The Sooner the Better

by Debbie Macomber

  With the insufferable heat Lorraine barely had the strength to remain upright. The table and benches were filled with papers and an assortment of clothes, which she folded and placed in the drawers. Not that her goal was to be helpful. She simply needed space to stretch out. Books littered the compact area. Bored, Lorraine glanced at a few titles and shook her head. A few sailing manuals. Techniques of war. Weapons updates. Military histories. Almost every piece of reading material had something to do with soldiering and death. For all she knew, he could be a trained killer. Talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire! And down here, in this intolerable heat, it felt as though that was exactly what she’d done.

  Lorraine couldn’t help wondering if her father knew about Jack’s preoccupation with war and death. If he did, would he have asked Jack to get her out of the country? Lorraine doubted it.

  Forty minutes passed. Forty of the longest minutes of her life. She wet a cloth and dabbed her face and wrists. Ten minutes later, she unbuttoned her blouse and fanned herself with a copy of Soldier of Fortune magazine. Jack had been gone for fifty minutes now. Every once in a while she’d hear voices; her hopes would soar but then the sound would fade away. Water slapped against the side of the boat, which rocked gently in the protected waters of the marina.

  At one o’clock she heard the faint strains of music drifting down from what must have been a waterfront cantina. The emptiness in her stomach refused to be ignored. All she could think about was how hot and miserable she was and how hungry. Visions of salty tortilla chips and fresh salsa tormented her. Served with a tart salt-rimmed margarita… Or was that more Tex-Mex than Mexican? She wasn’t sure. But they’d certainly have something at this cantina. Maybe a shrimp-and-garlic dish like the one her father’s…wife had made. No, she wouldn’t think about them. She conjured up the memory of chicken fajitas, instead, with lots of onions and peppers….

  The music grew louder. It didn’t require much imagination to picture Jack sitting inside the cantina, taking his own sweet time over a big lunch, drinking a cold beer. He probably had a friendly señorita on his lap, as well. The image was so real, so believable, she convinced herself of its truth.

  Forty minutes he’d said, and he’d been gone longer than an hour. Lorraine couldn’t stand it anymore. Not only did she intensely dislike Jack Keller, there was no reason she should trust him. Given what she’d learned about her father and Azucena, how could she trust any of these people? Once again, she pushed all thoughts of her father from her mind. She didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to acknowledge that Gary had been right and she’d made the biggest mistake of her life in seeking out this stranger.

  She’d lost control of the situation by letting others make the decisions. Time to rectify that. She hadn’t had anything to do with that stupid artifact, and once she explained what had happened, the authorities would believe her. They had to. Anyway, she’d rather take her chances with the police than die a slow death at the hands of Jack Keller. And she couldn’t tolerate this heat another minute.

  Being a conscientious person, she found a pen and paper and left Jack a note.

  I appreciate your help, but would prefer to have the American Consulate speak to the authorities on my behalf.

  Thank you.

  Lorraine

  She propped the paper on the table with the saltshaker and reached for her purse. Then she hesitated. Most of her traveler’s checks were back in her suitcase in El Mirador and she had only a small amount of cash. She couldn’t very well ask a vendor in this dinky town to accept a credit card.

  It didn’t take her long to discover where Jack kept his cash—although she did feel guilty about rummaging through his things. This was just a small loan, she told herself. Either she’d repay him herself or her father would. She peeled off a few bills and shoved them inside her purse.

  Once more she hesitated, then removed her watch and set it in his drawer. Its value far exceeded the cash she’d borrowed, she reasoned. She left quickly before she could change her mind.

  When she opened the double doors leading to the deck, Lorraine gulped in deep breaths of the fresh cool air. Cautiously she stuck her head out and looked around.

  The village was small, smaller even than El Mirador. A row of ramshackle shops lined the waterfront, but La Ruta Maya didn’t seem to consist of much else. The first thing she needed to do was find someone to drive her into Campeche. Surely in a city of that size she’d be able to connect with the American Embassy. Then she’d tell them her story, explain how Jason Applebee had hidden the artifact in her suitcase, and the American government would clear her name and get her safely home.

