The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

Chapter 10

McCall felt her body go slack and heavy, as if her knees had buckled. For one terrible moment he thought she’d fainted.

He tightened his arms around her, and forgetting that he was supposed to be happily, drunkenly amorous, said in a voice gone hoarse with concern, “Ellie-what is it? What’s wrong? Do you know him?”

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper, airless and urgent. Her hands were gripping his forearms as if she were dangling over a precipice and they were all that was keeping her from falling. “McCall-I have to tell you some-”

He cut her off with a finger pressed against her lips. They stood silently together, frozen in that intimate embrace, listening to the whap-whap-whap of a helicopter’s rotors, rapidly growing louder. A moment later they braced against buffeting winds as it passed directly over their heads.

“That’s probably him now,” McCall said as he let go of her and they both turned to watch the chopper, painted drab military green, swoop by just above treetop level.

The guards muttered amongst themselves, then four of them went jogging off, following the chopper. The one left behind walked after them a few paces, then reluctantly halted and stood at parade rest with his rifle cradled in his arms like a baby and watched his compadres disappear into the jungle.

McCall caught Ellie’s arm and spun her around to face him. “Quick-before he comes back-what was it you wanted to tell me?”

She swallowed, and it made a tiny sticking sound. “Are you sure he doesn’t speak English?”

“One way to find out,” Making his voice loud enough for the guard to hear it, McCall sang out, “By the way, my brother, there is a great big poisonous snake right behind you, just about to crawl up your leg.”

Showing no signs of alarm, the guard turned to look inquiringly over his shoulder. McCall waved at him, showing all his teeth in a friendly smile. “I heard your mother is having an affair with a donkey.” The guard smiled back, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oops, sorry,” said McCall, returning to Spanish. “I was just asking what’s going on.”

“What, you mean who is in the chopper? Ah-that is the general.” The guard grinned and gestured meaningfully with his rifle. “He will tell us what to do with you two. So you’d better have your fun now, huh? While you still can.” Laughing at his own little joke, he went to lean against a Mayan carving of a fierce-looking animal with open mouth and big teeth, in the long, late-afternoon shadow cast by the section of ruined wall.

McCall whipped his attention back to Ellie. “Okay. Tell me what?” She stared up at him, and her face was pale and still, her eyes flat and lifeless as stones. Without their golden shimmer and her natural vivid coloring she looked like a faded and washed-out copy of herself. Alarmed, he gave her a wake-up shake. “Come on-we don’t have much time.”

She licked her lips. “He said…that was the general, didn’t he?” Her voice was as flat as her eyes.

He considered briefly whether he ought to slap her, but since he knew he didn’t have it in him to do that, gave her another shake instead. “Yeah, he did. What do you know about him? Come on.”

“I know he’s going to kill us.” Her lashes settled onto her cheeks, dark crescents against cinnamon-dusted ivory. He heard her take a breath and release it in a small, uneven sigh. “Oh McCall…I got you into this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

“Into what, dammit?” His throat felt raw. “Tell me.”

She nodded, and once more gazing into his eyes, took in air like a diver preparing to jump. “First I have to know something. How did you know-about the money? How did you know I’d left half of it behind? I only mentioned insurance. I didn’t-”

“I saw you.” His hands fell away from her arms, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He didn’t want to go on looking at her, but for some reason couldn’t tear his eyes from her face. “Last night.” The emptiness of his hands distressed him, so he tucked them into his armpits. “Through the window.”

“Oh…God.” She closed her eyes again, briefly, but when she opened them he thought he caught a hopeful glimpse of that golden fire. “Then…you know about-”

“The gun. Yeah. I saw it. What happened to it, by the way? What the hell did you do with it?” His voice sounded harsh…angry. And yet the feeling inside him wasn’t anger. Not exactly. Damned if he knew what it was.

“I changed my mind. I was afraid we might be searched. I was afraid of what might happen if they found a weapon on me, so I…hid it.”

“For God’s sake, where?”

“In the car-behind the dash.”

He clapped a hand to his forehead and swore in utter exasperation. “Fat lot of good it’s doing us there!”

“Would you rather they had it?” Her eyes glared into his, and now there was no mistaking that golden fire. Color was coming back into her cheeks, too. He felt suddenly as though his heart was bumping around loose inside his chest, ricocheting in dangerous, unpredictable ways.

“Lady,” he said slowly…softly…because he was in a dangerous and unpredictable mood, “who in the hell are you?”

Her eyes clung to his; she moistened her lips and whispered as if it was the most important thing she’d ever say, “Not Mrs. Burnside.”

