“What will it be, Dr. Jessop?”
What choice did she have? “What’s the plan of action? How am I supposed to get near this Haan character?”
Mac reached for his thermal coffee mug, something she hadn’t seen him do since she walked into the large office. He took a sip of liquid. “The agent you’ll be with at the complex has lived in Puerto Azul for six months establishing a reputation. Haan believes he’s a wealthy dealer who wants to purchase rare and unusual artifacts. Haan invited the agent to stay at Rancho La Paz.”
“If your agent is a dealer, where do I fit in?”
“As the archaeologist, of course. The agent will give you other details when you get there about your cover.”
She couldn’t speak, astonished that so much happened in so little time. How could she do this? Did she have enough strength to pull it off?
“What do I tell my family, Mr. Tudor, when they realize I’ve run off to Puerto Azul?”
“That you’re taking relaxing on the fabulous beaches in San Cristobal and don’t plan on coming back until you’re feeling more recovered from your grandmother’s death.”
Those horrible words rang in her head like a dirge. Grandmother’s death haunted her, a fading echo not one hundred percent accepted.
When she tried to formulate another angle that would keep her from agreeing to this scheme, Keira couldn’t think of anything that might sway the SIA and the other authorities involved.
As she let out a long slow, breath, she gave him the answer. “I’ll do it.”
He smiled and she could feel the satisfaction radiating from him. “Good.”
“Isn’t this the part where you say I won’t regret it?”
Again a mask of seriousness wrapped his face and narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to say that, but I can’t. There’s no way to tell the outcome.”
She tossed him a half-sarcastic smile. “What about this agent I’m supposed to meet in San Cristobal?”
“Ah, yes.” Something in his voice sounded cautious. “His photo is in the file folder at the bottom.”
The man in question didn’t look anything like she expected. No, she expected middle-aged and pudgy or maybe bald. Nothing could be further from the truth. A visceral punch landed in her stomach as she viewed the agent in the eight-by-ten headshot.
Her gaze snapped up to Mac’s. “This is the man who saved my life in Egypt.”
“That’s right.” Mac didn’t sound the least surprised that she recognized the man.
“So that explains how he was so close and why he had a gun.” Then she remembered the small camera case strapped to the man’s side and renewed anger made her sit up straighter. “He’s the one who took these pictures.”
“Very astute. Good thing he was in the right place at the right time. If he hadn’t seen the assassin’s weapon aimed your way…” Mac shrugged. “As it is, he broke his cover that day by helping you.”
Mac’s phone rang and he answered. “Yes. Of course. Be right there.” He put down the receiver and stood. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
He left her to stew for a moment in her doubt. She frowned at the photograph in her lap. As she looked at the guy, whose name she still didn’t know, Keira remembered what she’d felt plastered up against his unabashed masculinity. More than once she’d seen desire in his eyes and his erection had pressed against her in a way that spelled S-E-X in big letters. At one point she thought he intended to kiss her right before Grandfather interrupted.
One night Keira dreamed the whole horrific scene in blazing color, including a hot, sexy kiss from the handsome stranger. She’d woken up ashamed. Mortified for craving a man she didn’t know and would never see again.
At least that’s what she thought until now.
Exhilaration stirred in her belly at the thought of seeing him. Apprehension tried to smother the inappropriate excitement.
In the photograph he didn’t smile, and his black eyes held an edge packed with equal parts fire and ice. Thick lashes outlined those haunting eyes. Wavy but not curly, glossy black hair curled just over the collar of his white Oxford shirt. His nose looked patrician, but not large, and his mouth held an insolent touch mixed in with a straight, humorless line. His upper lip and jaw line, covered with a day or two worth of stubble, supplied him with a bad-boy nuance she couldn’t miss. She wondered how hard he worked to cultivate that rock-hard, hell-bent-and-knowing-it expression.
