Where There's Smoke (53 page)

"Suppose he's dead or otherwise unavailable.
 
What then?"

"Then I'm truly on my own.

"You're willing to take that risk?"

"I'll go to any lengths to bring Ashley back."

"Right," he said.
 
"You're even willing to offer your sweet body to dirty old me."
 
He was staring at her thighs, where the robe had parted a few inches above her knees.

Lara said nothing and sat very still.

Abruptly he stood.
 
"Tap in to this underground network.
 
Gather all the information you can.
 
Don't discount anything.
 
Don't trust your memory, either; take copious notes.
 
I want to know everything.

Time of sunrise, sunset, temperature, population, the speed limit, every frigging fact you can think of.
 
Let me be the judge of what's significant and what isn't.
 
In situations like this you never know what scrap of information might mean the difference between living and dying.

"We'll travel light.
 
Take only one bag you can carry easily.
 
Don't take anything you value, nothing you couldn't drop and run away from, literally.
 
Keep in mind that if we're successful, we'll be carrying out a casket.
 
That may be all we can handle.
 
Questions?"

"What about the airplane?"

"I'll arrange for it and the weapons."

"Weapons?"

"You didn't think I'd go to a turkey shoot without a gun, did you?

Can you shoot?"

"I can learn."

"We'll start lessons as soon as I've got the guns.
 
I'll handle the transactions alone, but I expect to be reimbursed for all expenses."

"Of course."

"There's only one condition: Don't ask me any questions about the arms or the plane.
 
If the feds get curious and start asking questions, you can honestly say you don't know."

"What will you say?"

"I'll lie.
 
Convincingly.
 
When do you want to go?"

"As soon as you can get an airplane."

"I'll be in touch."

Lara stood.
 
"Thank you, Key.
 
Thank you very much."

He came to stand directly in front of her, his movements and speech no longer brisk.
 
"As to my fee, does your offer still stand?"

She gazed into his dark, brilliant eyes and tried to convince herself that the weakness in her knees was caused by relief over his agreeing to make the trip, that it wasn't a reaction to the sexual energy he radiated.

Lowering her head, she pulled apart the ends of her sash.
 
The robe separated.
 
She waited only a moment before peeling it from her shoulders and letting it fall onto the bed behind her.

She stood before him naked.

The silence was dense, the tension tangible.
 
Although she wasn't looking at him, she felt his eyes moving over her.
 
Her skin tingled, as though his gaze were actually touching her, leaving brush strokes of heat.
 
Breasts, belly, sex, thighs, all were touched with his eyes.

She turned warm.
 
She grew damp.
 
The tips of her breasts tightened and strained.
 
Her earlobes pulsated feverishly.
 
And somewhere deep inside her she throbbed with carnal awareness.

"Look at me."

She raised her head.

"Say my name."

"Key."
 
At first a whisper, she repeated it.
 
"Key."

He slid his hand around the back of her neck and lowered his head.
 
His kiss was rough and possessive.
 
Behind each thrust of his tongue was a hint of anger .
 
. . at first.
 
Then it seemed to be searching for something it couldn't find.
 
Perhaps a desire as thick as his own.

He found it.
 
Only he never knew.
 
Because as abruptly as it began, it ended.

"I'll take ten thousand now."
 
His voice was amazingly calm, but there were lines of strain around his lips, which moved woodenly.

"We'll negotiate the balance of what you owe me when and if we come back alive."
 
He turned away.

She whipped the robe from the bed and held it against her.
 
"Key?"

He stopped on his way through the door and, after a long hesitation, turned around.

"I know why I'm doing this, but why are you?"
 
She shook her head with misapprehension.
 
"What changed your mind?
 
What have you got to gain?"

"Except for a measly ten grand, absolutely nothing.
 
The point is, like you, I haven't got a goddamn thing to lose."

Chapter Nineteen you love my brother?"

The question came out of nowhere.

Lara had closed her eyes, but she wasn't dozing.
 
She was too nervous to sleep, though her eyelids were gritty from lack of it.
 
She hadn't slept well for the last several days before their departure.

It had been at least a half-hour since Key and she had exchanged a word.
 
There'd been no sound in the cockpit except the drone of the two engines.
 
They'd left Brownsville, Texas, late that afternoon.

For hours thereafter, the rugged terrain of the interior of Mexico had stretched to the horizon.
 
After crossing the Yucatan peninsula, Key had flown out over the Pacific Ocean and made a wide U-turn.
 
No land was yet in sight as they approached Montesangre from the sea.

There was only a sliver of moon; Key had planned their trip around the lunar cycle.
 
