Lorraine stayed on the open deck of the boat and watched the lights of El Mirador gradually disappear. She stood there for some time, trying to make sense of what had happened in the past hour. It seemed that only minutes ago she’d been enjoying a wonderful meal with her father, becoming acquainted with the man she’d believed forever lost to her. Her face reddened as she recalled the way she’d complimented his “housekeeper.”
This business with the Kukulcan Star was a complete shock—and made her feel even more idiotic. It was entirely clear now that Jason Applebee—if that was his real name—had used her to corroborate his story. He’d tricked her into lying on his behalf, knowing that the authorities were looking for a man traveling alone. No wonder he’d wanted her to tell the police they were married. She groaned at her own stupidity. She’d believed in his innocence right to the bitter end—when she’d learned that the artifact had been found in her luggage. That certainly didn’t say much for her ability to judge character. As for his appearance, he could easily have cut and dyed his hair. And as for placing the artifact inside her suitcase, he could have done that when she’d climbed on the bus and he’d loaded their bags onto the roof.
How convenient for Jason that he’d come across such a naive trusting American. If there was anything she should’ve learned from the past month, it was not to trust appearances. Now, because of him and her own naiveté, she was on a boat with this…this overgrown whatever he was. Jack Keller looked like an unkempt surfer who’d spent too much time in the sun. Apparently he lived on his boat. His hair was bleached blond, his body tanned to a bronze hue. Even if she’d just reminded herself that there was no use in relying on appearances, she couldn’t help it with this guy. He seemed so shiftless and irresponsible. Her father must’ve been desperate to have brought her to such a misfit.
They’d been at sea for more than an hour before either spoke.
“Find me something to eat, would you?” Jack called from the flybridge.
His tone of voice rankled—he sounded as if he expected her to be at his beck and call. She thought about setting him straight but stifled her irritation. He was, after all, doing her and her father a favor.
“Where would you like me to look?” she called back.
“Try the galley,” he said, as though she should have figured that out for herself.
The boat pitched and heaved with the swells as Lorraine made her way belowdecks, which was no easy task because the steps were incredibly steep. Once below, she was in the saddest, smallest excuse for a kitchen she could ever have imagined. She took a moment to glance around and found a toilet and shower, crammed into an impossibly tiny space. The only other room, if it could be considered that, was obviously where Jack slept. There was a narrow bunk, littered with clothes. Books lined the walls and he’d hung several firearms there, next to the light. Never having been around anyone who owned a gun, Lorraine had no idea what kind or caliber these were, but they didn’t resemble any she’d seen in the movies.
Returning to the galley, she discovered a wrinkled orange in the tiny refrigerator, along with four or five beers. She pushed those aside—with a fleeting recollection of Katharine Hepburn in The African Queen methodically dumping out Humphrey Bogart’s booze. Further investigation netted her a dried-out tortilla and an open can of sardines, the smell of which disgusted her.
With no other choice, she peeled the orange. By the time she’d finished that small task, her stomach was queasy.
“I…seem to be getting seasick,” she said when she brought him the orange. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“When you vomit be sure you do it with your head over the side. If you get sick on this boat, you clean it up.”
“Thank you for that charming advice,” she muttered as she walked carefully back to the main deck. The ocean wasn’t calm anymore, the way it’d been when they set out, and it tossed the boat viciously. Scotch on Water—ridiculous name for a boat—surged up and down with the waves, and with every bounce her stomach heaved. Determined not to throw up, Lorraine sat in the only chair on the deck, pressing her arms against her stomach. That didn’t seem to be helping. She was shaking with chills and sweating, both at the same time.
It wasn’t long before she vaulted out of the chair and dashed to the side of the boat. What little she’d eaten at her father’s before the police arrived was soon gone. Still retching, she closed her eyes. Finally it seemed to be over. She straightened and moaned loudly, no longer caring if Jack heard her or not. She was too sick to maintain any pretenses.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“No. Worse.” She swore the man sounded amused. She would ignore him, she decided, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Go ahead and lie down, but I don’t suggest you do it belowdecks.”
She had no intention of sleeping in that horrible bed and there didn’t seem to be anyplace else. If she hadn’t felt so deathly ill, she might have pointed that out.
Jack disappeared and came back a couple of minutes later with a blanket and pillow. He threw them to her in the chair.
“Thank you,” she managed to say, rolling her head from side to side, more miserable than she could ever remember being.
He hunkered down beside her, but in Lorraine’s opinion didn’t look too sympathetic.
“How long will it take to reach the States?” she asked in a weak voice.
He didn’t answer immediately. “Longer than either of us is going to like,” he finally said.
Lorraine already knew he was right.
