, “Don't worry. I won't ask her any questions."

  A lithe, pretty child emerged from the kitchen at her father's call. She was all liquid eyes and timid manner as she came to stand before the strange American. From out of his pocket, Frank drew one of the delicate silver crosses he'd purchased at the market in Lima. The child's gaze followed the bright metal as Cobb lifted it and draped the chain about her neck. She touched the fragile necklace with awe and delight, looking first to Frank then to her father.

  "Wear this and sleep well,” Cobb told her.

  To this, her father nodded.

  And at that simple, compassionate gesture from a man she believed held no agenda but his own selfish one, Sheba's emotions took another traitorous turn.

  Hang him for showing that he had a heart and making it that much harder to hate him.

  * * * *

  They slept on makeshift beds in the restaurant's dining room with the noise and throbbing pulse of industry all around them. Though they were wrapped up in their own separate blankets, Sheba was achingly aware that Frank Cobb was close by. Surprisingly, Sheba found it easy to slumber in the midst of that chaos. Or perhaps not so surprisingly. She woke before dawn, refreshed and eager to put down some of her impressions from the night before into one of the notebooks she was never without.

  And that was how Cobb found her, at one of the far tables, hunched over one of her spirals she toted in her weighty backpack, scribbling down notes and observations.

  "Looking for a logical explanation?” he asked as he settled onto an opposing seat, literally and figuratively. She didn't spare him a glance.

  "It's an old story. Use a well-known myth to frighten workers and progress away."

  "And you think that's what this is? A pretty simplistic answer."

  "Sometimes things are simple unless you go out of your way to make them complex. I find the obvious is most likely the right answer and the obscure is an excuse to justify an unnecessary expense."

  He was smiling. “Such as?"

  "Your salary."

  His chuckle was as warm and inviting as the cup of coffee he pushed toward her. “Since you're not paying it, why are you so annoyed?"

  "I just don't like to see people taken advantage of."

  "Neither do I. Which is why I want to find out who's behind this, whether it be real or elaborate deception. Isn't that what you want, too, Doc?"

  "It depends upon who's misleading whom, wouldn't you say, Mr. Cobb? Isn't that one of your specialities, too?"

  "Goodness, but we've woken up on the wrong side of the hostility bed this morning."

  She looked up at him then, glare cutting right through the pleasant looks and sultry gaze to the cold intent that motivated him. “You might just say I'm seeing things in a clearer light these days."

  "Good. One should always go into situations with eyes wide open."

  She grabbed up her books and papers, irritated beyond the scope of their conversation. “Excuse me. I think I need some air."

  She could feel his penetrating stare on her until she was safely out of the building and out of sight. Only then did she expel her breath and vent her frustration by throwing her materials down onto the dirty deck. She dropped beside them, not caring if the seat of her dungarees was hopelessly stained. Appearances didn't count for anything anymore. Only truth mattered.

  And what was the truth?

  That she'd been lied to and mislead by those she thought cared about her? Samuels, Rosa Kelly, Frank Cobb—all grand deceivers, playing her for their benefit.

  No more. She'd be no one's pawn. She knew the rules of this game they were playing. It was called intimidation through fear. She'd seen it in countless countries, had been a victim of it herself. Well, she'd be no one's victim again.

  Who was manipulating the area myths to make a profit? And for how long? Who stood to gain if production shut down on this rig? If Paulo was kept from the jungle's interior? If Peyton was forced to close down his lodge? Or was the wily Peyton Samuels just trying to misdirect suspicion by pretending to be a victim, too? How she wished she had someone to bounce her theories off. But Paulo was too close to the matter, and Cobb was to be trusted about as much as the caiman's lounging with supposed indifference along the shore's edge. But let her jump into the water and see how indifferent they were. She'd be a meal in minutes, no mistake about it.

  Frank Cobb was not going to feast upon her ignorance any longer.

  It was just as it had always been, Sheba Reynard on her own, pursuing her own opinions, proving her own hunches.

  "Good morning."

  She smiled up at Paulo, happy to see that his pasty color of the day before was back to its healthy bronze. His dark eyes gleamed with excitement and adventure, a duo she'd always found irresistible.

  "Are you ready, Sheba? There are great things out there, waiting to be discovered."

  "And you are the man to do it."

  He lifted her up by the forearm then held her just a little too close for comfort while he adored her with his gaze. How had she been so blind not to see his very male interest in her? And why wasn't she able to respond to it? Things would be so much simpler then.

  But simplicity wasn't always the answer.

  "There's a truck going in our direction. That should cut about a half day off our travels. From there, it's on foot, I'm afraid."

  "Gone soft on me, have you?” Sheba goaded. Her teasing provoked a very different response.

  "No danger of that, novia."

  Sweetheart. The endearment and the husky way it was spoken alarmed her almost as much as the sudden possessive power in his grip.

