Читать книгу Forbidden - Ellen James - Страница 5

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.