In Too Deep Read online

  “What did you expect?” she muttered under her breath. “Central Park?”

  Actually, that would have been nice. In fact, it would have been terrific to be in Central Park right now, jogging along a familiar paved path. She loved being surrounded by the towering skyscrapers of civilization, listening to a Mozart tape as she ran. At this hour she’d be close to home again, just starting to anticipate the day’s first savory cup of her favorite special blend of coffee, a buttery croissant with thick raspberry jam and the Wall Street Journal.

  Instead, she was heading deep into the Mexican rain forest in search of a man everyone had been telling her for years now was an independent, arrogant, bullheaded rogue. The company gossip about the man’s professional and amatory exploits was the stuff of which legends were made. Even her father had said that Rod Craig was nothing but trouble. What confused her slightly was that her father’s voice held a note of envy when he said it.

  From the moment she’d heard it while still in her teens, that unexpected note had intrigued her. Scottie, who’d founded WHS Engineering nearly thirty years ago, had a well-documented independent streak of his own. He envied few men. That alone, then, would have been enough to make her curious, but that wasn’t all. In some way she couldn’t quite define—and didn’t like admitting—her father’s apparent affection and admiration for Rod Craig also hurt her. It reminded her that there was a time in his life she hadn’t shared, a carefree time that Rod epitomized and her father still, after all these years, longed for. This life they had in New York was second best to her father.

  Now Cara was about to find out for herself if Rod Craig lived up to his reputation. After a four-hour delay on the ground in New York, two flights, a hair-raising drive over twisting mountain roads and a night in a bug-infested room in Palenque, she was back in the air in some plane that looked like it had been patched together with Krazy Glue and rubber bands. The hotel manager had reluctantly arranged the charter. Amid muttered prayers to all the saints, he had also drawn her a map of the area along the river where she was likely to find Rod.

  She’d studied the sketch carefully, asked several questions, then nodded in satisfaction. It appeared straightforward enough, a walk of perhaps a mile, maybe two from the airstrip. It was hardly the dangerous or physically taxing venture her father had feared. She walked farther than that between appointments in New York. She’d hiked more treacherous distances on sites in the desert. She was accustomed to getting along on unfamiliar terrain. Scottie had taught her well. The hotel manager had remained horrified by her blasé attitude. She wrote it off, first to Latin machismo, then to avarice.

  “Please, señorita, you go by boat. I find you best guide,” he had argued. “Normally he take tours on the river, but for you special deal.”

  Scottie’s concern echoed through her mind. “How long to arrange it?”

  “Two, maybe three days, he be back.”

  “I’ll go by plane.”

  “It is dangerous, señorita, no place for a woman alone.”

  “Give me the map.”

  More prayers had been muttered for her stubborn soul. As the plane dipped and swayed, she was beginning to be thankful for the manager’s communications on her behalf. It was going to take a heavenly influence to keep her alive on this flight. And she very much wanted to live, just so she could kill Rod Craig for causing all this inconvenience.

  Carlos, the pilot, had the look of a bandit with a streak of the daredevil in his soul. He’d been lavishing gap-toothed smiles on her since takeoff. With the plane’s engine coughing and sputtering, they were flying awfully low over this endless, intimidating jungle, which should have required enough attention to keep his mind off her. Instead, he seemed determined to terrify her with his aerial acrobatics.

  She sat back and closed her eyes. Despite her appearance of calm, this was not the sort of adventure she relished. She’d never admitted it to Scottie, but she preferred the challenge of the boardroom or the excitement of her drawing board. Those were the things she understood, things she could control. Though she’d done fieldwork with Scottie and was more than qualified for this assignment, it was not the aspect of her job she preferred.

  As a result of her present anxiety and the unappealing prospect of worse to come, Cara was in no mood to deal politely with some irresponsible rake who was off in the wilderness indulging his lusty libido on company time. If it had been up to her, she’d have fired the man, but that would have upset her father, and she would not have Scottie worrying himself into another heart attack. So, instead, she was going to get this project moving if she had to join ranks with Rod or, if he didn’t like that, simply do it herself.

