Hot on the Trail Page 5

  "No. Although several Spanish chroniclers documented Guerrero's conversion, it was Pedro de Alvarado who told about the founding of Naj Taxim. You see, Guerrero became especially famous after defying Montejo."

  "You've lost me."

  "Francisco de Montejo was part of a group of conquistadors who came to the east coast of Yucatan the year after Cordova discovered it in 1517. Whenever they landed for explorations and supplies, the Maya gave them gifts—gold bars, figurines of men with half masks made of gold, crowns of golden beads."

  "That's where the poor bastards made their big mistake."

  "Of course," Davina agreed. "Still, to the Maya, gold was not as valuable as jade. They associated jade's yax—its blue-green color—with the center of the earth. It was also the color of the Tree of Life, water, new corn and all things precious. However, despite their preference for jade, gold certainly wasn't invaluable. They considered it a gift from the sun."

  "While to the Spaniards it meant instant prestige, wealth and fame—not to mention a nice little title back home," Sam remarked.

  Lines furrowed her smooth brow as she frowned. Sam resisted the impulse to rub them away with his finger. "That's right," she replied and exhaled a soft, regretful sigh at the idea of the conquistadors' ill-gotten gains. "Anyway, Montejo invited Guerrero to join the Spanish conquerors, but not only did he steadfastly refuse, he later led the Mayan warriors against the Spanish."

  "That must have pleased the conquistadors no end," Sam said as he stubbed out his cigarette.

  He admittedly didn't have Davina's vast knowledge of Mayan culture, but Sam was familiar with the methods the Spanish had utilized in conquering the Western hemisphere. However brutal the Maya had recently been proved to be, the conquistadors were certainly no slouches when it came to warfare and torture.

  "Actually, Guerrero was considered quite an admirable adversary," she said thoughtfully. "The Spaniards respected bravery and several actually attributed their own military reverses to Guerrero's genius. Unfortunately, he was outnumbered when he took a handpicked force of troops to Honduras by canoe to assist the Indians there in their fight against the invading armies. After leading his contingent against Pedro de Alvarado's soldiers, Guerrero was found dead on the field, dressed and painted and ceremonially lacerated. He died as he had lived," she finished softly. "Bravely."

  Sam stared at the sudden pain in her eyes. He had the uneasy feeling that Davina was actually envisioning the scene of the brutal battle. "You really take this stuff seriously, don't you?"

  She managed a crooked, self-deprecating smile. "Sorry. I tend to get carried away from time to time."

  She was reminding him of her father more with each passing moment. Sam found the idea of Jordan Lowell's death even more unpalatable today than when the rumors of the man's demise had begun to circulate last year—because now someone else was involved. And Davina Lowell was a very appealing woman. She was also obviously intelligent. But she was undeniably, damnably vulnerable. Left to her own devices, she'd only end up getting hurt.

  Why me? Sam considered bleakly. Even as he asked himself the rhetorical question he knew the answer. He had discovered long ago that there was no place on earth a man could go to escape his destiny. He was responsible, however indirectly, for a grave injustice being done. Obviously, fate had sent Davina Lowell to Calderitas to even the score.

  There were no two ways about it; it was clearly up to him to keep her out of trouble. He had owed Jordan Lowell for a long, long time. Perhaps this would finally settle the score and allow him to sleep again, free of the recurring nightmares that no amount of tequila had been able to banish entirely.

  As a significant silence swirled about them, Davina felt more than a little foolish to have been caught being so emotional about an event that had happened more than 470 years ago. She wrapped up her story in a brisk no-nonsense tone.

  "After the battle, some of his followers, along with his wife and two sons, disappeared."

  Like Jordan Lowell. Sam refrained from sharing with Davina the more graphic of his ideas about her father's probable fate.

  "A lot can happen in the jungle," he commented carefully. "If the boa constrictors or coral snakes don't get you, there's always the jaguars. Not to mention outlaws, pumas, malaria—"

  "I get your drift, Mr. McGee," Davina said calmly. "How strange that my sources didn't bother to mention your fear of the unknown." Davina knew she'd gone too far when a storm suddenly clouded his eyes.