  It was Frank Cobb to the rescue with the brusque intrusion of his Jersey Shore accent. “I've had my coffee. I'm ready to roll."

  Paulo's grip eased and Sheba was quick to step back, unintentionally making a statement with that withdrawal that neither man missed. The Peruvian's eyes narrowed at the presentation of a challenge, then nodded.

  "Let's go. But remember, Mr. Cobb, there are many dangers in the jungle if one is not careful."

  "Always prepared. That's my motto."

  Paulo grimaced at his flippant reply. “We shall see."

  * * * *

  The truck Eddie arranged for them bruised kidneys on a barely visible two-track for the better part of the morning as it carried them deeper and deeper out of civilization's reach. Until the road and their ride ended as abruptly as it had begun. On foot, they surveyed what lay ahead as the roar of the departing truck was swallowed up by the cadence of the jungle.

  They entered a world of reduced light. Leaves shaped like fingers, hearts, arrows and blinds covered the spongy ground. Beneath the dense canopy soaring some 150 feet overhead, life on the jungle floor struggled to survive by climbing upward. A complexity of forest vines twi
sted like serpents around buttressed trunks with the girth of redwoods, squirming toward the light from the cool, ferny darkness of the forest floor. The sound of insects upon the wet, heavy air was overpowering as millions of them called to one another in the greenery up above. Light changed with elevation, becoming brighter but diffused midway up on the shade-loving trees then bursting into blinding halos where the crowns were hit by direct sunlight. Patterns of that jewellike brilliance filtered down in startling flashes with the tiniest sway of the ten-story bower as monkeys leapt between trees, barking to each other in quick, hoarse snatches.

  Mysterious alleyways and false paths led off through the brush and struggling saplings, a mass of confusing details to the untrained eye. Once inside it, the forest contained all the secrets and shadows of a witches’ wood where the trees assumed writhing shapes and the streaks of light created an eerie aura upon the backdrop of textured green. Life stretched up toward the sun, and in death dropped away from it, leaving a graveyard of decay at human level.

  Shouldering her pack, Sheba drew a shuddering breath.

  Here was the doorway to terror. The Green Hell from which she might never emerge.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He tried to think of it like a Boy Scout outing.

  Frank had never been a Boy Scout, but this was how he imagined it. A comradic tramp through the woods ... with lots of bugs. In fact, if this was indicative of the Scouting experience, he was heartily glad he'd missed it. There was nothing adventurous about sweating, stumbling, swatting and swearing. The only thing that made it halfway interesting was wondering how Sheba Reynard endured the discomfort without complaint.

  She was a trooper, a true pioneer spirit. She conquered the miles without comment, her Amazonian stride never faltering while Lemos's students, most of them indigenous to the jungle, were struggling to keep pace. Her stamina was a marvel, but what really impressed him was his awareness of just how difficult each of those steps was for her to take.

  She had to be terrified, but one would never guess by looking at her. She kept her dark bogeymen to herself.

  Something had changed. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. She paid him as much attention as one of the vine-choked trees. Gone was the adversarial tension along with its frustrating side of sexual temptation. Since they'd left the lodge, she'd acted as if her Peruvian buddy had succeeded in making him invisible.

  Was it something he'd said?

  Or something he hadn't done?

  Women were enigmas at best, but the brainy ones were worse. More comfortable with business than burgeoning passions, they were a confusion of mixed signals and scrambled emotions. Was she embarrassed because they'd kissed, or pissed off because they hadn't made love? Clueless, he could only suffer her silence with inadequate second guesses.

  She had to know that intimacy between them would have changed everything.

  And, as Lemos had put it so brutally, he had nothing a woman like her would want.

  Her attitude should have made his job all the easier.

  Should have.

  But while scanning the endless backdrop of green for possible threat, watching where he put his feet and she put hers, the gears of his mind ground upon the reason for her disaffection. He couldn't let it go, nor could he ask for an explanation.

  And those two things made for poor trailmates as they hiked toward their first sunset.

  * * * *

  Sheba wasn't thinking about Frank Cobb.

  She was trying not to think about anything as she allowed her experience and training to take over on the trail. Just routine, like any other expedition. Be alert, be ready, and gather every possible scrap of information on the way. This was a job, like any other. There were victims, and somewhere there was a manipulator behind their pain and sorrow. Someone was trading upon fear for profit. And that someone had to be stopped. Keep it simple, keep it impersonal. This wasn't about her.

  That last was a hard mantra to repeat when every step she took, every breath she drew reminded her that it had everything to do with her.

  But how?

  And why?

  That's what kept her going when her inner instincts were shouting, Run! Run away! Hide before he finds you!

  Before who finds her?

  One of the great mysteries she had to solve.

  Because she'd resolved to dismiss Frank Cobb from mind, Sheba concentrated on Paulo to give her thoughts a much needed respite from worry. He loved his work. It was in every gesture, every word, even in the spring of his stride. This was his world, his element, and here, he was king. And every frequent glance he sent her way reminded her that he would have her as his queen.

