The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

To do this, they naturally would have to visit the source of the merchandise-yes…clever, eh? Once in the traffickers’ camp, the agents would plant tracking devices in, say, something that must always travel with the personnel- communications equipment, perhaps. Or the men’s clothing…their shoes. There are a thousand possibilities. And the devices these days can be so small as to be almost undetectable.

“So you see, Mr. McCall…” his lashes dropped almost seductively, and he blew a gentle stream of cigar smoke directly into Ellie’s face “…before I kill Agent Lanagan, here, it is most important that I learn exactly where and how many of these devices she has managed to distribute.”

“None!” It burst from her throat, a sound like ripping cloth. Tense with his own self-restraint, McCall could feel her arm muscles quiver in his hands. “I didn’t have a chance-I don’t even have any with me. They were in my bag. Your men threw it into the jungle.”

“Hmm…perhaps.” Smoke floated away from the general’s smile as he gazed down at her, his eyes resting, heavy-lidded and thoughtful, on her sun visor. “We will see. I think your friend Mr. McCall will be very useful in determining whether or not you are telling the truth.

“However-” and he was brisk again, all upright and military “-I will leave you two to think about that while I attend to a few things. There is a storm coming in-did you know that?” Now he sounded almost conversational, as he dismissed that with a casual wave of his hand. “Not a hurricane, they tell us-only a little tropical storm. Nothing to worry about, but there are some things that must be taken care of. You will be comfortable enough here…for now. But I think the two of you will have a lot to talk about, eh?” He chuckled, and his eyes touched Ellie first, then McCall…gleaming with promises and anticipation.

“You’re hurting me,” Ellie finally said. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed since the general had left them. How long they’d been standing there in that frozen pas de deux.

“Sorry,” muttered McCall. He peeled his fingers away from her arms, then stood frowning at his hands as he flexed them, as if they’d gone numb.

Moving stiffly herself, she turned away from him and lifted her hands to her sun visor and carefully removed it. She hesitated, reluctant to let it out of her hands even for a moment, before finally setting it down on one of the moss-covered Mayan carvings nearby. Then she stood and rubbed slowly at the marks his fingers had left…feeling, for the first time in her life, utterly and completely lost. She didn’t know what to do…what to say. She wished he’d say something. Wished she could just turn back into the safe, warm shelter of his arms.

“Are you mad at me?” she idiotically whispered. She couldn’t look at him.

He gave a light, soft laugh, one she’d never heard before. “Mad at you? Sister, that’s what Ricky gets when Lucy’s just tried to slip one of her crazy little schemes past him.”

With her back to him she lowered fragile eyelids over simmering tears. “I am sorry. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“Not…as bad as I did, actually.” His tone was wry, and strangely gentle. “Back when I thought you were one of the bad guys.”

She slid her eyes sideways in order to steal a look at him, and it seemed like the riskiest thing she’d ever done. His features were almost lost in the deepening shadows, sandy brown hair hanging across his forehead, beard- stubble dark on his cheeks and jaws. His eyes seemed the only light in all that darkness, like beacons on the shore…and she thought, if she could only find her way past the reefs and shoals to that promised harbor…

Her heart pounded with terrifying force, jarring her body, shaking her voice. “You must have a jillion questions.”

“Well, no, actually, I think the general ’bout covered it.” He gave his nose a quizzical scratch with a forefinger, then lifted his head and aimed a look straight into her eyes. “Except for one thing.”

She held her breath. “What’s that?” There was something about his eyes…

“Why you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

She hung there, quivering like a water droplet at the edge of a faucet, utterly helpless. Knowing there was nothing she could do to prevent what was about to happen, but desperately afraid to let it go. Trying not to speak or to breathe, just to postpone the inevitable for one…more…moment. And yet, bravely facing it, refusing to turn away or hide behind handkerchief or hands.

“At first, I didn’t know if I could trust you,” she whispered at last, lifting her drenched and defiant eyes to his pain-filled ones. “You weren’t exactly the most sterling-looking character, you know. And I was on my own…I didn’t know who was supposed to contact me. For all I knew, you could have been one of them.”

“And later?” The pain in his eyes had leaked into his voice. “You must have known, after I turned down the money you offered. After I tried to talk you out of going through with it.” He was squinting at her in spite of the growing dusk, as if she were a light too bright for his eyes. “You couldn’t have told me then?”

“I wanted to. I thought…I was protecting you.”

He flinched from her, suddenly wary as a wild animal circling a tempting morsel. “Protecting me? Protecting yourself, you mean.”

“Yes! That, too. I’m sorry…”

“You didn’t trust me.”

“I didn’t know you! I wanted to.” She lifted her chin, riled and defensive. “But you wouldn’t…talk to me. You wouldn’t tell me anything about yourself. How was I supposed to know I could trust you?”

“I guess,” he said wryly, “I thought my ‘sterling character’ would shine through all by itself.” He paused, then in a different, huskier voice, said, “Words don’t mean anything, you know. I could have told you a dozen different lies about who I was…where I came from. How would you know what the truth was?”

She gave a high, desperate laugh and futilely touched the back of her hand to her streaming nose. “How do I know? How do I know now?”

And yet she did know. Long before he said it.

“Actions-that’s the only thing that matters. I’m here, aren’t I?” And he was scowling at her, his face as fierce as an embattled warrior’s behind the barricade of his folded arms.

She stared back at him for what must have been an eternity, listening to the echoes of his words inside her head…the accompanying beat of her heart, weighing risks, contemplating terrifying uncertainties. Then, with what she felt certain must be her whole world, her entire existence on the line, she closed her eyes and took one step forward.

And…a miracle happened. At least it felt that way to her, just as it had that day in the plaza, the first time he’d saved her from disaster. Instead of the unyielding barrier reef of those folded arms, she met enveloping warmth… heard the whisper of an exhalation…the thunder of a pounding heart. Then the arms came around her and with a glad little sob she went sailing into their harbor.

He held her at first like a just-rescued survivor, dazed, not yet willing to believe the miracle was real. But the woman in his arms was vibrant flesh and bone, no doubt about that, and the warm tears soaking into his shirtfront were real, too. Cautiously, he brushed his lips across the top of her head. Then, with an easing in his muscles and in his heart, he buried his face in her hair and tried with all his being to drink in the scent, the very essence of her. His senses told him she smelled of the jungle…of sweat and dust and bug repellent. His heart said orange blossoms and sunshine.

For a long time he simply held her, buffeted by emotions and a rising wind neither of them noticed or cared about, rocked by their two hearts bumping against each other like out-of-sync dancers. Then, dazed and still disbelieving, he eased one arm from around her, tipped her chin up and kissed her.

Her lips were cool and wet and salty with her tears…his senses insisted that was so. How was it, then, that they tasted so warm and soft and sweet to him? Sweet…and with just a touch of cinnamon…

Long-dormant emotions and desires swelled and surged to life within him; laughter and sobs fought it out inside his chest. Some of each found their way into his mouth and joined happily, giddily with hers. He felt her fingers touching his face, shakily, wonderingly, as if she thought he were the miracle. Crazy woman…

He took her face gently in his hands and held it still so he could look at her…convince himself that she was real. And…was that shimmering golden glow in her eyes really for him? He touched her mouth with his, lightly, yearningly, asking her that question. And felt her lips form a smile as her eyelids came down on a