“I’ve been running the rivers for fifteen years. Experience.”
“Would they actually shoot at us?”
“It’s possible,” he drawled. “I wouldn’t push it.”
“Are there a lot of smugglers on the river?”
“Enough, sweetcakes. The safest bet is to keep to ourselves.”
An abundance of smugglers meant that Kates, if he should get his hands on the Empress or any other artifacts, would find it fairly easy to get the contraband out of the country. She was sure he would have noted this, too.
A sheet of rain swept toward them as lightning crackled. Ben put his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the shelter of the tarps. “Get behind the tarps and hold on. It could get a little rough before I find a place to tie up.”
Since she saw no point in getting wet when she didn’t have to, she did as he said, seeking shelter and bracing herself against one of the poles that held up the top. The boat began pitching as the waves increased, and the wall of rain hit them without any warning pattering of drops. Jorge, holding tight to another pole, shouted something at her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the pounding rain and reverberating bass of the thunder. The boat pitched forward into a trough, then rose alarmingly. It was like white-water rafting, only she didn’t have either a helmet or a life jacket, and she couldn’t see a blessed thing inside the sheltered area.
She wasn’t frightened; the storm didn’t seem rough enough, or the waves high enough, for them to be in real peril. Discomfort, yes, but nothing more. Of course, everything was relative; if she’d been in an airplane and it had been pitching the way the boat was currently doing, she’d have been saying her prayers.
After a few minutes she felt the boat begin to turn and ease its way into more sheltered waters. The pitching settled down, though the battering of the rain still made normal conversation impossible. The chill brought goose bumps to her arms and she hugged herself, drawing her knees up to preserve as much body heat as she could.
Pepe and Ben tied the boat securely and ducked under the shelter to wait out the rest of the storm. Both of them were as soaked as if they’d jumped into the river. Ben pushed his dripping dark hair out of his eyes and made his way over to where Jillian was sitting. When he got close, she could see the brightness of reckless excitement in his eyes.
“Good ride,” he said, raising his voice so she could hear him. He hooked his sodden shirt off over his head and tossed it aside. Jorge threw a towel to him and he deftly caught it, rubbing it first over his hair and face, then down to his chest and shoulders. All the while he stood right in front of her, never taking his eyes off of her.
The sight of his naked torso was causing her to entertain definitely impure thoughts, and he knew it, too, damn him. That was why he was watching her with that expression of taunting delight, waiting to catch every slip she made. Deliberately she looked right at his tight little nipples, half hidden in dark curly hair, and licked her lips. She saw his own involuntary response in the tightening of his abdominal muscles, and glanced up at him with her own taunting smile. It wouldn’t hurt him to realize that two could play that game.
“Want to dry my back?”
He pitched his voice lower this time, so low that she didn’t actually hear him, but read his lips quite well. She smiled. “I’m sure you can manage.”
Inwardly she stifled a sigh. The urge to touch him was almost irresistible. He had the kind of body that literally made her mouth water, strong and hard without being indecently muscle-bound. A man’s body, not a boy’s: heavy in the shoulders, dark hair on his chest and down the center of his abdomen. His skin was sleek and tanned, glowing with health.
He picked up her hand and put the towel in it anyway, then turned his back. She stared at the deep furrow down the center, at the hard muscles that flexed with his slightest movement. She didn’t want to touch his bare skin, didn’t want to feel his living power, the seductive warmth. . . . Yes, she did. Too much. She also wanted to lean forward and press her open mouth against that intriguing furrow, run her tongue over the sections of his spine. It would serve him right if she did, but it might cost her more than it did him.
So she contented herself with briskly running the towel over his back, not letting her hand touch his skin at any time. “There.”
“Thanks.” He turned around and took a seat beside her, draping the towel around his neck.
“You’re getting the supplies wet.”
He looked at the box he was sitting on. “No problem. It’s the tents, and they won’t mildew.”
