Special Investigations Agency: Primordial

by Denise A. Agnew

  She flinched at his harsh tone. “You make it sound the design of the bodice is my fault. The SIA picked this out for me, remember? This isn’t even a style I’d normally wear.”

  His eyes widened. “You’ve worn a wedding dress before?”

  Heat touched her cheeks. “When I was younger, yes. You know, young women get together and try on dresses like this once in awhile and fantasize about what their wedding dress will look like.”

  He unbuttoned his suit jacket and hooked his thumbs in his waistband. “I remember my sister doing that.”

  “And I suppose you thought it was idiotic.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up, a crooked smile that looked way too endearing for her heart. “Of course. All boys think things like that is stupid girl stuff.” Thunder rumbled close by and he looked out the window. “Great. Looks like our wedding day is going to be interrupted by rain. We’ll get a bird’s-eye view from the conservatory.”

  “That’s where we’re getting married?”

  “Yup.”

  She snorted softly and fussed with the back of her hair a moment. She reached for a comb lying on the dresser and peered into the mirror with disgust. “Some wedding day.”

  She glanced out the window and flinched when lightning split the sky and thunder crashed close behind.

  He walked toward her and held out his arm for her to take. “Come on, let’s get downstairs. Remember, act like you’re in love with me.”

  As she took his arm and left the room, a lump formed in her throat. With a shock she realized it wouldn’t be all that difficult to pretend she’d fallen hopelessly in love with Zane Spinella.

  * * * * *

  Haan watched Keira with a strange light in his eyes that made her so nervous her stomach felt queasy. He hadn’t asked once about his ring as they stood outside the conservatory waiting for the small string quartet to start playing The Wedding March. His eyes watched her like a hawk readying to swoop down on prey. Haan’s expensive gray suit, green shirt and red tie looked odd and discordant, a complete mismatch with Zane’s sleek, Italian design. She wondered who had advised him on apparel, then decided she didn’t give a crap.

  As she glanced through the French doors leading into the conservatory, she observed the elaborate production. A long red carpet weaved through the twists and turns on the path. At the end of that path Zane waited for her, and even though this wedding would be annulled, an unbearable excitement hummed inside her like electricity.

  At the same time, she felt trapped, strung so tight she might snap. Although there would be no guests other than Haan at the wedding, she felt like a china doll on display, a figurine or artifact he’d stolen and planned to give away.

  “You are nervous,” Haan said as he stood far too close to her.

  She looked up at his tall frame, situated to her left, and plastered on her most charming smile. “Of course. Isn’t every bride?”

  His thick brows arched. “Perhaps you don’t like me giving you away?”

  No, she didn’t, but she couldn’t say that. “I’m not old-fashioned. Why do you think I wanted a wedding like this? How many other women do you know who would wed in the house of a man they don’t even know? In a jungle, no less.”

  Haan chuckled, his laughter a harsh, hard sound. “My dear, what your groom has in store for you tonight is even less conventional. Has he told you his plans?”

  She batted her eyes for a second. “Of course. We’re to go room to room tonight rather than hiding away in our suite. I’ll admit it’s a bit strange, but Zane and I like to mix things up.”

  Haan touched her shoulder, his fingers cupping her naked skin with a possessiveness that made her stomach tilt with revulsion. “The basement is for last. I have special…things in there I hope you will both enjoy.”

  Things. Her stomach did another strange flip. She didn’t want to think too much about what things might mean. Other than what Zane told her earlier about Haan’s penchant for bondage and submission, she couldn’t imagine what paraphernalia Haan owned in the basement. She guessed she’d find out sooner rather than later.

  Tonight.

  Oh man. Can I handle this?

  His gaze lingered on her breasts too long. The nasty grin spreading over his face gave her the willies. “If you find your groom isn’t quite up to the challenge and you decide you want something more, I can provide for you.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need any help, thank you.”

  You filthy, horrible pig.

