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  "Ready," she said through clenched teeth.

  Sam looped a friendly arm around her shoulder. "That's my girl," he said with a bold, reckless grin. "I knew such an intelligent, overeducated woman couldn't keep acting like a prize jackass all day."

  Davina gave him a blistering glare as they crossed the room. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Mr. McGee."

  "Yeah, I saw how capable you are."

  "I'll have you know that I have a black belt in karate," she insisted. "I can break bricks with my bare hands."

  "Of course you can," he stated easily. "That's why you had everything under control back there. I could tell poor Raoul was trembling in his boots."

  Her eyes shot furious sparks. While her name might not garner instant recognition, as was the case with her father's, Davina Lowell was accustomed to being taken seriously.

  "Has anyone ever told you that you're an arrogant, egotistical, insufferable bastard?"

  Sam half smiled. "All the time," he answered. "And while it's a helluva tough reputation to maintain, I try my best to live up to the image."

  "You're crazy," she said tightly as they walked out into the blazing sun. "Everyone in this damn town is crazy. It must be something in the water." Her stomach suddenly lurched as a thought occurred to her.

  "What's the matter now?" he asked, looking down at her suddenly stricken expression.

  "The water," Davina said. "Damn, I didn't even think."

  He dismissed her concern. "Oh, is that all?"

  Damn the man! It was all his fault. If he hadn't gotten her so unsettled, she wouldn't have made such a careless, foolish mistake in the first place.

  "It's easy for you to take such a blasé attitude," she shot back. "Since it's undoubtedly been years since anything unfermented has passed those lips. And even if it did, the alcohol level in your body would kill any parasites that had the nerve to try to settle in. Unfortunately I haven't spent the past five years pickling my insides."

  Sam was both surprised and disturbed that Davina knew how long he had been in the Yucatan. Apparently he had not covered his tracks as well as he'd thought. It took a Herculean effort, but he managed to keep his voice nonchalant.

  "You know about me."

  "A bit," she acknowledged. "I did my homework before flying down here, but I wasn't able to learn a great deal— only that you arrived here in Calderitas from the States five years ago and bought a deep-sea fishing boat. While your business is reasonably successful, you don't make as much money from the venture as you might because you steadfastly refuse to ply the potential tourist trade."

  "You've hiked every inch of this part of the country and know it like the back of your hand. If the price is right, you've been known to hire out as a guide, mostly for mining and petroleum engineers searching for new fields. I didn't know about the cantina."

  "That's a fairly recent acquisition," he said absently, his thoughts on the information she had unearthed. What else had she managed to find out about him? "I won it in a poker game a few months ago. That's quite a bit of information you've dug up. I didn't realize I had such a reputation."

  Sam didn't like discovering that he wasn't as anonymous as he had thought. Five years ago he had left the States for the Yucatan, leaving no forwarding address. To the rest of the world, it appeared Sam McGee had dropped off the face of the earth. He had his own reasons for wanting to keep it that way.

  "They say there's no man alive in Mexico who knows the peninsula like you do." Her voice held a reluctant admiration.

  "They exaggerate."

  Davina knew that what she was doing could weir be considered foolhardy. In fact, she mused, if her fellow faculty members knew what she was doing during her vacation, they would probably all be stunned by her rash, atypical and highly unprofessional behavior.

  As it was, everyone with the exception of Brad thought she was basking on the pristine beaches of Cancun. Although she had felt guilty about lying to them, Davina had decided it was definitely preferable to present them with a fait accompli. After all, everyone else concerned with her father's disappearance, including the Mexican federates, believed that Jordan Lowell was dead. Only Davina refused to give up hope. If her father was alive, she was going to find him.

  "Were you telling the truth about Alexander Morrison?" she asked suddenly.

  "Not exactly."

  Davina nodded knowingly. "I thought as much."

  "I left out the rough parts because I didn't want to risk offending your delicate sensibilities."

  For some strange reason, Davina believed him. "I suppose I'm down to Ryder Long."

  "Good choice," Sam said amiably as he stopped in front of a two-story frame structure.

  The weathered gray building wasn't really a hotel—at least not the kind Ms Davina Lowell was undoubtedly accustomed to. But Molly McGuire ran a tight ship; she didn't allow fighting or excessive drinking in her boardinghouse. And Sam knew that if he asked, she'd keep a close eye on this dizzy broad who appeared to have more good looks than common sense.

  "I'm relieved you finally agree with something," Davina murmured dryly. She glanced curiously over his shoulder. "Is this the hotel?"

  "It's where you're staying."

  She stifled a frustrated sigh. "I suppose I have no other choice but to stay here tonight. Tomorrow I'll fly north and contact Mr. Long."

  "Whatever you want," he agreed amiably. "In fact, I'll even write you a letter of introduction."

  "Let me get this straight," Davina said, suspicious about his suddenly congenial attitude. "Are you recommending Mr. Long for the job?"

  "I think he'll be terrific. So far as I know, he hasn't raped a woman for two, maybe three, weeks, "he said as he led her up the steps of the veranda.

  "Oh, and by the way, the water was bottled. I may be a bastard, but I do stop at giving Montezuma's revenge to a lady." He opened the door, gesturing Davina into the rooming house.

  "Sammy! It's been too long!"

  A tall woman of Rubenesque proportions, clad in a scarlet silk kimono, wrapped her arms around Sam as he entered the front room. Lush auburn hair the color of mahogany trailed down her back as she tilted her head to smile up at him. "I was beginning to think you'd been avoiding me."

  "I've been a little busy."

  She nodded. "So I hear. The word is that you're actually making Mick's old place turn a profit."

  He shrugged. "It's not much, but we managed to catch up what Mick owed—as well as paying our liquor bills last month."

  Her brown eyes held merriment. "If you don't watch out, Sammy, my boyo, you'll find yourself back in that same old rat race."

  Sam damned the time he'd gotten drunk and told Molly about his life before Calderitas. Even though she was a good and trustworthy soul, he was decidedly uncomfortable with anyone knowing his secrets.

  "I've got a slight problem," he said, ignoring her playful warning about his business.

  Molly turned her interested gaze to Davina, who had been silently witnessing the exchange between Sam and this extraordinary woman, whose age Davina guessed to be somewhere between fifty and seventy. Davina noted with interest that Sam's expression had relaxed. His smile was genuine, and honest affection had softened the hard amber of his eyes to gleaming gold. She couldn't help but be intrigued by the warmth of those eyes.

  "So I see," Molly murmured. Her eyes observed Davina shrewdly as she held out a plump, beringed hand. "Since Sammy here has forgotten his manners, as usual, I suppose it's up to us to introduce ourselves. I'm Molly. And as the sign outside states, this is my place."

  Davina succumbed to the warmth in the woman's greeting, relaxing for the first time since her arrival in Calderitas. "Davina Lowell," she said as she allowed her hand to disappear into Molly's fleshy but surprisingly strong one.

  "She needs a room for the night."

  Molly's gaze went from Davina to Sam and back again. "I see."

  Realizing that Molly was about to jump to the wrong conclusi
on, Sam hurried to explain. "She's looking for a guide."

  "It appears you've found yourself one," Molly said to Davina.

  "Actually, there are two other men I want to interview before making a final decision," Davina insisted quickly. "I'm only here in Calderitas tonight because I missed the plane out of town."

  She didn't think it wise to explain that there was absolutely no way she was going to put her future, not to mention her father's life, in the hands of Sam McGee. Not after what she had seen of him this afternoon. However, if even half of what Sam had told her was true, her other two prospects weren't so promising, either.

  Molly looked unconvinced, but appeared to accept Davina's answer for the time being. "Well, we're a bit crowded right now, with the Orgueil de Toulon in port." She chewed thoughtfully on a burgundy-tinted fingernail. "I know," she said suddenly, her expression brightening, "you can bunk with Annie."

  "I wouldn't want to put anyone out," Davina protested.

