Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) (16 page)

“The journey of a thousand miles and all that,” Mart said, reaching into the bowl of cashews again.

Another rumble of thunder filled the air around us. I darted a glance at the clock I could just see in the kitchen. Would we have to wait out the storm here before heading back on the minibike?

“I’d like to hear more about animal trafficking and its tie to drug trafficking,” Mart said. “Are you aware of specifics? Any details you can share? I have a good reason for asking.”

It took Mart a good five minutes to tell the tale of Tommy Mendoza and the suspected drug smuggling on zoo trips, and even I was surprised by the end.

“So just this morning we were in a cave with evidence of human and animal occupation,” Mart concluded. “And it made me wonder, just for an instant, if the feds need to expand what they’re looking for.” It was his turn to raise his eyebrows at me.

The shiver that crawled from my neck to the small of my back had nothing to do with another sudden flash of lightning. It had everything to do, however, with the memory of my fall down the temple steps and that wild dash through the forest earlier in the day. The face of my attacker flashed before me and I widened my eyes.

“You mean Tommy Mendoza’s drug smuggling turned into — or included — animal smuggling, too? While he was working at the zoo? While the zoo was sending him here on these educational junkets?” I asked. “But, that’s monstrous!” My hand flew up to cover my mouth. I’d wake little Teresa if I didn’t keep my voice down.

“Is that what you’re suggesting, Mart?” Ricardo asked.

“Suggesting. Wondering. Proposing. None of the above?” Mart shrugged his shoulders. “Certainly I’d never had the thought before today, to my shame.” He reached up to rub at his jaw. “I feel now like the idea should have at least crossed my mind!”

Ricardo reached across the space between them and gave Mart a hearty slap on the knee. “Do not beat yourself up about it, old man. Good people can’t always imagine one horrific crime, let alone two.”

“Let alone one like that!” I said. “To use zoo treks to smuggle — what? Animals? Animal parts? Or both?” I shook my head. “You’re blowing my mind here.”

“A gruesome irony, to be sure,” Ricardo agreed. “If it’s true.”

“How will we know?” I asked.

“How will we prove it?” Mart clarified. He looked to Ricardo. “I know you have experience rescuing animals from bad situations. Any experience with types like these? Criminal types?”

In answer, our host lifted his shirt, revealing a long, shiny scar running from his ribcage down to the drawstring on his shorts.

“Just a bit,” he said with a grin at our startled expressions. Letting the fabric drop, he said, “It looks worse than it is. We were confiscating some exotics — with the blessing of the law, I will add — and the owner of the facility was reluctant, shall we say, to relinquish control. It got a bit messy.” Another smile. “But it did leave me with a story to tell. And best of all, the animals were removed to safety.”

Mart swiped a hand over his mouth. “I’m glad the federal authorities are already on board with us.”

“Tell them all your thoughts, Mart. And be careful who you trust. Think before you act. Think before you speak. Remember,” Ricardo pointed a finger in emphasis, “your main purpose, where you will be the most useful, is helping get animals out of danger and to your sanctuary. No one can do it but you. You know you feel that’s so, here.” He clenched a fist, held it against his chest.

This man was a powerful speaker. So full of quiet confidence, exuding strength and determination. Looking from him to Mart, I saw the similarities in their expressions and knew it mirrored their commitment to, well, to changing a bit of the world.

Ricardo broke the tension in the room by rising. “I have something for you,” he said, crossing the room to a desk off in a corner. The drawer gave a squeak as he opened it and removed something small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “I’ve put together a list of contacts and background information on this,” he said, handing Mart a flash drive. “Basically, it’s a road map to everything I’ve learned on this journey to sanctuary. You may find it helpful.”

Mart took the drive as if it were made of gold. To him, I knew, it was just as valuable.

“Thanks. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.”

Ricardo nodded. “Please do. And I’ll be watching for your articles, Allison,” he added.

My fingers tingled, wanting to type, to do my part, as I saw it. “May I e-mail you if I hit a snag and need an answer?”

“Of course.” He turned back to the desk and retrieved a business card.

I tucked it into my pocket with thanks.