Because the rain continued to beat down so loudly, he sat beside her without saying anything else until it slackened. When it did, he spoke to Pepe in dialect, and the small, lean Indian silently got to his feet and slipped out of the shelter. A moment later the engine started and they began moving. The tarps were quickly rolled up out of the way, letting sunshine and fresh air sweep over them.
As they chugged upriver, Ben lounged lazily on the boxes, casually resting his forearm beside her thigh. Jillian looked down and just as casually shifted away.
He gave a low laugh. Conversation was possible now, even one quiet enough to be private. “Stop being so jumpy,” he said. “We’re in this together, remember?”
“I remember that you’re a better bet than either Kates or Dutra,” she corrected.
He looked hurt. “You don’t trust me?”
“As much as I would a cat in a cage full of canaries.”
“Give me the chance, and I’ll sure eat you up,” he purred, his tone making the promise so lascivious that her heartbeat speeded up. He should have had a net thrown over him a long time ago, for the safety of the planet’s female population.
“Now that we’re under way and you can’t be left behind, why don’t you tell me what that tricky little map of yours says? There may be something in it that you haven’t deciphered right, something that I would spot because I’m familiar with the jungle.”
“Good try,” she said, loading her tone with admiration.
“I’m serious.” He moved his hand a little and lightly stroked the side of her thigh. “Why not tell me? It’ll be safer if two of us know.”
She pushed his hand away. “I won’t tell you because you’d probably maneuver me into the other boat and leave us behind while you race ahead to see if you can find any gold or jewels.”
“You really don’t trust me!” Now he sounded frankly incredulous.
“You bet your ass I don’t. Nothing’s changed. If I don’t go, no one goes. I’m sorry you wasted your little seduction routine.”
7
Little seduction routine. Ben ground his teeth every time he thought of that dismissive, condescending phrase. All right, so he’d been trying to work on her, but those not-so-accidental touches had been making his heart race, and he’d actually been getting a hard-on. From barely touching her! He hadn’t felt like that since high school, as if he had to sneak up on some delicious but forbidden fruit to get even the slightest taste of it. There he’d been, going down for the count in that damn, stupid, inexplicable fascination he felt for her, and she’d been as cool and unaffected as if she were shooing away a fly. She kept throwing him with that; damn it, was her coolness real or not? He’d seen exciting passion in her when she erupted in anger, felt her respond to his kisses—he thought—even though she’d stubbornly refused to admit it. And she’d kept him up half the night with that enraging tidbit about making love in a hammock on her balcony, just the sort of thing a man liked to hear, how a woman he was interested in had made love with someone else.
His body, his instincts, insisted that she was a passionate woman, but his mind couldn’t come up with any corroborating evidence. She was making him doubt himself, the way she shrugged off his advances as if they were nothing more than ploys—all right, so maybe they were, a little. But only a little, and only on the surface. On a deeper, more fundamental level, he was dead serious. His relationships with wome
n had always been light and fun, a good time, but he didn’t feel at all lighthearted about Jillian. His determination to have her was getting stronger by the day.
Damn it, what was it about her? In looks she was fairly ordinary, average height, not voluptuous at all. Her thick, straight brown hair was glossy and attractive, but not head-turning. Her green eyes were nice, with long dark lashes. But overall, the thing about her that struck him most was the lively intelligence in her face, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to being attracted to a woman’s mind. That was a good line for the glossy magazines, but it had little to do with reality. The thing was, he could see that she was attractive, nothing more, but his hormones insisted that she was the most fascinating, seductive woman on earth.
He didn’t like it. He’d always loved women, loved sex; he would rather be with a woman than buddying around with a bunch of men, but at the same time he’d always been able to cheerfully walk away and find another woman who meant just as much to him. It was a good way of life and he didn’t want to change it. He didn’t want to have one woman occupying his thoughts to the exclusion of all else, especially a woman who didn’t seem to feel any spark of desire for him in return.
