A Candle in the Dark (46 page)

One mule was missing.

“Christ.” He heard his own oath, and it seemed to come from miles away, to echo strangely in his head. One mule was missing. One mule. The knowledge filled him with sudden, inexplicable terror.
It couldn’t be. He was wrong. He had to be wrong
.

“Jiméne,” he cut through the Panamanian’s chatter abruptly, breathlessly. “Jiméne, where does Dolores do the wash?”

“Where?” Jiméne repeated stupidly. “At the stream—off the path just ahead. Why?”

Cain didn’t bother to answer. He spun on his heel, ignoring Jiméne’s gasp of surprise as he raced toward the trail. He hit the path at a fast pace, meaning to remain calm, but by the time he rounded the first bend, Cain had broken into a run. His heart pounded, he tried to contain his panic. But his desperation grew, the sense of wrongness washed over him in giant, suffocating waves. Christ, she had to be there.
Had
to be. She could be no place else.

He heard the stream before he saw it. Heard the bubbling water. Heard the slapping of clothes on the rocks. It took him only a moment to realize what was wrong. There was no laughing, no talking. Nothing but silence. As if Dolores was alone…

Cain burst around the corner, stumbling to a stop. Dolores gasped and dropped the shirt she was washing. It caught in the current, a flash of white drifting out of reach, and she looked up at him with round, wide eyes, her hand at her throat.

He couldn’t help himself. “Where’s Ana?” he demanded.

Dolores’s fear was replaced with puzzlement. “I do not know. She never came to help with the wash. I thought she was with you.”

“No,” he whispered. He suddenly lost all ability to move or think or breathe. “Not with me.”

“Well, I have not seen her.”

Desperately Cain tried to think. Dolores had not seen her. She was not at the house. He broke out in cold sweat, denying what he knew was true. No, it was impossible that she could have left. Impossible. She didn’t know the way; even Ana wouldn’t set off through the jungle alone—

But she had. He knew it. Cain twisted around, leaving Dolores to stare after him as he ran back down the path. He sprinted across the yard, pushing through a puzzled Jiméne and Amado at the door, ignoring everyone as he flew through the
quincha
to the room he and Ana had so recently shared. He paused in the doorway, searching for his case and the burlap bag that held what was left of his clothes. It was there, on the other side of the bed, and he grabbed it and ripped it open, spilling his things onto the mattress. His frock coat, a ripped shirt, a pair of underwear.

He grabbed the coat, fumbling with it, turning it this way and that until he found the inside pocket. The pocket that held the steamer tickets.

It was empty.

He stared at it, unable to believe the tickets were gone. He hadn’t been away from this room for more than half an hour. There hadn’t been time… It had to be the wrong pocket. There were other pockets, maybe he was mistaken. He nearly ripped the coat apart, searching. But each pocket turned up the same thing: Nothing. The tickets were gone. Not just hers, but his as well. She had taken both of them.

So he couldn’t follow her.

“
I have to go
,” she’d said this morning.

He hadn’t realized she meant forever.

Cain sank onto the bed. Ah, Christ, what had he been thinking? He’d known she was uneasy, but he hadn’t thought—Hell, he hadn’t thought she would leave him.

Just like that. Without a word or a note. Without anything.

But Ana had always run. He knew that. Hell, it was how he’d met her. And she ran not just physically, but emotionally. She withdrew inside herself, built that damned wall up around her. She’d told him she was incapable of loving, and he hadn’t believed her. Had chosen instead to believe she just didn’t know what she was capable of, that he could show her how to love—how to love him.

That was the biggest joke of all. He didn’t know where the hell his confidence came from. He had failed at every other damn thing in his life, why was he so sure Ana was different?

Because you love her. Because you’ve no other choice but to believe she loves you too
. Yes, that was true, but he was a fool to believe it made a difference, a fool to believe in happy-ever-after endings and loving families, children and good-morning kisses. Ah, Christ, what a fool he was.

