In Too Deep (10 page)

“Do you want me to apologize for living, while I'm at it?” she finally snapped.

That shut him up. It did nothing to improve his mood.

The next time he turned his scowl on her, she grabbed his arm and yanked him to a halt. “Enough!”

He blinked and looked pointedly at her fingers, which were digging into his flesh. She didn't relax her grip one bit.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then I'd hate to see you lose your temper.”

“Don't push it, Cara.”

“Why not? What will you do? Leave me here? Beat me up? How much worse can it get than this awful silent treatment? The only time you've spoken to me all morning is when you're furious about something I've done or haven't done.”

“This isn't a pleasure trek. If you'd wanted a vacation tour, you should have signed up for one in Palenque.”

She shook her head in disgust. “You really can be a pompous idiot when you want to be, can't you?”

Startled eyes met hers. That was where she saw the first hint of amusement. It was followed by that raucous boom of laughter that made her heart beat unsteadily.

“Okay. You're right,” he conceded ruefully. “I have been a real jerk. Planning to fire me?”

She paused thoughtfully. Let him squirm. She glanced at him. He didn't seem especially concerned. If anything, he looked amused. “No,” she said reluctantly. “At least not until you get me back to civilization.”

“I guess that gives me a little time to get you to change your mind. I promise to be on my best behavior, princess.”

It was said with complete sincerity. His gaze was serious now, his eyes filled with good intention. Cara didn't believe a word he said.
Best behavior!
Horse feathers! The man didn't know the meaning of the word.

“I'll settle for a little professionalism.”

“You wound me, princess. When it comes to business, I am very professional.”

“I'm having a little trouble following this. Do you actually think you've been businesslike this morning?”

“This morning had nothing to do with business.”

“Explain.”

His eyes glinted dangerously. “Not even you can be that naive.”

A slow flush crept up Cara's neck and flooded her face. The sound of her heart beating roared in her ears. “Hasn't any woman ever said no to you before?”

“Not twice in a row,” he said, then taunted, “and none of them have meant it.”

“Then you've been beating the odds for long enough. It's about time someone put you in your place.”

“And is that why you kept me out of your bed last night? To teach me a lesson?”

Cara shook her head. “I kept you out because I didn't want you there.”

Liar!
A chastising voice was practically screeching in her ear. She was surprised Rod couldn't hear it. Then again, judging from the look of disbelief in his eyes, perhaps he did.

* * *

They turned inland the next day. The rain fell relentlessly, hour after hour. By the third day the oppressive heat left Cara feeling as cranky as Rod had been on the day they set out. She was exhausted and too proud to admit it. Her enthusiasm for the meeting had waned sometime during the night when she'd had to sleep sitting up to keep the rain from drowning her.

“How much farther?” she asked, when they stopped to take a break. They'd had a solid fifteen minutes without rain, but the ground was a sea of mud. She plopped down in it anyway. She'd given up worrying about her appearance midway through the first day.

“It shouldn't be more than an hour or so from here.”

“How can you tell? This all looks exactly the same to me.”

“That's why I'm leading and you're following.”

“Thanks for that bit of insight, Davy Crockett.”

Rod took a long swallow from his canteen and leaned back against a tree. He closed his eyes and settled his hat over his face.

She glared at him. The man could make himself comfortable on a bed of nails. “Are you going to sleep?”

“I'm resting.”

“A little beauty sleep before you see your old friend Maria?” she inquired with perhaps a touch too much sarcasm. He lifted his hat slightly and peered at her with one baleful eye.

“Oh, never mind.”

She unknotted the bandanna he'd loaned her and used it to wipe the perspiration from her face. Her hair hung in damp, limp clumps. She absolutely refused to take out a mirror and look at it. No wonder Rod had stopped making passes at her. He probably preferred his women to look as though they'd just stepped off the pages of
Vogue.
She wasn't even clean.

If she ever got out of this godforsaken place, she swore she was going to sit in her apartment with the air conditioner set at sixty degrees for a month. She sighed with pleasure at the prospect.

The following month she was going to sit in a bathtub with bubbles up to her chin until her skin shriveled up like a prune.

She was going to order carry-out Chinese one night and Italian the next until she'd been through every item on the menus of her favorite restaurants.

And she was going to drink champagne. And iced tea. And lemonade. And diet cola. And her special blend of coffee. Correction.
Iced
coffee. There would be ice in everything, including the champagne. Let the French cringe. She wanted everything cold.

She opened her canteen, took a drink of lukewarm water and grimaced. It snapped her back to reality.

That was when she also noticed the movement behind the trees. And saw the still, watchful faces. And the arrows.

Oh, dear God!

T
hey were surrounded.

Cara was certain an entire army of hostile Mexicans was hidden in the jungle, watching them, waiting for who knew what sign before attacking. Eyes wide and heart racing, she bit back a scream. Every muscle in her body tensed and perspiration trickled down the middle of her back. She was terrified to move for fear every one of those arrows would be aimed directly at her. They probably had poisonous tips, too. Not that they didn't look deadly enough as it was.

“Rod,” she whispered, never taking her eyes off of the silent, watchful Mexicans, whose blank expressions seemed increasingly ominous. “Rod, wake up!”

The only response was his deep, steady breathing. She nudged him with her foot.

“So help me, if you don't wake up and deal with this,” she swore fervently, “I will borrow one of those arrows and personally put it through your contemptible heart.”

“What's the problem, princess?”

There was no sleepy confusion about the response, just straightforward curiosity. In fact, he sounded thoroughly wide-awake. She risked a quick peek in his direction. He looked wide-awake—and unconcerned. She felt like shaking him until those perfect white teeth of his rattled.