He didn’t like it and he spent the next several days telling himself that it was just an aberration, brought on by the fact that she was the only woman along. If, say, Thèresa had also been on the trip, he’d never have looked twice at Jillian. But she wasn’t, and he couldn’t get Jillian out of his mind. He’d never had that trouble before; if one woman he’d had his sights on hadn’t worked out, something that seldom happened, he had simply moved on. He couldn’t move on here, and that was the problem. That, coupled with her resistance, was what was making her stand out. Once he’d had Jillian a few times she would become just like any other woman to him, and the obsession would go away.
* * *
On their sixth day out, when they tied up for the night Ben rapped out a few orders and the Brazilians on both boats leaped ashore with machetes in hand. Jillian watched them hack a small clearing out of the tangled vegetation that crowded every inch of earth and hung out over the water. Ben had spoken too rapidly for her to follow, so she went over to him. “Why are they doing that?”
“We’re going to eat dinner ashore tonight,” he tersely replied. “I’m goddamn tired of this boat and I figure everyone else is, too.”
He had a point. Ben had been in a bad mood for the past few days, Floriano and Vicente had been growling at each other for a day or so, and God only knew how bad the tempers were aboard the second boat, given who was on it. Every night she had heard curses and arguments from the companion vessel, though voiced low enough that she hadn’t understood what they were saying. She looked back at the bank and noticed that Dutra wasn’t doing any work, but wore a sneer as he watched the others labor.
Ben noticed it at the same time. “Dutra, get a machete and help.” His tone was even but inflexible; Jillian had never heard him sound like that before and she gave him a swift glance. His eyes were hard, without even a hint of the roguishness that usually lightened them.
Dutra spat dismissively and leaned against a tree. “Do it yourself.”
The six other men on the bank stopped and looked at Ben. They were very still, waiting.
Ben smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about his expression. “Fine. Then get the hell away from this camp. If you don’t work, you don’t eat, and you sure as hell don’t take up room on these boats. We’ll leave in the morning without you.”
“Hold it right there, Lewis!” Steven Kates leaped ashore, his good-looking face hard with anger. “Dutra is my employee, and so are you. I’ll decide who stays and who doesn’t.”
“No, you won’t.” Ben turned that humorless smile on him. “You haven’t been in command since we cast off in Manaus. I’m in charge of this trip, just as a surgeon is in charge of an operating room and a pilot’s in charge of an airplane. You pay me to get things done, but we do them my way. Either Dutra works or he stays here. We can’t carry food and equipment for someone who doesn’t work.”
Jillian saw Dutra’s eyes, small and mean and gleaming like those of an animal sensing a kill. She edged slowly away from Ben and squatted down beside her pack of personal belongings. Only her head was visible from the riverbank, if anyone was paying her any attention. They weren’t; probably they thought she had prudently removed herself from danger. Instead she unzipped the pack as quietly as possible and ran her hand down inside it, rummaging around for her pistol. She touched metal, the butt fitting comfortably, reassuringly, in her palm.
Dutra spat again and drew a machete from the scabbard behind his back. “Perhaps you will be the one who stays here,” he said, his wolfish canines showing as he started toward the boat.
“Perhaps not.” Ben’s move was as smooth as silk, his expression still calm as he reached behind his back, under his loose shirt, and came out with an authoritative automatic of his own. Jillian gave it a half-startled, half-admiring look. That was a serious piece of action, not so big that it couldn’t be concealed but with the hefty look of a 9mm. She hadn’t even suspected its presence, and she could tell from the way Dutra froze in his tracks that he hadn’t either.
“Both of you back down,” Kates snapped, stepping forward.
“I wouldn’t get in the line of fire if I were you,” Ben advised.
Kates halted. Rick, still on the boat, leaped to the bank and stumbled, falling to his knees. He struggled to his feet. “Hey!” he said belligerently. “Hey! What th’ hell’s going on here?”
