“I’m sure you’ll find a satisfactory median.”
“A median isn’t what would give me satisfaction right now.” Throttling her struck him as a damn satisfactory idea. Or climbing on top of her. He was definitely getting hard. Arguing with a woman had never caused that response before; it must be true that a man couldn’t resist a challenge from a woman, and Ms. Jillian Sherwood was a challenge from head to foot.
“Then you’ll have to do as you think best,” she said blandly. “I’ve given you all the information I can.”
Or would. He suspected she knew a hell of a lot more than she was telling, but none of it was given away by those cool green eyes. He wondered why their destination was so all-fired secret that she hadn’t even told her brother. On second thought, he decided that he wouldn’t share any valuable information with Rick Sherwood either, especially when he had friends like Steven Kates. Maybe Ms. Sherwood was even smarter than he’d thought. But just what the hell did she think she was going to do when they got to wherever she wanted to go? Stand guard twenty-four hours a day?
He dropped the subject, knowing she wasn’t going to say anything else in front of the other two. She didn’t trust him either, come to that. Definitely a smart woman. If he had to be honest with himself, which he usually was, he had to admit that she was right in that, too. If she let her guard down just a fraction, he’d have her drawers off before she knew the game was going on, much less that she’d lost it. Since she insisted on going with them, he’d have a couple of months to work on her, and he had no doubt about the success of his seduction plans.
Who knows, if he sweet-talked her just right, she might even tell him what she was looking for. If whatever was in the jungle was so valuable to her, well, hell, it would be valuable to him, too. A man never had too much money. Ben had a few limits as to what he’d do to get it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to seize every opportunity that presented itself.
He made arrangements to meet them the following day for his advance payment as well as the money he would need to start laying in supplies and hiring porters. Now that the decision was made, he was ready to get on with it.
* * *
“Did you have to come on like such a bitch?” Rick asked resentfully when they were back at the hotel.
Jillian sighed. She was tired, and dealing with Ben Lewis had just about used up her store of patience. “I was more polite than he was.”
“You were throwing your weight around, making a point of showing him that the big-shot archaeologist is the one calling the shots.”
Big-shot? She almost laughed aloud. Her professional prestige was almost nil; if the foundation had had any respect for her or confidence in her opinion, she wouldn’t have been forced to deal with roughnecks like their guide. But Rick had always been jealous of the fact that she had followed in their father’s footsteps, and he was quick to flare up at any perceived slight.
“I wasn’t throwing my weight around. I was just letting him know that he can’t intimidate me. And anyway, I don’t think he’s such a good choice. He was drinking this afternoon when you saw him, he was drinking tonight, and he’s probably been drinking every minute in between. A sot isn’t our best bet.”
“So now you want to run this part of it, too?” Rick sneered.
It was difficult, but she held on to her temper. Maybe she did so out of guilt, because she knew the professor had preferred her over her brother. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for Rick, though at the same time she had to fight her impatience with him. Whatever was wrong with his life was always someone else’s fault, and usually she was the someone else.
“What I want,” she snapped, “is to find the Anzar city and clear Dad’s name. And I think we’d have a better chance of doing that if our guide is at least sober.”
He scowled at her. “I suppose you think I don’t care about Dad’s name? He was my father too, you know.”
She did know it. No matter how angry Rick made her, she never forgot that he really had loved the professor. That more than anything was what kept her from writing him out of her life.
“Let’s forget about it, okay?” Kates cut in. “We’re all tired. I know Lewis looks and talks rough, but his reputation is the best. I’ll see him tomorrow and tell him to lay off the sauce. Why don’t we call it a night?”
His tone was soothing, the peacemaker at work, but his cold eyes signaled a warning to Rick. Jillian saw it, though she pretended not to. Kates worked hard at presenting an innocuous front, but she couldn’t quite buy it, maybe because the eyes never fit the image. Because it suited her to cut the conversation short before it degenerated into a real fight, she murmured good night and went into her room.
