“Don’t shout at me,” Lorraine said, giving a fine impression of royalty.
“I’ll shout at you if I please, and right now it pleases me a great deal.”
“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d had the decency—”
“Enough!” Carlos boomed, and banged his fist on the bar. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
Lorraine gasped and pressed her hand over her heart. For several frightening seconds the entire cantina went silent. Then, before he could react, she whirled around and faced Carlos. “Can’t you see we’re having an important discussion here? When I’m finished with Jack Keller, I’ll take you on. Until then, wait your turn.”
Carlos’s mouth fell open, and he wore a look of complete and utter confusion.
“Decency?” Jack shouted, doing his best to distract Carlos from Lorraine. “If you want to talk about decency, I’ve got plenty to say. Let’s have this out right here and now.”
Lorraine stared at him as if he’d gone mad. She wasn’t far off, since his little performance was a good imitation of a lunatic’s ravings. Waving his arms, still shouting, he edged her toward the door. With the two of them trading insults he’d be able to confuse Carlos long enough—he hoped—to place himself between them. And give her a way out.
Once she was close to the door, he yelled a few more insulting remarks, using the same tone of voice, hoping she was smart enough to understand what he was doing. “Run,” he ordered when she stood in the doorway.
“Run?”
“Get the hell out of here!”
She hesitated, then turned on her heel. Okay, so it wasn’t a brilliant plan, but it was the best he could do on short notice.
“What about you?” Jack thought he heard her ask. Answering wasn’t a concern just then. Carlos was.
The other man dashed after Lorraine, and seeing there wasn’t anything he could do but stop him, Jack stepped into his path. It was a long while since he’d been involved in hand-to-hand combat. This time, however, the odds left much to be desired.
Carlos had a knife and he didn’t.
Lorraine was panting and her thigh muscles were quivering from the run to the waterfront. She raced to the boat, the dock rocking precariously with the sudden movement. Not sure what to do next, she hurried belowdecks and collapsed on the U-shaped bench that constituted the eating area. She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears.
This episode had been a disaster entirely of her own making. She was to blame for everything—the danger to herself and to Jack, as well. When he got back, she’d bet her last dollar he wouldn’t be gracious about it, either. Not that she didn’t deserve every comment he could possibly make. She’d done something incredibly stupid, and she didn’t have a single excuse. What could she say—it was too hot and she’d grown tired of waiting? At the moment, that sounded pretty lame.
Her pulse still hadn’t returned to normal when she decided she couldn’t remain down here. Not without knowing what had happened to Jack. She had to find a way to help him; after all, he’d put himself at risk trying to help her. It’d taken her far longer than it should have to figure out what he intended, back at the cantina, what he wanted her to do. All she hoped was that he knew how to protect himself.
He did, she thought, reassured, as she went up to the deck. The evidence was all over the boat. Everything he read was about warfare, self-defense and fighting.
But her confidence in Jack’s abilities waned as time passed. She’d assumed he’d be close behind her. Two, three minutes. Not so. A good ten minutes had already gone by.
Her relief at seeing him approach was enormous. He wasn’t running, but he didn’t seem to be taking a leisurely stroll, either. Even from the deck she could see that blood soaked his sleeve and ran in rivulets down his arm and onto his hand. One side of his face was swollen, too.
“Jack…Jack.” Lorraine felt sick with regret, knowing he’d received these injuries because of her.
As soon as he’d arrived at the dock, Jack broke into a trot, making it pitch precariously. When he reached Scotch on Water, he untied the rope and jumped onto the deck. Moments later the engines revved to life, churning up the water.
A flurry of Spanish came at them as Carlos and three other men appeared on the waterfront.
Jack didn’t bother to translate. Even with her limited knowledge of Spanish, Lorraine caught their drift, and it wasn’t anything she cared to repeat.
Jack put the boat in gear, and they roared off with enough force to sink smaller boats in their wake.
