The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

by Kathleen Creighton

  As he knew he would not.

  First light and the birds’ raucous wake-up calls came as a welcome relief to Ellie. For all its exotic and nostalgic allure and her eagerness to give it a try, the hammock had not served her well-through no fault of its own, she was sure. It had turned out to be every bit as comfortable as she’d thought it might be. The problem wasn’t her body; it was her thoughts that gave her no peace. And since in a hammock she couldn’t very well toss and turn, the only option she had was to stare wide-eyed into moonlit palm thatch and think about tomorrow.

  No matter how hard she tried she didn’t seem to be able to talk herself out of self-doubts and forebodings-especially in the wee hours…the worrying hours, as Mom would have called them. She’d gone back over the sequence of events leading up to this moment a hundred times in her mind, giving herself every chance to second-guess her decisions. And it still came up the same: she was doing what she had to do in order to complete her mission. Any other alternative was failure, pure and simple. So what was the problem? She was ready; she’d been trained for this. All possible preparations had been made. Why was she lying here wide awake with the cold and clammy feeling that things were just…not right?

  You’re scared, Ellie. Admit it-you’ve got cold feet and a jillion butterflies.

  Well, okay. Maybe she was a little scared. Okay, a lot. And why shouldn’t she be, on the eve of the resolution of her first field assignment? It was only natural, surely.

  Face it, Ellie. You wouldn’t be this nervous if it was your partner, Ken Burnside, asleep in that bed in there, instead of some stranger named McCall…

  And just like that, like the records Gwen used to play on her old phonograph, when there was a flaw in one and the needle would catch in it and repeat the same word or part of a word over and over until somebody came along and bumped it off…just like that her mind caught on that word and replayed it endlessly, McCall…McCall… McCall…

  McCall was the unknown. She didn’t know what to expect from him. How could she, when he didn’t know the truth about what was going on? She and Burnside had trained together, gone over every possible scenario, prepared for just about any eventuality. She knew that Ken, a former FBI agent, was capable of handling himself in dangerous situations, and that she could trust him to back her up-and vice versa. But McCall? He was a civilian, for God’s sake! If things got ugly tomorrow he’d be more of a liability than a help to her.

  Wouldn’t he? Except…the other day in that cantina, hadn’t he faced down those smugglers without batting an eye? Picked up the ball she’d pitched him out of the blue and run with it, even though he’d had no idea what was going on? And oh, how she remembered the sure, solid feel of his body, the strength in his hands and iron in his voice when he’d put himself without hesitation between her and those thugs. That was when it had really come to her that there might be more to this man named McCall than met the eye.

  It would have helped if she could at least be certain he was one hundred percent on her side. But…as far as he was concerned, she was one of the bad guys. He’d tried so hard to talk her out of going through with the meeting, and she was almost certain he’d attempted to derail the whole mission with that little fuel-switch stunt of his-attempting to sabotage the VW. She’d offered him the face-saving way out-for reasons she still didn’t entirely understand-but the truth was, it just wasn’t that easy to turn that fuel switch off by bumping it with a knee. Not impossible…just highly improbable.

  Okay, the man had his principles, she could say that for him. Under different circumstances she might even have to admire him. She did admire him, dammit. And more than anything she wished she could tell him the truth. Oh, how she wished…

  Admit it, Rose Ellen. It hurts when he looks at you with contempt in his eyes. When he speaks to you so coldly, the way he did this evening. You care what he thinks of you.

  Dammit, she did care. More than she’d have imagined possible. More than made any kind of sense, considering how short a time she’d known him. How little she knew about him. She cared a lot.

  So, why can’t I tell him who I really am and what I’m really doing? Why not?

  Because, the voice of common sense and all her training calmly replied, if he doesn’t know who you are he can’t betray you. Even unwittingly. You can’t tell him until after it’s all over. Don’t even think about it.

  Oh, but…

  End of story.

