Authors: Elda Minger
"With our luck," Cameron whispered back, "Manny won't even remember Julian's little hideaway."
But he did.
"Great place," he said, on his third shot. He'd unbuttoned his tuxedo and his generous belly hung over his pants like the gentle ripples in a soft-serve ice cream cone.''Used to take them up there all the time. Hard to find, but that's what they wanted. Privacy."
"Could you find it again?" Cameron questioned. Michaela sensed his anxiety.
She'd never seen Cameron show his emotions before, or play them so close to the surface. Though both of them had slept sporadically on the flight back to the island, she could see that the idea of this travesty of a lawsuit having to actually go to trial was weighing heavily on his mind.
"I could find it in a minute if I didn't have a bum knee."
Michaela felt her heart sink. This couldn't be happening. Not when so much hung in the balance—
"But I used to take my son, Perry, up into the mountains. He could show you the way."
"Perry?" Michaela interrupted.
Manny smiled and poured himself another shot. "I know what you're thinking. It’s not a very Spanish name. I know that. But you see, I love to watch television, especially the older, classic American shows. And I made enough money singing in this lounge that I bought myself a satellite dish. So I named my son after one of my favorite characters – Perry Mason."
Michaela nodded her head. She wasn't even drinking tequila and this was starting to make sense. Manny was a much better storyteller than a lounge singer.
"You want to leave right away,
si?"
"Si.
Yes, as soon as possible." Cameron glanced around the smoky bar. "And we'd also like to keep this trip as quiet as possible. Our little secret,
comprende?"
"Is your grandpapa in some sort of trouble?" Manny asked. His words weren't slurred after six shots. Genuine concern etched his features.
"Yes. We need to get to that little hideaway as quickly as possible."
"Okay, Mr. Cameron. I will have both Perry and Barnaby at your house first thing in the morning."
* * *
Neither of them slept well that evening. It was a hot, sultry, tropical night with the promise of rain, so they both stayed out on one of the large balconies, each in their own hammock.
"I guess his kids should be grateful he wasn't real fond of Gilligan's Island," Michaela remarked, taking another sip of her mango iced tea.
"You don't know that. Last thing I heard, Manny had thirteen children by three different wives."
"Must be that island air."
She was deliberately keeping clear of him. She'd been careful not to brush up against him or touch him during the entire time they'd talked to Manny, or all the way home. Now, in separate hammocks, she felt relatively safe. She didn’t want a repeat of their one night together.
"That guy sure liked to tell stories," Cameron muttered. His voice sounded vaguely disembodied in the tropical darkness.
"Yeah, but he enjoyed them so much, it was hard not to go along with him."
"He'd make more money telling stories than singing those songs."
"Sort of a Garrison Kieller of the tropics."
He choked on his drink and she smiled into the darkness. She'd been able to make him laugh before. Before
L'affaire d'hotel.
Actually, before
Le Discoverie de le Bebe.
Maybe it would be possible to build from here.
It wasn't that she didn't have enough energy to deal with two things at once. It was simply that she wanted to turn all her energy toward getting Julian out of trouble before she concentrated on her own.
He'd helped her in so many ways, especially right after her father had died. She genuinely liked Julian and couldn't bear to see him in such trouble and anxiety.
"Got your vitamins packed?"
"Yes, Mother. Boy, now I know why I tried to keep this pregnancy a secret."
If a smile could be heard in the darkness, she heard his.
"Am I that bad?"
"It's not bad. Not exactly. It's just—you can be a nag. At times."
"I suppose I can. But it's only—"
"For my own good. I know. Pop used to run that one by me at least once a week."
They were silent for a moment. Then he asked, "Do you miss him?"
"All the time."
"I met him once," Cameron said lazily. "Julian gave a party and invited him. I don't remember how they knew each other."
"They met at a policeman's benefit for battered children. Julian donated the toys for a children's center."
"That's right."
"They liked each other," Michaela said.
"Yeah, they did. I liked him."