  Molly was obviously amused by her guest's polite demeanor. "Hell's bells, honey—forgive my French—you won't be putting her out. Annie's my brother's girl; she's been staying here while he's out to sea."

  She chuckled throatily. "At least she's supposed to be staying with me. Ever since she fell in love with that young man down at the telegraph office, she's only been home long enough to change clothes." Her broad, womanly smile was contagious. "No sense in a bed sitting there empty—that's what I always say."

  Davina rose several notches in Sam's unwilling esteem as she gave Molly a warm, nonjudgmental smile. "It's very nice of you to take me in like this."

  "Shoot, sweetheart," Molly protested, "any friend of Sammy's is a friend of mine." She looked around. "Where's your gear?"

  "It's back at the airstrip," Davina said. "The baggage handler assured me that he'd take care of it until I returned."

  Molly and Sam exchanged a long look. "Hell," Sam groaned, dragging his hand over his face, "I guess it's up to me."

  "Of course it is," Molly responded without missing a beat. "After all, it's obvious that your friend here could use a little nap." The woman's alert eyes skimmed over Davina. "No offense, honey, but you're beginning to look like something the cat dragged in."

  "It's only jet lag," Davina assured her, brushing a few strands of hair back from her sticky forehead. "Plus the change in temperature. It'll just take me a little time to adjust."

  Davina turned her attention to Sam. "I appreciate your help, Mr. McGee," she said politely. "Please don't worry about my luggage. I'll retrieve it once I wash up and get my bearings. After all, I left it in good hands."

  "You sure as hell did. Manuel's got the fastest hands in Calderitas."

  "Sam, don't pick on the poor girl so," Molly advised quietly. "How was she supposed to know?"

  "If she had half the sense God gave a mushroom, she would have figured it out for herself," he ground out.

  Davina didn't appreciate the way they were talking about her as if she weren't even in the room. "Figured what out?"

  As her questioning gaze went back and forth between Molly's openly sympathetic expression and Sam's frustrated one, Davina began to suffer a grave misgiving.

  "Oh, no," she groaned. "Manuel doesn't work for the airline, does he?"

  Sam regarded her coolly. "Got it on the first try. How reassuring to discover that all that money your parents spent on your education wasn't a total waste."

  "You don't have to be sarcastic, Mr. McGee," Davina snapped, feeling ridiculously foolish. "Anyone can make a mistake."

  "Yeah, but why was I unlucky enough to get the job of fixing up yours?"

  "You've already done more than enough by finding me a place to stay the night," Davina said seriously. "I'll simply explain to Manuel that my luggage contains important papers and journals necessary for my work. I'm certain I can make him understand the seriousness of the situation."

  Sam rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Deliver me from Pollyanna." He returned his attention to Molly, who had been watching the exchange with amused interest. "Keep an eye on her while I'm gone," he instructed. "The lady definitely needs a keeper."

  As Davina began to bristle dangerously, Molly placed a restraining hand on the younger woman's arm. "Don't worry about a thing, Sammy," she assured him. "We'll get along just fine."

  Sam looked decidedly dubious about Molly's ability to keep her visitor out of further trouble, but didn't bother to argue the point. "Stay put," he instructed Davina gruffly. "I'll be back to take you to dinner around nine."

  "That certainly isn't necessary."

  He swore. "Do you always argue every little point? Would it really kill you to keep your mouth shut for once in your life?"

  Davina had had more than enough of his overbearing attitude. Lifting her chin, she met his derisive gaze with a challenging one of her own.

  "I've no intention of going out with you, Mr. McGee. Despite my interest in lost civilizations, Neanderthals have never held any vast appeal for me!"

  "Davina, dear," Molly cut in swiftly, coaxingly, "perhaps you'd enjoy a nice, cool bath."

  Sam's glare could have cut diamonds. "Relax, sweetheart, I wasn't asking for a date. You're in need of a guide, right?"

  "That's correct, but—"

  "As you so accurately pointed out, I happen to be the best. I figure the least I can do is to hear this cockeyed plan of yours and since we both have to eat, it only makes sense to save time and discuss it over dinner."