  It was then that the hammock totally let her down. In a hammock she couldn’t flop onto her stomach and pull a pillow over her head in a futile effort to shut out the din of her own thoughts.

  “Where in the world are we, do you know?” Ellie’s voice sounded more than a little uneasy. “I swear, I think we have to be in Belize by now. One thing’s for sure-” and she gave the map spread across her knees a frustrated thump “-this road we’re on isn’t on any map.”

  “Road?” McCall said with heavy sarcasm as he tossed his half-smoked cigarette out the window onto the narrow mud-and-gravel track. His stomach was already on fire from the effects of too many cigarettes and not enough food…too little sleep and way too much tension. He was in a sour mood in more ways than one, and thinking that if this kept up he was going to have an ulcer for sure. Live and let live seemed very long ago and far away…

  Except for short exchanges like that one, and Ellie calling out directions to him from the written instructions that had been left for them at the hotel, they’d said almost nothing to each other since leaving the resort at Laguna Bacalar. He hadn’t been able to resist, though, when she was coming down the steps from the veranda wearing jeans and those boots and new earrings, and that pink sun visor with Acapulco emblazoned across the headband in rainbow letters.

  “Boots?” he’d said in mock surprise. “What happened to your Nikes?”

  “Snakes,” she’d returned without batting an eye, giving the boot’s leather upper a thump with her hand.

  Good answer, he’d thought, and didn’t know whether to be even angrier with her or just impressed. No doubt about it, the woman was really something. Aloud he’d shot back a gruff, “Got the directions? The money? Chocolate?”

  “All here,” she’d serenely replied, holding up the canvas beach bag.

  He’d had to bite down hard on the urge to ask her if “all” the money meant both halves or not. Literally. He’d clamped his teeth down on his tongue until tears came to his eyes.

  And it had taken just about all his willpower to maintain the lovey-dovey newlyweds charade when they stopped by the hotel lobby to ask the desk clerk to hold their room for them at least one more night-and no, they hadn’t heard a word yet from their “friends.”

  In the restaurant they’d ordered a botana of foil-wrapped tacos and garnachas, fresh fruit and bottled water to take with them. Both of them had only nibbled warm tortillas while forcing down sweet black Mexican coffee; neither, apparently, were up to the huevos Montulenos offered as the breakfast special that morning.

  The silence and tension seemed to grow thicker, louder, angrier with every second, until it seemed like a living thing…a third person sitting there between them, visible for all to see. And McCall, for one, didn’t care. His head, his chest, his belly were filled with it, leaving no room for anything else-not food, not cigarette smoke, not even thought.

  Dammit, McCall did not like being lied to. Never had. Never would.

  This would have to stop. Now. He had to ask her. He had to know the truth. Now.

  He’d lost count of how many times he’d said that to himself, gripping the gearshift lever until his knuckles went white, thigh muscles clenching, ready to stomp on the brakes…the clutch. And how many times he clenched his teeth together and just kept going…

  And then all at once he did stomp the clutch and hit the brakes-hard.

  The VW jolted to a halt. Not because of anything he might have wanted to say to her, but because the track ahead had suddenly filled with men wearing jungle-green camoufl
age and carrying guns.

  Chapter 9

  “What now?” McCall muttered, and it felt as if he were grinding each word between his teeth.

  Ellie’s hand was resting on his forearm, though he’d no memory of her putting it there. “It’s okay…don’t move.” Amazingly, there was only the slightest hint of a tremor in her voice. Then she just kept muttering as if to herself, “I think it’s okay…I think it’s okay…”

  He had to hand it to her, he really did. He was so jangled with adrenaline he didn’t think he could have lit his own cigarette, while she just sat there looking…not frightened, so much as just…wary. As if she’d been half expecting something of this sort to happen. As she obviously had.

