CHAPTER ELEVEN
Elias shouldn’t have kissed her. He knew better. Her taste was intoxicating, and until he settled between her thighs and slid into the welcoming heat, he was afraid sex was going to become a major distraction. For both of them.
He’d done his best to focus on work while they were in the plane, but his eyes kept straying to her prone body on the couch, her deep, even breathing indicating the level of exhaustion she must’ve felt. He didn’t really understand what she did or what it must feel like to have that constant inner dialogue when she was creating a story, but he’d observed her long enough over the past couple of years to see what it did to her on a physical level.
He’d seen her elated at the end of a book, and in a deep depression when she was in the middle of one. He knew she skipped meals, because he’d gone with Tess to take food to her and set it outside her office door in hopes she’d trip over it on the way to the bathroom. He’d seen her cry when talking about characters who didn’t exist except in her head, and he’d seen her fall asleep during a conversation because she’d worked herself into exhaustion. She was right. She was eccentric. She was quirky and moody, and though she liked to present the illusion she was tough, she wore her heart on her sleeve.
More than anything, he admired what Miller had made of herself. She’d taken the pain from her childhood and turned it into a way to bring hope and joy to others. She lived quietly, but she lived the life she wanted. She was a contradiction—confident and insecure, outgoing and shy, worldly and naïve. She was smart and successful, but there were pockets of vulnerability in her that intrigued him.
He wanted to know all of her—thoughts, hopes, dreams, and fears—and in between his work, he’d look up, just to make sure she was still there and he wasn’t just imagining her asleep on the couch, her fist tucked beneath her cheek and her white-blond hair laying in wisps around her face. She looked softer in sleep, and he’d wanted nothing more than to curl his body around hers and just hold her. But there was work that had to be done, and it was an exercise in discipline that had kept him in the chair poring over maps and papers and research, with the help of the team back at HQ. He wouldn’t let her down. And he would make sure, above all else, that she was safe.
They had each found one change of clothes that fit and were appropriate for their final destination. He woke her half an hour before they landed so she could freshen up and change clothes. He’d already taken care of his own change of clothes, having donned linen pants and a black button-down Panama Jack island shirt.
He’d handed her a stack of clothes, and ushered her into the bathroom to change. Miller wasn’t someone who woke alert and ready to face the day.
When she came out a few minutes later he wanted to laugh at the disgruntled look on her face. “I look ridiculous,” she said. “I would never in a million years dress like this. Cordova and his men will never find me. I look like someone’s grandmother.”
She was wearing a pair of white capris and a shirt with lime-green palm fronds all over it. It had shoulder pads. He hadn’t seen shoulder pads since he was a kid. She also wore a matching green oversized beaded necklace around her neck and a big floppy white hat.
“Umm,” he said. “I can most definitely say that you don’t look like most people’s grandmother. Maybe more like Blanche Devereaux from The Golden Girls.”
“Blanche was pretty hot,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure this outfit is sending me into immediate menopause.”
No grandmother he’d ever seen had an ass like hers. And the very formfitting pants she was wearing were going to drive him insane. He’d never thought he had a type of woman he was attracted to. But the way Miller filled out a pair of pants made him reevaluate. And he knew firsthand what it felt like for her legs to be wrapped around his hips and his hands filled with her. She’d filled his dreams for weeks, the thought of her kneeling on all fours and him sliding between the round globes of her ass a particularly favorite image burned in his mind.
His body’s immediate response reminded him this was hardly the time or the place for fantasy. It also made it all the more important to get her out of those pants and into something that wouldn’t drive him crazy, like a potato sack.
“I’ve never worn shoulder pads before,” she said, shrugging her shoulders over and over again. “If I lean my head over I can use them like pillows. Don’t tell anyone about this. My readers will think I’ve lost my edge.”
“Your secret is safe with me. We’ve got to stop and get supplies and pick up more clothes anyway. Then you can burn what you’re wearing.” And then he added, “Please, God. Because those pants should’ve been illegal.”
“What was that?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Tess says I need to work on aging gracefully, but I have a feeling I’m going to go down kicking and screaming.”
