Wild Orchids (42 page)

Lora glared at him. He had her there… She was unable to say precisely what should be done with the money, but she did know that Max had no right to it. But then, who did?

"Salve your prickly conscience, Lora. We earned it, and anyway, I mean to see that it's spent in a good cause. Clemente's and Lowenthal's family will get some of it, to begin with."

"What about Clemente?" Lora asked, suddenly remembering the body that they had left behind in the jungle.

"Barney said he'll bring the body out and see that it's returned to Clemente's family. I told him where to find it."

"And Ortega? Do you think they'll catch him?"

"Probably. He might even be arrested. But I seriously doubt if he'll ever go to jail. Ortega has friends in high places."

Lora looked up into those sparkling black eyes, twinkling piratically above the crooked blade of a nose and villainous mustache, and suddenly, impulsively, reached up to plant a quick kiss on his mouth.

His hand came up to catch her arm, and he looked down at her for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else she couldn't decipher.

"Lora…" But whatever he was going to say was lost as the rotor of the helicopter started to revolve, making further conversation impossible.

The pilot leaned out the door to yell, "You folks coming?" and then they were climbing inside.

They settled into the rear seats as Tunafish had taken the seat next to the pilot to give his leg more room. Then the whirlybird was lifting into the air.

As the helicopter gained height, the panorama beneath them was dazzling. Lora looked down with awe at the magnificence of thousands of hills that seemed to ripple into eternity in every imaginable shade of green. Misty clouds of steam from the daily downpour veiled the lowland areas. Stark rock cliffs, a few crowned with snow, stretched for the sky. The deep blue of lagoons and lakes and streams appeared' unexpectedly from time to time in gleaming contrast to the vistas of rolling greenery. Lora wondered which one was theirs… Seen from the air, the montana jungle looked like a verdant paradise. Glancing at Max, Lora decided that, despite everything, maybe that's just what it had been.

"Mr. Maxwell, where should I take you? Colonel Brackemidge has put me totally at your disposal."

They had been in the air about fifteen minutes. Lora had been so caught up in the beauty of the scenery—and a curious sense of loss that she could not quite explain—that she had not said a word so far during the flight. The pilot's question caught her attention. She looked up, her eyes going to Max.

"Tunafish needs a hospital, a good hospital, so I suppose you'd better take us to Guatemala City."

"I ain't goin' to no hospital, man. You know I hate hospitals."

"Well, I sure as hell am not taking you home to Ann like that. She'll skin me."

Tunafish looked uneasy. "Me, too. I done told her we was takin' a fishin' trip."

"And I'm not going to wetnurse you, so it doesn't look to me like you have much choice. It's either a hospital or Ann."

"Some friend you are," Tunafish grumbled, glaring at Max. Max looked at Lora with a grin. "Ann's his wife. Barely five feet tall and meaner than hell. She keeps Tunafish and those kids in line, believe me."

Tunafish grinned, too, looking in no way offended by this description of his wife. "I'm gonna tell Annie it's your fault I broke my leg."

Max shuddered exaggeratedly. "You probably woald." Then he turned to look at Lora, his eyes suddenly unsmiling. "Lora, we can put you on a plane when we get to Guatemala City. You can be in Kansas by breakfast time, if you like."

Lora returned his look. She would rather say this in private, but there was no privacy to be had. Casting pride to the winds, she said softly, "I want to stay with you, please, Max."

Tunafish cleared his throat and looked away. The pilot suddenly became very busy studying his instruments.

"We'll talk about it later," Max said repressively, but his eyes were suddenly warm on hers.

Lora smiled at him, feeling ridiculously happy all at once. He had not rejected her. That must mean that he was not yet quite ready to say good-bye, as he had threatened, now that their jungle idyll was at an end.

Chapter XXV

By the time they landed at the airport in Guatemala City, got Tunafish into a taxi, waded through the red tape that was required before he could be admitted to a hospital, and found a taxi to take them to a hotel, it was nearly midnight, which in a Latin country like Guatemala is the top of the evening. The streets were teeming with traffic and pedestrians, the restaurants and lounges overflowing. After finally leaving Tunafish sleeping under a heavy dose of a sedative in preparation for surgery the following morning to rebreak and reset his poor thigh, Lora was exhausted, and Max looked as tired as she felt. The idea of spending the night in a hotel with Max was exciting, Lora thought, or at least it would have been if they both hadn't been so tired. Too tired? She glanced speculatively at the dark-shadowed face of the man she loved. That remained to be seen.

The taxidriver dropped them at the Hacienda Guatemala City, a small but elegant hostelry in the center of the city.

Walking through the ornate brass doors, Lora took one look at the casually chic clothing of the other guests and felt about two inches tall. She slunk across the marble floor of the lobby and hid behind a potted palm, feeling horribly self-conscious about her tangled, grimy hair, sunburned face and torn and dirty clothes as Max walked up to the desk and requested a room with aplomb. He did not seem a whit disgruntled by his own disreputable clothes or scruffy beard, Lora noted with some asperity. Her eyes popped as he extracted an American Express card from his pocket and handed it over. How on earth had he ever gotten that?

