Forbidden

“Were you able to learn anything?” she asked. “I’d like to say I caught all that, but I didn’t.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck, frowning at Dana as if he’d forgotten about her and didn’t like being reminded of her existence.

“That was Anton and Elena Montano. They live nearby and they both work for me from time to time, but they were away from the site all morning. They didn’t see anything unusual.”

The conversation had gone on for quite a while, and Dana suspected it had been more informative than Nick allowed.

“You don’t suppose one of them–Anton or Elena–could have sneaked up and conked Jarrett on the head?”

“Hell, I could have sneaked up and attacked him myself, then still made it in time to meet your boat. But why would I want to do that? Don’t try to play detective, Ms. Morgan.”

She stared at him in exasperation. “We have to find out who did it before it happens again. We have to conduct an investigation, contact the police–”

“I’ll handle it, Ms. Morgan. It’s not your concern.”

“Right. Someone is running around, walloping people with rocks, and I’m supposed to forget about it?”

He stared back at her, as if to quell her with one of his silences. Dana refused to be quelled. She confronted Nick Petrie’s ice blue gaze–and experienced once again that bewildering and completely unwelcome sense of connection to him. He wasn’t touching her at all, yet she felt the beat of her pulse in an elemental rhythm that suddenly seemed unfamiliar to her. Too much had seemed unfamiliar today….

“I’m surprised Daniel didn’t return with you,” Dana said quickly. “He seems to like being around you.”

A wry look crossed Nick’s face. “Daniel is very much his own person. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

Then the sound of voices interrupted Nick, and a moment later a man and a woman came striding out of the forest into the clearing. They appeared to be in the midst of some disagreement.

“You didn’t listen to a thing I–”

“On the contrary. I have been the soul of attentiveness.”

“Like hell–” The woman stopped herself in mid-curse as she saw Nick and Dana. “Oh. Well…Daniel told us what happened,” she said in a brisk tone. “How’s Jarrett?”

“He’ll live,” Nick answered tersely.

The woman now concentrated on Dana, her glance assessing. “I’m Pat.” She said her name as if she expected Dana to know all about her. She was tall and athletic in build, sandy hair curling haphazardly at her shoulders. Her grip was firm as she shook hands with Dana.

Now the man stepped forward. He was distinguished looking, with a reddish beard cropped close to his resolute chin. In spite of the heat, his khaki shirt looked fresh and crisp. Dana wondered how he managed that. He, too, shook hands with her and introduced himself.

“Robert Lambert, Ms. Morgan. It’s too bad you’re joining us under such disturbing circumstances.” He didn’t sound disturbed–merely perfunctory. Dana thought she could identify his accent as French, but she wasn’t entirely sure.

Nick, however, left no time for speculation. “I’m taking Jarrett into the village. Robert, Pat, have a look around–but stay together!” He glanced at Dana. “Ms. Morgan, I suppose you’d better come with me.”

Dana disliked being treated like unwanted baggage. She thought she’d detected a slight resentment flicker across Robert’s and Pat’s faces, too–perhaps they weren’t particularly pleased about following orders, either. But clearly Nick was the one in command.

“We’ll see what we can find,” Robert said.

“Yeah, right,” Pat added, and a few seconds later they disappeared back into the jungle, their conversation resuming all the intensity of their prior argument.

“Are they always so friendly toward each other?”

“Of course,” Nick said matter-of-factly. Then he turned and began walking back to the hut. “We’ll take Jarrett to the village. After that, there are a few things that need checking out.”

“Sounds good,” Dana said with determination. “Just tell me what we’re looking for.”

“I’ll do the investigation, Ms. Morgan. On my own.” He gave Dana a look sufficient to suppress all arguments. Goodness…was this entire expedition comprised of grouches?

* * *

NICK PETRIE NEEDED a drink. Hell, he always needed a drink. Wearily, Nick wondered if the craving would ever let up on him. He just didn’t know. He fought a battle every day, every minute of his life. Lord, it could make him tired sometimes.

The waiter at the café stood in front of Nick, looking bored. He’d probably go right on looking bored, even if Nick ordered some whiskey or tequila. The guy didn’t realize how easily Nick could flush his life down the toilet again.

“Una Coca-Cola,” Nick said. The waiter nodded blandly to Nick and left. Nick turned to stare across at the village plaza. He’d chosen one of the outdoor tables, as usual, but he couldn’t seem to get comfortable in his rickety chair. It had been a lousy afternoon, which didn’t help his mood any. No matter who he’d talked to, he hadn’t been able to learn more about the attack on Jarrett. Either the islanders didn’t know anything–or they just weren’t talking.