They hadn’t cleared the marina when Lorraine heard an odd cracking sound, as if one of the engines had backfired. She glanced over her shoulder, but before anything could register, Jack shoved her to the deck and fell heavily on top of her. The shock of his actions left her stunned.
“What’s going on?” she asked when she’d recovered her breath.
“That, Your Highness, was your buddy taking potshots at us.”
“Shots? You mean with a gun?”
“That’s the weapon of choice for your average thug these days.” Jack climbed off her, then helped her to her feet.
Once they were safely in open water, Jack cut the engines to a more comfortable speed. He stood with his hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead.
Lorraine knew the time had come to apologize, abjectly and in full. Unfortunately her tongue refused to cooperate. It shouldn’t be this difficult. But Jack had the infuriating self-satisfied look of a man who knew he was right and was waiting for her to admit it.
“You’re hurt,” she said, instead.
He pressed the back of his hand to the corner of his mouth, then glanced at the slash on his upper arm. He arched his eyebrows as if surprised at how deep the injury was. Gingerly he tested the area and winced as his fingers probed it.
“Let me take care of that,” Lorraine volunteered. She was about to head belowdecks for the first-aid kit she’d noticed earlier.
“Leave it,” Jack snarled.
“No! It needs attention. I’m a nurse and I should know.”
“Look, I don’t want—”
Tempting though it was, she had no intention of wasting time arguing with him. Without waiting for his approval, she went belowdecks and grabbed the kit.
He stayed at the helm and grudgingly let her tend to the wound. Lorraine thought it probably should’ve had stitches, but fortunately the first-aid kit contained a number of butterfly bandages, which served almost as well. Other than a grunt now and again, Jack didn’t speak while she bandaged the cut.
“What about your face?” she asked when she’d finished with his arm.
“It’s fine,” he growled.
An ugly bruise had started to form on his chin. Examining it, Lorraine swallowed her pride. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
He didn’t respond right away, then looked at her briefly. “I see you have your watch back.”
So he knew.
She’d retrieved her wristwatch when she’d gone below to get the first-aid kit.
“Did you put the money back, too?” he asked.
“Yes.” She wasn’t proud of what she’d done. Her face burned with embarrassment.
It had been a stupid idea—another stupid idea—and she sincerely regretted it.
“Don’t try anything like that again. Understand?”
She nodded. She didn’t know if he was referring to her taking the money or leaving the boat. Probably both.
“You know, you’re getting to be a little too expensive.”
“I put the money back,” she insisted with ill grace.
“I’m not talking about the money you borrowed,” Jack muttered. “The supplies. This is the second time this has happened.”
“What?” She’d seen the case of beer on the table belowdecks and assumed everything else had already been loaded onto the boat.
“They got left behind on the dock.”
She closed her eyes and groaned, vaguely remembering the boxes stacked alongside
the boat. “But the beer…there’s a case down below. You mean to say the only thing that got on board was the beer?”
Late that afternoon, Jack docked in a freshwater inlet for the night. Rio Usumacinta emptied into this cove, which was a small, sheltered one. Although he was fairly confident Carlos hadn’t tried to follow them, he wasn’t taking any chances.
As the sun sank in the west, Jack sat with his feet propped up, sipping from a bottle of his favorite cerveza. A smile touched his lips at the memory of Lorraine’s reaction when she realized that the only thing he’d managed to bring on board was the beer. The look on her face had been priceless. That expression of frustrated outrage had almost been worth the problems she’d caused. Almost.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the sense of calm at the end of a day that had taken one unexpected turn after another. As far as his passenger went, he didn’t like her, couldn’t trust her and considered her a royal pain in the ass. Nevertheless he had to hand it to her; the woman had pluck. It wasn’t everyone who could stand up to a powerful drug lord like Carlos Caracol.
