In Too Deep (13 page)

“It's...” She searched for a word that was adequate to describe the emotions. “Magnificent. I feel as though I'm able to touch the beginning of time.”

“Then you can see why Rafael and the others can't bear the thought of all this being lost.”

Cara knew what he was doing, and she tried to resist. Despite the powerful emotional tug of the experience, when it came to the dam, she needed to think with her head, not her heart.

“The relics could be salvaged,” she suggested. “The Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City could create a new exhibit.”

“Of an
entire
temple?” he said skeptically. “Besides, a few months ago, no one even knew this site existed. With the dam, it would never have been discovered. There may be countless others just like it, buried by time, just waiting for some intrepid explorer to unearth them.”

“But we have to weigh that against the merits of the dam.”

“I've done that,” he said.

“And you believe the dam project should be abandoned.”

“Yes. But don't listen just to me. Talk to Rafael and Jorge tonight. I guarantee you that their arguments will affect you as deeply as they did me.”

“And Maria?”

He grinned at her. “She has her own powers of persuasion, yes.”

Cara asked the question that had been on her mind ever since lunch. “Why do you think she and Rafael haven't married? They're obviously very much in love.”

“I don't know. I've often wondered the same thing. I even tried to discuss it with him earlier, but he steered the conversation right back around to you and me. Since I didn't have any answers for him either, I saw the wisdom in dropping the subject.”

The unexpected twist in his response silenced her. There was a wry note in his voice, as if he found it amusing that their own relationship was subject to speculation. After the tension his discussion with Scottie had created, she was surprised by his nonchalant attitude.

All at once she found the lack of clarity irritating. It should have been simple enough. She was vice president of WHS Engineering. Rod was an employee. But somewhere along the line, that clear-cut description of their relationship had become complicated. Despite Maria's interpretation of the chemistry between them, and despite Scottie's hopes, Cara refused to acknowledge the possibility that it went any deeper. She began to understand Rod's dilemma in talking to Rafael. He obviously was no more willing to put love into the equation than she was. Oddly, his reluctance hurt more than she would have liked.

Suddenly her enthusiasm for digging to reveal yet another Mayan carving waned. She jumped to her feet and took off, leaving Rod staring after her.

“Cara! Where the devil do you think you're going now?” He ran to catch up with her. She tried very hard to ignore him. He put a restraining hand on her arm. She shook it off.

“Leave me alone.”

“You're upset. Why?”

“I am not upset.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“I am just going for a walk. All of a sudden I felt the need to get some exercise.”

“We've been walking for days.”

“Exactly. I've gotten used to it. I can't take sitting still anymore.”

“I see. I don't suppose this aversion to sitting still has anything to do with what we were talking about.”

“I can't imagine what you mean.”

This time when he reached for her, he made sure she didn't get away. One arm went around her waist, lifting her against him. His other hand tilted her chin until she was forced to look into his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

She closed her eyes, unable to bear the pity she thought she read in his expression. “You don't owe me any apologies.” To her fury, her voice trembled.

“Look at me.”

Stubbornly, she kept her head averted, her eyes clamped shut.

She felt a sigh shudder through his body. His heat, his sharp masculine scent surrounded her, lured her. Pressed against the hard planes of his body, she felt herself going weak with longing. She fought the sensations, fought to keep her muscles tense, resistant.

“Dammit, Cara,” he said, giving her an impatient shake. “I didn't mean to imply that there's nothing between us. We both know there is. Did you want me to have that conversation with Rafael or Scottie, for that matter, before you and I could have it, before we could figure out for ourselves what's happening between us?”

She dared to open her eyes then. His face reflected all the tension and frustration and desire she was feeling. She stopped fighting him then and lifted her hand to caress his cheek.

“Ah, hell, Cara,” he muttered and lowered his lips to capture hers. There was hunger and anger and confusion in that kiss. It began with such urgency, his lips marauding, hot and moist in their claim. Then, for just an instant, they stilled, and in that timeless moment, Cara waited, breathless, for his retreat.

“Rod,” she murmured finally and with a groan his mouth closed over hers once again, his tongue invading, tasting, dueling in a wickedly sensuous assault.

Her breasts strained against the cotton of her tank top, the nipples hard and sensitive. When Rod's hand curved over the fullness, pleasure spiraled through her. His fingers caressed and teased, increasing the aching emptiness inside her. She wanted to urge his hands lower, wanted that touch to sweep over her belly until it reached the heated core of her. She wanted the sweet torment to swell until it filled her, then exploded in ecstasy. She wanted more than she could have—more than he was offering.

With a sigh of regret, she stilled his touch, though she didn't try to leave his embrace. That would have been asking too much.

“This won't solve anything.”

“Oh, I can think of at least one thing it would solve,” he said dryly, but he didn't fight her. He brushed the hair back from her face with a tenderness that surprised her and intrigued her more than ever.

“I think we'd better avoid situations like this,” she said.

“Which situations are those?”

“Being alone together.”

His booming laughter mocked her. “Exactly how do you propose we do that? Take a chaperon back to my camp with us?”

“Actually, that's not a bad idea.” The words came out in a rush. “If we had help, you could finish up your work sooner.”

“Then what do we do while we wait for the plane to arrive?”

“We could call the pilot from here and ask him to pick us up earlier.”

“Okay.”

Startled and possibly even disappointed by the swift agreement, she just stared at him. “Okay? That's it?”

“I'm agreeing with you. What more do you want?”

“I expected a fight.”

“Why waste the energy, when we both know you're right? At least about calling the pilot.”

“And the help?”

“Not such a good idea. We still don't know if any of the people here are involved in what's been happening. The last thing we need to do is invite the wolf into the chicken coop.”

