by Nancy Gideon
He stared her straight in the eye, never blinking. “No. It was justice."
And a dark, savage part of her understood and agreed with that cold pronouncement.
"Well, to make a long, sordid story short, one of those interested parties was impressed by the rather lengthy rap sheet I'd managed to rack up for my tender years. Just small stuff mostly, petty larceny, truancy, just stuff I had to do to get by. And then he offered me another way to get by, a way that would make the most of my ‘talents’ and street smarts. He and his associates needed a minor with a cool head to play a role in one of their little games of espionage. I'd had a good upbringing, so I was civilized with just a few rough edges, and that's what they needed. They'd give me a new name, a new past and the means to finish my education. And I'd do things for them."
"They were the good guys?” she asked hopefully.
"Technically, but the things they did for the good of the country the country didn't really want to know about. And I didn't care, either. I had clean sheets, a warm place to sleep and quiet ... God, it was so quiet. No sirens, no gunshots, no fighting or sixteen different kinds of music blaring. Clean and quiet. I would have done anything for those things. And I did, Sheba ... I did anything they asked me to do, without thought, without question."
He waited for her repugnance, her horror to surface, but instead when she spoke her words were honed to a sharp edge of admiration.
"And I bet you were damned good at it, too."
"Oh, yeah. The best. Men without conscience are always in demand."
Before she could argue that definition, a soft voice intruded.
"Mr. Cobb, your call went through."
Without a word of explanation or excuse, he was up and out of the tent.
And after he'd gone, Sheba wept quietly for the innocence he'd lost at such an early age and out of pride for what he'd risen above.
For although Frank Cobb might paint himself as all black and no white, Sheba knew all about shades of grey. For those were the same shadows she lived in, and it was time the both of them discovered the light again.
* * * *
"Cobb, what's going on?"
Greg Forrester's voice cut across the halves of the hemisphere to slap romantic notions from his head. Like a good soldier, he snapped to to deliver the bad news.
"Lemos was attacked out in the jungle by Alexander. I don't know his status. He was pretty bad off."
Forrester brushed off the young scientist's life with a callous, “Too bad about the project."
Cobb's jaw clenched. He hadn't liked Lemos for a lot of reasons, but the man didn't deserve to be tossed aside like worn-out slippers. “I'll let you know his condition when I have news."
But Forrester couldn't even pretend a polite interest as he demanded, “Tell me about Alexander. Are you sure?"
"Yes. He's here."
He could almost hear Forrester salivating through the air waves. “You've seen him? Talked to him?"
"Let's say I recognize his work. And he's approached me."
"Excellent. Excellent. I want him, Cobb. Alive. Do you have everything under control down there?"
A subjective notion, under control. “Yes, sir."
"Find out all you can about him but make no moves against him. Let him think he's safe for the time being."
"He's threatened Dr. Reynard."
"Who?"
"The ethnologist who met me down here."
"Oh. The problem being?"
"I'd just as soon she not get hurt."
"Then get her the hell out of there. She's served her purpose. We don't need Lemos anymore, so put her on the first plane back to the States. You don't need any distractions."
"But she still has business to take care of."
"I don't give a damn about her business. We don't need another Stacy Kimball mucking things up for us. Take care of her, Cobb. Take her out of the picture."
"Excuse me?"
Just what the hell was Forrester asking him to do?
"Figure of speech. I need you to focus on Alexander. He's your goal. I'm going to have a unit of men briefed and on a plane by tomorrow morning. They'll be at your disposal."
"Sir, you can't send armed soldiers into Peru. Armed American soldiers."
"I can do whatever the hell I please. Do your job, Mr. Cobb. I don't pay you to think, just to act. I want Alexander. Don't you dare let him slip away again."
"Oh, you can count on that. Believe me. I won't let him get away."
"Good. Good man. Take care of the woman. Get her out of the way and find Alexander."