He could get behind that mentality. “Why would you go down any other way?” he asked. “If you’re going down, it might as well be with a fight.”
“Sometimes you’re a very reasonable man, Elias . . . Miller,” she said, remembering his name change.
“I’m going to remember you said that,” he said. And then he noticed the roiling black clouds coming in from the west. “Look at that,” he told her, pointing in the opposite direction. “It’s hot and sunny now, but that afternoon storm is going to blow in the next couple of hours.”
The sky was a brilliant cerulean and there wasn’t a cloud in sight over the island. But out over the water it was as if a curtain had been pulled across the sky. When they stepped off the plane they were greeted by two armed security men who briefly looked at their passports before leading them through what could loosely be called “customs.” Of course, the way had been smoothed by the cash he’d palmed to each of the security guards.
“Do we have another creepy SUV ride ahead of us where we’re going to get abducted or end up in the ocean?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “We have a local driver to take us where we need to go before we head to the boat. Let’s reel it in a little on the imagination overdrive.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked. “It helps me think out my plots. I’ve still got a book to finish, and I might as well use as much of this as I can. I’m writing Solomon and Sheba’s story, but it’s woven in with my present-day hero and heroine, who are hunting Solomon’s treasures.”
“So you’re basically writing our story,” he said, brows raised in surprise. “What happens to us?”
“Not us,” she said. “My characters. And their car is clearly about to go over the side of a bridge and into the water. It’ll be a narrow escape, of course.”
“Thank God it’s your characters and not us. The best way to get out of a sinking car is before it actually goes into the water.”
“Maybe so, but it’s not nearly as exciting,” she said.
“Surviving beats exciting any day of the week,” he said. “What happens after they narrowly escape death?”
She averted her eyes and color crept into her cheeks. She picked at an invisible piece of lint on her sweater. “They celebrate being alive,” she finally said.
He hooted out a laugh and put his hand to the small of her back as he put her just in front of him, so he could move quickly if he needed to. He leaned down and said close to her ear, “There’s something to be said for burning off an adrenaline rush.” He felt her shiver beneath his touch. “What happens next?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Hopefully, the heroine doesn’t die from seasickness or snake bites. And then they live happily ever after. Unless they die.”
“That’s sure to perk up your readers,” he said.
“I’m trying to decide if kidnapping is preferable to getting on the boat. What do you think?”
“I think you’re nuts,” he said. “But there’s a good chance the boat will be slightly less traumatic than being kidnapped, so I’d go that route. And I’ve got your meds, so that will help. I’ll give them to you in the car, and by the time we get ready to board you’ll be good to go. Let’s go, Blanche. Maybe you can get a senior discount when we grab a bite to eat.”
“Very funny,” she said.
There wasn’t a luxury car with the trident symbol waiting for them, but instead a white taxi with rust spots and bumper stickers plastered all over it.
“I don’t mean to complain,” she said, “but if we’re projecting an image of private planes and expensive boats, shouldn’t we have a car?”
“We’re in a different world here,” he told her. “Private cars are reserved for government officials and the cartel. They’re in short exchange. Santa Cruz isn’t a driving city. There are many areas where they still only travel by horse and cart.”
The driver was wearing rumpled khakis and an unbuttoned Guayabera shirt over a wifebeater. He went around to the trunk and unlocked it with the key and then stood there as they approached.
“Hola, señor,” the driver said.
Elias nodded and said in Spanish, “We’ll hold on to our luggage.” And then he gave him instructions for taking them to the market for supplies before the storm hit.
“Sure, sure,” the driver said in English. “Get in.”
One of the passenger-side doors was stuck, so Miller scooted across the seat and Elias climbed in behind her. The inside of the cab smelled like sweat and cabbage, and Elias tried rolling down the window, but it didn’t budge.
“Mine doesn’t work either,” Miller told him. “Do you realize what that means if we go into the water?”
“Yes,” he said. “It means I’m going to pull out my gun and shoot the window so we can escape.”
“Good thinking,” she said, grinning mischievously. “See, you’re helping me write a book. I’ll mention you in the acknowledgments.”