  Suddenly the plane dove downward into a tiny clearing. Her heart thumping wildly, Cara watched wide-eyed as Carlos landed on a cleared stretch of dirt that had been barely visible from the air and was not one inch longer than it needed to be. The trees and vines seemed to close in around them. Though the sun was high in the midday sky, it was filtered by the density of the greenery, reaching the ground in pale fingers. She swallowed hard and wondered exactly what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

  “Which way, Carlos?”

  He pointed her toward a narrow dirt path barely visible in the wild undergrowth and towering mahogany trees. If it had ever been intended as a road, time had choked off its potential.

  “No problem,” he said, grinning broadly. Cara spoke perfectly fluent Spanish, but Carlos had insisted on practicing his English. “One hour. Maybe less. You find river. Señor Craig, he be there. Somewhere. Maybe.”

  Her heart thumped irregularly at the vague qualification.

  Sensing her hesitation, he added, “One hundred dollars American, I take you.”

  It was a tempting offer, but the price seemed outrageously high just for the comfort of having someone to walk with for an hour or so.

  “You just be back here tomorrow afternoon,” she told him.

  Carlos’s bright brown eyes regarded her with respect. “You very brave señorita. You have a man at home?”

  “No man,” she confessed.

  “This Señor Craig, he your man?”

  “Hardly.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “Take very strong man to be good for you, lady. My brother, he very strong. You want to meet?”

  Cara laughed at his hopeful expression. “No, thank you, Carlos. I’m not looking for a man in my life right now.”

  He shook his head. “Not good to be without a man. Man-woman is way it is meant to be. You think about what I say. We talk again tomorrow.”

  Then he was gone. She was surprised to feel a lump in her throat as she watched him fly away. She stood gazing after the plane until it was no more than a spark of light glinting through that narrow slit to the distant sky.

  When she could avoid it no longer, she took a slow look around and shuddered. The landing strip was no more than a deserted stretch of cleared ground. The small tin-sided shack fifty yards away had an abandoned air about it. The only sounds were the wild shrieks of birds she couldn’t even see in the dense foliage. Storm clouds were gathering, temporarily muting the full force of the hot sun. She suddenly felt incredibly lonely and far, far out of her element.

  “I really don’t like this,” she muttered, but she determinedly picked up her small flight bag with its change of clothes and the backpack of essentials Louise had assembled. There was no point in standing around.

  “I am Scottie’s daughter,” she reminded herself staunchly. “I am a competent, successful engineer. I can do anything I set my mind to.”

  It became a litany of sorts as she made her way into the fringe of the jungle. The dirt road Carlos had sent her on was little more than a muddy footpath. She bent to step under a low-hanging vine and was slapped in the face by a large flat leaf, then another and another. A huge, hungry mosquito landed on her neck. She smacked at that and snagged her loose-fitting jacket on a twisted branch. When she’d unsnared herself, she dove into her bag
for her insect repellent and coated herself liberally.

  “I can do anything I set my mind to,” she repeated firmly, then with another slap at a persistent mosquito she murmured, “but I don’t have to like it.”

  Just then the darkened sky opened up and rain came down in torrents. With no place to run, she resigned herself to getting drenched. Getting out her compass and checking it frequently, she plodded on as the ground turned into a slick, rust-colored sea of mud.

  The fierce but thankfully brief storm stopped as suddenly as it had started. Instead of cooling the air as she’d hoped, the rain merely turned it to steam. Her clothes clung to her in their sodden state, making walking even more uncomfortable.

  Two hours later, the pencil-sketched map and compass in hand and the river before her, Cara was convinced she was never going to find Rod Craig. Growing more furious by the minute, she was picking her way cautiously through the undergrowth along the river when a low, rough-as-sandpaper voice halted her in her tracks. She jumped as though an arm had snaked out to twine around her neck.

