The memory brought with it a sense of hurt—quick, sharp, and inexplicable. The anger he could understand. It was safe, sensible. That wounded feeling was something else. You didn’t get wounded by a stranger. You got wounded by the people you cared about.
The implication of that was clear enough, if inconvenient. The woman had gotten under his skin.
It begged the obvious question: What exactly did he think of her?
Instinctively he shied away from it. But this affair he was embroiled in wasn’t going to get any easier, and Ellie Mallory sat right at the heart of it. If he was going to get through this in one piece, he might as well be honest with himself about just what cards were on the table.
Given the ponderous pace of the caravan, it wasn’t as though there were much else for him to distract himself with.
Time to take a good, hard look at it, then. The first part of the picture came easily enough once he did.
He liked her. He had enjoyed this last week traveling with her, despite how frustrating she could be. And he respected her. There weren’t many women—or men, for that matter—courageous enough to make the journey she had, both to British Honduras in the first place and as far as she had into the bush. She had seen the chance for a real adventure and had seized it.
She was also resourceful. She held herself together under pressure. Then there was her sense of wonder. It was palpable in the way she approached everything new to her, from manatees to the crystalline skeleton of a long-dead sacrifice.
When he forced himself to stop and think fairly about it, he couldn’t even blame her for the lies. Using an assumed name was a reasonable enough precaution for a woman traveling alone. And once she’d given him that name—which had occurred at a crowded dinner table, hardly the place to blow her cover story—what reason would she have to correct it?
Then there was her failure to mention Dawson and Jacobs, and that business about claiming to be a widow.…
The woman was tying his brain into knots, and that was without considering that before long, he’d be married to her.
You make it sound like a business arrangement, she had said. And that was what it should be, wasn’t it? A solution to their situation that would save both her and her family from a good deal of suffering and, as he’d structured it, with minimum inconvenience to either of them. What would they lose by entering into it, since they each had no intention of looking for a settled life with anyone to begin with?
He would most likely see her once a year. They would go through the motions of a few social calls, enough to keep tongues from wagging too sharply, and then he’d be off again.
The arrangement wasn’t even that unusual. Plenty of marriages worked that way, even if they weren’t made under duress. Though his parents lived in the same house, they kept separate rooms. They saw each other at dinner a few nights a week and discussed the running of the household, or which social invitations to return. They weren’t atypical in that. Neither would he and Ellie be.
So why did it feel so wrong?
Was he resentful of even that much impingement on his freedom? Did he mind the occasional trip to England that terribly?
No. It was something else, something that seemed embodied in the image of the pair of them sitting at opposite ends of a long, formal table, dispassionately discussing finances or what parties to show their faces at.
He would rather be fighting. Even a good shouting match sounded better to him than that dreary tableau. At least then there’d be some damned passion to it.
Passion. That was the rub of it, wasn’t it? Fire. Life. Everything he’d experienced with Ellie Mallory in the brief time he’d known her had been infused with it. The notion of losing that, of seeing it transformed into the sort of bland cooperation his parents embodied, felt criminal. He wanted to wrangle with her. He enjoyed it. And when they did cooperate, it should be like it had been here: her sharp, unpredictable mind challenging him, pushing against his comfortable limits. He didn’t want to browse the paper while she sipped tea. He wanted to be drinking rum with her on the parlor floor, or, better yet, out here in the wild, where smudges of dirt would play with those freckles on her nose, her hair matted, her eyes brilliant with excitement.
Dear God.
Adam stopped in his tracks so abruptly, the man behind him ran into his back and bounced off with a curse. He barely heard it. He was too consumed by the revelation that had just shattered its way into his mind.
He was falling for her. The sworn loner with a pathological fear of settling down—he, Adam Bates—was falling for that maddening woman. Head over ever-loving heels.
Well, he thought numbly as the impact of it swelled over him. At least now he knew her name.
By the time Adam’s end of the expedition reached the campsite, tents were already set and fires built. The animals were being herded behind a makeshift fence of stakes and rope while pots simmered away with what the men would be eating for supper: rice and beans, from the smell. The place was a buzz of activity, so much so that it took Adam a while to find what he was looking for.
Ellie was sitting on the far side of the clearing, hands still tied, watching as her two guards worked on the little blaze in front of them. He began to walk toward her, then stopped.
What if she didn’t want to see him?
He tried to dismiss the idea, but it refused to let go. After all, her reaction to his talk of marriage was still vivid in his mind. Even the idea of being forced to see him once or twice a year had been intolerable to her.
Well, this wasn’t London. She was his responsibility for as long as it took him to get her safely out of here, and if that meant closer quarters than she liked, she’d just have to deal with it. Once he got her back to England in one piece, he’d get out of her hair.
Her hair. He wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through it, those short, silken curls twisted between his fingers.…
He shook off the thought, cursing inwardly.