“Not…Mrs. Burnside.” He repeated the words without really grasping them, because they were so far from anything he’d expected. He stared at her and she stared steadily back, her eyes more like beacons now than flames, and he felt his consciousness shrinking, narrowing, laser-like, until his entire being seemed focused only on her face. He forgot about the guard. “Then…who-” His surroundings…the circumstances…the danger…had all ceased to exist.

Which was why he was caught unprepared when an amused voice-not Ellie’s-replied in only slightly accented English, “May I, señor? May I have the honor to introduce to you Special Agent Rose Ellen Lanagan, of the United States Fish and Wildlife Service.”

At the first words McCall had started violently and spun toward the voice, tilted like an off-balance top. Now he jerked an incredulous look back at Ellie. Her face was pale but composed. She gazed past him, her eyes riveted on the speaker much the way McCall might have kept his eye on a coiled-up snake.

“General Reyes,” she said in her dry and raspy voice, “I presume.”

The general laughed, pausing in the process of lighting up a cigar to mumble, “Unfortunately for you…yes.”

He was tall for a Mexican, with native Indian coloring and European features and build-a good-looking man, and aware of it, McCall thought, and obviously proud of his luxuriant black mustache. He was dressed in the same jungle camouflage as the men with him, the only difference being that, instead of an automatic rifle slung over a shoulder or held ready across his chest, he had a big black pistol snapped into a leather holster at his hip. That, and his pant legs were tucked into the tops of a nice pair of well-cared-for lace-up leather boots. The only indication of military rank McCall could see was some indecipherable insignia on his cap.

The general strolled toward them, tossing his match carelessly aside. He removed the cigar from his mouth and jabbed it at McCall as he said to Ellie, “Perhaps you would return the favor. Please be so kind as to introduce me to your friend-” his eyes narrowed as he paused to puff delicately on the cigar “-who I can only say for certain is not your partner, Ken Burnside-who is at this very moment, I am happy to say, recovering from his emergency appendectomy in a Florida hospital. Fate is funny, is it not?” His fine mustache tilted as he made a soft ironic sound. “It appears his so painful and untimely illness has saved his life.”

“He’s nobody-just a guy I hired to bring me here,” Ellie said breathlessly, pushing in front of McCall. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“That is too bad…” The general moved with a relaxed and easy swagger into the shade of the lanai, leaving his contingent of armed soldiers outside. McCall felt those hackles rising again when he halted in front of Ellie, but the general was looking over her head at McCall. “No man should have to die without knowing why, eh?”

McCall felt a shock wave of rejection shake Ellie’s body…and when had his hands come to be holding her upper arms? He’d no recollection of having put them there.

“Is that not true? So, Mr…?”

“It’s McCall.” He ground out the words between his teeth.

“Ah. So, Mr. McCall, if you like I will tell you what this foolish woman has so carelessly involved you in that is going to cost you your life.”

“Why not?” Badly in need of calming, McCall patted the pocket where he normally kept his cigarettes and found a half-smoked cigar there instead. He took it out and put it in his mouth, and instantly heard the scritch and flare of a match. “Damned nice of you,” he muttered as he bent his head to accept the general’s light, then watched the match, still trailing a tiny plume of smoke, drop into crushed and trampled grass.

The general chuckled. “I admire a man who can keep his sense of humor under such circumstances. It really is too bad that I must kill you. But…unfortunately it is necessary to discourage the United States and Mexican governments once and for all from any further interference in my…shall we say, my private business enterprises. The United States, you see, has a very low tolerance for war casualties. To have two of their agents killed-”

“One,” Ellie said sharply. “One agent-me. I told you-he’s nobody. He doesn’t know anything. If you just let him go-turn him loose-by the time he finds his way out of the jungle-if he does-you’ll be long gone, as usual. What harm can he do?”

“Interesting… You seem to care a great deal what happens to this man.” There was a long pause while the general squinted at her through smoke, smiling slightly. McCall didn’t much like the looks of that smile. He could feel his blood pressure soaring…adrenaline squirting into his system…ancient male-female protective instincts rampaging.

Then he heard Ellie snort a wholly unconvincing denial, and the significance of that finally penetrated the red fog of rage that had enveloped him. He felt a new and strange sensation…a growing, spreading, tingling warmth inside his chest that felt incongruously…impossibly like joy.

“Well.” The general gave a thoughtful shrug. “That may be most useful to me later on. You see,” he said, bringing his attention back to McCall, “for years the combined resources of our two governments have tried-unsuccessfully-to halt the lucrative and growing business of trafficking in rare and endangered species.”

“And drugs,” Ellie bit out in a contemptuous tone.

