The Alice-in-Wonderland feeling was back again; she wondered when she was going to stop being surprised by this man. She felt like the kinkajou, nose a-tremble, all but beside herself with curiosity, but all she said as she took the chair indicated-in an abrupt, almost afterthought way-by her host, was, “Thanks. Looks good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said dryly, shifting a dish-towel-covered plate closer to her before sitting down himself. “I do eat.” The corners of his mouth twitched-as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Occasionally even sitting down.”
Ellie lifted a corner of the dish towel. Tortillas-of course. She took one and put it on her plate, then passed the plate to McCall, who did the same. He picked up a shallow white bowl and ladeled a spoonful of its contents onto his tortilla, then passed the bowl to Ellie. Ignoring good manners, she held the bowl to her nose and took a good sniff. Rather like oranges, she thought. Spicy… Her stomach rumbled.
“Smells good,” she said. “What is it?”
“Chicken,” muttered McCall. “Mostly.”
Chicken…loops of onion, chunks of red, yellow and green-peppers, perhaps. And something orange… Mango? With McCall, even the food came in bright, simple colors, she thought, like a child’s first box of crayons.
My needs are simple…
She spooned some of the mixture onto her tortilla and rolled it up, following McCall’s example, into a taco-the Mexican version of a sandwich. She picked it up and bit into it, closing her eyes. Sweet-sour…hot…spicy…exotic. Heavenly. “Good,” she said, nodding.
“Glad you approve.” Again his tone was dry, ironic.
“No, I mean it. Different, though. What’s it called? Where’d you learn to make it?”
He shrugged, busy building himself another taco. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s pretty much local, I guess. No particular way to make it-everybody does it their own way.” He gave her a look and a half smile. “Kind of like meat loaf in New Jersey.”
But he hadn’t answered her questions, Ellie noticed. She thought about that as she polished off her taco, then reached for another. “How long have you lived here-in Mexico, I mean?”
“All my life,” said McCall.
Her eyes snapped to his face. He returned her look with a long, direct stare, and she felt her cheeks grow warm and the food she’d just eaten form a lump in her chest. It had seemed to her an innocent enough question. Hey-just making normal conversation, right? But such a blatant and obvious lie in reply carried its own equally obvious message: Back off…don’t ask questions. Far from being intimidated by the warning, Ellie took it as a personal challenge.
She cleared her throat. “You mentioned an ex-wife,” she said evenly, returning the stare.
His eyes shifted away from her as he nodded in time with his chewing. “I have one.”
“Then I assume she must be Mexican?”
Again their gazes locked-hers wide-eyed innocence, his veiled…secretive. Again he was first to break the contact. “Your mother ever tell you it’s rude to ask so many questions?” he asked rudely as he reached for a long-necked bottle beside his plate.
Her eyes followed the bottle as he lifted it to his lips. Her own throat, tight with shame and anger, convulsed when he swallowed. “We’re going to be working together,” she said in a low voice. “You’re supposed to be my husband. It would be nice to know something about you besides your last name.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “What you see is what you get.” But it was almost insultingly glib. After a moment he tipped the mouth of the bottle toward her and said very softly, “Pretending to be your husband. Pretending. Big difference. Or have you forgotten you have the real thing stashed away somewhere? In a hospital, wasn’t it? In Miami?”
This time it was Ellie who jerked her eyes away from a touch that had become too intense. Her cheeks felt so hot she thought they must be glowing. “As if I would forget that,” she said in a choked voice. But she had. She had.
This undercover stuff was turning out to be a lot harder than she’d expected. Or, maybe, she thought dismally, she was just too fundamentally honest for this kind of work. Too open. She’d always found it hard to lie. Even harder to hide her feelings. She didn’t know how to think like a married woman, much less act like one. She hadn’t had any practice. And this man, this McCall, it seemed, missed nothing. She was going to have to be very, very careful.
“What’s that you’re drinking?” She changed the subject almost violently, hurling the inquiry at him in a voice that was too loud and raspy with self-consciousness.
