Forbidden
Ellen James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE

N ICHOLAS PETRIE WAS like the island shore itself: lean, craggy, windswept–more than a bit weatherworn. Dana had a few moments to observe him as he came striding toward her at the boat landing. She recognized him from photographs she’d seen in his books. Dr. Nicholas Petrie…archaeologist. The photographs, however, had shown a vibrant young man gazing at the camera with a cocky devil-may-care grin. The individual approaching her now didn’t look cocky. Instead, he seemed grim, and absorbed in his own thoughts. Although he could be no more than forty or so, his face showed grooves that seemed etched by some deep pain. No…this wasn’t at all the brash man Dana had seen in those photographs. What had happened to change him?

Dr. Petrie wore dusty jeans and his faded shirt was stained with sweat in this humid heat. The tropical breeze had rumpled his dark hair, and as he drew nearer Dana saw that his eyes were a blue as startling and crystalline as the Caribbean Sea. Still unsmiling as he reached her, he ignored her offer to shake hands.

“Ms. Morgan?” he asked. “I’m Nick Petrie.”

“Yes…Dr. Petrie.” An unfamiliar mixture of excitement and apprehension swirled through Dana. She’d both dreaded and looked forward to this meeting. Dr. Petrie had once been a well-respected expert in Mayan archaeology. Yet, by all accounts, he had lost his respectability along with his youthful, debonair looks. Nowadays Dr. Petrie was rumored to be a grouch–at best.

“Is this all?” he said dryly, motioning toward the pile of duffel bags that surrounded her.

Dana eyed the bags, too. Perhaps she had packed more items than were strictly necessary, but her research indicated that Mexico’s Isla Calamar offered few amenities. With a six-month supply of toothpaste, every brand of insect repellent she could lay her hands on and tapes of her favorite music–along with the requisite clothes, reference books, photo equipment and her special field glasses, Dana reasoned that she’d be ready for any adventure.

She hefted one of her duffel bags, ignoring just how heavy it was. “I believe in being prepared,” she said, her own tone dry.

Nick Petrie didn’t offer so much as a ghost of a smile. Easily taking a duffel in either hand, he turned and strode back along the landing. Dana hurried after him, hauling the other two bags. They reached a battered old Rover, so mud streaked Dana could only guess at its original color. Dr. Petrie slung all the bags in the back, then climbed in and started the engine. Apparently he was a man of few words. Make that a man of no words at the moment. That was fine, though. Dana hadn’t come here to chat. She’d come to this small island so she could finally work at something that really mattered to her. No more being stuck in a lab, analyzing soil samples. For once she was actually going to get some real dirt under her fingernails.

That heady excitement swept through Dana again. For too many of her twenty-nine years, she’d followed the safe, predictable route. She’d attended the local agricultural college because she knew it would afford her a secure future. She’d graduated with her master’s and then taken a job with Simonson Labs in Saint Louis because it, too, promised a good future. And then, for an interminable four years, she’d dated Alan, a man who at one time had seemed both dependable and ambitious….

But after the recent debacle with Alan, she’d given up on dependability, security–all of it. By traveling to Mexico like this, Dana was finally doing something unpredictable, and it felt downright exhilarating. Exhilarating–but scary, too.

Now Dana climbed into the Rover beside Dr. Petrie, and in short order they were rattling along a coastal road. The view was spectacular: to one side the shimmering Caribbean, with its waters of jade and reefs of coral; to the other side the lush beginnings of jungle–the coconut palms and the zapote trees with their supposedly sweet-tasting sap. Dana had read all about the plant life of this Mexican island, for she definitely believed in being prepared.

Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared her for the queasiness that assaulted her stomach. The road was rutted and unpaved, and the old vehicle’s shock absorbers were clearly not up to the job. As Dana clung to her seat, every jounce made her feel like a tennis ball slapped by a racket. She wasn’t going to be sick, was she? Absolutely not! She could control this sensation if she breathed deeply and calmly. She had to stop being so keyed up. Too much unaccustomed travel, that was her problem. The day before she’d flown down from Saint Louis to the Mexican resort of Cancún, and this morning she’d experienced the choppy boat ride from Cancún to Isla Calamar. Add to that, bouncing around on this primitive road…

Dana took another deep breath and glanced at Dr. Petrie. Somehow the sight of his stubborn, unyielding profile had a calming effect on her. Maybe he wasn’t prone to conversation, but she found that she needed to talk, after all–anything to keep the queasiness at bay.

“Dr. Petrie, I’ve read both your books,” she said. “I found your explanation of Mayan script very…fascinating.” She had difficulty getting the last word out. Just then the Rover lurched to skirt a boulder in the road, and she pressed a hand to her stomach.

Nick Petrie returned her glance. “It’s been quite a while since anyone bothered trying to flatter me.”

His bluntness stirred Dana to speak her own mind. “I wasn’t trying to flatter you,” she said through clenched teeth. A film of perspiration had broken out on her forehead, adding to her discomfort. “I was just trying to–to make friendly conversation.”

“That’s not necessary, either,” he said, and for the first time she heard a reluctant hint of humor in his voice. “I’m sure the people at the Mesoamerica Institute told you I was foul tempered and difficult to work with. It’s all true.”

“Actually, they were a little more specific than that. They said you were a royal pain in the ass.”

Nick surprised her with an actual smile, and she thought she saw a glimpse of the cocksure young archaeologist he must have once been. Only a glimpse and then it faded, replaced by a stern demeanor. No matter what, he was still an attractive man…very attractive. He appeared seasoned, matured by hardships she could only guess at. That was somehow appealing, too.

Dana forced herself to stare straight ahead, through the grimy windshield. She’d never intended to feel attracted to her new boss. It certainly wasn’t part of the plan for her new life! Hadn’t she learned anything after what had happened with Alan?

Nonetheless, Dana’s thoughts strayed to the sparse facts she’d learned about Dr. Petrie from the Mesoamerica Institute of Saint Louis. The Institute funded a number of archaeological sites in Mexico and Central America, albeit on a shoestring. At first Dana had been overjoyed when she’d been granted a position on the excavation of Mayan ruins at Isla Calamar. However, the Institute staff had warned Dana that the archaeologist in charge of the project, one Nicholas Petrie, was irascible and dictatorial in the extreme. It seemed both his career and his good humor had gone into sharp decline over the past ten years. Dana would have her work cut out for her, establishing herself on the Calamar dig while at the same time finding a way to get along with her bad-tempered supervisor. The previous soil scientist had quit in disgust over conflicts with Dr. Petrie.

Beyond sharing this warning, the Institute showed discretion. It did not elaborate on further aspects of Dr. Petrie’s personality, nor did it explain why his promising career had faltered to the point that only a struggling organization like the Institute itself would hire him.

In preparation for her new job, Dana had promptly attempted to find copies of Nicholas Petrie’s books on ancient Mayan culture. Both volumes had gone out of print, and she’d finally located dog-eared copies of them at two separate libraries. It was all a mystery, really. The books were excellent, written in a lively, insightful style. At this stage of his career, Nicholas Petrie should have produced even more insights into the Maya. What had reduced him to second-class status, heading a minor dig on the insignificant little island of Calamar, Mexico?

Dana forced herself to stop speculating. She’d come to this island for herself. Perhaps the Calamar dig was a minor one, but she didn’t care about that. This was her chance at last to break out of the stifling mold of her old life.

And so she was excited. And nervous. Her emotions were pent-up. All these sensations roiled inside her.

“Please pull over,” she said in a very distinct voice.

“Ms. Morgan, I’m sure you’d like to admire the view, but–”

“You’d best pull over, Dr. Petrie.”

Thankfully, something in her tone prevented him from further argument. He brought the Rover to a halt. Dana clambered out her side of the vehicle and stalked off toward the underbrush. She had a vague notion of preserving some dignity for herself, but a second later she was doubled over in an ignoble fashion.

Nick Petrie knew exactly what to do. Without saying a word, he followed Dana and supported her head during the humiliating episode. His hand was cool and firm against her clammy skin. When it was all quite over, he held a canteen of water to her lips for a blessedly refreshing sip or two. Then he moistened a serviceable white handkerchief in the water and pressed it matter-of-factly against her face. She was trembling, and he held her steady with one arm. Giving up all hope of dignity, she leaned against him, silently accepting the strength he offered her.

“I usually don’t cause such a strong reaction in people,” he said. “I make them run away, yes–but I don’t make them sick. This is a first.”

She couldn’t even bear to look at him. Dana hated feeling out of control, the way she did right now. When she was quite sure she could stand alone, she moved away from him–although she’d ended up clutching his handkerchief and couldn’t seem to let go of it.

“I feel fine now,” she declared. “It’s all very embarrassing, what just happened–but it was the excitement, you know. I’ve been that way ever since I was a kid. I’d go on a trip, and I’d get so worked up about the adventure I’d be sick….” Her voice trailed off. She realized she was only making matters worse, conjuring up an image of herself as a spindly little kid who couldn’t even handle the anticipation of going to Disneyland. She could tell from the disgruntled expression on Dr. Petrie’s face that he didn’t want to hear any more about her childhood.

And yet, just a few moments ago, he’d been…compassionate. There could be no other word for the way he’d helped her. Gruffly compassionate. Maybe only the gruff part remained now, but she hadn’t imagined the other.

“I’m ready to go on,” she said.

“I doubt you’re up to working,” he answered brusquely. “I’ll take you into the village and let you rest for the day.” He made it sound as if he wanted to be rid of her, and that only strengthened Dana’s resolve.

“Absolutely not. I’m fine–really I am. I’m more than ready to work.”

He studied her with a skeptical expression, the harsh lines of his face hardening still further. There could be no doubt that he disapproved of her. But then he gave an abrupt nod, and led the way back to the Rover.

Dana clambered in beside him. He drove more slowly now, making the ride smoother. Dana suspected he was doing it out of consideration for her, but she didn’t know how to thank him. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her gratitude; he still maintained a beleaguered expression.

But at least they were on their way again, the road turning and making a path among the vine-draped trees. The jungle of Isla Calamar engulfed them. Branches scraped the sides of the Rover as the road grew more narrow and rutted. Now Dr. Petrie couldn’t avoid bouncing along, and Dana’s stomach clenched in protest. She willed herself to remain calm; she simply would not disgrace herself again.

They traveled for half an hour, perhaps more. Nick didn’t speak to her. The silence seemed a brooding one, broken now and then by the shriek of some exotic bird. The green shadows of the forest pressed in on the Rover, but at last Nick came to a halt. And that was when Dana saw it–the Mayan temple.

It jutted up amid the jungle with all the majesty of its thousand years. Mossy stone upon stone rose in narrowing terraces to the very pinnacle of the pyramid. Underbrush still tangled about the steps, and here and there gnarled tree roots had broken up the dark gray stone. Dana climbed out of the Rover and went to stand at the very base of the temple, craning her neck upward. She was filled with a sense of awe–and gratitude that she could witness this remnant of a vanished civilization. She knew there were more impressive ruins: the great Mayan cities discovered at Palenque, Tikal, Copán. That didn’t matter. This was her ruin, this temple hidden among the forest of mangrove and cypress.