"So did I."
Silence reigned for a short time but it was comfortable.
"Mike? You asleep?"
"No."
"It's going to be a hard trip—"
"You are
not
leaving me behind."
''No. I just want you to promise me that if it gets to be too much, you'll make sure and tell us to stop. So you can rest."
"Why don't we ask Barnaby and Perry to see if Mork and Mindy can come along and carry me in some sort of litter? Or perhaps we could rent an elephant caravan?"
He didn't laugh. "Mike, there must be a place that rents horses. Maybe we could—"
"Stop. No. We don't have time. Julian's reputation and entire company can't wait ‘til we scour the village."
"But he wouldn't want you to lose this baby."
She took a deep breath, knowing she was going to get herself in trouble. "What about you, Cameron? Would you be relieved if something happened to the baby?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?"
She didn't answer.
He swung up out of the hammock, then walked over to where she lay in hers and looked down at her.
Moonlight lit his face. And the beauty of it still affected her to her core.
"I'm going to put that remark down to hormonal crazies."
She didn't say anything, just looked up at him. Her eyes widened as he bent over her hammock and took her lips in a short, fierce, aggressive kiss that ended just as her anger faded and she began to want more.
"What was that for?" she whispered. His face was so close to hers she could've counted his eyelashes if she'd wanted to.
"That," he whispered, "was to let you know I haven't forgotten about us. And as soon as this entire thing's settled, you and I are going to have to settle us."
She wrinkled her nose and he kissed it.
She put her hand behind his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.
He obliged.
She forgot all about why she was mad at him, why he was mad at her. She forgot it all in the sexual blaze that kindled and caught so easily between the two of them.
He'd unbuttoned her blouse and had cupped her bare breast in his hand when he suddenly straightened and backed away. She lay in the hammock, stunned with sensuality, and simply looked up at him.
She felt drugged, as if she couldn't move, could only respond to him.
"Why are you over there?" she finally whispered.
"Because, Mike, we're going on one hell of a hike tomorrow morning. And if I keep this up you won't be able to stand at dawn, let alone walk."
They started at dawn. In the pouring rain.
Michaela was determined not to complain and, unless the baby's health was at stake, not to slow down their party. She fell in line behind Perry, Cameron and Barnaby. Baretta brought up the rear.
It touched her, how Manny had insisted three of his sons accompany them. Perry was by far the most knowledgeable and an excellent trail guide.
The tropical island seemed like any other when she looked at the expanses of shimmery beaches, swaying palm trees and glistening water. But once they headed toward the interior, and up into the mountainous region, Michaela began to understand it was a different country altogether.
She couldn't really tell what time of day it was because she couldn't see the sun. Thick green foliage obscured the sunlight and the rain that fell was warm and soft. She'd dressed in long khaki pants and a long- sleeved, cotton top. Even though she was soaked, she wasn't uncomfortable. The top of her head was covered with a white canvas baseball cap and she'd pulled back her hair into a short ponytail at the nape of her neck.
All in all, she decided to comport herself like her heroine from the world of classic Hollywood movies, Katherine Hepburn. She wouldn't complain. This little hike into the island's interior would be a piece of cake for a woman who had swum in the Atlantic Ocean, in the winter, into her eighties.
She'd been so nervous about starting their hike she hadn't even had morning sickness. But she'd packed enough packages of salted crackers and flat breads in her backpack to stock a small cafe. That, and about fifteen pairs of underwear. If she had enough crackers and underwear, she could get through anything.
Birds shrieked in the trees. Brilliantly colored tropical flowers glistened with moisture. One in particular, a brilliant shade of red, almost cried out for her to pick it.
She started to give in to temptation. And felt a hand on her arm.
Looking back, she saw Baretta's calm expression. The youngest of Manny's boys was only about sixteen but he had the expression and bearing of an older man.
He shook his head.
Comprehension dawned in a heartbeat.
"Endangered species?"
"Nope. Poison."
