The woman with the knife hovered closer. “We have established contact with the Iwa,” she informed him. “You will not be joining the dead after all.”
Jack didn’t know what to say to that, although it sounded reassuring so he nodded.
“This is Alourdes, Chief Voodoo Priestess,” Kate told him. “She has called upon Gran Bwa himself to heal you.”
The large woman’s wide grin revealed yellow teeth. She replaced the knife with something that looked a lot like a snake’s vertebrae and waved it over his body. When that was done she simply left the room.
“That was...interesting.” His throat felt scratchy, parched.
Kate smiled. “She’s a wonderful person.”
“No doubt.” Jack tried to remove the crick from his neck. “I feel like I’ve been to hell and back. How long have I been laying here?”
“Two nights now, thanks to the concoction of herbs Alourdes prepared for you.”
He lifted a skeptical brow.
“You needed the rest. It’s morning now.” She handed Jack a dented tin cup. “Drink this. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”
Jack put the cup to his lips. The water tasted bitter, but he finished it off in a couple of gulps. “I hope there weren’t any animals sacrificed in my honor.”
“There’s much more to Voodoo than the usual clichés of ‘animal sacrifices’ and ‘black magic.’”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding,” she said. “It’s a religion just like any other—an expression of the human spirit. Some say Voodoo is the power of the will to overcome oppression.”
Jack nodded, entranced by her mouth, the way her lips moved, the sound of her voice. She had saved his life. An overwhelming desire to help her washed over him. She’d been running for too long. Whatever happened on that boat ten years ago had scared her enough to keep her in hiding for a decade. Many people speculated over her father’s death. A few believed Kate had a hand in it, but he’d seen the shock in her eyes when she learned only one body had washed ashore so many years ago. Somebody else had been on that boat and Jack was determined to find out whom. He reached for her hand. “I owe you my life.”
She pulled her hand away, then moved to the other side of the cot and began to examine his wound. Obviously, she wasn’t the sort to make a big deal out of saving one’s life.
Jack watched her with growing interest. She wore cargo pants and a white tank top. Her long red hair was pulled back into a pony tail, making her eyes look larger, greener. Her skin, bronzed by too much sun, glistened with perspiration. She was petite and graceful. If he hadn’t seen what she was capable of, he never would have believed she could shoot a gun with deadly accuracy or put a two-hundred and thirty pound man out cold with a couple of jabs of her elbow.
She expected a lot from herself; every muscle in her body worked to its maximum capacity, defined and lean. Ignoring his scrutiny of her, perhaps not even aware of it, she looked up and caught his gaze. Her fingers gently probed the skin around his wound. “How are you feeling?”
“Stiff. Sore. Basically like crap.”
“To be expected,” she said with little sympathy. She retrieved a bottle of antiseptic from a rusty cabinet behind her and returned to his side. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about Dr. Forstin?”
He raised a brow. “So, you did know him?”
“What do you mean ‘did’?”
“He’s dead.”
Her face paled. “How?”
“Murdered while working in his lab.”
“By the same man who killed my father,” she stated more than questioned.
“Possibly.”
“Definitely,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“I listen to my instincts. Something you might want to work on.”
He ignored her flippancy. “How often did you and Dr. Forstin communicate?”
“Not nearly often enough.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “A few years after my father’s death, I called Dr. Forstin—surprised the hell out of him actually.” Her eyes brightened as if she was replaying the moment in her mind. “After that first conversation, we talked a couple of times each year. For the past ten years he’s been pouring over my father’s notes, trying to fill in the gaps. Last time we spoke he told me he was almost there.” She sighed, long and deep. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. What difference does it make whether I talked to Dr. Forstin? I still can’t help you.”
Jack sighed. The tips of her fingers felt cool against his skin.
“It’s looking better,” she said. “The bullet wasn’t as deep as I thought. The swelling has gone down.” She wiped his chest and side with a cool wet cloth. “Another day or two and you’ll be as good as new.”
He rubbed an open palm over his jaw. What he needed was a long hot shower and a shave. He also needed to get in touch with the agency. After Kate finished reapplying fresh bandages, he slid his legs over the side of the cot. Kate retrieved his pants from across the room and handed them to him.
“I hope you know I never meant to put you in danger,” he said.
She raised a disbelieving brow.
“Dr. Forstin knew I was coming for you,” Jack told her. “He was worried about you.”
“How would you know that?” she asked. “Did you meet with him?”
He nodded. “After going through your case file, I called him, and he asked me to meet him at his lab. He sounded relieved when I told him I knew where you were and that I was going to bring you back to the States. He was worried about you since you failed to call as scheduled.”
“I was babysitting an American family of—” she waved a hand through the air. “It’s not important.”
Jack nodded. “I received word of Dr. Forstin’s death moments before I boarded the plane to come here.”
Kate’s green eyes blazed. “Did you ever stop to think that there might be a connection between your desire to reopen the case and Dr. Forstin’s murder?”
“Yes, but...”
“And you came anyhow? Knowing that the same cold-blooded killers could be watching your every move?”