"Isn't that what you pay me the big bucks for, Mr. Forrester?"
And as he said that, he turned to see Sheba framed in the doorway. He had only to glimpse her stony expression to know she'd heard everything.
Oh, hell.
Before he could sever the connection with Forrester, she was gone. And he knew in an instant he'd lost the only valuable thing he'd ever come close to possessing.
* * * *
She was seated in the darkened tent, arms about updrawn knees, her face in deep shadow. Though her breathing was rough with tears, her voice sliced with Ginsu precision.
"You're not packing me off, Cobb, not until I finish what I've come here to do."
"Sheba—"
"No, you listen to me. Sorry if it mucks up your plans, but I'm staying right here. You go do whatever it is you have to do. I won't get in your way."
"Sheba, you're in danger here. I wanted you out of his reach. You don't understand what he is."
"A monster? That's what he is, isn't it? And you're wrong. I do understand, probably better than your boss in Seattle and maybe even better than you. And I'm not the only one in danger. He's after you, Frank. I can help watch your back."
He was so stunned his entire thought process jerked up after slamming into the speed bump of one realization. She wasn't angry with him for doing his job.
She was worried about him.
He went down on his knees in front of her, his palms cupping her damp face so he could pull her up into his fierce kiss. She tasted of salty tears and bittersweet hopes of a happily-ever-after ending to the emotionless void he'd existed in. She didn't respond at first, surprised then rebellious but finally conquered by the persuasive furl of his tongue along her tightly seamed lips. She opened to him with a surrendering sigh.
His hands slid down her arms, lifting them, looping them about his neck. His fingertips burrowed under the bottom edge of her snug tank top and sought out the tiny mounds of her breasts pulled taut by the upraised position of her arms. Her nipples pebbled at his touch, becoming a temptation he couldn't ignore. In a quick move, he had shucked her out of the scrap of white cotton knit. She sucked in her breath as he fastened over one of those rock-hard little nubs, softening it with the attentive moisture of his lips, elongating it with the hard suction of his mouth, shaping it with the curl of his tongue then exciting her into helpless shudders with the nip of his teeth.
Sheba clutched at his short hair, hanging on for dear life, as if by letting go she might lose him. She knew that moment would come eventually, but now, now while he was tormenting her with that sassy mouth, he was hers. And there was no way she was going to surrender even a second of that bliss.
She arched into him, offering everything she had, everything she was, and he took greedily, gratefully. Voraciously. When their clothes were gone and he was firmly implanted within her, she clamped her hands upon his hard flanks to hold him still for one glorious moment, to feel, to revel, in how good he felt inside her, around her. No matter what else might happen, she would always have this moment, this perfect joining. And that made it all worthwhile.
He lifted up on his elbows to look down upon her. In the darkness, she couldn't distinguish his features.
"What? Something wrong?"
"No, Frank. Everything's right for a change."
She could imagine his arrogant grin and pulled him down to meet her urgent mouth, t
o stop the silly, sentimental words he probably didn't want to hear.
Words crowding about her heart where they ached with longing and, for this moment, happiness.
The words I love you.
* * * *
"I'm not leaving, Frank."
He muttered softly, nudging his face against her neck. “I wouldn't let you."
"In the morning. I'm not leaving until all my questions are answered."
He nuzzled her ear. “Isn't that what we've been doing, Doc?"
She started to push him away then ending up hugging him closer. Damn irritating man, anyway. The feel of him was like an addicting drug; she just couldn't say no even when common sense told her to quit. She rubbed her palm over the cap of his shoulder then charted the hard swells of his arm with lingering appreciation. She was a pragmatist. Enjoy while you can.
"I'm going to take the vine to see if it will open up my memories."
He was still, only the soft pulse of his breath stirring against her throat as he considered her words. Finally, he said, “Whatever you want, Doc.” Contrarily, his arms tightened about her.
"And then I'm going to help you catch a vampire."