  Lorraine didn’t blame her father for interceding on her behalf, but his solution had been shortsighted. Once her name was cleared, she’d be free to return to El Mirador in the near future and demand some answers from her father. Then again, perhaps it would be better just to go home and forget all this.

  She knew, as she climbed off Jack’s boat, that she was taking a risk, but that couldn’t be helped. The truth was, he’d be just as glad to get rid of her. This seemed the best solution all around.

  Within a few minutes of leaving the dock area, Lorraine noticed that several children had started to follow her. Not wanting to attract attention, she opened her purse, thinking to give them each a new peso and send them on their way. Her ploy didn’t work. As soon as she reached for her coin purse, she was surrounded by children of every age. They pressed in around her, crowding her, all eager for a handout.

  An older man barked at the children in an authoritative voice and they scattered. Lorraine thanked him with a smile and continued down the street, stopping only long enough to buy some fruit in the village marketplace. She gobbled down the fresh papaya, then purchased a tortilla filled with vegetables and meat. The meat didn’t have a familiar taste, but she decided she didn’t want to know exactly what she was eating. She understood turtle was popular fare in this area—not a thought that appealed to her. However, at this point she was too hungry to care.

  With her helpful Spanish phrase book, she asked a grandmotherly woman about finding a driver who would take her to Campeche. The woman avoided eye contact and shook her head. Lorraine asked a vendor next, but he was far more interested in selling his wares than answering her questions. He held up a number of things—baskets and pottery—he hoped to persuade her to buy and explained two or three times in fractured English that he would give her a special rate because she was his first customer of the day. She finally extricated herself from him, then asked a third person, a young barefoot woman, who pointed Lorraine in the direction of the cantina.

  On second thought, perhaps it would make more sense to contact the American Embassy by phone and not worry about hiring someone to drive her.

  Lorraine flipped through the pages of her Spanish dictionary until she found the word for telephone. She felt embarrassed by how little she remembered of her high-school language class. “Teléfono?” she asked.

  The barefoot woman grinned and nodded enthusiastically, then pointed toward the cantina again.

  Lorraine grumbled under her breath, glancing at the very place she’d planned not to enter. She supposed she didn’t have anything to lose. If Jack did happen to be inside, which she strongly suspected he was, she’d simply explain what she’d said in her note.

  When she peered inside the cantina, she found—to her relief and surprise—that Jack Keller was nowhere to be seen. The place was stark, devoid of any decoration. It had a rough plank floor, a long wooden bar and a number of crude tables and chairs.

  Four or five underdressed women glared at her when she walked in. Lorraine smiled at them, certain they could see that they had nothing to fear from her. She had no intention of cutting in on their business.

  A greasy-looking man looked up from a table, where he sat with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. He was dark and ugly, and a scar ran down one side of his face. He eyed her with the avid interest of
a tomcat spying a mouse. It wasn’t a comfortable sensation, but she ignored him and approached the bartender, whose frown seemed to suggest she should get out while she could.

  Lorraine forced a smile. With her dictionary in hand, she asked about the phone. He shook his head. There was one attached to the wall, but apparently it was out of order. No funciona, a handwritten sign informed her. Again going through the dictionary, she painstakingly asked about hiring a driver to take her to Campeche.

  “I take you to Campeche,” the greasy-looking man at the table offered in heavily accented English, his voice slurred with suggestion. His chair made a scraping sound as he stood and carried the bottle and shot glass over to the bar.

  Every eye in the place was on the two of them.

  “No, thank you,” Lorraine said politely. She continued to look at the bartender.

  “You want a driver?” the man persisted. “I get you there.”

  “I prefer to hire a car, thank you.” She returned her attention to the bartender.

  Her unpleasant companion slammed the bottle down on the bar. “We have fun on the road, no?”