He was drunk. Jillian’s lips tightened, but she remained where she was. She hoped he wouldn’t stumble into the line of fire, but she wasn’t going to worsen the situation by throwing herself out there in an attempt to head him off.
“What’s it going to be, Dutra?” Ben asked pleasantly. “Do you work, or do I blow your kneecap off? There won’t be any chance of a murder charge against me that way, not that the police in Manaus give a damn what happens to you. They’ll probably shake my hand. I’ll just leave you here on the bank. Maybe you’ll be able to get a ride back to Manaus before your leg rots off, but maybe not. You don’t have many friends on the river. Then, too, a jaguar might get you the first night, what with the smell of fresh blood and all.”
“You’re going too goddamn far, Lewis,” Kates said. He was enraged, his face dark red at what he saw as the usurpation of his rightful authority.
“Just laying the ground rules, Kates. This is my expedition. My job is to get everyone in and out alive, and for me to do that, everyone has to do what I say, when I say it. No arguing, no negotiating. A split second can make the difference between living and dying out here, and if you think your buddy Dutra has the experience to take over, let me tell you right quick that he doesn’t. He doesn’t know anything about this river or the territory we’re going into. His expertise, such as it is, is limited to the Amazon and its banks, and any back-alley murdering you want done. Maybe he told you he knew his way around in the interior, but he lied.”
Jillian glanced at Ben. He knew better. He knew that Kates had hired Dutra specifically for his killing skills. She saw at once why he had said it, however. Let Kates believe that Ben thought Dutra had duped Kates by lying about his expertise. It made Dutra the bad guy while allowing Kates to still pretend that he was on the up-and-up. As long as Kates didn’t realize how suspicious she and Ben were, they weren’t in as much danger. If he ever decided they were on to him, he might well tell Dutra to kill them the first chance he had.
It would be simpler, she thought, if Ben could just kill Dutra where he stood. But he was right in that he’d be risking a murder charge, assuming that they all made it back to Manaus. Kates, enraged at having lost his treasure, would definitely have charges brought. The police might privately thank Ben for ridding them of a big problem, but publicly he would have to be charged.
If Dutra made another step toward the boat, Ben could legitimately shoot him in self-defen
se. Why hadn’t he done that when Dutra took out the machete and started toward the boat? Then she realized that Dutra hadn’t said anything that could be taken as a direct threat, and Kates could have sworn that he had only taken out the machete to do the work that Ben had ordered him to do in the first place.
Rick lurched forward and stumbled again.
“Stop him,” Ben said quietly, and automatically Kates turned to catch Rick’s arm.
Rick threw him off. “What’s goin’ on?” he demanded.
“Rick, shut up and stand still.” Jillian’s voice snapped like a whiplash.
He turned toward her, his face twisted in an ugly scowl. “Don’t tell me to shut up. No one wanted you to come along anyway.”
“But she is along.” Ben didn’t take his eyes off Dutra, nor did the pistol waver. “And none of us can get where we’re going without her. That battle’s already been fought, and she won. Except for me, she’s the one person this expedition can’t succeed without. Everyone else is expendable.”
“Nice of you to include yourself,” Jillian murmured.
“I try to think of everything,” Ben replied in a tone just as low, before raising his voice to say, “What’s it going to be, Dutra? I’m not going to stand here all night waiting for you to decide. Either start work now, or I’ll blow your kneecap off and leave you here.”
Dutra stood there for another two seconds, glaring, his small head thrust forward as if preparing to charge. From where she was crouched, Jillian could see Ben’s finger start to tighten on the trigger. Maybe Dutra could too, or maybe he just decided this wasn’t a fight he could win, because he abruptly turned and started hacking at the undergrowth. With an almost visible sigh of relief, the others did the same.
“He’ll just wait for a better chance,” she said.
“I know. But maybe Kates is smart enough to figure that he needs me, at least on the way in.” Again, their voices were low so those on the bank couldn’t hear. Ben gave her a quick smile. “Good thinking, to move away like that.”