  But all McCall could think about was what in the hell she’d thought she was going to do with that little bitty pistol of hers up against all those great big automatic rifles.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s them,” Ellie said in that same mumbling voice, eyeing the two armed men who were approaching the car. “This isn’t exactly a well-traveled road. But they were obviously expecting us.”

  “Some welcome,” McCall muttered back. “Nice people you do business with.”

  “It’s understandable. They don’t want us to know exactly where their camp is. They’ll probably blindfold us before they take us there. Just do what they say…”

  “No problemo.” As if he was planning to argue with men pointing machine guns at him?

  The man on his side of the VW was gesturing emphatically with his weapon, indicating that McCall was to get out of the car. The man on Ellie’s side was doing the same. A short distance away, other armed men stood with weapons at the ready.

  “Just remember to shut up and let me do the talking,” he said in a grating undertone as he pushed open his door. And, he prayed, Please, God, please don’t let her even think of trying anything with that gun.

  He stepped from the car with his hands in the air and was instantly grabbed and jerked around, slammed against the car and thoroughly patted down, to the accompaniment of terse commands delivered in tones that resembled whip-cracks. Through it all he remained silent and stoic, steeling himself, concentrating on controlling a perfectly natural male-aggression response to such violations of his person and pride.

  And at the same time he was bracing himself, preparing for the violent action he was certain was going to be required of him when these people-whoever they were-discovered Ellie’s gun. And they would discover it, of that he was certain. She was being subjected to the same thorough search he was-how could they not find it? He watched from the corner of his eye, holding himself in rigid anticipation, tense as wire, feeling every rough, rude touch she experienced as if it were a violation of his own body, frustrated beyond bearing at being unable to help her, expecting every second to hear the cries of triumph or outrage…

  Which, mystifyingly, never came.

  Apparently-and incomprehensibly-satisfied, the man who’d been searching Ellie then straightened up and pulled a black scarf out of his pocket. While McCall was giving himself permission to breathe again, a second man jerked her around and pulled off her sun visor while the man with the scarf wrapped it roughly across her eyes and tied it behind her head.

  “Please,” McCall heard her say in a quavering voice, “can I have my visor back? My skin…I burn easily…please let me keep it.”

  The sun visor. Whatever it was in there, McCall thought, it was obviously important. He called out to her captors in a croaking voice he barely recognized, translating the request, and was relieved when one of the men said something and then laughed as he shoved the visor back on Ellie’s head. He saw her lift her hands and resettle it, murmuring thanks in clumsy Spanish.

  While this was going on, he was aware that yet another man had snatched the canvas beach bag out of the car and was pawing hurriedly through it. He saw the man remove the manila envelope full of money and thrust it inside his shirt, then toss the bag away into the jungle undergrowth. So much for brunch, he thought. And then his world went dark as a scarf was pulled tight across his eyes.

  “Can I have my cigarettes?” he asked, and was surprised at how mild and calm he sounded. “Both packs,” he added as he felt the half-empty pack that had been taken from his pocket along with his lighter come into his hand. A moment later, with a laughing comment in Spanish, the unopened pack that had been tucked behind the VW’s sun visor was thrust into his shirt pocket.

  “Gracias…” McCall tapped out a cigarette and put it to his lips, then held out the lighter. “¿Por favor…?” There was a comradely chuckle as someone took the lighter, clicked it on and held it to the end of McCall’s cigarette. He felt the heat, heard the crackle…inhaled smoke and murmured again, “Gracias.”

  There was another chuckle and a careless “De nada,” as the lighter was pressed back into his hand.

  Making friends? he thought as he dropped it into his pocket. Or the condemned man’s last cigarette?

  Then hands gripped his arms and he was pushed and shoved and guided until he was walking-stumbling-down what he was certain must be the grass and gravel track they’d been driving on only moments-it seemed like hours-before. There was no conversation among the troops now-no sound except for the muffled tramping of feet, a few bird calls, the screech of a monkey and the whine of a jillion insects.