The ache spread through him, nearly paralyzing him. Cain felt the hot sting behind his eyes, the frustration coiling in his gut. He had trusted her, had given her everything he could, and she had given him nothing of herself. Nothing.

“Oh, Ana,” he breathed, looking up at the ceiling, then closing his eyes when the pain assailed his heart. “Sweet Christ, what you have done to me.”

God, he needed a drink. The thirst came with his frustration, washing over him, wrapping him in blackness and desire, making him swallow in painful, tight weakness. Yes, a drink. It was familiar and beloved, it would ease the pain of losing her. Without her, there was no point in refusing it. And he wanted it so badly now. Red wine,
aguardiente
, bourbon…

Ana
… He called up her name, and with it came the strength to send the craving away. The thirst dissipated as if it had been nothing but a mild temptation, and it was then he knew. He knew that he was wrong, that he was lying to himself. Ana had given him nothing? No, she had given him everything. She had given him a piece of herself. A piece she probably hadn’t even realized she’d given away. Not yet. But she would. And until she did, there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say.

He wanted to chase after her, to take her in his arms and force her to admit her feelings for him, but Cain knew that would be a mistake. It was time for Ana to decide what she wanted; he could not decide for her. It was her life and she had to choose how to live it. If Ana loved him, she would be back. He had no other choice but to believe that.

Slowly he dropped the coat still clenched in his hands and moved away from the bed where he had taken her over and over again, where she had yielded to him her breath, her body, her soul. He heard the creaking of the bamboo mat beneath his feet with some far part of his mind, felt himself moving across the floor, through the door.

The family all stood there in the main room, still as death, watching him with curious, wary eyes—as if they expected him to break into lunacy at any moment. The sight of them that way, poised, waiting, anxious, made him ache, and Cain froze, not knowing what to say, what to do. Finally he just said it.

“She’s gone.”

Jiméne stepped forward and shook his head. “You are wrong,
amigo
. Where could she have gone? She was here only moments ago—when you were outside. She will be back.”

“The mule is gone. She took the steamer tickets.”

Jiméne paled. “The steamer tickets?”

Cain nodded.

“
Gracias a Dios
.” Jiméne let out his breath slowly. “I am
muy estupido! Amiga
, I fear you are right. Today—this morning—she asked me how far it was to Panama City. She asked me about the path.”

Cain’s stomach fell. “And you told her.”

“I did not think anything of it,” Jiméne insisted. “
Dios
. It is lucky the path is safe. There are only peasants on it. Ah, such a fool I am!” He headed for the door. “Quick, D’Alessandro, let us take the mule. We should be able to find her soon—she left only moments ago. She cannot have gone far.”

“No.”

Jiméne stopped. He turned slowly, confusion lighting his eyes. “No?”

“No.”

“But—but you cannot mean it! You cannot mean not to go after her! You love her. She loves you!”

“Yes.” Cain looked away. “But I’m not chasing her down,
amigo
. Not this time.”
Not this time
. Slowly, feeling as if every muscle in his body was protesting, Cain went to the bench and sat down, put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

And waited.

It was growing dark now. Ana huddled on the mule, wishing she had thought to bring a blanket. She had been too long at Jiméne’s, had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by the green twilight, to feel the constant, threatening pressure of the jungle. Alone, it was even worse. She felt vulnerable and afraid. Every little sound had her jumping in her seat, twisting to see imaginary brigands crashing from the underbrush. Any moment now, she expected to see Esteban’s men bearing down on her again.

And this time, she had only herself to rely on. There was no Cain to wield a fatal scalpel. No Cain to hold her at night, to protect her against the aftershock. No Cain to keep attackers from using her as they wished.

No Cain.

The feeling of emptiness grew inside her, and she forced it back, as she had been forcing it back for the last hours, and concentrated on the rhythm of the mule’s gait.
Trot, pause. Trot, pause
. The animal moved carefully down the twisting trail, setting each hoof down with deliberate, slow precision. From what Jiméne said, Ana had expected to reach Panama City before dark. But the mule was taking its own sweet time, and it was becoming obvious that she was going to have to spend the night in the middle of the jungle.