He gingerly raised the arm on his good side, testing it out. “My boss, Agent Harrison, assured me—”
“Jack,” she cut in, visibly shaken. “Who, other than Agent Harrison, knew you were reopening the case?”
“The agency determined it best to keep our plans quiet. I agreed.”
She touched his shoulder. “Don’t you find it odd they picked you, Jack? Why you?”
“Because of my eidetic memory and because they knew I would get the job done.”
Frustration lined her brow. “I don’t think you realize the danger you’ve put yourself in. Someone is determined to stop the discovery of a vaccine for AIDS...someone in a high position, somebody with power, money, and contacts.”
“I’m listening.”
“Two years ago a vaccine known as AidVac completed Phase III of clinical trials...the last step before food and drug companies can seek approval from the FDA.”
Jack nodded.
“Dr. Forstin followed the clinical trials closely. Before the initial results were ever made public, Michael Lang, the inventor of AidVac, was hit by a truck, killed on impact. Two days later another valuable researcher died of an apparent heart attack while on a family picnic. He was forty-one years old. What are the odds?”
“I’d like to see the autopsy reports,” Jack said. “When I get back to the States, I’ll look into it. I promise.” He reached down and struggled to get his pants on with one arm.
Kate went to her knees and helped insert his feet into his trousers. Her hand brushed against his leg. “In a few days,” she said, “you might want to start exercising the arm on your bad side to get the blood flowing. You won’t be able to lift anything heavy for a while.”
“Haitian Medical School?”
“No, just good old
common sense.” She got his pants as far as his knees and said, “Now try and stand.”
He did as she said, but his Joe Boxers couldn’t hide the fact that her close proximity had affected him. She raised her hands in surrender and backed off. “I think I’ll let you take it from here.”
“It’s not often I’m dressed by a beautiful woman,” he said in his defense.
She shook her head at him as if he’d lost all sense.
Although he would have preferred to have her help, he managed to get dressed on his own. When he accomplished that task, he looked at her and smiled.
She smiled back, catching him off-guard. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, her eyes lit up, emitting a warm aura around her. She was a survivor. And she was beautiful, her mouth nothing short of mesmerizing. He leaned forward and kissed her. When he pulled back, he had a hard time deciphering what she was thinking.
“Now I know why your mother named you Jack,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“It’s obviously short for Jack Ass. Do that again and you’ll need more than the Gran Bwa to save your hide.”
He reared back as she swept past him and out of the hut.
Damn. What was he thinking? He’d been chosen by the agency because he was professional, responsible. They knew they could count on him. Good old reliable Jack. He looked about the room for a shirt and grabbed the closest thing to it...a ragged looking tie-dyed T-shirt. It wasn’t easy getting the shirt over his head, but he managed. He felt achy and sore. He shoved his pistol into his waistband and pulled the shirt over it. After retrieving his wallet and the credit card with the prints, he pushed them deep into his pants pocket. Unlike Kate, he was certain the agency had nothing to do with jeopardizing the discovery of a cure to the AIDS epidemic. Regardless, he needed to talk to Harrison.
Pushing open the goatskin flap, he walked outside. The thick hot air stuck to his skin. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. To his right, beneath the shade of giant palm leaves, stood Alourdes, the Voodoo priestess who had called upon the gods to save him. She was busy teaching a group of children some sort of Haitian ritual, her voice nearly drowned out by the steady beat of many drums.
A breeze touched his face. Haiti was as poor as it was beautiful with its winding rivers, sandy beaches, and lush mountains that fell steeply into the sea. The view from where he stood was breathtaking, but that didn’t stop his thoughts from drifting to the dangerous road that lay ahead. He was going to leave now, call in the troops, and tell Harrison to send him some back-up. He needed to get Kate out of here in one piece. He would go to town without her, make a few calls, and return for her when it was safe.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kate heading his way. “I thought maybe I’d scared you off,” he told her as she approached.
“I don’t scare that easily.”
“I’m heading back to town. I’m going to make some calls and get to the bottom of this.”
Kate peered into Jack Coffey’s blue eyes and figured he had to be the craziest, most foolish man she’d ever met in her life. “You can’t be serious?”
“Perfectly.”
“For God’s sake, look at you.” She gestured toward his side. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re still weak. You can’t possibly go to town.”
“I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
“If you go waltzing down that mountain,” she warned, “sooner or later you’re going to run into more trouble than you can handle.”
He grinned. “Why is it I’m sensing you care about what happens to me?”
“Ridiculous.”
His smile broadened. “Whatever you say. I’ll come back for you, Kate. You’re no longer in this alone.”
She crossed her arms. He couldn’t possibly be for real. But he looked downright serious, bordering on gallant. “Thanks,” she said. “I feel much better now.”
“Good.”
She gave him a quick two-fingered salute. “It was nice knowing you, FBI man. Take care of yourself.”
