Midnight Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  The unfairness of that left a bad taste even though he had no business trying to nibble.

  * * * *

  The minute they were excused from the dinner table, Sheba slipped from the crowd and hurried toward her bungalow. It had started to rain, one of the quick, drenching showers that came on in an instant. Protected by the thatched covering above the walkway, she slowed her pace to inhale the fresh bite of stagnant jungle revitalized by the downpour. The scent of wet greenery laced with fragrant blossoms was so crisp it almost hurt to inhale. That was the one thing she'd loved about the jungle, the way the rain made everything clean and pure again.

  If only it could work the same miracle on her soul.

  She let herself into her darkened room, switching on the light and glancing about cautiously before crossing to her wardrobe in hopes that time had managed to lessen the wrinkles in her clothes. Not great, but good enough. Good enough to blend with the group instead of standing out in glaring contrast. The last thing she wanted was to shame Paulo and her distant uncle.

  She worked the transformation in record time, partly to get back before she was missed and partly because she didn't care to linger too long in the room alone so far away from the others.

  The residue of her earlier scare still sat chill upon her nerves.

  She made a face at the innocent looking mask upon her wall. It's hollow eyes seemed to mock her. Well, let's see who has the last laugh, bub. She snatched it down off the wall and stuffed it under the bed.

  The rain had already stopped by the time she exited her little cabin. The day's heat steamed the newly fallen dampness to create a little fog where her bungalow was located away from the lights of the main building. Wisps of it crossed her path in thin tendrils and lay upon the grass like a foamy sea.

  Perhaps it was the cloying dampness. Perhaps not. She began to walk faster, focusing on the welcoming doors to the Lodge. The closer she got, the quicker she moved until she'd broken into a brisk jog. Once inside, her pulse began to slow and she told herself she was being silly.

  There was no one out there, watching her, following her.

  It had been her imagination.

  "She almost saw you, fool. You must be more careful."

  "I thought the idea was to scare her."

  "Subtly, discretely, yes. But so that no one else believes her. I want her doubting her mind, afraid to trust her senses. I don't want her alarming her bodyguard into suspecting she has a reason to be afraid."

  "Cobb.” The name spat out like something vile and bitter sitting upon the tongue. “I can handle Cobb."

  "Can you? I wonder. He can spoil everything, so we must be careful."

  "You worry too much. I know how to play the game. Just remember that, when the game is over, Cobb is mine."

  "And you remember, it's not over until I've enjoyed my revenge and have my reward."

  The vampire smiled, fangs gleaming in the darkness. “Until we've both had our revenge."

  * * * *

  Cobb's stomach was growling by the time the tables were cleared and the pretty company filed into the soaring lobby area to appreciate native musicians on their flutes and drums. He glided along in the shadows, keeping watch, keeping his hormonal rumblings to himself.

  "She's lovely, isn't she?"

  Samuels’ comment took him by surprise, not because it was true but because he'd managed to sneak up undetected to offer it. Concealing his startlement, Cobb played dumb.

  "Who?"

  "Sheba, of course. I've noticed you've had a difficult time keeping your eyes off her, but then, that's what I'd hoped for, after all. I want you to watch her, and watch her carefully. But for the right reasons."

  "I thought I was here to chaperone your nephew.” His bland remark in no way betrayed how Samuels’ observation rattled him. Was he that obvious? No wonder Lemos was ready to demand his walking papers.

  "Paulo, yes. But in most cases, my nephew can take care of himself. He's a man, after all. Sheba is different."

  Cobb raised an eyebrow. Yeah, he'd noticed.

  "I didn't want her to come back here. I did my best to talk Paulo out of making that condition. He thought it would be best for her, but I have doubts. Serious doubts. This trip may be disastrous for her. She needs someone to take care of her, Cobb. She won't let those of us who are close to her help."

  Cobb's reply was dry as Lima dust. “It looks like your nephew is anxious to give it a try."

