She brushed her palm on her shorts and looked up at him. “I’ll remind you about it later as you’re scratching the welts on your arms.”
Mitch glanced down at his forearms. He turned them upside down and the skin looked fine except for a stray bruise or two leftover from the incident on the Hudson.
“Because I failed to use your ointment?” He was trying to taunt her, but the hoarseness revealed his uncertainty.
To Mitch’s surprise, Alex took her sticky hand and ran it down the length of his arm. The sensation was enough to suspend his breath. He snapped his eyes from that brief contact to meet hers. She was laughing at him.
“Ironically−” Alex’s voice bore a tantalizing huskiness, “−the diluted sap from these trees is one of the ingredients in my potion.”
After the initial reaction to her touch, Mitch stared at the dark hairs on his forearms, finding them slick with the viscous substance. He sniffed at the sweet aroma.
“Great. Thanks a bunch, Doctor.” He was suddenly too tired to deal with this jungle or this smug creature.
“I really didn’t mean to imply anything about Nicholson,” he muttered. “My interest is solely about the man himself.”
And that was true. His limited time with the Director of the Museum of Historical Art and Antiquities left Mitch in a tailspin.
“I mean, Christ, just twenty-four hours ago I had no clue who Nicholson was, and now here I am, searching—”
Whoah! He caught himself and regrouped. “Photographing a Mayan expedition that I know nothing about.”
Alex’s eyebrow arched and Mitch thought for sure he’d blown his cover.
Well damn. That was too bad. I don’t want to be here anyway.
But something unexpected occurred. Alexandra Langley laughed. Golden hair dipped down her back as the pleasant sound poured from her lips, making the jungle less insidious.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“Well, heck, you’re supposedly this savvy war correspondent. Or were,” she added, “and Phillip rendered you as insecure as a teenager.”
Despite being the object of the joke, he grinned. For a tranquil moment, they shared that smile and looked at each other a little too long.
The tiny laugh lines around the corners of Alex’s eyes vanished, and her lips thinned into a dispassionate line. The moment was over.
“Look−when we get back to camp—” She took a defiant stance with her fists curled up. Or maybe they were glued shut.
“I just don’t like the idea of the guys thinking about you being alone out here with me this afternoon.” Alex cleared her throat. “I mean, we both know its innocent enough, but these kids, they could blow it all out of proportion.”
Oh, this was good.
Mitch crossed his sticky arms and tried his hardest not to look smug.
“And what exactly would they think, Doctor? That just because I’ve been alone in the sultry jungle with a beautiful woman for a couple hours, that I’d have no recourse as a healthy male but to take advantage of the situation?”
He would have given anything to identify the flicker of emotion in Alex’s eyes. Perhaps it was a trick of the peek-a-boo sunlight, but he thought they flared with anticipation. For just the span of a breath, he thought her lips parted on an unsaid word.
When the word remained unspoken, Mitch added, “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Langley.”
Chapter Three
“No!” he lurched upright.
Red strobes contrasted with the stark interior of his tent to reveal a woman with long black hair sitting in the corner.
One gasp. Another. Soon Mitch began to disassociate the nightmare from the screeching nocturnal pitch of the jungle. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again the woman was gone.
Damn, I hate night sounds.
He considered turning on the flashlight, but the even breathing nearby reminded him that he shared this little canvas hell with Wes and Chuckles. His fingers wrapped around the aluminum cylinder as he hoisted out of the tent into the energetic heart of the jungle.
Night sounds. This jungle was full of them.
Reluctant to flick on the flashlight, Mitch relied on brief flashes of moonlight to aid with his getaway.
He explored the camp with the limited light. What in God’s name was he hoping for—to catch a glimpse of a crate marked with the HAA insignia? If he was successful, Nicholson had promised to use his connections to get him back into a lucrative photojournalist career. Although, if he was successful, he didn’t think he’d need the museum director’s influence.