Taking a look out the window, our host gave us the boot. “I don’t mean to rush you along, Mart, but if you want to beat this storm, you’d better head back.” His eyes went again to the clouds and he assessed. “I’d say you’ve got about fifteen minutes.”

“Will do.”

Ricardo stood in the doorway as we climbed on the minibike, waving as the engine roared to life and we pulled off, into the night.

Pressing my cheek against Mart’s back I held on tight. No one had patched any of the potholes in the hour we’d been gone. If anything, they felt deeper now. I could see Mart’s face in the tiny mirror attached to one handlebar. His lips were tight with concentration and I wondered if he was thinking about all Ricardo had told us or just on getting back to our lodgings before the storm hit.

Off to my right, flashes of lightning put on a show obscured by tumbling clouds. The first drops of rain hit just as we gained the main road.

“That wasn’t fifteen minutes,” I said in the direction of Mart’s ear and felt him chuckle.

“I’ll be able to put the pedal to the metal now,” he said. When I instinctively stiffened, he laughed again. “Only kidding. There’s no speeding on roads like these.”

The rain peppered our path, at first, but I knew that was merely the preamble to a big storm. And sure enough, just as the lights of the resort came in view the sky opened up. It was like standing under a faucet, the rain coming down hard and heavy. I pressed tighter against Mart, as if he offered some protection from the storm.

The wheels of the bike skidded coming out of one depression in the road and we lurched sideways. I would have let out a scream, but there wasn’t time. Mart twisted the handlebars, put a foot down, twisted us back the other way.

Eventually, as we wheeled into the covered rental area of the resort, I let out the breath I’d been holding and released my death grip on Mart’s shirt. When he climbed off the bike, I could see the crumpled mass of fabric around his waist, evidence of my tightened grasp. He helped me off then gave a smile to the attendant as he handed over the keys.

Turning to me he said, “Ready to sprint?”

The rain poured down undiminished. My little hut at the end of the row looked a very long way away across the sand. But I wasn’t made of sugar and my adrenaline was high from the tension-filled travel.

“Race you!” Without looking, knowing he would take up the chase, I dashed out into the storm. My feet slapped against the sand in steady cadence. I could hear Mart just behind me as another rumble of thunder vibrated the air all around us. For a while it seemed I was running without making progress. The hut stayed just as far away, but then time caught up and we were side by side, chasing down the last few yards.

He laughed as we clattered up onto the tiny porch, stretching out an arm to touch the door first. “Ha!” he said. “I win!”

My breath came fast, my heart thumping. From the race? Or from the fact that he stood so very close and was so very wet and looked so very, very good that way.

“Claim your prize,” I said and saw his eyes darken.

He dipped his head. I kept my eyes open until I felt his mouth warm on mine. The kiss lasted through the fumble over the threshold, into the room. I ran my hands up the soaking wet fabric of his shirt, cupped the back of his head in my palm, marveling at the jolt of desire surging through me.

His hands traveled down, leaving their own burning caress. My clothes were as wet as his, I could tell. Not only from the way they clung to my body, but also from the way he looked as he stepped back, sweeping his eyes over me. He made a sound like a cat’s purr.

I intercepted his hand when it moved toward the buttons on my blouse.

“Is this all right?” I asked, a bit later than I should have. At his puzzled look, I hurried on. “I don’t want to step on any toes. You know, you and Ishani.”

Mart frowned. “Ishani? Why would — ” he broke off, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about Ishani. You are definitely not stepping on anyone’s toes.” He moved closer.

I moved back, my hand on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s nothing. Nothing special.”

“Does she know that?” I had to know.

He gave a laugh. “She told me,” he said. “Allison, trust me.”

Some women might have hesitated even then. Might have waited, questioning. Might have turned away, uncertain.

But I, well, I gave my trust.

Chapter Nineteen

Chug. Chug. Chug. The noise of the boat’s engine filled the air around us. It was the afternoon of the next day and our group was scheduled for a ride in a glass-bottom boat. The sun was shining high in the blue, blue sky and the turquoise water of the sea made the scene a tropical paradise.

Leaning back against the side of the boat, I inhaled a deep breath of fresh, clean air.