As if to prove his point, a shot rang out. Cara screamed as the bullet whizzed past her head. A second shot split the air. Then Rod's body was on hers and she was falling, face first, into the mud.

C
ara was suffocating.

Rod's deadweight—an all-too-fitting description that almost gagged her with its implications—had her pinned to the ground, her face buried in oozing, breath-defying mud. The fear of blacking out swept through her mind. Even more horrifying than her own plight was the thought that Rod had actually been killed by that second shot. He hadn't moved so much as a muscle since they'd hit the ground.

Damn him!
she thought furiously. He'd better not be dead. They had too much yet to resolve. If he took the easy way out, she was going to kill him. The irrational thought sent a hysterical giggle through her, then snapped her back to reality.

She fought to lift her head, so she could gasp for enough air to think clearly. She had to make some decisions right now, and they had to be the right ones. Would the shots have drawn the attention of the others in the camp? Or had someone there actually fired them? Was help on the way? Or was the would-be killer closing in? The questions careened through her mind without slowing long enough for answers to form. What should she do? Just for an instant she wished Rod were in command, even ordering her around.

But he wasn't. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing. He still hadn't uttered a sound, not so much as a moan. An awful, empty loneliness engulfed her as she thought of what her life had been like before Rod, what it might become again if he... No, she wouldn't think like that. He was alive. He had to be.

In that moment, with absolute clarity, she knew she loved him. Against all odds, against all reason, she loved him and needed him in a way she'd never expected to want any man. They might not have a future together, but if there was a chance, any chance, that he could be saved, she had to see that he had that chance.

Sheer desperation gave her the strength to try to struggle from beneath him, to risk exposing herself to this unseen, unknown enemy.

“Would you hold still?” Now he did groan as she finally wriggled free. It was the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard. The disgruntled note in his voice slid past without registering.

“Oh, thank God,” she murmured with heartfelt emotion. Joy surged through her as she sat up, touching his cheek, then ran her hand down his back, needing to feel the reassuring warmth of his flesh.

“You're alive,” she breathed reverently. “I was so scared.”

“Of course I'm alive,” he said impatiently. “Now, would you shut up for a minute until I can figure out what the hell is going on.”

Stung, Cara sat back on her heels and stared at him. He did not appear suitably impressed with her relief on his behalf. She decided that the emotion she had characterized only moments ago as love must have been insanity.

“Well, I'm sorry I was so worried about you,” she snapped indignantly. She tried to get to her feet, but he pinned her right where she was.

“Cara!” His voice rose ominously and she bit back another angry retort. The prospect of killing him herself loomed once again. It didn't help that she knew he was being sensible and that she was being dangerously impetuous. Granted, only moments ago she'd been longing for just one direct order, but it seemed that domineering attitude of his would always set her teeth on edge. Just once, couldn't the man give her credit for having a brain?

Perhaps he would, if you'd use it,
a little voice nagged.

Suddenly there was the sound of people crashing through the brush, calling out their names. Rafael and Jorge were in front, but Maria and the others were not far behind.

“Madre de Dios,”
Maria murmured as she ran to them. She bent to wipe the mud from Cara's face, then went to Rod. “You are hurt?”

It didn't improve Cara's mood to realize that she'd never ascertained the answer to that question herself. She'd assumed from his foul temper that he couldn't possibly be seriously injured. Maria's concern nagged at her conscience as she waited for him to answer.

Rod gingerly lifted himself to a sitting position and touched his temple, where there was a bloody scrape. “Nothing that an ice pack wouldn't cure. I hit my head when I jumped to knock Cara to the ground.”

“What happened?” Rafael asked.

“Someone fired a couple of shots at us.”

Now that the incident appeared over, hearing the words actually spoken aloud set off a wild trembling inside Cara. Someone had actually aimed a gun at them and fired it. It was too late for fear, but not for fury. She set aside her irritation with Rod... for the moment. A fine rage began to build inside her, along with a renewed determination to discover who was behind this campaign to frighten them away from the Usumacinta dam project.

Expecting outrage from the others if only to cast aside suspicions of guilt, Cara was amazed to see that Rafael appeared dubious about the entire incident. “Are you sure these shots were meant for you,
amigo
? It could have been a hunter elsewhere in the forest. Sounds play tricks on you here.”

“I didn't imagine the breeze of that bullet as it flew past my ear,” Cara said with a shudder. “You must have heard the shots, too, and realized they were close. You came running quickly enough.”

Jorge and Rafael exchanged glances.
“Si,”
Jorge admitted reluctantly. “We heard them.”

“So, there is no denying it, then,” Rafael said. “These attacks are getting more serious. Perhaps it is time to end your work here.”

The suggestion came as no surprise. But suspicious now of everyone, Cara wondered at its motivation. She studied Rafael's expression, but could read nothing more than concern in his eyes.

“I think it's time to have a talk with those Lacandones—” Jorge began, only to be cut off by Maria.

“I can't believe you're suggesting for one minute that they're involved in this,” she snapped. “Just because you and Juan Castillo once fought over land and he won.”

“With
your
help,” Jorge countered. “I know you're their staunchest supporter, but even you can't ignore their history of violence.”

When Rafael appeared ready to intercede, Maria waved him away. Hands on hips, she faced Jorge. “There hasn't been an incident in years, and you know perfectly well most involved feuds or wife stealing in the southern tribes. Even they didn't attack outsiders.”

Maria's eyes blazed, and Jorge finally backed down. “You're the expert,” he muttered, though it didn't sound complimentary the way he said it.

Now Rafael did step in. “Enough. Our guests are injured. It is no time to indulge in old arguments.” He turned to Rod. “What will you do?”