Shadow Play (10 page)

"That's exactly what it is, and if you think otherwise, my little man, you're a fool."

"But Sarah—"

"We use the lady's money to buy enough supplies to get us to Japura. We let her ride along as far as Santarem or Manaos. One night while she's sleeping, we leave without her. By the time she discovers we've gone, it'll be too late.''

Henry stared at him in shock. "Good Lord, are you meaning to dump her, Morgan?"

"Right."

"In Santarem or Manaos?"

"Right again."

"Good gosh."

He grabbed a handkerchief from the windowsill and tucked it into his breast pocket. Henry padded across the floor and peered up at him in concern, his eyes dark, the white bones in his nose gleaming dully in the twilight.

"But, Morgan, what does she do then?"

He jerked out the cloth and refolded it, refusing to look at his friend again. More carefully, he eased it into his pocket until the triangular point lay smoothly against the jacket.

"Morgan?" Henry said.

Morgan swept up the whiskey flask and dropped it into his pocket. Then, on second thought, he withdrew it and uncorked it. He drank deeply before returning it to his coat. "What?" he finally replied.

"What does she do then?"

"That's her problem."

"By Jove, have you no compassion, man? No conscience at all?"

He laughed in response.

"I cannot possibly allow you to do this," Henry pro- tested.

"No?" Morgan started for the door. "Then how do you intend to get to Japura\ old boy?"

A dozen chickens scattered from his path as he swung up the road. By the time he reached Water Street and the docks, he had finished one cigarette and started a second. He kept close to the shuttered bazaar stalls, venturing onto the wharf only after darkness had fallen completely. Then he took his place by the flickering gas lamp and waited.

Four years ago he had come to South America in search of get-rich-quick schemes that had ruined far better men than he. He'd sold his soul to the devil in hopes of grabbing the brass ring, escaped hell by the skin of his teeth... Now he was being lured back to the very pits of Hades by an angel.

But oh, what an angel!

Gazing out at the black sea, he recalled the joyous sound of her laughter, her courage... the feel of her arms around him, and the fire of appreciation in her eyes before she left him burning for her on the street.

He must be very, very careful. He could fall for her if he let himself. He might begin to hope that those beautiful eyes would shine at him with some emotion other than fear and awe, and occasionally anger. As if he cared if she smiled at him or looked at him as something other than white trash—or a means to an end.

He laughed and flicked the burning stub of his cigarette into the dark.

Chapter Five

Two week’s later, Belem, Brazil

Sarah sat sipping tea beneath a punkah in the Belem Hotel, surrounded by men—British botanists mostly, who were as eager to undertake their rigorous voyages into the Amazon as she. She was up and about earlier man usual, but she was determined to see Morgan. For the past three days, since their arrival in Belem, he had avoided her, leaving the hotel long before sunrise and returning well after dark, if at all. Since Kan had been busy helping the American prepare for the next stage of their journey, Henry had made a pleasant companion as she whiled away the long hours in the hotel lobby. But spending her days chatting with scientists who spoke as if the world's survival hinged on the propagation of orchids had quickly become monotonous, as tedious as Norman's discourses on butterflies.

Henry had informed her that he was to meet Morgan at eight o'clock in a supply store
near the dock. Well, she would be there, too. It was time Kane stopped excluding her. She should have some say in their arrangements; she was financing this expedition, after all.

As her napkin slid from her lap to the floor, a suited gentleman leapt to retrieve it, offering it to her with an affected flourish that reminded her of Norman. She frowned, then wondered why. Then she realized that, while such manners were de rigueur in London, they seemed pretentious here, surrounded by bamboo furnishings, half-naked Indians, and monkeys that ran freely throughout the hotel. She smiled her thanks and had just put her teacup aside when Kane's voice came to her from the restaurant. She would have recognized it anywhere. It tolled through the room with the resonance of a bell, and was followed by the sound of giggling females.

She jumped to her feet; so did the half-dozen men surrounding her, one scrambling to pull back her chair while another grabbed her parasol and gently offered it to her, handle first. "Gentlemen, it has been a great pleasure," she told them, her gaze still on the door, her heart racing.