Before she knew what he was up to, he stepped close, took her hand, and pulled her arm around his good side. Then he kissed her long and hard. Instead of jabbing a knee in his groin, she fell softly into his chest. Something more primitive than the island itself stirred within as his lips awakened a tingling so deep she found it hard to breathe. This time when he let her go, her eyelids felt heavy with desire.
Without another word, he began his long hike down the mountain.
“You’re a dead man,” she called out after him, referring to the kiss.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll miss you, too.”
Chapter 3
Twenty minutes later, Kate cursed with every step she took down the mountain, kicking up dirt and rocks as she went. “You’re no longer in this alone,” he’d said. Ha! What a joke. Jack Coffey had a death wish.
Five minutes after Coffey left, she started to worry about him. Fifteen minutes after that, she packed her things and headed after him. His tracks were easy enough to follow, but she never expected him to make such good time. She had to give the man credit. He was tougher than he appeared.
By the time she reached the bottom of the mountain, the streets were jam-packed with vendors selling everything from dried mushrooms to kitchen implements made from tin cans. The pickpockets and street kids were also out in full force, hitting the streets with a vengeance. After being in the mountains for a few days, the attack on the senses was total. The people of Haiti were loud and raucous and the fetid aroma of spices, rotting fruit, and urine was unusually suffocating today.
Kate huffed. Where was Coffey, anyhow? Few tourists roamed these streets. Street crime was a fact-of-life around Port-au-Prince and anyone who didn’t take sensible precautions was asking for trouble.
She pulled the brim of the straw hat Alourdes had given her low over her eyes and merged into the crowded street. It seemed Coffey had disappeared into thin air. The tie-dyed T-shirt he was wearing would be hard to miss. She’d only known him for a few days, and for most of that time he’d been out of commission, but here she was worrying about the guy.
Ridiculous. She had enough problems without running after a suicidal FBI man. And yet something about him made her yearn for something more, telling her that maybe it was time to stop hiding. Time to return to the States and avenge not only her father’s death, but Dr. Forstin’s; Coffey was her quickest and safest means out of here. She needed to find him before he got himself killed.
She pushed her way up the street, weaving a path through the throng. The piece of paper she found in the pocket of Coffey’s torn shirt had Rue Christ-Roi scribbled on it. Rue Christ-Roi was a main street in the center of town, which meant his hotel must be somewhere in that vicinity. She’d look for him there first, and if she couldn’t find him, she’d head back to port.
She stepped up her pace, finally stopping in the shadow of a mechanic’s garage to watch the crowds. A traveling band pushed their way through the middle of the street, adding to the chaos. A string of dancers followed, kicking up dust as they went. Vendors shouted and waved sequined flags. The smell of simmering hot pork made her stomach gurgle. Through the haze of dust and smoke she finally saw it...swirls of a blue and maroon T-shirt.
An impaired gait and pale face made Coffey an easy target.
She watched him cross the busy street of Rue Christ-Roi and disappear inside the modest hotel next to the Hospice St. Joseph. She was about to follow after him when she saw a bearded man with a sling, the same man she’d shot in the arm three days ago when Jack had her cuffed on the boat. The bearded man grabbed hold of a young man standing next to him and pointed toward Jack. The younger man’s dark hair was slicked back into a ponytail. He, too, had been on the boat. Without hesitation, the younger man set out after Jack. The bearded man watched for a moment before he turned the other way and walked off.
Damn! The bearded man wasn’t the only one watchin
g Jack. Ben Sheldon, the man whose ID they had stolen, stood a few feet away from the building where Jack was staying. These guys meant business. Sheldon flung his cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his shoe. He lifted his gaze, glancing about, prompting Kate to lean back into the darker shadows of the garage. What was Coffey thinking marching into the hotel as if he hadn’t a care in the world?
Sure enough, Sheldon walked into the same building Coffey had entered. Two against one. The odds were not in Coffey’s favor.
After waiting for a graffiti-covered car to pass, Kate made her way across the street and into the hotel, which was nothing more than a two-story guest house. The wooden floors creaked.
Before Kate reached the stairs, she felt a hard jab in the center of her spine. “Come with me,” a voice said from behind. “No funny business if you want to stay—”
Before the man could finish his sentence, she jerked around and took hold of his arm, twisting it with bone-jarring finality. Sheldon crumpled to the ground in agony. His gun hit the ground with a satisfying clank.
“You broke my goddamn arm!”
Kate tossed the straw hat from her head and knelt down, sinking her knee into his gut. She took a firm hold of his arm. “Definitely broken,” she said, dropping it to his side.
“Bitch.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I’ve never heard that before.” She patted him down to see if he was carrying anymore weapons. He was clean. “So, you work for the FBI?”
He remained silent.
She pulled his cigarettes from his pocket, taking a moment to admire the burnished aluminum hinged box that doubled effectively as a cigarette case. “Made with the finest, most expensive Virginia leaf tobacco,” she read. She opened the flap with her teeth and took note of the silver foiled filter tips. “Impressive,” she said as she threw them to the floor and squished the box with the heel of her shoe. “Bad habit. So why, Jack Coffey?”
Finding Kate Huntley Page 3
