Miranda Vaughn Mystery 01.00 - Chasing the Dollar (18 page)

We didn
't speak for a time. The road reached the end of the grassy meadow, and the car entered the edge of the line of trees. Only a few vehicles shared the road with us, most going the opposite direction. Every time another car or truck came into view, I flinched, and Jake gripped the steering wheel so tight I expected it to snap in his hands.

Jake slowed as we approached a signpost with arrows pointing in three directions. The road forked, and a small gravel drive branched off a few yards before. Stopping the car, Jake leaned forward and examined the signs—Sibun Forest Reserve,
Santa Marta, and a hand painted sign that was tacked below the official road signs pointing to Gaia Eco-Lodge in twelve kilometers. Below that was another wooden plaque: Closed. Jake threw the car in reverse, backed up several yards, and took the gravel road toward the lodge.

The little car bounced along the rutted road. I put one hand on the roof of the car to brace myself as Jake hit another bump. It was going to be a long twelve kilometers.

"If it's closed, why are we going there?" I asked.

As soon as I asked the question, I knew the answer. Of course, we were going to add breaking and entering to our list of criminal acts.

Jake didn't answer, just focused on the road. It felt like a very long time before we saw the lodge. Two Jeeps were parked in front, the Gaia Eco-Lodge logo painted on the side. We parked next to them, and Jake looked around. I did, too, though I didn't know what I was looking for. Did we want to find people? Or not? I had no idea what Jake's plan was, and he wasn't talking.

He opened the door and climbed out.
"Hello?" he yelled. "Is anyone here?"

In the distance, a door slammed, and we both turned in that direction. A blond woman walked around the corner and stopped at the sight of the car. And probably the large, rough-looking man standing next to it. I got out, too, to soften the effect.

"Hi!" I said cheerfully, hoping to show we were no threat.

"
Hello there," she said, and I thought I detected a hint of an accent. German, maybe. Or possibly Scandinavian.

Jake came around the car and put his arm around my shoulder.
"Hi, sorry to intrude. We saw the sign back at the road, but we were hoping you'd make an exception for us tonight. My wife and I are on our honeymoon and are making our way to Guatemala. Do you think we could rent a room for the night?"

The woman stood straighter and tilted her head slightly.
"It's not really tourism season yet," she said. "You're lucky you're not in the middle of a hurricane."

Jake nodded.
"Yes, I know. But we always wanted to see Belize and had the time off work, so we decided to risk it."

He took a step forward as she approached, holding out his hand.
"I'm Jake Barnes. This is my wife, Miranda."

I flushed at his words even as I berated myself for their effect. This was fantasy, a lie to get something he wanted. It meant nothing. I smiled and shook the woman
's hand.

"
Gerta Reichel," she said, taking my hand in a warm grip. Up close I could see she was older than I first thought, fine lines radiating out from her pale blue eyes.

She shook her head with a smile.
"Well, it's getting late, and I don't want to send you two back out on the road, so yes, I will open a cabin for you. We're not set to reopen for another month, so it's not going to be in great shape. If you want to get your bags, I'll get the keys, and my husband, Klaus, will show you to your lodge."

As she walked off, Jake packed my still damp clothes into the duffel bag and zipped it closed.

"You gave our real names," I said softly.

"
Tell as few lies as possible when you're trying to deceive someone," he said. "Makes it easier to remember your story. Plus, I might have to use a credit card with them. It would be hard to explain the name change, wouldn't it?"

And here I
'd been thinking he was a Boy Scout when he had some sort of master's degree in deception.

Gerta returned with a tall, bearded man. She introduced her husband, a bear of a man with a luscious head of red hair and matching beard. His brown eyes were warm and welcoming.

"Honeymooners, eh?" he said with a laugh. "Get too excited to make reservations?"

We laughed with him, and Jake shrugged.
"Yeah, we bought the plane tickets on a whim and figured we'd just wing it for lodging. So far, it's worked out well, but this is a more remote area of the country."

Klaus nodded toward a gravel path.
"Well, let's get you two settled. I'm afraid the kitchen isn't open, but I'm sure we'll be able to scrape up some food for you."

We followed him down the path, around the corner of the large main lodge. Gerta opened a door marked
"laundry" and then emerged a few seconds later with an armful of towels and bedding. I offered to help, and she put two folded robes in my arms.

"
How long have you owned the lodge?" Jake asked.

"
We came to Belize ten years ago for our honeymoon," Gerta said. "About five years ago, we returned for a vacation and didn't want to leave. We sold everything we had in Austria and moved the next year."

