Heart of Fire (5 page)

"He's the type who wants to run the show," Rick said. "If half of what we heard about him is true, I guess he does what he damn well pleases."

She could tell that Rick had been impressed by this Lewis person. Her brother's taste had been frozen in mid-adolescence, however, so she decided to reserve judgment. Rick was impressed by any swaggering bully, believing machismo to be the essence of manhood. She began to lower her expectations of the guide they had hired.

At Rick's request, she was ready at six-thirty. She knew him well enough to realize he wished she were some sort of blond bombshell who was willing to use her body to dazzle and influence this man, who had somehow impressed him, but even if she were willing to bleach her hair she just didn't have the basic material to be a bombshell. One of the requirements was voluptuousness, and Jillian fell far short of that. She'd always been glad, too, because it looked like a lot of effort to haul around the large breasts that seemed to turn men into slavering idiots.

She was what she was: neat, trim, pleasant to look at but not a raving beauty. If anyone had asked her what her best feature was, she'd have said it was her brain.

As a concession to the heat, however, she wore a halter-top dress; it was, in fact, the only dress she had packed. Except for the skirt and blouse she had worn on the flight down, she'd brought only sturdy trousers, shirts, and boots.

During the taxi ride through Manaus with Rick and Kates she took the time to look around and admire what she saw. It was a beautiful city and she wished she had time to explore it, but then, she always felt that way. She never had enough time in the cities of today's world; her work was with those of past worlds—dead cities, burial grounds—trying to piece together the past so as to learn how those long-ago people had lived as well as how the human race had come to be in its present position. Archaeology tried to find the roadway humans had traveled to the present, and to learn how they had changed over the millennia. It was a puzzle she never tired of trying to solve.

The bar she and Rick and Kates stepped into wasn't the ritziest joint she had ever been in, but neither was it the worst. She took it in stride, even the way the men at the bar all turned to survey her with hooded eyes. Had she been alone she wouldn't have entered the place except in an emergency. Still, it was dim and blessedly cool and filled with the low hum of voices. The scents of alcohol, tobacco, and sweat swirled around with the lazy movements of the two ceiling fans.

She was flanked by Rick and Kates as they moved toward a table set against the wall, where a lone man lazed as if half asleep, an open bottle of whiskey in front of him. His appearance was deceptive, however. Even from beneath those half-lowered lids she could see intensity gleaming in his eyes. As they approached, he shoved out a chair with his foot and gave Jillian a look that had about as much in common with the looks from the men at the bar as a shark had in common with a trout. The men at the bar might have speculated, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. This man, in his mind, already had her stripped, spread-eagled, and penetrated, and didn't care if she knew it.

"Well," he drawled. "Hello there, sweetcakes. If you aren't taken, why don't you sit down over here by me?" He nodded at the chair he had just kicked out.

Now that they were closer, Jillian could see that his eyes were either blue or green; it was difficult to tell which in the dim light. He was darkly tanned, but his jaw had the freshly scraped look of a man who had just shaved. His hair was dark and too long, hanging over his collar at the back of his neck and almost touching his shoulders. His clothes, though clean, were badly wrinkled and well worn; he had the unselfconscious air of a man who didn't give a damn how his clothes looked.

Without even a flicker of an eyelash to indicate that his blatant once-over had discomfited her, she pulled out her own chair and sat down, ignoring the one he had kicked out.

"I'm Jillian Sherwood," she said in a cool tone, instinctively refusing to let him know that he had ruffled her. She wasn't even certain why he had bothered, since God and everyone else with eyes could see that she wasn't anything special. Some men, however, felt compelled to make a play for every woman who entered their vicinity.

"Ah, hell. You're married."

"She's my sister," Rick said. "This is Lewis, our guide."

Ben lifted his eyebrows as he looked at her. "Sister? So why are you along?"

Jillian's eyebrows mirrored his. Surely Rick and Kates had told him something about the expedition. Absently she noticed that Rick had been right about the southern accent. Aloud she said, "I'm the archaeologist."

