by Janzen, Tara
“Walk,” he said.
“What?”
“We’re going to walk. There’s a ranch about a mile up the road.”
She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look. “How do you know that?” She lived in San Simeon, and she hadn’t known where this branch of the river road led to.
“A year ago I was in and out of here quite a bit.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the disappointment and the hurt off her face. He’d been in San Simeon a number of times and he hadn’t contacted her. Any illusions she’d had about their friendship died with the knowledge.
“I stopped looking for you a long time ago, Nikki,” he said softly, hating himself for putting the bleakness in her eyes, and hating her for allowing him the power to hurt her. What he knew but didn’t say was that it had taken everything he had not to go looking for her again. Every time his plane had touched down in San Simeon, he’d fought the same useless battle.
She nodded and hurried out of the car before she did something stupid, like cry.
Josh lowered his head and shook it from side to side, swearing under his breath. What had she expected him to do? She was the one who had left him, left him to wake up alone. If anyone ever asked him what was the worst day of his life, he would have a few to choose from, but only one true contender.
Even before he’d fully awakened that morning, he’d been dreaming about making love to her again, his Nikki, his woman. He knew there had been a smile on his face, kind of a crazy smile, full of amazement and a deep, overwhelming satisfaction. He’d wanted to reexplore the wonders of sex with someone he loved. He’d wanted to look into her eyes and discover with her the new meaning they had for each other. An hour later he’d stormed out of the Casa del Flores, leaving a busted-up hotel room and his last dollar behind him.
He’d hoped never to be that angry again, that full of rage and confusion. She’d pushed him damn close the night before—and yet he still felt guilty for hurting her.
Nikki made a whole theatrical arrangement out of ignoring him when he came to stand beside her in front of the open trunk.
“Looks good,” he said.
She shrugged and closed her pocket knife against her thigh. “Will two be enough?” she asked, gesturing to the makeshift tortilla and cheese sandwiches rolled up on the cooler.
“Plenty. Do you have anything to wash them down with?”
“Apple juice and beer.”
“Juice. For you too.”
She slanted him a wry glance. He returned it in full measure.
“I don’t want to have to carry you all the way to the ranch,” he explained, and took a big bite out of one of the sandwiches. “How much money do you have?”
“Five hundred colons and fifty American.”
“And I’ve got about two hundred American. Looks like financially we’re in pretty good shape.”
She wanted to ask “for what?” but she didn’t dare rock the boat. So far, he was still heading forward, toward Sulaco, and she didn’t want to do or say anything that might make him question his actions.
Nine
“When we get there, let me do all the talking.”
“Well, that ought to be a real good trick,” she drawled, doubting if he’d get very far with a Spanish vocabulary of “beer,” and “where’s the bathroom.” The tender places of her heart still stung from his earlier admission, though she preferred to think it was only her pride involved. She’d gone through hell leaving him, and he’d never looked back except in anger. Damn him. And damn her for having been so young and foolish, so easy. Her hand stiffened on the strap of her duffel bag.
Josh ignored her sarcasm and kept walking. She matched him stride for stride across the flat fields of thigh-high grass. When they passed the first set of outbuildings belonging to the ranch, a large rambling house came into view. The white walls gleamed in the morning sun. The timbered roof stretched out over the wide front porch running the full length of the house.
Her first glimpse of the building triggered a wave of unease. When Josh had said “ranch,” she’d expected the usual two-bit cattle operation, not this palatial spread. From its well-kept appearance to the new truck parked in the driveway, the place had an aura of power and of confidence in the future. Anybody flourishing under Travinas’s dictatorship was unlikely to be friendly toward a couple of foreign reporters, especially her. Though she filed her stories without bias, she’d never made a secret of her political leanings.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said, her steps faltering.
“Do you have a better one?”
“No, but—”
“Then let me do the talking,” he repeated as a man came out of the house carrying a rifle, a standard piece of equipment in San Simeon for anyone who could afford one. Another man walked toward them from the barn.
Nikki’s gaze darted between the two men. She didn’t recognize either of them, so she decided to give Josh a chance, but only a small one. The instant he stumbled, she was going to take over. She figured it would take him about thirty seconds to run through his repertoire and out of conversation.
Josh didn’t miss her warning glance, and he found her lack of confidence in him astounding, especially after the previous night. What did she think he’d been doing all these years? Writing a gossip column?
Working hard to keep the anger off his face, he raised a hand in greeting and formally introduced himself as Juan Alonso. Then he proceeded to tell a tale of a camping trip gone bad, of a miscalculation of their gasoline supply, of entomological specimens he had to get back to his camp in La Rosa.
And for every word that fell from his lips in perfect Spanish, Nikki’s mouth dropped open another degree. She stared at him until she realized what she was doing.
Dumbfounded, she forced her attention back to the man standing on the porch. Up close, she noticed he was taller than most of his countrymen. Gray streaked his coal black hair at the temples. His shoulders were broad, his white shirt and khaki slacks expensive and tailored to perfection. His stern visage had softened, but he was looking at her, not Josh.