“I’d rather get the happily ever after,” he told her. And then he realized what he’d said. It was easy to get sucked into the illusion that being with her was normal. That they could have a normal life. But happily ever afters weren’t in his future.
She cleared her throat and they each stared out their window while the driver continued to talk with the other cabbies on the street, as if no one had anywhere to go.
“I don’t mean to be negative,” she said, “but I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy. I’m pretty sure he’s carrying a gun.”
Elias sighed. “I think you’re still writing a book in your head. He’s got to be close to seventy years old. Have a little faith.”
“I have faith,” she said. “But I still think he’s carrying a gun. He’s got shifty eyes. What happens if he tries to rob us, or if he just shoots us and leaves us for dead in the middle of this godforsaken place? No one will ever know what happened to us.”
“Sure they will,” Elias said. “When I became a Gravedigger they implanted a chip beneath my skin. They’ll know the location of my body and whether I’m dead or alive. But if it makes you feel better, I put our passports in the inside pocket of my shirt. As long as we have those we’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” she said skeptically. “Look, here he comes. Be cool.”
He laughed before he could help it. “Sweetheart, I’m always cool.”
The driver got in and started up the engine with a sputter and a cough, and they started moving through the congested streets.
“I don’t want you to think that I can’t handle what we’re doing here,” she told him, and he squeezed her hand to remind her to be careful what she said. She squeezed back in acknowledgment. “Boats and snakes are literally two of the things I’m most afraid of. And heights. I really didn’t like climbing out of that tree. But I’m balls to the wall with pretty much everything else.”
“You always put real-life stuff in your books?” he asked. There was no air-conditioning, and it wasn’t long before they were both damp from the heat and humidity, but at least the front windows were able to roll down, so there was a little bit of a breeze.
“Always,” she said. “I watch everything and everyone, and read as much as I can. You never know when one thing will spark an entire book.”
“You use real people for characters?” he asked, brows raised.
She lifted her sunglasses and her laughing tawny eyes met his. “I won’t confess to anything on the rec-ord, but I had a character in a book once who looked and acted an awful lot like the head contractor who did some of the work on my house. He ended up dying a horrible death with a nail gun. I might have chuckled while I was writing that scene.”
“What about me?” he asked. “Anyone like me in your books?”
“How about you read them all and then tell me if you think you’re in there.”
“I’ll take that challenge,” he said, nodding. “I like to read. What do I get if I find myself in one of your books? Royalties? Or I could pose for your next cover.”
She snorted out a laugh. “People never recognize themselves in my books. Tess, or parts of her, have been in several, and she’s never once mentioned it other than she likes that particular character.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “How many books have you written since we’ve known each other?”
“Six and a half.”
“Geez, woman. You need a hobby or something.”
“I’ve got one. I drink wine with Tess and watch movies. And sometimes we put on real clothes and go out for happy hour and drinks and watch all the other people and talk about them. Though we don’t do that so much anymore because Tess got married, and marriage has a tendency to put a damper on single-life activities.”
“I’ve heard a rumor this is true,” he said.
“You’ve never been married?” she asked.
In another life and time he’d thought about it. When he could’ve been an honorable husband. An honorable father. “No, never been married,” he said instead.
They crossed over the bridge to the island of Santa Cruz, and the world opened up. The bridge was narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass by each other, and as the taxi reached the middle it was almost as if they were driving on the water. Nothing but blue in either direction.
“Oh, wow,” Miller said, sticking her face closer to the window. “That’s amazing. I’ve never seen water that color before.”
The water went from deep blue to turquoise to aqua the closer to shore they got, and it was unbelievably clear. Boats were anchored in the harbor and others were out in the water, sails at full mast. It was postcard perfect, and not even the dingy interior of the taxi could ruin its effect.
Several resort hotels lined the oceanfront, but the resort area was secluded from the rest of the island. Shops and restaurants and lodging could all be found in one area. They were nestled there along the beach and the mountains rose majestically from behind them, the greens of the grasses and trees as vivid as the water. Everything was in technicolor.
The taxi puttered along behind a mix of other cars in worse shape than it was and pedicabs. The driver blared his horn a couple of times for good measure and then sped around the pedicabs and took a sharp left turn down a one-way street.