Kates jerked his head at Rick, and the two men went down the hall to their own rooms. “Don’t get her back up,” Kates warned. “If she decides to cut a separate deal, we’re left out in the cold with nothing for our trouble.”
Rick turned sulky, as he always did in the face of criticism. “She’s not going to cut any deals with Lewis,” he muttered. “She can’t stand him.”
“Lewis isn’t the only guide. If she convinces someone else that those jewels are really there, they might get the financing and go after the treasure on their own. Try to keep your temper under control, at least until we’re on our way and there’s nothing she can do about it.”
“All right, all right. That attitude of hers just pisses me off.”
Kates managed a tight smile. “Just think of the money.” Kates himself couldn’t think about anything else; it was the only reason he was there. He was out of familiar territory and didn’t like it at all, but was willing to do whatever it took to get those jewels. When Rick had first come to him with a wild story about his old man finding a lost city with a fortune in gems just waiting for whoever got there first, he’d wondered what kind of ha-ha powder Sherwood was taking. But Rick had had details, enough that Kates had begun to realize he was dead serious.
He was desperate enough to jump at the chance to involve himself; he needed money, lots of it. He was literally at the end of his rope, jumping at every unexpected noise. His last big shipment of coke had been seized by the police. They hadn’t been able to nail him, but the cops were the least of his worries. He owed millions to the people who had fronted him the money for that coke shipment, money that would have been earned back several times over if he’d been able to get the coke on the street, and his creditors were tired of waiting for him to make good on the debt. Those people made the cops look like Mister Rogers.
Rick’s mad scheme was a godsend, in more ways than one. Kates had just enough money to finance this crazy project. If it panned out, then he could save his ass. At the very least, being in Brazil would give him a breather from looking over his shoulder every few minutes, waiting for his head to be blown off.
If Rick was right. . . damn, a deal like this came along once in a lifetime. The gems—especially that big red diamond—would bring in a pile of loot that would make his coke debt look paltry. He dreamed about that damn rock, dreamed about holding it in his hands. It was his ticket to easy street, if he could just get Sherwood to keep his stupid mouth shut. The sister wasn’t a fool; from what Kates could tell, she’d gotten all the brains in the family. But she was keeping all the information to herself, and the instructions were written in some kind of code that only she could read. He wasn’t worried about her, though. All he wanted was for her to get him there. Then he wouldn’t have any use for her or any of the others. He had plans that didn’t include them, big plans. He was tired of always being pissed on by the big boys; this was one time when he was going to get the lucky break.
The next day Steven Kates showed up at the bar alone. Ben hid his instinctive distrust of the man behind a facade of good-old-boy affability. A lot of people were fooled by his slow southern drawl and seedy, hard-drinking act; it was a useful disguise. Oh, the drawl was real, but people who knew him long enough gradually realized that behind it lay a
sharp brain and ruthless determination. He doubted Kates was smart enough to figure it out.
“You nearly screwed things up bad last night, talking to Jillian like that,” Kates snapped as soon as he sat down at Ben’s table. “She’s not one of your cheap whores. Keep in mind that we need her to find the site.”
Thèresa was working her regular day shift again, and Ben didn’t like the way Kates had glanced contemptuously at her when he’d said “cheap whores.” She was a warm, fun-loving, sensual woman who adored sex; she was not a whore. He kept his mouth shut, though, because now wasn’t the time to get in Kates’s face. After they were in the interior, there would be plenty of time to let the jerk know who was boss, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be Kates.
“Buttoned-up lady archaeologists turn me on,” Ben drawled.
“Well, keep your mouth shut and your pants zipped, at least until it’s too late to turn back. Then you can do whatever you want.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Ben said, and grinned inside, knowing Kates wouldn’t hear the mockery in the title. “Where’s her brother?”
“I didn’t need him this morning. I’ll handle this part of it.”