  “Shall we begin?” His voice sound dispassionate, as if she hadn’t given him the brush-off.

  He opened the French doors and the string quartet of four men started playing. As beautiful music poured into the area, her heartbeat quickened with expectancy. She clutched the simple nosegay of tropical blue and red flowers in her hand. She took the arm Haan provided and started her walk down the red carpet.

  If anyone told her a few weeks ago she’d be getting married, she wouldn’t have believed them.

  As the beautiful music rose to the heavens, she felt a strange new anticipation welling inside. At the other end of this carpet a gorgeous man awaited her. Tonight they’d discover if La Pasion resided in this house, and tonight she’d skirt the edge of sanity. Not knowing what would happen in the next few hours frightened her at the same time it excited.

  As they rounded a corner she saw Zane at the end of the carpet, standing under a beautiful white arched trellis adorned with pink and red roses. Beyond the trellis the huge windows showed the jungle, the pool, and the driving rain.

  Yet the look in Zane’s eyes thrilled her far more than pretty flowers ever could. He stood with feet slightly apart, hands at his sides. Laser intense, his attention drifted over her; his expression filled with awe and love. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, then restart with a heavy thud. Tears welled in her eyes. Serious and intense, his attention said he wanted her with a need that couldn’t be hidden.

  As thunder rumbled outside, they reached the trellis and Haan released her. She turned toward Zane and his hands clasped hers. He brought her fingers up to his mouth and kissed them gently. The apprehension she’d felt eased into calm and she noticed the priest for the first time. The music halted.

  She recalled that Haan said earlier the priest’s name was Farther Trujillo. Dressed in his purple vestments, the short, plump Hispanic man nodded and smiled. His balding head beaded with sweat, and he looked somewhat frightened, a strange thing to see in a priest’s eyes during a wedding. Considering who hired the man, she understood why the holy man would be scared.

  As the ceremony started, she listened to the priest extol the virtues of marriage and love. All the while Zane kept her gaze trapped with his, a devouring, pure fire in his eyes. My God. This man deserved an award for acting. Her heart, her body, everything inside reacted with the fervor of a woman in love.

  Other than when they’d made love, she’d never felt so feverish, so eager to be in his arms and show him how much she longed for him.

  No, no. What I’m feeling right now can’t be real. It can’t be.

  The ceremony passed in something of a blur as she recited her vows. When Zane retrieved the wedding ring from his pocket and slipped it on her left finger, reality sank in.

  “I thee wed,” he said softy.

  After he passed her the groom’s ring she swallowed hard, her throat dry as she repeated after the priest. Before she knew it she slid the ring on his finger.

  Finally the ending words came from the priest in his heavily accented voice. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Realization screamed down into her bones, her sinew, her very soul until it stabbed her in the heart like a knife. True. Sharp. Terrifying and bittersweet.

  We’re really married.

  Stunned down to her shoes, her heart raced.

  Keira half expected Zane to press a sweet kiss on her cheek or maybe a chaste peck on the lips, but instead he took his sweet time. Her breath suspended as the tension expanded. S
he wanted this kiss with a craving that anchored in her body and wouldn’t let go.

  He cupped her face in his hands like a man cradling precious gold. With deliberate ease, as if he meant draw out the ceremony, he leaned in and brought her mouth up to his. His lips brushed against hers in the gentlest kiss, then he retreated. Disappointment hit her for a second, but then he came back at another angle. Hungry and unrestrained, his lips took hers. One skillful movement of his lips and his tongue plunged inside. He tasted mint fresh and delicious; the continual brush of his tongue against hers startling and creating a flashover. Quivering deep inside, melting warmth started in her stomach and headed downward. With a hedonistic kiss he ignited new firestorms she couldn’t resist. She responded, meeting his tongue with equal fervor until taste blended into taste, and she thought in a wild moment Zane’s heartbeat matched hers with a frantic cadence.

  Screw the priest and Hann standing there.