He glanced at the bottle in his hand, as if surprised to see it there. Or surprised by the question. “This? Pulque. The local beer, I guess you’d call it. Want one? Gotta warn you, it’s an acquired taste.”
“Sure-” she gave a savage little shrug “-why not? When in Rome…”
McCall pushed back his chair and went off to the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a second bottle, which he placed in front of Ellie. She lifted it to her lips, sipped and gamely suppressed a shudder.
“You want anything more to eat?”
“No, thank you,” Ellie said, determinedly taking another, longer swig of the beer and repressing an urge to gag. She watched resentfully from the corner of her eye as her host gathered the dishes, stacking everything except the fruit bowl into a haphazard tower, then shifted to more blatant, almost defiant observation when he started off with them to the kitchen.
Oddly, watching him walk away from her, dish towel flung casually over one shoulder, shirttail flapping, sandals slapping on the Mexican tiles, she felt her resentment and frustration melt into something else…something she couldn’t recall ever having felt before, at least about a man. A warm and achy little pool of disappointment…of wistfulness…of regret. She wanted to know this man. She didn’t know why, but she did. Not just out of curiosity, or because he represented a challenge to her-so determined to be a man of mystery!-but something deeper. A sense of connection, perhaps. A feeling that, given half a chance, she could really like him.
And it sure didn’t look as though she was ever going to get that chance.
She took another swig-a big one-of pulque. It didn’t seem so bad this time; perhaps she was acquiring the taste for it after all.
When McCall returned, the kinkajou was riding on his shoulder, once again with her tail curled around McCall’s neck. Ellie’s heart did a peculiar little stutter-step which she blamed, wishfully, on the pulque.
“She was hunting for the fruit bowl,” McCall explained when he saw Ellie’s eyes on him. “There you go, Ink-” He held out his arm, offering the kinkajou a bridge from his shoulder to the table. Instead of using it, she took a flying leap onto Ellie’s shoulder. Ellie gave a gasp of surprised laughter. “Hey-sorry ’bout that,” McCall muttered. “Here-let me get her-”
“No, no-that’s okay-” Ellie turned, shifting her passenger away from the hands that had reached to take her, and one closed instead on her bare shoulder. Just for a moment she felt the warmth and weight of it-altogether different from that of the kinkajou. But she blamed the shiver that rippled down her back on the animal, anyway-just the thrill, she told herself, of having such an elusive little wild creature snuggled next to her ear.
“There,” she said shakily, as she plucked a grape from the bowl and offered it to the kinkajou, “is that what you’re looking for?”
And suddenly, because she couldn’t bring herself to look at the man, feeding the little animal became intensely important, the focus of her total concentration. But she felt the man there beside her…close enough to touch, but not. She could feel him watching her and wondered, if she were to look at him, what she’d see in those eyes of his, whether they’d be that clean, clear blue she remembered, or clouded over with secrets.
That intense awareness and the strange unease that went along with it, were beginning to nibble away at Ellie’s natural good nature. Dammit, she wasn’t accustomed to feeling shaky and sel
f-conscious with people-especially men. She’d always liked men, as friends. She’d never been in love and was sensible enough to realize it, refusing to mistake the giddy crushes of adolescence or the mildly exciting attractions she’d experienced since for anything other than what they were. Maybe she could be so sure of herself because she knew what the real thing-real love-looked like. She’d grown up with it, witnessed it every day in her own parents. She was sure she’d recognize it when and if it ever came her way, and she wasn’t about to settle for anything less. Meanwhile, the way she saw it, men either liked her or they didn’t; it was out of her hands and therefore-possibly because most people did like her-she never concerned herself about it.
She didn’t think she’d ever been in the position before of wanting someone to like her, and being completely clueless as to whether or not they did.
“Excuse me,” she said, covering testiness with exaggerated courtesy, “I don’t mean to pry…but is it all right if I ask you a question? About Inky, I mean?”
McCall’s lips curved wryly in acknowledgment of the sarcasm, but he nodded solemnly and said, “Sure-go ahead.”
“Where-and how-on earth did you get her? She didn’t just wander in out of the garden, like the raccoon?”
