Jack found the excavations fascinating, the decisive authority Ellie projected even more so. She was at once coolly professional and vibrantly passionate about her work. She never allowed the reporter to throw her off stride or pull information she preferred not to give.
When the news crew departed a half hour later, her skin wore a pearly sheen of perspiration and her boots were caked with mud, but no one viewing her on the news tonight could doubt her credentials or the intellectual honesty she brought to the project.
Not that either would protect her from a nut bent on safeguarding his preferred version of history. Or a professional hired for the same purpose.
His senses on full alert, Jack turned his attention to the group who remained after the TV crew departed. In addition to the professional members of the team, a number of amateur archeologists, high school students and interested volunteers had turned out to help.
"We don't have as many volunteers as we did at the start of the project," Ellie explained. "As a result of the adverse publicity, a number have defected."
Those who hadn't were already hard at work. As Jack soon discovered, even the last stages of field-work involved labor-intensive effort. He wasn't quite sure how Ellie roped him into it, but by mid-morning he was up to his knees in creek mud, digging an exploratory site alongside Sam Pierce and a fresh-faced sophomore.
Later that afternoon, he tried a turn with the metal detector. It took a few swipes to get into a smooth rhythm, keeping the bottom flat to the ground and the swing in a controlled arc. It also took muscle power. The contraption weighed only about eight or ten pounds, but felt more like twenty or thirty after Jack had covered the length of the compound's south wall a half dozen times.
True to Eric Chapman's predictions, the digital displays lit up like fireworks at any hint of metal. The number and variety of objects buried beneath the earth astounded Jack. Discoverer Two hit on bridle bits, nails and barrel hoops from the nineteenth century, beer cans, bobby pins and dimes from the twentieth, and just about everything in between. His prize find was a blackened, dented silver disk.
"It's a concho," Ellie informed him after scrutinizing the object. "From the size of it, I'd say it's most likely off a bridle or sombrero. The concho was the decoration of choice on hats favored by both Mexicans and Tejanos. At least until a New Jersey hatter by the name of Stetson traveled west for his health and produced his version of the ten-gallon hat."
‘‘I always wondered if those things really held ten gallons," Jack mused, recalling once again the Westerns he'd seen, where scouts and cowboys poured precious canteen water into their hats for their panting ponies.
Smiling, Ellie shook her head. ‘‘Only about three, actually, although that had nothing to do with the name. Gabon is a derivation of the Spanish word galon, which means braid. A ten-gallon hat simply refers to the amount of braiding around the brim."
"Another Hollywood myth shot down in flames," Jack muttered, shaking his head as she added the metal disk to the inventory of historical artifacts to be turned over to the National Park Service.
All too aware that they were working on borrowed time, the team remained at the dig until seven that evening. Once back at the hotel, Ellie conducted a quick wrap-up before sending her crew off to hit the showers and find dinner.
Jack was ready for both. When he knocked on the connecting door a half hour later, his stomach rumbled like a '56 Chevy with bad pipes. His hunger took on a whole different edge, however, when Ellie answered his knock. She'd changed into a long, gauzy flowered skirt in shades of green and lavender, topped by a lilac scoop-necked top. A silver crucifix on a thin chain circled her neck. Silver hoops dangled from her ears. As always, Jack noted with a kick to his gut, the bracelet he'd given her so many years ago banded her wrist.
But it was her hair that drew his gaze. She'd caught it back with combs at either temple and left the still damp, shining mass to tumble down her back, the way she used to when they'd first met.
Like hard right jabs, the memories hit him. Of tugging those combs free. Burying his face in that fragrant mass. Tunneling his fingers through the silky curtain to bring her mouth down to his.
Christ!
Clenching his fists, Jack managed to ask in a relatively normal voice where she wanted to have dinner.
"After last night's fiasco with room service, I suggest we go downstairs. Or better yet, out on the Riverwalk. I'll take you to my favorite Mexican restaurant. It's only a block away."
