Betrayal (2 page)

What could he possibly have to say that Susana would want to hear? But even as she moved to toss the letter aside, her curiosity got the better of her. Part of what drew her to archaeology was the thrill of solving puzzles from the past. Much as her gut told her to ignore the letter, she just couldn’t let this mystery go unsolved.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly unfolded the two remaining sheets of paper.

Dear Daughter
, she read. Her lips pursed on a flare of anger. How dare he claim her as daughter when—

Crack! The ground shook under the impact of something heavy crashing to the ground.

Susana leapt to her feet. “What now?” She threw the letter toward her bed and bolted from the tent.

“Damn.” One of the thick wooden supports holding the canopy over yesterday’s excavation had collapsed. “Was anyone hurt?” she demanded as she slid to a stop next to Jim Delano, the man in charge of the dig’s interns.

“No. Everyone’s either in their tents or taking siesta in the jungle.” He gestured to the two kapok trees where some of the crew members had settled against the buttressing roots.

“Suse, you’d better take a look at this,” Erika Rhodes called, pointing to a broken section of two-by-four.

Susana’s heart sank.
Please let it be rot.

But no. The piece had been sawed through. “Maggoty son of a putrefied goat!” The collapse of the heavy canopy was the first act of sabotage that could have seriously hurt someone.

“Jim,” she pushed out between lips stiff with anger. “Where are Celio and Mateus?” The two guards didn’t seem to be having any luck at deterring or catching the guilty party.

Jim looked around and shrugged. “Probably down at the dock guarding the supplies as they’re unloaded.”

“I want you to work up a schedule for all of us to take turns patrolling the site. I’m not going to give our enemy another chance to hurt someone.” She stared off into the trees. “But I’m damn sure not going to run, either.” She’d dreamed of finding Amerinis since she’d first heard the stories of the city built by warrior women. Even if the television crew from the Adventure Channel wasn’t expected the day after tomorrow she still wouldn’t give in to the demands to leave. This dig was too important for her to tuck tail and run.

“Make certain those posts are bagged as evidence, then put them in my tent. And send two of the interns down to the supply boat. The captain should have that new load of timber we requested for shoring up the next phase of excavation. I want this canopy back up before dinner.” She glanced around the dig, wondering if the culprit was among her crew. Hoping her growing suspicions were wrong.

“I’ll tell the cook to prepare something special tonight in celebration. In the meantime, I’m going down to inventory the supply crates.” Turning away, Susana grabbed her sunglasses and hat from her tent, then strode down the path toward the river.

As she pushed through the thick jungle humidity, she jammed a wayward lock of long dark hair back under her hat and wiped her brow with her bandana. Even though her long-sleeved shirt and khaki pants were the latest in breathable material, they’d long since given up the fight against the water-logged air and clung to her sweaty skin like plastic wrap. The clothing designers wouldn’t be happy with her report, but she certainly wouldn’t be giving these new fabrics her endorsement.

As she rounded the bend, the camp’s temporary pier came into view. From this angle, it appeared the squat, heavy supply boat tied up at the dock was so crammed with crates it would take on water and sink at any moment. But that situation wouldn’t last long. The captain stood on deck, feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his thick chest, scowling as he supervised two interns unloading a stack of two-by-fours.

Susana glanced around, then frowned. Where were the damn guards?

“Got some damage on a crate,” the captain grumbled in Portuguese as she approached.

“Where?” she asked, walking up the warped piece of plywood that served as a gangplank.

He jabbed his thumb toward the back of the boat.

Following his direction, she moved past the cabin to a stack of crates draped with a canvas sheet. Lifting up the heavy covering, she gave the crates a quick once-over.

Huh. The six wooden crates appeared undamaged from the front. Maybe the damage was on the other side. She sidled between two crates, leaned slightly over the railing and turned her head to check the rear of the crates.

That was strange. The backs were also undamaged. Maybe these were the wrong crates. She straightened up.

Something hard slammed into the back of her head, knocking her stomach-first into the railing and driving the breath from her body. Another blow caused her vision to dim. Then a shove between her shoulder blades pushed her over the side.