"
It's a beautiful place," I said, taking in the scenery. Besides our footsteps on the gravel, the only sounds were the birds and the breeze rustling through the leaves above.

"
We love it here," Gerta said. "You should come back during the tourist season. We offer cave explorations and guided hikes up to the waterfalls. It's quite lovely. Bit less rain, too."

"
I'm sure we will," Jake said, keeping his hand at my waist as we walked. I liked the firm feel, guiding me on the trail.

"
You can help yourself to the laundry facility, if you'd like," Gerta said. My heart soared at the thought of having clean clothes again. My standards had definitely slipped the last few days.

Klaus let us into the lodge and handed us the key. Gerta followed and started toward the stripped bed with the sheets.

"Oh, don't worry about making the bed. We'll handle that. I feel bad that we've imposed as it is," I said.

She smiled and shrugged.
"It's no problem."

Klaus took her by the arm and gave us a wink, then pulled a pen and a narrow form from his shirt pocket and handed it to Jake.

"Fill this out and get it to us after you've settled in," he said. "Take your time."

They shut the door behind us, and I looked around the tiny lodge. It was, without a doubt, the most romantic room I
'd ever been in. A stripped-down king-sized bed sat against a wall, mosquito netting draping down tied at the four posters. A small table with two chairs sat at the other side of the room near French doors that led to a balcony. I opened the doors and stepped out on the balcony and gasped. We were deep in a thick canopy of trees, but the fading sunlight provided just enough illumination to view a tree-top view of a luscious jungle. Colorful birds contrasted against the dark green leaves and complemented the scattered bright flowers. The trees opened up just enough to frame a waterfall cascading down a wall of rocks in the distance.

As I watched, everything faded away—the roaring in my head from the stress of the last few days was replaced by the lulling sound of the water against the rocks and the calls of birds. My shoulders relaxed. My stomach unclenched. Nothing bad could happen here, in this beautiful paradise. Right?

I turned to tell Jake to come look but didn't see him in the room. Stepping back inside, I saw the light in the bathroom was on.

"
Jake?" I called, my voice echoing in the empty room.

"
In here," he said, and I started toward the bathroom. "Wait. How squeamish are you?"

Alarm bells rang in my head.

The bathroom was a gleaming expanse of tile and marble and glass. My gaze swept across the room and rested on the pair of pants on the floor. A few feet beyond the pants, Jake sat on the tile ledge of the bathtub wearing his shirt and boxers. A ribbon of red drifted down his leg, and my breath caught as my mind registered that it was blood flowing down his leg, pooling on the cool marble floor.

I swayed for a second, my head spinning at the sight of the blood, his blood. Then instincts took over and I rushed toward him, grabbing a towel on my way. I kneeled next to him and pressed it to his thigh.

"
How long have you been bleeding like this?"

His face blanched, and his body tensed, so I eased up on the pressure. My hands shook as the red seeped through the thick towel almost instantly.

Jake groaned, and I looked up at him He didn't look well—his eyes were closed and his face was pale. A thin sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, and though the cabin was humid, this was clearly from the injury. He shook his head. "Not long. Walking up the trail seems to have started it again."

"
Hold this," I said, taking his hand and putting it on the towel. "Keep the pressure on it."

I wiped my hands on another towel then looked in the cabinet under the sink, hoping to find something else to stop the bleeding. I pulled a small first aid kit from under the sink and opened it, taking a quick inventory. A full box of butterfly bandages would help, as would the nonstick gauze, adhesive tape, and antibacterial gel. A full bottle of hydrogen peroxide sat behind it.

Returning to Jake, I dropped to my knees next to him and poured some peroxide onto a washcloth. I pulled the saturated towel from his leg and saw the blood was flowing, but more slowly. Unsure of the water quality, I rinsed his wound with the peroxide and pressed a fresh corner of the towel against it. Sitting back on my heels, I watched the color return to Jake's face.

"
How deep is it, do you think?" I asked.

"
Not too deep. If I were home, I'd go to the emergency room for stitches," he said.

"
We have butterfly bandages, gauze, and tape. I think we can get you patched up for tonight, go to a hospital in the morning." I rummaged through the kit and found a sample pack of pain reliever and then handed the pills to him.

When the bleeding had slowed enough, I used the wet washcloth to clean his leg. Dylan should burn in hell for many reasons, but not the least was marring what had been a perfect thigh. Even with the scar, it would still rank among the world
's best legs—thickly muscled, golden skin. I exhaled slowly and focused on the injury and tried to ignore how intimate the contact felt.