At last she turned to Nick, who had come up beside her. “It’s wonderful,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He said nothing in return, but merely studied her in that disconcerting manner of his. In the mysterious shade of the jungle, his eyes were an even more intense blue than before–and his features even more stern. His gaze might be disapproving, but that didn’t stop her from feeling oddly drawn to the man, as if they shared something unspoken in common. For the space of several heartbeats she gazed back at him. His features had gone taut–perhaps a sign that he, too, felt this odd connection between them. Dana knew it didn’t make sense. Nicholas Petrie was a stranger to her. How could she therefore feel this disturbing sense of closeness to him?

She was the one who glanced away first. Firmly she reminded herself of the disaster with Alan. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to Dr. Petrie, of all people.

She turned from him, and saw a black-striped iguana dart across a rock. Insects buzzed around her. So far this morning her repellent wasn’t doing the job, and she had to resist the urge to slap her arms.

“What types of artifacts have you uncovered in the vicinity?” she asked, needing to fill the silence between herself and Nick. “Monuments, stelae, that sort of thing.”

When she ventured to glance at him again, she could swear she saw a restrained humor hovering in his expression now. His change of mood annoyed her. What did he find so funny, dammit? She slapped her arms after all, as a swarm of whining bugs strafed her. Why didn’t any of them seem to be attacking Nick?

“We’re excavating for remnants left by the Mayan farmers who lived near this temple,” Nick said. “But don’t get too worked up, Ms. Morgan. We’re not likely to make any stunning discoveries. I’m not the first archaeologist to descend on the island. Different groups were here during the 1920s and 1950s. They didn’t find anything particularly noteworthy. We’re here as follow-up.”

His impassive tone made her glance at him more sharply. “You’re not excited about this place?”

“The capacity for excitement is something I lost a long time ago.” He seemed to lapse into his own thoughts then. The silence felt more strained than ever to Dana, but she didn’t know how to fill it this time. She was almost startled when Nick spoke again a few moments later.

“This was once a shrine to the goddess Ixchel,” he said. He still seemed lost in his own contemplations as he gazed at the temple. “Superstitions about it have circulated the island for centuries now.”

The air was heavy, like a shroud of heat wrapping itself around Dana. “What superstitions?” she asked.

Nick seemed to stir from his reverie. “There’ve been stories about the temple ruins being haunted by a woman of the ancient Maya. You know the type of thing–people out to scare each other with talk of a ghost, and evil curses if anyone dares to climb the temple steps.”

Dana was not prone to superstition herself, but she supposed this jungle was the place for ghost stories, all right, with its gloomy shade and aura of deep isolation.

“Exactly what do the stories say?” she asked, trying to evince nothing more than scientific interest.

“Ixchel was the Mayan goddess of fertility, and women once came to the island on pilgrimage to worship her. The story goes that one of these pilgrims knelt to beg Ixchel for a baby and then died mysteriously while still at the temple. They say her ghost haunts the place, refusing to leave until she obtains her child. People also say that the ghost curses anyone who ventures near the temple to disturb her mourning.”

“Hmm…a ghost and the goddess Ixchel.” Now the temple rising up before her seemed more grand than ever to Dana. She could almost picture a young Mayan woman climbing the steps reverently and hopefully, going to petition her goddess, unaware of the fate that awaited her….

“Does the story frighten you?” Nick asked, making Dana start.

“No–of course not. It’s just sad, that’s all. I feel sorry for the woman who never got her baby. But you aren’t trying to scare me off, are you, Dr. Petrie?”

“And why would I try to do that?” he asked gravely.

“I don’t know. Maybe you like to scare people off.”

He surprised her again, this time with just a flicker of a smile. Then he glanced beyond Dana. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a young boy sitting at the far end of the temple steps, quietly observant. It was disconcerting to see the boy; surely he hadn’t been there a few moments ago. He looked to be no more than eleven or twelve, with dark tousled hair, dark eyes and the sun-burnished skin of an islander. At Nick’s glance, the boy came over to stand beside him. The two exchanged no greeting, no acknowledgment of any kind, yet seemed accustomed to each other’s presence. They stood there together, apparently satisfied with the silence between them. Dana got the feeling that if anyone was going to speak, it would have to be her.

“Hello,” she said to the young boy. “I’m Dana Morgan.”

The boy stared at her, as if she’d breached some obscure code of etiquette by actually introducing herself. But at last he gave a brief nod in return.

“I’m Daniel,” he said, his pleasing Spanish accent at odds with his grudging tone.

The conversation threatened to die there, but Dana had always been good with kids. She tried again.

“My grandfather was a Daniel,” she said. “I was christened for him, in fact.”

This tidbit of information didn’t seem to inspire young Daniel in the least. He continued to look disapproving. As for Nick…well, he observed Dana with that subtle hint of amusement she already found annoying.

She refused to be daunted by two such closemouthed individuals. As she searched for a more fruitful line of discourse, at last Nick spoke.

“Daniel works with me part of the time. Come along, Ms. Morgan, we’ll show you where we’re excavating.” Nick strode away, the boy following him like a small shadow. Dana brought up the rear, wondering why Daniel seemed so prickly and difficult. Maybe he was just trying to emulate Nick Petrie’s charming demeanor, she told herself ironically.

Almost immediately the jungle engulfed the three of them. Ferns and vine tendrils brushed Dana’s face. Orchids and other bright flowers she couldn’t identify clung to the trees. Patches of bamboo reeds impeded her progress, but she fought her way through. Already her cotton shirt had grown damp with perspiration in the tropical heat.

Nick held aside a tangle of stalks so she could pass. “Half the time I carry a machete with me. A lot of my work involves cutting back the jungle, as well as digging in the ground.”

There was an image: austere, forbidding Dr. Petrie wielding a machete. But those darn bugs were following Dana everywhere she went, pesky little dive-bombers that had identified her as their target. She pulled down the floppy brim of her canvas hat, realizing just how damp her skin had become. If she was this sweaty and buggy after only a few minutes, what would she be like at the end of the day?

Dana reminded herself that it was all part of her unpredictable new life. Adventures didn’t come with air-conditioning or other such comforts. Adventures were messy, difficult things. That was what made them so satisfying.

Nonetheless, Dana felt relieved when they came to a small clearing and at least she no longer had vines swatting her in the face. She saw an excavation laid out before her, alternate squares neatly chiseled from the dirt. The effect was rather that of a three-dimensional checkerboard.

Dana gazed at it in fascination. Her specialty had always been soil science, not archaeology itself, but she’d done enough research to know exactly what she was looking at. Archaeological sites required a great deal of care. All digging had to proceed slowly and cautiously, information collected in an orderly manner so that no detail was lost. Hence the grid pattern, with alternate test pits chosen for excavation. It allowed the archaeologist to cover a fair amount of ground, while still maintaining proper control of the entire project.

Dana turned to Nick. “It’s wonderful,” she said enthusiastically.

He raised his eyebrows just the slightest bit. “That’s what you keep telling me.”

The boy Daniel looked skeptical, too, as if to add emphasis to Nick’s words. Dana grimaced, realizing that she must sound like a gushing schoolgirl. But it was wonderful. With an effort, she refrained from further superlatives, taking in the rest of the site. Across from her, where the jungle strained to encroach on the clearing, two palm-thatched huts sprouted like mushrooms. A plump, white-nosed burro was tethered near the huts, munching on some hay. It was all remarkably picturesque, but just then a low moan disturbed the tranquillity.

“What was that?” Dana asked, glancing around.

Already Nick was striding away, skirting the edge of the excavation. With a muttered oath, he knelt down next to one of the pits. Daniel caught up and knelt beside him as Dana hurried over to stare into the pit for herself. She gasped at what she saw there–a man sprawled on his side, blood trickling down his face.

CHAPTER TWO

D ANA COULD HONESTLY SAY that she’d never been in a real crisis before. In fact, that was one of her complaints about her old life: no real crises of any kind, no true tests of character. It meant she had no way to predict how she would react in a given emergency. And this definitely constituted an emergency–a wounded man splayed in front of her, bleeding from an ugly gash to the head.

Dana slid down into the shallow excavation pit, bumping against Nick as he leaned over the wounded man. She reached out her fingers and felt the man’s throat.

“My God–I can’t find his pulse.”

Nick edged her aside and placed his own fingers at the man’s throat. “His pulse is fine. Daniel–”

Before Nick even finished, the boy seemed to know what was required. Dashing to one of the huts, he emerged a few seconds later with a metal box, its bright red cross identifying it as a first-aid kit. And then, while Daniel produced gauze bandages and antiseptic, Nick deftly stanched the flow of blood from the man’s wound. With Dana crowded in beside them, it made for rather cramped quarters. Nick treated her to an impatient glance, and young Daniel frowned as if in echo.

“Ms. Morgan, could you give us a little elbow room?” Nick asked.

“There must be something I can do to help,” she muttered. “Who is this man, anyway?”

“Jarrett Webster.”

That didn’t tell her anything useful, but a moment later Dana noticed a jagged rock lying just outside the pit–a rock with a smear of blood on it.

“Look!” she exclaimed. “Someone must have hit him with that. Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said harshly, “but I intend to find out. Daniel, did you see anything unusual this morning?”

The boy shook his head emphatically. “I wasn’t here, Señor Petrie. I waited for you at the temple.”

Nick took the antiseptic from him. “Never mind–we’ll get to the bottom of this somehow.”

Meanwhile, the injured man opened his eyes and smiled weakly up at Dana. “You must be Ms. Morgan. So glad to have you with us….”

“Please don’t talk,” Dana murmured in concern. “You’ll waste your strength.”

“I so wanted to welcome you properly, Ms. Morgan. Do hope you had a good trip in…” His eyelids drifted shut. The poor man had been bashed over the head with a rock, yet here he was politely inquiring about Dana’s journey. She examined Jarrett Webster more closely. He appeared to be in his late thirties and had a pleasant-looking face, even under these conditions. His light brown hair was so long that it touched his shoulders. Altogether, his appearance seemed oddly bland in contrast to Nick Petrie’s. But perhaps it wouldn’t be fair of Dana to judge him until she saw him in more favorable circumstances. At the moment Nick was in charge, demonstrating skill and quick thinking, while Jarrett Webster was completely vulnerable.

Nick finished bandaging the wound. “We need to get him out of the sun,” he said tersely, lifting Jarrett by the shoulders.

Once again Daniel moved with alacrity, awaiting no further instruction as he took hold of Jarrett’s legs. The load was obviously too much for him, however, and Dana added her own efforts.

“I can do it,” Daniel said, no doubt wishing to dismiss her. But Dana saw that his thin arms strained at the job. She realized just how much this boy wished to prove himself strong and capable…exactly like Nick, it seemed.

Under other circumstances, Dana might have obliged the boy’s pride, but right now there were more urgent concerns. She continued grappling with her part of the load. She hadn’t known a human being could weigh so much. Jarrett was only a medium-size man, but all her muscles strained at the burden of lifting him from the pit. Nick, in contrast, moved masterfully, hardly showing the effort.