  Samuels gave Paulo an indulgent look through fond eyes that also saw faults. “Paulo is a good boy. A smart boy. But he isn't always an astute boy. He doesn't understand the cruelties of the world the way you and I do, Cobb. The way Sheba does. He wouldn't be able to keep her safe because he couldn't recognize the danger. That's why she needs you."

  "Why would you think she'd let me help her?"

  "Because you have nothing at stake here. You're in it for the paycheck."

  It was hard not to wince at that blunt summation. True, though it might be.

  "So, who am I protecting her from?"

  "Herself."

  Chapter Nine

  At Cobb's perplexed look, Samuels began with purposeful vagueness.

  "Sheba has known a difficult life."

  "Paulo told me her parents were murdered."

  Samuels nodded. “But even before that, she was like no other girl her age who grew up watching television, playing with Barbie dolls and gossiping about boys on the phone. Sheba grew up here, in the jungle, unspoiled and oblivious to the rest of the world."

  As Samuels spoke of her, Cobb searched the room with his gaze and grew concerned when he couldn't find her amongst the other guests. Just as he was about to make a move inside, he saw her stop at the entrance to the Lodge. Her features were flushed as if she'd been hurrying. And she'd changed her clothes.

  She'd gone from jungle guide to sleek, sophisticated guest in just the few minutes that she'd been missing. A colorful sarong was tied at one slender hip so that when she moved, a length of bronze thigh was tantalizingly displayed by the shift of silky fabric. She'd tamed her short curls with a scarf of the same exotic pattern. The gold-colored tank top she wore warmed the honeyed tan of her skin and made the most of her toned physique by baring her athletic shoulders and arms. She wore sandals, not heels, and as she crossed the room, she was as graceful as one of the river dolphins dodging between the other guests.

  To go to Paulo's side.

  Studying the lithe and now confident female tucked into Paulo's shadow, Cobb asked, “And that's a bad thing?"

  "Yes and no. Living in Eden can be a wonderful thing until that first snake comes along. She wasn't prepared for the harshness of the real world from the rosy picture her missionary parents painted. She expected everyone to be like them. Generous, honest, giving and compassionate. They told her a lie and she believed it. You and I know one does not send a soldier into battle against evil with no weapons at hand, or at least without the knowledge of them."

  "What kind of evil did she meet? What happened to her parents?"

  Samuels’ expression tightened, his gaze growing far away to some unknown place filled with guilt and grief. For a moment, Cobb didn't think he would answer. But when he did, the picture he drew horrified.

  "No one knows but Sheba. Her parents were zealous in their desire to convert the native Indians over to Christianity, fearing for their souls, and all. They'd been particularly excited about a dark cult in the jungle, one that existed only in whispers. One that both my wife and Shari, Sheba's mother, were related to by blood. They'd asked me to guide them to a temple, but I couldn't take them. You see, I'd just lost my wife and I tended to drink a bit. A lot, really, and I was too hung over to go with them. They hired someone else and went off into the jungle. Sheba was told to stay at the village, but being the stubborn little monkey she was, she slipped away and followed them. When I found out she'd gone, I went after her to make sure she was safe."

  He broke off then. Something dark and terri
ble played behind his eyes. Cobb almost stopped him then, but he didn't. He had to know the story if he was going to help Sheba.

  "It was dark by the time I found her. She'd been wandering in the jungle for I don't know how long. She was in shock, close to catatonic, and covered in blood, none of it her own, thank goodness. I bundled her up and took her to the closest doctor, but he couldn't do anything to repair the injuries she'd received to her mind and soul. I don't know what she saw, Cobb, but her parents and the guide they hired were never seen again. She'd wake up screaming about some jungle tomb and some creature with fangs and glowing eyes. She said her parents were dead, but she claimed to have no memory of the deed."

  Cobb had gone very still.

  Fangs and glowing eyes.

