Читать книгу Forbidden - Ellen James - Страница 6

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.