All three of them managed to haul Jarrett up and began making their way through the excavation site. Dana lurched unexpectedly and saw a corresponding wince on Jarrett’s face.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No, no. Quite all right,” mumbled Jarrett, eyes still closed.

He really was amazingly polite. Dana glanced at Dr. Petrie, only to receive a laconic glance in return. She knew one thing. “Polite” was not a term she’d ever use to describe Nick Petrie. Virile, rugged, competent, in charge…yes. Polite…no.

They entered the first of the huts and deposited Jarrett on a low cot. He seemed to be unconscious now. Perhaps they’d removed him from the sun, but the air was still heavy with humid heat. Dana mopped the back of her hand across her forehead, droplets of perspiration clinging to her skin.

“He should go to a hospital,” she pointed out.

“There is no hospital on the island. We’ll get him to the village soon, though. For now he’s probably better off here, not moving. Try to get him to drink something and Daniel and I will have a look around.” With that, Nick strode out the doorway of the hut, followed by his diligent shadow.

Dana stared at Jarrett Webster’s recumbent body, feeling suddenly at a loss. It wasn’t a familiar sensation for her. In the dim light of the hut, she found a crate of orange and lime soda next to a sizable jug of water. Dana picked up the jug as well as a soda, then turned back toward Jarrett.

His eyes were wide open and he was staring right at her. Dana started a little.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Not too bad. It’s just a bump on the head.”

“I’d say it’s a bit more than that. Here, I want you to drink this.” Moving over, she held the jug of water to his mouth and he managed to take a few sips. She remembered the way Nick had held a canteen to her own lips earlier this morning, and realized that she far preferred to be the one giving help than receiving it.

“You should try to get some rest,” she told Jarrett.

“I feel pretty damn stupid. I didn’t see who attacked me. I was engrossed in my work–didn’t even hear anything.”

Dana settled onto a camp stool beside Jarrett. “Maybe it would be a good idea if you told me what you do remember.”

He reached up a hand to his head and gingerly felt the bandage there. “Not much to tell, I’m afraid. I was alone here, but that’s nothing unusual. I was kneeling down with my trowel, digging…. Next thing I knew…” Jarrett’s voice trailed off and he seemed to drift into sleep again. Dana watched him, making sure that he was breathing steadily. Then she relaxed enough to drink some lukewarm orange soda. It tasted too sweet, but at least it soothed her throat. She thought about Dr. Petrie and the young boy Daniel, off in search of Jarrett’s attacker. She doubted seriously that anyone could take Nick Petrie by surprise…but she felt worried, nonetheless. She supposed anyone could be lurking out there in the jungle.

Jarrett slept on, leaving Dana to her own musings. So far today, nothing had been as she’d expected it to be: the humiliating drive from the docks, the attack on Jarrett, the hot, humid discomfort of the island–the discomfort from Nick Petrie. That unwelcome attraction to Dr. Petrie, that was the worst of it. From the moment she’d met him, some essential buffer had seemed lacking between them. Her reactions to him were too immediate, too close to the surface. He both irritated and intrigued her….

In a short while, Dana heard a murmur of voices outside the hut. She hurried to the doorway and saw Nick immersed in discussion with two of the native islanders–a man and a woman. The woman’s black hair was plaited into a thick braid and she wore a beautifully embroidered blouse over her gathered skirt. The man seemed protective of the woman, standing close beside her. He spoke in Spanish to Nick, gesturing occasionally to make his point. Dana had begun studying Spanish, but she wondered if it was doing her any good. She couldn’t understand a word the man was saying. Often the woman broke in to add something, and Dana couldn’t understand a word she said, either. It was possible to guess, however, that the man and woman were married, or at least had been together for some time. The woman seemed to keep finishing the man’s sentences for him.

Nick was talking now. Unfortunately, Dana couldn’t understand a word he said, either. He spoke Spanish easily, fluently, the language surprisingly melodious in his deep voice. He didn’t seem aware of Dana’s presence, and neither did the other two. She was reluctant to interrupt, not wanting to distract them in case they were solving the mystery of Jarrett’s attacker. But it made her feel like an outsider, standing here in the shadows of the hut, listening to words she couldn’t comprehend. An unfamiliar loneliness seeped through her.

The conversation went on another moment or two, and then the man and woman hurried away, disappearing among the dense foliage. Dana stepped from the hut.

“Were you able to learn anything?” she asked. “I’d like to say I caught all that, but I didn’t.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck, frowning at Dana as if he’d forgotten about her and didn’t like being reminded of her existence.

“That was Anton and Elena Montano. They live nearby and they both work for me from time to time, but they were away from the site all morning. They didn’t see anything unusual.”

The conversation had gone on for quite a while, and Dana suspected it had been more informative than Nick allowed.

“You don’t suppose one of them–Anton or Elena–could have sneaked up and conked Jarrett on the head?”

“Hell, I could have sneaked up and attacked him myself, then still made it in time to meet your boat. But why would I want to do that? Don’t try to play detective, Ms. Morgan.”

She stared at him in exasperation. “We have to find out who did it before it happens again. We have to conduct an investigation, contact the police–”

“I’ll handle it, Ms. Morgan. It’s not your concern.”

“Right. Someone is running around, walloping people with rocks, and I’m supposed to forget about it?”

He stared back at her, as if to quell her with one of his silences. Dana refused to be quelled. She confronted Nick Petrie’s ice blue gaze–and experienced once again that bewildering and completely unwelcome sense of connection to him. He wasn’t touching her at all, yet she felt the beat of her pulse in an elemental rhythm that suddenly seemed unfamiliar to her. Too much had seemed unfamiliar today….

“I’m surprised Daniel didn’t return with you,” Dana said quickly. “He seems to like being around you.”

A wry look crossed Nick’s face. “Daniel is very much his own person. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

Then the sound of voices interrupted Nick, and a moment later a man and a woman came striding out of the forest into the clearing. They appeared to be in the midst of some disagreement.

“You didn’t listen to a thing I–”

“On the contrary. I have been the soul of attentiveness.”

“Like hell–” The woman stopped herself in mid-curse as she saw Nick and Dana. “Oh. Well…Daniel told us what happened,” she said in a brisk tone. “How’s Jarrett?”

“He’ll live,” Nick answered tersely.

The woman now concentrated on Dana, her glance assessing. “I’m Pat.” She said her name as if she expected Dana to know all about her. She was tall and athletic in build, sandy hair curling haphazardly at her shoulders. Her grip was firm as she shook hands with Dana.

Now the man stepped forward. He was distinguished looking, with a reddish beard cropped close to his resolute chin. In spite of the heat, his khaki shirt looked fresh and crisp. Dana wondered how he managed that. He, too, shook hands with her and introduced himself.

“Robert Lambert, Ms. Morgan. It’s too bad you’re joining us under such disturbing circumstances.” He didn’t sound disturbed–merely perfunctory. Dana thought she could identify his accent as French, but she wasn’t entirely sure.

Nick, however, left no time for speculation. “I’m taking Jarrett into the village. Robert, Pat, have a look around–but stay together!” He glanced at Dana. “Ms. Morgan, I suppose you’d better come with me.”

Dana disliked being treated like unwanted baggage. She thought she’d detected a slight resentment flicker across Robert’s and Pat’s faces, too–perhaps they weren’t particularly pleased about following orders, either. But clearly Nick was the one in command.

“We’ll see what we can find,” Robert said.

“Yeah, right,” Pat added, and a few seconds later they disappeared back into the jungle, their conversation resuming all the intensity of their prior argument.

“Are they always so friendly toward each other?”

“Of course,” Nick said matter-of-factly. Then he turned and began walking back to the hut. “We’ll take Jarrett to the village. After that, there are a few things that need checking out.”

“Sounds good,” Dana said with determination. “Just tell me what we’re looking for.”

“I’ll do the investigation, Ms. Morgan. On my own.” He gave Dana a look sufficient to suppress all arguments. Goodness…was this entire expedition comprised of grouches?

* * *

NICK PETRIE NEEDED a drink. Hell, he always needed a drink. Wearily, Nick wondered if the craving would ever let up on him. He just didn’t know. He fought a battle every day, every minute of his life. Lord, it could make him tired sometimes.

The waiter at the café stood in front of Nick, looking bored. He’d probably go right on looking bored, even if Nick ordered some whiskey or tequila. The guy didn’t realize how easily Nick could flush his life down the toilet again.

“Una Coca-Cola,” Nick said. The waiter nodded blandly to Nick and left. Nick turned to stare across at the village plaza. He’d chosen one of the outdoor tables, as usual, but he couldn’t seem to get comfortable in his rickety chair. It had been a lousy afternoon, which didn’t help his mood any. No matter who he’d talked to, he hadn’t been able to learn more about the attack on Jarrett. Either the islanders didn’t know anything–or they just weren’t talking.

Now the heat of the day had lessened with dusk, and teenagers were starting to congregate in the plaza for the nightly ritual of courtship. A cluster of girls gathered at the wrought-iron gazebo like a flock of restless doves, while the boys hovered at the outskirts. In a little while, the males would start mingling with the females, becoming more bold as the shadows of twilight fell. Maybe clothes and hairstyles had changed, but this same scene had been taking place on the island for the past two hundred years or so. It would probably go on for another two hundred years.

Nick shifted in his chair, still unable to get comfortable. When the waiter brought his soft drink, he took a good swallow but it did nothing to slake his thirst. Somehow this evening, watching the kids in the plaza, he remembered how long it had been since he’d allowed any woman to get close to him. It had been well over a year, in fact, since he’d botched things with Kathryn. Since then, he’d left mating rituals and such for younger men. The truth was, getting and staying sober had taken all his energy. He hadn’t even been tempted by a woman….

Until today. Today he’d met Dana Morgan, with her gold hair tumbling halfway down her back and those dark brown eyes of hers that had seemed to gaze straight into his soul. His reaction to her had been completely unexpected, and it had happened almost the first moment he’d seen her down on the landing waiting for him. It had been something about the way she’d held herself–standing very straight, as if she believed good posture was essential for an archaeological dig. He’d almost wanted to say “at ease,” but he wasn’t much into joking these days. Then he’d looked into her eyes and he’d felt lost. Disoriented…

Nick drained his drink and thumped the bottle down on the table. It was going to be damned inconvenient, working with the woman. But he had a hunch she wouldn’t last long. She looked like someone made for happiness, sunniness, not someone willing to hang around a crabby ex-drunk. Nick smiled grimly. He enjoyed his ill-tempered reputation. It kept people at bay. No doubt it would keep Dana Morgan at bay–and next thing he knew, she’d be off the island, boating her way back to more civilized society. If nothing else, she wouldn’t want to stay around in a place where people were assaulted with rocks.

Nick drew his eyebrows together. The whole incident with Jarrett was an unsavory one and a puzzler. Isla Calamar was not known for violence. Who the devil had been behind the attack this morning?

“Dr. Petrie,” said a woman’s voice, as rich and mellow as a thread of honey. Damn. It was her voice…Dana’s. A few hours earlier he’d left her in her room at the local hotel and he’d assumed he’d be free of her until tomorrow. But he’d been thinking about her, and it was almost as if he’d conjured her presence by the very insistence of his thoughts.