  Nothing existed but Zane and the way his mouth took hers.

  When Zane pulled back, the overwhelming message came through loud and clear in his gaze. Their next kiss would be hotter, deeper, filled with all the desire they now held in check.

  Haan clapped and so did Father Trujillo.

  “Congratulations.” Haan hugged Keira and then shook Zane’s hand.

  “Many salutations,” the Father said. “I’m happy to see a young couple so in love brought together. Come. Sign the papers and all will be official.”

  The priest took them to a side table where they signed the documents locking them into marriage in Puerto Azul.

  “This way,” Haan said, his silvery eyes shining like a wolf’s. “We have a spread laid out for us all in the dining room.”

  The string quartet played as they left the conservatory. Zane held her hand tightly, as if she might escape any second. She felt unsteady on her feet, energy sapped by too many ventures in too short a time. She couldn’t believe this morning she’d been swimming naked in a pond in the jungle. Now she walked down the aisle in a white dress, a married woman. Zane slipped a possessive arm around her waist. All his movements portrayed a man deeply in love. A lingering touch along the back of her neck, a light kiss on her cheek. By the time they left the conservatory she felt so cherished, Keira almost believed he loved her. Returning his melting looks and possessive touches became easier and easier the longer she stayed with this man. Though she’d known him a short time, she’d shared so much, and the connection wound deep within her.

  Not far from the conservatory, the large dining room boosted a table with twelve chairs. Gilded to the hilt, the room held an aura of nauseating Baroque excess rather than true elegance. Purple, gold, and red wallpaper, friezes of gods and goddess, dark wood and glittering crystal added to the opulent display.

  Place settings decorated the table, glittering gold on white bone china and gold-plated utensils. A sideboard featured a repast fit for king and queen. The priest helped himself first, digging into the platters of bread, meat, cheese and fruit like a starving man as he heaped items onto his plate.

  Zane offered to fill her plate, and she eased into a chair across from the priest. After Zane brought her food and sat next to her, Haan opened a bottle of champagne, then poured them all a flute of bubbly. He sat down at the head of the table, leaving a gap between him and the plump priest.

  “I’m so glad you can dine with me before your honeymoon starts. I meant to talk to you at lunch yesterday, of course.” Haan waved one hand dismissively. “Until you decided you’d rather have adventures.”

  The hot glance Zane slanted her way made her temperature rise. “Oh, I don’t think she’ll be having more adventures in the jungle for the rest of her honeymoon.”

  Keira tasted the champagne and found it fruity and delicious. Parched and hoping water would chase the heat from her face, she then took a large gulp of water. Her nerves threatened to get the better of her; Zane rattled her cage with his lingering looks and tender attention.

  “Tell Farther Trujillo what you encountered on your trip,” Haan said, looking at Keira.

  At first she couldn’t think of a thing to say. She stalled with another taste of champagne. “You mean my trip into the jungle, or out of it?”

  Shrugging Haan waved his hand in one of those expressive gestures she noticed he liked to make. “Both times, my dear. I amazed how well you fared. In case you didn’t notice, this area is risky. There is much to fear in the virgin jungle. Insects, snakes like the fer-de-lance and the bushmaster. Giant earthworms, flesh-eating fleas, you name it, we have it.”

  She nodded. “I’m lucky I didn’t see all those things. Flesh-eating fleas?”

  Zane broke in before Haan could answer. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “They burrow into your skin, drink your blood, and lay their eggs in your body.”

  A shiver raced over her skin and she gave him a dirty look. “That’s horrible.”

  Father Trujillo paused in stuffing his face long enough to speak. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I praise God you did not encounter any of those things while you were in the jungle. Angels must have been with you.”

  She sighed. “That’s for certain.”

  Haan’s penetrating, cool gaze took in her dress and landed on her cleavage for what seemed the hundredth time. She shivered this time from revulsion.