Mitch broadened his circle around the site until he was tucked deep in a thicket of trees, far enough away to risk using the flashlight. He flicked on the beacon and stifled a shout as startled red eyes stared him dead on.
The disturbed kinkajou, a raccoon-like mammal, swung upside down from one of the branches and blinked curiously at Mitch. Recovering from the shock, he continued his loop, careful this time not to lose track of the camp. He only had a few hours until he was scheduled to meet up with Alex.
What was disturbing was how much he was looking forward to that.
***
“I brought you along this afternoon to take pictures of prospective excavation sites, not to take pictures of me, Mr. Hasslet.” Alex berated as she held a hand up to ward off the lens.
“It’s background data,” Mitch clarified. “You know…pictures of the doctor before she makes her big discovery.”
Mitch saw the arch of her eyebrow. He was getting on her nerves.
“I appreciate that you have time to goof off,” she addressed him while stooping to view through the optical surveying equipment, “but we’re all busy here.”
“Hey. I don’t goof off, and I’m busy now too.” He waved his camera.
Alex looked away, but not quick enough that he didn’t catch the flash of disappointment in her eyes.
“Maybe so, but it’s pretty obvious my discoveries are meager. Not nearly enough to keep you engaged.”
Mitch fell in alongside her, glancing at her cut-off jeans and down to her feet adorned in sturdy hiking boots.
“I saw this creature this morning.” He thought he would try to distract her from her self-condemnation. “It was a raccoon sort of…”
“A kinkajou,” she offered. “Can you at least feign focus?”
The rebuke in Alex’s voice made him bristle. “Point taken, Doctor.”
She was in quite the mood this morning and he couldn’t figure what was eating at her. He had been diligent not to get lost and met up at her tent precisely when dictated. So what was the problem?
Focusing through the viewfinder, Mitch watched her while she wasn’t looking and what he saw disturbed him. She looked sad.
“Fine.” Alex drew up. “Now unless you see anything here worth photographing, we should start back.”
“Not a problem, doctor.”
“I could do without the attitude.”
“I thought it would make you more comfortable. I mean it is the way you communicate, isn’t it?” As sad as she appeared, he wasn’t about to let her take it out on him.
“Look,” Alex drew in a deep breath. “I’m not going to entertain you. The way it works around here is that you keep up, you participate, or you’re out.”
What was it? The blaze in her eyes? The haughty tone uttered from someone who, deep down, seemed so vulnerable? Whatever the reason, something about her made Mitch lose his cool.
Before he could check his response, he added, “From what people tell me, you sound just like your father.”
She didn’t deserve that. Mitch didn’t even know where the comment came from other than some passing fodder from Wes and Chuck.
Well, it worked, because he was now the sole focus of Alex’s fury.
“You don’t know my father.” Her voice was husky. “You would have never met him because he only hires professionals. He only hires the best. And you, Mr. Hasslet are someone else’s leftover
s. Discarded from job to job, and dumped in this god-forsaken jungle because you screwed up somewhere else.” One steadying breath and she added, “So, just because you’re bitter…don’t take it out on me.”
It was the heat. It had to be the incessant heat. Mitch felt as if his head was going to explode. Incensed, he grabbed Alex’s arm and drew her against him. He didn’t know what motivated the gesture—perhaps the male need to intimidate−but the action shocked them both. For a second he stared down at fawn-colored lashes that veiled provoking sparks of gold, and then his gaze lowered to her lips. Whether they were parted to rebuke him—whether they were moist from the recent pass of her tongue—whether they looked so damn inviting in this inhospitable jungle—he wanted them.
Her heart pounded against his ribcage. She seemed shocked into compliance, or was she waiting to see his next move? Her eyes were wide−watching him. Watching his mouth. What had been a baiting move intended to aggravate her ended up backfiring as he whispered, “Point taken, Doctor.”
