In Too Deep (18 page)

From the awkward, ungrammatical sentence structure, Rod surmised the sender was relatively uneducated, at least in the English language. That left out Rafael and Maria, unless they had chosen to disguise themselves by appearing ignorant. For the life of him, he still couldn't imagine this as their style of protest. Rafael he didn't know well, but Maria he had known for years. She was as straightforward and direct a woman as he'd ever met. She would also know that there was no way in hell he'd ever leave Mexico without Cara. Kidnapping her would only make him more determined to unearth whatever scheme her captors were engaged in.

Ignoring the note's threat and knowing that he couldn't trust Cara's captors to honor their promise, on the third day he widened his search area. It was nearly noon when he sensed that someone was watching him. His hand hovering near the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants, he waited, peering into the shadows. Every muscle in his body was tensed. His nerves were stretched so taut that he was afraid the slightest movement would cause him to fire blindly into the brush. Just when he thought his control was at an end, four Lacandones appeared in front of him, their approach so silent it was as if they'd simply materialized. The fifth, the one who had objected so strenuously to the meeting with Cara, was missing.

Though they were the same men who had met with him and Cara, he still kept his hand near his gun as he greeted them. His proud gaze deliberately diverted from Rod's weapon, Juan Castillo stepped forward.

“You have trouble,” he inquired, gesturing toward Rod's bandaged ankle.

“It is nothing,” he said. “But, yes, there is trouble. Cara, the señorita, is missing. She has been kidnapped.”

Rod's words seemed to puzzle him.

“Taken away,” Rod explained.

The Lacandones's expression hardened at once. There was no sign of guilt, only concern. “She has been harmed?”

“I hope not, but I have no way of knowing. Do you know of other men in the jungle?”

He nodded at once and pointed in the direction of Rafael's camp.

“No. She would not have been taken there,” he said with certainty. Even were Rafael and Maria involved, they would keep Cara far from any place he knew. There had to be more conspirators, another camp.

“Any other men?” he asked.

The leader shook his head, but one of the others stepped forward and murmured something. “My friend says there is another camp hidden not far from here, very close to the border with Guatemala.”

“Refugees?” Hundreds had crossed Guatemalan borders into Mexico and set up camps, but he'd thought they were farther south.

“No. Not Guatemalans. He says these people are bad.”

“Why does he say that?”

“They are stealing.”

Rod felt his stomach tighten. “From the ruins?”

“
Si, si.
From the ruins.”

“Can he show me where this camp is located?”

“Si.”

At the leader's request, the man knelt down and drew a crude map in the mud. When he'd finished, the leader offered to come with Rod. “We would be five then. It is better than one man alone.”

Though he didn't want to endanger them, Rod knew he didn't dare turn down the assistance. With his ankle still weak, it might be crucial to Cara's safety to have someone with him who was more mobile than he was.

“Gracias,”
he said.
“Muchas gracias.”

* * *

It was early evening when they reached the camp. At first it seemed there was no one around and Rod had to restrain the impulse to rush in immediately and search the tents for Cara. He knew his lack of patience could cost her life. It was vital that he watch and wait.

Eventually, a disreputable-looking Mexican emerged from one tent and began cooking over an open fire. When he'd finished, he hitched up his pants and puffed out his chest like a peacock about to embark on a mating ritual. Rod felt his stomach turn over. His blood roared in his ears as he watched the man take the plate to another tent and go inside.

“That's it,” he murmured, his heart thundering. He could practically feel Cara's presence. “She has to be in there.”

Again he had to resist the urge to go charging in after her, especially after seeing the man who was now in her tent. He knew with gut-wrenching certainty what was on the man's mind, and it made him physically ill. If that sleazy criminal so much as laid a finger on her, though, Rod knew he would kill him.

The Lacandones watched him closely. “She is here?” Juan Castillo asked.

“I'm sure of it.”

“Then we get her,” the leader said decisively, lifting his bow.

