The Sooner the Better

by Debbie Macomber

  Her father listened and his body language confirmed her guess. He turned, gripping her arms tightly. “We have to get you out of here.”

  “Get me out?” Lorraine was nearly too stunned to speak.

  “One of the policemen searched your suitcase while we were at the station.”

  “But that’s not legal!” she cried in outrage.

  “Raine,” he said, shaking her hard. “They found the artifact.”

  Five

  Jack sat on board Scotch on Water watching the sun sink into a friendly pink sky. This was his favorite time of day. Soon the moon would rise over the water, its reflection silver-bright. He propped his feet on the side of the boat and held a bottle of his favorite Mexican beer. A clear sky, a beer in his hand and his mind free of worries. Life didn’t get any better than this.

  With nothing more than the sunset to distract him, Jack let his thoughts wander back to his friend Thomas Dancy. When Thomas had learned of his daughter’s visit, he’d raced back to the school, promising he’d see Jack later. Jack hadn’t even known Dancy had a daughter. Her visit sure wasn’t expected if Dancy’s reaction was anything to go by. He hadn’t heard from his friend since, but he would; Dancy was a man of his word. Jack had delayed having dinner, preferring to let Azucena spoil him with one of her specialties. Man, could she cook! His mouth watered just thinking about what she could do with a fresh fish, a couple of tomatoes, peppers and a few spices. Her tortillas hot from the grill were the best he’d ever tasted. If she was feeling up to it, he’d ask her for a haircut, too. He should shave before dinner, he mused, rubbing his hand down his face. The stubble scraped his palm.

  He’d enjoyed seeing Thomas again, even if their visit was cut short. He’d forgotten how much he liked Dancy’s company. Jack had laughed more in the half hour he’d spent with Thomas than he had in weeks. He’d make a point of sticking around until the kid was born. He wanted to be sure he saw lots of Antonio and Hector, too. Those two were pure fun. It didn’t hurt that they worshiped him, either.

  His evening plans might have fallen through, but the afternoon hadn’t been wasted. He’d filled the boat’s 480-gallon fuel tanks with diesel and paid for his supplies. They’d be loaded on board first thing in the morning. Given the option of heading toward Florida or Belize, he’d decided to return to the Central American country and would set his course southward as soon as the mood struck him.

  “Jack!”

  The urgency of the voice caught him off guard. He dropped his feet and stood, tensing with sudden wariness. Then he leaned over the boat’s side, peering toward the dock.

  Thomas ran along the waterfront, tugging a blonde in a white pantsuit by the hand. Jack noticed that the woman was having trouble keeping up. Briefly he wondered if she was Dancy’s daughter. Her purse swung wildly at her side and threatened to slip off her shoulder. Both were breathless and appeared to be arguing. As they drew closer, Jack was able to make out their words.

  “Antonio’s your son, isn’t he?” She turned to Thomas and Jack could hear the anger in her voice.

  “We don’t have time to talk about that now,” Thomas said.

  “He called you Papa. How many other children do you have? How many wives?” Then, as if she should have realized it earlier, she added, “Azucena’s your…lover, isn’t she? Why, she can’t be more than three or four years older than me!” Shock and outrage sounded in each word. She lapsed into silence as they approached Jack’s slip.

  Thomas’s face was tight with frustration. “I’m here to ask a favor,” he said, looking up at Jack.

  “It’s yours,” Jack said, not waiting to hear what it was. Few people in this world warranted that kind of response, but Jack liked and trusted Thomas Dancy.

  “Raine, this is Jack Keller.”

  Jack nodded in her direction, choosing to disregard the fact that they’d been arguing. “Pleasure to meet you, Raine.”

  She barely glanced at him. “I prefer to be called Lorraine,” she said with all the warmth of a rattlesnake.

  La-di-da. “Lorraine,” he corrected, and resisted rolling his eyes.

  Thomas didn’t waste words. “I need you to get her back to the States without the authorities here finding out.”