  "There's a world of difference between fear and common sense," he pointed out quietly.

  Dangerous golden eyes dueled with vivid turquoise ones for an immeasurable time. Davina was the first to lower her gaze. "Do you want to hear the rest of this story or not?" she asked quietly, idly tracing with her fingernail the initials carved into the wooden tabletop by previous customers of the cantina.

  Sam leaned back in his chair, striking a match on the heel of his boot as he lit yet another cigarette. "By all means carry on," he invited in a deep drawl. "I have a feeling that you're just getting to the good part."

  Davina glared at him through the smoke. "You realize, of course, that those things will kill you."

  His lips quirked. "Worried about me, Davina?"

  "Of course not," she retorted, unnerved by the sudden light in his eyes.

  Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Let me guess the ending to this intriguing little tale…You're about to tell me that Guerrero's followers built a vast city, named it Naj Taxim and continued living there in peace and harmony with only occasional excursions into the outside world."

  "That's right." Her stern gaze defied argument.

  Sam heaved a deep sigh of resignation. "I still think you're crazy as a bedbug, Davina Lowell. But I'm willing to offer you a compromise."

  Davina's eyes narrowed suspiciously. From what she had seen of Sam McGee thus far, she would have thought the word compromise was not in the man's vocabulary.

  "What type of compromise?"

  "I'll take you as far as Chichen Itza," he suggested. "Then, if the guy with the map doesn't show up, you call off this wild-goose chase and go back home to your nice, safe, ivory tower of academia."

  Davina wasn't overly pleased with his description of her admittedly unexciting life. It certainly wasn't her fault that the dwindling number of suitable excavations, as well as the constant struggle for funds, left the majority of archaeologists confined to classrooms and museums. Admittedly, with the exception of a summer spent outside Mexico City researching Aztec ruins, that had been Davina's fate.

  But all that was going to change once she found her father; faced with her accomplishment, he would have to see that his daughter had indeed grown up while he had been trekking around his various jungles. He would finally realize that she would be a valuable addition to his team. Davina refused to permit herself to fail.

  "And if there is a map?" she countered.

  Responsibility warred with logic as Sam considered her question. Common sense assured him that there was no map—just as there was no Naj Taxim. Her father was dead. A regretful fact, but a fact just the same. The sooner Davina Lowell faced the truth, the better off she'd be.

  But something about her made it difficult to refuse her outright. Perhaps it was the blatant hope shining in those wide aquamarine eyes. Or perhaps it was the fragrance that surrounded her—a crisp, clean scent that reminded him of perpetual springtime. Or, Sam considered with his typical honesty, perhaps it was simply that it had been a very long time since he'd bedded any woman, let alone one from that faraway world he'd left behind. Whatever the reason, he found himself ducking her question.

  "Let's take this one step at a time," he said simply. "Beginning with Chichen Itza. When are you supposed to meet this guy?"

  "Friday. Does this mean you'll take the job?"

  Damn. The day after tomorrow. That didn't allow much time to run a check on Davina's map salesman. "I don't come cheap," he warned.

  "While we Yank
ees are infamous for haggling over bargains, we also appreciate value, Mr. McGee," Davina said seriously. "I've been assured that you're the best. I expect to pay for quality work."

  Sam had to give her credit. When he named an outrageously padded fee, in a last-ditch attempt to send her running back to Boston, Davina paled but nodded bravely.

  "I'll call my bank and have them wire a draft for ten days' work." While she struggled to remain composed and not reveal the shock that Sam's alleged fee had been, Davina spoke in a voice not nearly as strong. "Do you think that will give us enough time?" she asked hopefully.

  "You never know, Ms Lowell," he responded laconically. "Chasing a legend takes time."

  "Time," she repeated flatly, not looking at all encouraged.

  He gave her a wicked grin. "That's right. Even on the crazy, outside chance you get your map, landmarks will have changed a great deal over the centuries. The entire trek could take a month or two. Maybe even three, considering the fact that it's the rainy season."