“Not yet,” Rod said softly, reluctantly. There were still too many unknowns. “When darkness falls.”

He hoped to God that wouldn't be too late.

* * *

Darkness couldn't fall soon enough for Cara. The days had begun to follow a pattern, and evening was the time she'd decided she had the best chance of succeeding with her plan. Tomas and her other guard, Luis, were beginning to get very nervous. Whatever their plan had been, it seemed to have gone awry. Perhaps Rod was not cooperating with their demands. She had not heard the
jefe
's voice for some time now. However, only the fear of his sudden appearance had kept Tomas in check this long. His crude innuendoes were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Take advantage of them
, she told herself.
Now. Tonight, before it's too late.

She took a deep breath and swallowed hard to hide her fear. She managed a wavery smile. “Tomas, this
jefe,
why is it that you don't like him?”

Fire burned in his eyes. He spit. “He is a fool. He thinks he is better than the rest of us. You see how good he is. This plan of his,
muy
loco. It is not working. No man would give up everything, just for a woman.”

“Give up what?” she asked, though she knew. They'd asked for a commitment that there would be no dam. Now even that probably would not be enough. They would want guarantees that their thievery would not be revealed.

“Does he want money?”

His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “No, señorita. No money and no more talk.”

Cara backed off immediately. She was certain she had her answer anyway. Apparently it had never occurred to these men that
she
might be the one who would make the decision about the dam. They were using her as a pawn with the man they thought held the power.

“No more talk,” she said agreeably. She forced a friendly smile. “How about a beer? I feel very thirsty tonight, Tomas. You would like to drink with me, perhaps?”

His gloomy expression brightened at once. “
Si. Si.
You and me, we have a good time tonight.”

He left the tent and came back with several bottles of beer. He twisted off the caps, wiped the mouth of one on his filthy sleeve and offered it to her. She tried not to cringe.

“My hands,” she reminded him. “I can't hold it. Maybe you could tie them in front. Then I could lift the bottle.”

He considered the idea. “Why not?” he said expansively. He untied the rope that bound her, brought her hands around and repeated the elaborate knots. Cara accepted the beer, sipping it as he took a long, deep swallow of his own. Hopefully the man didn't have a high tolerance for alcohol, or this would be a very long night.

After he'd finished two more beers, Cara began to see signs of drunkenness.

“You know, Tomas,” she said softly. “I think you were right. I think you and I do have something special between us. We are simpatico.”

He beamed at her. “
Si. Si.
Simpatico.” The words slurred ever so slightly.

Swallowing her revulsion, she reached out to touch his chest, making an elaborate show of the gesture's awkwardness, which resulted from her bound hands. She sighed dramatically.

“It is no use. I cannot touch as I would like, when I am tied up in this way.”

A lecherous gleam lit his eyes. “I will untie you, señorita, and then I will show you what a real man is like. You would like that?”

“Si,”
Cara said, barely choking the word past the lump in her throat.

Tomas drew his knife from the waistband of his pants and slashed it through the rope in a melodramatic display. He looked at the rope that bound her ankles consideringly, then slashed through that one as well. Then, after carefully replacing the sharp, gleaming, well-cared-for weapon in his leather holder, he grasped her hands and kissed them.

Don't pull away. Concentrate on the knife,
Cara reminded herself in desperation.
If you can get the knife, you can get free.

Tomas was groping for her breast. With clumsy, rough hands he tugged at her tank top, then yanked, splitting it down the front. Cara's eyes widened, but she swallowed a scream that threatened to erupt and shatter any chance of her escape plan succeeding. Tomas couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her pale, creamy breasts, which were rising and falling with each anxious breath she took. They were barely shielded from his hungry gaze by her lacy bra.

Now. It has to be now,
she thought and stepped closer, moving into his arms. His breath on her bare shoulder was hot, disgusting. She ignored it as she placed a hand on his back, moving it in what she hoped he would interpret as a caress, all the while wanting to run from this vile embrace.