Which probably meant Kates was up to something. Ben pulled a pen and sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. He’d already worked out what they would need and how much of it; he turned the sheet around so Kates could read it. “That’s what I’ve figured for the supplies, and how many people we’ll need. We’ll go upriver by boat as far as we can. We’ll need two boats; I’ll line them up today.”
“Fine.” Kates handed him a brown envelope. “Twenty thousand for ten weeks. If the trip goes over that time limit, I’ll pay you the rest when we get back.”
“Fair enough.” Ben took the envelope and pocketed it. He would count it later.
“I’ll be hiring one man myself, someone who has been recommended to me. Now, how do we handle payment for the supplies?”
“I’ll arrange for the supplies and bring you the receipts. Then you pay for everything and it’ll be released for loading.” Ben was highly curious about this one man Kates wanted to hire himself, but he didn’t ask. Let Kates think he wasn’t interested.
When Kates left the bar, Ben let the door close before he got to his feet. His pickup truck, a ten-year-old Ford, was parked in its usual spot outside the back door. He was out the door and in the vehicle before ten seconds had passed. He circled the building and pulled out into traffic just in time to see Kates getting into a taxi.
He hung back, something that was easy to do in the Manaus traffic. South American traffic, while it tended to be chaotic, lacked the grim purposefulness of its North American counterpart. He rolled his windows down and let the hot breeze blow through the truck while he wove in and out, dodging bicycles and pedestrians and always keeping an eye on the taxi several vehicles ahead of him.
Christus’s bar wasn’t in the best section of town, but the taxi was heading into the truly rough area. Ben reached under the seat and drew out a pistol, placing it beside him. It was a Glock-17, mostly plastic, with a seventeen-shot magazine, and it was one smooth-working piece. Just one look at it tended to effect an attitude adjustment in unfriendly individuals.
He shielded his eyes with a pair of very dark sunglasses, taking the precaution even though he suspected Kates was so sure of himself that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of being followed. Stupid bastard.
The taxi pulled over to the curb and stopped. Ben drove past without looking directly at the vehicle, then turned the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, he parked and jumped out of the truck, smoothly tucking the pistol into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back, with his loose shirt hiding it.
He didn’t know in which direction Kates would go. He stood by the truck for a couple of seconds, waiting to see if Kates would come by, but he didn’t dare wait any longer. When the man didn’t appear, Ben strode quickly to the corner, walking close to the side of the dilapidated building. Kates had crossed the street; he was going into a bar, Getulio’s, which was so seedy that Christus’s place looked like a four-star establishment in comparison. Ben had been in the bar a couple of times several years ago, and hadn’t liked the atmosphere. A man could get dead in a hurry in Getulio’s.
Well, hell. He couldn’t follow Kates into the bar without being recognized, for he’d have to remove the sunglasses in the dim interior. Frustrated, Ben looked around.
Less than a minute later he was the owner of a stained khaki safari hat, bought from a swaggering teenager for twice what the damn thing had cost brand-new, assuming that the kid had bought it rather than stolen it, which Ben didn’t. It still wasn’t much of a disguise, but it would have to do.
He ambled across the street and stepped aside when the bar’s rough plank door opened and two burly dockworkers staggered out. Despite the relatively early hour, neither of them was feeling any pain. Before the door could slam shut, Ben slid inside, immediately reaching up to remove the sunglasses, both so he could see and so his hand would hide his face. Without looking at anyone, he moved to his left and took a seat at the table closest to the corner. There weren’t any windows in Getulio’s; there were a couple of naked low-wattage bulbs hanging from the ceiling and another couple of lights over at the bar, which was manned by a bartender who looked even meaner than the one Ben remembered. This one was a big bruiser who stood six and a half feet tall—easy—and probably weighed close to three hundred pounds. His left ear was missing.
Ben’s butt had scarcely settled on the chair when a sullen-faced boy appeared beside him. “Drink?”
