As the vehicle hit a pothole in the road, Abby flicked him a sideways glance. Gage gripped the steering wheel, causing his thick biceps to bulge beneath his short-sleeved T-shirt, and her mouth actually watered. She knew exactly what all those delicious muscles looked like, exactly how they felt beneath her hands, remembered how good his big body felt pressing her down in the mattress.
She thought about what had happened between them in the net-draped king-sized bed last night and wished it would happen again.
Not likely with their shabby new lodgings being a less-than-one-star accommodation in the middle of the tropical forest. She’d be lucky if their room had a toilet.
She cast Gage a glance. Though his weapons were out of sight, stuffed into the pockets of his cargo pants, they were within easy reach should they run into trouble.
A definite possibility. Where millions of dollars in gold were concerned, anything could happen.
Abby thought back to the kidnap attempt in Mexico City and wondered if the men had followed. Their secret was no longer well-guarded. Too many people knew they had come to Mexico in search of gold.
The taillights of Mateo’s Hummer flashed on as the vehicle slowed. Edge had devised a means of leaving the Hacienda San José unseen; then he had made certain they weren’t followed.
They were approaching what looked like a wide spot in the narrow dirt road. A couple of square buildings with flat metal roofs sat on each side, one with a lone gas pump out in front. A red-painted building at the far end of what passed for a town had a sign out front that read,POSADA UTSIL, a combination of Mayan and Spanish that translated as Best Hotel.
Abby sighed.Home sweet home, she thought.
Gage checked them in, parked in a space in front of the room, and unloaded some of their gear into one of the extra rooms he had rented. With the rooms Edge had added, they took up the entire hotel.
“Not much, is it?” Gage said, surveying the tight quarters that had a double bed, a single nightstand holding a lamp with a partially broken shade, and a three-drawer dresser that had seen better days. There was a wobbly ceiling fan above a trio of naked bulbs that lit the room with harsh, unforgiving light.
Abby breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted a rusty toilet through the open bathroom door. At least she wouldn’t have to share with the other men.
“I bet you’ve stayed in a lot worse places,” she said to Gage, smiling.
He chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”
“So what do the locals think we’re doing here?”
Gage set his carry-on on the bed, unzipped it, and flipped open the lid to unpack. “We’re tourists exploring the area. I’m your husband. I’m keeping you company while you’re taking photos and writing an article on the flora and fauna of the tropical dry forest.”
Her husband.Her heart stuttered at the thought of what it might be like if they were truly married. If the man were anyone but Gage Logan, it might be something she could imagine. But Gage wasn’t the type to settle down, and as she thought of it, neither was she. She was too independent, too used to taking care of herself.
Abby buried the thought, surprised at the pang of yearning she felt.
Her eyes ran over Gage’s unshaven jaw and the knife strapped to his thigh. “You look more like a mercenary than a tourist,” she said. “What are Mateo, Edge, and his security people supposed to be doing here?”
Gage just shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. We’re paying our hosts well. We’ve rented the entire hotel at triple the rate for the next two weeks, maybe longer. No one’s going to push it.”
Abby finished unpacking her meager supply of clothes and looked up at a soft rap on the door.
Mateo stood in the outside corridor, his arm around the shoulders of a young, dark-haired, dark-eyed boy. “This is Carlos. We met when I was here before. Carlos is going to be our helper.”
Gage looked the boy over and frowned. “Are you sure about this?” Carlos was far too thin, scrawny to the point of emaciation, with straight black hair that hung halfway to his shoulders, blunt cut on the ends. His narrow feet were bare. Abby felt a tug in her heart.
“Carlos can sleep in one of the extra rooms,” Mateo said.
“What about his parents?” Gage asked.
“He is an orphan. Carlos knows the area for miles around. He needs the work, and we can use his help.”
Gage studied the boy a moment more and finally nodded. “All right, then.” He walked over and crouched in front of Carlos. “Cuantos años tienes?” How old are you?
“I am ten,” Carlos replied in fairly good English.
One of Gage’s dark eyebrows went up. “Where did you learn to speak English?”
“My mother taught me. She was a teacher in Utsil for a while. Then we moved to Alux’ob, and she died.”