  Davina was both angered by his acid tone and embarrassed by the idea that she had once again jumped to the wrong conclusion. She inclined her head briefly, formally.

  "That's not a bad idea," she admitted reluctantly. "However, I insist on paying for my own meal."

  Sam decided that if he didn't get out of here soon, he'd be tempted to wring her lissome neck. He'd never met a more argumentative female. Once again he found himself conjecturing about whether Davina Lowell was involved with some guy back in the States. If so, Sam's heart went out to the poor bastard; this was one female who could drive a man to drink.

  "Don't let her out of your sight," he instructed Molly brusquely. Not trusting himself to say anything else to Davina, he turned on his heel and strode from the room. A moment later the screen door slammed.

  "Let's get you settled in," Molly said cheerfully, blithely ignoring Sam's display of temper. "You'll want a bath, I suspect. And something light to eat. And a nap."

  "It all sounds wonderful," Davina said wistfully. "This is very nice of you, Molly." Though she was unused to such informality on first meeting, Davina belatedly realized that she had never been given the ebullient woman's last name.

  "Hell, honey, I'm just doing what Sammy instructed— looking after you. Something tells me that you're in for a very long night. The least I can do is make certain that you're well prepared."

  With that less-than-encouraging statement, Molly looped a fleshy arm around Davina's shoulders and led her up the stairs.

  After a cooling bath, a light repast of fresh fruit and a nap, Davina felt renewed, ready to face anything. Later, however, as she sat across the table from Sam in the cantina, she wondered if she had been overly optimistic. He was more amiable than earlier in the day but no less domineering.

  He had practically dragged her from Molly's and despite her assurances that she was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions, he had insisted on ordering dinner for her.

  In a way, Davina was glad for the opportunity to watch Sam in action. It proved what she had already suspected— she could no more trek through the jungle with this man than she could fly to the moon.

  "I suppose I should thank you for retrieving my luggage," she said as she sipped on the margarita Sam had imperiously ordered for her.

  His wide shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. "Someone had to do it." From his tone, Davina detected that he wished it had been someone—anyone—else.

  "It was still a very thoughtful thing to do. Did Manuel give you any
trouble?" she asked as an afterthought.

  "Nah. I did just like you suggested."

  "I suggested?"

  "I merely explained the importance of your work."

  "And he understood?"

  "Let's just say Manuel saw the light," Sam drawled. As he lifted his own glass to his lips, Davina saw dark purple bruises discoloring his skinned knuckles.

  "You didn't hit him?"

  Slowly, with deliberate patience, Sam lowered his drink to the table. "Lady, you've got your precious stuff back. Why quibble about how it was done?"

  Davina didn't like his patronizing tone. "Because I didn't ask you to help me in the first place," she returned heatedly. "And if I had, I certainly wouldn't have wanted you to beat the poor man up!"

  An incredulous look moved over his face. "There you go with that 'poor man' stuff again. Did you bother to take a good look at your bogus baggage-man when you were handing all your worldly possessions over to him?"

  Remembering the massive bulk of the man she had foolishly mistaken for a baggage handler, Davina had the good grace to flush guiltily. "Were you hurt?"

  "Now she asks," Sam muttered, more to himself than to Davina.

  Davina decided that this interview was going no better than the earlier one. She was about to give up entirely when Sam fixed her with an intent stare.

  "What's the real reason behind this urge of yours to explore the peninsula?" he asked suddenly.

  "I told you; I want to uncover Naj Taxim."

  He shook his head. "Uh-uh. That isn't going to cut it, Davina Lowell. Why don't you try giving me the straight story this time?"

  "I am giving you the straight story." As he continued to give her that intent, knowing stare, Davina's throat went unreasonably dry. She swallowed.

  "All right," she admitted finally. "There is another reason."

  "I thought so."

  "I'm searching for my father."

  "Your father."

  "That's right. He's been missing for the past fifteen months. Everyone—the authorities, the people he works with, his friends—all believe he's dead."

  "And you don't."