The wound was about three inches in length, but clean. I didn
't think it was as shallow as he thought, but between the two of us, we managed to squeeze it closed enough to secure the butterfly bandages over it. I smeared the skin with a generous glop of antibacterial gel and then taped a square of the gauze over the cut.

Jake flexed his leg to check how secure the gauze was, and I wiped the blood from the floor and threw the towels into the bathtub. It still looked like a murder scene, and I hoped that Gerta and Klaus wouldn
't hold it against us. They seemed like nice people, and I hated to make more work for them.

"
I'll take the towels to the laundry," Jake said, standing.

I scrambled up off the floor, worried that he was back on his feet so quickly, but he seemed steady as a rock once again. He bent and picked up the jeans from the floor, and a smear of blood remained on the floor. He threw the pants in the bathtub with the towels.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

"
Whoa. What?" I said, my head spinning. I wasn't necessarily opposed, but this wasn't the seduction scene I'd been imagining.

"
They're covered in my blood," he said, a slight smile at the edge of his eyes.

"
Right," I said, nodding toward the door. "I need to take a shower anyway. Then you can have my clothes."

And probably anything else you want, too.

He paused, staring at me in a way that made me wonder if I weren't already naked, then he gave me a quick nod and turned and walked out of the bathroom. I closed the door behind him and hung up one of the plush white bathrobes on the hook near the walk-in shower. I stripped out of my clothes and dropped them in the bathtub with the rest of the laundry, and stepped around the glass-bricked wall into the shower. Under the jets of warm water, the tension that had almost faded away on the balcony finally left my shoulders. I rolled my head and felt the stress melt away and exhaustion creep in.

When had I slept last, really slept? It felt like days or weeks or maybe even nearly two years since I
'd had a night where I hadn't woken from a bad dream, only to find I was waking to a nightmare. I closed my eyes and let the hot water run down my scalp, down my body, letting it wash away the nightmares and the tension.

After twenty minutes of sheer bliss, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in the thick robe. Jake had left the duffel bag on the floor by the bathroom door, and I found the comb and toothbrush and other toiletries. The combination of the warm shower and the fact that I felt safe for the first time in days was lulling me to sleep, even while I stood in the cool bathroom.

While I was in the shower the sun had set, and the main room was lit only by a small lamp by the side of the bed. Jake was gone. So were my clothes—again. The man had no compunction about walking into the bathroom while I was showering. He'd taken the bloody towels and clothes from the tub and the rest of my clothing in the duffel bag, which had reeked of briny diesel. I wasn't going to complain about this theft. Especially since he had made the bed before he left with the laundry.

I lay down on the bed and sank into the soft expanse and closed my eyes. As soon as I was horizontal, a million thoughts, worries, and fears raced through my mind. How were we going to get out of
Belize and get home? What if Dylan was setting us up and when we went to the bank tomorrow, he was there? Was he bluffing about the threat to Aunt Marie? What was going on at home? Was everyone I cared for safe?

The adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I fought the impulse to get up and pace the small cabin to burn off the energy. Instead, I forced myself to take a few deep breaths, and keep still, and try and get back to that state of exhaustion that I had felt minutes earlier. Eventually my mind cleared, and the sounds of the jungle filtering through the screened windows lulled me into a light sleep.

A soft click brought me back with a start, and I sat up. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. Jake walked through the door with hardly a limp, carrying a tray in his hands. He gave me a smile that made my heart race.

"I stole your clothes," he said with a devilish grin. He was obviously feeling better.

"
I'm not surprised." My heart thumped, and my exhaustion faded at the sight of him.

"
I threw everything in the washing machine."

"
Thank you."

I sat on the edge of the bed, unsure where to go. I was very much aware that under the heavy plush robe, I was completely naked. Jake set the tray down on the table.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked, my head still a little foggy.

He smiled.
"Not quite two hours."

"
Where were you?"

"
Chatting with our hosts. Gerta sent some food and champagne."

Oh, that was going to help me get my hormones under control.

"I'm going to take a shower. You should eat something."

Jake disappeared behind the shuttered doors, and I heard the water run in the shower. My mind flashed on an image of him standing under the water, and my entire body throbbed. God, I had to get ahold of my libido. It had been off on sabbatical for the past year and a half but was back with a vengeance. I fell back on the bed and stared at the canopy and tried unsuccessfully not to imagine what was happening on the other side of the wall.