He peered at her from across the camp. She seemed safe for now, and as comfortable as she could get with her hands still bound. Had they been like that all day? The thought brought a rush of protective outrage with it, though logically he couldn’t fault her captors. She had blown up a part of their expedition.
For me, he remembered. To try to keep me from being taken in by Dawson and letting my guard down. The thought filled him with an odd warmth.
Oh, for Pete’s sake…
Dawson’s voice interrupted his reverie, calling his name. He glanced back to see the professor waving at him from the other side of the camp.
He gave Ellie another look. She had joined her guards in a game of cards. Somehow he had the distinct impression that she’d end up fleecing them. In the meantime, staying in Dawson’s good graces was probably a smart move. He put his back to Ellie and answered the summons.
“Over there, by my tent—and careful!” Dawson called to one of the bearers as Adam approached. “Mr. Bates! I trust today wasn’t too strenuous for you?”
Only because crawling at a snail’s pace is frustrating as all hell.
“Fine, thank you.”
“If at any point you would prefer to ride, let me know and I’ll see that one of the animals is freed up for you.”
“That’s very kind,” Adam said. Of course, the last thing he planned on doing was riding. The only thing worse than trudging through the bush at a crawl was jolting as slowly on muleback.
“Timber!” The cry was followed by a rush of leaves and crackling branches as one of the pines that towered over the camp fell to the ground.
What were they felling trees for? He turned to ask, but Dawson had other things on his mind.
“How is Miss Mallory doing?”
Something in Dawson’s tone sounded a warning note through his head. He shrugged casually.
“Not sure. She’s on the other side of the camp, if you want to ask her.”
“Ah. You haven’t spoken with her today?”
“But you did speak to her last night?”
There we are.
He hadn’t assumed that would go unnoticed, however quiet he tried to make his entrance. Not that he’d had much choice. He had needed to connect with her, to make sure she didn’t try anything even crazier. But Dawson had gone to some length the day before to discredit her in Adam’s eyes. He wanted his cooperation and his trust to find the Smoking Mirror his obsessive employer wanted so badly. Otherwise, both he and Ellie would quickly become expendable. For now, it was best to let the man think he had both.
“She’s very resourceful. And stubborn,” he added. He didn’t have to act to bring a measure of annoyance into his tone. “I wanted to make sure she didn’t try anything that foolish again.”
“You needn’t have concerned yourself about that, Mr. Bates. As you can see, we have ensured that she cannot cause any more trouble to herself or this expedition.”
Dawson looked at him carefully, and Adam knew that his reaction was being measured. “I hope that last night’s events went some way further, at least, toward convincing you of the truth of what I said when you arrived at our camp.”
Adam had learned to hide his emotions young, in the school of his father’s boardroom. It had served him well since at the poker table. He hoped to hell it would hold up here.
“The fact that she hadn’t told me her damned name pretty well covered that. I didn’t need the fireworks.” He sighed. “Look, I don’t much like being lied to. Or the people who do it. If I don’t have to play nice to keep her from burning the camp down, that’s all the better for me.”
Dawson looked relieved. Good.
It was time for a change of subject.
“So, what’s with the landscaping?” he asked as another tree crashed to the jungle floor.
“Ah! That’s for a little surprise I have planned. I was hoping to let you in on it.”
He turned to a stack of crates. One of the men was busy prying up the tops with a crowbar. Dawson pushed the lid clear and motioned grandly.
Inside lay a jumble of canvas and ropes. Adam frowned and glanced into the next box. It contained a very large basket of solidly woven wicker. He looked to Dawson, genuinely shocked.
“Is this—”
“A balloon,” Dawson confirmed.
“You brought a hot-air balloon?”
“It must seem rather extravagant, but I assure you it is not here for recreational purposes. There is a scientific theory I have been wanting to put to the test. Are you familiar with the principles of aerial survey?”
“First I’m hearing of it,” Adam admitted.
“The higher the perspective, the more clearly one may see. It is a principle only recently coming into use in the study of geography, but I believe it could apply brilliantly to our discipline as well. Disturbed soil or the presence of anything concealed under the surface means differentiation in growth patterns—differences that may seem random on the ground, but view them from a height…”
“And the patterns could become clear,” Adam finished. He was intrigued in spite of himself.
“The balloon will need to stay tethered here, of course. There aren’t many safe places to set down. And if the map’s description is correct, the city won’t be visible from here even in the air. But we may catch a glimpse of this ‘river of smoke’ he talks of marking the entrance to the ravine, and that could save us weeks of wandering around looking for it.”
“It’s brilliant,” Adam admitted. And still excessive. The balloon, the basket, the rigging—all those hydrogen tanks—none of it had come cheap. Neither had the backs needed to get it into the jungle.
Whoever was behind this mess, he wanted his artifact badly.
“Would you care to join me tomorrow when I ascend?”
The thought made the bottom of his stomach drop out. Adam Bates could handle poisonous snakes and sinkholes. He hated heights. But he needed Dawson to trust him, and this was a perfect opportunity to further that aim.