“Nope-I bought her.”
Surprise-or the fact that he’d finally moved away from her-gave Ellie the courage to risk a glance at him. Again, he’d managed to catch her completely off guard. Surely, he had to be the last man she’d have thought would buy an exotic pet. But damned if she’d ask. Not if it killed her.
So, while Inky smacked and munched her way through a third grape, she silently watched him rummage through the drawers of a small rattan desk until, with a little grunt of triumph, he came up with a rumpled and badly folded road map. She pretended to give her full attention to the kinkajou when he brought the map back to the table and slapped it down in front of her.
“Some street kids had her,” he said as he took his own chair. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, but instead of lighting one, glanced at Ellie, then laid them on the table. Tapped the pack once, gave it a little push, then spoke to it, frowning. “She was just a baby. I figured she wasn’t going to have much of a chance where she was, so I…bought her. I was going to, you know…wait until she got bigger, then turn her loose.” He paused to clear his throat, squirming in his chair. “But then…well, hell, it didn’t seem like she’d have much chance in the wild, either, since she was so young when I got her. So,” he said gloomily, “it looks like I’m stuck with her.”
“What happened to ‘live and let live’?” Ellie asked softly, addressing the kinkajou. The shakiness was back-though that may have been due to the fact that Inky, having finally had her fill of grapes, was currently exploring the nape of Ellie’s neck.
McCall gave a little snort. “I occasionally have lapses,” he said darkly. “Fits of temporary insanity.”
“Is that what it was?” Ellie’s voice was hushed with suppressed shivers; the kinkajou was snuffling along the topmost bumps of her spine. Oh, and she hoped McCall wasn’t noticing the way her nipples were sticking out, hard as buttons under the soft knit of her shirt. She didn’t dare look at him to see. “Stopping that boy from stealing my purse. Temporary insanity?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” And his voice was like someone shoveling gravel. “What was I supposed to do-let him get away with it? I was there. It just happened.”
Happenstance. “And last night…José’s Cantina?”
“Coincidence,” growled McCall. “All I wanted was my usual shot of tequila. Walked into the bar and there you were. Wearing this big sign: Stupid Tourist-Please Mug Me.”
Ellie felt the heat throbbing in her cheeks-odd, because the shivers were still cascading down her back, and her nipples were beaded so hard and tight they hurt. In a voice rigidly controlled and barely audible, she said, “And today? You said you followed me. Couldn’t have been coincidence. Must have been-”
“Insanity-definitely.”
“You didn’t have to help me.” Bracing herself, she shot him a look. “You could have walked away, there on the pier. Why didn’t you?”
In the waiting, ringing silence, Inky crept in under Ellie’s ear and paused there, staring at McCall with eyes wide, nose quivering, for all the world, Ellie, thought, as if she, too, was waiting for his answer. McCall’s eyes dropped to the kinkajou, then lifted slowly back to Ellie’s, and the corners of his mouth curved in a sardonic little smile. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. His eyes and the smile said it plainly enough.
Just like the kinkajou, Ellie thought. He doesn’t think I’d have much of a chance out there in the wild…on my own.
“Let’s have a look at that envelope,” McCall said abruptly, reaching again for his cigarettes. “See if we can figure out where it is we’re supposed to be going. Then I’ll take you back to the ship so you can get your things.”
Chapter 6
“Hi, Mom, it’s me.”
“Ellie!” Lucy sat bolt upright under her afghan, gesturing frantically at Mike, who had already hit Save on his computer and was making his way over to join her on the couch. She shifted her feet around to make room for him beside her. “Honey, I’m so glad you called.” Your dad and I have been worried about you. But of course she didn’t say that; she knew Ellie didn’t like to be fussed over. Consequently Lucy made sure her tone was casual when she added, “We’ve been wondering about that…thing you mentioned you had to do. How’d that come out?”
“Well, that’s mostly why I’m calling. I think it’s going to work out fine, Mom, so you and Dad don’t have to worry, okay?” There was a pause, which Lucy wisely didn’t interrupt. Then a small, decisive breath. “The problem was, my partner on this…project I’m working on, he’d gotten sick, and it looked like I was going to have to finish it up by myself. But as it turns out, I’ve found somebody to help me out. So I won’t be going it alone after all.”