  And a moment later, a burst of automatic weapons fire.

  For one interminable instant, McCall thought it was he who’d been shot. Shock lanced through all his vital organs; his knees turned to water. The world stopped.

  Then he was pretty sure he hadn’t been shot. And that was much, much worse.

  “Ellie!” Her name ripped through his throat. The images in his mind were an agony he was certain he could never survive.

  “It’s all right. I’m here.” Relief shook him like a strong gust of wind. Her voice was unexpectedly near…bumpy and frightened but obviously unharmed. “I think they sh-shot the car.”

  “The car!” Still quivering and numb with relief, McCall tried to digest that. It made no sense to him, so he ran it through again. “They shot my car?” It didn’t sound any better.

  “I think so.” Ellie’s voice was still hushed and shaky. “I heard glass breaking.”

  “I see,” said McCall. And after a moment… “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  Ellie didn’t like it much, either. She could think of only one reason why their captors would have done such a thing. Fear trickled coldly down her spine. She said with a grim confidence she didn’t come close to feeling, “I had a feeling they might do something like this. That’s why I took out a little insurance.”

  There was a grunt and some muffled swearing from McCall. He must have stumbled, she thought, or gotten slapped in the face by a branch; the trail had gotten narrower and considerably more overgrown. She was relieved to hear a surly undertone, “What the hell do you mean, insurance?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him-anyway, the part about leaving half the money behind in their hotel room, buried in her overnight bag and stuffed under the bed. She even thought about telling him about her weapon, and the last-minute premonition that had made her take the ankle-holster off this morning and hide it behind the dashboard of the VW. To the best of her knowledge the smugglers hadn’t found it…thank God. Thank God she still had her visor, too, and her watch and earrings. She should tell him about those, too, she thought. Just in case…

  But before she’d made up her mind to do that, one of her captors gave her arm a jerk and rapped out a warning in Spanish, reminding her that they were surrounded by a dozen armed men, any of whom might know more English than they pretended. And she only had time for a hissed, “Trust me,” as she threw up her arms to protect her face from vegetation she couldn’t see.

  McCall didn’t answer, but she thought she heard him laugh.

  And why shouldn’t he laugh? she thought, once again lapsing dangerously into gloom and self-blame. I’m not sure I�
�d trust me, either. All I’ve done so far is get us into a mess.

  Keep your wits about you, Rose Ellen.

  And don’t lose confidence, either, she scolded herself.

  Things really weren’t that bad. And so far, not her fault. She really couldn’t see how things would have been any different even if Ken had been with her. After all, they’d expected something like this might happen. Talked about and prepared for just such a double cross. Okay, shooting the car had been a bit unexpected, but so what? The important thing was that she was being taken to the smugglers’ camp, according to plan, presumably to meet with the head honcho. To whom she-or more probably McCall-would explain that if he wanted the other half of his money he was going to have to return them to their hotel unharmed. As McCall might have said, no problemo.

  And if things didn’t go according to plan, well…they would just have to find a way to escape, that’s all.

  “McCall,” she called softly, “are you there?”

  “Yeah.” He sounded, Ellie thought, rather like a bad-tempered camel.

  “How much damage do you think they did?”

  “To the car?” There was a pause, and then a grudging, “Hard to say. Those Beetles are pretty hard to kill.”

  “Think you can fix it?”

  “Assuming we make it back there, you mean? Don’t know, depends on what they hit. How many tires we have…” His voice trailed away, but not before she heard the hopelessness in it. Assuming we make it back there…

  Remorse and regret settled around her again like a cold mist, making her feel chilled in spite of the heat. Poor McCall. She should have told him everything. She should have trusted him. Of course he was thinking that even if they did manage to escape from the smugglers’ camp, they were in the middle of a jungle with no way of knowing which way to go in order to find their way back to their car. And she had no chance to let him know that that scenario, too, had been anticipated and prepared for.