  Davina's heart sank to the sawdust-covered floor as she began mentally calculating the man's daily fee times ninety days. She'd be lucky not to have to hock her great-grandmother Lowell's silver service just to get herself through the first month. What on earth was she going to do if the expedition dragged on longer than that? Refusing to consider the matter, Davina held out her hand.

  "Mr. McGee, consider yourself hired."

  He took the slender hand she offered, surprised to find that Davina possessed a strength not apparent at first glance. Her skin was smooth, her fingernails, free of polish, had been buffed until they gleamed. For a fleeting instant Sam pictured those creamy, slender hands on his body, her fingers trailing tantalizingly over his skin.

  Don't be a damned fool, he told himself. This one is so far out of your league that you don't even belong in the same ballpark, McGee. Even as Sam warned himself of that fact, he admitted that though Sam McGee, expatriate cantina owner, might not have anything in common with Ms Davina Lowell, Samuel Matthew McGee was another matter altogether.

  He shook his head in disgust at himself. He'd put that life behind him and he wasn't going to look back, even if Davina Lowell was the most enticing lure he'd had thrown at him in the past five years. He'd pay off the damn debt to her father as swiftly and uneventfully as he could. Then he'd put the lady on a plane and send her back to Boston where she belonged.

  Not for the first time, certainly, Davina told herself that she had to be insane, throwing her lot in with this man. She watched cautiously as his face hardened to granite and his tawny eyes turned to agate.

  "Mr. McGee?"

  Her soft tone cut through his introspection. Sam's eyes followed hers to their linked hands, and he belatedly realized that his fingers had tightened uncomfortably around hers.

  "Sorry," he said gruffly, yanking his hand away.

  Davina put her hands in her lap, surreptitiously rubbing them together to stimulate circulation. Her eyes remained wary. "I should probably be getting back to Molly's," she suggested quietly. "It's been a long day."

  Sam appeared almost relieved as he jumped to his feet. "Good idea. I'll walk you there."

  Davina knew better than to refuse his offer. Besides, as strange a man as Sam McGee was, her instincts told her that she was a great deal safer with him than she'd be taking her chances on her own.

  "Thank you," she said formally.

  An awkward silence hovered between them as they walked the few short blocks to Molly's place. Once, when she inadvertently brushed against him, Sam recoiled, jamming his hands deep into his pockets as he kept to the very edge of the sidewalk. His total lack of interest left her feeling vaguely disappointed, but Davina reminded herself that the last thing she wanted was to have to fend off passes from a man she'd be working so closely with.

  Besides, Sam McGee wasn't even her type. As a rule, she preferred educated, intelligent men; men with ambition and drive. Men like her father; like Brad. The thought of her father's assistant made her sigh with regret. She'd always valued their friendship as something special.

  Davina had been much too busy these past years establishing her career to consider the idea of marriage and a family seriously, yet during random moments of introspection she had considered becoming Mrs. Bradford Stevenson someday. The idea of having someone to share her work with outside the corridors of Boston University was undeniably appealing.

  Now, after Brad's refusal to accompany her to the Yucatan, she was forced to consider the unpalatable fact that he didn't take her any more seriously than her father had all these years. She could have understood his misgivings; in her more rational moments, even Davina had to admit she was playing a long shot, coming down here to search for a man everyone had written off as dead months ago.

  No, she thought sadly, what had hurt her was Brad's stubborn refusal to stand by her. If he had honestly cared about her, wouldn't he at least have tried to understand her need to come to Mexico? If he'd felt something special for her, might he not have wanted to be with her at this time?

  Her soft, rippling sigh drew Sam's attention. "Tired?"

  "A little," she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck wearily. "Although I don't know why I should be after this afternoon's nap."

  "It's the humidity. You'd better get used to it. It'll be a helluva lot worse in the jungle."

  "You don't have to worry about me," she countered stiffly. "I'm a lot stronger than I look."

  "That's right, you're the lady who breaks bricks with your bare hands, aren't you?" There was no mistaking the acid sarcasm in his voice.

