Forbidden

There was an image: austere, forbidding Dr. Petrie wielding a machete. But those darn bugs were following Dana everywhere she went, pesky little dive-bombers that had identified her as their target. She pulled down the floppy brim of her canvas hat, realizing just how damp her skin had become. If she was this sweaty and buggy after only a few minutes, what would she be like at the end of the day?

Dana reminded herself that it was all part of her unpredictable new life. Adventures didn’t come with air-conditioning or other such comforts. Adventures were messy, difficult things. That was what made them so satisfying.

Nonetheless, Dana felt relieved when they came to a small clearing and at least she no longer had vines swatting her in the face. She saw an excavation laid out before her, alternate squares neatly chiseled from the dirt. The effect was rather that of a three-dimensional checkerboard.

Dana gazed at it in fascination. Her specialty had always been soil science, not archaeology itself, but she’d done enough research to know exactly what she was looking at. Archaeological sites required a great deal of care. All digging had to proceed slowly and cautiously, information collected in an orderly manner so that no detail was lost. Hence the grid pattern, with alternate test pits chosen for excavation. It allowed the archaeologist to cover a fair amount of ground, while still maintaining proper control of the entire project.

Dana turned to Nick. “It’s wonderful,” she said enthusiastically.

He raised his eyebrows just the slightest bit. “That’s what you keep telling me.”

The boy Daniel looked skeptical, too, as if to add emphasis to Nick’s words. Dana grimaced, realizing that she must sound like a gushing schoolgirl. But it was wonderful. With an effort, she refrained from further superlatives, taking in the rest of the site. Across from her, where the jungle strained to encroach on the clearing, two palm-thatched huts sprouted like mushrooms. A plump, white-nosed burro was tethered near the huts, munching on some hay. It was all remarkably picturesque, but just then a low moan disturbed the tranquillity.

“What was that?” Dana asked, glancing around.

Already Nick was striding away, skirting the edge of the excavation. With a muttered oath, he knelt down next to one of the pits. Daniel caught up and knelt beside him as Dana hurried over to stare into the pit for herself. She gasped at what she saw there–a man sprawled on his side, blood trickling down his face.

CHAPTER TWO

D ANA COULD HONESTLY SAY that she’d never been in a real crisis before. In fact, that was one of her complaints about her old life: no real crises of any kind, no true tests of character. It meant she had no way to predict how she would react in a given emergency. And this definitely constituted an emergency–a wounded man splayed in front of her, bleeding from an ugly gash to the head.

Dana slid down into the shallow excavation pit, bumping against Nick as he leaned over the wounded man. She reached out her fingers and felt the man’s throat.

“My God–I can’t find his pulse.”

Nick edged her aside and placed his own fingers at the man’s throat. “His pulse is fine. Daniel–”

Before Nick even finished, the boy seemed to know what was required. Dashing to one of the huts, he emerged a few seconds later with a metal box, its bright red cross identifying it as a first-aid kit. And then, while Daniel produced gauze bandages and antiseptic, Nick deftly stanched the flow of blood from the man’s wound. With Dana crowded in beside them, it made for rather cramped quarters. Nick treated her to an impatient glance, and young Daniel frowned as if in echo.

“Ms. Morgan, could you give us a little elbow room?” Nick asked.

“There must be something I can do to help,” she muttered. “Who is this man, anyway?”

“Jarrett Webster.”

That didn’t tell her anything useful, but a moment later Dana noticed a jagged rock lying just outside the pit–a rock with a smear of blood on it.

“Look!” she exclaimed. “Someone must have hit him with that. Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said harshly, “but I intend to find out. Daniel, did you see anything unusual this morning?”

The boy shook his head emphatically. “I wasn’t here, Señor Petrie. I waited for you at the temple.”

Nick took the antiseptic from him. “Never mind–we’ll get to the bottom of this somehow.”

Meanwhile, the injured man opened his eyes and smiled weakly up at Dana. “You must be Ms. Morgan. So glad to have you with us….”

“Please don’t talk,” Dana murmured in concern. “You’ll waste your strength.”

“I so wanted to welcome you properly, Ms. Morgan. Do hope you had a good trip in…” His eyelids drifted shut. The poor man had been bashed over the head with a rock, yet here he was politely inquiring about Dana’s journey. She examined Jarrett Webster more closely. He appeared to be in his late thirties and had a pleasant-looking face, even under these conditions. His light brown hair was so long that it touched his shoulders. Altogether, his appearance seemed oddly bland in contrast to Nick Petrie’s. But perhaps it wouldn’t be fair of Dana to judge him until she saw him in more favorable circumstances. At the moment Nick was in charge, demonstrating skill and quick thinking, while Jarrett Webster was completely vulnerable.

Nick finished bandaging the wound. “We need to get him out of the sun,” he said tersely, lifting Jarrett by the shoulders.

Once again Daniel moved with alacrity, awaiting no further instruction as he took hold of Jarrett’s legs. The load was obviously too much for him, however, and Dana added her own efforts.