  Why did she rebel against that notion?

  Paulo Lemos had been her one friend, her soul mate, so why was it so difficult to picture him as a lifemate? They understood and enjoyed the same things. They shared the same history. Perhaps it was that familiarity that bred her mild contempt. Or was it a lack of familiarity? What did she really know about the man he'd become? She seen some very unappealing samples since their reunion. Where she'd wanted him to be selfless, he was self-absorbed. Where she'd needed him to be compassionate, he'd been petty in his beliefs. Where once he'd been so giving and full of charity to all, he seemed stingy with it now.

  Did she really like the man the boy had become?

  Perhaps she was being unfair. No one could attain the pedestal she'd placed him on. Was it his fault that she'd never allowed him to grow within the realm of her childhood memories? He'd always be the Paulo of her wild days—her companion, her rock, her salvation, the image she clung to for sanity when nothing else was real. Now that image was no longer reality, and she could either accept the change or surrender the ties.

  And be all alone with her treasured virginity.

  They paused on the trail while Paulo took samples. She watched him investigate a trellis of vines, lean toward the trunk that supported them to sniff like a perfumer, to check the pattern of veins on the underside of the leaves, separating potential cure from possible poison. A brilliant man, a handsome man.

  But not the man for her.

  She knew, right then, with a certainty. She would never be capable of the answering passion he deserved in a wife. It would be unfair of her to lead him on.

  So where did that leave her? Work and travel, chasing other people's monsters as a substitute for her own.

  No.

  Not any longer. Her monsters were here, waiting. And they knew her name.

  * * * *

  The deeper they went into the jungle, the more nervous the students and their guide became. Sheba, contrarily, seemed the soul of calm determination. Frank had to admit that he was surprised by her, just as he had to admit he was hopelessly lost. He felt like an explorer expecting hungry cannibals and a stew pot around the next bend.

  And then it started to get dark.

  Shadows began to lengthen, filling in the filigree of foliage into a solid tapestry of green. Every rustling of sound took on sinister echoes as the jungle closed in upon them.

  "We'll set up camp here,” Paulo announced to everyone's relief.

  While the light held, they made quick work of erecting a trio of tents. Paulo, Sheba and Cobb would share one, and the others would divvy up the other two. There was very little conversation as they waited for their meal to cook, perhaps the toll of exhaustion, or perhaps the weight of their fears increasing with the darkness. The others were quick to seek their rest, but Sheba lingered at the fire, putting it off as long as possible. She wasn't convinced it was rest that awaited her. Her gaze leapt up as Frank stood.

  "I'm going to check the perimeter."

  "Watch your step,” Paulo offered generously, eager for him to be gone so he could have Sheba to himself.

  Glancing between the two of them, Frank gave a wry smile. “I always do."

  Sheba tried not to recognize her own panic the minute Frank left the fire. She could see the high beam of his flashlight dancing t
hrough the night. He hadn't gone far.

  The sudden touch of Paulo's fingertips upon her shoulder made her rapidly beating heart lunge up into her throat. She forced a smile as he settled close and fought the urge to sidle away to place some breathing room between them.

  "How are you holding up?"

  "I'm doing fine, Paulo."

  "I'm very proud of you, you know. It took courage to come back here and face your fears."

  Her smile thinned. She didn't feel particularly courageous cowering within the circle of light.

  "Have any of the memories begun to return?"

  "No. Not yet."

  The massage of his fingertips upon her tense muscles grew more intimate in their caressing. “I've dreamed of this, Sheba, of the two of us out here, exploring the boundaries of our world together. And I was hoping..."

  Unwilling to hear the rest of that desire, Sheba bolted up to her feet. “It's getting late.” She glanced rather desperately through the trees, searching for the bobbing beam of light. “I don't see Frank."

  "Cobb is a big boy quite used to taking care of himself. Forget about him."

  Paulo stood beside her, as symbiotically close as a clinging rope of ginger to an anchoring tree trunk. His palms rubbed her arms, her hips in long, aggressive strokes.

  "I want you to think about us, Sheba. About our future once you put this nonsense behind you."

  Nonsense.

  "Nonsense?” The meaning of that one word quivered through her.

  "You know what I mean, novia. You must let go of this obsession with the past so that we can move on together. It's unhealthy, Sheba, the way you let it consume you. You bring on your own nightmares and fears by refusing to accept and let go. I'd hoped that once your were here, you'd realize the foolishness of your quest and get on with life."

  "Foolishness?” She turned toward him. “Is that what you think it is to want to find out what happened to my parents, to me?"

  "Sheba, be logical. That was twenty years ago. No one remembers. No one wants to know. You are the only one keeping questions alive and until you face the fact that there are no answers, you'll never be free of them."