The one positive aspect of the morning was that she’d finally adjusted to the boat’s movement on the water. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of anything in her stomach or if she’d found what he referred to as her sea legs. Whichever, she was grateful. She’d never spent any time on a boat before and had no idea what else to expect.
Gazing out at the horizon, Lorraine suddenly saw land—an outcropping of lush green hills far in the distance. That excited her so much she climbed awkwardly out of her chair and shuffled toward the rear of the boat.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Mexico.”
“That much I know,” she returned, trying not to sound sarcastic. At this point, it was difficult. She sighed, loudly and expressively. “Are we buying supplies here?” she asked.
“That’s the plan.”
She couldn’t quite hide her relief. It was clear to her, if not Jack, that they couldn’t continue this voyage without obtaining some food.
As they headed toward land, Lorraine noticed a number of high-rise luxury hotels in the distance. “What city is that?” she asked when curiosity overcame her unwillingness to ask him any further questions.
“Campeche,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.
Lorraine remembered reading about the town in the information she’d gathered when she was researching the Yucatán Peninsula. If she recalled correctly, the city was one of the fastest-growing tourist spots in the region. There were a number of Mayan ruins close by.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Jack said.
“What do you mean?”
“We aren’t going to Campeche.”
“We aren’t?” She frowned in disappointment. “But—”
“We can’t risk it.”
In her opinion, they’d probably be safer in a large city where they could get lost in anonymous crowds. Not that he’d given her any say in the matter, nor did he seem at all interested in her opinions. “Well, if not Campeche, where are we going?”
“La Ruta Maya,” he said. “That means route of the Maya. It’s a small village down the coast from Campeche. Tradition says the village was on the main artery for Mayan traders a thousand years ago.
“I’ve docked there in the past,” Jack added, “and I can buy supplies with a minimum of fuss. That way we can be in and out of port quickly.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do,” Jack said, narrowing his gaze. “We can’t risk you being seen. With that suit of yours and that blond hair, you’d stick out like a red flag to a herd of bulls.”
“What do you want me to do?” she demanded. “Jump overboard and hold my breath until you get back?”
“Don’t give me any ideas.”
Lorraine had to clamp her jaws shut to keep from saying something she was sure to regret later. No one had ever infuriated her faster than this shiftless, worthless, good-for-nothing bum. She wanted as little to do with him as possible and actually felt grateful that he assumed she was married. She could only guess how much more obnoxious he would’ve been if he’d figured she was up for grabs. Wearing her mother’s wedding band had turned out to be a fortunate thing.
“You’re going to have to stay out of sight while I’m in town.”
The implication didn’t hit her right away. Then, “You want me to go down there—belowdecks?” It would be stifling holed up in that dreadful little place.
“You got it,” he said. Then, as though he understood her objection, he told her, “I’ll be as fast as I can.”
“How long?” She supposed she could endure anything provided she had some idea of the time involved. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Already she could feel the suffocating heat crowding in around her.
“If everything goes smoothly, I should be back in about forty minutes.”
“Forty minutes!” she exploded. Just how long could it take to purchase a few necessities?
“Possibly a bit longer.”
Lorraine had to bite her tongue. He was doing this on purpose, she knew he was, to punish her for their predicament. The more she objected, the more time he’d take. She wouldn’t put it past him.
He slowed the boat long before they reached the village. “Go on below,” he said tersely.
“But…” Lorraine closed her mouth rather than protest further. It would be pointless to mention that they were well out of sight of the village and no one was likely to see her. Any argument would only be grounds for trouble with Jack.
Her steps were mutinous as she climbed the few steps into the cabin and slammed the door. The heat hit her like a furnace blast, and sweat immediately dampened her brow.
Jack pounded down the steps and opened the door. A sweet cooling breeze whistled through. “Listen and listen good,” he said in a clear, calm voice. “I’m going to close these doors once I’ve docked. I don’t want you to come out until I tell you it’s safe to do so. Understand?”
She didn’t answer.
“Understand?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she muttered.
“Good,” he said, still sounding calm.
Five minutes later he cut the engine. She heard footsteps on the dock and then felt the boat bounce against the tire bumper. A rush of Spanish followed between Jack and someone on the pier. It appeared to be a pleasant exchange. The boat rocked slightly when Jack jumped onto the dock.
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.