  “No,” Lorraine said, refusing to look at him. He smelled evil. She’d never thought such a thing was possible, but this man was the epitome of the word. The stench about him was nothing compared to the blankness in his eyes, as if he had no feelings, no sympathy, no conscience. The way he stared at her made her skin crawl.

  The bartender, who’d said little to this point, spoke to the man in a placating manner. Although she couldn’t understand much of what was said, it seemed fairly obvious this man was feared. The bartender then appeared to suggest something involving one or more of the other women, judging by the way he motioned toward them. One thing Lorraine did pick up from the exchange was the man’s name. Carlos.

  Carlos’s reaction to the bartender’s suggestion was a blast of foul-sounding words that had the bartender fleeing to the other end of the bar.

  “You come with me,” Carlos said, and reached for her. “We have fun on the road to Campeche, you and me.” He grinned at her as if to say she might as well enjoy it because she had no choice.

  Lorraine managed to avoid his grasp. “I most certainly will not.”

  He lunged for her a second time, but once more she was able to avoid his groping hands. Clearly Carlos was drunker than he’d seemed, which was in her favor. Although he looked to be a mean drunk.

  “Kindly keep your hands to yourself!” she snapped.

  Carlos’s response was to grab a fistful of her hair and yank hard.

  Lorraine let out a cry of shock and pain, whirled around and slapped him as hard as she could across the face. “Keep your filthy hands off me!” The action had been purely instinctive. She didn’t know what kind of monster this man was, but she wasn’t going to let him or anyone else manhandle her.

  A collective gasp went through the cantina. Even Carlos was too stunned to react. Then he slapped her, hard enough to send her staggering backward. Her jaw felt as if it’d been dislocated, and the pain brought stinging tears to her eyes.

  He laughed, and it was the cruelest sound she’d ever heard. She saw pure undiluted hate in his eyes. Holding her hand over her cheek, she took three small steps back, recognizing beyond doubt that she’d crossed a dangerous line and was about to suffer the consequences.

  She wanted to say something, a joke, an apology, anything to defuse the situation, but her mouth had gone dry. She could hardly force out a word.

  She’d made one mistake after another, but this was the most desperate yet. Two minutes ago she’d walked into the cantina with a simple request and now she was staring into the eyes of a man who wanted to kill her—and worse. She felt a sudden urge to yell “Time out!” so she could sit down and analyze what had gone wrong…and figure out how to rescue herself.

  Hearing footsteps behind her, she whirled around. Her relief at seeing Jack was enough to make her knees weak.

  “Oh, thank God,” she whispered, closing her eyes. The one man she’d been trying to elude was now going to be her salvation.

  The tension between Jack and Carlos could be felt by everyone in the room. Lorraine practically ran toward Jack.

  “You know this woman?” Carlos asked, glaring at them through narrowed, menacing eyes.

  Jack took one look at Lorraine and shrugged. “Never saw her before in my life.”

  Seven

  Generally speaking, Jack was an easygoing guy. It took a lot to rile him. But Lorraine managed to do it without so much as opening her mouth. He’d returned to the boat with a case of beer balanced on his shoulder and a plate of hot food for her. The way he figured, she’d been fourteen or fifteen hours without anything to eat, and a generous helping of Angelina’s special chicken frijoles and rice was sure to sweeten her disposition. It had certainly improved his own.

  Nothing could have shocked him more than finding her gone. By the time he read her note, he was so angry his ears burned. Jack didn’t often let anyone or anything reduce him to this state. In his previous work, anger wasn’t an emotion he could afford. When it happened, which was rare, he didn’t plow his fist through a wall. If anything he remained stoic. His acquaintances knew well that the calmer he was, the angrier.