He gave her a pleasant smile that still managed to be dismissive. "You can't go," he said.

Jillian remained cool. "Why not?"

Mild surprise reflected in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected a protest. He slowly sipped at his whiskey as he studied her. "Too damn dangerous," he finally said.

Rick and Kates had both taken seats by then. Rick cleared his throat, and Ben looked at him. "It's not that simple," Rick said.

"I don't see what's complicated about it. I don't take women inland. End of discussion."

"Then it's evidently the end of your employment, too," Jillian murmured, her composure intact. She had met chauvinistic jerks like him before, and she wasn't about to get ruffled by this one.

"Oh?" He didn't seem perturbed. "How's that?"

"She has to go," Rick interjected, and scowled at his sister. This was a sore point with him. "She's the only one who knows where we're going."

Ben looked unimpressed. "So she can tell us and then we'll all know, and she can toddle on back to the hotel like a good little girl and leave the rough stuff to us."

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own weight," Jillian said calmly. "And the decision isn't yours whether I go or not. I'm going. All you have to decide is if you want the job or if someone else gets the money."

Kates had said the same thing, but Ben realized Jillian Sherwood meant it. She didn't care if he backed out.

He leaned forward and propped an elbow on the table, cupping his chin in his palm as he looked at her. "Sweetcakes, if you think this is going to be a romantic adventure, you're dead wrong. There's no way I'm taking a woman on a two- or three-month trek into that part of the jungle."

She looked amused. "Protecting the little woman?"

"You got it, honey. In my opinion, there isn't enough prime pussy in the world as it is, and a man needs to protect the supply."

He was being deliberately crude, hoping she'd get huffy and tell him she wouldn't walk across the street with a jerk like him, but again she didn't even blink. Her face was as calm and blank as a statue's; even the expression in her eyes was shielded. "If I don't go," she said, "the expedition's off.

At least as far as you're concerned. As I said, if you want to throw away the fee, that's fine with me. There are other guides."

There were, but none he'd trust with a lone woman for that long a time. He doubted her brother could be counted on to keep her safe. He decided to try another tack, one that was bluntly truthful. "Honey, you don't want to spend two months inland—"

"On the contrary, that's exactly what I want to do. I'm not a stranger to archaeological expeditions, Mr. Lewis. I'm used to bugs and snakes and being dirty, to bad food and bruises. I can walk all day and carry a hundred pounds doing it. I can shoot my own food if necessary, stitch up a cut, and use a machete."

He placed his free hand over his heart. "My God, the perfect woman."

She gave him a cool look but didn't snap at his bait. He leaned back in his chair and studied her with narrowed eyes. He'd really only given her a cursory inspection before, enough to know that she wasn't his type despite his automatic raunchy remarks, but she was becoming more interesting by the moment. Her cool composure made him want to do something that would
really
rattle her, like pull her onto his lap and kiss her until some of the stiffness left that backbone.

At second look she still wasn't anything outstanding, except for the intelligence in her eyes. God save him from intelligent women; they
thought
too much, instead of just following their instincts. She was pretty enough but not flashy, just a rather lean, smallish woman with sleek dark brown hair and regular features. She was wearing a neat but unremarkable dress that managed not to be sexy even though it was a halter-top. Even worse, she revealed absolutely no awareness of him as a man. He was accustomed to all women being aware of him, even if they weren't receptive, but Ms. Sherwood appeared not to have an active hormone in her body. Dead from the neck down, as the saying went. Pity.

On the other hand, if she could walk all day while carrying a heavy pack, then that trim body was probably all taut, finely tuned muscle. He had a sudden image of strong, slim thighs wrapped around his hips and, to his surprise, felt an answering tension in his groin. He'd left Theresa asleep in her tumbled bed, exhausted from an afternoon of rather vigorous sex, and he'd returned to the bar feeling completely satisfied. His penis, however, seemed to have a different opinion. Well, the damn thing had never had any sense anyway. No matter how firm and tight she was, he didn't want Ms. Archaeologist Sherwood along on his trek.