  “Did you feel an earthquake last night?” Father Trujillo asked them all. “We haven’t had one in quite some time. My parishioners worry more quakes will come.”

  Haan frowned. “Earthquakes are random. Nothing can protect against them.”

  Father Trujillo didn’t look convinced. “Perhaps it is a pox on the land because sin and evil lurk about.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Haan said. “This region is always a little shaky.”

  A secret smile parted her lips until she saw Zane looking at her, a shrewd expression in his eyes. He must be thinking the same thing, and the realization sent a jolt of heat through her. He, too, remembered their heated lovemaking.

  After Zane ate a cracker and made appropriate comments about the delightful food, he wiped his hands on his napkin and cleared his throat. “I’ve seen interesting items in your house that I meant to ask you about.” He nodded toward a table near a china cabinet. “Take that incense burner. It’s unique.”

  Keira noted the item and unease tumbled in her belly. The puma-shaped burner appeared comparable to one she saw in the Chesterham Museum a few months back.

  Haan took a healthy swig of his champagne. “Ah, that item is from Tiahuanaco on the Bolivian border. A true masterpiece.”

  “How long ago was it made?” Zane asked.

  Haan shrugged. “Honestly I don’t recall. Perhaps Mrs. Spinella has an idea?”

  Mrs. Spinella.

  The words whirled around in her head like a mantra, and she almost didn’t answer to her new title. “My specialty in archaeology is British and Irish archaeology. I’m not very familiar with artifacts from Bolivia.”

  Haan put his fork on his plate and nodded. “Of course not.”

  “What about the artifact right next to it?” Zane asked.

  Haan paused as if he didn’t want to say. Then he cleared his throat and directed his silver, big eyes on them both. “It is a Cibcha mask from Peru.”

  A lump grew in her throat about a mile wide. She remembered the red mask as one she’d seen in Chesterham Museum many times and it had been reported stolen two years ago. Shock reverberated through her, not because she thought her grandfather assisted Haan to steal the artifacts, but because someone else must have assisted Haan or his associates.

  Someone framed her grandfather. But how to prove it?

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that sounded like a warning.

  Haan turned his ice-cold eyes upon her. She met his gaze with calm endurance. To her surprise, the man shifted in his chair and turned his attention to his fingernails.

  “You didn’t see anything or meet anyone unusual in the jungle, I
hope?” he asked.

  The question halted the breath in her lungs. Zane reached over and clasped her left hand that lay on the table. The warmth and gentle pressure gave her extra strength.

  “No,” she said. “Did you see something strange on your expedition, Ludwig? The one that went wrong?”

  “We saw odd things there.” Haan reached for his champagne and drained the flute in one gulp. “We lost much trying to find the glory of the jungle.”

  “Some say the jungle is haunted by an ancient people,” Father Trujillo said suddenly. “People who guard it from harm.”

  Haan snorted and poured another glass of champagne for himself, then held the bottle out to offer more to all. Everyone declined.

  Haan fingered the stem of the delicate crystal glass and stared into the bubbling depths. “That legend has been around since before this region became a viable country. Back to the colonial periods and before that.”

  “What legend?” Zane asked.

  She wondered if maybe Zane knew the answer but acted ignorant on the subject for a purpose. She played along. “Please tell us.”

  Haan kept his gaze glued to the champagne flute, his persistent fiddling with the stem making her nervous.

  “Apparently hundreds of years ago, before the Spaniards came to this land,” he said, “there were people who carved out a great city in the La Selva Negra. When we were on the expedition we saw some of the statues of rather explicit…” He trailed off and looked at her, as if he feared offending. “Scenes like you might find on some Hindu structures in India.”

  She nodded. “Of course. I know what you mean.”

  Haan’s smile chilled her in a way nothing else could. “Once touched by these statues, you are forever altered. There is no escape.”

  Zane squeezed her hand, then released it. “Sounds ominous.”

  Haan shook his head and gave a brittle laugh. “I never want to see what I saw again.”