Midnight Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  Sheba thanked her for her honesty and commiserated with her pain before joining Cobb outside once more. She studied his set features for a moment, trying to read something, anything about what he was thinking upon those pleasant planes. No luck. In frustration, she had to ask.

  "Well?"

  He focused on her as if startled by her presence. “Well, what?"

  "Your opinion on what we just heard?"

  "No evidence that it's not an elaborate hoax. No evidence that it is. No body, no chance to examine the trace samples that could link this death to ... other possibilities.” If only he had the science at hand to prove the impossible to the disbelieving. He glanced away and sighed, “Doc, why do you have to be so far away?"

  "I'm right here,” Sheba objected. He stared right through her then blinked.

  "I didn't mean you. Sorry."

  It didn't take a great mental stretch for her to guess this other ‘Doc’ was a woman. The other woman in his life? Then she caught herself. Other woman? When had she started thinking of herself as Frank Cobb's woman? The idea surprised because of its ridiculousness.

  Because of its sudden, unexpected appeal.

  She'd never been anyone's woman before.

  He was speaking to her, and she heard none of the words. With a sharp shake of her head to clear the nonsense away, Sheba asked him to repeat himself.

  "The other man, Cross, will be here at dusk to lead the twilight tours. We'll have to wait until then to talk to him. Hopefully, he has something a little more useful for us to go on."

  She was watching his mouth as he spoke, wondering again if he would have kissed her the previous night if she had taken the initiative to lean forward. Such a slight effort on her part to reap a tremendous reward. But would kissing Frank Cobb be reward or curse? She didn't want complications in her life. Her past contained a scary hole from which any number of demons could arise, and her future held little more than the same constantly mobile address she'd claimed for the past eight years. Not much to inspire thoughts of romance or permanence. As if a guy like Cobb understood either of those concepts.

  "What are you smiling at?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

  "Just thinking how ironic that you and I must lead very similar lives."

  "Yours that boring?"

  "Just work and travel."

  "Travel and work.” His grin was cynical. “We're a pathetic pair, then, aren't we?"

  "Are we?” she blurted out before thinking of the connotations of that question. Are we a pair, Frank Cobb?

  "Most would say so. Isn't it a social abnormality to have attained an age of majority and not claim a mortgage, a 9-to-5 paycheck, a significant other, a dog and 2.6 kids produced under politically correct circumstance? Why don't we have those things? Or want them?"

  He may have been teasing in his wry, Cobbesque way, but she was deadly serious when she replied, “Because we're smarter than the average bears. We can lead productive lives without hauling around all the baggage that's supposed to go with it."

  "With a house and a spouse and kids?"

  "Or with a mouse or in a box or with a fox. I could not, would not, Sam-I-am. I don't need that—” She broke off.

  "That what?"

  She was going to say “pain."

  Instead, she waved her hand as if it was inconsequential.

  But Frank could see it was anything but. He watched her expression close down, like a house of cards folding inward, flattening upon themselves when the bottom support was yanked away. What had turned this woman off so violently to the thought of a relationship? Funny, he wasn't musing over Paulo's disappointment. He was pondering his own.

  "So, who is this ‘Doc'?” she asked to shift the uncomfortable spotlight from herself to glare in his eyes. “Someone you worked with in the States?"

  Well, he'd brought it up, hadn't he? Now, he'd have to tell her something.

  "She was my last job."

  "Under your protection or your scrutiny?"

  His smile was as tight as the twist of his emotions. “A bit of both."

  Her voice softened slightly, as if she'd read between the lines and found the story to be an unlikely romance. “And what happened?"

  "I did my job. She did hers."

  "And?"

  "She's living happily ever after in some foreign palace with the man of her dreams."

  "And you wish you were there?"

  He winced away from her astuteness but didn't evade what was obvious. “Sometimes."