"It's not stolen, is it? The credit card, I mean," she whispered anxiously as they were shown to their room by a smiling bellhop, who had shruggingly accepted Max's firm refusal of an offer to carry their only luggage, the brown leather suitcase.

"Of course not," Max answered with a quirky smile. "I wish you'd rid yourself of this notion that I'm some sort of criminal. I'm not, you know. At least, not that sort," he amended with a grin as the bellhop opened the door and bowed them into the room. "I got it quite legitimately, just like everyone else."

"You can get an American Express card?" That idea was more mind-boggling than the other. "What on earth did you put for occupation? Jailbreaker?"

"I said I was self-employed, which is true," Max said soothingly, passing the expectant bellhop a bill—undoubtedly from her small store of money, which had survived unscathed in his pocket through all their hardships—and closing the door behind him. "I don't know about you, but I'd just as soon forget about all this stuff for a while. What do you say to dinner—room service? You can take a bath while I order."

"A bath." Lora breathed the words, enraptured at the idea. She was so dazzled by the combined prospects of food and cleanliness that every other thought was instantly crowded from her mind.

"Through there," Max said, pointing at an open door. "Steak sound all right to you? That's what I want."

"It sounds heavenly." Lora sighed, thinking of a big, juicy sirloin. "With all the trimmings. Salad, and potato, and bread and butter… "

"You'll get sick," he warned, grinning. "If Montezuma's revenge doesn't get you, eating too much on an empty stomach will.”

"I don't care, it's worth it. Go on, order all that. And a shrimp cocktail, if they have one. And dessert."

"You'll get fat." His grin was wider than ever as he picked up the phone.

"I'll worry about it later. Order." Lora stuck her tongue out at him, then disappeared through the bathroom door. Inside the bathroom, she stood for a moment marveling at everything: the white porcelain tub with its glass shower doors, the luxury of a flush toilet, the sink with a lighted mirror above. The floor was cool, black and white tile, and Lora kicked off her mangled sneakers and enjoyed the sensation of it against her bare feet as she closed the door. Sighing blissfully at the luxury, she let the water run into the tub while she washed her face with soap and the delightfully thick washcloth the hotel provided. They also provided toothpaste, but she didn't have a toothbrush. Not that a small inconvenience like that mattered. Humming happily, she squeezed toothpaste onto the washcloth and rubbed her teeth with that. The strong minty taste left in her mouth afterwards made her stomach rumble. She was starving… Lora thought longingly about the steak she would soon be eating as she stopped off her clothes, made quick but appreciative use of the toilet, and climbed into the steaming tub. Her mouth watered as she pictured the thick slab of meat, brown and sizzling… Her stomach rumbled, loudly, and Lora picked up the soap and washcloth and set to work with a will. As much as she would enjoy a long soak in the tub, her starving insides insisted she hurry.

Her hair was filthy, and she was contemplating washing it with the bar of soap in lieu of shampoo when a quick rap at the door was followed by Max's entrance.

"I didn't say you could come in," she protested, pressing the white washcloth to her breasts and feeling ridiculously shy as he looked her over with grinning appraisal from just inside the door.

"You're not getting modest on me again, are you?" His voice was teasing, but his eyes warmed as they took in her curving body, the taut, pink-tipped breasts gleaming with water and traces of soap, the tiny waist and the curve of her hips that was just visible through the veil of water. Her legs were bent at the knee, hiding quite a bit, but his eyes gleamed over as much of her as he could see.

"I brought you something," he added, holding up a brown paper bag tantalizingly as his eyes moved back up to meet hers. Lora had to smile at the lurking smile she found there. "Toothpaste, a toothbrush, a comb, shampoo, and some female junk that the hotel threw in for good measure. I called down to the desk and explained that the airline had lost most of our luggage."

"And they believed you?" Lora thought of the picture they must have presented in the lobby. No reputable airline would let passengers board looking like that!

"Why not? I'm a paying customer. They'll believe anything, as long as you pay for it."

"You're very cynical."

"You're very naive. And very, very pretty. How would you like your back scrubbed?"

"I wouldn't!"

"Well, I would. Move over, I'm getting in."

"Max, no!" The idea of Max joining her in her bathtub was almost as shocking as it was intriguing. She had never taken a bath with anyone, with the exception of her sister when they were small. Though she had made love with him on more occasions than she could count, and though he had seen, and more than seen, every millimeter of her skin, she still felt shy about him joining her in the bath. But he was taking off his clothes, and as she watched she felt a delicious flutter of nervous excitement…

God, he was gorgeous naked. He had the most beautiful body of any man she had ever seen—not that she had seen that many naked men, of course. But his was just as she had always imagined a man's body should be, broad of shoulder and wide of chest, narrow of waist and hips and long of limb, to say nothing of brown and hairy and muscular and too sexy for words. Her eyes moved over him with kindling warmth as he stepped into the tub with her. From the wicked half smile on his face, as well as the other unmistakable physical evidence, he was as aware of the possibilities of this encounter as she was. She sat up straighter, bending her knees closer to her body to accommodate him as he sat down at the opposite end of the tub with a great sloshing overflow of water.