The general waved that impatiently aside. “Only a small sideline. Why waste the cargo space, eh? However, time after time, the government has attempted to raid these traffickers’ camps, only to find an empty nest, the birds flown-pardon a little joke. Why?” He paused, arching his eyebrows, enjoying himself. “Because there is no camp. The smugglers operate here in the jungle much like what you call in the States a floating crap game. Here one day, gone the next, without a trace-you see?”

“Of course they were gone,” Ellie said bitterly. “With you telling them when we were coming.”

The general acknowledged that with a complacent chuckle. “However, Mr. McCall…” once again he paused directly in front of Ellie, and this time McCall could feel the menace radiating like heat from his narrowed black eyes, “…even advance warning would not prevent government forces from finding these traffickers, if someone were to gain access to their camp and plant tracking devices… Ah yes, I see you understand. That was to have been the task of Agents Lanagan and Burnside. First, establishing themselves as buyers-a young married couple who own a pet shop-they then express dissatisfaction with the condition of the merchandise and suggest that they might be able to use their superior knowledge of wildlife-Miss Lanagan has an advanced degree in biology, did she tell you that?-to the advantage of all concerned, by increasing the survival rate of the merchandise and the profits as well. 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 welling flood and drenched them all over again. He laughed as he sipped her salty-sweet tears; he could only laugh, because he had no words… Miracles, he supposed, did that to a man.

We have to get out of here.

Oh, he hadn’t forgotten about that. Those words had been hopping around in his mind for a while, now, trying to get his attention. He held them at bay a moment longer, just for one last hungry kiss before he said them out loud, in a growling whisper against her mouth.

Her head moved quickly, urgently with her whispered, “Yes…”

He took her by the shoulders and put her a little distance from him-it was the only way he could think clearly. “The guard,” he said, breathing like a long-distance runner.

“There’s only one…”

“He has an automatic rifle-how many bullets do you think he’d need? No-what we need is some kind of distraction…”

A distraction. Ellie stared at him through a blur. Then she shook her head and furiously brushed away the last of her tears. Keep your wits about you, Rose Ellen. Oh, but it was hard, hard, when her wits and her world had been shaken and turned upside-down.

She sniffed-and smelled… “That cigar you were smoking,” she whispered urgently, clutching at McCall’s arms. “Where is it?”

Startled, he looked at his hands. “I don’t know-”

“I can smell it. You must have dropped it. Never mind-” she caught again at his arms as he turned, looking at the ground around him. “Why were you smoking a cigar anyway? What happened to your cigarettes?”

He made a wry face, then looked mysteriously smug. “All out. Actually, I-”

“Never mind that. What about your lighter? Do you still have your lighter?” It was growing darker-too dark in the sheltered lanai to see her face clearly-but he could hear the excitement in her voice.

Her excitement, her urgency were contagious. McCall’s heart knocked against his ribs as he drew the lighter from his pocket. “Right here.” His hand shook a little as he held it out to her; he was pretty sure he knew where she was headed with this. And it was a crazy idea. Completely crazy…

“You’re going to think I’m nuts…”

“Sister, I don’t think, I know you are.” But he was smiling when he said it, and let her hear it in his voice.

“No, listen-” and he felt her hands again, tightly gripping his arms. “There’s this legend in my family. It goes all the way back to my great-great…I don’t know how many greats…grandmother. Her name was Lucinda Rosewood-my mom’s named after her. Anyway, the story is, she saved herself and her baby from a Sioux raiding party when she set fire to her house and barn and fields and then tied her baby up in her apron and climbed down the well and hid there while the fire burned all the way to the river.”

“But that’s-” McCall began. But she cut him off with a hand pressed across his mouth.

“No, wait-that’s not all. See, my mother remembered that when she was kidnapped and held hostage by the mobsters who were after my father-remember, I told you about that? She was being held in this high-rise office building that was still under construction, and she remembered Great-great-grandmother Lucinda, and so what she did was, she took off her clothes and used them to start a fire, and then she hid behind the ceiling panels while the alarms brought the police and fire fighters to the rescue.”

She waited, holding her breath. McCall seemed to be holding his, too. Cautiously, she took her hand away from his mouth. He still didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you see?” she hissed. “It’s almost like fate. Or Providence or something.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “My Aunt Gwen was always a great believer in Providence…” She tilted her head back and looked at the thatched roof over their heads. “That would do the trick. If we could get it going good…”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Like what?” She caught her breath as a wind gust shook the lanai. “You mean, the storm? The wind-”

“No,” said McCall, “I mean, a place to hide. We haven’t got a well or a ceiling to crawl into.”