  All the time, truth be told. Stacy Kimball had possessed his thoughts and dreams with her sassy mouth, lush body and sexy brain. She'd taken all his impossible wishes with her when she'd boarded the plane in Seattle to be with the man she loved. Talk about a Casablanca moment. He could have stopped her and kept her with him with a word but had remained silent. And perhaps, eventually, he could have won her love, even if he hadn't been the right man for her. Every time he breathed in, he could taste the scent of her hair. On every breeze, he was teased by the sound of her laugh. Until recently.

  Until Sheba Reynard sucked up all his senses.

  He sure knew how to pick ‘em: a geneticist who'd had no future and an ethnologist who'd forgotten her past, so dissimilar in looks and attitude, so alike with their quick intelligence and the secrets they wore like armor to keep the world at bay. Alike, as well, in the dangers that stalked them?

  That was what he had to find out.

  * * * *

  "Money problem or man problem?"

  Sheba glanced up from where she sat alone and smiled wryly at Rosa's observation. “Why would you think that?"

  "Only two things I know that make a pretty girl's face so long.” The large woman angled herself into one of the wicker chairs. It groaned under her weigh as she shifted to get comfortable. They had the dining room to themselves in the late afternoon hour. The heat made Sheba too lazy to move, and the confusion of heart had her open for any suggestion, even from such an unlikely source.

  "And which do you think I have?"

  "Since you inherited your dear ones’ disdain for luxuries, I would guess it's a matter of romance."

  "Men are so—” She couldn't find the right word, but Rosa nodded enthusiastically.

  "That they are. And he's such a handsome fellow, your Paulo."

  "Paulo?"

  Rosa reacted to the surprise in her voice with amazement then amusement. “Ah, so it is the other one who has your juices flowing."

  "Rosa, I said no such thing!"

  "No, but that rosy blush does. He is an interesting man, your Mr. Cobb. But such a man is not easily tamed to the leash of wedlock."

  Sheba blinked, aghast at the other woman's assumptions. “Who said anything about marriage?"

  Rosa chuckled. “You shock me, little Sheba, considering your upbringing. I thought your parents taught you to save yourself for the man you married."

  "They did,” she blurted out foolishly, then immediately regretted the confidence.

  "You are a virgin?” Rosa leaned her beefy forearms on the tabletop and stared as if at some strange new species. “At how old?"

  "Old enough to make my own choices without having to explain them,” Sheba snapped, embarrassed and defensive, and wishing she'd never brought the subject up. But then she hadn't, had she. What made her mating habits, or the lack thereof, any of the other woman's business?

  Then Rosa sighed and gave a sad smile. “Ah, child, there are many times I wished I had had your restraint. I was always too easy with my favors, and when I finally met the man I would have waited for, it was already too late. I admire you for your character."

  Flushing hotly, she confessed, “It's not so much character as lack of interest and opportunity. If I had the interest, there was no opportunity. If I had the opportunity...” She shrugged philosophically. “Somehow, it just didn't seem worth the effort since I knew I wasn't going to stick around to see it through."

  How strange to be having this conversation with
the liberal Rosa Kelly. She'd always thought her first frank talk about sexuality would be with Shari Reynard, whose gentle ways and loving manner made it so easy to open up on any topic. This was a mother-daughter talk she should have been able to share at the onset of puberty, but by that time, her mother was gone and no other had ever filled that void. Rosa was the closest anyone had ever come to a surrogate.

  Though there had been no visits over the years, Rosa seemed to have followed her career with a nurturing interest, just as Sheba acknowledged the older woman's with an indulgent tolerance. And, if nothing else, Rosa Kelly was certainly a woman of the world.

  "Am I being foolish to wait?"

  "For the right man? Honey, if you've got the patience to wait, you'll have a treasure worth a stack of Inca gold. No matter how evolved the male species becomes, they still cling to that caveman attitude about being the first and only to conquer whatever they see."

  "At over thirty, I was afraid they'd see me more as a joke than as a jewel."

  Rosa shook her head at that cynical reflection. “No, dear. Hold on to that gift for the right time. You've no idea of its value."