She blacked out as the murky water closed over her head.

S
usana woke to a pounding headache. The fetid stench of unwashed clothes and rotten food assaulted her nose. Her lips curled, pulling against a tight cotton gag.

She tried opening her eyes, but her right lid was held closed by something sticky that extended down from her forehead. Blood?

She peered out of her left eye. Oh, man, this wasn’t good. Everything she saw was double.

She blinked several times, trying to align her vision. The floor tilted and Susana rolled several inches to her left. The motion set her stomach churning and sharpened the pain in her head.

Oh, God. She was going to be sick and her mouth was gagged. If she threw up now, she’d choke.

I won’t be sick. I won’t be sick. I WON’T.
Breathing shallowly through her nose, she tightened her throat against the bile that wanted to rise. Slowly, her stomach settled down, leaving her sweating. Dots danced across her vision in time to the percussion jamming inside her skull. A second later, she passed out again.

When she regained consciousness, she was alert enough to notice the hum of a motor. The sound of waves hitting wood. The low sound of male voices. She was on a boat.

What had happened? She remembered checking out the supply crates. Being hit. Falling into the river. Had the captain shoved her in then scooped her back out and locked her in his cabin?

Sweat had loosened the dried blood on her right lid enough to allow her to cautiously open both eyes. This time, her vision wasn’t so blurry.

She tried to sit up and discovered that her hands and feet were trussed with thin, bright yellow nylon cord. Twisting her wrists only drove the rope deeper into her skin, cutting her until she bled.

Bastard sons of piranhas, tying her up like an animal!
Once she got free she’d see that whoever had done this rotted in jail.

Taking a deep breath to cool her temper, she looked around.

Light snuck between paper thin cracks in rough plank walls and shone in a pale yellow rectangle through a small window propped open with a stick. Clothes lay scattered over every horizontal surface. Discarded plates of food sat rotting on a small table made of heavy wood. Six hammocks hung from the ceiling. A ladder-back chair lay upended under one hammock with a pair of muddy pants hanging off one leg.

Several iron gun hooks sat in a neat line above the door. Two hooks cradled a rifle. The other hooks were empty.

The room was too big to be the cabin on the supply boat. Which meant…what? Had she been kidnapped by the mystery person trying to shut down her dig? Had the captain or the interns been involved?

Betrayal formed a hard lump in her throat. She blinked back tears.
Buck up, girl. Worry about who did this to you and why after you get yourself free.

Using her elbows, she pushed to a sitting position. A section of damp hair fell across her face and she automatically tossed her head to clear it from her eyes. Then realization hit and she froze mid-motion.

Someone took out my braid.

Susana shook her head, confirming that her thick mass of hair was loose. She sank back on her heels, each possibility running through her head more frightening than the one before.

Had letting down her hair been part of some sick male fantasy? Had she been raped while she was unconscious?

She glanced down. Her shirt was buttoned and her pants zipped. Her waterlogged boots were still on her feet.

Most importantly, there was no ache between her legs or on her breasts.

Her breath whooshed out and her spine sagged in relief.

So. Her kidnappers had unbraided her hair, no easy task when wet. Why? Were they sex traffic slavers? Had someone sold her out? She’d heard that women with long, thick hair were more likely to be targets, although she couldn’t imagine anyone finding her hair attractive in its tangled, wet state.

To hell with that. She was not going to be sold as someone’s sex slave.

She struggled to her knees. By twisting her bound arms like a contortionist, she was able to search her pants pockets. Lip balm. Soggy tissues.

No pocket knife. No satellite phone.

Her eyes scanned the cabin for something sharp to cut through her bindings.

But although the men were undeniable slobs, they apparently weren’t stupid enough to leave a knife lying around.

Okay then. Maybe one of the walls or a piece of furniture had a loose nail.

She inched over the filthy floor, stopping to feel her surroundings for a sharp edge. Eventually she found the broken leg of a chair with a bent nail sticking out of it. She set to work sawing on her bindings, praying with each breath for the men to stay away just a little longer.