  Jack read the panic in his friend’s voice and eyes. “In other words, you don’t want me to take her through customs.”

  “You got it.” And then Thomas said, “You need to leave now. Right away.”

  “Trouble?” Jack asked, ignoring the woman.

  “Big trouble.”

  “You’re overreacting,” Lorraine insisted. “Once I’m able to explain the situation, I’m sure—”

  “We don’t have time to discuss it,” Dancy said, cutting her off.

  “The last thing I should be doing now is running,” she countered. “Taking off like this makes me look guilty. I’d rather face the authorities than—” she paused and cast Jack a scornful look “—be stuck with him.”

  Apparently Jack didn’t meet her dress code. Truth be known, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about being stuck with her, either.

  “We’ve got to get you back to the States,” Thomas said forcefully. “If the police arrest you, I won’t be able to help. They’ll be here any minute. Now go! For the love of God, go!”

  Police? Arrested? Her? Jack couldn’t imagine what she’d done to fall into such disfavor with the authorities, but whatever it was had to be major.

  “Take her!” Thomas practically propelled her in Jack’s direction. “Get her out of here.”

  “My suitcase…my clothes! I can’t just leave like this! Besides, there are things you and I need to talk about.”

  “The police have your suitcase! Anyway, do you think they’ll let you keep it when Sergeant Lopez hauls you off to jail? Do you?” Thomas’s composure slipped as his voice rose in fear and anger. “Trust me, you don’t want to see the inside of a Mexican jail. Now go! Hurry. Get the hell out of here.” He was shouting, gesturing frantically for Jack to take her. Thomas untied the rope from the dock and tossed it onto the deck.

  “The American Embassy will help me,” Lorraine said as she reluctantly climbed on board. Scotch on Water rocked slightly with her entry. “When I explain that I know nothing about the artifact,” she went on, “they’ll square everything with the Mexican government.”

  Even without knowing her circumstances, Jack could see the woman lived in a fantasy world. Once she was in the hands of the Mexican authorities, there was little anyone could do to help her. The willingness—and ability—of the American Embassy to assist her was a matter best left to speculation. Thomas knew this as well as Jack did.

  “Please—just go,” Thomas pleaded.

  “But—”

  The boat’s engine fired to life with a roar. A burst of exhaust fumes polluted the air.

  “But I only just arrived!” she shouted. The high-pitched plea in her voice could be heard over the noise of the engine. “I—there’s things I need to know before I leave… This isn’t right. None of this.”

  Jack heard her distress but felt no real sympathy.

  “This isn’t what I want, either,” Thomas said. Slowly, as if it ripped his heart out, he stepped away from the slip. “I’ll find a way to reach you,” he promised. “You have precious cargo, my friend,” he told Jack, his eyes filled with pain. “Get her safely back to the States for me.”

  The situation was urgent; that much was obvious. Without waiting any longer, Jack climbed to the flybridge. Thomas remained at the far end of the dock and watched them pull out.

  Looking over his shoulder, Jack noticed that Lorraine stood at the rear of the cabin cruiser. He pushed the lever forward, easing the craft out of the protected waters of the marina. Lorraine leaned against the gunwale, arms crossed. Even from the back, Jack could tell how furious she was. She might be tempted to leap overboard and swim back to land, but he wouldn’t recommend it.

  Not long afterward, the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach reminde
d Jack that he hadn’t eaten yet. Furthermore, there was almost no food on board. The supplies he’d ordered and paid for were back in El Mirador on the storekeeper’s porch. Not only was he out his supplies, but he was stuck with a woman who was sure to irritate him every time she opened her mouth.

  No, this certainly wasn’t how he’d thought his evening would go. No, sir. Not at all.

  Lorraine stayed on the open deck of the boat and watched the lights of El Mirador gradually disappear. She stood there for some time, trying to make sense of what had happened in the past hour. It seemed that only minutes ago she’d been enjoying a wonderful meal with her father, becoming acquainted with the man she’d believed forever lost to her. Her face reddened as she recalled the way she’d complimented his “housekeeper.”