  Curious now, because Rosa always appeared to be more a free love advocate than an espouser of chastity, she asked, “Haven't you ever wanted to settle down with one man?"

  "Oh, yes. There was a man, the only man for me."

  "What happened?"

  "Many things, but mostly another woman. By the time he was free again, the moment had passed. He was the only one I thought worth the effort. Silly me, for now we can barely tolerate one another. It would have made for a rocky romance, no?"

  Peyton?

  Had the love of her life been Peyton Samuels?

  "Don't look so shocked, child. I was quite an eyeful back then and Sam, he was much like your Frank Cobb. He was quite the stud."

  Sheba pinked at thinking of her quasi-uncle in such intimate terms ... and at thinking of Frank Cobb at all.

  Your Frank Cobb.

  "Don't worry, Rosa. Frank Cobb has no interest in romancing me."

  Rosa Kelly only smiled at the naivete of her claim. “His interest will last as long as the mystery does, but if he is able to learn all your secrets, he won't linger for long."

  And Sheba knew she wasn't referring to the mysteries of her past.

  The color in her cheeks grew hotter with indignation at the thought of his love ‘em-and-leave ‘em attitude. “The bastard,” she grumbled, condemning without a trial.

  "My advice, don't waste yourself on a flash of passion, honey. Get your money's worth, I always say. Frank Cobb would be a poor return."

  Somehow, even though she believed Rosa was probably right, Sheba didn't think that was quite true.

  A little flash of passion with Frank Cobb might be worth the investment.

  Chapter Eleven

  Joaquin Cross moved up the dock with all the awkward, ugly grace of the vultures that hobbled along the shoreline looking for an easy meal. A man of his circumstances should have evoked sympathy, but something about the arrogant, disdainful way he shouted at his subordinates precluded pity. He wasn't helpless nor was he interested in the least bit of charity, offered or implied. When Frank held down his hand to assist his step up onto the planked walk, he glared at that outstretched gesture in stony contempt until it was withdrawn. Only then did he drag himself up to head toward the lodge in his hitching but nonetheless speedy gait. He didn't ask any questions of the two who fell in beside him, assuming they would speak on their own.

  "Mr. Cross, I understand you found Ambassador Kenyon's wife."

  "I didn't have nothing to do with that,” he snapped out defensively, hurrying his pace until he was hitching and rolling like a piston.

  "No one suggested that you did,” Cobb clarified. “But you were the first one on the scene, isn't that right?"

  "You talk like a policeman.” Suspicion colored his tone in angry shades.

  "I assure you, I'm not the law."

  Cross shot him a sidelong glance. “No, I guess not. You got a sneakier look to you. I already told my story. Why should I want to tell it again to you?"

  "Twenty reasons."

  The cash was gone from Cobb's hand in a greedy flash. “Don't expect much for twenty dollars."

  "Give me the condensed version."

  "I heard a scream and found her dead."

  "Expand just a little bit more."

  Ahead of them, the lights from the lodge glowed like tiny fireflies. Frog songs were nearly deafening as they serenaded the advancing cool of the evening. Cross paused to look from Cobb to a reluctant Sheba who had yet to say anything.

  "You want me to get into it in front of the lady here? It's nothing she should hear ... considering."

  Sheba stiffened at the meaning then adapted a haughty posture. “You needn't worry about me. Nothing you can say could shock me."

  "If you say so, ma'am.” But his smirky smile said he thought otherwise. “Where do you want me to start? With the tight little short shorts she was wearing when she got off the boat, or the spray she wore on that teased up blonde hair to draw every bug within a half mile radius?"

  "How about starting with the night you found her."

  He shrugged as if to say your loss.

  "She was a snotty bitch, that one, always accusing the staff of being in her room, snooping through her things. Always trying to catch someone in the act, you know."

  "Did she have a lot of valuables?"