He’d have to handle it. Or at least keep from turning into a shivering mess at the bottom of that basket. That very small, flimsy-looking basket.
“I’d love to.”
As Dawson moved on to supervise the rest of the unpacking, Adam turned once more to where Ellie sat with her guards. She looked comfortable enough, but the urge to go to her and see for himself was overwhelming. He fought it back. The conversation he’d just had made it clear that he needed to keep Dawson convinced that he wanted as little as possible to do with her.
He’d play that part—for now. There would be time enough to check on her later. He would just need to think of a way to give them some time alone.
The idea took shape in his mind. Smiling, he went to look for Charles Goodwin and Martin Lavec.
Ellie lay on the cot in her tent and cursed. Flowers had tried to do what he could for her comfort. She was once again lashed to the tent pole, but at least he had pushed the cot up against it so that she didn’t have to sleep on the floor. It was an improvement, but she found herself burning with nostalgia for her hammock on board the Mary Lee, for its soft comfort and the cool river breezes stirring the mosquito netting, the sound of Adam’s even breathing mingling with the gentle lapping of the water. The stuffy atmosphere of the tent was somewhat less inspiring.
She had seen him that afternoon from across the camp and for a moment had dared to hope that he might walk over to her. Instead he’d turned away with little more than a glance and gone to chat with Dawson.
She tried not to let it bother her. It was the most sensible course of action for him to pretend indifference.
If he was just pretending…
She pushed the thought aside, which was easy enough. The awareness of her physical discomfort was happy to take its place. The close air and the ropes weren’t the worst of it. That could be laid directly upon her derriere. Ellie wasn’t much of a rider. She’d taken the odd turn about Hyde Park on a rented mare before she gave up bothering to entertain would-be suitors. But a day over rugged terrain on muleback had worn out muscles she hadn’t known existed. They were now voicing their resentment at the ill treatment. She determined she would coerce Flowers and Mendez to allow her to walk tomorrow.
She started at the sound of shouts outside the tent. There was a crack of breaking glass, then a roar of excitement as a fight broke out. It was a foreign sound to Ellie, but she was hardly surprised. The men who crewed this expedition were clearly a rough crowd. It was likely remarkable that no such scuffles had broken out before. That, or a testament to the level of control Jacobs was able to exert over even such a motley bunch.
She turned, doing her best to shut the racket out and return to the task of ignoring her aching backside long enough to go to sleep. She had very nearly succeeded when the canvas at the tent’s opening rustled and someone stepped inside.
She felt a quick flash of fear. Then something in the intruder’s size and posture clicked into place in her brain.
“Bates?”
He was staring at her from across the tent. His gaze moved to where her hands were bound at the tent post, forcing her into her current awkward position. His expression darkened, and he reached for her wrists.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, whispering harshly.
“Untying you.”
“You can’t untie me. What will they think when they come in here in the morning? What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I told you. I’m checking on you,” he repeated stubbornly.
“There are guards watching me. Somebody must have seen you.”
“The guards are watching the fight.”
“How do you know that?”
“That’s what I set it up for.”
She paused, surprised.
“You set it up?”
“I’ve got a couple of friends in camp. Not many,” he cautioned. “But one of them is a hell of a boxer, and the other has a knack for ge
tting bets going.”
“What if he gets hurt?”
“Who?”
“Your friend,” she clarified impatiently.
“Lavec will be fine. I’d worry more about the other guy.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking at her with an unfamiliar expression on his face.
“We’re not escaping now, I take it?” she asked, as much to break the silence as anything else.
“No,” Adam replied, seeming to snap out of whatever trance he had fallen into. “Jacobs has men stationed around the outskirts of the camp on patrol. And they’re not the sort to leave their posts for a boxing match. This just bought me some time to talk to you, make sure you’re… you know.”
“I’m fine,” she said firmly. The man was acting truly odd. It was as though there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Tired of waiting for it, she abruptly pushed forward.
“Listen, Bates… it’s not that I don’t… What I mean is, I appreciate your concern, especially after yesterday. You’ve got plenty of cause to hate me right now.”
“That’s not true,” he cut in quickly.
“What?” She shook her head, confused. But Adam’s distraction wouldn’t last long. They were running out of time, and she needed to get through to him.
“I’ve been thinking. Yesterday, in the tent, Dawson was trying very hard to convince you they were the ones who had been wronged. He didn’t have to. They could easily have shot us both and been done with it. And inviting you to dinner… He wants you for something.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“He wants me to find an artifact. Something they think might be in the city. That’s what this is for, all of it. Whoever’s paying the tab wants their hands on this one piece. That’s it. Dawson wants me to help him find it. He thinks I’ll be able to locate it faster than he can on his own.”
“The Smoking Mirror?”
The answer spilled out of her before she could stop to consider its implications.
His expression was unreadable in the near-darkness.
The Smoke Hunter Page 27