Gravity had Miller sliding across the seat and up against Elias. She tried to hold herself in place, but she ended up almost in his lap. He wasn’t complaining.
“Sorry,” she said, crawling her way back to her seat.
“Anytime,” he said.
Elias had been watching where the driver was taking them, having studied the map while on the plane. The car radio was half static, half music, but the driver left it on anyway. Sweat drenched his forehead, even though he was fortunate enough to have the breeze from the open window. His dark brown eyes met Elias’s a time or two in the rearview mirror before looking straight ahead again, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
When they stopped at the corner, Elias felt a tingle across the back of his neck and reached behind his back for his weapon. It was too late. The driver turned and had a gun pointed directly at Miller’s head. He never took his eyes from the driver.
“Put your hands where I can see them,” he said in very good English.
Elias could see Miller from his periphery. She was sitting stone still, her eyes on the driver instead of the gun. She didn’t look scared. She looked pissed. And he hoped to God she wasn’t going to try anything stupid. At least not while the gun was pointed at her face.
Elias slowly moved his hands so they lay on the back of the driver’s seat and said, “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re not the driver we hired.”
The driver shrugged. “Carlo ran into a small accident. He will be fine in a few days and out making drops again. But I knew you were a prime target. Private plane, private yacht, and no questions from customs.”
“What do you want from us?” Elias asked.
“Whatever you have,” the driver said, chuckling. “You are very rich, yes? Maybe worth a nice ransom?” He handed Miller a roll of Duct Tape and said, “Tape his wrists together. Nice and tight.”
She glanced at Elias and raised her brows, and he was amazed at her composure. He nodded for her to go ahead and do as the man said and she let out a little sigh.
“I told you so,” she whispered, taking the Duct Tape from the man and strapping it around Elias’s wrists.
“Good,” the driver said. “Now reach into his back pocket and take out his wallet. And hand over your purse.” He moved the gun so it was aimed at Elias. “Keep your hands on the back of my seat.”
Elias had to hand it to the guy. He was smarter than most penny-ante thieves. But he did as he was told and kept his hands on the back of the seat while Miller reached down to dig his wallet out of his back pocket. Her hand skimmed over the gun in the back of his pants and lingered there, and he shook his head no, the movement so minute he wondered if she could see it. But she moved past it and got the wallet. And then she put the wallet and her purse in the front seat.
“Good, good,” the driver said, his smile displaying several gold teeth. “We’re going to take a little drive up the mountain. If you move your hands from the back of my seat I will shoot her. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” Elias said with a shrug. Where he put his hands wasn’t going to make a difference. Once the opportunity presented itself the man would be dead one way or the other.
“Are you private or do you work for someone?” Elias asked.
“I work for myself,” the driver said, kicking open his door. “I’m an entrepreneur.”
Miller snorted in derision and the driver glared at her, his eyes turning mean. “Shut up,” he said, jabbing the gun toward Miller’s face. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will. You’re a little older than they like, and your hair is too short and the wrong color, but you have good skin and you’re very pretty. You’ll bring a good price at auction. And your man, he seems very important. Lots of money. Someone will pay a big ransom for his return I’m sure.” The driver laughed and spittle spewed from his thin lips. “I’m going to kill him anyway, but the money will be very helpful to my village.”
“It’s like community service,” Miller said, popping off.
“Miller,” Elias warned, shaking his head.
“That’s right,” the driver said. “You need to teach her some manners. My son is good at such things. I think I’ll let him spend some time with you once we get to the village.”
Unfortunately, what he was speaking of wasn’t uncommon in parts of Central and South America. Entire villages would plan for the kidnapping and killing of tourists, hoping whatever they stole from them or were able to get for ransom would be enough to keep them fed and roofs over their head. He had to deal with the driver before they got to the village and were outnumbered.
The driver kept the gun in his hand but put it back on the steering wheel, looking in the rearview mirror at Elias, and then he pressed the accelerator and the car lurched forward. It wasn’t long before Santa Cruz was behind them and the crudely paved roads turned into dirt paths that led higher into the mountains. There were no other buildings—no houses—nothing. Only thick trees and jungle.