  "It took months for her to speak a coherent sentence. During that time, I went out every day, searching for some sign of them, for this mysterious temple. I found nothing. It was as if they'd vanished without a trace. And the answer was locked up tight in a little girl's mind."

  "Why wasn't she sent to specialists?"

  "We were in the middle of the jungle, Cobb. We don't exactly have psychiatrists clamoring to set up offices here. Most of the people in the basin still go to witch doctors. And then there was the money issue. There was no money, not for proper treatment or even to get Sheba to the States. Her parents were missionaries. They didn't believe they needed extra life insurance, if you know what I mean. Sheba had no one to look out for her interests. Neither the group her parents were affiliated with nor the government wanted to get involved in murder and potential scandal."

  "Scandal? What do you mean?"

  "A crazed girl found in the jungle covered in her parents’ blood with no recall of what happened? There were some who were eager to blame her for the deaths just to put a neat end to it all."

  "They thought she killed them?” Cobb's voice echoed his outrage and disbelief.

  "They didn't know what to think. Sheba was no help. She was little more than a babbling vegetable."

  A strange twist of sorrow and fury curled through Frank Cobb as he thought of the traumatized child no one would claim responsibility for. “So what happened to Sheba?"

  "She was finally sent back to the States where she spent three years recovering."

  Recovering. A cold shaft of meaning jabbed his belly. “Recovering?"

  "In a mental hospital. She got better, eventually. The quality of her treatment was improved, and she was finally released to attended a private girls’ school. She graduated top of her class and went on to college, where she graduated at the top of her class. And she choose a profession that would debunk everything her parents believed in. A rather cruel irony, don't you think?"

  He thought everything about the whole thing stank.

  "No official investigation was done into her parents’ disappearance?"

  "By whom? The government in this country sometimes changes with the day of the week. It was even more unstable then. They were too busy worrying about coups and drug smugglers to care about the fate of two politically incorrect missionaries who some would say got what they deserved for interfering with the natural order of things."

  "And what do you say, Mr. Samuels?"

  "I think it's time someone found out the truth and set Sheba free."

  And Frank got the idea that Samuels believed him to be that someone.

  "So what does this have to do with the trouble your nephew is having?"

  "Maybe nothing, maybe everything. It depends on why the Reynards were killed and by whom."

  "And what's your opinion?"

  Samuels sighed heavily. “It could have been animals. It could have been a greedy guide who took a fancy to Mrs. Reynard then killed them both and disappeared. Or they could have stumbled onto something they weren't supposed to see."

  "Like what?"

  "What kind of illegal activity doesn't go on down here? Drugs, smuggling or maybe some indigenous cult who resented the outside world butting into their beliefs."

  Something about Samuels’ expression told Cobb that he was leaning toward the latter explanation. “The same cult that's trying to keep your nephew out of the jungle? To preserve their way of life, or to keep him from finding out what happened to the Reynards?"

  "I knew Harper would send someone clever. But are you clever enough to figure it out and still keep something bad from happening to my family? Paulo thinks the only way Sheba can get better is to confront her fears. I believe some things are better left alone. I don't know what she saw, but it stole almost four years of her life. A life that's never been whole since that tragedy. I don't want to lose her back to madness. Can you keep her safe, Mr. Cobb?"

  Silence fell between them while Cobb pondered the question. Then Samuels pressed his shoulder.

  "I must return to my guests. Let me say this last thing. I owe her family. I won't see them repaid by bringing her back here to succumb to their same fate."

  Alone on the porch, Frank was startled by the screech of some nocturnal bird. He turned toward the solid green forest wall where no light penetrated the shadows and tried to imagine what it had been like for a young girl fighting her way through that blinding blackness with the knowledge of her parents’ murder in terrifying pursuit.

  Or her parents’ murderer.