Reluctantly Nick glanced at Dana Morgan. She stood beside his table, looking both refreshed and determined. She still wore khaki pants, but she’d changed into a sleeveless denim shirt. Nick’s gaze lingered on the curves of her body. It was happening again, that unsettling awareness of everything about her: the silken waves of her hair, the faint flush on her cheeks, the creamy skin of her bare shoulders… He wished once more, futilely, for a stiff drink.

“Ms. Morgan,” he said. “I’m surprised you were able to find me in the teeming metropolis of La Ceiba.” It seemed he still knew how to joke, after all. The town was so small that you didn’t have to look very hard to find anyone.

Dana pulled out a chair and sat across from him without waiting for an invitation. “Jarrett’s sleeping again,” she announced. “I think he’s doing much better. The village doctor said you did a good job of treating Jarrett yourself. At least, that’s what I think the doctor said.”

Nick shrugged noncommittally. The village doctor was a seventy-eight-year-old man who’d retired to the island over a decade earlier, but his opinion was probably as good as anyone’s.

“I’m surprised you left Jarrett alone,” Nick remarked. “You seem to think the attacker will be back.”

“It’s a very strong possibility, isn’t it? But I managed to communicate with the lady at the hotel. She promised she’d keep the door to Jarrett’s room locked and that she’d watch out for him.”

Nick was impressed. The lofty proprietress of the village’s one hotel rarely did favors for anyone. “So you have everything under control, Ms. Morgan. You should try to get some rest.”

She didn’t take the hint, but simply went on gazing at him with earnest intensity. “I need to know more. Did you talk to the police yet?”

He stifled a groan. She was still gung ho, determined to crack the case herself. “Yes, Ms. Morgan, I spoke to the police. Correction–I spoke to Inspector Maciel, the one policeman on the island. He’s a rather elderly friend of the doctor’s, by the way, but he still takes his job seriously in spite of his gout and nearsightedness. He’s looking into the matter.”

Dana made a restless gesture. “Are you trying to be funny? But there must be something more we can do.”

“Not ’we,’ Ms. Morgan. I’m the one in charge.”

“I see.” She gave him a disdainful glance. “That’s why you’re sitting here…doing nothing.”

“I figured I’d start rounding up suspects any second now.”

Dana sighed and propped her elbows on the table. “Dr. Petrie, at least talk to me about what’s going on. Why would someone want to harm Jarrett Webster? Does he have any enemies?”

Against his better judgment, Nick eased back in his seat and answered her question. “Jarrett doesn’t have any enemies that I know of. He’s been working at the dig as long as I have–almost seven months. In that time, he seems to have charmed just about everyone on the island.” Nick couldn’t keep a little sarcasm out of his voice. In his opinion, Jarrett overdid the charm bit. Dana, however, didn’t seem to think so.

“He does seem like quite an affable person, even with a wound to the head,” she remarked.

Nick felt a distracting sensation, and it took a moment for him to identify the fact that he resented Dana’s approval of Jarrett. Lord, maybe he should have his own head examined.

“Okay, so we’ve established that Jarrett is a wonderful guy,” he said sardonically. “No enemies, just admirers. The next logical conclusion is that the attacker is angry about the dig itself.”

Dana looked interested and leaned toward him. “Why would anyone be angry?” she asked.

Nick wondered if she knew what a sexy voice she had. Here she was trying to sound professional and businesslike, and all the while her voice held a hint of natural huskiness. He rubbed the back of his neck. For one reason or another, he’d gone hot under the collar.

With an effort, he concentrated on the subject of Jarrett’s attacker. “Many people on the island don’t like the fact that we’re excavating. There are different reasons. Some islanders are afraid we’ll disturb the goddess Ixchel or the ghost who haunts the temple. They say the whole island is in danger of being cursed. Others just plain dislike outsiders prying into their heritage. And still others…” Nick paused, then went on. “Let’s just say that certain traders in the island’s black market might resent our dig.”

“Black market–what do you mean?”

Nick figured he might as well explain; it was something Dana would hear about sooner or later. “If you know where to look, this entire island is littered with Mayan artifacts–pottery, clay figurines, simple jewelry and the like. Over the years, the islanders have taken to selling these items illegally to tourists–who, for a few measly pesos, can sneak pieces of Mayan heritage out in their suitcases as souvenirs. Unfortunately, it’s all become part of the island economy.” Nick shook his head. “Once these antiquities get into private hands, they’re lost forever.”

“Can’t something be done?” Dana asked.

“Ms. Morgan, I don’t like it any more than you do. If I could stop the smuggling, I would. But I’m also realistic. I don’t have the power to stop it. And besides, if you took away the illegal trade from this island, the already fragile economy would be threatened. The place barely survives as it is.”

Dana glanced around the plaza. “It’s a shame people have to sell off their past to pay for their present….”

“I’d call it a tragedy. Still, I’ve done the best I can under the circumstances. I have an unspoken agreement with Inspector Maciel. He makes certain the illegal traders stay off my turf and I don’t raise a fuss about what they do elsewhere. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. Perhaps this attack on Jarrett…” Nick stopped, preferring to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself.

“Well, there must be someone we can question about Jarrett–someone who knows something.”

“Ms. Morgan, think about it. No one is going to come out and admit they bashed Jarrett with a rock. Sure, I’ve spoken to people–and they all deny knowing anything about what happened.”

Dana tapped her fingers on the table. “I hate to feel useless like this. Are we just going to sit around and wait for it to happen again?”

“We’ll take precautions. Meanwhile, I’ll continue investigating…without the benefit of your own formidable sleuthing abilities.”

She seemed determined to ignore his sarcasm. She also seemed determined to stay here and needle him. “I’m afraid we might be missing something that’s right under our noses,” she declared. “Who else works at the dig?”

“Aside from the Montanos, other islanders pitch in at times. Then there’s Tim Reese, a university student getting summer credit for helping. He’s on the mainland right now, buying supplies.”

“Anyone else?”

“You’ve met the rest of them. Daniel has been hanging around the dig almost from the beginning. He’s a sharp kid–maybe too sharp for his own good.” The subject of Daniel was something else again. Nick had some worries about the kid…several worries, to be exact. But Dana didn’t need to know about those. Nick went on. “Robert’s a volunteer of sorts, Pat just got her Ph.D. in anthropology, Jarrett’s the resident ethnographer and I’m the…resident pain in the ass.”

Dana gave a sagacious nod. “That much I believe. But there’s no one else?”

“That’s it.”

“I knew the dig was understaffed, but still…” She kept her musings to herself as evening darkened into night. Across the street, the lights of the gazebo glittered over the plaza. And from the windows of the café, light spilled over Dana, turning her hair a deep burnished gold.

“Ms. Morgan–” Nick began.

“You may as well call me Dana.”

He gazed at her. Someone had started to thrum a guitar in the plaza, the melody carrying plaintively. The warm island breeze was sultry, stirring strands of hair against Dana’s cheek. Nick had a sudden urge to touch her cheek himself, to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked.

What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even know this woman…and he didn’t want her to know him. What would she say if she learned how he’d messed up his life? She’d probably get up and walk away. She wouldn’t sit here gazing back at him, her lips parted slightly, as if he’d caught her off guard….

He couldn’t act on this raw attraction he felt, that was for sure. He had to work with Dana Morgan for as long as she remained on the island, not fantasize about her.

She dropped her gaze from his, impatiently pushing the hair away from her face. “Anyway,” she said, “you can’t shut me out of this thing. I want to know who attacked Jarrett–and why.”

“If you’re so concerned about Jarrett, go nurse the guy or something. I’m sure he’d be delighted.”

She didn’t budge. She remained seated stubbornly right where she was. The bored waiter, finally realizing that he had another patron, appeared with a menu for Dana. She opened it and perused it with great concentration.

“I’m famished,” she announced. “This sounds good…ceviche.“ She probably had no idea it meant marinated fish.

“That wouldn’t be wise,” Nick said. “Especially after your…uh, indisposition today.”

Even in the hazy light, he could tell her face was turning red. “What happened this morning–it was just an aberration. My stomach’s usually as–as solid as a rock.”

“Except when you’re contemplating an adventure,” he reminded her. “That’s what you told me, anyway.”

She slapped her menu shut. “Everyone has…peculiarities.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He had his own peculiarities, for that matter. He called to the waiter and ordered a more reasonable meal for Dana–tortillas and rice. She looked put out, although she didn’t object. He knew it wasn’t any business of his what she ate, but he didn’t want her to be sick again.

Eventually Dana’s food came. “It looks delicious,” she said. “Aren’t you having anything to eat?”

“No.” Breaking bread with her would be going too far. He was accustomed to solitary meals, and he didn’t intend Dana Morgan to get any ideas otherwise.

She seemed to have exhausted all conversation and Nick didn’t help her any. He tried concentrating on the activity in the plaza, but it wasn’t easy. Even when he wasn’t looking at Dana, the uncomfortable awareness of her remained. She was like some beautiful painting he wanted to study again and again, seeking nuances he hadn’t noticed before. His gaze strayed to her. She looked young to him, young and clear-eyed and confident. She ate with good appetite, regardless of everything that had happened today. Nick tried to remember the last time he had enjoyed food with that type of zest. He tried to remember the last time he’d enjoyed anything with zest. It had been a long while ago…too long ago.

The combination of his silence and scrutiny finally seemed to discourage Dana. She pushed her empty plate aside, slapping some money on the table to pay for her meal–as if to advise Nick she considered herself his equal and didn’t expect any favors.

“Good night…Nick.” She stood and glanced at him one more time. She’d used his name defiantly, emphasizing once again that she considered herself his equal. Then she turned and strode away.

He’d succeeded in running her off, after all. She moved with that graceful posture of hers, and Nick suspected her mother had made her walk around with a book on her head. Dana Morgan seemed like the type of woman who would have adoring parents somewhere, beaming over her accomplishments. She’d probably even grown up in a house with a white picket fence and some happy mutt of a dog.

She turned the corner toward the hotel, and he could no longer see her. Feeling vaguely dissatisfied, he ordered another Coke. He just hoped Dana didn’t last long on the island. For his own peace of mind, he hoped he could make her leave.

CHAPTER THREE

L ATE NEXT MORNING, Dana sat cross-legged under the shade of a palm, drinking another lukewarm orange soda. If there was one thing she’d learned so far, it was that the tropical heat of Isla Calamar produced an endless thirst in her. It made her long to go find the beach and jump into the waters of the Caribbean. However, Dana’s busy schedule with Dr. Petrie allowed no time for frivolous activities such as swimming. It was surprising that he had permitted her even this short break. She’d spent the entire morning with him at the excavation site, learning her duties. Robert and Pat were off together, making preparations to open a new site. Apparently young Daniel had business elsewhere today, and none of the other islanders had appeared–which left Dana alone with Nick. Not the most comfortable of situations.

Jarrett, meanwhile, was recovering well, but the kindly old village doctor had advised complete bed rest for the next few days. Dana had taken it upon herself to make sure the doctor’s orders were strictly observed. Ignoring Jarrett’s protests, she’d left him under the charge of the hotelkeeper. From the beginning, the hotelkeeper had seemed to enjoy allying herself with Dana. In spite of the language barrier, they were both women, after all, out to convince Jarrett they knew what was best for him.