"Let me get this straight," he drawled. "You want to be the only woman alone with a group of men for a couple of months?"

"Sex doesn't enter into it, Mr. Lewis."

"The hell it doesn't. Men get into fights over women every day, all over the world."

"How silly of them."

"Yeah, I've always thought so, but face the facts: if you're the only woman, then you pretty well have the monopoly, and men get a little crazy when it's around and they don't have any."

She gave him an ironic look. "I won't be prancing around in negligees, Mr. Lewis, and I'm prepared to defend myself. I would also expect you to hire people who arent rapists."

Rick and Kates had been sitting silently while she and Lewis battled, Rick looking uneasy and Kates merely looking bored. But Kates sat forward now. "This is pointless," he said. "She has to go. Do you want the job, Lewis, or not?"

Ben thought about it. He didn't need the money or the hassle. He could tell them to find someone else; then he could spend the next few weeks resting and banging Theresa, just as he'd planned. On the other hand, his instincts were telling him that something was going on, that though
she
was on the level, these other two were working their own deal, and he wanted to know what it was. He smelled money, a lot of it. He had a few scruples, but they seldom got in the way of making money, certainly not when it came to perhaps conning a couple of con men.

"All right," he said abruptly. "I'll do it. Let's get this figured out." He slugged back a hefty swallow of whiskey and gave his full attention to the business at hand. Laying in supplies for a long trek into the interior was serious stuff and had to be carefully calculated. How many people were involved? How far were they going? How long did they expect to stay once they got there? He always took extra supplies in case something went wrong, which always happened—he had to plan for all possibilities.

He pulled out a map and spread it on the table, a larger and much more detailed map than the one the men had produced earlier. "Okay, show me where we're going."

Jillian leaned over and drew a large circle with her forefinger. "This general area."

He looked at her as if she were crazy. The area she had indicated covered thousands of square miles. "Shit, if you don't have a better idea than that where we're going, we're likely to wander around for months without finding what you're looking for, and that's not an area where we can stroll at our leisure. It's uncharted territory, sweetcakes. Nobody knows what the hell is in there. If any white men have gone in, they haven't come out."

She remained unruffled. "We'll have to work out the exact course en route, Mr. Lewis."

"Well, I can't lay in supplies
en route
," he drawled with almost visible sarcasm. "I have to know beforehand where I'm going."

She leaned forward and tapped a spot on the map beyond the area she had indicated before. "Then get sufficient supplies to last us to this point, and that will be more than enough."

He showed his teeth, but not in a smile. "We have to
carry
the goddamn supplies. The more we have to carry, the longer the trip will take. The longer it takes, the more stuff we'll need. Is any of this making sense, sweetcakes?"

"I'm sure you'll find a satisfactory median."

"A median isn't what would give me satisfaction right now." Throttling her struck him as a damn satisfactory idea. Or climbing on top of her. He was definitely getting hard. Arguing with a woman had never caused that response before; it must be true that a man couldn't resist a challenge from a woman, and Ms. Jillian Sherwood was a challenge from head to foot.

"Then you'll have to do as you think best," she said blandly. "I've given you all the information I can."

Or would. He suspected she knew a hell of a lot more than she was telling, but none of it was given away by those cool green eyes. He wondered why their destination was so all-fired secret that she hadn't even told her brother. On second thought, he decided that he wouldn't share any valuable information with Rick Sherwood either, especially when he had friends like Steven Kates. Maybe Ms. Sherwood was even smarter than he'd thought. But just what the hell did she think she was going to do when they got to wherever she wanted to go? Stand guard twenty-four hours a day?

He dropped the subject, knowing she wasn't going to say anything else in front of the other two. She didn't trust
him
either, come to that. Definitely a smart woman. If he had to be honest with himself, which he usually was, he had to admit that she was right in that, too. If she let her guard down just a fraction, he'd have her drawers off before she knew the game was going on, much less that she'd lost it. Since she insisted on going with them, he'd have a couple of months to work on her, and he had no doubt about the success of his seduction plans.