***
“Look…” Mitch stepped back and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “Chalk that up to this godforsaken sauna, combined with my frustration over many things. You probably aren’t going to believe it, but I am very sorry about that.”
For all intents and purposes, he appeared outwardly agitated…maybe even downright contrite, Alex thought. For a moment she nearly felt sorry for him, aware that she had been goading him.
“I’ll do my job,” he added. “And I will get out of your jungle, alright?”
“Just like you said.” She cleared her throat and tried in vain to feel the ice everyone assumed ran through her veins. “Do your job and get out of my jungle.”
Whatever thought went through Mitch’s mind at that moment, Alex was certain it wasn’t anger. There was a spasm at the corner of his mouth and a roguish spark in his eyes.
“You know what, Alex?” His grin grew.
God, he looked sinful like that. It didn’t help that she could still feel the friction of her breasts pressed up against his chest.
No. That didn’t help at all.
“What?”
He leaned in closer, and for one delirious second she thought he was going to kiss her. How would she react? The professional in her said that she would knee him in the groin and send him back on the first plane. The woman in her said that she would slide her arms up behind his neck and taste that masculinity, and ply her body to his in an attempt to satisfy the burning itch that still clung to her breasts.
“I don’t think you want me to go,” he whispered close enough to elicit a chill.
Her head tilted back to take in his profile, now eclipsed by the midday sun. Trouble was something she didn’t need in her life. And temptation—well temptation was something she outright refused.
But looking at Mitch Hasslet, she was certain that she was staring at over six feet of both of them.
“I do,” she murmured back. “I do want you to go.”
***
Mitch woke in a foul mood. He was nowhere closer to locating the Museum pieces and attributed that fact to the distracting fair-haired doctor. Yesterday, when they had returned to camp, aside from Wes’s lingering glance, he and Alex were ignored. The crew must have assumed from Mitch’s expression that he had been rejected in the jungle—a common upshot with Alex.
Well, let them think he was a statistic. It took away the attention and allowed him to travel under the radar—at least, by the men. The doctor, on the other hand, was a different story.
Though her attention was rapt by trail maps sprawled across a foldout card table, he caught her furtive glances in his direction. From this distance it was difficult to gauge if there was mistrust or lust in those quick looks. The latter thought drove all the blood in his body in a single southerly region, but his brain recognized that they stemmed from suspicion.
Dammit.
To hell with it all. Play the role. Shoot the photos. Find this godforsaken shipment, and get the hell out of Dodge.
Mitch punched his fist into his case and extracted two rolls of film. He grabbed his camera and made his way towards the perimeter of the camp.
“Chuck.” The sound of Alex’s sexy rasp drew his attention.
“Take Hasslet to the new coordinates,” she addressed Chuck, but kept her eyes trained on Mitch. “Who knows…maybe film will capture something we missed.”
Chuck’s eyebrows hauled together. His disapproval was ignored by Alex as she stooped down to address her maps again.
Mitch nearly smiled at the exchange. This group listened to Alex, whether they liked it or not.
“So, Chuck,” Mitch drawled, stepping forward. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”
Chuck tossed a chilled look over his shoulder as he moved into the dense rainforest, unconcerned whether Mitch followed or not.
Trailing after Chuck’s worn USC shirt, Mitch avoided the backlash of tree branches with counteractive arm motions akin to karate. By this time, he thought he had grown accustomed to the jungle, but the terrain was so variable he could barely delineate between underbrush and overhead foliage. Even in this dense greenery, the flash of red and gold from Chuck’s shirt could easily be mistaken as a disgruntled macaw.
“And what made the doctor move to this sector?” Mitch asked when he was knee-deep in ferns and unable to spot the ground beneath him.
Chuck stopped, lifting the bottom of his shirt to swipe the perspiration from his forehead. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“That no one else has been here.”
One glimpse up at the ceiling of writhing limbs, uncertain whether they were branches or indigenous reptiles, Mitch observed, “Understandable. But you sound cryptic. Why does no one come here?”
“Well…” Chuck seemed reluctant to embellish, “−there have been others—others who have.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder as if to confirm no one had followed them. “But they never returned. Not one single member of any party that traveled to this region ever returned. The area is marked on the map as No Man’s Land.”
At that moment, a macaw screeched an eerie warning, and Mitch flinched.
“You’re pulling my leg.” He tried to sound composed. “Let’s spook the photographer, huh?”
“Would I purposely try to scare you?” Chuck grinned. “I wish I had thought of that.”
He pushed a branch aside and looked back. “Personally, I believe that a group or two have come in here, ran into some problems…hell, get bit by the right thing, or have a run in with a Fer-de-lance, and you’re doomed. Anyway, over the years, those little tales have escalated into hordes of archeologists gone missing. It’s become nothing more than campfire fodder,” Chuck frowned. “You know what I’m saying?”
Mitch doubted the man’s levity. And it was hard for him to form any conjecture without knowing the facts. “How many people are you talking? How many have gone missing?”
“Five that I know of. There have been reports of others, but like I said, the frenzy of gossip could have jacked the count up.”
“Word of mouth can spread faster than a rash from these damn mosquitoes.” Mitch swiped at the offensive swarm.
Confident now in his role as the leader, Chuck charged through the shrub. “So, you got shot down by Doc?” he tossed back a blue-eyed grin.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, hell, it was written all over your face when you came back to camp. We all know that expression. Don’t sweat it, bro. You’re not alone. No one’s ever gotten a piece of that.”
I’m not going to have the time to try, because I’m not staying here.
And, I’m not interested in a piece of that, dammit.
“Not my type.”
Chuck searched his face to see if he was kidding and seemed satisfied enough to proceed.
“Well, Wes sure as hell looked jealous. I mean, not like there’s anything going on between them, but he is protective,” h
e paused. “Big time crush, I guess.”
Mitch nodded, although somehow the conjecture on Wes didn’t sit well with him.
“Anyway, as for me…” Chuck cut into his thoughts, “−I’m just biding my time. I know we’re on the verge of an amazing discovery here.” Intensity overtook Chuck’s face. “And I intend to go home with something other than a notch in my belt. Yeah, the doctor is hot, but that’s not what I’m here for, you know what I’m saying?”
Lost in recollection, Mitch thought of the charged exchange with Alex in the jungle.
“Yeah,” he coughed into his fist. “I know what you mean.”
Still distracted, he nearly crashed into Chuck, unaware that the man was standing still, his hand raised in caution. His fingers beckoned Mitch forward.
Chuck swept aside a stag fern and peered through the gap.
“Look what we have here.”
Across an expanse of trodden dirt and rock, a cement barrier erupted from the ground. It was a foreboding barricade, tall enough to nearly conceal the rooftops of the compound behind it. The bunker was rimmed with spiraling lengths of barbed wire, a seemingly comical gesture when the forest alone proved enough of a deterrent.
“Did you know about this?” Mitch inched forward to hold aside a clump of leaves.
“No.” Chuck’s voice wavered. “I wonder if Doc does.”
Mitch brushed his arm wider for a better view and found that the cement wall extended over fifty yards in each direction. It made him wonder if this colossal blockade was meant to discourage the outside world, or to ensure that what was inside did not escape.
“I’m not one much for coincidences,” Chuck said. “I’d venture to guess this monster has something to do with our missing archeologists.”
“Yeah, I’m not big on coincidences either.” Mitch muttered, thinking about the coincidence that the Mayan shipment had been traced back to this region of the forest.
Apprehension crept up his spine and lodged between his shoulder blades. “Alex had maps spread out on the table this morning…none of them referenced this place?”
“Hell no.” Chuck pulled back behind the veil of vegetation. “Maybe it’s leftover from the civil war. It could have belonged to the Guatemalan army.”
Jungle of Deceit Page 4