Jack hadn’t immediately figured out who Carlos was, but once he did, he realized what a lucky escape they’d had. The name was one he knew well. It astonished Jack that Carlos hadn’t landed behind bars before now—or with a bullet in his back. He had a small band of followers and connections to a much bigger drug pipeline bringing in cocaine from other parts of Mexico and Central America. A few months ago Jack had talked to two government agents working in cooperation with the United States. Carlos’s name had come up then. He was believed to be responsible for the death of a Mexican official, but nothing could be proved. The man was a known killer, but smart enough—and corrupt enough—to stay out of prison. He certainly wasn’t the kind of enemy Jack wanted. What Carlos Caracol had been doing in a cantina in La Ruta Maya Jack couldn’t begin to guess.
Remembering how Lorraine had whirled on the man and primly informed him he’d have to wait his turn had been one of life’s more amusing moments. Jack couldn’t suppress a chuckle. He would never have left her to deal with Carlos on her own, however appealing the prospect. But it’d given him a few minutes of pleasure letting her think he just might.
He’d spent several years in the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico now, lived a life that was the envy of his friends. Plenty of money at his disposal and not a care in the world. Yet he’d felt more aware of life these past two days with Lorraine than at any time since he’d inherited Scotch on Water. This annoying, priggish, straitlaced woman. Who would’ve guessed?
Something else troubled him. She was beginning to look good. Too good.
The sound of a gentle splash startled him. He opened his eyes and sat upright. Lorraine had taken the plunge, literally, and was swimming around in her bra and panties like a porpoise, enjoying the water. She dove under, giving him an excellent view of her nicely rounded derriere. Her legs weren’t bad, either. Shapely and trim. That led him to consider other parts of her body he had no business thinking about.
“She’s married,” he muttered loudly enough to give himself a wake-up call. A fling with Lorraine was a fling with disaster, and he wasn’t going to let that happen. No way was he that big a fool.
Getting too involved with any woman was a mistake, as he’d already learned, but getting involved with someone else’s wife… He shook his head. At least Marcie hadn’t been married when he’d fallen in love with her.
“Having a good time?” Jack stood and leaned against the gunwale, watching her frolic in the water.
Lorraine jerked around, her hair a froth of shampoo. She treaded water and looked up at him, blinking rapidly when the shampoo dripped into her right eye. “I thought…you were asleep. I didn’t think you’d mind if I used your shampoo.”
“Not in the least.” He crossed his ankles and assumed a more comfortable stance.
“Since you were asleep and…and since we’re anchored in freshwater here, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to wash my hair.”
“Excellent idea.” He covered his mouth and yawned. Still, he didn’t move away, not when he could see how uncomfortable she was with him staring at her. After all, he deserved some reward for all the trouble she’d caused. Embarrassing her was an entertaining activity. He wasn’t going to complain about the view, either.
“You’re a brave woman,” he said.
“Brave?” She rubbed her eye, which had to be smarting by now.
“Maybe fearless is a better description.”
“Fearless? If you’re talking about what happened this afternoon—”
“I’m not.” He shouldn’t do this to her, but what the heck. “I’m talking about swimming in piranha-infested waters.”
A look of sheer terror came over Lorraine. He’d never seen anyone move so fast!
Jack couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing.
Thomas paced the small area outside the bedroom. Each time Azucena moaned, he had to stop himself from bursting through the bedroom door. She’d been in labor for twenty hours now, far longer than with either Antonio or Hector. According to the midwife, this baby was breech and the labor had proved to be far more intense. The birth would be complicated.
Exhausted himself, Thomas could only imagine how Azucena felt. He loved her and was grateful to her for giving him back his life. For years he’d gone listlessly from one insignificant job to the next, convinced that eventually something would happen to change his circumstances. For years he’d believed that, somehow, Ginny and Raine would join him in Mexico. In his dream-world, he’d believed that it was only a matter of time before all would be forgiven and the charges against him dropped. Then he’d moved to El Mirador, been offered not just a job, but one he loved, one that meant something. He’d met Azucena then, too, and his life had been blessed from that day forward.