Oh yeah. The man defined rugged. His astonishing looks screamed arrogance and assurance. The face of a man formed by his experiences, a slate ready to be written on by all he saw and did. With the hint of squint lines around his eyes, she guessed him somewhere between thirty and forty years old. Past his first blush of youth, but not out to pasture.
When he’d crowded her into the alcove and shoved his big, muscular body against hers, Keira had been astonished she could feel anything other than terror. When it became apparent that he’d saved her life and meant her no harm, common sense left the building. She’d reacted, as adrenaline had continued to surge into her limbs, like a woman who wanted and needed him. Chaotic arousal had raced through her, demanding fulfillment. His gaze had assessed her as a woman. A desirable woman he wanted to touch and kiss.
But no. This man worked for the SIA and took the incriminating pictures that put her right in the perilous position she occupied today. She had no business being interested in him.
She groaned. Could things get any more screwed up?
Mac came back into the office and sat behind his desk. “Sorry about that. So, now that you know he’s the agent who’ll accompany you in Puerto Azul, what do you think?”
She quickly shut the folder and returned her gaze to the man behind the desk.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Zane Spinella.”
Words came out before she could stop them. “He looks a little…rough.”
Mac’s eyebrows tilted up. “And?”
She shook her head, not sure what she meant.
“You expected someone who looked like an accountant?” he asked with a smile. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t bite. You’re safe with him.”
Right. Even in a photograph the man had the power to make her insides tremble. She didn’t like what he made her feel. “Why him?”
“Because he’s the inside man for Puerto Azul and he requested this mission after I told him about it.”
Requested? That’s interesting.
“You’ll take the assignment?” he asked when she didn’t reply.
She said the one word she hoped she wouldn’t regret. “Yes.”
Chapter Two
San Cristobal International Airport
The Republic of Puerto Azul
I really hate the tropics.
This entered Keira’s head the minute she stepped off the plane. From the outside, through the small windows on the aircraft, the airport looked modern and sleek. But as she walked through the air conditioned tube connecting the plane to the terminal, she remembered a hot, humid blast of air would feel like a wet, smothering blanket. She’d spent time in enough out-of-the-way and not so out-of-the-way tropical locales to regret it.
As she rolled the small carryon behind her, she wished she’d worn shorts. The heavyweight green sweater over the tank top would have to go. Her good luck charm, a square pewter Celtic design necklace, stuck to her flesh where it lay against her skin. Long khaki pants would work for the jungle, but they clung to her body in uncomfortable places. Her fanny pack felt too tight around her waist and she couldn’t wait to loosen it.
Her head throbbed and she rubbed her left temple. She knew part of the problem. Flying left her dehydrated. She could never get enough water rushing from place to place while traveling.
She’d flown into Mexico and stayed there overnight at the hotel connected to the airport. Unfamiliar with the country and exhausted, she’d fallen into bed to sleep. She knew meeting Zane Spinella in Puerto Azul wouldn’t be a good idea i
f she was jet-lagged to the nines. After managing ten hours of sleep, she’d made the rest of the flight to San Cristobal this afternoon.
Now she could face Agent Spinella. At least she hoped she could.
First impressions bombarded her weary body as she trailed behind an elderly couple walking feebly toward the welcoming arms of two young women. Keira glanced to the left into the open terminal, which bustled with noise and what seemed like hundreds of people greeting disembarking passengers. The terminal, built with bright chrome and glass motif, hummed like a beehive without the organization. Advertisements for car rental companies, hotels, and the usual tourist information plastered the walls in several different languages. Wildly colored posters across the room proclaimed Puerto Azul the new adventure capital of the world. Laughter and the ringing of a cell phone reached her ears. She winced as the noise made her head pound that much harder. Her gaze cornered at least two men along the perimeter of the crowd wearing dark navy-blue uniforms and patches that declared them military. Both of them held automatic weapons.
She glanced at faces around her and noted that most of them appeared of Spanish decent. Many natives mixed with the crowd of bustling tourists eager to get to their hotels and enjoy a drink next to the pool.