Mart, sitting beside me clad only in a pair of plaid swimming trunks, grinned. The engine racket made it difficult to talk so we contented ourselves with warm glances.

As we’d waited to board the vessel, Mart had taken the time to find Clark, giving him a news flash from my morning’s e-mail. I’d gotten the okay from my magazine to do a series on zoos upon our return.

Clark hadn’t looked pleased at the news, keeping his face stiff and immobile. Then, he had nodded and beamed in his best public relations fashion. “We’ll be seeing plenty of you, then,” he said. “I’m sure Mart will keep an eye on you, Allison.” His eyes traveled swiftly from Mart to me. “He seems to be doing plenty of that already.”

“I’m looking forward to the assignment,” I said rapidly. “It’s a great opportunity.”

“Well, good luck with it.” Clark gave a brief salute and moved off.

“Don’t mind him,” Mart remarked. “He’s awfully … distracted lately.”

“Truer words,” I agreed, lifting my eyebrows.

Clark wasn’t distracted now, however, as he stood near the glass panels cut in the floor of the boat. As trekkers took turns leaning over to view the magnificent spectacle of underwater life, he regaled us with facts, figures, and plenty of anecdotes.

During the week, he’d tanned to a smooth, even brown and, as he laughed, his teeth flashed white in a bright, seemingly carefree smile.

The boat anchored off the coast and, once the engine had stopped, the sound of the waves slapping the side of the craft beat a rhythmic tattoo.

Mart and I shared a window to the depths, our shoulders touching as we gazed deep into the water. A few minutes of that proved to be enough for him.

“C’mon, let’s swim!” he suggested, pointing at several of our fellow tourists bobbing in the surf.

We were moving to the ladder at the side of the boat when one of the crew hauled up a net containing several starfish. He held it aloft and caught the attention of the group.

Mart froze and I nearly collided with him. “Just a minute,” he told me and strode rapidly over to the net.

“Folks,” he called out, “in the bad old days, this gentleman might be offering up these beautiful starfish for us to take home as souvenirs.” He pointed at the net filled with the golden sea creatures. “He would also have known how to inject them with formaldehyde and kill them so they died with their arms straight. The better to sit solidly on our coffee tables back home.” He beamed a smile which contrasted his harsh words, letting a poignant silence grow.

Even the crew member was stunned into silence, watching Mart carefully as the net dripped water onto the deck. The tour group was listening with rapt attention, all eyes riveted on that net, dangling heavy with the stacked starfish.

“Even now, these creatures are destined to be on live display for an afternoon or a day or a week. But since our purpose on this trip is to learn about conservation and protecting our natural resources, we’ll just return these animals to their home,” Mart went on, taking the net from the seaman. Walking to the side of the boat, he lowered it, depositing the starfish back in the water.

I started the applause which followed this compassionate gesture. Sudden tears filled my eyes when Mart brought the net up empty.

“Good work, Mart,” Dan called out, making a thumbs up motion which several others repeated.

Humble, Mart bobbed his head in acknowledgment then returned to my side.

“That was a noble thing to do,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder.

“No, it wasn’t,” he told me. “It was the only thing to do.” His cheeks were still flushed with anger as he bent and stretched, pushing off of the boat and arching gracefully out over the water. He entered with barely a splash and popped up a few seconds later, shaking his head like a dog.

I shucked out of my shorts and t-shirt, stripping down to my swimsuit beneath. Then, grasping my nose firmly, I stepped off into the water. As the sea swallowed me up, I had to stifle a giggle. Not for the first time on the trip, I was truly in over my head.

• • •

“So far today, I’ve been on terra firma and under the sea. Now, this!” I gestured at the helicopter sitting at the ready, just waiting for us.

The hour-long tour of Belize from the air came as an expensive option on this trip. Lucky for me, the
Breeze
had popped for it. I’d never been in a helicopter before and while it had all the unattractive aspects of plane travel — up high, close quarters, and no escape — it was only for an hour or so and I was sure the views would be well worth it. With only four passengers, we’d all have a window seat.

Back at the resort, I’d found our traveling companions were to be Jen and Elaine. They led the way to where the helicopter sat in the exact middle of a big circular target.