In Too Deep (5 page)

“You obviously missed blackmail. I told her if I discovered those files in Scottie's hands again, I'd tell him how she felt about him.” Still delighted with her ingenuity, she chuckled at its success. Louise had been horrified. She'd hidden those feelings for fifteen years.

“Frankly, I'm not sure I won't anyway,” she said thoughtfully. “It's about time he woke up and gave her the attention she deserves. Besides, he needs a woman in his life.”

That hard expression was back on Rod's face in an instant. “Playing matchmaker, princess? I doubt your father would approve. He's more than capable of finding a woman for himself, if he wants one.”

“Were there women when you knew him?” she asked hesitantly, not sure she wanted to know the answer. The man she knew had been a doting father, a loving husband... when he was home.

“With a man like your father there will always be women around. He's a charming, virile man. But if you're asking about affairs, the answer is no. In all the years I knew him, as far as I know he was faithful to your mother.”

There was something in Rod's voice that bothered her. “You sound as though you disapprove.”

“It wasn't for me to approve or disapprove,” he said, and this time she recognized the emotion underscoring his comments with absolute certainty. He was angry. Before she could question it, he was on his feet.

“Let's get this cleaned up and go over my notes. It's getting late.”

The brief amiable mood was gone and, to Cara's surprise, she was disappointed. On some level, she'd hoped that Rod Craig would help her to understand her father. It would have been a serendipitous side effect of the trip. And at first it had appeared that he would. Now, though, he was shutting her out again, treating her as the outsider she'd always felt herself to be. He'd suddenly made her feel as though she were prying. She shuddered as a familiar loneliness engulfed her.

It took every ounce of determination she possessed to pull herself together and get on with the business at hand. She washed up their few dishes while Rod got his reports and drawings. He lit a lantern in the tent and spread the sketches on the cot.

At first she chafed at his intentionally simplified explanations, but as she asked more detailed questions, his responses became increasingly complex and technical. She was impressed with his thoroughness and told him so. His lips twitched with irritating amusement. He clearly felt he was indulging some crazy whim of hers. She refused to rise to the bait. It would only convince him his patronizing attitude was justified.

“Before we decide on any recommendations, I want to see the site in the morning,” she said when he'd finished.

“It's not necessary. You have everything you need right here in front of you.” He regarded her coolly. “Unless, of course, you're questioning my competence.”

“Of course not. But as long as I'm here, I might as well see everything for myself. You know Scottie will have a thousand questions.”

“And the answers will all be in the report.”

“Not all of them,” she said pointedly.

“What do you mean?”

“You said earlier there were problems. You don't mention them in anything you've written. Don't you think I should see them for myself?”

“There are problems, but not with the site itself. At least not from an engineering point of view.”

“Then what is it?”

“It depends on whom you ask.”

“I'm asking you.”

“Well, for starters, there is a small tribe of Lacandones living in the area. They'd have to be relocated. They've already been forced from pillar to post by the mahogany cutters and immigrants who've been encouraged by the government to move onto the land. Their primitive, isolated way of life has been virtually destroyed by the spreading tentacles of civilization.”

“We're in the business of progress, Rod.”

“That doesn't mean I always have to like it.”

“Is there more?”

“There are some archaeologists who object rather strenuously to the dam.”

“Why?”

“It will flood a huge section of the valley south of here.”

“So? The government must see the loss of land as a necessary trade-off.”

“It's not just land. Mayan ruins will be lost at Yaxchilan. There's no way of knowing how many currently undiscovered sites might also be flooded out.”

An image of the spectacular Mayan ruins she'd once seen at Uxmal and Chichen Itza surfaced. “I see,” she said, troubled. “The government knows this?”

“I understand formal protests have been made.”

Cara sighed. It was a side of the business that nagged at her conscience more than she would have liked. Still, it had nothing to do with WHS. If the Mexicans wanted a dam along the Usumacinta, the company's only responsibility was to advise on feasibility, prepare thorough engineering studies and cost estimates and to oversee construction. The ethical and moral issues involved in the possible destruction of antiquities were best left to others.

“What's your recommendation?”

Rod met her gaze evenly. “That we abandon the project and let the Mexican government deal with its own internal squabbling.”

“What! You must be joking. This is a huge contract for us.”

“Forget the money for a minute and think about what I've told you. WHS doesn't need this kind of controversy, and you know it. It'll blow up in our faces. Every environmentalist and archaeologist in the world will be on our case if we get involved with the construction of the dam. I'd suggest we turn in the preliminary study, then let the Mexicans hire someone else to do the job, if they insist on going ahead with it. Let some other company deal with the negative public relations.”

Cara was astonished. Rod didn't seem the sort of man to avoid controversy. She would have guessed he relished it. She stared at him incredulously. “Just close up shop and walk away? What kind of business call is that?”

“Not everything can be computed in dollars and cents, princess.” He shrugged, regarding her disdainfully. “Somehow I'm not surprised you don't realize that.”

The cutting remark hurt far more than it should have. She studied him curiously. “You don't like me very much, do you?”

He shrugged. “Is that a job requirement?”

“It would make this particular job a hell of a lot easier.”

“I don't even know you.”

“Then shouldn't you give me a chance before treating me like I'm an incompetent meddler?”

“Look, Cara,” he began impatiently. “I respect your father. He's been very good to me. He's let me go my own way for the past fifteen years without interference. If I told him to walk away from this, he'd do it.”

Cara nodded. “Maybe so, but I'm guessing he'd ask a whole lot of questions first.”

“Some,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Then try to look at this from my point of view. I know nothing about you, Mr. Craig, at least not firsthand. For the moment I'm in charge. Scottie's still too sick for you to go running to him to make the decision. I guess I need twice as much convincing as he would.”

“What will it take?”