“Oh, not much for you to worry about,” she said with a nasty edge of sarcasm in her voice. “We're just surrounded by men with bows and arrows. I could be wrong, but they don't seem especially friendly.”

He glanced around with no more than cursory interest, shrugged and settled his hat over his eyes. “Don't worry about it.”

She scowled at him and this time when she nudged him, it was with an elbow straight to the ribs. “Don't you dare go back to sleep. What do you mean don't worry about it? You haven't really looked. Did you actually even see them? I'm telling you we're about to be robbed or murdered or something.” She shuddered at the thought.

He sighed and tilted his hat up. “Princess, quit worrying. I guarantee you there's not much I miss. You can get yourself killed by not staying alert.”

“Exactly. So how come you're not panicked now?”

“Why should I panic? They're friendly.”

Cara took another disbelieving look. She was met by those unblinking, dark-eyed stares. They only reconfirmed her impression. But she wanted to believe Rod. She really did. She tried taking the statement on faith, but her pulse wasn't buying it.

“What makes you so sure these guys are friendly?”

“Instinct.”

“Instinct?” she repeated incredulously. Her heart was hammering and he was perfectly calmly discussing some stupid sixth sense he thought he had. It was maddening, to say nothing of life-threatening. “Do you realize if your instinct had been wrong, we'd be dead right now?”

“But we're not, are we?”

“Oh, go to hell,” she snapped in exasperation. It was impossible to dispute that kind of convoluted male logic.

“I'd rather go back to sleep.”

“Terrific. Sleep. Would you mind loaning me the gun in the meantime? Just in case your instincts have failed you, of course.”

“Princess, I promise you I have not made a mistake. Those are Lacandones. Mensäbäk is not far away, and there are several other settlements scattered around Lake Naja. They know me, by sight anyway. You're the attraction. They don't see many blue-eyed blondes in this part of the jungle.”

The concept was not nearly as comforting as Rod had obviously intended it to be. “What if they decide they like having me around?”

He actually had the audacity to chuckle at that. Cara didn't see the humor.

“In that case, I probably would have to use my gun,” Rod conceded. “Meantime, just settle back and get some rest.”

Since there seemed little else she could do, Cara tried to follow his advice. When no arrows pierced her heart, she actually found herself relaxing, her breathing returning to normal. Then she stopped to consider the situation. If the Lacandones were friendly and if they were likely to be dislocated by the dam, she ought to be talking to them about it, not sitting here letting her imagination run wild.

Cautiously she got to her feet. Again, when nothing happened, when no arrows whizzed past her head, she took a step forward, only to have a hand clamp firmly around her ankle.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

“To talk to them.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“You're the one who said they were harmless.”

“I said they probably wouldn't kill us. I didn't mean they'd invite you over to have tea. Besides, you can't speak their dialect.”

“Rod, this is important. I can work around the language barrier. That dam could wipe out their land. I want to know how they feel about it.”

“How do you think they feel? Just because they don't live in bungalows with white picket fences doesn't mean they want to be forced out of their homes every time the government thinks up some new project for this part of Mexico.”

“Thanks for the insight, but I'll feel better if I hear that from them.”

He groaned. “Why the hell couldn't Scottie have insisted you stick to piano lessons and tea parties?”

“Because he wasn't around. By the time he turned up, I was playing drums and hooked on coffee. Now are you going to help me with this or not?”

“You're not going to give it a rest, are you?”

“No.”

He sighed and stood up. “Then let's go. I'm pretty sure these men came from the settlement near the archaeological site. It's not much, just a few huts, but you can see the way they live.”

“We don't need to go there. We can talk to them here.”

“Not anymore.”

Startled, she looked around and realized the Lacandones had literally vanished into the forest.

Rod was right about the distance to their settlement, though. It took them less than a half hour to reach it. There were no more than half a dozen thatched-roof huts. Clay figures were being baked over an open fire, probably to be sold later at the market at the entrance to the ruins in Palenque. The woman who was watching over the fire scampered away when she saw them. Moments later the same five men who had startled Cara earlier emerged and approached them.

The leader appeared to be well past middle age, though it was hard to tell with his weathered skin. His dark hair hung long and untamed. His flat features reflected his Mayan heritage, and his carriage was proud. All the men were barefoot and wore long white tunics made of a coarse fabric that looked as though it would itch horribly in the heat.

“You stay here,” Rod instructed and for once Cara didn't argue. “I'll try talking to them and find out if they're willing to meet with you.”

As Rod went toward the leader, she began to have second thoughts. Moments later an argument broke out among the men, and one of them stalked off. The others continued to argue as Rod stood by. Dear God, what had she gotten them into this time? She was only trying to do her job, but perhaps, just this once, she should have listened to Rod. They were in the middle of nowhere. They were outnumbered. And from everything that had been going on lately, they were very unpopular with someone. It could be these Lacandones. Her palms began to sweat. There was a prickling sensation along the back of her neck.

And then she heard the music. Vivaldi.
Vivaldi?
Here? Civilization had apparently made further inroads than she'd realized.

When Rod returned, she said, “Do you hear that?”

He seemed more startled by the question than the music. “The Vivaldi?”

She glowered at him. “Exactly.”

“One of the boys traded a bow and arrow for a tape player. It's the only tape they have.”

“How do you know that?”

He chuckled. “Are you getting just a little spooked again, princess? I'm not omniscient, if that's what you're worried about. I asked.”

“Oh.”

“Now, come on. Señor Castillo will talk with you.”

“What was the argument about?”

“One of the men objected to speaking with an outsider, especially a woman. Señor Castillo and the others overruled him.”

Cara wondered if there had been more to the man's objections than he'd voiced in front of Rod. Was it possible that he was the one involved in the sabotage and had no wish to sit down with two people he considered the enemy?