"Lead the way."
As Ellie had indicated, Casa del Rio was only a short walk from the hotel. They could have covered the distance in five minutes if not for the crowds jamming the popular Riverwalk.
"I've never seen it this packed," she told Jack as they took the stairs down to the river and plunged into the ebb and flow.
Crowded was an understatement. Tourists strolled shoulder-to-shoulder along the stone walks lining both sides of the placid green waterway. Many toted plastic drink cups and called to friends on the opposite side of river, pitching their voices to be heard over the music that spilled from the hotels and outdoor restaurants crowding the flagstone walk. A good number of the revelers wore wide-brimmed sombreros. Unlike the hats Jack and Ellie had discussed only this afternoon, these were cheap straw imitations decorated with red and green pom-poms instead of leather braid or silver conchos.
"There must be a convention in town," Ellie murmured, surveying the sea of straw.
"There is."
The comment came from a tourist decked out in an ankle-length red sundress and one of the distinctive sombreros. Dipping her head, she pointed to the lettering on the high-peaked crown.
‘‘The American Travel Agents Association annual convention. Tonight's our big opening gala. You'll see the fireworks shooting up from the convention center later on."
Smiling her thanks, Ellie wedged sideways to make way for the woman and her companions. The movement brought her close to the river. Too close. Her heel caught on the edge.
"Careful!"
Jack's hand whipped out and caught her arm. He spun her away from the murky water. She landed awkwardly against his chest. Fingers splayed against his shirtfront, she blinked at him.
Ellie had never believed the silly cliché about time standing still, but for some reason the moment seemed to stretch forever. She could feel Jack's heat and the strong, steady beat of his heart under her fingertips. Her pulse skipped a beat, two, then drummed like thunder in her ears.
She didn't expect the hunger that leaped up and grabbed her by the throat. Wasn't prepared for it. Yet everything in her burst into a fever of need.
"Jack..."
He must have felt it, too. His muscles tensed. The arm he'd slipped around her waist to steady her tightened to a steel band. Ellie strained against him, aching, wanting, only to crash back to reality at the sound of a chuckle.
"Excuse us, folks. Hate to intrude on your little tete-a-tete, but we need to get by. Don't want to be late for the opening gala."
A glance over her shoulder showed a circle of grinning travel agents. Her cheeks warming, Ellie pulled out of Jack's arms. "Sorry."
"No apologies necessary, sweetie!" The woman in the red knit sundress laughed and let her gaze drift over Jack with unabashed feminine appreciation. ‘‘If a world-class hottie looked as hungry for me as this one just did for you, I sure as heck wouldn't be sorry."
Her glance dropped to Ellie's left hand. Grinning, she dug into her straw tote.
"Here's my card. Give me a call when you two are ready to make it legal, and I'll get you a heck of a deal on a honeymoon package."
Ellie's cheeks went from warm to downright hot as she accepted the card the woman pressed on her and slipped it into her skirt pocket. Mute, she steered through the crowds toward the restaurant.
Jack kept his jaw clamped shut and his hand on Ellie's arm. Not because he couldn't bring himself to let her go. And certainly not because the
press of her body against his for those brief moments had set spark to a fire in his belly he was doing his damnedest to douse.
The fact was he didn't like these crowds. Liked even less the advantage the restaurants and hotels on either side of the walkway gave a shooter. Anyone could check into the Hyatt or Hilton. Take a room on one of the upper floors. Line up a clear shot at the merrymakers flowing by below. His nerves crawling, Jack tucked Ellie closer to his side. She frowned when their hips bumped a time or two, but said nothing.
The restaurant she'd selected didn't provide any better cover. Case del Rio sat right on a bend of the river, its open-air patio a kaleidoscope of umbrellas and colored lights strung from tree to tree.
"Let's eat inside," Jack muttered, guiding Ellie away from the exposed patio and into the air-conditioned interior. Only after the waiter had showed them to a booth set well away from the windows and he'd scoped out the clientele did he allow his shoulders to slump against the back of the booth.