He'd eliminated the lights on the wingtips of the craft.

The stygian darkness was relieved only by the muted illumination of the instrument panel.

She had sensed his mounting tension as he mentally prepared for the difficult landing and hadn't distracted him with meaningless conversation.
 
They'd left Eden Pass at noon and flown to Brownsvtlle, where they'd eaten.
 
She'd had no appetite, but Key had insisted she clean her plate.
 
"You don't know how long it'll be before your next meal," he'd said.

He'd refueled the airplane, which she assumed belonged to the man in serious debt since it was a Cessna 310.
 
As agreed, she didn't ask.
 
In preparation for the trip, Key had removed all but two of the five seats-in order to make room for the casket, she assumed.
 
He'd also equipped the plane with a navigation aid radio.

"It's called loran,' " he explained.
 
"I can set the latitude and longitude of the landing strip and this baby finds it for me.
 
Can you get me the coordinates?"

Through the underground, she had obtained this vital information, but they had experienced some anxious days before it arrived.

"We can't go during a damned full moon, Key ranted.
 
"If your priest doesn't come through by the twenty-fifth, we'll have to wait another month."

They could have waited a month, but mentally they were geared up to go.

Waiting longer would have increased their stress.
 
They had talked the topic to death.
 
Their nerves were raw.
 
Fortunately, barely making it under the deadline, the priest came through with the coordinates Key needed.

Behind their seats he'd stowed the duffel bags in which they'd packed a few changes of clothes and toiletries.
 
Her doctor's bag had been packed to capacity.
 
Key had also brought along a camera bag carrying a

35mm camera and several lenses.
 
If they were questioned by anyone in authority-and he assured her that wasn't likely they would pretend to be a couple on their way to Chichen Itza' to photograph the pyramids.

There was a hidden compartment in one of the wing lockers.
 
He'd placed a rifle there.
 
He'd kept the two handguns in the cockpit.
 
She had recoiled the first time she saw the weapons.

"This one's yours."
 
He held a revolver.

"I can barely lift it."

"You'll be able to if you have to, believe me.
 
Grip it with both hands when you fire."

"Randall wanted to teach me to fire a gun when we moved to Montesangre, but I didn't want to learn."

"You don't have to be a good marksman with this.
 
It's a Magnum .357.

Just point it in the general direction of your target and pull the trigger.
 
Consider it a hand-held cannon.
 
Whatever you shoot at, you'll destroy or severely damage."

She shuddered at the thought.
 
Ignoring her aversion, he'd given her a crash course on how to fire and load the revolver.

They were as prepared as they would ever be.
 
Now they were close to their destination.
 
A million things could go wrong: some of them he'd shared with her, many he had probably kept to himself, she thought.

Was his unheralded question about her loving Clark his way of diverting his mind from the dangers they faced?

She turned and looked at him in profile.
 
He hadn't shaved in a week.

"Built-in camouflage," he'd said when she mentioned the darkening stubble.
 
The beard only intensified his good looks, adding the dubious charm of disreputability.

"Did I love Clark?"
 
she repeated.
 
Facing forward again, she stared through the windshield into the unrelieved blackness.
 
She tried not to think about this flying island of technology being all that was between her and the Pacific Ocean.
 
To her mind, aerodynamics defied logic.

The craft seemed awfully small and terribly vulnerable in this vacuum of black.

"Yes, I loved him."
 
She felt the sudden movement of his head as he turned to look at her.
 
She kept her gaze forward.
 
"That's why his betrayal was so devastating.
 
He threw me to the wolves and watched from the safety of his elected office while they ripped me to shreds.

Not only did he fail to come to my rescue, but, by his silence, he denounced me.
 
I wouldn't have thought that Clark was capable of such disloyalty and cowardice."

"He showed no lack of courage when he took his lover into his bed while her husband slept down the hall," he observed.
 
"Or was that stupidity?

Sometimes there's little distinction between bravery and ignorance.

What made you do it when there was such a good chance of getting caught?"

"Love is a powerful motivator.
 
It makes us its victims and causes us to do crazy things, things we wouldn't ordinarily do.
 
During that weekend at the cottage, the atmosphere was charged.

Expectant."

She looked down at her hands, rubbed her palms together.
 
"Desire that strong obscures conscience and better judgment.
 
It overpowers the fear of discovery."
 
She sighed and raised her head.
 
"I should have read the warning signs.
 
They were glaringly apparent.
 
In hindsight, I realize that disaster was inevitable and imminent.
 
I just wasn't paying attention."

"In other words, you were so eaten up with animal lust that common sense didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell."