A Candle in the Dark (18 page)

“Yes, of course. Now—”

“Or even the boat ride to Gorgona. I have heard—”

“Jiméne!” She snapped, so intently he nearly jumped from his hammock. When he turned to look at her, his brown eyes wide, she took a deep breath, forcing calm. “Jiméne,” she said slowly. “I have something important to ask you.”

“Of course,
cariña
,” he said, suddenly serious. “Whatever you wish, you have if it is in my power to give you.”

“I need your help.” Ana didn’t take her eyes from his face. “I need to leave.”

“Leave?” Jiméne looked puzzled. “But we will leave, as soon as D’Alessandro hires another bungo.”

“You don’t understand,” she said firmly. “I want to leave without him.”

“Without… ? Without D’Alessandro? But he is your husband!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be a fool!” Her voice was sharp, sharper than she’d intended. “He isn’t my husband and you know it. You’ve known it since the beginning.”

“But—but you insisted.”

“I was lying!”

Jiméne stared at her skeptically. “You said he was your husband. Now you say he is not?”

“Because he isn’t. He never was. I hired him, Jiméne. I hired him to pose as my husband for the trip to San Francisco. I thought that way I’d be less conspicuous, that it would be easier to travel.” Ana spoke quickly. “He’s a drunkard, that’s all. Not my husband. Not anything to me.”

“I see.” He looked thoughtful. “And now you want to leave him?”

She nodded eagerly. “He’s slowing me down, Jiméne. He’s spending all my money. I have no other choice but to leave him behind.”

He didn’t look at her, merely rubbed his chin. “What is it you wish me to do?”

Victory sped through her. It was all she could do to keep from laughing in triumph. “Come with me. I need a partner, someone I can trust. I can’t go on alone. You say you care about me, Jiméne. Show me that’s true. Show me you care enough to leave with me.”

“
Carina.” He
choked the word as if tortured by it.

Ana reached out and caressed his hand. “Jiméne, please.”

“Ah,
cariña
.” Jiméne shook his head sadly. “I cannot. I cannot.”

Ana snatched her hand back and stared at him disbelievingly. “What?”

“I cannot.” Jiméne couldn’t even look at her. Instead, he focused on the notched pole leading to the sleeping loft above. Misery lined his face, but Ana felt no sympathy at all.

“What do you mean, you cannot?”

“
Mi madre is
ill,
cariña
. I must go home. But even if I could, I would not help you with this. D’Alessandro saved my life.”

“He certainly did not,” Ana said, surprised. “If not for Alejo—”

“A witch doctor,” Jiméne said simply, brushing away her comment. “They do the same for everyone—tamarind water and prayer. It is doctoring for fools. No, it is D’Alessandro who saved my poor life. I am certain of this. I will not repay him by leaving him behind. I cannot. He needs our help.”

“Our help?” Confusion made her tone sharp. “What does that mean?”

Jiméne pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I am not sure I can explain it to you,
cariña
, but you must trust me in this. It is better for you—for all of us—to stay with D’Alessandro.”

“How can you say that?” It took every ounce of control she had to keep from stomping away in frustration. She had lost. Jiméne had refused to help her. In all her planning, this was the one thing she had not expected. “He’s a drunkard, Jiméne. If nothing else, he’ll make trouble.”

“He saved my life,” he said simply.

She opened her mouth to argue, but his unwavering confidence defeated her. Ana glanced again at D’Alessandro’s broad back. In her mind, she heard again the words he’d thrown at her in the middle of the jungle.
What is it that bothers you most about last night? The fact that I touched you? Or the fact that you slept willingly in my arms
?

Panic sped through her. It didn’t matter what Jiméne said. She
had
to leave. D’Alessandro was too dangerous. She would go on alone if there was no other way. And she would go tonight.

Ana lay stiff and silent on the stinking hammock. The hut shook with snoring as loud as the shouts that had filled it less than an hour before. Near the dying fire, two dogs scratched constantly.

From somewhere far away came the faint sound of a jaguar’s roar, quickly followed by the laughter of men drinking in a neighboring hovel, and Ana shuddered. Once she stole the ticket from D’Alessandro, she planned to go there, where the men were still awake and drunk enough to think taking on a female companion might have its advantages. If she had to, she would prove just how many advantages there were.