Nick, however, had followed his own agenda. Dana seriously doubted anyone could tell him what to do. He had spent the night camped out at the dig, lying in wait should the attacker return. Nothing untoward had happened, and Nick had come back to the village to announce that work would proceed as usual. He’d seemed determined to have the excavations progress–no matter what.

And so he had made sure that Dana was very busy all morning. They’d thoroughly gone over the charts of stratum analysis she’d be updating in minute detail, as well as other complex field notes that would be her responsibility. Nick had also introduced her to the actual tools she’d be using. Screens, brushes, plumb lines, rods, trowels, shovels–and yes, her bare hands. Archaeology was definitely a hands-on experience.

All in all, it had been a most instructive morning–but a tense one, too. Dana couldn’t seem to relax around Dr. Nicholas Petrie. His presence was simply too…forceful. At the moment, for instance, he sat across from Dana, frowning over the rim of his own orange soda, lost in thoughts she couldn’t even begin to imagine. She felt edgy in his proximity, yet her gaze kept straying to him, tracing the bold, hard lines of his face. Dana didn’t understand her confusing reactions to Nick. She far preferred more straightforward feelings. Usually, either she liked someone or she didn’t, and that was that. But with Nick Petrie, the words like and dislike were much too tame. After all, Dana couldn’t very well say that she merely disliked the uneasiness that Nick caused her, or that she liked his unquestionable virility. More potent words were needed….

Dana shifted uneasily at the direction of her thoughts, and this seemed to prompt Nick from his own musings. He gave her a disparaging look.

“Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me you’d never worked on a dig before?” he asked.

“I can’t be responsible for the lack of communication between you and the Institute,” Dana said, immediately on the defensive. “Besides, you need a soil expert–and I’m a soil expert.”

“The way you tell it, you’ve spent the last six years cooped up in a lab. That’s no experience for the type of work we do here.”

The disgust in his tone rankled her, and she treated him to a frown of her own. “Look, I have the knowledge you need. I received my master’s from Adams College in Missouri, a very respectable school. And the Simonson Labs in Saint Louis are at the very forefront of agricultural research.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. His expression was more than eloquent, seeming to convey the opinion that her stint at the labs had been one step above a jail sentence.

Maybe Dana was so annoyed because that was how she’d felt at her job. She’d been simply one more employee in a large impersonal firm, facing the same routine day after day. Yes…it had been a jail sentence of sorts.

Dana tightened her grip on the soda. “You should be aware that I also grew up on a farm in Missouri. I know soil as well as anyone you’ll find–farm soil. Considering that you’re trying to prove Mayan farmers actually made a go of it on this island–don’t you think I’m qualified for the job?”

He didn’t answer. He just went on studying her. For some reason, all he wanted to do was point out her deficiencies. He wanted to think the worst of her.

“Why did you decide to come here?” Nick muttered at last. “You just wanted some type of diversion, is that it? An adventure, as you keep putting it.”

Dana cursed herself for growing too voluble during the course of the morning. She’d confided in Nick her need for new experiences in her life…in other words, adventure. But maybe it was time to give him something else to think about.

“Do you want to know why I really tossed everything aside and came flying down to Mexico? I’ll tell you why. It’s because…because I proposed to a man and he turned me down flat.”

She certainly appeared to have captured Nick’s interest. He stirred a little. “You’re here because of your love life?”

“Exactly. I asked Alan to marry me, he said no–and here I am.” She took a thoughtful sip of her soda. “I wasted a lot of effort on that proposal, you know. I planned everything out so carefully. The flowers, the candles, the music. Scented beeswax candles, of course, and a centerpiece of blue clematis.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me what kind of music you used to serenade the guy,” Nick said in a long-suffering tone.

Dana sighed. “Alan’s always been partial to country music. Not that it did me any good. He simply ate his chicken fricassee and told me he’d be perfectly happy if he went on sleeping over at my place four nights a week. I suppose after that I just snapped. I knew I had to change my life. I applied to the Mesoamerica Institute, quit my job at the lab, dumped Alan. Pretty much in that order.” Dana started to wish she hadn’t blurted this out, after all. It was rather a pathetic story–proposing to a man and having him turn you down. It didn’t make her sound particularly on top of things, and Nick was contemplating her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

Yet breaking off with Alan was one of the best things Dana had ever done. It was proof that she knew how to start a new life…a better life. She was proud of herself for that, but she didn’t know how to explain it to Nick Petrie. Maybe, where Nick was concerned, it would be better not to explain. Everything she said only seemed to make him more skeptical about her.

She tried to be businesslike. “I think I’ve had enough of a break. We ought to get back to work–and I want to return to the village as soon as possible to check on Jarrett.”

Now Nick’s expression became inscrutable. “Jarrett again,” he commented. “You keep mentioning him.”

“I have to admit he’s foremost on my mind. After what happened to him yesterday, it seems we have to be aware of danger.”

“There are dangers on this island, all right,” Nick said quietly. His tone of voice seemed ominous to her, and she gave him a quick glance.

“What do you mean?”

“For one thing, Ms. Morgan…you’re sitting under a coconut palm. A stiff breeze and the hazards should be obvious.”

Dana glanced up and saw the cluster of coconuts dangling fifty feet above her head. Nick Petrie’s unexpected sense of humor manifested itself at the most exasperating times. She scrambled to her feet and stalked away from the palm.

“Dammit, I wonder if you take the attack on Jarrett seriously at all.”

He rose to stand beside her, his face suddenly grim. “I take it very seriously, Dana. Until we know what happened, I want you to be careful. Stay aware of what’s going on around you.”

“Yes…of course I will.” But it was another type of awareness that concerned her at the moment. Much to her dismay, she was feeling it again–that connection to Nick. All her senses seemed attuned to him. She saw the steady rise and fall of his chest under the sweat-dampened cloth of his shirt and suddenly she knew that she had to get away from him. She didn’t understand why he affected her this way. She didn’t want to understand.

And then it happened. Nick raised his hand and touched her cheek. His fingers were very warm, his skin roughened from digging in the earth. And so his touch was warm and rough and gentle all at once. But there was nothing gentle about her reaction. Heat rippled through her, a heat that had nothing to do with the tropical weather.

Nick’s gaze held hers–intense, uncompromising. And she knew of a surety that he, too, felt what she did: an attraction that was sexual and yet something more, as if they’d met in some other lifetime and only now had stumbled across each other’s path again.

Dana felt afraid in a way she’d never known before. She pulled away from Nick and hurried to find work to do–any work.

There were dangers on this island, indeed. The greatest danger of all was Nick Petrie.

* * *

SEVERAL DAYS LATER someone stole Nick’s machete. Nick went through the tools one more time, just to make sure. But he already knew it wasn’t there: his machete, the only one he used. He always brought it back to the hut, along with the other tools. This project operated on such a meager budget that he couldn’t afford to lose anything, no matter how basic. And there was something else to consider. After the unexplained attack on Jarrett, any unusual incident had to be noted and investigated.

Nick straightened up, trying to stifle his irritation. A few minutes earlier, he’d questioned the others. Everyone, including Dana, said they hadn’t seen the machete.

Nick felt something tighten in his gut, just thinking about Dana Morgan. She’d now been on the island almost two weeks, and she’d proven herself to be a hard, efficient worker. Maybe she’d never been on a dig before, but she was a quick learner. He couldn’t fault her there. No…what really bothered him was the way her presence permeated the damn place. No woman had ever had quite this effect on him, not even his ex-wife. It was an aberration. Lord, they always said alcohol killed your brain cells. Maybe that had happened to him, after too many years of drinking. He’d killed off any sense he had, and now he spent his time daydreaming about his soil scientist.

There was another possible explanation. He hadn’t had sex in so long, no wonder he was overreacting to Dana. She was beautiful and innocently sensual enough to disturb all his concentration. He couldn’t figure out why she seemed untouched in some basic way. She’d made it clear that she’d had at least one lover–the guy who hadn’t been swayed by her marriage proposal. Therefore she wasn’t inexperienced….

He had to stop speculating about Dana, sexually or otherwise. He had enough problems as it was. Then it occurred to Nick. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex and been sober at the same time. For all he knew, he couldn’t even function without alcohol in his bloodstream. That was a joke, all right. Not a humorous one, but he almost laughed.

Daniel poked his head into the hut just then. “I’ve looked everywhere, Señor Petrie. No machete.”

“Figures. Thanks for checking, anyway, Daniel. Have a seat.” Nick tossed the kid a can of pineapple juice and popped one open for himself. He settled down behind his rickety field desk, while Daniel appropriated one of the camp stools and they shared several moments of companionable silence. Daniel was only thirteen, but already he’d learned the art of keeping his mouth shut. As far as Nick was concerned, it was a skill more people needed to master.

Nick studied the boy. Daniel claimed to live in the village, although he was always vague about his family’s identity. Nick suspected the kid was on his own. He was too darn skinny, for one thing. And every day he wore the same clothes: a rumpled plaid shirt with two buttons missing, a pair of threadbare shorts and sandals with frayed straps.

Nick tore open a bag of potato chips and offered some to Daniel. The kid shook his head. Maybe he’d drink some juice now and then with Nick, but he seemed to make it a point of honor to decline food. Evidently being too skinny was part of his independence.

“I had breakfast before I came,” he said.

“What did your mom fix for you?” Nick asked casually. “Or maybe your dad does the cooking.”

Daniel looked wary. “I had plátanos fritos–fried plantains. They were pretty good.”

The kid was smart, all right. He didn’t overexplain, didn’t invent elaborate stories about a family–stories that might be too easily detected as falsifications. Instead he offered as little information as possible, stubbornly and persistently protecting his own privacy.

Nick tried another tactic. “You do good work around here, Daniel. I could use you more often, if you have the time.”

The boy’s expression grew more wary still. “I’m busy, Señor Petrie. I come here as often as I can.” Now Daniel made it clear he was the one who required silence, swigging his pineapple juice with concentration.

Nick drained his own juice and aimed the empty can at the wastebasket across from him. He tried to respect Daniel’s pride and independence, sensing an affinity with the kid. Hell, Nick understood the need for privacy better than anyone. But at the same time, he sensed an underlying need in Daniel…. Still, the kid just wouldn’t let anyone get too close. He wouldn’t let Nick get too close, that was for sure.

Daniel pitched his juice can at the wastebasket, his aim as accurate as Nick’s. Then he stood and went to stare out the door of the hut, hands jammed into the pockets of his shorts.

“There she is–la rubia,“ Daniel said in a scoffing tone. “She smiles too much.”

Nick considered this; he hadn’t caught Dana Morgan smiling too much in his own direction.

“She works too hard–and she’s too pretty,” Daniel went on, in this peculiar catalog of Dana’s faults.

“I hadn’t noticed about the pretty part,” Nick said gruffly.

“Sure.” Daniel glanced at Nick with disfavor. “You look at her all the time, Señor Petrie.”