“Señorita Kydd?” he asked with the slightest of questions, the barest hint of a smile, and all of her misgivings returned in full force. It was too late to disappear back into the forest, and there was no advantage in denying the truth. He’d know she was lying, and he’d wonder why.
“Yes,” she replied, keeping her distance and wondering what the odds were on outrunning a rifle shot.
“Luis. Luis Cardena.” His smile broadened, and he waved the ranch hand over before returning his attention to her. “We met at the Paloma Grand during the Agricultural Summit. You were part of the hounding press, and I was one of the beleaguered proponents of conservation.”
“Of course,” she said politely, still not quite placing him. But as she recalled, the beleaguered men at the summit had been bucking the system. They weren’t a part of it. She gave him her best business smile and wished San Simeon weren’t so damn small.
As if sensing her confusion, he added helpfully, “We were supposed to have dinner together the night the rebels took Sulaco.” His glance switched to Josh, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, curiously. “That’s not too far from La Rosa. Only a few miles. You must have heard the fighting.”
Josh nodded, but gave no further acknowledgment. He was too busy condemning himself for not listening to her objections. Because of her age, her gender, and her mother, Nikki did have a higher profile than most journalists, but he’d thought she’d be unknown in the countryside. Worse yet, Cardena not only knew her, he’d had a date with her. A date! And from the looks of her, she didn’t remember a thing about it. What kind of life was she leading anyway?
“Oh, yes,” she said to Cardena, her smile softening before his very eyes. “I’m sorry I ran out on you at the last minute, but in this business, war always takes precedence over agriculture. If I’d known the rebels had planned a major offensive that night, I wo
uldn’t have made any of the summit.”
“And if I’d known beforehand how lovely you are, I would have asked them to delay the mission for a few more hours.” His gaze drifted down her slender body and slowly came back up to her eyes. “Maybe another night?”
“I’m—”
“Married,” Josh interjected, reaching the end of his tolerance for this particular game. He didn’t give a damn if she flirted on her own time, but she was on his clock until he decided otherwise.
Without missing a beat, she slipped her arm through his. “We’re on our honeymoon,” she said, slanting an adoring look up at him from under her gold-tipped lashes.
For an instant, just an instant, Josh believed what he saw in her eyes, and it wrecked a considerable amount of havoc on his unruly mood. But the moment passed, and he accepted the look for what it was, a silent agreement to do things his way for a while. He was gratified and surprised, and more than a little wary.
“Then congratulations are in order. You are a very lucky man, Señor . . . Alonso.” Cardena spoke the name slowly, and Josh wondered if he imagined the shade of skepticism.
Plastering a false smile to his face, he said, “I’d feel a whole lot luckier if we could buy a few gallons of gas from you.”
“Without question. My gasoline is your gasoline.” Cardena laughed at the turned phrase. With effort, Josh worked up a corresponding chuckle.
Nikki was glad they were both having such a good time. So glad, in fact, she wanted to give Josh a good kick. Hadn’t he heard the man? Didn’t he know when a story fell out of the blue? Luis Cardena had all but confessed to being involved with the rebels, and she was itching to find out more, like which faction. Was he involved with Delgado? Did he know what was happening in Sulaco?
She’d left Sulaco only the previous morning, but in the volatile world of San Simeon politics, the mantle of power switched hands faster than a juggler flipped bowling pins.
“We’ll need to borrow a gas can,” Josh said, interrupting another appreciative visual survey of Nikki by Cardena.
“Of course,” Cardena said, dragging his gaze away from her and turning toward the ranch hand. “Armando, fill up one of our gasoline cans for the señor.” He directed his attention back to Josh. “Why don’t we settle the señora inside? My housekeeper could make us some breakfast, if you like.”
Josh opened his mouth to refuse, but Nikki beat him to the punch. “That would be wonderful,” she said, mounting the steps to the porch.
As she followed Cardena inside, she searched her mental files for any tidbit of information she might have come across about him. San Simeon’s elite was made up of a very small circle of rich and influential men, and she’d been around long enough to have met them all more than once. Except Luis Cardena. Wealthy landowners usually fell into one category—friends of General Travinas—but Cardena had already shaken her conviction on that point. If he was a holdover from the old days when the rich had been a privileged class for which birth was the only entrée, then he was walking as thin a line as she and Josh, maybe thinner.
Lord, she’d be glad to get out of San Simeon, out of the whole of Central America. She’d had enough political intrigue to last her a lifetime and, after last night, enough of danger to last her two.
Josh entertained similar thoughts as Cardena led them through a wide quarry-tiled hallway to a patio on the north side of the house. He was sick and tired of not knowing what was going to happen next, like this impromptu tête-à-tête. He started to ask himself what in the world Nikki had been thinking, but he didn’t bother to complete the question. He didn’t have any idea what she’d been thinking.
It wasn’t the first time.
The patio Cardena led them to was a botanical delight, a cool expanse of tile and latticework dripping with lush greenery and tropical blooms. He gestured toward a round table in the center. “I’ve been following your career quite closely over the last year, señora. You seem to have a remarkable knack for the ‘scoop.’ ”
“Call me Nikki, please,” she said, settling into a chair. “I guess I have been luckier than some.”