Now the heat of the day had lessened with dusk, and teenagers were starting to congregate in the plaza for the nightly ritual of courtship. A cluster of girls gathered at the wrought-iron gazebo like a flock of restless doves, while the boys hovered at the outskirts. In a little while, the males would start mingling with the females, becoming more bold as the shadows of twilight fell. Maybe clothes and hairstyles had changed, but this same scene had been taking place on the island for the past two hundred years or so. It would probably go on for another two hundred years.

Nick shifted in his chair, still unable to get comfortable. When the waiter brought his soft drink, he took a good swallow but it did nothing to slake his thirst. Somehow this evening, watching the kids in the plaza, he remembered how long it had been since he’d allowed any woman to get close to him. It had been well over a year, in fact, since he’d botched things with Kathryn. Since then, he’d left mating rituals and such for younger men. The truth was, getting and staying sober had taken all his energy. He hadn’t even been tempted by a woman….

Until today. Today he’d met Dana Morgan, with her gold hair tumbling halfway down her back and those dark brown eyes of hers that had seemed to gaze straight into his soul. His reaction to her had been completely unexpected, and it had happened almost the first moment he’d seen her down on the landing waiting for him. It had been something about the way she’d held herself–standing very straight, as if she believed good posture was essential for an archaeological dig. He’d almost wanted to say “at ease,” but he wasn’t much into joking these days. Then he’d looked into her eyes and he’d felt lost. Disoriented…

Nick drained his drink and thumped the bottle down on the table. It was going to be damned inconvenient, working with the woman. But he had a hunch she wouldn’t last long. She looked like someone made for happiness, sunniness, not someone willing to hang around a crabby ex-drunk. Nick smiled grimly. He enjoyed his ill-tempered reputation. It kept people at bay. No doubt it would keep Dana Morgan at bay–and next thing he knew, she’d be off the island, boating her way back to more civilized society. If nothing else, she wouldn’t want to stay around in a place where people were assaulted with rocks.

Nick drew his eyebrows together. The whole incident with Jarrett was an unsavory one and a puzzler. Isla Calamar was not known for violence. Who the devil had been behind the attack this morning?

“Dr. Petrie,” said a woman’s voice, as rich and mellow as a thread of honey. Damn. It was her voice…Dana’s. A few hours earlier he’d left her in her room at the local hotel and he’d assumed he’d be free of her until tomorrow. But he’d been thinking about her, and it was almost as if he’d conjured her presence by the very insistence of his thoughts.

Reluctantly Nick glanced at Dana Morgan. She stood beside his table, looking both refreshed and determined. She still wore khaki pants, but she’d changed into a sleeveless denim shirt. Nick’s gaze lingered on the curves of her body. It was happening again, that unsettling awareness of everything about her: the silken waves of her hair, the faint flush on her cheeks, the creamy skin of her bare shoulders… He wished once more, futilely, for a stiff drink.

“Ms. Morgan,” he said. “I’m surprised you were able to find me in the teeming metropolis of La Ceiba.” It seemed he still knew how to joke, after all. The town was so small that you didn’t have to look very hard to find anyone.

Dana pulled out a chair and sat across from him without waiting for an invitation. “Jarrett’s sleeping again,” she announced. “I think he’s doing much better. The village doctor said you did a good job of treating Jarrett yourself. At least, that’s what I think the doctor said.”

Nick shrugged noncommittally. The village doctor was a seventy-eight-year-old man who’d retired to the island over a decade earlier, but his opinion was probably as good as anyone’s.

“I’m surprised you left Jarrett alone,” Nick remarked. “You seem to think the attacker will be back.”

“It’s a very strong possibility, isn’t it? But I managed to communicate with the lady at the hotel. She promised she’d keep the door to Jarrett’s room locked and that she’d watch out for him.”

Nick was impressed. The lofty proprietress of the village’s one hotel rarely did favors for anyone. “So you have everything under control, Ms. Morgan. You should try to get some rest.”

She didn’t take the hint, but simply went on gazing at him with earnest intensity. “I need to know more. Did you talk to the police yet?”

He stifled a groan. She was still gung ho, determined to crack the case herself. “Yes, Ms. Morgan, I spoke to the police. Correction–I spoke to Inspector Maciel, the one policeman on the island. He’s a rather elderly friend of the doctor’s, by the way, but he still takes his job seriously in spite of his gout and nearsightedness. He’s looking into the matter.”

Dana made a restless gesture. “Are you trying to be funny? But there must be something more we can do.”

“Not ’we,’ Ms. Morgan. I’m the one in charge.”

“I see.” She gave him a disdainful glance. “That’s why you’re sitting here…doing nothing.”