"Oh, no," they responded almost in unison. "The plea- sure was ours, Miss St. James."

She hurried toward the restaurant, pausing long enough to attempt to steady her breathing. The fact that her body responded in such a way every time she came face-to-face with the American was most disconcerting. That he knew it further frustrated her. He used her nervousness to his advantage, sending her into a flutter with the narrowing of his eyes or a sardonic curl of his lips. Blast the man and his reputation. Be he
boto
or not, it was time to get a few things straight between them!

He was sitting at a table on the far side of the room, partially hidden by potted palms. He wasn't alone. Then again, he rarely was. A woman was with him, a tall, slender, dark-skinned beauty dressed in little more than strategically placed straps of brightly colored cotton. A flicker of displeasure, and confusion, sluiced through Sarah at the sight of her. How relaxed other women appeared to be in his presence. Even as she watched, the woman laughed and touched his face... and he smiled.

A stunning smile.

An unabashedly handsome smile.

He had never smiled at
her
like that.

"Would the seniorita care for a table?"

She blinked and looked at the waiter. "I'm joining Mr. Kane."

The man's eyes lit in approval. The realization of what he must be thinking turned her cheeks hot. She said, "I can find my own way over, thank you."

The waiter bowed and departed; and gathering her wits about her, Sarah moved to Kane's table as gracefully as her knocking knees would allow. He caught sight of her right away,
one side of his mouth curving as if to challenge her to confront him.

"Mr. Kane," she greeted him as she stopped at the table.

"Miss St. James."

Sarah glanced toward the woman, who had yet to take her hands off Morgan. "May I speak with you privately?"

He shrugged and went back to eating his breakfast, a plate of eggs and ham and biscuits. Finally Sarah turned her attention to his companion and smiled. "I do beg your pardon, but do you think I might have a moment of Mr. Kane's time?"

The woman raised one eyebrow and, very slowly, rose from her chair until she was towering over Sarah by at least six inches. With only a single pointed glance at Morgan, she turned and walked out the door. Sarah tried to relax. The effort was futile. Moving to the vacated chair, she sank into it.

"Hungry?" Kane asked as he continued to cut his ham.

"I didn't come here to eat," she replied. "I came here to talk."

He shoved his plate away, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. Sitting back in his chair, he fished inside his shirt pocket, withdrew a toothpick, and slid it between his lips. "So talk."

The way he was looking at her made it difficult for Sarah to breathe. He no longer wore the white suit she'd seen so often in the past days, but had reverted to the garb of a dock worker. She found her eyes drawn to the vee of his shirt that plunged open to the middle of his chest.

"Well?" he prompted, making her gaze fly back to his face.

"I—I feel we should discuss our plans for the journey." She swallowed hard.

He slid the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other with his tongue. A moment's silence ensued, then, "The arrangements have been taken care of."

"By whom?"

"By me."

"Didn't you forget something?"

He shook his head, spilling a fringe of hair over his brow. "I don't think so."

"You forgot to consult me."

Kane smiled. "I didn't forget, Miss St. James. I just didn't do it."

Her mouth dropped open as he reached for his hat, then shoved his chair back from the table. She sprang from her seat as he moved toward the lobby.

The Brits remaining in the spacious foyer leapt to their feet at her entrance, but she rushed on to keep up with Kane's longer strides. They were halfway across the street by the time Sarah lost her patience completely and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Jerking him around, she glared up into his face. "Don't you dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you. I have a few things to say to you, and you are going to listen!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She mocked him.

He pivoted on his heels and continued toward the docks. Sarah watched him go, her anger escalating beyond control.

Never had she met a man so arrogant, so rude, so lacking in morals or etiquette or respect for propriety. It took all her willpower to recall that a lady should never show anger in public. Clenching her teeth, she opened her parasol with a snap, planted it none too gently against her shoulder, and struck off after him.

By the time she reached the supply store, the boardwalk was crowded with children, their small, dark, mostly nude bodies pressing toward the doorway. Their eyes were alight with an anticipation that nearly crackled the air, their faces beaming with pleasure.