“Well,” said Lucy, “that’s nice.” She waited, watching her husband’s eyes, then cautiously ventured, “This new partner-is it someone you know?” Darn, but it was hard, being the mother of independent grown-up children. Hard to know which questions she was allowed to ask and which ones would be considered prying. Hard to know how much concern she was allowed to show without being a buttinsky. She looked at Mike for support once more before adding bravely, “Someone you can trust?”
There was another pause, and then an oddly thoughtful, “Yes, Mom, I believe I can.”
But, thought Lucy, she didn’t answer the first question.
“Anyway, Mom, Dad, I just wanted to let you know I’m going to be leaving the ship, so I probably won’t be able to check in with you for a few days. Okay? Everything’s fine, so don’t worry about me. I’m going to be staying with…my partner, and he doesn’t have a phone-”
He, thought Lucy. She said, He. At least that was something.
“This partner,” Mike said loudly, leaning closer to Lucy and the receiver, “does he have a name?” He gave his wife a smug look, well aware that fathers were allowed more slack in the prying department than mothers.
Even so, this time the pause was so long that Lucy finally said, “Honey, did you-”
“Yeah, Mom, I heard. It’s…McCall.”
“McCall,” said Lucy. “Is that-”
“Listen, Mom, I have to go now, okay? Tell Dad I love him-love you both. And don’t worry. I promise I’ll keep my wits about me.”
Lucy could hear a smile in her daughter’s voice when she said that. She wished she felt like smiling herself, but she had an edgy, uncertain feeling as she pushed the cordless phone’s disconnect button…kind of a tingle between her shoulder blades. Still holding the phone in her lap, she said to her husband, “She said his name’s-”
“McCall,” said Mike. “I heard.” He tapped a fingertip against his lips. “I knew a McCall once.”
“Oh, surely not the same one,” said Lucy, in an �
��Oh, pshaw” sort of tone. “McCall’s not that uncommon a name.”
“She didn’t mention a first name, did she? Unless McCall-”
“I’m sure that would be the last name-can you imagine anybody naming a little baby McCall?”
“McCall…” Mike Lanagan said under his breath. “I wonder…” He was frowning thoughtfully as he went back to his computer.
McCall lay awake listening to the small sounds that marked Ink’s progress on her usual nightly rounds, thinking about the woman currently occupying his not-very-comfortable couch.
He’d offered her his bed, of course; he wasn’t a complete jerk. He’d apologized for not having a hammock-one Yucatan custom he’d never quite taken to-and told her how lumpy the couch’s cushions were, how they had a tendency to separate, allowing various body parts to fall through onto the rattan underpinnings.
She’d told him again about how she’d slept on the decks of ships, on bare ground and open beaches, on sidewalks and the steps of government buildings. A couch with actual cushions, she’d assured him, would be a luxury.
He’d have to leave his bedroom door open a few inches to allow Ink hunting access, he’d told her, adding a sly remark about how it might be a bit of an inconvenience, but it kept the lizard and scorpion population down. But instead of a horrified “Eeuw!” or a shudder or a change of heart about sleeping on the couch, all she’d done was smile and tell him she’d slept through worse.
So it wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried. And it wasn’t guilt that kept him wide awake and tense long past the time when he’d normally be deep in untroubled, unhassled, live-and-let-live sleep. Awake, and all his senses keyed to the slightest sound or movement from beyond his half-open bedroom door.
Dammit, the woman just didn’t add up. She didn’t fit. Miss Goody Two-Shoes from Iowa, raised on a farm, now grown up and married and owner of a pet shop in Portland, Oregon. Disapproves of smoking, scarfs chocolate when upset; discomfitted by a topless beach but doesn’t hesitate to dispatch a mugger with a swift kick to the cojones. Says she’s slept on boats, beaches and sidewalks, isn’t put off by lizards and scorpions, and knows the scientific name for a kinkajou.
The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes Page 9