  This business with the Kukulcan Star was a complete shock—and made her feel even more idiotic. It was entirely clear now that Jason Applebee—if that was his real name—had used her to corroborate his story. He’d tricked her into lying on his behalf, knowing that the authorities were looking for a man traveling alone. No wonder he’d wanted her to tell the police they were married. She groaned at her own stupidity. She’d believed in his innocence right to the bitter end—when she’d learned that the artifact had been found in her luggage. That certainly didn’t say much for her ability to judge character. As for his appearance, he could easily have cut and dyed his hair. And as for placing the artifact inside her suitcase, he could have done that when she’d climbed on the bus and he’d loaded their bags onto the roof.

  How convenient for Jason that he’d come across such a naive trusting American. If there was anything she should’ve learned from the past month, it was not to trust appearances. Now, because of him and her own naiveté, she was on a boat with this…this overgrown whatever he was. Jack Keller looked like an unkempt surfer who’d spent too much time in the sun. Apparently he lived on his boat. His hair was bleached blond, his body tanned to a bronze hue. Even if she’d just reminded herself that there was no use in relying on appearances, she couldn’t help it with this guy. He seemed so shiftless and irresponsible. Her father must’ve been desperate to have brought her to such a misfit.

  They’d been at sea for more than an hour before either spoke.

  “Find me something to eat, would you?” Jack called from the flybridge.

  His tone of voice rankled—he sounded as if he expected her to be at his beck and call. She thought about setting him straight but stifled her irritation. He was, after all, doing her and her father a favor.

  “Where would you like me to look?” she called back.

  “Try the galley,” he said, as though she should have figured that out for herself.

  The boat pitched and heaved with the swells as Lorraine made her way belowdecks, which was no easy task because the steps were incredibly steep. Once below, she was in the saddest, smallest excuse for a kitchen she could ever have imagined. She took a moment to glance around and found a toilet and shower, crammed into an impossibly tiny space. The only other room, if it could be considered that, was obviously where Jack slept. There was a narrow bunk, littered with clothes. Books lined the walls and he’d hung several firearms there, next to the light. Never having been around anyone who owned a gun, Lorraine had no idea what kind or caliber these were, but they didn’t resemble any she’d seen in the movies.

  Returning to the galley, she discovered a wrinkled orange in the tiny refrigerator, along with four or five beers. She pushed those aside—with a fleeting recollection of Katharine Hepburn in The African Queen methodically dumping out Humphrey Bogart’s booze. Further investigation netted her a dried-out tortilla and an open can of sardines, the smell of which disgusted her.

  With no other choice, she peeled the orange. By the time she’d finished that small task, her stomach was queasy.

  “I…seem to be getting seasick,” she said when she brought him the orange. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “When you vomit be sure you do it with your head over the side. If you get sick on this boat, you clean it up.”

  “Thank you for that charming advice,” she muttered as she walked carefully back to the main deck. The ocean wasn’t calm anymore, the way it’d been when they set out, and it tossed the boat viciously. Scotch on Water—ridiculous name for a boat—surged up and down with the waves, and with every bounce her stomach heaved. Determined not to throw up, Lorraine sat in the only chair on the deck, pressing her arms against her stomach. That didn’t seem to be helping. She was shaking with chills and sweating, both at the same time.

  It wasn’t long before she vaulted out of the chair and dashed to the side of the boat. What little she’d eaten at her father’s before the police arrived was soon gone. Still retching, she closed her eyes. Finally it seemed to be over. She straightened and moaned loudly, no longer caring if Jack heard her or not. She was too sick to maintain any pretenses.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “No. Worse.” She swore the man sounded amused. She would ignore him, she decided, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Go ahead and lie down, but I don’t suggest you do it belowdecks.”

  She had no intention of sleeping in that horrible bed and there didn’t seem to be anyplace else. If she hadn’t felt so deathly ill, she might have pointed that out.