“I can do it,” Daniel said, no doubt wishing to dismiss her. But Dana saw that his thin arms strained at the job. She realized just how much this boy wished to prove himself strong and capable…exactly like Nick, it seemed.

Under other circumstances, Dana might have obliged the boy’s pride, but right now there were more urgent concerns. She continued grappling with her part of the load. She hadn’t known a human being could weigh so much. Jarrett was only a medium-size man, but all her muscles strained at the burden of lifting him from the pit. Nick, in contrast, moved masterfully, hardly showing the effort.

All three of them managed to haul Jarrett up and began making their way through the excavation site. Dana lurched unexpectedly and saw a corresponding wince on Jarrett’s face.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No, no. Quite all right,” mumbled Jarrett, eyes still closed.

He really was amazingly polite. Dana glanced at Dr. Petrie, only to receive a laconic glance in return. She knew one thing. “Polite” was not a term she’d ever use to describe Nick Petrie. Virile, rugged, competent, in charge…yes. Polite…no.

They entered the first of the huts and deposited Jarrett on a low cot. He seemed to be unconscious now. Perhaps they’d removed him from the sun, but the air was still heavy with humid heat. Dana mopped the back of her hand across her forehead, droplets of perspiration clinging to her skin.

“He should go to a hospital,” she pointed out.

“There is no hospital on the island. We’ll get him to the village soon, though. For now he’s probably better off here, not moving. Try to get him to drink something and Daniel and I will have a look around.” With that, Nick strode out the doorway of the hut, followed by his diligent shadow.

Dana stared at Jarrett Webster’s recumbent body, feeling suddenly at a loss. It wasn’t a familiar sensation for her. In the dim light of the hut, she found a crate of orange and lime soda next to a sizable jug of water. Dana picked up the jug as well as a soda, then turned back toward Jarrett.

His eyes were wide open and he was staring right at her. Dana started a little.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Not too bad. It’s just a bump on the head.”

“I’d say it’s a bit more than that. Here, I want you to drink this.” Moving over, she held the jug of water to his mouth and he managed to take a few sips. She remembered the way Nick had held a canteen to her own lips earlier this morning, and realized that she far preferred to be the one giving help than receiving it.

“You should try to get some rest,” she told Jarrett.

“I feel pretty damn stupid. I didn’t see who attacked me. I was engrossed in my work–didn’t even hear anything.”

Dana settled onto a camp stool beside Jarrett. “Maybe it would be a good idea if you told me what you do remember.”

He reached up a hand to his head and gingerly felt the bandage there. “Not much to tell, I’m afraid. I was alone here, but that’s nothing unusual. I was kneeling down with my trowel, digging…. Next thing I knew…” Jarrett’s voice trailed off and he seemed to drift into sleep again. Dana watched him, making sure that he was breathing steadily. Then she relaxed enough to drink some lukewarm orange soda. It tasted too sweet, but at least it soothed her throat. She thought about Dr. Petrie and the young boy Daniel, off in search of Jarrett’s attacker. She doubted seriously that anyone could take Nick Petrie by surprise…but she felt worried, nonetheless. She supposed anyone could be lurking out there in the jungle.

Jarrett slept on, leaving Dana to her own musings. So far today, nothing had been as she’d expected it to be: the humiliating drive from the docks, the attack on Jarrett, the hot, humid discomfort of the island–the discomfort from Nick Petrie. That unwelcome attraction to Dr. Petrie, that was the worst of it. From the moment she’d met him, some essential buffer had seemed lacking between them. Her reactions to him were too immediate, too close to the surface. He both irritated and intrigued her….

In a short while, Dana heard a murmur of voices outside the hut. She hurried to the doorway and saw Nick immersed in discussion with two of the native islanders–a man and a woman. The woman’s black hair was plaited into a thick braid and she wore a beautifully embroidered blouse over her gathered skirt. The man seemed protective of the woman, standing close beside her. He spoke in Spanish to Nick, gesturing occasionally to make his point. Dana had begun studying Spanish, but she wondered if it was doing her any good. She couldn’t understand a word the man was saying. Often the woman broke in to add something, and Dana couldn’t understand a word she said, either. It was possible to guess, however, that the man and woman were married, or at least had been together for some time. The woman seemed to keep finishing the man’s sentences for him.

Nick was talking now. Unfortunately, Dana couldn’t understand a word he said, either. He spoke Spanish easily, fluently, the language surprisingly melodious in his deep voice. He didn’t seem aware of Dana’s presence, and neither did the other two. She was reluctant to interrupt, not wanting to distract them in case they were solving the mystery of Jarrett’s attacker. But it made her feel like an outsider, standing here in the shadows of the hut, listening to words she couldn’t comprehend. An unfamiliar loneliness seeped through her.

The conversation went on another moment or two, and then the man and woman hurried away, disappearing among the dense foliage. Dana stepped from the hut.