Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) (6 page)

I watched him leave, puzzling over his abrupt departure. He’d seen something he didn’t like. But what? None of my business, I knew, and certainly nothing to do with my magazine article. And yet, I was intrigued.

I couldn’t very well follow him, though. He’d already disappeared across the way. Opening my guidebook, I readied my camera and began exploring.

• • •

A short time later, I plunked myself onto the low stone steps near an area that must have served as an arena. It felt good to sit down, even if it was in the sun.

“Heat getting to you?” Dan Underwood asked, climbing slowly up to flop down nearby. He lifted his hat, swabbed his brow with a handkerchief and sighed. His face was red and glowing with the beginning of sunburn.

“It’s warm, all right,” I agreed. “Where’s Elaine?”

Dan pointed a chubby finger at the Temple of the Giant Jaguar. “Climbing.”

“All the way up?” I was astounded. It seemed like quite a feat for the tiny little woman to attempt.

“Oh, yes. She’s a heck of a gal. A real adventurer. You gonna try?”

I hadn’t planned on it. It was so high, the steps were so narrow.

“Maybe,” I said, surprising myself. I looked at the temple, at all the others scrambling up and down. “Probably.”

“Well, good luck.” He leaned back against the next step. “If you see Elaine, tell her where to find me.”

“Okay.” I hitched my pack firmly onto my shoulder.

Setting off toward the temple at a leisurely rate, I realized I was not very far from where Mart had headed. My steps paused then stopped, and I considered the jungle just beyond. What had he seen? Who? I hadn’t encountered Mart since he’d walked off. Hadn’t noticed him milling around the area either.

Looking both ways, as if someone would see me veering off and call me back, I moved into the forest.

Chapter Seven

There was no clearly etched path here. The ground was covered with plants and fallen greenery, which ants would scavenge. Far from silent, the forest seemed still as I crept along. Feeling foolish, I glanced at my watch. Five minutes. If I didn’t see someone or something in five minutes, I’d head right back.

I didn’t have to wait that long.

Surrounded by the sounds of nature, the sounds of man stood out, ringing through the air like an alarm. I heard the jangle of keys or something metallic and the unmistakable sound of laughter.

A huge tree with buttressed roots was just in front of me and I slipped behind it, resting my palms against its trunk. It was difficult to see through the dense foliage, but some judicious bobbing and weaving brought my quarry into view.

Standing about twenty feet in front of me were Clark Webster and a man I’d never seen before. A native of the country, that man wore traditional Guatemalan dress — bright colors rivaling the plumage of the birds I’d seen earlier. Clark was smiling and nodding, clapping the other man on the shoulder with enthusiasm.

“It went well, then?” he asked and again I caught that slight accent in his voice.

“Yes. It is done.”

“Good, good. And next week?”

“We are ready.” The Guatemalan’s English was accented, too.

Slowly, silently, I raised my camera from where it hung around my neck. My hands shook as I lifted it into position. I had no idea what I was witnessing. I only knew I wanted to capture it.

Just as the shutter clicked, my pack slipped off my shoulder, smacking against the tree trunk with a notable thud. Both men froze and I dropped down low so they wouldn’t spot me. Clark muttered a few words in Spanish and the underbrush rustled as they hurriedly parted.

I stayed where I was, crouched among the plants, barely breathing, for a full five minutes. Apparently, Clark wasn’t going to investigate.

Moving swiftly, I retraced my steps and emerged into the clearing of the Great Plaza, not far from where I’d left it. A row of stone monuments stood just before me and I took a moment to lean against the closest one. My hand rested in a protective fashion against the camera around my neck as I scanned the groups of people nearby, anxious to locate Clark.

When I spotted him, he was standing in a cluster of tourists and seemed to be giving an impromptu lecture. He turned, extending an arm to gesture at the stelae. Was it my imagination or did his eyes rest on me too long? Did he pause for an instant in his oratory, or was it just my guilty conscience?

Casually, I moved away, snapping a few pictures and waiting for his hand to land on my shoulder. But there was no way he could know it was me in the woods. And why would he care if I took his picture, anyway?