Then Sarah saw Kane step from the store. Suddenly the children were swarming around him, jumping and grabbing for the candy sticks he had piled high in his hat.

Sarah stared. She felt weak-kneed and dizzy, as if some- thing had melted inside her. Gone was the hateful twist to Morgan's mouth, the iciness in his eyes. There was a warmth in his smile, an easiness in his manner, a kindness in his laughter as the children crawled over him in quest of the treats. The sight brought the myth, the legend of his special magic with people, surging up to remind her that there was goodness buried deep inside this man—no matter how callously he behaved toward her.

At last, candy in hand, the children scattered up and down the street. All, that is, but one. A tiny girl, hardly taller than Morgan's knee, clung to his leg with one arm while she sucked on her lolly and gazed adoringly up at him. He grinned, stooped beside her, slid his arm around her middle, and pulled her up against him. She held out her candy for him to lick, then kissed him on the cheek and sped off down the street as fast as her little legs would carry her, black braids flying behind her. Morgan watched her go, the smile never leaving his mouth.

Then he saw Sarah.

She expected that wall of belligerence to come slamming down between them again, yet it didn't—at any rate, not right away. For a heart-stopping moment it seemed to Sarah as
if he had been left vulnerable and exposed, his emotions clearly revealed on his face. There was an ache there that turned Sarah's insides to jelly. For a moment she wondered whether his infamous facade was only a mask he presented to the world to conceal emptiness and loneliness.

Ridiculous. Morgan Kane was never lonely, not with women and awestruck Indians falling to their knees in either worship or lust each time he snapped his fingers.

As he reentered the store, Sarah remained rooted to the walk, twirling her parasol on her shoulder and trying her best to retrieve a small portion of the anger that had driven her to storm after him in the first place. Finally she forced herself to move through the doorway, where she tried to focus in on the room's darker interior. Kane stood in the back, running his finger down a lengthy list of supplies. Henry was perched on a counter, swinging his bare feet and nodding each time Morgan read aloud from the series of items.

Sarah cleared her throat.

"Miss St. James!" Henry declared. "Please, come in."

Morgan looked up, "Here comes trouble."

Sarah yanked her parasol closed and stepped inside.

Henry leapt to the floor and hurried to her. "My dear, what brings you out so early?"

She smiled, finding pleasure in Henry's company. Kane had mentioned during their brief conferences after the market incident that he had a partner who would see to the hiring of the men who would attend them on their journey. Of course, she had been extremely shocked upon first meeting him. But they had become fast friends since leaving Georgetown. His story of how he'd been raised and educated in England had brought her hours of pleasure.

"I've decided to become more involved in the arrangements you and Mr. Kane have been making." She swept the cluttered shop with a glance. There were crates of sup- plies stacked near the door. Two were labeled "Whiskey."

"I told you," came Kane's voice. "Everything's been taken care of."

"So I see. I do hope, Mr. Kane, that you have provided us with something more substantial to drink than whiskey.''

' 'Don't worry, you'll get your tea, lady. I believe Henry's even provided you with a china pot to brew it in."

"Do I detect some sarcasm in your tone, Mr. Kane?"

He tossed the supply list onto the counter. "So what?"

"So what?" She slammed the tip of her parasol against the floor so hard that it stirred up a little cloud of dust. "I will tell you what, Mr. Kane. It is my money that is financing this journey
and
paying your salary. You would do well to remember that I am your employer, and therefore have some say about the outfitting of mis expedition."

"Yeah?"

He walked toward her, his height exaggerated by the low ceiling, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. Henry, who had been watching Sarah carefully, placed himself between her and Morgan and said, "By Jove, but we're getting along smashingly, aren't we?"

Morgan nudged him aside as Sarah quelled the urge to flee. Instead, she gripped the parasol in both hands as if it were a weapon and met the American's stare without blinking. An eternity ticked by as he stood towering above her, the heat of the musty room bearing down on her, the smell of Kane's skin burning her nostrils. His was the scent of bay rum and sweat; it made her chest constrict so tightly she could hardly breathe.