Then her fingers found the handle of the knife. When she had it securely in her grasp, she raised her knee directly into Tomas's groin, drawing out the knife in the same instant. As he clutched himself in agony, she put the tip of the knife to the middle of his back.

“On the floor,” she said, her voice controlled, exhibiting none of the panic she was feeling.

Uncertainty spread across his face. She nicked his flesh and he dropped to the floor at once. The rope that had bound her arms and feet was no longer useful after Tomas's slicing cut through the knots. She found the gag that had been used to keep her silent and wound it around his wrists. Improvising, she cut strips of the burlap and created an effective restraint for his legs.

Just as she was about to tie the first knot, he took advantage of her concentration and heaved his body over, knocking her off balance. Though she still held the knife, she was lying facedown, and his weight had her at a disadvantage.

“Now, señorita, we see who is stronger. You will pay for this.”

The fury in his voice, the threat, sent bile to her throat. She struggled furiously beneath him. Rolling over and over, they slammed into the table that held the lantern and sent it crashing to the floor. Suddenly it was pitch black in the tent. Cara tried to get enough leverage to use the knife, not caring about the aim. When it struck flesh, there was a cry of outrage, and Tomas fought her even more viciously. Even injured and without the use of his hands, he was a formidable foe. Once more, he had her pinned facedown in the dirt, his knee in her back.

Then suddenly he was off her. As she gasped for breath, there was the sound of a brief struggle—flesh making impact with flesh, bones cracking and then a heavy thud. She sprang to her feet, taking a defensive stance, her eyes trying to accustom themselves to the shadows. Knife still in hand, she was prepared to go after Luis or the
jefe
or whoever had chosen to interfere. This was her only chance to escape. If she was going to die, at least they were going to know they'd been up against a fighter.

She saw Tomas's body slumped against the burlap, and what might be the figure of another man. Preparing herself to attack, she took one slow, cautious step before a voice cracked through the air, commanding, amused. It came not from the direction in which she was looking, but from behind her.

“You can put the knife down, princess.”

J
ust like that, the three-day ordeal was over. It took a moment for the realization to sink in. She was safe, Rod was here, Tomas was unconscious, and the horror was over—at least for now.

Cara released her pent-up breath, but the adrenaline continued to pump. Delayed panic whispered unexpectedly along her nerves and left her trembling. She sank down on the pile of burlap and peered up at Rod through the darkness. Even dirty, unshaven and tired, he had never looked more wonderful. Even with that familiar tone in his voice—half amused, half impatient—she'd never been happier to hear him.

“I think I'll just hang onto the knife a little longer, if you don't mind,” she said in a shaky voice. “It makes me feel more secure.”

The harsh line of his mouth softened slightly. “I could do that,” Rod suggested quietly, dropping down beside her.

Then she got a really good look at his expression. It was far from the dispassionate one she'd expected.

Hazel eyes, darkened by a raw, passionate hunger, met hers. The gaze caressed and lingered as if an eternity would not be long enough to reassure him that she was uninjured. It was the look of a man who cared desperately, a man who had been afraid and wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. That open display of vulnerability, that need for reassurance robbed her of breath all over again.

The wrong-time-wrong-place refrain played through her head again. It was the only thing that kept her from flinging herself straight into his arms, where she knew she'd be welcomed and comforted and seduced. She struggled to bring a much-needed lightness into the breathless, sexually charged atmosphere.

With a glimmer of a smile, she pointed out, “It has come to my attention of late that you're not always around.”

His own faint smile was rueful, “I'm here now.”

“Exactly,” she said with forced breeziness. “After I had everything under control.”

He raised one eyebrow skeptically. “You were in control of that scene I walked in on?”

She paled at the memory of Tomas's body pressing down on hers. Even though the man's hands had been tied, it had been a too vivid hint of how things might have turned out.