I puzzled over what I’d seen as I headed toward the looming temple, but when I approached it, the imposing structure demanded all my attention.

How tall it was! The stones were black and gray and white with steep narrow steps cut in the front leading up, up, up. At the top was a three-roomed chamber where rituals had been held all those years ago. An arched carved piece, called a roof comb according to the guidebook, topped the pyramid off.

A little boy of seven or eight brushed past me in a hurry and proceeded to scale the steps like a mountain goat. Unafraid, he scampered quickly to the top, turning to wave and shout at his parents, down on terra firma next to me. When that couple began the climb at a more sedate pace, I followed, shucking my arm through the other strap of my pack and settling it between my shoulder blades.

Hand over hand I started up, clasping the steps above for balance. Each step was only five inches wide, so I was forced to turn sideways to advance. Is this how the Mayans climbed, I wondered, breathing heavy and falling behind the other couple. Or were their feet smaller than ours? Now, there was a question for the zoo director, I thought, stowing the idea in a mental file.

My pack kept bumping into my back at each step and I wished it wasn’t so large. Its cumbersome weight made my balance precarious. I was only about twenty feet up, but it felt like more with nothing around me but blue sky.

The rocks were rough to the touch, chipped and worn in spots over the centuries. Gamely, I continued climbing. The steps were wide enough to permit others to pass me quite easily, and several folks already had when I heard steps approaching behind me. I moved closer to the far side of the steps, out of the way, my eyes still on the step just above me. This time, though, the climber didn’t go around but hit me straight on, colliding roughly with my shoulder. The next few seconds happened in slow motion, the way car accidents always do.

The bump threw me off balance and I leaned to the left, rough stone digging into my palm. I made a grab for the climber’s bare ankle as I tried to keep my footing, but I missed and those narrow steps did me in — once one foot slipped off, the other followed almost immediately.

I pitched forward, into the steps, my right hand grasping at stone, my left scraping roughly as it dragged against the edge of the step. My upper body hit each surface with a thud and my brain dimly registered the noise my camera made as it, too, clunked along.

I only fell about ten feet, I realized later, but it was ten very agonizing feet. By some miracle, I managed to get both hands clasped around a protruding bit of stone, the heavy bulk of my stupid backpack making the motion both awkward and treacherous. Then, I stretched my toes out behind me, feeling for the next step. Once I found it, I planted my other foot firmly beside it, taking deep, calming breaths and holding on for dear life. I had barely reached this position — bent over to form the letter “C” — when two firm hands found me, coming rapidly around my waist.

“Are you okay?”

It was Mart. My hero, about ten seconds too late.

I nodded, shaking, and he steadied me on the steps. “Did you see what happened? Someone smacked into me!” I was indignant now that the danger had passed. “I could have been killed!”

He agreed solemnly. “Whoever hit you was certainly careless. This is no place for rough-housing. Did you see who it was?”

“Not really. Bare legs and sandals. Then, just — boom! — and I was falling.”

Shielding his eyes, Mart looked up the stairway. Several people had paused to watch me tumble, but there were at least a dozen people on the steps. Plenty more at the top. “Everyone’s got bare legs and sandals,” he said. “I wish I’d been paying more attention. We’ll probably never know who hit you.”

“Right now, I don’t even care,” I said. “Just get me off this thing.”

“Sure.” He held out his hand. “I’ll spot you. I’m right here.”

Under his watchful eye, and knowing his arms were there to catch me, I limped slowly down the remaining ten feet of stone and reached earth with quivering knees. Mart pushed me gently onto the grass and sat beside me, holding my hands and turning them palm side up.

“Whew!” He let out a whistle and I winced at the sight of scraped and bloody skin. “Ouch,” he said. “That must hurt. Do you have any disinfectant in here?” He indicated my backpack.

I nodded. “There’s a first aid kit. I always carry it everywhere, but I’ve never needed it until now,” I babbled as he rummaged.

“Well, that’s smart thinking, Allison.” Mart opened the kit. “You’re pretty resourceful, aren’t you?”

I knew he was trying to distract me as he dabbed on the lotion. When it hit the damaged skin, I let out a hiss of pain and then the worst was over. After the injuries had been cleaned up, they really weren’t too bad. I’d skinned my knee and rapped an ankle, but those aches were minor.