She clenched her fists at the thought. She hated to be forced to trade her favors for permission to join, but there might not be any other choice. After all, her plan to pick and choose her customers was for San Francisco, not for the journey there. For now, she would do what she had to.

If that meant leaving Jiméne behind, so be it. Ana closed her eyes briefly, pushing away sadness. She had not expected Jiméne’s refusal, nor had she expected her sorrowful reaction to it. She had not wanted to say good-bye so soon, but there was no help for it. If his ties to D’Alessandro were stronger than his ties to her, there was nothing she could do except go ahead without him.

She glanced over at the shape that was D’Alessandro, sprawled on the hide-covered bamboo floor. His chest heaved slowly, deeply, a snore rattled from his open mouth. Ana frowned. She had watched him this evening, getting rapidly and completely drunk. So drunk, she thought with disgust, that even the fleas jumping all over the floor didn’t stir him.

But for once, his drunkenness didn’t fill her with dismay. It would make it easier to steal the tickets. Ana slowly, carefully worked her way out of the hammock. One of the dogs by the fire rose, watching her expectantly with big brown eyes while the other gnawed at a flea bite on its tail. She ignored them, stepping carefully over one sprawled body and then another, holding her breath every time the cane creaked beneath her weight.

“Aaaah.”

She froze, her heart racing. Slowly she looked over her shoulder at the man who’d made the noise. He turned over, disturbed by the dog, who had decided to rub its back on the bottom of his low-hanging hammock. Ana breathed a sigh of relief as the snores began again. She waited, paralyzed until the animal lay down, resting its head on its paws.

D’Alessandro was only a few feet away, and Ana skillfully skirted the other shadows until she stood beside him. She hadn’t imagined his deep sleep, she noted with satisfaction. His body didn’t even twitch in dreams. The moonlight slanting against his cheekbones made him look pale and slightly sinister, the dark hair framing his face blended into the shadows so it seemed as if his face were disembodied, glowing. Somehow threatening…

Ana pushed the notion away. Asleep, he was no more threatening than a newborn babe. Drunk, even less so. It was only her imagination. All she had to do was lean down, reach into his open frock coat, and find the pocket with the tickets. An easy matter, really. So simple the most inexperienced pickpocket could do it.

So why was she standing here, staring at him as if frozen by a witch’s curse? Why did that strange fear send her heart pounding loudly in her ears?

Because she was a fool, Ana told herself firmly. There wouldn’t be a better time. As quietly as she could, she knelt beside him. Slowly, licking her lips with nervousness, she reached out and touched the worn lapel of his coat, carefully—oh so carefully—pulling it aside—

His hand snaked out, clamping tightly around her wrist. Ana choked back a scream and tried to yank her hand back. But his grip was too tight, his fingers cut into the tendons of her wrist, bringing tears of pain.

His eyes snapped open. To her surprise, Ana saw clarity and sharpness in his gaze. He said nothing, releasing her wrist with lethal suddenness. Then, before she could escape, he grabbed her again, his arm like an iron bar across her back, holding her prisoner against his chest.

“Well, well, if it isn’t m’little partner,” he whispered. She heard the slur of drink in his voice even though it wasn’t in his eyes. “Miss m’arms tonight?”

She tried to pull away, but his arm kept her in place with a strength she didn’t expect. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her still.

“Let me go.”

“A’right,” he said agreeably, though his hold didn’t lessen. “First tell me why y’were going through m’pockets. Looking for something?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie’t’ me, Ana.”

If possible, his voice was smoother at a whisper. The
ah
s of her name rolled off his tongue to shiver down her spine. Ana was uncomfortably aware of the heat of his body through their clothes, aware of the way her breasts pressed into him. He smelled like brandy and river water and sweat, and the combination was strangely familiar and reassuring. But it was his gaze that affected her the most. He looked at her in a lazy, half-lidded way that stabbed right through her, as if he tried to fathom the secrets in her eyes. As if she held the key to some locked door…

Ana closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotions his gaze roused.

“Well?”

Ana twisted, wincing as his fingers tightened on her hair. “Dammit, let go of me!” She pushed at his chest, digging her fingernails into the skin at his throat. “Let go of me.”