Who knows, if he sweet-talked her just right, she might even tell him what she was looking for. If whatever was in the jungle was so valuable to her, well, hell, it would be valuable to him, too. A man never had too much money. Ben had a few limits as to what he'd do to get it, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to seize every opportunity that presented itself.

He made arrangements to meet them the following day for his advance payment as well as the money he would need to start laying in supplies and hiring porters. Now that the decision was made, he was ready to get on with it.

"Did you have to come on like such a bitch?" Rick asked resentfully when they were back at the hotel.

Jillian sighed. She was tired, and dealing with Ben Lewis had just about used up her store of patience. "I was more polite than he was."

"You were throwing your weight around, making a point of showing him that the big-shot archaeologist is the one calling the shots."

Big-shot? She almost laughed aloud. Her professional prestige was almost nil; if the foundation had had any respect for her or confidence in her opinion, she wouldn't have been forced to deal with roughnecks like their guide. But Rick had always been jealous of the fact that she had followed in their father's footsteps, and he was quick to flare up at any perceived slight.

"I wasn't throwing my weight around. I was just letting him know that he can't intimidate me. And anyway, I don't think he's such a good choice. He was drinking this afternoon when you saw him, he was drinking tonight, and he's probably been drinking every minute in between. A sot isn't our best bet."

"So now you want to run this part of it, too?" Rick sneered.

It was difficult, but she held on to her temper. Maybe she did so out of guilt, because she knew the professor had preferred her over her brother. She couldn't help feeling sorry for Rick, though at the same time she had to fight her impatience with him. Whatever was wrong with his life was always someone else's fault, and usually she was the someone else.

"What I want," she snapped, "is to find the Anzar city and clear Dad's name. And I think we'd have a better chance of doing that if our guide is at least sober."

He scowled at her. "I suppose you think I don't care about Dad's name? He was my father too, you know."

She did know it. No matter how angry Rick made her, she never forgot that he really had loved the professor. That more than anything was what kept her from writing him out of her life.

"Let's forget about it, okay?" Kates cut in. "We're all tired. I know Lewis looks and talks rough, but his reputation is the best. I'll see him tomorrow and tell him to lay off the sauce. Why don't we call it a night?"

His tone was soothing, the peacemaker at work, but his cold eyes signaled a warning to Rick. Jillian saw it, though she pretended not to. Kates worked hard at presenting an innocuous front, but she couldn't quite buy it, maybe because the eyes never fit the image. Because it suited her to cut the conversation short before it degenerated into a real fight, she murmured good night and went into her room.

Kates jerked his head at Rick, and the two men went down the hall to their own rooms. "Don't get her back up," Kates warned. "If she decides to cut a separate deal, we're left out in the cold with nothing for our trouble."

Rick turned sulky, as he always did in the face of criticism. "She's not going to cut any deals with Lewis," he muttered. "She can't stand him."

"Lewis isn't the only guide. If she convinces someone else that those jewels are really there, they might get the financing and go after the treasure on their own. Try to keep your temper under control, at least until we're on our way and there's nothing she can do about it."

"All right, all right. That attitude of hers just pisses me off."

Kates managed a tight smile. "Just think of the money." Kates himself couldn't think about anything else; it was the only reason he was there. He was out of familiar territory and didn't like it at all, but was willing to do whatever it took to get those jewels. When Rick had first come to him with a wild story about his old man finding a lost city with a fortune in gems just waiting for whoever got there first, he'd wondered what kind of ha-ha powder Sherwood was taking. But Rick had had details, enough that Kates had begun to realize he was dead serious.

He was desperate enough to jump at the chance to involve himself; he needed money, lots of it. He was literally at the end of his rope, jumping at every unexpected noise. His last big shipment of coke had been seized by the police. They hadn't been able to nail him, but the cops were the least of his worries. He owed millions to the people who had fronted him the money for that coke shipment, money that would have been earned back several times over if he'd been able to get the coke on the street, and his creditors were tired of waiting for him to make good on the debt. Those people made the cops look like Mister Rogers.