Just as the rope began to give, she heard a crash outside the cabin, followed by the sound of glass breaking. A man shouted, “Fire!” in Portuguese. The floorboards shook under the impact of running feet and smoke floated in through the open window.

This was her chance. Susana jerked her arms apart, breaking the last strands of rope joining her wrists. Bracelets of yellow cord still circled each wrist, but at least now she could move her hands freely. She yanked the gag out of her mouth, then tested the ropes at her feet. Damn. The tight knots would require too much time to work free, so she just hobbled over to the door.

Locked. But the window looked just wide enough to clear her hips.

She pushed one of the chairs into place, crawled onto it, then boosted herself up. A quick hop landed her stomach-down across the window sill. The pressure almost made her vomit, but she clamped her teeth onto her tongue and used the pain to focus her attention.

Up front, the men yelled at one another.

Using their voices as cover, Susana dropped to the deck.

Chapter 3

“A
migo, come look.”

Kai put down the rope he was coiling and walked to the front of the boat. The pilot Giovanni handed him binoculars and pointed at the stern of a retreating boat. Kai raised the glasses.

The boat was configured much as Kai’s was. Low hull. Central cabin. Pilot station in the bow.

The other pilot glanced frantically from the river in front of him to where a heavyset man in mismatched fatigues used a jacket to beat at pile of burning rags. The fire shifted sideways and engulfed a nearby crate. Another man grabbed the AK-47 propped against the cabin wall and pulled it out of the danger zone.

Mercenaries. As long as they were distracted by the fire, they wouldn’t be a problem.

Still, Kai quickly scanned the rest of the boat to see how many more men were on board. Two. Four. Six, counting the pilot.

“What the hell?” A female figure dangled half-way out the window at the back of the cabin. Long, dark hair cascaded to the deck, hiding her face.

She squirmed and fell, landing hard on her right shoulder. Kai winced in sympathy, then grinned as her hair slipped away to reveal her face.

Susana Dias. Well, hell. Looked like someone had beaten him to the scene. But Kai would be damned if he let them steal the lady away from him.

“Closer,” Kai ordered Giovanni as he shifted the binoculars to the activity at the other boat’s bow. A second man had joined the first and together they almost had the fire contained. Their focus remained forward, so they hadn’t yet noticed Susana’s actions.

“Come up behind them so the men won’t notice us.”

Giovanni grunted acknowledgment and kicked up the boat’s speed.

T
he pain from hitting the deck radiated from Susana’s shoulder into her neck and back. Her vision wavered. Her headache screamed. She closed her eyes and sucked air through her nose in rapid pants. It didn’t take long for fear to overwhelm the pain.

She had to get away.

Opening her eyes, she lifted her head to look around her. The low side of the boat was perhaps three feet to her left. Frantic curses still colored the air at the front of the boat, but she didn’t know how long her captors would stay distracted. She needed to get over the side and into the river before they spotted her. The current would move her far from the boat and hopefully spit her out at some safe distance.

A trip on the river couldn’t be worse than whatever her kidnappers had in store for her.

Not daring to stand up in case she drew the men’s attention, she turned onto her back, put her weight on her elbows and used her bound feet to propel her in a push, pull movement across the deck. Every few seconds she checked over her shoulder to judge her progress. Two feet to go.

Ignore the splinters tearing into her palms like hot needles.

One foot.

Pause for just a second so her burning muscles could rest.

Inches.

Made it!

The men were still yelling at each other. She grabbed the gunwale, bent over at the waist and let the weight of her upper body topple her into the water.

An instant before her head went underwater, she thought she heard a man shout.

K
ai watched Susana inch across the deck. From the awkward way she used her legs, he figured her feet were bound, and he felt a flare of anger over the idea of her being mishandled.

One of the mercenaries left the smoldering fire and rounded the corner of the cabin just as Susana’s feet disappeared over the side of the boat. Breaking into a run, the man shouted an alarm. When he reached the side of the boat his head moved back and forth as he searched for Susana in the water.