  “Who the hell are you?” The voice came from the direction of the riverbank.

  Her head snapped around, scattering dewdrops of perspiration from her brow. She stared directly into the barrel of a gun. Her angry retort died in her throat as she forced her terrified gaze from that lethal-looking weapon and looked up into bold hazel eyes set in a rugged, tanned face. Then her gaze drifted down over bare, nicely muscled shoulders that glistened in the sunlight filtering once again through the trees. Moisture clung to the whorls of dark hair matted across a broad chest. Hastily donned jeans had been zipped but not snapped. She drew in a ragged breath.

  So this was Rod Craig. She knew it instinctively and for the first time she had a slight inkling of what her father’d been talking about. Here in the depths of a Mexican rain forest, when her mind should have been focused on business, she felt the sharp stirring of a primitive, very feminine emotion. She suddenly wanted to duck into a shower, wash the dust out of her bedraggled hair, then change into something far sexier than damp, wrinkled khaki. It was not a reaction she cared to share with the man whose angry, distrustful gaze was sweeping over her.

  “Are you deaf? I asked you a question.”

  “I heard you.”

  “Well? Who are you and what are you doing here?” The gun never wavered. Cara decided to ignore it.

  Her blue eyes coolly surveyed the makeshift campsite in back of her, the muddy water behind him and the chickens clucking in the clearing beside the tent. She nodded appreciatively.

  “I can understand your fear of strangers. I’m surprised you don’t have an alarm system. Maybe even guard dogs. Then again, the gun is probably sufficient.”

  For a fleeting instant she thought she saw an expression of doubt flicker in his watchful eyes. Finally, he tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. She decided that was about the friendliest gesture he planned.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she suggested cheerfully. “I can promise I won’t steal the family silver.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and stood his ground. It was an impressive stance. On a poster, it would have sold millions.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Why don’t you just turn around and wander back to your tour group? The boat will probably be setting off soon.”

  Weariness and exasperation suddenly swept over her, claiming the last of her patience. The man had been waving a gun at her not five minutes ago and she was standing here exchanging chitchat with him. It was time to bring this absurd conversation to the point. She drew herself up to her most businesslike posture.

  “Look, Mr. Craig. You are Rod Craig, aren’t you?”

  His startled expression was answer enough.

  “If there are tours in this part of Mexico, I’m unfamiliar with them. I’m Cara Scott, vice president of WHS Engineering.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Scottie’s daughter? I don’t believe it. He’d never send you down here.”

  Cara was irritated by his expression of disbelief. She absolutely refused to dig out her passport to prove her identity. She kept right on, as though he’d never spoken.

  “I have come a very long way to see you. I am tired. I am wet. And frankly I would like nothing more than to get back to civilization, but it appears I’m your guest until tomorrow when I told the pilot to pick me up. Hopefully, we can conclude our business before then.”

  “You told the pilot to pick you up?” he repeated incredulously. “I suppose you paid him in advance.”

  Thoroughly exasperated now, she glared at him. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Craig. I gave him a deposit. He promised to fly over at noon tomorrow.”

  “Which is exactly what he will do. He’ll fly over. If it’s not raining. If he doesn’t decide to get drunk. If the plane doesn’t fall apart. Are you out of your mind, woman? That airstrip out there isn’t Kennedy Airport. It could be weeks before anyone shows up for you.”

  She swallowed hard. “We made a deal.”

  Rod gave an exaggerated sigh. “Unless you got it signed in blood and kept his first-born child, I wouldn’t count on him sticking to his end of it.”

  “He’ll be back,” she insisted with a defiant lift of her chin. She decided not to mention Carlos’s desire to see her wed to his exceptionally strong brother.

  “I hope for your sake you’re right. I’m having enough trouble on this job without worrying about you.” He shook his head again. “What the hell was Scottie thinking of letting his little princess come down here?”

