He pressed his knuckles against his teeth. Now that Abby and Cassie had given him the right clues, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t recognized the symptoms. She was like him, hiding some shameful secret she didn’t want anyone to know. Something so bad that it made her reckless—even a little foolhardy—as if she didn’t believe her life was worth much.

Too bad for her Abby had slipped and revealed more than she should. Or had she? His eyes narrowed as he went back over the scene in the psychologist’s office, examining the nuances. Abby had told him she thought he’d be good for Marci. Had that been a calculated maneuver? Part of her plan to get him on her side?

He sighed. Whatever it was, it had worked. It had even starting him wondering if he and Marci could help each other, since neither of them felt there was much to lose.

Of course, Marci was one thing. Marissa was quite another. Getting close to her could be a disaster. He’d always known that Marissa Devereaux and Jed Prentiss would be an explosive combination. Either it would be damn good or they’d end up tearing each other apart.

Still, he felt a sense of tingling anticipation that made it difficult to sit still in the airplane seat. One of the reasons he was going back to San Marcos was to find out once and for all what would happen if he let her know he was attracted to her. This time Marissa wasn’t going to be able to duck away from him or give him that cold look he now realized was a protective mechanism. Not if she was going to follow the script that the Light Street group had written for her. No, if she wanted to save her hide she was going to have to work with him—up close and very personal.

* * *

MARISSA KEPT PUTTING one foot in front of the other even though she’d long since reached the point of exhaustion. Yet she knew she had to put as much distance as she could between herself and the spot where she’d stirred up the howler monkeys.

So far Sanchez’s goons hadn’t shown. But she wasn’t going to breathe easy until she reached the relative safety of the archaeological dig.

She hoped she could get there before nightfall. The jungle during the day was dangerous enough. When the sun went down, it would be pitch-dark and twice as perilous. She’d have to find a tree she could climb and wait for morning before she could risk moving around again. And that wouldn’t save her from poisonous tree frogs or snakes. Or the predators that would smell her fear or hear her shivering. Aside from the dangers, when the temperature dropped, her perspiration-soaked clothing was going to feel like a cold compress.

But that was hours away. Her immediate problems were heat and thirst. She’d had nothing to drink but a few gulps of water in her cell that morning. And even with the high humidity, she was getting dehydrated from the jungle heat.

She hadn’t crossed any streams, and she knew they would be a risky proposition out here, where she could pick up some nasty parasite while slaking her thirst. But there were hollow vines that were full of water. When she found one, she slashed it off with her penknife and gratefully tipped the cup end to her lips.

She’d taken several swallows when the sound of a branch snapping behind her made her whole body go rigid. Dropping the vine, she made a dash for a nearby thicket. But she didn’t get more than a few feet before a muscular arm hooked itself around her neck.

Before her scream had died away she felt the point of a machete pressed against the small of her back.

“Be still, and you won’t get hurt,” a harsh voice she didn’t recognize instructed in Spanish. She’d been caught, but not by Jorge or Jose.

He was in back of her, so she couldn’t see his face or gauge his resolve. As she breathed in the acrid scent of his sweat, she struggled to keep a lid on her fear. It helped a little to remind herself of her martial arts training. He wouldn’t be expecting any fancy maneuvers on her part. And the first thing to do was make him think she was completely at his mercy. “What are you going to do to me?” she croaked.

Instead of answering, he called out loudly, “I’ve found the woman they’re looking for.”

Moments later he was joined by a friend dressed in the faded cotton trousers and shirts that San Marcos’s peasants wore. He, too, was carrying a machete.

“I’m nothing to you. Please, let me go,” she begged.

The one who held her began to march her toward the road.

“I just want to get back—home.” The last part came out as a choked cry.

“The soldiers want you,” he said, as if that settled the matter. “V'amonos.”

“I’ll pay you,” she tried in desperation.

“We don’t want your money,” the second one answered. “They will be angry with the village if I don’t bring you in. They might burn us out or kill our animals.”

She understood then that there was no use pleading with these men or trying to bribe them. If they didn’t obey the wishes of the soldiers, they would be inviting the wrath of El Jefe.

Her captors gave her no opportunity for escape.

In minutes they emerged from the shade of the jungle onto the hot surface of the road. The van from which she’d escaped was parked a hundred yards or so farther on, and she saw immediately that the soldiers had repaired the flat tire. Jose and Jorge were lounging against the vehicle, one on either side. It did nothing to lift her spirits to find out she’d been slogging through rough terrain half the morning, and they’d been riding along in comfort.