  Davina murmured something vague that could have been agreement. Before Sam had a chance to dwell on her noncommittal answer, two men came barreling out of a tavern, fists flailing. Taking her arm, he moved her off the sidewalk, into the street, out of the way of the crowd that immediately followed the dueling pugilists.

  "I'll say this for you, Mr. McGee," she said conversationally, once they had returned to the wooden sidewalk, "when you decided to run away from home, you certainly chose a colorful place."

  Sam's fingers tightened on her arm. "What makes you think I'm running away from anything?" His tone was gruff; his eyes, in the spreading glow of a flashing neon sign, hard and unyielding.

  Davina had not put a great deal of thought into her words; indeed, they'd come off the top of her head in an attempt to lighten the silence mounting between them, as thick and uncomfortable as the moisture-laden night air. Now, considering his obvious tension, she found herself suddenly very curious about this guide she had hired. Who was Sam McGee? And what was he doing hiding out in this harbor town on the edge of nowhere?

  She forced an uncaring shrug, reminding herself that her sole interest in Sam McGee was as a guide.

  "It was simply a casual statement, Mr. McGee," she assured him calmly. "There's no reason to bite my head off."

  Sam's narrowed eyes were riveted on her own wide, guileless ones. Try as she might, she couldn't entirely conceal the feminine curiosity lingering in their depths. Trouble, he reminded himself. Davina Lowell is nothing less than a disaster just waiting to happen.

  If he had any sense at all, he'd put her on that damn plane tomorrow and send her back to her nice tidy existence with that professor in Boston, before things got out of control. The problem with that plan was that the lady wouldn't go, he reminded himself, his silent scrutiny taking in the stubborn tilt of her chin.

  "Let's just get you back to Molly's before you get into more trouble," he suggested brusquely, putting an end to the conversation.

  As they continued walking, Davina came to the reluctant conclusion that Sam's gritty suggestion had come too late; because every feminine instinct she possessed told her that she had already gotten herself into more trouble than she could have imagined.

  Despite the fact that her archaeological excursions had previously been limited to Mexico City and its environs, Davina had no qualms about the upcoming expedition; she was confident enough
to believe that she could handle any situation that might arise.

  But Sam McGee was turning out to be another story altogether. Davina had the uneasy feeling that this man was going to prove far more challenging, notably more dangerous than anything she could possibly come up against in the Yucatan jungle.

  4

  He never should have agreed to this wild-goose chase, Sam told himself the next morning as they drove to Chichen Itza. He should have turned her down flat. So what if she got herself mixed up with one of those other unsavory characters on her damned list? What business was it of his? Who had appointed him Davina Lowell's keeper?

  Fate, he reminded himself grimly. Despite every logical argument to the contrary, Sam couldn't discount the fact that the odds of Jordan Lowell's daughter suddenly showing up in Calderitas were slim to nonexistent. That she had beaten those odds simply proved that a man could not outrun his destiny.

  Davina gripped the edges of the torn vinyl seat of the Jeep with white-knuckled fingers as Sam seemed determined to hit every single pothole from Calderitas to Chichen Itza. He hadn't said a word since they had left the immigration checkpoint a few miles outside Chetumal. And even then, he had practically bitten her head off when she had offered to reimburse him for the "document-checking fee."

  Davina was not at all surprised when the officials at the immigration station expected remuneration for services that should ordinarily have been part of their job. That was only standard operating procedure in this country; a prudent traveler always carried additional cash for such instances.

  Still, she was admittedly puzzled when Sam nearly threw her money back in her face. His sudden concern for her funds was especially perplexing as he had appeared to have no qualms about his outrageous fee. From that point on, his conversational skills seemed to deteriorate to an occasional grunt. Giving up, Davina turned her attention to the scenery, such as it was.

  The land was predominantly flat, the grassy savanna with its low, shrubby vegetation giving way to tropical forest. The air was heavy with moisture, so thick and stifling that Davina had the impression she could reach out and grab fistfuls of the stuff.