He’d loved Ginny, grieved at the news of her death, but Azucena was his future. He’d married her the day before, as soon as he could arrange it. She was his wife, the mother of his sons. The thought that he might lose her now overwhelmed him.
Fear seized his lungs and he could hardly breathe. Death was said to come in threes. His legs grew so unsteady they could barely support him. He sat and buried his face in his hands.
First Ginny. Then Ernesto’s body had been found at the hotel, his throat slit. The investigation had left Thomas deeply shaken. The more he learned about Jason Applebee, the more outraged he became. To a large extent, Thomas blamed himself for Ernesto’s death, since he was the one who’d asked the hotel proprietor to keep an eye on the American.
First Ginny, then Ernesto, and he prayed to God the third death wouldn’t be Azucena.
“Papa.” Antonio climbed onto his lap and wrapped his small arms tightly around Thomas’s neck. Thomas understood his son’s need to hold on for all he was worth. In a way he was doing the same thing. He was worried sick about Azucena, and Raine was never far from his mind, either.
He trusted Jack to see his daughter safely out of the country, but there could be unforeseen problems ahead. Jason Applebee was no novice when it came to using and abusing others. He was probably furious at having lost the stolen artifact, and furious, he’d be even more dangerous. News had come by way of the radio that the half of the Kukulcan Star discovered in Raine’s suitcase had been returned to the museum in Mexico City. If Jason—
Azucena’s scream shattered the silence and the blood drained from Thomas’s face. In that moment he would have sold his soul for a doctor and a decent medical facility.
“Mama?” Antonio clung even harder to his father.
Thomas slid both arms around the boy and closed his eyes in silent prayer.
When she screamed again, Thomas put Antonio gently down and jumped to his feet. He threw open the bedroom door. The midwife, standing at the foot of the bed, glanced disapprovingly over her shoulder.
“Not now. Leave us. This is no place for you.”
“Is she all right?” he pleaded.
“Thomas
?”
Azucena sounded so weak. “Should I get the priest?” he asked. Dear God, he thought again, I can’t lose her. “Tell me! For the love of God, tell me what to do.”
Panic set in, and he didn’t wait for an answer but raced from the house, certain he was about to lose both his wife and unborn child. He didn’t stop running until he reached the church. He dashed through the front doors to find the parish priest kneeling at the altar in prayer.
“Father, Father,” Thomas gasped, sprinting down the center aisle.
Father Garcia was well over seventy and incapable of moving quickly. Now that he had the priest’s attention, Thomas wasn’t sure what to tell him.
“What is it?” Father Garcia asked anxiously.
“Azucena,” he said between deep breaths. “The baby’s breech.” He covered his face with both hands, terrified of the future without her, and slumped to his knees at the altar.
The priest accompanied him back to the house. When Thomas opened the front door, the first thing he heard was an infant’s wail. The overpowering relief that followed brought tears to his eyes.
“Azucena,” he sobbed. “Azucena.” Uncaring what the midwife thought, he rushed into the bedroom to find the older woman attending to the infant. Azucena lifted her head from the pillow.
“We have a third son,” she whispered.
Thomas grabbed her hand and kissed it. Father Garcia walked slowly into the room, and seeing mother and child alive, he crossed himself and looked toward heaven.
“My love,” Azucena murmured so quietly he could barely hear. She wiped the tears from his face and pressed her palm to his face.
Thomas turned to look at the midwife. “Is she…will she be all right?”
The woman nodded. “You have a fine healthy son.”
“Thank God,” Thomas said, fighting back the emotion. “Thank God.”
Eight
Jack threw back his head and howled with laughter at the sight of Lorraine thrashing through the water in her eagerness to reach the boat. His amusement increased as she sputtered at him, her head full of shampoo with bubbles dripping onto her face.