Forbidden. Ellen James

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      “Okay, so we’ve established that Jarrett is a wonderful guy,” he said sardonically. “No enemies, just admirers. The next logical conclusion is that the attacker is angry about the dig itself.”

      Dana looked interested and leaned toward him. “Why would anyone be angry?” she asked.

      Nick wondered if she knew what a sexy voice she had. Here she was trying to sound professional and businesslike, and all the while her voice held a hint of natural huskiness. He rubbed the back of his neck. For one reason or another, he’d gone hot under the collar.

      With an effort, he concentrated on the subject of Jarrett’s attacker. “Many people on the island don’t like the fact that we’re excavating. There are different reasons. Some islanders are afraid we’ll disturb the goddess Ixchel or the ghost who haunts the temple. They say the whole island is in danger of being cursed. Others just plain dislike outsiders prying into their heritage. And still others…” Nick paused, then went on. “Let’s just say that certain traders in the island’s black market might resent our dig.”

      “Black market–what do you mean?”

      Nick figured he might as well explain; it was something Dana would hear about sooner or later. “If you know where to look, this entire island is littered with Mayan artifacts–pottery, clay figurines, simple jewelry and the like. Over the years, the islanders have taken to selling these items illegally to tourists–who, for a few measly pesos, can sneak pieces of Mayan heritage out in their suitcases as souvenirs. Unfortunately, it’s all become part of the island economy.” Nick shook his head. “Once these antiquities get into private hands, they’re lost forever.”

      “Can’t something be done?” Dana asked.

      “Ms. Morgan, I don’t like it any more than you do. If I could stop the smuggling, I would. But I’m also realistic. I don’t have the power to stop it. And besides, if you took away the illegal trade from this island, the already fragile economy would be threatened. The place barely survives as it is.”

      Dana glanced around the plaza. “It’s a shame people have to sell off their past to pay for their present….”

      “I’d call it a tragedy. Still, I’ve done the best I can under the circumstances. I have an unspoken agreement with Inspector Maciel. He makes certain the illegal traders stay off my turf and I don’t raise a fuss about what they do elsewhere. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. Perhaps this attack on Jarrett…” Nick stopped, preferring to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself.

      “Well, there must be someone we can question about Jarrett–someone who knows something.”

      “Ms. Morgan, think about it. No one is going to come out and admit they bashed Jarrett with a rock. Sure, I’ve spoken to people–and they all deny knowing anything about what happened.”

      Dana tapped her fingers on the table. “I hate to feel useless like this. Are we just going to sit around and wait for it to happen again?”

      “We’ll take precautions. Meanwhile, I’ll continue investigating…without the benefit of your own formidable sleuthing abilities.”

      She seemed determined to ignore his sarcasm. She also seemed determined to stay here and needle him. “I’m afraid we might be missing something that’s right under our noses,” she declared. “Who else works at the dig?”

      “Aside from the Montanos, other islanders pitch in at times. Then there’s Tim Reese, a university student getting summer credit for helping. He’s on the mainland right now, buying supplies.”

      “Anyone else?”

      “You’ve met the rest of them. Daniel has been hanging around the dig almost from the beginning. He’s a sharp kid–maybe too sharp for his own good.” The subject of Daniel was something else again. Nick had some worries about the kid…several worries, to be exact. But Dana didn’t need to know about those. Nick went on. “Robert’s a volunteer of sorts, Pat just got her Ph.D. in anthropology, Jarrett’s the resident ethnographer and I’m the…resident pain in the ass.”

      Dana gave a sagacious nod. “That much I believe. But there’s no one else?”

      “That’s it.”

      “I knew the dig was understaffed, but still…” She kept her musings to herself as evening darkened into night. Across the street, the lights of the gazebo glittered over the plaza. And from the windows of the café, light spilled over Dana, turning her hair a deep burnished gold.

      “Ms. Morgan–” Nick began.

      “You may as well call me Dana.”

      He gazed at her. Someone had started to thrum a guitar in the plaza, the melody carrying plaintively. The warm island breeze was sultry, stirring strands of hair against Dana’s cheek. Nick had a sudden urge to touch her cheek himself, to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked.

      What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even know this woman…and he didn’t want her to know him. What would she say if she learned how he’d messed up his life? She’d probably get up and walk away. She wouldn’t sit here gazing back at him, her lips parted slightly, as if he’d caught her off guard….

      He couldn’t act on this raw attraction he felt, that was for sure. He had to work with Dana Morgan for as long as she remained on the island, not fantasize about her.

      She dropped her gaze from his, impatiently pushing the hair away from her face. “Anyway,” she said, “you can’t shut me out of this thing. I want to know who attacked Jarrett–and why.”

      “If you’re so concerned about Jarrett, go nurse the guy or something. I’m sure he’d be delighted.”

      She didn’t budge. She remained seated stubbornly right where she was. The bored waiter, finally realizing that he had another patron, appeared with a menu for Dana. She opened it and perused it with great concentration.

      “I’m famished,” she announced. “This sounds good…ceviche.“ She probably had no idea it meant marinated fish.

      “That wouldn’t be wise,” Nick said. “Especially after your…uh, indisposition today.”

      Even in the hazy light, he could tell her face was turning red. “What happened this morning–it was just an aberration. My stomach’s usually as–as solid as a rock.”

      “Except when you’re contemplating an adventure,” he reminded her. “That’s what you told me, anyway.”

      She slapped her menu shut. “Everyone has…peculiarities.”

      He couldn’t argue with that. He had his own peculiarities, for that matter. He called to the waiter and ordered a more reasonable meal for Dana–tortillas and rice. She looked put out, although she didn’t object. He knew it wasn’t any business of his what she ate, but he didn’t want her to be sick again.

      Eventually Dana’s food came. “It looks delicious,” she said. “Aren’t you having anything to eat?”

      “No.” Breaking bread with her would be going too far. He was accustomed to solitary meals, and he didn’t intend Dana Morgan СКАЧАТЬ