“You’ll be stiff for a few days and these’ll be bruised, too,” Mart told me, indicating my hands. “All in all, though, I’d say you were very lucky.”

“I could have been killed!” I repeated, more convinced of it now than ever.

“No, Allison. I would have caught you. I saw you start up the steps and decided to tag along. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there a few minutes earlier to prevent the accident.”

I gave an unladylike snort. “You and me both, pal.”

He smiled. “Do you wish you’d stayed at home?”

“No.” My answer came fast and unwavering. I paused, took a breath. Now that I was on terra firma and safe, I could focus a bit better. “It’s been thrilling here — and amazing,” I told him. He nodded, smiling, as I went on, “And I’ve already done plenty of thinking about the jungle. You know, what the average person can do to help save it. I’m planning to stress that in my articles, too.”

His smile faded and he lifted broad shoulders in a shrug. “Well, I’m glad you think it helps … . Have you seen the building they call the Acropolis yet?” When I shook my head, he said, “Then, if you’re up to it, come on.”

He rose, towering over me, and extended his hands. I took them gingerly and he pulled me up. Shucking my backpack onto his shoulder, he led the way. I couldn’t help looking over my own shoulder at the temple.

“I could have been killed!” I muttered, turning quickly away.

Mart’s bright chatter didn’t pause as we crossed the plaza. For him, the incident was over. I knew I’d relive it in nightmares for a long time to come.

Chapter Eight

At the end of the long afternoon, our group assembled at the foot of the temple as planned and retraced our steps back through the forest to the museum.

All the trekkers looked tired and sweaty, hair straggling, noses sunburned, skin glowing. Still, happy and excited conversation filled the humid air.

My scraped knee was beginning to ache and I walked along silently, content to enjoy the high spirits of the others. The way back seemed shorter and, before we knew it, the museum and SUVs came into view.

I didn’t relish the idea of another ride with the Websters, especially after seeing Clark in such mysterious circumstances.

Determined not to end up in their SUV, I elbowed my way up to another and climbed in, looking around at Jen, Alan and Maria. Watching the other vehicles load up, I saw Mart join a group nearby. I had to stifle a laugh when the Underwoods got aboard the Websters’s SUV.

Oh, what a ride they’ll have
, I thought, picturing the pair arguing good-naturedly or just talking, talking, talking. I hoped Sylvia had some headache pills along because she was going to need them.

• • •

Hours later, I took the elevator to my room and indulged in a long soak, lying back among the bubbles and letting my mind wander. When the water grew cold, I scurried into bed, expecting to sleep soundly. But slumber was fitful that night.

I dreamt of the jungle, of birds swooping low over my head, screeching in my ear. I dreamt of the temple and the fall I’d taken. In this version, I was much higher up, near the top, falling straight out, arms spread wide, screeching like the birds. I woke with a jolt and a whimper, not sure where I was or why my heart was pounding. Sitting up in bed, I pushed my hair out of my eyes and blinked.

The room was dark and silent. It was well after midnight. Moonlight filtered through the window across the room, throwing silvery slats of light against the wall. The shadows of trees swaying in the courtyard beyond loomed and receded with each gust of air.

My own breath sounded harsh to my ears and it took me a moment to collect my wits, taking deep breaths to banish the horrific images of my dream.

Lifting off the light cotton sheet, I made a trip to the bathroom, rinsing my face with cool water and staring at my haggard reflection in the mirror. Before returning to bed, I double-checked the lock on my door. It was bolted fast. Sinking back against the pillow, I tried to think calming thoughts. I closed my eyes experimentally and they stayed that way.

• • •

I couldn’t tell you what woke me a while later. If it was another dream, I forgot it upon waking. I knew instantly where I was, this time, and I also knew I wasn’t alone. Lying in bed on this endless night, I froze, my body stiffening. I held my breath, trying to sense what was wrong.

It was several long seconds before I heard the stealthy movements near the doorway and the dresser where my things were stored. My back was to the window and I faced the area where an intruder lurked. If I opened one eye, I could see him. Or her. Or it. If I opened one eye … .