“Beer.” He didn’t want to give the kid anything to remember about him, so Ben limited his response to that one word and didn’t even glance up. He also resisted the urge to look around. He just sat slouched in the chair, doing his best to look sleepy or drugged.
The kid brought the beer. Ben laid the money on the table, the kid’s nimble fingers made it disappear, and then he was left alone to nurse the drink.
The glass probably hadn’t been washed in a week. Mentally Ben shrugged and took a sip, figuring the alcohol would kill any germs. He shifted his position until he was hunched over, elbows resting on the table, his head dropped forward. The hat shielded his face. Ever so slowly he moved his eyes, trying to penetrate the shadows of the room.
There were fifteen, maybe twenty men there, half of them standing at the bar. No one was paying any attention to him. The conversation was the usual bullshit; the country and language changed, but the bullshit never did. A radio on the shelf behind the bartender blared out some Brazilian rock song. The singer wasn’t any good. No one cared.
Kates was sitting at the very last table, his back to the door. Stupid move. But then Ben recognized the other man at the table and realized that Kates wouldn’t have had any choice about where he sat. Ramón Dutra would automatically put his back to the wall, with good reason.
Dutra was a murderous thug. He was known to kill for hire, and took pleasure in being as brutal about it as he could. If Dutra was the one man Kates personally wanted to hire, then this was rapidly getting much rougher than Ben had originally thought. What was Kates planning? To leave everyone else dead in the jungle and keep all of the—what?—gold, maybe, for himself. But gold was heavy. One man couldn’t carry out enough to make the trip worthwhile, and not only that, Kates wouldn’t be able to make it out by himself. The man knew nothing about the jungle.
Dutra did, however. He regularly vanished upriver, probably to evade either some other thug or the law. Maybe Kates was fool enough to think he could hire Dutra to do his dirty work, then guide him out of the jungle with the loot before he himself killed Dutra. Probably Dutra was planning on roughly the same scenario, but with a different dead person at the end of it.
This made the situation a lot more serious than Ben had anticipated, and the prim, serious Ms. Sherwood was in over her head. Damn it, how had she gotten involved with a slime ball like Kates, anyway? Her brother, of
course. Didn’t the man care that he was putting his sister in so much danger? Obviously not, because he didn’t seem to have an inkling that Kates was double-dealing all the way. Sherwood thought of himself as a full partner, when he was nothing but a patsy.
Once again Ben thought about bailing out, knowing all along that he wouldn’t. Then he thought about dumping Kates and Sherwood while he and the sister did the trek on their own, but he discarded that idea because, for one, he didn’t want to throw that much money into a project that might not pay off as big as he hoped, and for another, she probably wouldn’t go along with it. She hadn’t seemed overcome by his charm.
Not that he’d made any effort to be charming. He’d been deliberately crude and insulting. Well, she was just going to have to get over her distaste for him, because they were going to have to work together to get back from this trip alive and in one piece.
Having seen what he’d come in there to see, he slugged back the beer, wiped his mouth, and slid the sunglasses back into place as he stood. No one paid any attention to him as he walked out as unobtrusively as he’d entered.
Dutra’s presence didn’t simply mean that he would have to be more alert and take more notice of Jillian’s safety; the men he had been planning on hiring would refuse to go if Dutra was one of the party. Now he would have to hire less reliable helpers, and that would increase the danger. There was a fifty-fifty chance that the helpers themselves would be in danger; if Kates was indeed after gold, he would need the extra manpower to haul it out of the interior. A small percentage of the money would keep them happy. Once Dutra got out with the gold, the helpers would be expendable. This sort of theft happened all the time; archaeological sites were continually being looted.
Ben crossed the narrow street and went around the corner to his truck. As usual, it was being swarmed over by a crowd of youngsters. He shooed them off and got inside. Even with the windows down, the heat had built up under the metal roof, but he had been in the tropics so long that he no longer even noticed how hot it was. Sweat trickled down his back as he sat there for a few minutes trying to put the pieces together.