Then she saw a tall man standing above many of the smaller people in the crowd, his stance bristling with anticipation, as if he expected the need for action any second.
Zane.
She’d never been good at remembering faces but after her encounter with him in Egypt and the photograph in her folder, she couldn’t forget him. This man relayed hard-edged danger no one could forget. His eyes lit up with acknowledgement but he didn’t smile. In fact, his gaze looked downright hostile for a few seconds.
Oh goody. A guy with an attitude. Just what I need.
The crowd surged forward and blocked any chance for her to head his direction immediately. She gave him a hint of smile, her mouth feeling like stiff cardboard. Struggling through the maze of humanity, she finally made it to his location near a pillar. He grinned as he stepped forward, a self-assured, striking smile that took some of the darkness from his eyes and surprised the hell out of her.
His photograph, as they say, didn’t come close to doing the agent justice. A mere picture couldn’t send an untamed, inappropriate shiver straight into her tummy and down to her loins. A photo couldn’t express the high-test masculinity that permeated him. A male animal like this didn’t come along often, and every female within fifty yards would have difficulty keeping their eyes off him.
Ruggedly handsome described him in a superficial way, but up close she saw he possessed enough imperfection to make him that much more delicious. His nose looked a bit crooked at the tip, and a new scar formed over his left eyebrow. She hadn’t noticed these things trapped in the alcove that day in Egypt. No, she’d been too busy trying not to notice how his body felt pressed up against hers.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling small next to a man, but Zane must be at least six-four. And what a gorgeous body. Not noticing his wide shoulders encased in a muscle-hugging navy T-shirt with Puerto Azul splashed in tropical fruit colors on the front and not noticing the well-developed biceps and forearms would be damned difficult.
“Welcome to Puerto Azul, Dr. Jessop.” His voice, deep and sinfully husky, rolled across her body with a tingle of electricity both thrilling and soothing.
She reached out to shake hands and his big fingers felt callused and strong, his palm warm and firm. He shook her hand without smashing her fingers together, his strength tempered by caution.
“Agent Spinella. Pleased to meet you. Again.”
“Call me Zane, please.”
She nodded, encouraged by the warmth in his handshake. “I’d prefer Keira. Dr. Jessop makes me sound like I’m ready to perform surgery.”
One of his dark eyebrows spiked upward. “Are you?”
She sniffed. “I have a doctorate in Anthropology and Archaeology.”
“Ah, just as your dossier said.”
Dossier. A word that sounded so important. So…criminal.
Someone bumped into her and he reached out as Keira stumbled forward. His fingers clamped her waist to steady her.
Zane’s fingers slid from her waist around to her mid back and her breasts brushed a chest as hard as it looked. She inhaled as her nipples beaded into tight points. His gaze captured hers as he kept his touch on her mid back. Those black eyes heated, his nostrils flaring the slightest bit as he looked down on her.
Man, he smells…yep, like all man. Earthy and blended with a delicious musk, his scent stimulated a primitive stirring low in her stomach.
She’d wondered if her attraction to him in Egypt had been false, a reaction to danger rather than genuine interest in the man. Now she knew her pull toward him wasn’t happenstance.
She didn’t often run into, literally or figuratively, men who carried high-test sex appeal on their chest like a medal. Sex, strength, and another primitive emotion gathered in his midnight eyes. Her palms landed on his chest and his sculpted pectorals made her fingers itch to explore. Male interest and distrust mingled in his gaze, as if he couldn’t decide to eat her for a snack or to hate her.
As one of her British cousins would say, Bloody fuckin’ possession.
Startled, she drew away from his hold. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” he said, as if they hadn’t shared intimate space. “Let’s get your bags.”
Before she could object, he reached for her carryon and snapped it up in one hand so it no longer rolled on the wheels.
“I can carry that.” She walked fast to keep up with his long stride.
He threw her a glance, his lips tipped in a mocking way. “I’m sure you can.”