“Christ!” he cursed softly, rolling.

Ana found herself suddenly pinned beneath him, staring up into his face. His hair fell forward, shadowing his expression, but the moonlight slanting through the hut’s open door accentuated the full curve of his smile.

“Well, Ana?” he said again. “Tell me what y’want, unless you’re looking to spend the night this way.”

“I can promise you’ll get no satisfaction from it,” she said as coolly as she could.

“Now there you’re wrong,” he said. He looped a strand of her hair around his finger and stared at it. “Just holding y’is all the satisfaction I need.”

Damn him, he knew just what to say, how to make her the most uncomfortable. She twisted her head, looking away from him, trying to ignore the press of his hips against hers, trying not to see his steady stare.

He laughed softly, his brandy-scented breath fanning her face. “So if it’s not me, y’want, Duchess, what is it? Not money, since y’hold it all. Not my clothes, you’ve got your own. So it must be—” He stopped short, Ana looked at him just in time to see his eyes widen in surprise. “Christ. The tickets. Y’want the tickets.”

Ana’s lips thinned. “You’ve been nothing but trouble,” she said, too furious at her failure to care about saving his feelings. “I’m severing our deal right now. Forget about helping me, or saving me, or pretending to be my husband. From now on, I travel alone.”

Cain was too stunned to do anything but stare at her. She wanted the tickets. Wanted to leave him behind while she gallivanted off to San Francisco by herself. In spite of her cruelty over the
curandero
a few days ago, the knowledge brought with it a fierce and unrelenting panic. The fear of his blackouts came rushing back. He could not be alone—not here in the jungle—not left to the mercy of
aguardiente
and memories. But she meant to leave him just the same. Christ, if he hadn’t been used to sleeping outside and alone, used to waking at the slightest movement, she would have stolen the tickets without a word. She would be gone.

In spite of her promise.

She glared at him defiantly, her eyes dark holes in the moonlight, her hair tangled around her face. Her full lips were sculpted by the shadows into a thin, forbidding line. She meant it, he knew. Meant every word. The realization made him fully sober in an instant. Sober and angry.

“You promised,” he said quietly. He realized too late how stupid it sounded, and winced.

She laughed in his face. “Promised? What does that matter?”

He stared at her unbelievingly, feeling a sense of loss so great it surprised him. He had overestimated her again. Hell, she was nothing but a whore on the run from the law. On the banks of the Chagres, she’d proven that she had no compassion and little faith. Why did it surprise him to learn she had no honor either?

She twisted uncomfortably beneath him, turning her face away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“As if I’ve disappointed you.”

“You have.”

She made a soft sound of impatience. “You can’t be that naive, D’Alessandro. You don’t need me, you never did. I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me.”

He tried hard to keep disappointment from coloring his voice. “I fulfilled my part of the bargain, Duchess,” he said softly. “The least you can do is fulfill yours.”

Her eyes narrowed, she moved again beneath his hips. “I’ve given you everything I said I would. Money, drink—”

“Y’promised to stay with me.”

She closed her eyes briefly, heaving a deep sigh, and he felt her relax. When she opened her eyes again, she was smiling a soft, provocative smile. “What is it you really want, D’Alessandro? You said you needed me. Maybe it’s only that you want me.”

Her smile broadened, and Cain stiffened, suddenly realizing where her words were leading. She was trying to trade her favors for her freedom—the thought plunged him into a new kind of hell. God knew, he’d always wanted her, and now here she was, offering herself to him, and he realized he didn’t want her like this. Not as part of a bargain. His stomach knotted as if he’d been punched hard and the rest of him went numb. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead even though the room was stiflingly warm.

She wiggled again between his legs, and somehow that made the tear in her bodice gape wider over her breast, revealing more of the soft swell. “Give me the ticket, D’Alessandro, and I’m yours for the night. To do whatever you want with.”

He swallowed, feeling the blood drain from his face. His voice was embarrassingly husky and raw. “No.”

“No?” She lifted a brow, her voice edged with derision. “What are you afraid of? Is there some strange liking you have? Don’t worry, D’Alessandro, I’ve accommodated them all—”