The kid was observant, along with everything else. “So she’s pretty,” Nick acknowledged. “But I have a feeling she won’t be around this island for long. She’ll get tired of ornery people like me–and like you, Daniel. Whenever she tries to talk to you, I’ve noticed you don’t even give her a chance.”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t have time.” That was his usual convenient excuse for withdrawing from other people, and he used it now. “Have to go, Señor Petrie.”

“Wait–aren’t you forgetting something?” Nick asked. “It’s payday.”

Daniel stood reluctantly as Nick fished in his pocket, extracting more pesos than he could well afford. But he always gave Daniel a generous rate of exchange. It was the only way he knew to get around the kid’s stubborn pride.

Even so, Daniel eyed the money distrustfully, and it was only grudgingly that he finally stuffed it into his pocket.

“Adiós,” he mumbled.

“Daniel, be careful out there. We still haven’t caught Jarrett’s attacker–”

But already the kid was gone, as elusive as ever. An unwelcome thought occurred to Nick. Maybe Daniel had been the one to take the machete; it was something he’d be able to sell. At the same time it was a relatively small item, easily concealed. And no matter what Daniel said, he was obviously struggling just to survive….

Nick moved restlessly to the door of the hut. He didn’t like the way he’d become suspicious ever since the attack on Jarrett. He preferred to rely on what his instincts told him. Daniel would do everything he could to make it from one day to the next, but he possessed certain rigid standards for himself. He wouldn’t stoop to stealing that machete. The kid needed a break, more than anything else.

Nick emerged from the hut into the dazzling sunlight. It seemed that whenever the sun had a chance to break through the jungle canopy, it burned all the brighter. He shaded his eyes and glanced around. Pat was in the midst of talking intently to Robert and Tim–Pat was always going on about something or other. Robert listened with an air of detached amusement and Tim listened with a mournful expression on his face. No one could accuse Tim of enthusiasm. Nick still hadn’t figured out why the guy was studying archaeology, or why he chose to spend his summer on a dig; he seemed to have no true affinity for the work. Once again, Nick cursed his meager budget and his meager crew.

Now his gaze strayed to Dana and Jarrett. Dana was working, using one of the sifters, but Jarrett simply watched her as she sorted a soil sample. Jarrett seemed taken with Dana. But who wouldn’t be taken with her? She was la rubia–the golden-haired one, as Daniel had called her. Nick himself seemed capable of nothing more than standing here, watching the way the sun lit up her molten cascade of hair and the way khaki and denim traced the curves of her body so enticingly.

Just then Dana glanced up and saw Nick. She waved cheerfully, pushing up the brim of her hat. Jarrett turned and waved, too. He didn’t seem perturbed to be caught standing around, doing nothing but ogling a pretty woman. Under Dana’s influence, Jarrett appeared to be prolonging his recuperation as much as possible.

Nick didn’t want to watch the two of them together anymore. He turned abruptly and forged his way through the brush. When he came out near the temple, it was like entering a different world. Here the trees cast a dense shade, as if seeking to reclaim the shrine and cover it once more with vines and moss. Nick paced off the base of the shrine, reaffirming the calculations he’d made a few days earlier. Lately he’d developed a notion about the temple that wouldn’t let go of him. Wishful thinking, maybe that’s all it was. No doubt he was looking for a way to jump start his career again. But, still, the notion had taken hold of him and wouldn’t let go….

In his reports to the Institute, he continued to assert that his main goal was ascertaining the viability and extent of Mayan farming on the island. He hadn’t yet mentioned anything about his theory in regard to the temple. This was his idea alone for now, whatever its worth might be.

He heard a rustle in the bamboo stalks nearby, and swiveled around to see Dana striding toward him. Nick frowned at her.

“What the hell are you doing, traipsing around by yourself? I told you to be careful.”

“I am being careful,” she said imperturbably.

“Jarrett shouldn’t have allowed you to wander off alone.”

“Jarrett is very chivalrous, but I declined his company. I decided that it’s time for me to…well, it’s time I climbed the temple steps.”

She had a determined look that he was already coming to recognize. “Remember what the superstition says,” he cautioned. “Anyone who ventures here is subject to misfortune.”

Dana only looked all the more determined. She faced the temple and slowly climbed the first few steps. She appeared almost reverent as she reached the first ledge, but then she seemed to gain confidence. She climbed to the next ledge and then the next, until she’d reached all the way to the top. For a moment she gazed inside the altar room. Then she turned and sat down.

“There,” she called to Nick. “It’s too late now. I did it…and I don’t see any lightning in the sky. I don’t hear any thunder.”

He climbed up and sat beside her. “Didn’t I tell you the rest of the story? It takes a while for the misfortune to strike. Your chances of escaping it are a whole lot better if you leave the island.”

“You can stop hoping, Nick. I won’t leave.” She took off her canvas hat and rested it on her knee. Perspiration had curled strands of hair next to her face. Nick studied her profile, lingering on the decisive outline of her features. Dana had mentioned that she’d grown up on a farm in Missouri, and she did look like someone who’d spent years riding horses, milking cows and such. She was wholesome and seductive all at once. Lord, what a combination.

“I saw Daniel hurrying away, as usual,” she said, treating Nick to her clear, straightforward gaze. “He seems to trust only you–he never stops to talk to anyone else.”

Nick’s own gaze dropped to Dana’s mouth. Her lips were tinged a natural shade of rose. He rubbed the back of his neck distractedly. “The kid’s already advised me in so many words that you’re trouble, Dana. Big trouble.” He heard the thickness in his voice and felt that clench of need in his gut.

Dana stared at him, a rose color tinting her face as well as her lips now. “I’m doing my job, Dr. Petrie. Nothing else should matter to you.”

She was right about that much, but it was already too late. The need, the wanting in him took over…and without another word, he drew Dana into his arms.

CHAPTER FOUR

N ICK WAS OUT OF practice with this sort of thing, and it didn’t go well. Dana was stiff and unyielding in his arms, as if he’d caught her by surprise and she didn’t know what to do about it. Hell, he’d caught himself by surprise. But he went on holding her a second longer, moving his cheek against hers, feeling the softness of her skin. She smelled faintly of soap–clean, fresh soap. It made Nick imagine her bathing under the hot island sun. It made him imagine too much….

The way he figured it, they both pulled away from each other at the same time. Dana frowned at him, her cheeks flushed.

“Darn it, Nick–what do you think you’re doing?”

“You tell me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Look…just forget it happened.”

She stood quickly, and her silly canvas hat went tumbling down. Nick bent to retrieve it.

“Thank you,” she said acidly and she jammed the hat back on her head. It was the kind of hat straight out of a safari movie. Nick could imagine Dana marching into a store and requesting a full complement of adventure gear, right down to the patch-pocket shorts and mosquito netting. For a moment, that almost made him smile. He had to get a grip on himself.

“You shouldn’t have come looking for me,” he said.

Her flush deepened. “If you think I wanted this to happen–dammit, I didn’t want anything from you. I didn’t intend for anything to happen!”

“Neither did I.”

She took a deep breath. “It was a mistake.”

He didn’t say any more. He just went on standing there with her in front of the altar room of the temple. Against his will, his gaze lingered on Dana’s face…on the creamy rose of her skin, the deep brown of her eyes, the sensual curve of her mouth….

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, almost in a whisper. She turned and hurriedly began making her way down the temple steps. She didn’t seem to be watching where she was going. Nick came along beside her and halfway down he reached out to steady her.

She pulled away from him. “Don’t.”

“You’re overreacting just a little, don’t you think?” he said gruffly.

She stared at him, a variety of emotions seeming to cross her expressive face. That she was angry, there could be no doubt…maybe even a little embarrassed. In the end, Nick had the feeling that pride won out.

“I didn’t come looking for you, Nick,” she said in a cool voice. “All I wanted to do was climb the temple steps.” With that, she descended the rest of the way, refusing any assistance from him.

When they’d reached the base of the temple, Dana started veering off toward the trees. “Goodbye,” she said.

He didn’t allow her to escape, falling into step beside her. “You’re not going anywhere alone–remember?”

“I wish you’d realize that I can take care of myself,” she muttered.

“Just follow orders, Ms. Morgan, and you’ll make it easier for both of us.”

He could tell she was still fired up. She made a point of striding ahead of him, finding her own path. Even as she pushed through the thick undergrowth of the forest, she moved with that graceful posture of hers. When they reached the excavation site, she stalked over to the knapsack she’d left propped near one of the huts. She pulled out some insect repellent and slathered herself with the stuff, glancing defiantly at Nick. Maybe she was trying to send him a message. Then she went back to work at the sifter.

Nick got to work himself. He wanted to forget what had happened with Dana…. He just wished it was that simple.

* * *

DANA HAD NEVER REALIZED that her body possessed so many muscles–and that they could all ache with such simultaneous insistence. By now she’d spent two weeks on the island, and her main activities seemed to be crouching to dig in the soil, crouching to carry the soil, crouching to sift the soil. This morning, her knees hurt. Her elbows hurt. Her back hurt. The insides of her thighs hurt. Hell, her whole body hurt. Perspiration trickled down her back. And she thought she’d throttle Pat if she had to listen to the woman one more minute.

Today Pat and Dana were working at the new site. Pat was marking off measurements on the ground while discoursing on her career prospects–clearly a favorite topic.

“I’ve applied to every Ivy League school–including a few with poison ivy.” Pat gave a smirk. “The job market is very tight, let me tell you. That’s why I’m here. This job is only a stopgap….”

Dana did her best to tune out Pat. She pulled the brim of her hat down lower, squinting at the grid chart she was trying to map. The sun seemed to bounce right off the page and into her eyes. She was learning just how precise and nitpicky archaeologists had to be. Findings of any type had to be categorized down to their minutiae. Pottery shards, scraps of obsidian, bone fragments, traces of ancient seeds and kernels–these were the treasures accumulated on the dig. No discovery was too small to go unrecorded. Dana’s own particular skills as a soil scientist also required precise documentation. Soil profiles, soil maps, soil surveys and chemical analysis charts all fell within her purview. When Dana wasn’t crouching and digging and sifting, she was writing and graphing and cross-referencing.

But who was she kidding? No matter how she occupied herself, her thoughts kept returning to Nick Petrie. Dr. Nicholas Petrie, her irascible boss.

Two days earlier she had sat beside Nick on the temple steps and he’d taken her into his arms. It had been the briefest of embraces, and they hadn’t even kissed. Why, then, did Dana keep replaying those few seconds in her mind, over and over? It was almost as if Nick had imprinted himself on her senses. Even now she remembered the feel of his arms around her, his gentle strength, the touch of his cheek against hers, the warmth pervading her body at his nearness….

She stared unseeing at the grid chart before her. Vaguely she tuned in to Pat’s voice.

“You really have to watch yourself,” Pat was saying. “You can’t get desperate. I mean, if you take the first job that comes along, you could be making a big mistake. I still tend to wonder if I made the right move, signing on at this–”

Dana simply didn’t have the patience for one more word. “You’re an archaeologist. You’re doing archaeology. What’s the problem?”