When Jason returned to the hotel—Dancys in tow—he’d recognized that time was of the essence. Thomas and Lorraine had eventually left after interminable cautions and goodbyes, and now he was back in his room, repacking the few things he’d taken out of his bag. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the authorities discovered his lie, and when they did, no amount of smooth talk was going to stop them from arresting him. He needed to make his move, and soon.
He hadn’t expected the police to be this tight on his tail. The bandage on his hand must have alerted the clerk at the bus depot. His mistake, he realized, was assuming the bus stations hadn’t been alerted. His photograph couldn’t possibly have circulated yet—could it? In any event, he’d changed his appearance as best he could. Cut and dyed his hair, discarded his glasses in favor of colored contacts he’d brought with him from home, changed his clothing. But he could do nothing about the deep cut on his hand. That must be what had given him away.
He’d linked up with Lorraine to confuse the authorities, yet no sooner had he checked into the hotel than the cops arrived. He’d barely had time to sign the register and go up to his room, such as it was.
He stepped quietly into the hallway to study the exits and saw that the proprietor had taken Dancy’s words to heart and fully intended to keep a close eye on him. Dancy wasn’t nearly as big a fool as his daughter.
Back in his room, Jason stuffed a few scattered things into his pack, including a switchblade he’d hidden under the pillow. The police either hadn’t found the knife or weren’t concerned about it. When he was done, he glanced out the small window that overlooked the street. A police car was just pulling up in front of the hotel. With no time to lose, he threw on his jacket and grabbed the backpack, then slipped quietly out the door.
Jason met up with the proprietor on the back stairwell. Their conversation was brief. The old man’s mistake was thinking he could stop him. The struggle to silence him cost Jason precious minutes. He would’ve liked to avoid another death, but this one couldn’t be helped. If anyone was to blame, it was Dancy.
By the time Jason reached the rear exit of the hotel, he could hear police coming up the stairs. That was close. Much too close.
Now he needed to find Lorraine. During the bus ride, he’d done his damnedest to talk her into checking into the hotel; however, he couldn’t show his cards by being too demanding. But before he left her that afternoon, he’d learned where Dancy lived.
He hid until night had completely fallen and then found his way down a series of back streets to the schoolmaster’s house on the edge of town. Fortunately El Mirador was laid out in a simple grid pattern, and the moon was bright. He’d tracked people under more adverse conditions—quite recently, as a matter of fact. Lorraine shouldn’t be hard to find.
She was the key. Once he had what he wanted from her, he’d just disappear again.
A dog barked as he crept down the dirt road. Fearing discovery, he ducked around the darker side of a small adobe house.
Then, in a wonderful turn of luck, Jason watched as Thomas Dancy hurried toward the houses shouting for someone named Azucena.
A pregnant woman rushed out of a house directly across the street and fell into Dancy’s arms, sobbing.
The two were hugging each other as if they’d spent the past year apart. Jason’s patience wore thin until he was able to make out the woman’s words. So the police had already been to the house and found the artifact. Damn.
“Where is she?” the woman asked in Spanish.
Jason was interested in learning that, as well.
“With Jack.”
“You gave her to Jack Keller?”
“What choice did I have?” Dancy asked. “I had to get her out of here before the police arrested her.”
Again Jason had to credit the man with some intelligence, unlike his daughter who was as gullible as they came. Dancy was right to send her away. The police would’ve made mincemeat out of her. He smiled, remembering how easily she’d believed his stories—and how willingly she’d told him all about herself. He almost hated dragging her into this, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
“Jack’s a good friend,” Dancy said. He drew the woman as close as her swollen belly would allow and kissed the top of her head.
“I trust him to see that your daughter is safely returned to your country.”
“Mexico is my country now,” Dancy said, but even from a distance Jason could hear the sadness in his voice. “And soon you will be my wife.”
The woman lifted her head to look up at Dancy. Jason couldn’t see her expression.
“I’m free to marry you,” Dancy explained.
“I don’t need to stand before the priest to be your wife. In my heart, I am already your wife. My body shelters your child. In this house your sons sleep. I have everything I need.”
“I do, too,” Dancy said, sliding his arm around her waist and leading her back into the house.
Jack Keller, Jason repeated silently. Now that he had the name, he had everything he needed, too.
Lorraine awoke with the sun shining in her eyes. Her body rebelled from having spent the night on a deck chair. Her throat felt dry and irritated from being sick. Her neck was stiff, too. But the physical discomforts were minor compared to the ache in her heart. The events of the previous day ran through her mind, and she started to feel dizzy as she thought about everything that had happened. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d kissed Gary goodbye at the airport. And then the flight, the bus trip, meeting her father…and Jason’s betrayal. The police. Jack’s boat… A single day felt like a lifetime.