He continued to the escalator. Deciding his macho decision to carry her bag didn’t rate an argument, she stepped onto the escalator behind him.
Damn, but he was big. His Herculean shoulders stretched the T-shirt and she wondered if he wore all his shirts nice and snug to impress women. New jeans displayed long, muscular legs and what her friends called a bitable ass. Keira was sure there was no such thing as the word bitable, but it described his butt to the maximum.
Okay, girl, you must be losing it. Now is not the time to go gaga over a man you don’t know.
When they arrived at the luggage carousel, a crowd had already formed and once there he didn’t seem inclined to talk. Her head continued to throb with relentless fury and she realized if she didn’t get some water soon the headache would become worse. After they collected her second piece of luggage, they moved through the crushing crowd.
They continued out the automatic doors into the pickup area. As that hot, wet blanket atmosphere hit her, Keira sucked in a breath. Sticky, heavy air seemed too thick with oxygen for her lungs. She’d get used to it after a few days, but in the meantime it added to the exhaustion threatening to dull her senses. Apparently ten hours of sleep on this trip didn’t qualify as enough to get rid of her jet lag.
She needed to keep her wits about her, despite the SIA agent beside her. It didn’t matter that being near him gave her a strange sense of security; the feeling didn’t mean squat. Bad things happened in the world even with big, strong men nearby. So what if he’d saved her life once. He couldn’t guarantee her safety. Shrugging off her crawling sense of vulnerability, she took in her surroundings.
The air smelled good despite the humidity, brushed clean by a steady wind that caressed her hair and cooled her perspiring skin. She pulled her sweater over her head and tied it around her waist. She caught Zane looking at her and his glance landed right on her full breasts cupped by the tank top and sport bra.
His gaze snapped up to hers. Hot appreciation flickered, then extinguished as he turned to hail a cab.
Okay, so the man ogled her breasts. An SIA agent probably didn’t have it written into his little manual of rules that he couldn’t look at a woman’s chest. So far as she knew, it wasn’t against the law.
Female satisfaction warred with a feminist need to be offended. Then she remembered the type of feminist she was—a woman who believed in equal rights and treatment, but not someone who thought men could or should stop all their caveman reactions. She didn’t believe in denying that men had primitive needs, or that women shouldn’t express their own cravings.
Somehow she was certain Mr. Macho Agent would agree with her.
As Zane and the short cab driver loaded the luggage, she noticed the natives drove on the left side in Puerto Azul, and the cars were right-hand drive as well. Since she’d lived off and on in England for a variety of years this didn’t seem unusual to her.
Zane opened the cab door for her and spoke a rapid spate of Spanish to the driver. They all climbed into the vehicle.
The driver turned in his seat and smiled. His round face and mustache spoke of friendliness. His grin came across genuine, and his voice rusty as an old pipe. “I’m Eduardo La Vega. Welcome to Puerto Azul. You’ll be in our country long?”
Zane nodded. “Sí. My fiancée and I are the guests of Ludwig Haan.”
Eduardo’s wide mouth opened, a startled expression widening his eyes. “Ludwig Haan.”
Keira’s bit back a retort at his fiancé designation.
Zane smiled as he glanced at her first, then Eduardo. “Sí. He’s an important business associate.”
Eduardo turned in his seat and started the engine. “Right away. We’re off.”
Zane settled onto the seat and said to her, “We’re going to Hosteria El Sosiego for the night.”
Faster than she expected, they pulled away from the curb and the cab driver screeched into traffic. She searched around for seatbelts and found none.
“Por favor, ve mas despacio,” Zane said to the driver a little sharply.
“Sí.”
“What did you say to him?” she asked, distrustful.
“I asked him to please slow down.”
She grabbed onto the headrest in front of her when the cab careened out of the airport. The vehicle went around a corner too fast and she slid across the bench seat and smack into Zane’s right side.
Special Investigations Agency: Primordial Page 3