Pat seemed nonplussed for a moment, but then she started up again. She was hardly ever at a loss for words. “You have to understand, Dana. It’d be wonderful if I could just forget about everything else and enjoy what I’m doing. Really, it would be. But I have to think about my future. Who doesn’t? The academic world is such an incredibly narrow-minded place, and you have to take careful steps while building your career.” Whenever Pat mentioned the academic world, she did so with a mixture of reverence and scorn.

“And make no mistake about it, Dana. That’s why I’m here–I’m building my career. Despite the relative unimportance of this dig, Nick’s name still carries with it a certain amount of weight–although even that’s starting to wane….”

Nick again. Perhaps in the larger world his influence had waned, but here on this island he dominated. His crew members might resent his autocratic methods, but they invariably obeyed his instructions. He demanded the best from people and he worked the hardest himself. For all his apparent cynicism, this project had to mean something to him.

Dana glanced around the small clearing, where they’d barely started the preliminaries for the new excavation–the surface survey and the plotting out of test pits. If they were very lucky, eventually they’d find evidence of Mayan crops–maize, beans, squash. This would tell them more about ancient settlement patterns on the island, but it would probably not add significant new information to knowledge of Mayan farming. In many ways, it was tedious, thankless work. That couldn’t be denied….

“This island is important,” Dana said. “All you have to do is think about the people who walked here a thousand years ago. And now we’re trying to re-create their lives–it’s very exciting.”

Pat gave Dana a condescending glance. “I suppose I sounded like you on my first dig. Overexcited, overenthusiastic. You’ll get over it–trust me.” Another smirk. Then, in an emphatic manner, Pat tied a string to a marker in the ground, her sandy hair falling into her face. Pat always looked as if she’d grown impatient halfway through the task of straightening her collar and combing her hair; she was perpetually a bit rumpled and scattered in appearance.

“Nick’s the one who really had it made,” Pat remarked after a moment. “With everything he’d accomplished on Mayan hieroglyphics, he had tenure before he was thirty–can you believe it? At Deacon University, no less. A very exclusive, very pretentious school. Anyway, Nick was on top of it. He was set for life…and then he just tossed it all away. Of course, after what happened to him, I guess it’s understandable.”

Dana gritted her teeth in frustration. Was there no way to shut Pat up? Was there no way to escape the subject of Nick? It was bad enough for Dana to be dwelling on the man, but now Pat was making mysterious comments about him. Dana had to erase a few lines on her page and start over. She resisted for a short while, but then at last she gave in.

“Okay, out with it. Exactly what happened to Nick?”

Pat shrugged. She obviously enjoyed having the inside story, as well as dangling her knowledge before the less informed. “Family tragedy,” she said enigmatically.

Tragedy… Dana thought of the pain she’d seen shadowing Nick’s face now and again. “What was it?” she asked, almost fearful of hearing the answer. But now Pat was hedging.

“His wife left him over it, that much is for sure.”

“Just spit it out, Pat!”

“I’m not aware of all the details,” Pat said defensively. “That wasn’t the point I was making. The fact is, whatever the reason, Nick threw away his career.”

So Pat didn’t really have the inside story–she just liked to pretend that she did. Dana felt like an idiot for taking the bait. She reminded herself firmly that Nick’s private life was none of her business and tried to concentrate once again on the grid sheet in front of her.

Pat went back to her measurements, but nothing seemed to dampen her zeal for conversation. “I’ll bet Jarrett knows more about Nick. Jarrett’s always dropping little hints about people. You know the type of thing–nasty little gibes, backhanded compliments.”

Dana glanced up in surprise. “I’ve never heard him say anything like that. Jarrett strikes me as…courteous. That’s really the only word to describe him.”

“He must be trying to make a good impression,” Pat said shrewdly. “I think he’s sweet on you.”

“Not likely,” Dana muttered. But Jarrett did seem to pay her a lot of attention, helping her with her work, making sure all her questions were answered.

Pat placed another marker in the ground. “Tell the truth, Dana. Jarrett’s a good-looking guy, and there isn’t much entertainment on this island. Can’t you see yourself and him–”

“No.”

“How about one of the others, then?” Pat sat back on her heels; obviously she’d embarked on a subject of real interest. “Okay, there’s Tim. A little wet behind the ears, unfortunately. He must be what–all of twenty?”

“More like eighteen, I’d think.”

“No, he’s been in college too long,” Pat pronounced. “The way I understand it, anthropology is at least his third major–he just can’t make up his mind what to study. He lives off some kind of trust fund, can you believe it? Just a monthly stipend, of course, but still–”

“Pat, I’m trying to draw this damn grid.”

“You’re as curious about the guys as I am,” Pat said imperturbably. “But you’re right, Tim isn’t much of a prospect. As for Nick…well, he is very sexy, with all that brooding disillusionment. Suppressed intensity, that’s Nick. It might be interesting to be around when he stops suppressing–don’t you think?”

Dana made a great effort to concentrate on her graph sheet. She needed to replicate on paper what Pat was marking off on the site. All measurements would be checked for accuracy against their original calculations….

It was hopeless, of course. Dana now had a more vivid image than ever of Nick imprinted on her mind. According to Pat, he was a man who had endured some type of family tragedy, and that only made him seem more…compelling. A man who guarded some deep sorrow behind that gruff exterior….

“The way I understand it, Nick’s ex-wife is completely out of the picture,” Pat went on inexorably. “There’s no other woman in his life that I can tell. In a manner of speaking, he’s available–in spite of that don’t-touch attitude of his.”

Dana tightened her grip on her pencil. “I’m not interested in Nick or anyone else,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

“You will be. After you’ve been on a dig for a while, you find out things get pretty chummy. It’s the isolation, and all of us being stuck together like this.”

Dana finally gave up on her graph, tossing her clipboard down. “It won’t happen to me,” she declared. “I won’t let it. I’ve had enough of men for a while.”

“This sounds intriguing,” Pat murmured, clasping her arms around her knees. “Let me guess. You’re here to escape a broken heart.”

“Hardly anything so melodramatic.” Dana paused, but something about Pat inspired confidences. Maybe it was just the possibility of shutting her up for a moment. “The truth is,” Dana continued, “I wasted too many years on the wrong man. When I finally woke up to that fact, I got rid of him. And now I’m finally free. Why ruin that?” Just saying the words out loud gave Dana much needed perspective. After all, she’d practically lived with Alan four long years. If she’d been able to get him out of her life, then certainly she could control this very inconvenient attraction to Nick Petrie, a man she’d known only a short while. Nick had certainly made it clear that he wanted to dismiss this attraction between them. The past two days he’d spoken to Dana only when absolutely necessary–and he was outright grouchy whenever they did encounter each other. So obviously the best thing for both of them would be to forget their embrace on the temple steps….

Pat was following her own line of thought. She sighed exuberantly. “I broke up with someone a few months ago myself,” she said. “The whole thing was bad news. One day he’d act like he worshiped me, the next he’d say I drove him nuts…. Go figure.”

Not a difficult scenario for Dana to imagine, not difficult in the least. “Do you mind if we change the subject?” she asked. “I’d just as soon not talk about men.”

“Let’s see,” Pat went on unabashedly. “Tim, Nick, Jarrett…that only leaves Robert. A Frenchman with a beard. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more argumentative person in my life. He challenges everything I say about archaeology, always insisting on relevant facts and empirical evidence to support my ideas. He’s annoying, aggravating, pestering…. Is it any wonder that I’m so in love with the guy?”

This last statement caught Dana completely off guard. In the blink of an eye, the expression on Pat’s face had turned from cocky to defenseless, and suddenly she looked like a very young woman as she knelt there with her topographical map and large spool of string…very young and very vulnerable.

“Why, Pat. Have you told him how you feel?”

“Are you nuts?” Pat exclaimed. “The guy’s a complete mystery to me. I just can’t get a handle on him, no matter how hard I try. I don’t even know if he’s married or single. I don’t know if he’s actually French, for that matter. Wouldn’t you say his accent is a little off?”

“It seems totally natural–nothing overdone about it.”

“That’s just it,” Pat said darkly. “It’s too perfect. Everything about him is perfect…especially the beard. That really does something to me, you know–a man with a beard.” She positioned another marker in the ground and for a few moments actually seemed lost in her own thoughts. The unexpected silence was almost disconcerting as Dana picked up her clipboard again. But then a rustle came from the nearby forest and both Tim and Robert appeared.

“Speak of the devil,” Pat whispered to Dana. Then she called out to the two men in her usual strident manner. “We were just talking about you…both of you, in fact. We were compiling a dossier, so to speak.”

Robert strolled through the clearing, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his crisp khaki pants. He addressed Dana. “Pat is convinced she’ll discover some fascinating secret in all our pasts. Has she been entertaining you with her speculations?”

Dana smiled noncommittally. “You’d be surprised how much work we’ve accomplished this morning.”

“You’re discreet, Ms. Morgan–an admirable virtue.” Robert smiled back at her with a striking glimpse of charm. Dana supposed he was handsome, with his reddish hair, neatly trimmed beard and aristocratic bearing.

Tim, meanwhile, had brought along some fresh mangoes. Without saying a word, he handed the fruit to the others and then moved to sit hunch shouldered in the dirt. Tim was pale complexioned, with a bony, angular frame. There was a rawness to him, as if he hadn’t yet settled into his own body.

“We thought it was time for everyone to take a break,” Robert said, playing the part of host. “We’ve all been working hard, and it’s an exceptionally hot day.” Robert didn’t look as if the heat disturbed him in the least, however. He seemed entirely cool and composed. He even ate his mango with neatness and control, although everyone else had juice dribbling down their chin. Mangoes were notoriously messy fruit–but not for Robert, it seemed.

“What about Jarrett? And Nick?” Dana added before she could stop herself. Here she was, bringing up Nick’s name and wondering about him again.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Dana?” Pat said. “Nick and Jarrett are management. Head honcho and number-two honcho. The rest of us are just the hired help. Now and then they have to make that fact clear to us, so they refuse to socialize.”

“Nick perhaps likes to keep his distance,” Robert observed. “But not Jarrett. He is always amicable.”

“Why is everyone defending Jarrett today?” Pat asked. “He’s not a saint. He can be downright nasty when he chooses.”

“I haven’t seen that,” Dana said, putting in her two cents’ worth. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bravo, Ms. Morgan. We don’t want to encourage Pat. She wishes to believe she is an authority on human nature.”

Pat frowned at him. “I am an observer of human nature. I see things other people miss. Take you, for instance, Robert. I can tell you’re hiding something. You want us to believe you’re some wealthy French businessman, but you won’t even say what business you’re in. If that’s not suspicious, what is?”

Robert seemed to enjoy provoking Pat, and by the looks of things he was particularly adept at it. He smiled again–an economical sort of smile, as if he didn’t believe in wasting too much amusement at one time. “I’ve asked you to believe nothing about me–you draw your own conclusions. Next you’ll accuse me of being the one who hit Jarrett over the head with a rock.”

“Well, it could have been you,” Pat argued. “I mean, you weren’t working here with me the entire morning. You went off by yourself for a while, I recall. And you didn’t tell me where you were going….”