  Cross smiled at Sheba's naivete. “Valuable to her, no doubt. She was fond of powder.” He mimicked snorting cocaine. “She was always slipping out of her husband's fancy parties to grab a toot, thinking nobody'd be the wiser. But everybody knew."

  "And somebody killed her,” was Cobb's blunt conclusion. “For the blow?"

  "For her blood."

  Cobb passed over another twenty without being asked. “Keep going."

  An enthusiastic and graphic storyteller, Cross plunged in, creating a vivid picture of supposition and fact that grabbed Cobb's attention and had Sheba staring out into the deepening night as if she could see the grisly scene enacted upon the solid green curtain of the jungle.

  Suzanne Kenyon excused herself from her husband's fundraiser for ecological awareness saying she had to powder her nose. Literally. Anxious and edgy, she hurried to her bungalow to confront one of the house staff in the bathroom leaving the extra towels she'd requested. Suzanne had flown into a paranoiac rage, slapping the poor servant, accusing her of stealing and vowing to get her fired. After the young woman fled in tears, Suzanne proceeded to get gloriously stoned. After a few blissful minutes of enjoying her solitary high, she began to totter back to the party, her nose still red and weepy from abuse and her senses none too reliable.

  Alone in the night.

  Easy prey.

  "I heard her scream. At first, I thought a caiman had gotten some luckless water bird. Then I saw her foot sticking up on the deck. She wore this silly little bracelet around her ankle that was all sparkly, so I knew it was her before I even looked down into the bushes."

  He went on to describe Suzanne Kenyon as she'd looked in death, with wide eyes reflecting the moon and another silenced scream contorting her features. In the darkness, the blood on her throat gleamed black and oily.

  "It was then I heard something moving just at the edge of the trees. Moving so fast, it was just a blur. I yelled out and it stopped for just a second to glare at me with its red eyes, and then it was gone."

  "What was gone?"

  "That what got her."

  "What did you see, Mr. Cross?” Sheba's question, though softly asked, bit like a blade.

  "You know, Missy. You seen it once yourself, long ago. The old one, him what guards the jungle."

  "Nonsense.” Sheba whirled away angrily, her arms hugging tight about herself. “Silly superstition and nonsense. It wasn't a chupacabra or some creature out of your ancient legends. It was a drug theft gone wrong and disguised to frighten everyone
from asking too many questions."

  Cross smiled blandly. “If you say so, Miss."

  "Did she have drugs on her?” Cobb demanded, glancing distractedly at Sheba, who paced the path like one of the jungle panthers.

  "Enough to draw a Federal rap for intent to distribute."

  Cobb gauged the Indian narrowly. “Now you sound like a cop."

  "Starsky and Hutch reruns. I used to love those guys when I lived in the city. No cable out here. A pity."

  "So why does a hip and savvy guy like yourself believe in superstitions?"

  "I know what I saw. And I know what I believe. Greedy folks got to poking around where they didn't belong. Something got woken up out there in the jungle, and it's hungry. Ask her. She knows. And if I was you, I wouldn't go out there ‘less I had already made my funeral plans. It's out there and it don't like strangers. That's all you get for your money. I got work to do."

  Pale as the moon overhead, Sheba watched the guide continue to the lodge. She could feel Cobb's stare, his questions stabbing at her like needles in her nerves.

  "Well,” he drawled at last, “what do you think?"

  "About what?” she snapped, looking ready to snap, herself. “Ignorance? I could smell the stink of lying all over him. Do you know how many times I've heard those same silly stories repeated and repeated until they're believed? I know an urban legend when I hear one."

  "And I know fear when I see it. Why are you so angry, Doc? If there's nothing to what he's saying, what's got you all worked up?"

  "I'm not—” She broke off, realizing her voice quavered on a shriek. More calmly, she continued, “I'm not worked up. I'm irritated. Superstition irritates me because it excites the ignorant into believing lies, then you have to work that much harder to find the truth."

  "And what's the truth, here, Doc? He said you knew. What do you know?"