Ellie was gazing thoughtfully at the guard, who had apparently tired of standing against the wall and had found himself a seat out of the wind. He was now sitting in the wide-open mouth of the snarling stone beast, with one booted foot propped against an upthrust fang.

“How about that?” she whispered, jerking her head toward the guard.

“Looks to me like it’s taken.”

“No, no-there’s another one here, here on this side-see it? It’s under all those vines.”

“There’s only room for one of us,” McCall said after a moment. “You take it. I think I can get over the wall. If I can get it between me and the guard, I’d have a good chance to make it to the jungle before he gets a clear shot. You wait for your chance when he goes after me, then you do the same.”

“I don’t like the idea of us splitting up,” Ellie said, chewing on her lip. “What if we can’t find each other again?”

He’d already thought of that-and had vowed to himself that in the future there was only one thing that was going to separate him from this crazy woman, and that was a possibility he refused to contemplate. “We’ll meet,” he said. “What about the cages? Think you can find your way back there?

“Oh, yeah.” There was a curious purposefulness in her voice. And no fear at all, just a breathless excitement. “Okay then. You distract the guard. I’ll light the fire.”

“You sure you know how?”

“Hey-” she said, bristling, “I’ll have you know-”

“Oh, wait-let me guess.” Goody Two-Shoes-he should have known. “You were a Girl Scout, right?”

“Well, no, 4-H, actually, but-”

“I thought 4-H was more about raising cows than building campfires.”

“Well, what, then?” She had her hands on her hips, and reminded him more than anything just then of a riled-up hen. “You want me to go chat up the guard?”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. Are you sure you can reach it, though?”

“I can if I climb up on those carved thingies. Just try to keep the guard from looking this way while I’m doing it.”

“Right,” said McCall.

“Okay, then…ready?”

“Give me a minute. I’m thinking-okay, got it.” He caught her by the arms, and before she had time to think about it or prepare herself, his mouth swooped down and caught hers in a swift, hard kiss. And then he left her.

A strange-under the circumstances-little shiver of joy rippled through her, followed by an equally strange sense of calm. She waited, like a veteran runner in the starting blocks-primed, prepared, but without nervousness-and watched McCall stroll to the edge of the lanai, close to where the guard was lounging, bored and smoking a cigarette. He got up, of course, when he saw McCall, and came unhurriedly to meet him, his rifle held at an angle across his chest.

McCall spoke to the guard-evidently something reassuring-and made a jerking motion toward Ellie with his head. The guard laughed and said something to McCall, then made an exaggerated point of turning his back to Ellie. A moment later she heard the tiny but unmistakable screech of a zipper.

Reigning in an impulse to giggle, she picked up her “cue” and stepped into the shadows between the back of the lanai and the Mayan wall, supposedly to answer her own “call of nature.” With McCall’s cigarette lighter clutched tightly in her hand, she felt for hand-and footholds that would lift her high enough to reach the palm-thatched roof of the shelter, at the same time keeping one ear tuned to what was happening with McCall and the guard. What she could hear above the noise of the wind sounded friendly and relaxed enough, punctuated by soft, snickering laughter; masculine camaraderie sounded about the same in any language. The wind shook the lanai and rustled in the palm thatch, masking perfectly any sounds she might have made as she climbed.

There-she was in position. By holding on to the vines with one hand and stretching with the other, she could just reach the edges of the tinder-dry thatch. The time was now. But…what would happen when she clicked the lighter? What if the guard heard it, and caught on to their plan before the roof had a chance to ignite?

Then, as if he’d heard her thoughts, she heard McCall asking in a raised voice for a cigarette and a light.

Braced and balanced with the lighter at the ready, she waited in suspenseful agony, praying she’d be able to hear the sound of a match or lighter above the thumping of her heart, eyes straining against the darkness for the telltale flicker. There. Now. In perfect sync with McCall, she clicked the lighter and held her breath as a tiny flame blossomed…nibbled tentatively at a feather of palm thatch…and encouraged by the wind, grew larger. And hungrier. She touched the flame to another spot…and another…

Enough, Ellie! In order for this crazy idea to work, she had to get into her hiding place now, quickly, before the guard noticed the flames. Half jumping, half sliding, she made her way down the ancient broken tumble of wall. The flames were making quite a bit of noise now-surely any minute the guard would hear it…

No. Not the flames. Not the wind, either. Rain!

Just as she felt solid ground under her feet again, the sky opened up. Rain came in sheets, driven almost horizontally by the wind. Instantly drenched, Ellie was already groping and clawing her way into the thicket of vines that curtained the snarling mouth of the stone Mayan beast. Crouched there, she watched in despair while the rain drowned her infant flames-and her hope with them.