Ana eyed the darkening underbrush cautiously, wondering if there was a better place around the bend, or if she should make camp there. There was a large tree just beyond the path, leafy enough to protect her from the rain, though it wouldn’t be warm. Not like the
quincha
, with its waterproof roof and bamboo floors.

Her fingers tightened on the reins. By now, surely, Cain would have noticed that she was missing. He’d only been at the side of the house when she went back to take the tickets, she’d heard him splashing at the well. Not far away at all. Perhaps he’d raised the alarm. Perhaps even now, they were riding hell-bent down the path, searching for her, determined to find her before darkness set in. Ana closed her eyes, imagining it. For a moment, the vision was so strong she actually thought she heard the sound of pounding hooves on the path above her, heard the faint echo of her name ringing through the jungle.
Anal Ann! I love you. That will never change
…

A lump lodged in her throat. It wouldn’t matter if he came after her, she would refuse to go back with him. It was better this way, better if he never came after her at all. Then she wouldn’t have to argue with him, wouldn’t have to look into those warm brown eyes and tell him that she would rather be in San Francisco, taking gold from men who wanted to use the body she’d given to him.

Your life
, she reminded herself forcibly.
This is what you want
. Yes, what she wanted. To be in charge of her own life, to make her own decisions. She had dreamed of this day for years: Owning her own house, turning away the men she disliked and inviting the ones she wanted to her bed.

But there’s only one man you want.

Ana winced. No, it wasn’t true. She didn’t want only one man, didn’t want Cain in her bed again. In fact, the first thing she would do when she got to Panama City—the very first thing—would be to find some miner with money to spend. Perhaps that would exorcise this strange attraction she had for Cain D’Alessandro. Perhaps then she could forget him.

The thought sent a sudden chill over her, a wave of revulsion so strong she felt weak. Ana reined in the mule. Her hands shook, and she clenched them into fists, trying to control her emotions. She was tired, that was all. It was time to stop, to rest. By morning she would feel stronger.

Slowly she dismounted and led the mule off the path, through the trailing vines and dense undergrowth to the semiclearing beneath the large ceiba tree. The shadows were dense around her, the jungle eerily silent in those few moments before total darkness. She tried not to feel it as she unloaded the few things she’d brought with her, humming to herself as she took care of the mule. But the sound of her voice was disconcerting, high and thin, weirdly muffled in the lush curtain of foliage, and she soon stopped, finishing the chore quickly and settling herself at the base of the tree.

Ana closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the trunk. She was alone. At last. Soon all this would be behind her. Again she would be able to rely solely on herself. Again she would be the person she’d been in New York. Safe, alone.

Lonely.

Her heart felt clutched in a vise, the cold spot inside of her seemed to spread through her body, to her limbs. No, not lonely. Not lonely.

Liar.

The images came into her head then, images too strong to fight, rolling over her in great waves of miserable memory. She saw herself, standing in the chill lamplight of her room, wiping one man’s seed from her body while she waited for the next, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. Saw herself moving through the salon at Rose’s, detached and alone even in a crowd of people, rarely smiling, never laughing. Saw herself watching as they cleared the body of one woman away, dead from opium overdose, searching the room for items she might want to take for herself: a perfume bottle, perhaps, or a gown.

Remembered the darkness she’d felt all the time. The horrible, unending emptiness, the inevitable wondering if her own death would mean nothing to someone but the opportunity to acquire a pretty necklace.

She had not felt that way for a long time.

Not since she’d met Cain.

Ana swallowed. Sadness welled in her throat, a great, heavy weight made it hard to breathe. She had been used to those feelings before, had never expected anything different for herself, never wanted it. The memory of her mother had always been too strong, the memories of vulnerability, insanity all worse than that empty darkness.

It had been easy then. She had nothing to care about, no one who meant anything to her. The loneliness was easy to bear simply because she’d never felt anything else.

But that was before she’d known what it was like to feel. Before she knew anyone who cared what she thought. Before she’d been held late at night and made love to with slow, patient sweetness.