More silence, then a noncommittal, “We'll talk about that later."
"We're in this together, Frank. We share the same demons."
They'd just shared a helluva lot more than that.
And in the darkness, with her warm, lithe little body wrapped about him, Frank Cobb's cynical mind touched upon a truly awful logic. Was that what this was all about? Had she given herself to him in order to make her battles his own? He knew first hand how far a woman would go to have her way. Had Sheba gone the distance just to manipulate his allegiance? Was she any different than Forrester, using him to get what she wanted, securing his loyalty with the temptation of exorbitant pay?
He didn't want to believe it.
He didn't want it to matter.
But as she fell into a satisfied slumber beside him, he knew that it did.
* * * *
Dawn seeped in like the ominous cloud of vapor hugging the valley floor beneath them, cloaking all within its impenetrable embrace. Mist smothered their camp, glistening on the hundreds of spider webs strung from plant to plant in a delicate weave. For that slice of time, they were suspended in a world without boundaries, without reference points. An illusion, like Sheba's dreams, with reality just out of reach.
Today, she would grab hold of that truth and learn what was real.
And she was not afraid. Not as long as Frank Cobb crushed her hand in his.
She lay stretched out on the altar, where last night she'd sacrificed her innocence and this morning, she'd try to rend through the veil of her ignorance. Anticipation spiced with just a hint of apprehension tickled through her belly as she waited for something to happen.
"Close your eyes and count back from ten,” Ruperto was saying.
"Chunka, isqon, pusac, k'anchis, soqta, pichq-a, tawa, three, two..."
Frank didn't like it. Not at all. Her hand went limp in his, and when her eyes opened, they held the blank sheen of catatonia.
"Sheba."
"No,” Josef hissed at him. “Do not disturb her dream state. It is dangerous."
So he bit down on his anxiety and watched helplessly as the woman he loved drifted through the surreal planes of her mind in search of the answers hidden there. Answers that might well link his quest to hers. There was a connection.
There had to be.
And this was a damned reckless way to look for it, in his opinion.
Sheba's sudden cry set the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms up on end in a bristling of alarm. Her gaze was no longer empty but wide and wild and swirling with unknown terrors. The sounds she uttered, those guttural grunts of fear, were the ones he remembered when waking her from her nightmares. Wherever she was within her drug-induced journey, she was no longer alone. Whatever she saw was for her eyes only. And Frank couldn't help her.
So he remained aloof while she wandered through her nightmare. He watched, uninvolved while she struggled with her fears. And he waited, so knotted with dread and tension that he trembled as she ran from the truth within the confused corridors of her mind.
And he prayed. Not something he did often, but this morning, on this sacrificial site, he felt it was the appropriate thing to do. To call upon her parents to help her find her way back to him.
When she bolted upright into a seated position, Frank fought the need to embrace her while her stare still wandered through a world he could not see. Then she blinked, once, twice, and her gaze sought his with recognition.
And confusion.
"It's all right, Doc. You're safe."
The puzzled expression deepened into one of despair.
"What's wrong, Sheba? What did you see?"
She looked to him in a desperate disappointment. “I was right there. I can feel it. I can taste it in my mouth and smell it up my nose. I was there, back where it all happened. And lived through it all again.
"But Frank, Frank, I don't remember any of it. I don't remember what I saw."
Chapter Twenty-One
Sheba turned to an impassive Ruperto Lemos. “Why can't I remember?"
"It's there,” he reassured her gently. “Closer to the surface now where your mind will be able to reach it. Give it time to accept what it has seen as truth."
"Time? I've given twenty years of my life already. I have no more time to give.” She was thinking of Frank Cobb and his superior planning her exit from Peru. “I have no more time. I need to know now. Where is the temple, Ruperto? Everything I must remember is there. I know it."
He shook his head. “No. You must not go there. Not with the key. It is too dangerous. You must leave this place. You must go back home and wait there for the truth to be revealed to you there."