“I doubt if luck has anything to do with it . . . Nikki.”
Josh cast his eyes heavenward. That was all he needed, an hour listening to this guy gush over her.
“Especially last week,” Cardena continued. “A rare coup, indeed, reading the general’s mind. Many of us would pay dearly for such a talent.”
The words, though casually spoken, rang an instant warning in her mind. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Josh leaned forward in his. This was getting interesting.
“It’s a matter of sources more than talent,” she said, trying to add a breezy note to her voice. But Cardena wasn’t put off that easily.
“Then the talent must be in finding the right sources. Yours must be very well connected.”
“I’ve been working this beat for a long time.” Somehow she got the feeling Cardena knew exactly how well connected her source had been on the story she’d filed for Josh’s sake. She wished he’d quit talking about it. The curious gleam in Josh’s eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed, and that particular gleam always meant trouble.
With a nod, Cardena rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me I’ll see if I can find Elena.”
Nikki waited until he’d disappeared. Then she opened with the most innocuous statement she could dream up. “Nice place.”
“Real nice,” Josh agreed. “Do you want to tell me what we’re doing here?”
“We ran out of gas on the wrong road,” she said, letting her gaze travel over the plants, the rattan furniture, the mosaics in the floor. Anywhere except into the steel blue eyes she felt boring into her.
“Good try . . . but try again.”
“You’re the one who suggested coming here.” She shrugged, as if it were a matter of little concern.
“But you’re the one who decided to move in. Why?”
Had he always been this persistent? she wondered, almost but not quite regretting her hasty decision. Cardena’s personal comments had thrown her off balance, but she still wanted to pump him for information.
“Curiosity?” Josh prompted.
“Yes,” she finally admitted, bringing her gaze back to him. “I’m curious about Luis Cardena, about his involvement with the rebels.”
“Better, but I’m not buying. Half the country is involved with the rebels. They’re not exactly a secret organization,” he said dryly.
“True, but I’ve never heard of him before.”
He let her words sink in, settle down, and simmer to a slow boil. “Well, that’s a helluva confession, Nikki. Do you make a habit of having dinner with strangers?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” she shot back, bridling under his insinuation. “Usually two or three times a month. In this business I think that’s under par for the course.” Didn’t she have enough to worry about without him bucking her at every turn?
“I don’t think business is what he had in mind.” His voice rose dangerously. “Unless it was funny business.”
Her hand only got halfway to his face before he caught it, his palm slapping against her wrist, his fingers tightening and holding her arm in the air.
Shocked by her reaction as much as his furious words, Nikki stared at him, her chest and throat tight with anger. “Don’t you dare question my ethics,” she choked out, “or my morals.”
“Or your actions or that line of bull you fed me last night or why you left me at the Casa del Flores.” He punctuated each forbidden topic with a corresponding tug on her wrist, pulling her closer. Then suddenly he released her arm and fell back into his chair, looking totally disgusted.
Nikki sat in silence, rubbing her bruised wrist and forcing herself to count to ten. One word, one wrong word, and they’d be at each other’s throats. At this point she didn’t need or want an all-out war with him. What she needed was to get him to Sulaco in one piece.
With that in mind, and keeping a firm r
ein on her tongue, she apologized. Sort of. “I’m sorry you misunderstood about the dinner.” Her lips barely moved.
“I’m sorry I misunderstood a lot of things,” he said, not sounding the least bit apologetic.
Not to be dissuaded, she continued. “The dinner was a group affair. They wanted some favorable press, and since I am one of the better-known journalists in this country, they were hoping to get it from me. I’m sure you’ve been wined and dined by people wanting a favorable slant on their pet project.”
Her look said, “Don’t you dare tell me you haven’t been,” but he could have said no without a twinge of conscience. The kind of people he’d been investigating never dealt with the press, except at the wrong end of a gun. Even as a potential customer, he’d never been wined and dined. Offered a freebie high, yes. Wined and dined, no.
But he wasn’t ready to tell her about Travinas, not yet, not until he knew what she’d gotten him into last night, and what she’d gotten him into less than ten minutes ago.
“What makes you think Cardena is involved with the rebels?”
Nikki accepted the question as a tentative olive branch, considering it the least dangerous topic of conversation available. “You heard what he said outside, about asking them to delay the Sulaco mission.”
“I don’t think he meant it literally, and I can’t believe you did either. The man made it clear what he was after.”
She looked away. He sounded more bored than angry, and for some ridiculous reason that hurt almost as much as his previous slur on her character.
“And I think you’re wrong. Anybody with his kind of money in this country is into either drugs or politics—”
“Or both,” he interrupted.
“Or both. But with Cardena, I think it’s politics.”
“That’s generous of you, but a mite naive.” In his experience, just about everyone with power south of the Rio Grande was into drugs, directly or indirectly, and the farther south a person went, the worse it got. San Simeon was pretty far south.