  She flinched at his sneering use of Scottie’s childhood endearment for her. “You won’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself, Mr. Craig. I found you, didn’t I? The sooner you fill me in on why your study for the Usumacinta dam project is behind schedule, the sooner I’ll be out of your way.”

  Her regarded her curiously. “Why did Scottie send you? Why not someone else?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, if you must know, he didn’t send me. I decided to come. We’ve been getting calls from Mexico City asking about the delay. We needed to know what was going on. None of the other engineers was available. If your report had been in on time, I can promise you I wouldn’t be here now.”

  He didn’t seem overly concerned about the reprimand. He ran his fingers through thick, wavy hair. “I’ve had more important things to worry about than paperwork.”

  “Couldn’t you have called?”

  He gave a pointed glance around. “Do you see any phones? Ma Bell hasn’t reached out to touch anyone here.”

  “Surely you didn’t come without a radio.”

  “Sabotaged.”

  “Then you should have gone back to Palenque.”

  “Why? The work was here. If it hadn’t been for a few accidents, it would have been done by now.”

  Cara frowned. “What sort of accidents?”

  “Nothing to worry your pretty little head over. It’ll all be in my report to Scottie.”

  Something in her snapped at his patronizing attitude. “Scottie’s in the hospital. I’m here. Tell me.”

  Immediate concern registered in those previously cool, distant hazel eyes and warmed them to a degree she wouldn’t have thought possible. “What’s Scottie doing in the hospital?”

  “A heart attack.”

  “Will he be okay? Shouldn’t you be there?”

  Cara responded to the concern and suddenly felt the need to reassure him. “It was serious, but he’s recovering. The nurses may not.”

  He laughed, his relief obvious. “I’ll bet.”

  She lightened her tone and appealed to his affection for Scottie. “Look, Mr. Craig, I have to report something to my father. If you’re having trouble with the study, perhaps I’ll be able to help. Let’s go inside and talk about it.”

  Despite her attempt to call a truce, Rod still regarded her with insulting skepticism. Her temper flared, but she knew better than to indulge it. Decisively, she marched past him a
nd into the tent. She looked around for a place to sit, saw only a drawing table, cot and the hammock that hung between two poles. She chose the cot. It was only after she was seated that she realized that Rod hadn’t followed her inside.

  “Well, damn the man,” she said and stalked outside. She was just in time to see him walking toward the river as nonchalantly as if he were out for his evening stroll. Hands jammed in her pockets so she couldn’t use them to wring his neck, she went after him.

  “Mr. Craig!” she called out.

  She’d taken no more than half a dozen indignant steps on the rain-slickened ground when her feet shot out from under her. Unable to stop herself, she slid in the red mud all the way to the water’s edge, where she landed unceremoniously at Rod’s feet. It was absolutely, positively the last straw. She felt like pounding her fist into the mud. Absurdly, she felt even more like crying.

  To add insult to injury, she heard the beginning of a chuckle. She refused, she absolutely refused, to look up. Then suddenly, Rod Craig hooted. He threw back his head and laughed in that uninhibited, purely masculine way that rough, brawling men probably did in the bars of the Old West when confronted with something they considered to be typically feminine foolishness. That laugh unnerved her.

  It also infuriated her.

  She sat right where she was, covered in mud from head to toe, and stared straight up at him.

  Her eyes blazed with fury. His were filled with amusement.

  One delicate blond brow arched in indignation as the prelude to an explosion. His laughter died to a grin—a very beguiling grin.

  He did not, however, quake in his boots.

  Scottie was right, she decided in that instant. The man was definitely trouble.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Despite his unrestrained mirth, Rod witnessed Cara’s inelegant landing and carefully controlled reaction with something surprisingly akin to respect. Apparently she wasn’t quite the fragile, helpless creature she’d seemed when she’d first made her bedraggled appearance. For years, Rod had believed her to be nothing more than the pampered daughter of an indulgent father. This had led to his quick judgment. Now he was forced to reassess.