The roads were curvy and dangerous, and Elias was biding his time, but they’d been on the road for a couple of hours and he knew the time was probably growing short. The driver had increased his speed and he was getting nervous. He kept looking back at them and pointing the gun in their general direction on occasion. Elias was afraid if anything spooked him he’d end up popping off a shot out of reflex.
They took a curve at high speed and Miller slid toward him again, but she quickly righted herself. The road opened up to a short straightaway, and there was a natural lookout point directly in front of them. There was nothing but ocean and a steep drop off a cliff in front of them.
There was no time to spare. He lifted his bound wrists over the headrest and the driver’s head and jerked backward with his thumbs straight and stiff, knowing he’d hit at least one eye. There was an unholy scream from the driver and he dropped the gun as he brought his hands to his face. But instead of pressing on the brake to stop the car, he pressed on the accelerator and they shot forward.
“Shit,” Elias said, untangling his arms from around the man’s head. “Reach over me and open my door. We’ve got to jump. Now!”
Miller shot into action and reached across him, pushing open the car door, and then he grabbed hold of the back of her shirt and tossed her out of the car. He rolled out right behind her, and then looked up in time to see the car shoot out over the edge of the lookout point.
“Oh, hell,” he said, breaking the duct tape around his wrists and then sprinting toward the edge of the cliff. Drawing more attention to them wasn’t in the plans.
He heard the clunk and crash of the car as it hit the craggy cliffs on the way down. He looked over in time to see it hit the rocks and water below, and there was a hissing noise seconds before the car exploded, sending a fireball of heat and orange flame straight up into the air.
He backed away and headed toward Miller, only to find her on her knees, talking to herself.
“Are you okay?” he asked, approaching slowly.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked. “You just threw me out of a car. No, I’m not okay. Why are you always throwing me? Out of windows, down trees, out of cars? If you want to throw people then go join the damned circus.”
He moved toward her and helped her to her feet. Her shoulder pads were skewed, her white pants were covered in dirt, and she had pieces of fern in her hair.
“I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but have you noticed how different it seems in the jungle when we’re not protected by the safety of a vehicle?” She swatted at a mosquito the size of her thumb.
“I wouldn’t exactly call that cab ride safe,” he said. “But I get what you mean.”
There had at least been some semblance of protection inside the taxi. Without it, there was nothing but them and the jungle. The trees canopied over the tiny excuse for a dirt road, casting everything in shadow, and there was nothing but green for as far as the eye could see. Even the tree trunks were covered with moss. Thick vines hung low from the branches and ferns sprouted up from a tangle of roots and fallen limbs. It smelled of damp earth and mold, intermingled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and other exotic flowers.
“I’m going to make a bold statement,” she said, putting her hands to her hips.
He couldn’t help but grin. “Please do.”
“I’m not a fan of the jungle. It’s claustrophobic. And I don’t trust that monkey behind you. He looks shifty, and I think he’s trying to steal your gun.”
He looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was a howler monkey hanging from a branch, dangerously close to reaching his gun. The second Elias looked at him, the monkey hissed and climbed up to a higher branch.
“I like how you make friends everywhere we go,” she said.
He turned back to and arched a brow. And then took a step toward her.
She took a step back and put her hand up.
“I know that look,” she said. “Don’t you dare kiss me.”
“Too bad,” he said, and tugged her toward him. He breathed in the scent of her—heady and seductive—and the control he held onto so carefully slipped away the second his lips touched hers. She was his every fantasy. He devoured her, his mouth demanding on hers. He drank in her sighs and reveled in the surrender of her body against his.
His hands cupped her ass and he pulled her against him, lifting her off her feet. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she lifted her legs around his waist.
“Jesus,” he said, breaking their kiss so he could catch his breath.
“More,” she said, and he couldn’t deny her.
He felt the raging heat of her against the hard length of his cock, and if they’d been naked, he’d already be inside her. She made him dizzy, and it was everything he could do to stay on two feet and not take her to the ground. Or maybe that’s exactly what he should do.