Ellie's brown eyes met his. He knew she'd felt it, too. The way his muscles leaped under her touch. The instant heat every time they came in contact. He read the question in her eyes but didn't have an answer that would satisfy either one of them. He thought he caught a flash of disappointment, maybe even regret, before she picked up the menu and used it as a shield between them.
"I'll have combination number three," she told the waiter who plopped down a basket of chips and cups of salsa. "And a margarita."
"Same here," Jack said, tossing aside his menu. "No margarita, though. Just water."
"Just water?" Ellie echoed when the waiter departed. "As I recall, your drink of choice used to be an icy cold Corona."
"It still is, but not while I'm on duty."
"That's right." Frowning, she stabbed a chip into the salsa. "How could I forget? You're on duty."
The word hung between them, as solid as a brick wall and twice as impenetrable. In her last, furious tirade all those years ago, Ellie had accused him of caring more about the Corps than he did about her. Of letting his sense of duty take precedence over what they had together. What they could have together.
Like an uninvited guest who wouldn't take the hint and leave, the echoes of that ugly argument stayed at the table all through the meal. As a result, conversation was stilted, at best. Ellie shook her head when the waiter asked if she wanted another margarita, then abruptly changed her mind.
By the time she slurped up the last of her drink and they left the restaurant, dusk had softened to night, and colored lights twinkled all along the river. The late hour hadn't diminished the foot traffic. If anything, the crowds had increased. Barges filled with sightseers jammed hip-to-hip floated over the dark water. From another barge, a mariachi band poured a soaring rendition of ' 'Una Paloma Blanca'' into the night. The music drew cheers and applause from the appreciative crowd, most of whom, Jack noted, sported straw sombreros. The travel agents had descended on the Riverwalk en masse.
His muscles tensed in instinctive response to the crowd. Throngs like this could provide an excellent protective shield. Conversely, they could also mask the approach of unfriendlies.
Jack kept Ellie on the inside, away from the river, and forged a path toward the stairs leading up to street level. They were just a few feet from the steps when he heard a muted pop and the crack of rock splintering.
He took Ellie down in one swift lunge, covering her body with his on the way down. Before they hit the ground, the night exploded around them.
Chapter 7
Pinning Ellie to the stone, Jack yanked out his automatic and twisted around. In the heart-pounding seconds that followed, he registered the startled faces of tourists. The lights strung through the trees. The deafening booms that exploded into starbursts of glittering red and green.
"Hey!" one of the bystanders exclaimed over the flashes of color. "What the heck do you think you're doing?"
With a snarl, Jack whipped his weapon toward the source of the shout. The man's face went chalk white beneath his sombrero. Stumbling against his companions, he jerked up both palms.
"Take it easy, pal! Take it easy!"
There was another earsplitting series of pops. Red and green balloons pinwheeled through the sky. As the sound faded, Ellie gasped and wiggled under the dead weight pinning her to the flagstones.
"What's going on?"
Jack didn't take his eyes from the crowd. "I heard a gunshot."
"That—that was the fireworks," the white-faced travel agent stuttered, his hands still high. "Really, pal, all you heard was the fireworks."
As if to add emphasis to his nervous explanation, another series of booms exploded right overhead. Rockets of brilliant red and green shot into the night sky, trailing long, sparkling tails. A chorus of oohs and ahs rose from the spectators not engaged in the small drama occurring at the foot of the stairs.
"Jack." Ellie panted, wiggling frantically. "Please! I can't breathe."
He had to get her out of here. The single thought hammered in Jack's head. He rolled to his feet, the automatic tight against his thigh. Wrapping his free hand around Ellie's arm, he hauled her up.
The travel agent and his friends gaped as Jack hustled Ellie up the stone stairs. She was panting when they gained street level and decidedly unhappy when they arrived at the Menger. While the elevator whizzed them upward, she collapsed against the brass cage.
"That's twice now you've pulled that gun and scared the dickens out of me. Tell me you haven't gone all Rambo since leaving the Marines."
"I haven't gone all Rambo."
"Then what's with the rather dramatic reaction to a few fireworks?"
"I recognize the sound of a gunshot fired from a silenced weapon when I hear it."
Ellie opened her mouth, snapped it shut again. She didn't say a word during the walk down the hall to her room or while Jack checked the intrusion detection devices he'd set when they left the hotel. Satisfied no one had been in the rooms, he turned to face her.
She stood in the middle of the room, hugging her crossed arms. Her face and throat showed a decided pallor against the soft lilac of her top.
"If you did hear a gunshot," she said slowly, "it was timed perfectly to go off with the fireworks."
"That's what I'm thinking."
"So if there was a shooter, he's not some nutcase trying to scare me away." A shudder rippled down her body. Her fingers dug into her arms, making white marks in the tanned skin. "He's planning each move."
As much as Jack wanted to shield her from the ugly suspicions he'd been harboring for the past twenty-four hours, he knew he had to level with her. She wasn't the young girl he'd once dreamed of keeping safe and warm in his arms. She was Dr. Elena Maria Alazar, the woman he'd been sent to protect. As such, she had to understand the nature of the threat as he perceived it.
"I think we're dealing with a pro, Ellie. Someone who knows exactly what he's doing."
Briefly, he related the information he'd received from Mackenzie yesterday. Ellie's eyes narrowed as he detailed the assumed identity, the gunpowder residue, the Expedition carefully wiped clean of all prints.
"Why didn't you tell me all this before now?"
"I should have," he admitted.
She was furious, as she had every right to be. Eyes spitting fire, she marched up to him and jabbed a blunt-tipped finger into his chest.
"I'd suggest you remember who hired you, Carstairs."
"Your uncle, I was told."
"Wrong!" Her finger struck again. "Uncle Eduardo insisted I have a bodyguard. I insisted it be you."
"You were behind this job?" His hand closed over hers, stilling it before she could take another jab. "Why?"
"I felt guilty."
"Guilty?" That threw him. "For what?" "For causing you to be sent home in disgrace," she snapped. "For ruining your military career. For making you start over as a hired hand with some obscure company no one's ever heard of."
Jack couldn't te
ll her OMEGA worked very hard at remaining obscure. He was still absorbing the fact that Ellie had carried around a load of guilt all these years almost equal to his own.
"None of what happened was your fault," he countered fiercely. "I knew the risks when I took you to bed. Given the same circumstances, I'd do it again. In a heartbeat."
Her breath caught. She stared at him, her anger suspended, her hand fisting into a tight ball under his.
"What about—?"
She stopped. Drew her tongue along her lower lip. Forced out a ragged question.
"What about these circumstances?"
Jack barely swallowed his groan. He wanted her. God, he wanted her! The hunger was like a wild beast, clawing at his insides to get out.
This time there was more at stake than his career and her reputation, though. This time, her life might well depend on his ability to remain detached and alert.
"As you said, I'd best remember I'm a hired hand. I was sent here to protect you, Ellie."
Disgust flickered in her eyes. Or was it disappointment? Before Jack could decide, she yanked her hand free of his.
"We've already had this discussion."
"Yes, we have."
"Do you have anything else to tell me about this phantom who may or may not be stalking me?'' "I wish I did."
She nodded. One quick, regal dip of her chin. "Then if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Jack took the hint and beat an orderly retreat. Somehow, he'd come out on the losing end of this discussion.
Ellie paced the sitting room, glaring at the computer sitting on the table, at the stacks of field notes waiting for review, at the closed connecting doors. Despite her icy request that Jack make himself scarce, work was the farthest thing from her mind at the moment.
What was the matter with her! Hadn't she learned her lesson nine years ago? Why in the world was she twisting herself into knots like this?
Texas Hero Page 7