“Take me to the site. Show me what will be affected. Let me talk to some people around here about it. Then I'll decide.”

“I thought you wanted to be out of here tomorrow afternoon.”

“I did, but I'll stay as long as it takes to make a fair decision.”

His dark eyes narrowed, but he gave a sigh of resignation. “You're Scottie's daughter all right. You've inherited every bit of his stubbornness.”

For the first time since she'd arrived, she detected a grudging admiration in his tone. “Then we have a deal?”

He studied her consideringly. “Is it the best one I'm going to get?”

She grinned at him then. “The only one.”

He nodded. “We'll leave at daybreak.”

T
he wild braying jerked Cara from a dreamless sleep, her heart pounding. Instantly her vivid imagination sorted through visions of every untamed jungle creature she'd ever seen or heard.
National Geographic
specials unreeled in her mind. A shudder shook her. None had sounded quite like this.

Whatever it was, it was close. Very close. With her breath caught in her throat, she peered through the shadows toward the opening in the tent—and discovered the ugliest donkey she'd ever seen watching her with malevolent interest. Groaning in disgust, she sank back, closed her eyes and waited for her frantic heartbeat to slow.

A burro, she thought, chagrined. A dumb, nasty-looking donkey. Thank heaven she hadn't screamed. Rod would never have let her live it down.

“You're more effective than any alarm clock,” she muttered, giving the animal a disgruntled glare. She guessed from the pale sky that it was barely dawn. Rod would want to leave soon anyway. She should probably be grateful the burro had awakened her. No doubt it was better than being rousted from bed by an irritated Rod. He'd already demonstrated his ineptitude at gentleness.

Cara regarded the donkey warily. “I suppose
you
want to hang around while I get dressed, too.”

She stood up and stretched her aching muscles. Rod had insisted she sleep on the cot. He had taken down the hammock and moved it outside for himself. At the time she'd considered it a surprising burst of chivalry. Now she wasn't so sure. It had been the most uncomfortable night she'd ever spent in her life. Even the extra padding of her sleeping bag hadn't cushioned her body adequately. She felt as though she'd slept on rocks. She massaged a couple of the sorest spots, then grimaced as she pulled on her clothes. The incredible mugginess had left them damp. It was like getting into a wet bathing suit.

The donkey brayed again and took a few more steps into the tent. He appeared ready to settle in. Cara approached the disgusting animal with a glint of determination in her eye.

“Enough is enough. Get out of here, you old reprobate.”

“I trust you're not talking to me.”

Cara jumped at the sound of Rod's voice. As he spoke, he lifted a corner of the tent flap and peered at her. There was a sleepy sensuality in his morning look that promptly stirred her blood. Hazel eyes skimmed over her with leisurely, disconcerting thoroughness.

So, she thought with idle fascination, yesterday's reaction to the man hadn't been the result of fatigue or irritation or any one of the other excuses she'd made. Apparently the gossip was true: Rod Craig most definitely inspired lust. Even in her. How interesting and, in her case, disturbing. He was about as appropriate for her as a sky-diving playboy. Having decided that, with her usual no-nonsense efficiency, she set about ignoring the sensations he aroused.

She offered him a sunny smile. “If the shoe fits.”

He scowled at her with mock ferocity. “And here I came to tell you that the coffee's on.”

“If you'll take your pal out of here with you, I'll be along in a minute.”

Rod shook his head as he swatted the burro's rump, urging him back through the flap. “I can't understand what's gotten into him. He never comes visiting when I'm here alone. It must have something to do with your charming personality.”

“Maybe he's taking his cues from you. I noticed you didn't hesitate before poking your head in.”

“I knocked. The canvas tends to muffle the sound.”

“Very funny. Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” she inquired, welcoming the change in his previously surly demeanor. Perhaps he'd decided to cease armed warfare. There was a certain danger in that, of course. It could make him more attractive and then
wham
, she'd have no defense left against the desire that teased at her senses like the brush of a feather.

“Only when I'm about to waste a day taking the boss's daughter on a sight-seeing tour.”

Cara couldn't miss the sour note underlying the glib remark. So much for the truce. Her defenses fell back into place, stronger than ever.

“I'm glad you're looking forward to it,” she mocked. “There's just one thing.”

“Oh?”

“At the moment I'm not the boss's daughter,” she reminded him sweetly. “I'm the boss. Now would you please get that foul-breathed animal out of my tent.”

“
Our
tent,” he corrected. “And be careful what you say about old Diablo.” The warning was accompanied by a worrisome glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Diablo?” She regarded the mangy burro skeptically.

“He's a little on the temperamental side. He's also your transportation.”

It was an incredibly effective exit line. Cara almost choked on the vitamin she'd just put in her mouth. She took a quick swallow of bottled water and hurried after Rod.

“What are you talking about? Transportation to where?”

“You want to see the site. Diablo's going to take you.”

“I am not getting on that beast.”

“Don't you ride?” He made it sound like a challenge.

“Horses. I ride horses.” She decided not to mention that awful camel Scottie had insisted she ride to a site outside Cairo. It had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience—she hoped. She could still remember the nip that vile creature had tried to take out of her rear end.

“Besides,” she reminded Rod, “I thought we were hiking.”

“I am. You'll ride.”

She took another long look at Diablo and felt her stomach flip over. “If you can walk, I can.”

He surveyed her from head to toe as if determining her stamina, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

An hour later, Cara decided she might have made just the tiniest miscalculation. The one-hundred-percent cotton shirt, which had promised to be cool, clung to her back. The long, loose pants chosen to protect her legs were plastered to them instead. The safari hat meant to shade her head felt as though it weighed half a ton. The mud sucked at her boots. The energy-sapping heat dragged at her. She was beginning to sincerely regret having left Diablo tethered at camp where he could munch leaves all day.