The water stopped, and the absence of noise shook me out of my daydream. I stood and stretched and then walked to the small table. Gerta's tray was perfect for a honeymooning couple—a bottle of chilled champagne nestled in ice, alongside a bowl of berries and fruit. I popped a piece of melon into my mouth, closed my eyes, and nearly groaned at the sweetness melting on my tongue.

I opened my eyes to see Jake standing in the doorway to the bathroom, his eyes dark and intensely focused on me. I swallowed as I took in his bare chest and the contrast between his tan skin and the white towel around his waist.
Lord
. The man was built. And confident enough to walk around nearly naked.

He took several long steps toward me, and I stood, frozen in place, unable to take my gaze from his eyes.

"I've never seen anyone more appreciative of good food," he said, reaching past me and picking a berry from the dish.

He tilted his head and moved even closer. My eyes lowered, and I found myself staring at his chest, wide and sculpted in muscle. I took a short breath and glanced up as Jake put the berry in his mouth. As his lips closed over the fruit he licked his bottom lip, and my heart flipped in my chest. The sight was so erotic, my head felt light.

"Champagne?" he asked.

I nodded, unable to speak. Jake pulled the bottle from the ice and unfastened the wire cage, gave the cork a twist, and opened the bottle with a loud pop. While he poured two glasses, I took a step back to catch my breath. I was too close and too exposed to him—in all ways.

He followed, handing me a glass of champagne and a smile that could melt glaciers. The room felt hotter now, as if the warm breeze had stopped and an unseen thermostat was raised. I sipped the bubbly, but it tasted dry in my mouth. I set the glass down and tried to ignore how my hands trembled.

"
Can you help me with something?" Jake asked.

"
Sure, yeah," I said, turning to him.

"
The gauze needs to be replaced," he said.

I nodded, still unsure of my voice.

"I'll get the first-aid kit," he said, turning back to the bathroom. When he returned, he was wearing the white bathrobe that matched mine.

Thank God, I nearly whispered. The sight of so much of his skin was doing terrible things to my self-control.

He pulled out a chair and sat, raising his right leg and resting it on the other chair. I flipped on a lamp near the window to get some light. He drew the fabric up and revealed the butterfly bandages still holding the wound closed. I held the lamp closer and looked for any signs of a growing infection, but the skin was cool to the touch and not swollen.

Bending his knee to allow me to see the wound, he gave me a smile.
"Are the bandages still in place?"

I nodded.
"Mostly. I'll replace the one that came loose."

He shook the bandages out of the first-aid kit and handed one to me, our fingers brushing. Even that brief contact sent a shot of heat through me. Touching his warm, clean-scented skin wasn
't helping either. I quickly fastened the bandage, checked for any bleeding then smoothed a clean square of gauze over the cut, and secured it with the adhesive tape.

Jake poured more champagne. The few sips I
'd taken were going to my head. Or it could have been the effect of being close to a half-naked Jake.

"
You bounced back from a knife wound pretty quick," I said.

"
It wasn't that bad," he said. "I was worried about infection after being in the water, but it bled so much it probably washed itself out."

The thought of his blood on the floor made my stomach flip.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, sitting in one of the upholstered chairs by the French doors.

I perched on the other, still uncomfortable around him, and reassembled the first aid kit to keep my hands busy.

"I'm fine," I said, lying through my teeth.

He stared at me, his eyes boring into mine with a dark intensity that made my nerves jump.
"You were kidnapped at gunpoint at breakfast, shot at and kidnapped at lunchtime, and then in the middle of a gun battle at the marina in the afternoon."

All true and it explained my exhaustion.
"It was a busy day," I said, trying for a weak laugh.

His lips twitched into a slight smile, and I found my eyes focused there. The tiny amount of alcohol in my system seemed to do away with all my self-control.

"Can I ask you something?"

I dragged my attention from his lips to his eyes, which had turned serious. I nodded, swallowed, and tried to focus.

"How long were you with Dylan?"

A bucket of icy water couldn
't have done a better job of extinguishing the mood. I frowned and leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms in front of me. "More than four years. Why?"

I knew I sounded defensive but didn
't care. I had no idea Dylan was a sociopath who was using me to launder dirty money. He was well educated, from a good family, had a good job. He had good taste in music and books and movies. There were no signs.

Or were there? I
'd been dredging my memory trying to come up with anything that should have warned me away from Dylan. We'd met at work and had similar interests and education, though his was from an Ivy League school paid for by his parents. I'd waited tables and taken out loans to get through a state university. Within a few months of working at Patterson Tinker, we were dating, and then we were both asked to apply for a promotion. Dylan had gotten the job, but was outraged on my behalf.