“An obvious sign of guilt. Tell me, Pat. What would be my motive for the attack? If you are such a perspicacious observer, you will have a theory.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“I believe that is what is known as a cop-out, Pat.”

“Oh, stuff a sock in it.”

“I do so enjoy these colloquialisms of yours.”

Dana took another bite of mango, her fingers sticky with juice. She recalled what Pat had just told her about being in love with Robert and tried to picture the two of them actually getting together. Somehow that didn’t seem a likely prospect. It wasn’t just the fact that they were always at odds with each other. They looked nothing alike. Pat was pretty, but she gave a flyaway rumpled impression next to Robert’s elegance. Even her athletic build contrasted with his compactness.

At any rate, Dana felt she’d had enough of listening to the two of them. She moved over to where Tim sat in self-imposed solitude.

“How’s it going?” she asked in a conversational tone.

“Okay,” Tim muttered. He stared at his half-eaten mango as if he had neither the energy nor inclination to finish it.

“It does seem hotter than usual today, doesn’t it?” Dana remarked. “It’s a sort of closed-in feeling…as if there’s a storm pressing.”

Tim exerted himself enough to glance up at the sky. “It’s sunny.”

“Yes, but even so I think a storm is coming. I knew days like this in Missouri…. My dad always liked to joke that I could predict weather better than the weatherman.”

This elicited only a shrug. Despite Dana’s efforts to draw him out, Tim was short-winded in the extreme. It became a challenge to get anything out of him at all.

Dana wondered wryly if she was losing her touch with younger people. She’d made no headway in her attempts to befriend young Daniel so far, and now Tim resisted her endeavors.

“So–I’m from Missouri,” Dana tried again. “How about you?”

Tim gave her an indifferent glance. “Colorado.”

“Hey, Tim. Tell her about that trust fund of yours.” Pat called out this remark from nearly a dozen feet away. Evidently even distance couldn’t contain her inquisitive nature. “What a shame you can’t get at the principal,” she continued. “Then you could be vacationing in Cancún instead of sweltering away on this poor excuse of an island.”

Robert immediately began to chastise her. “You’re an incredibly nosy person, Pat. Tim’s financial status is his own concern.”

“Nosy… I’m not nosy in the least. I just like to be informed….”

As Robert and Pat started in on each other once more, Dana tried to give Tim a reassuring smile. “She doesn’t mean to be rude. I think in her own way, Pat believes prying into people’s lives is a way to make friends.”

Tim’s shoulders seemed to raise another fraction or so. He was quiet for so long, Dana thought he might have forgotten she was there. Then finally he looked straight into Dana’s eyes and spoke up. “I never wanted my parents to leave me that damn trust,” he said in a low voice. “Sometimes I just wish they’d thrown the money away. And I wish they’d thrown away all their expectations along with it.”

Tim rose to his feet with surprising agility and went to the forest’s edge. He stood there, staring through the trees as if he longed to lose himself among them. Dana wondered just what expectations his parents had bequeathed to him. They must be heavy, indeed. Even now his shoulders were still hunched, as if he actually carried some invisible burden on them.

But then the vine-laden branches nearby rustled again, and this time it was Jarrett who emerged into the clearing. He looked worried.

“Something’s happened,” he said without preamble. “Something unfortunate. Nick wants to see all of you–right away!”

CHAPTER FIVE

D ANA COULD TELL THAT Nick was very angry. He paced back and forth in front of the huts, his expression grim. The entire crew had trooped back from the new site and now stood clustered before him. Young Daniel had also joined the group, but he stood slightly apart, his expression guarded as he watched Nick.

“Someone has stolen artifacts from the lab,” Nick bit out at last. “The painted water jugs we found last week are missing–as are the two unbroken grindstones and remnants of seeds.”

Dana listened in growing dismay. The larger of the huts served as a field lab, where finds and records were kept in careful order. Even the slightest disturbance could mean a loss of essential information. But actual theft… The ancient grinding stones and water jugs had been some of the most precious discoveries made at the dig–surviving unharmed all these centuries. And recently Nick had unearthed a pit that had contained carbonized seeds and maize cobs surely at least a thousand years old….

“It’s clear someone is trying to send a message,” Nick said harshly. “First the attack on Jarrett, and now this.”

“Are we sure the incidents are related?” Robert asked. “They are disparate in character, after all.” Robert didn’t seem overly disturbed. He showed merely curiosity.

“Malice was involved each time,” Nick said, his voice dangerously quiet now. “I intend to find out exactly why these things are happening. If any of you has something to tell me, you’d better do it now.”

“It could have been done by anyone on the island,” Dana said. “Anyone at all.”

Nick gave her a cutting look. “I’m well aware it could have been anyone,” he said, his voice still quiet. His eyes were an icy blue. But surely he couldn’t suspect her…. She stared back at him, her own resentment beginning to spark.

Apparently Pat had been silent too long, and words began to spill out of her. “Robert doesn’t know what he’s talking about–of course the incidents must be related. They could be an expression of resentment, or–”

“I’m not asking you to speculate. I’m just asking you to tell me what you know.” Now Nick’s repressive gaze centered on Pat. She made as if to say more, but then clamped her mouth shut.

Jarrett spoke in conciliatory fashion. “I’m sure all of you are distressed by what’s happened. But no one is accusing you of anything. We just want to get to the bottom of this in the best way possible–”

“I don’t need an interpreter,” Nick said impatiently. “And they can handle this, Jarrett.”

The flash of hostility across Jarrett’s face was unmistakable. It was also quickly replaced by Jarrett’s usual obliging demeanor.

“Of course,” he said. “Just trying to help, Nick.”

Pat gave Dana a significant nudge. “Look out,” she whispered. “Dissension among the ranks of management.” Maybe Pat was trying to be jocular, but she looked nervous and keyed up. Dana felt keyed up herself, and distressed over what had been lost. In its own way, the theft seemed as vicious as the attack on Jarrett.

Nick paced again. “Since no one is forthcoming, we’ll do this the hard way. I’ll need to know each of your whereabouts since last evening–starting with you, Ms. Morgan.”

Dana stiffened. Nick was going too far now, treating all of them as if they were criminals. It was especially humiliating to have him treat her like that.

But did she really expect special consideration from him? Just because of that day on the temple steps when he had put his arms around her and drawn her close….

“Pat and I ate dinner together at the café in the village,” she said coolly. “Afterward we walked around the plaza, then went back to the hotel for a game of cards with Robert. I went to bed around eleven, got up once to have a drink of water–no witnesses there–and then slept soundly till six. Since then, I’ve spent all morning working with Pat. Is that a sufficient alibi, or would you like me to elaborate?”

“As always, you’re very thorough, Ms. Morgan.” Nick’s tone was dismissive and he moved on to Tim. “What about you, Mr. Reese?”

If possible, Tim paled even further under Nick’s ruthless gaze. “Uh…I went back to the village with the others. I stayed in my room all night.”

Nick continued his interrogation. No one escaped it–not Pat, not Robert, not Jarrett. Then Nick came to young Daniel, and he was just as brusque, just as rigorous in his questions as he’d been with the others. It was one thing to treat the adults so dictatorially–putting a child through the third degree was something else again. Daniel stood unflinching as he gave his answers, but at last Dana could tolerate no more. She stepped close to Nick and spoke to him in a low voice.

“Daniel’s just a boy. Lighten up, will you?”

Nick gazed back at her with his most trenchant look. Daniel didn’t seem to appreciate her intervention, himself. He’d stiffened, and he stared at her with an expression that could only be termed…well, it could only be termed as severe as Nick’s own expression.

Dana’s eyes locked once again with Nick’s. It was the coldness in his gaze she wished to fight, as well as the domination he exerted over her.

“Really–haven’t you asked enough?” she persisted. “Jarrett’s right. We’re all upset about what happened.”

He seemed to consider her words in a disparaging manner. But surely he could see that his confounded inquisition had yielded little result. The day before, Daniel had left the dig by early afternoon. In the evening, Pat, Dana, Robert and Tim had all driven together to the village. Nick and Jarrett had remained behind to camp out at the excavation site. There was nothing unusual about that. At any given time, two or three people slept at the dig while the others went into the village to freshen up at the hotel. Last night had been no different. No matter how Nick had probed, he’d uncovered nothing untoward about anyone’s movements.

Finally Nick gave Dana a curt nod, and then he addressed the entire group. “We’re finished discussing this…for now. But I don’t want anyone going around alone. Keep your eyes open. Always make sure you have at least a few of the others with you–your own safety might depend on it. And let’s get back to work.” With that, he disappeared abruptly into the large hut.

Dana moved over to one of the sifters and tried in vain to involve herself in her customary tasks. She fingered a mound of dirt. The confrontation with Nick had disturbed her. She’d tried to defy his remoteness, but it had done her no good. Why did she want to reach him at all?

She glanced up to see young Daniel approaching her in resolute fashion. This was a first; Daniel had never sought her out before. Usually she was the one trying to strike up a conversation with him. Not that she deluded herself. She didn’t imagine Daniel wished an amiable chat. He reached her side only to frown at her.

“I don’t need anybody’s help,” he said. “I can take care of myself. And Señor Petrie is right. If someone stole from me, I’d make everybody sorry, too. I’d make everybody afraid.” It was the most Daniel had ever said to Dana. He paused now, still frowning, as if to make absolutely sure she got the point. What an irony–this thirteen-year-old boy deciding that he needed to defend the almighty Dr. Nicholas Petrie.

“Message received, Daniel,” she said. “Loud and clear.”

He gave her a sharp glance, as if not quite convinced. Then, with a brusque nod taken right from the book of Nick Petrie, Daniel turned and strode away.

Dana watched him go, experiencing a mixture of frustration and reluctant admiration. Daniel knew how to handle himself, all right, and she ought to have known he wouldn’t take kindly to her interference–particularly where Nick was concerned. Daniel was a determined kid. From the little Dana had been able to gather, he’d taught himself English just by picking up whatever he could from the tourists who visited the island. Smart…and determined. He was also an adept student of Nick’s. Dana had often seen the two of them engrossed in some job at the excavation pits, both dark heads bent together as Nick explained and Daniel emulated. But Daniel wouldn’t let anyone else get close to him, least of all Dana. The boy disdained her, and she couldn’t figure out exactly why….

She tried to get back to work, but now it was Jarrett who came up to her. “How are you doing?” he asked. “I know that none of this has been a pleasant experience.”

“I’m fine. But thanks for asking.” She glanced at him. In spite of the heat, Jarrett wore an old-fashioned paisley vest over his shirt. Combined with his longish hair, it made him look like one of the Victorian explorer gentlemen who had discovered the Mayan ruins of the Yucatán back in the 1840s. Jarrett seemed so open faced, so essentially good-natured. Yet, according to Pat, he was a bit of a back stabber. What was he really like?

As Jarrett often did, he lingered beside her. “Don’t blame Nick too much for coming down hard,” he said. “This has been a pretty big shock for him. For me, too, I’m afraid. We work for months, and then something like this can happen.” Jarrett’s hazel eyes seemed to reflect only concern. If anything, he was too quick to excuse Nick. But Dana knew she hadn’t imagined that flash of hostility she’d seen earlier.

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