"Ah!" She moved away from the beautiful bloom with lightning speed and fell in line behind Barnaby.
They stopped for lunch by a waterfall and she discreetly asked Baretta to find her a place she could relieve herself without running into any more poisonous foliage.
"Okay," he said cheerfully. "I checked it out. No snakes or spiders."
"Snakes or spiders?" she said carefully, steadying herself against a vine-covered tree as her heart picked up speed.
"You okay, Mike?" called Cameron.
What would Hepburn do?
"Fine. Fine." No mere snake or spider would get in the way of Kate the Great. She smiled gamely at Cameron and darted around the tree, then around another, until she found the exact spot Baretta had scoped out for her.
After a lunch of some actually rather terrific sandwiches Cameron's extremely efficient cook had prepared for them, they rested for a quarter of an hour then resumed their journey.
Had she had the breath, and had her legs not felt like two-ton weights, Michaela would've enjoyed her surroundings. As it was, she was struggling to keep up. Her daily aerobics class hadn't prepared her for this stint in what seemed a never ending Bomba of the Jungle movie.
"Look!" Baretta said beneath his breath.
She glanced over and saw the cutest bird sitting on the branch of an immense tree. Its yellow plumage was bright and fluffy and the bird cocked its little head at her. She wondered if it was about to break into song.
"It's darling!"
Baretta grinned. "That bird, she pecks you, you're history."
She could feel her smile fading. "Poisonous?"
"Nah, not really. You'd probably run a really high fever and feel like hell for about a month afterward. Sort of like the Changa spider—"
And Baretta regaled her with tales of various flora and fauna of the jungle. Michaela heard none of them.
Her every thought was focused on encountering as few of their jungle friends as possible. On getting Julian's journals... and getting out.
* * *
Why does he have to look like he's in his element?
she wondered crossly as they ate dinner that evening. Cameron had never looked so handsome, in faded jeans, boots and a khaki shirt. She could see where he had a knife strapped to his side and even detected the bulge of a gun in the back waistband of his pants.
Cameron of the Jungle.
Mr. Control goes on a wilderness expedition.
He was really enjoying himself, talking and laughing with Manny's sons, gesturing and speaking rapidly in Spanish. As her command of the language had never been that good, she simply smiled and nodded and pretended she was having a wonderful time.
Evening couldn't come soon enough for her.
* * *
"Bur where am I going to sleep?"
Cameron ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
"This isn't my idea of a joke, Mike. The boys assumed we were married so they only brought two tents with them."
"But I can't sleep with you!" she whispered.
"I don't remember asking. It's either with me or with the boys. Baretta actually seems rather fond of you."
The look she gave him was more eloquent than any word that sprang to mind. And plenty of them sprang.
"You could sleep with Perry, Barnaby and Baretta. If you were a real gentleman."
"I'm not and their tent won't sleep four large men."
She glanced from tent to tent, weighing her options. Cameron, sensing her hesitation, turned and ducked down, entering his tent. She stood outside and wondered what to do. As if on cue, a light tropical rain started to come down, clinging to her hat, hair and clothing in tiny, shining little drops.
"It's raining," she called.
He came out of their tent. "I'll put up some sort of makeshift hammock," he said, his voice sharp with frustration and annoyance.
"Thank you. I knew you were really a gentleman." She walked past him and entered their tent.
Fifteen minutes later she was beyond caring what Katherine Hepburn would have done,
African Queen
or not.
"Cameron?"
"What?"
"There's a spider in the tent."
"Squash it." His tone was ruthless.
"It's pretty big."
"I thought you didn't want me in the tent."
"I didn't but – AH!!!"
She burst out of the tent in a flash. He swung down out of his makeshift hammock and headed lazily over to the tent.
"Where?"
"Inside."
He sighed. "I know that. Give me a general idea of the vicinity."
"Up by the pillow on that side." She pointed.
He took hold of her upper arms. "If I don’t make it back, tell Julian I did my best."