A crack of thunder rent the air and the first cool drops of rain from the storm that had been moving in splattered against their overheated skin. He swore and moved her so they were under the canopy of trees that lined the road, but it didn’t do much good. There was another crack of thunder and the sky opened.
“It’s like I’m being punished for something I did in a former life,” Miller said with a defeated sigh. Her hair was plastered against her head, and she was soaked to the skin in a matter of seconds.
“What are we going to do?” she yelled. The rain was deafening as it slapped against wide, waxy tree leaves, the sound amplified inside the jungled canopy.
“Start walking,” he yelled back. “We’re probably more than twenty miles from civilization.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” She started walking back toward the way they came and he followed after her, enjoying the way her wet clothes hugged that lush body. “I’m just going to warn you that I can’t be held responsible for anything I say or do without coffee.”
“I’m aware,” he said, still walking behind her. “I’m hoping things won’t get that desperate. I’m just starting to get used to you.”
They walked for miles, and the rain never let up. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t soaked. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes and down the collar of his shirt. Mud caked his shoes, and the temperature had dropped. Miller’s lips quivered and she’d started talking to herself about a mile back. He knew enough about women to know that was never a good sign.
“Have you ever seen that movie with Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas?” he asked, lifting a branch out of her way as the road began to narrow.
“Romancing the Stone?”
“That’s the one. I can never remember the name.”
“I’m a romance novelist,” she said. “Of course, I’ve seen it. Though I’ve decided I might need a career change. I was just practicing my interview questions for when I start working at Wendy’s.”
“Why Wendy’s?” he asked.
“Because I wouldn’t have to stand in the rain, and I’d get as many chicken nuggets as I wanted. I have to confess, there’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for chicken nuggets right now.” She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye.
“I almost wish I could conjure some for you,” he said, lifting more limbs so they could pass under them. The rain had made the branches heavy and many of them almost touched the ground, blocking the way that they came.
“What do you mean, almost?” she asked.
“You’ve been talking to yourself the last hour, and you’ve got kind of a crazy look in your eyes. My sister used to do that whenever she was about to start her period. I still have bad flashbacks.”
She grunted, but he saw the hint of a smile. “If you really wanted to be like Michael Douglas you’d have a machete right now and cut through all this stuff like a real hero. I feel a little cheated.”
“I just tossed you out of a moving car before it exploded. That doesn’t count as being a hero?”
“I forgot about that,” she said. “It seems like days ago.”
“I always felt like Michael Douglas’s character was underappreciated. Look on the bright side, if you get swept away by a muddy waterfall at least you’re not wearing a skirt.”
She grinned up at him. And then she vanished with a whoosh of air, and he heard a thud and a scream as a mini mudslide swept her down the road.
“Oh, shit,” he said. “I was just kidding.”
He moved after her as fast as he could, but he had to be careful so he didn’t end up in the same predicament she was in.
Then he saw the problem and he decided to hell with it and moved faster. The road narrowed, and the mudslide was shooting over the edge of the road, down into the dense jungle, like a waterfall. Only this wasn’t a waterfall like in the movies. Shooting off that waterfall would be the equivalent of jumping off a three-story building. It would hurt, and there would almost certainly be death.
“Try to grab onto something,” he yelled as he cut the distance between them. He didn’t know if she could hear him or not.
He only had moments to leap forward and grab her arm as she started to go over the side of the road, his body sliding through the mud and carried along with the current. He caught his foot on a tree root and held onto Miller for dear life, hoping he didn’t go over the edge with her.
Her scream was cut off as they jerked to a stop, and she stared up at him out of big round eyes. He pulled her up, scooting back slowly toward the tree root he was still attached to.
He heaved her the last bit of the way until she was sprawled out beside him in the mud, but he held onto her just in case. They lay together, both breathing heavy, the rain pounding against their faces. Miller spit mud from her mouth and then turned her head to look at him.
“I’ve got to tell you,” she yelled over the deafening rain. “I’m kind of hating today.”
The comment caught him off guard and he started to laugh. By God, he loved her.
“I can see that,” he yelled back. “You’ll have to let me know if you hate it more than tomorrow morning when you wake up without coffee.”