  Looking back inside the lodge, his gaze sought Sheba in the milling crowd. He smiled to himself because she was no longer the timid wall flower. Several of the other scientists had latched onto her and were listening in rapt attention to whatever tales she was telling. Her face glowed with animation and energy. Her gestures punctuated her story like the graceful flutters of the forest macaws. And Frank Cobb, at that moment, was mesmerized.

  He had a whisper of warning, a prickle of instinct bringing all his senses to immediate alert. Spinning to confront the jungle, he searched for whatever had tripped his self-preserving alarm. Nothing. Nothing seemed to move in that dense mat of green.

  He thought it was a trick of the breeze at first. Until he realized there was no wind.

  A ripple of sound played about him, soft, taunting. A chuckle filled with mockery and menace so close it made the hairs stand up on his forearms.

  He waited, tense and ready. He didn't reach for his gun, knowing it would be useless against this particular threat. Instead, he loosened his tie and withdrew the small silver cross he never took off.

  Silence steeped and thickened until he could almost believe he'd imagined it. Almost.

  "Not much for the party scene, Mr. Cobb?"

  Sheba watched him turn toward her. His wry smile couldn't waylay the message telegraphed from the tense set of his shoulders and hard glitter of his eyes. He looked like a man squaring off for a battle.

  "Am I interrupting something?"

  He bared his teeth. “Just communing with nature."

  She made a negating sound. “You don't strike me as a nervous sort of guy. So what's got you spooked?"

  She came closer and his eyes narrowed. His taut body posturing had her wondering if she spooked him. As amusing and flattering as that might be, it didn't answer the question. Something had his guard up, and if Cobb was wary, it wasn't without reason. She tried to appear nonchalant while her insides quivered.

  His answer was an insult. “I'm just a city boy overwhelmed by the surroundings."

  The noise she made grew ruder. “Oh please, Mr. Cobb. I doubt that anything overwhelms you."

  Again the incremental slitting of his gaze. A gaze that briefly flickered up and down the length of her. The quivering within took on a different tempo, but before she could respond to it or to what his once-over suggested, his stare hardened like the sudden cooling of molten rock.

  "That's because I don't take foolish chances. You should go back inside, Dr. Reynard."

  Contrarily, she went to lean her forearms on one of the peeled wood porch rails. Instead of gazing into the forest, she kept her stare relegated to the neat, machete trimmed bushes that surrounded the law
n. “Why should I do that? I feel quite safe out here with you.” And oddly, that was true.

  "Maybe you shouldn't."

  The cautioning rumble in his tone stirred a seismic response in Sheba. What exactly was he warning her away from? From the dangerous pull that drew her out into the night because she knew he was there? From the way her pulse beat a little faster when he joined her at the rail?

  "Tell me about the work you do,” she broached quietly.

  "You mean baby-sitting?"

  "Have you killed people, Mr. Cobb?"

  After a brief pause, he said, “Not yet today, but the night is young."

  His determined levity sobered her mood. “What kind of danger is Paulo in?"

  "I'd say he's about to succumb to a deadly pair of big brown eyes."

  She scowled at him, unwilling to be distracted by his teasing banter. “Why are you here, Cobb? Why did Sam call out the big guns? Or at least your big gun?"

  "My big gun is my business, Doc. Let's keep it that way, okay?"

  "Excuse me? I've faced down headhunters in Africa, supposed goat suckers from outerspace in Puerto Rico, cults in India and Malaysia that would curl your toes, and now I'm going out there.” She gestured toward the forest without looking at it. “I want to know what I'm up against."

  His stare was unblinking. “I think you know already, and that's what's got you scared to death."

  The wind sapped from her argument and her lungs with the effectiveness of a blow to the midsection. The remaining emptiness hurt more than the unexpected attack. She drew a tortured breath and hissed, “You're a bastard, Cobb."

  She tried to spin away but he caught her arm, holding her fast, not so that he could protest her statement but simply so that she was forced to face him.

  And the truth.

  Her own defenses surged up on a tidal wave of anger and agitation.