  Jack disappeared and came back a couple of minutes later with a blanket and pillow. He threw them to her in the chair.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, rolling her head from side to side, more miserable than she could ever remember being.

  He hunkered down beside her, but in Lorraine’s opinion didn’t look too sympathetic.

  “How long will it take to reach the States?” she asked in a weak voice.

  He didn’t answer immediately. “Longer than either of us is going to like,” he finally said.

  Lorraine already knew he was right.

  When Jason returned to the hotel—Dancys in tow—he’d recognized that time was of the essence. Thomas and Lorraine had eventually left after interminable cautions and goodbyes, and now he was back in his room, repacking the few things he’d taken out of his bag. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the authorities discovered his lie, and when they did, no amount of smooth talk was going to stop them from arresting him. He needed to make his move, and soon.

  He hadn’t expected the police to be this tight on his tail. The bandage on his hand must have alerted the clerk at the bus depot. His mistake, he realized, was assuming the bus stations hadn’t been alerted. His photograph couldn’t possibly have circulated yet—could it? In any event, he’d changed his appearance as best he could. Cut and dyed his hair, discarded his glasses in favor of colored contacts he’d brought with him from home, changed his clothing. But he could do nothing about the deep cut on his hand. That must be what had given him away.

  He’d linked up with Lorraine to confuse the authorities, yet no sooner had he checked into the hotel than the cops arrived. He’d barely had time to sign the register and go up to his room, such as it was.

  He stepped quietly into the hallway to study the exits and saw that the proprietor had taken Dancy’s words to heart and fully intended to keep a close eye on him. Dancy wasn’t nearly as big a fool as his daughter.

  Back in his room, Jason stuffed a few scattered things into his pack, including a switchblade he’d hidden under the pillow. The police either hadn’t found the knife or weren’t concerned about it. When he was done, he glanced out the small window that overlooked the street. A police car was just pulling up in front of the hotel. With no time to lose, he threw on his jacket and grabbed the backpack, then slipped quietly out the door.

  Jason met up with the proprietor on the back stairwell. Their conversation was brief. The old man’s mistake was thinking he could stop him. The struggle to silence him cost Jason precious minutes. He would’ve liked to avoid another death, but this one couldn’t be helped. If anyone was to blame, it was Dancy.
/>   By the time Jason reached the rear exit of the hotel, he could hear police coming up the stairs. That was close. Much too close.

  Now he needed to find Lorraine. During the bus ride, he’d done his damnedest to talk her into checking into the hotel; however, he couldn’t show his cards by being too demanding. But before he left her that afternoon, he’d learned where Dancy lived.

  He hid until night had completely fallen and then found his way down a series of back streets to the schoolmaster’s house on the edge of town. Fortunately El Mirador was laid out in a simple grid pattern, and the moon was bright. He’d tracked people under more adverse conditions—quite recently, as a matter of fact. Lorraine shouldn’t be hard to find.

  She was the key. Once he had what he wanted from her, he’d just disappear again.

  A dog barked as he crept down the dirt road. Fearing discovery, he ducked around the darker side of a small adobe house.

  Then, in a wonderful turn of luck, Jason watched as Thomas Dancy hurried toward the houses shouting for someone named Azucena.

  A pregnant woman rushed out of a house directly across the street and fell into Dancy’s arms, sobbing.

  The two were hugging each other as if they’d spent the past year apart. Jason’s patience wore thin until he was able to make out the woman’s words. So the police had already been to the house and found the artifact. Damn.

  “Where is she?” the woman asked in Spanish.

  Jason was interested in learning that, as well.

  “With Jack.”

  “You gave her to Jack Keller?”

  “What choice did I have?” Dancy asked. “I had to get her out of here before the police arrested her.”

  Again Jason had to credit the man with some intelligence, unlike his daughter who was as gullible as they came. Dancy was right to send her away. The police would’ve made mincemeat out of her. He smiled, remembering how easily she’d believed his stories—and how willingly she’d told him all about herself. He almost hated dragging her into this, but there was nothing he could do about that now.