  He could have pulled out of port then and there with a clear conscience—but he hadn’t. Thomas was his friend—but there was a limit to what he could take. After spending a few minutes cooling down, he left his supplies piled on the dock, where the shopkeeper had delivered them, and went in search of the most irritating, infuriating, ungrateful woman he’d ever met. When he found her in the cantina, he couldn’t deny a certain satisfaction at discovering that she’d gotten herself into real trouble.

  Now he intended to see how she planned to get herself out of it. Rescuing damsels in distress was an outdated business at best, and Jack had long since decided a contemporary woman was capable of taking care of herself. If Thomas Dancy’s daughter needed help, she’d have to ask for it. On second thought, she’d have to ask real pretty for him to get involved. One thing was certain: he was going to make her sweat it out before he stepped in.

  “You’re going to pretend you don’t know me?” Lorraine shouted. She thrust out her arms in supplication or in anger, he wasn’t sure which. A look of astonished disbelief crossed her face.

  Jack sauntered up to the bar, where he ordered a glass of tequila and a lime. After the day he’d had, he needed a high-potency drink.

  “He knows me.” Lorraine stretched out her arm and waggled her index finger at Jack. “He might claim otherwise, but he knows me. We’re traveling together.”

  Jack tossed back his tequila and sucked greedily on the lime.

  “Exactly what kind of man are you?” she raged, disgust written on every feature.

  “A thirsty one,” Jack answered with a slow, lazy grin. Then, as if to prove his point, he downed a second shot and smiled at her through gritted teeth as the alcohol burned the back of his throat. “As far as I’m concerned, your friend over there is welcome to you.”

  “His name’s Carlos. If you were any kind of a man, you’d see I’m in trouble here.”

  “Yeah.” Did his heart good to see it, too.

  “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  “No.” He raised his glass and saluted Carlos. Lorraine knew how to pick ’em. Old Carlos looked like he’d just as soon slit a guy’s throat as sit down and have a drink with him.

  Apparently Carlos didn’t know what to make of the exchange between him and Lorraine. He glanced from one to the other, his head jerking back and forth in an effort to follow the conversation.

  One of the prostitutes minced across the cantina toward Jack. The best-looking one of the lot, Jack was pleased to note. He collected a second glass and met her at a table.

  Her smile radiated easy sex. Her eagerness for his company was a pleasant change after what he’d been forced to endure with Miss High-and-Mighty. Jack pulled out a chair and sat down. Grinnin
g, the woman sat on his lap and poured them each a drink, making sure her lush breasts grazed his arm.

  “You’re a rat, Jack Keller,” Lorraine yelled. Carlos half rose from his chair, obviously startled by her vehemence.

  Jack yawned as though bored. “Sticks and stones, Raine, sticks and stones.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going t-to take up with that woman when you can see I’ve got a problem here.”

  Well, yeah, she did, Jack thought. Carlos was keeping a close eye on her. He seemed more than ready to leap up and grab her if she tried to make a run for it.

  “Hey, you got yourself into this mess,” he said. “It’s going to be real interesting to watch you get yourself out of it.”

  “You’re lower than low.”

  Jack laughed and nuzzled the throat of the woman on his lap. While she might be nice-enough looking, she unfortunately smelled like cheap perfume and stale smoke. Not that he’d let Lorraine know. As far as Her Highness was concerned, the other woman was a breath of fresh air. And oh, so tempting…

  “Okay, okay,” Lorraine said, sounding far less certain now. “If you want me to apologize, then I will. I shouldn’t have left the boat.”

  This was what he’d been waiting for from the first. Jack abruptly set the woman aside and vaulted to his feet. “You’re damn right you shouldn’t have. I asked a small thing of you. One small thing.”

  “It was so hot down there—and you took much longer than you said.”

  “It’s too much to expect you to follow directions?”

  “I thought…I hoped…”

  They scowled at each other. Jack’s expression was as angry as he could make it. His voice was raised, and while he didn’t want to attract a lot of unnecessary attention, he hoped to extract her from this predicament and save his own hide in the process. From the cutthroat looks Carlos gave him, it wasn’t going to be easy.