"I am home."
Saying that, she realized the first part of the truth that had eluded her. She was home. This was home. She'd let fear and sorrow keep her away for far too long. Not again. This time, nothing was going to drive her away. Not even the determined mercenary whose goal was not her own and whose motives were still a mystery.
* * * *
At eight o'clock sharp, a strange sound cut through the air. While Sheba and Cobb stood packed and ready, they were astounded to see a state of the art helicopter skimming over the treetops toward them.
Josef chuckled at their amazement. His explanation was simple. “I still work with the military from time to time, and they owed me a favor.” He shook Cobb's hand with gusto and intimated, “Welcome to the family, bro."
Before Cobb had a chance to question or deny that statement, the camouflaged chopper landed, kicking up enough debris to have them ducking and shielding their faces. All except Ruperto who stood unflinching in the whirlwind, his features softened with a benign smile. He looked surprised then pleased to be on the receiving end of Sheba's hug.
"Thank you, Great One. I will finish the journey, and I will honor our people."
"I have no doubts, child."
With Sheba and Cobb wedged into jump seats, the military bird swept down off the mountainside like a thermaling eagle.
"Where to?” the crew yelled to them.
Sheba didn't hesitate. “Txukamayura Lodge.” She met Cobb's glance with a challenging lift of one brow. “I have to know, Frank. One of them is guilty as hell and will know the significance of this.” She put her hand to her shirt front, over the medallion.
He caught her meaning immediately. She was going to dangle herself as bait and see who snapped. His expression never changed. “You're taking one helluva risk, Doc."
"But I'll have you there to protect me."
He never so much as blinked. “We're dealing with more than one problem. It could get tricky."
"I think our problems are one in the same. I just don't know how they're connected. Yet."
Cobb leaned back, appearing thoughtful. Watching him digest the situation wi
th a professional calm, Sheba realized she would have preferred him to display a little more reluctance over using her to spring a trap. She didn't expect any grand declaration forbidding her from placing herself in jeopardy, but a bit of concern would have been nice.
But then he'd already told her to remove herself from the jaws of danger, and she'd refused to retreat to a safe distance. He was only respecting her wishes.
Sometimes respect sucked.
* * * *
The moment she saw Peyton Samuels, she knew something was awfully, terribly wrong.
Before she could ask, he came down off the front porch to place hands on either shoulder in a bracing gesture. By then, her heart was beating like crazy.
"He's dead, Sheba. Paulo died before they could get him here. I'm sorry. I know how much he meant to you, to both of us."
It wasn't until Samuels’ voice broke on that last phrase that Sheba absorbed the shock of what he was saying.
Paulo was dead.
The enormity of it, atop all else, swarmed up in an unexpected wave of darkness. She felt her knees give as that blackness surrounded all her senses. Even the strength of Cobb's arms around her became a vague and distant reality. Vignettes from the past flashed like stereopticon stills upon the veil of her closed eyes. Paulo as a pudgy boy netting giant morpho butterflies. Paulo as an awkward teen, blushing as he vowed they would be together forever. Paulo as a handsome, self-confident man grinning as he greeted their boat, hugging her up tight and whirling her around until her head spun, like now.
And as the dizziness abated, Sheba realized she was no longer standing on the front lawn of the Lodge. The cloud obscuring her vision became the netting swaddling her bed, and the buzz in her mind the lowered voices of Frank Cobb and Peyton Samuels as they spoke softly on the other side of that gauzy barrier.
"Frank?"
She tried to sit up. A now-warm cloth tumbled from her forehead. Then Cobb was there to support her effort, cupping her elbows to ease her upright as if she were an old lady.
"Easy, Doc. You had quite a shock. Take it slow."
Paulo.
The remembrance brought a sting to her eyes and throat, but she fought that expression of grief because she had to know.
"What happened? Sam, what happened?"