Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) (7 page)

I was afraid. In a foreign country. Alone. In the dead of night. I was terrified. Irrationally, I thought if I didn’t look, it wouldn’t be real. If I didn’t see it, it wouldn’t be happening.

My nerves grabbed hold of my body and I started to quiver. The noise had increased in intensity, as if my intruder couldn’t find what he was rummaging for. What did he want? I hadn’t brought all that much money. Losing my passport would be a burden, but not a tragedy.

The burglar stopped and gave a low grunt of triumph. I slid one eye open and saw the outline of a man bent over a dresser drawer. He was just a dark smudge in the shadows of the room, his face tipped down and indistinct. When he straightened up, I could see the silhouette of my camera in his hands, its lens poking forward.

I was still paying off that camera. As with my laptop, I’d charged my purchase, figuring I could deduct it as a business expense. Okay, they weren’t top of the line equipment, but they were darn near it and I couldn’t afford to lose them. The laptop was loaded with personal information, too. Visions of identity theft flooded my brain and outrage overran my fear. Opening my mouth, I shrieked at the top of my lungs. I bolted from the bed, my feet scissoring the sheets away. My hand found the light switch on the wall and I slapped at it.

He could have shot me, if he had a gun, but I didn’t think of that. As light flooded the room and footsteps pounded in the hall, I just kept on screaming.

The man — short, dark, and startled — whirled around. His eyes were wide with panic at being discovered. Making an angry gesture, he moved toward the door at a run, still clutching my camera. He turned right, into the corridor. I took off after him, rushing out into the hall only to crash into Dan Underwood. Mart was right behind him.

He took one look at me and guessed what had occurred. “Where?” he asked and I pointed. With a muttered oath, Mart shoved Dan aside and set off in pursuit.

“Are you all right? What happened?” Dan asked. He was wearing what must be his usual sleeping attire — a t-shirt and boxer shorts. He put a hand on my shoulder and looked into my face. “Can you tell us about it?” he prodded gently.

In halting phrases, I stammered out my story. A hotel employee went to fetch the manager and I repeated the incident for him, while curious onlookers hovered in the doorway, listening.

The manager apologized profusely. “Nothing like this has ever happened here before, miss,” he assured me, but I didn’t believe him. “We have a safe hotel. Very, very safe,” he insisted. Across the room, open drawers dangling my rumpled clothing mocked his words.

About ten minutes after it all began, Mart returned. I heard him before I saw him.

“Okay, folks, the show’s over. Let’s all get back to bed, shall we?” He came into view, making shooing motions with his hands, urging the gawkers on their way. He wore only a loose pair of blue-checked pajama bottoms, slung low on lean hips. When the spectators had gone, he joined us, crossing the room with concern stamped across his features.

He was a bit of a distraction, standing next to me that way, naked from the waist up. His chest was thickly covered in dark, springy hair and the well-defined muscles of his arms were smooth beneath the skin.

“He got away outside,” he said flatly, sounding frustrated. “I nearly nabbed him in the stairwell, but once he made it outside, it was as if the shadows just swallowed him up.”

“Did you get a look at him?” Dan asked and Mart shook his head.

“Not well enough to identify him, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll get a police officer, if you’d like,” the manager offered.

“Yes, thanks,” I said and he left the room at a trot.

Turning to Dan, Mart said, “Thanks for holding down the fort here.” He clapped the older man on the back, making him beam with self-importance.

“Glad to do it, Mart. Anything for a damsel in distress.” He smiled at me and I returned the gesture weakly. “If you don’t need me anymore,” he fished.

“Go back to bed. I’ll stay until the police arrive.”

“Right, then.” Dan pointed a finger at me. “I’m just down the hall, Allison, and I’ll be listening up, so don’t you worry, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He ambled from the room, socks drooping around bony ankles.

When he’d gone, Mart collected the chair from over near the balcony’s open door and sat down. Clenched hands dangling between his knees, he said, “Sorry this happened, Allison. Did the guy take anything?”

“My camera. But I think that’s all. I haven’t checked yet.” Now that the danger and excitement had faded, I felt self-conscious clad only in my thin cotton nightgown.

Mart noticed. “Shall I get your robe?” he offered and I nodded.

I felt better once I was attired more conventionally, and perched on the edge of the dresser without disturbing the evidence.

“Good thing you woke up so early,” Mart said, “before he could get your money and your computer. You can buy another camera tomorrow.”

I nodded forlornly. “It was a good one. Kind of expensive. Maybe that’s why he wanted it,” I said.

Mart caught his lower lip between his teeth. “He probably couldn’t even see it that well in the dark,” he said, one hand moving up to push through his hair in a gesture I was beginning to recognize. “No offense, Allison, but plenty of other people on this trip have more elaborate camera set-ups. And your laptop is worth a lot more money.”

“Maybe the burglar didn’t know that.”

Mart was shaking his head again. “If he was a burglar, he’d know,” he said with conviction.

“Well, maybe he was in the wrong room, then?” I suggested, hoping it was true.

Mart sighed, all his breath coming out in a long rush. “Look, I know you’re upset and you’ve got good reason to be, but be logical. I think,” he said at last, “that he did want your camera. More specifically, he wanted the images on it.”

Suddenly, I recalled what I’d witnessed that afternoon in the jungle. The zoo director and the Guatemalan meeting secretly, speaking cryptically. Wide-eyed, I turned to Mart knowing he could read my expression.

“What did you see today? What did you photograph at Tikal? Anything that struck you as odd?” He spoke urgently, his voice a raspy whisper.

“I …I … .” What had I seen? I didn’t know. How could I explain? An unexpected wave of fear rose in my throat and I swallowed hard.

Mart was on his feet in an instant, crossing the space between us and taking me by the shoulders. “Allison, what? What was it?”

I gulped and found my voice. “It was Clark. Clark and a local. Talking. Just talking.”

“Talking?” Mart picked up the word. “About what? Could you hear what were they saying?”

I had to shut my eyes to recall the scene, but the words wouldn’t come. “I can’t remember!”

“This could be very important. You have to remember.”

“I’m trying — ”

There was a tentative knock on the door and we both looked up. The police had finally arrived.

I moved away from Mart, greeting the officer with a shaky smile. For the next hour, I went over old ground, repeating the story I’d already told several times and answering questions as best I could. Only one made me hesitate.

“Do you know any reason this man would choose to break into your room, Miss Belsar?”

“N-no,” I spoke haltingly. “I don’t know why.” I wasn’t lying, I told myself. I didn’t know.

Finally, an eternity later, as I stifled yawns and blinked scratchy, bleary eyes, the official visit was concluded. Nothing but the camera had been stolen, a quick inventory revealed. I’d been lucky, the policeman said.

Lucky, indeed.

I closed the door behind him and turned to face Mart. When he opened his mouth, I held up a hand. “Please, no more,” I begged, leaning heavily against the wall. “It’s so late and I’m so tired, I can’t think straight.”

He shut his mouth and nodded. “Tomorrow’s a free day,” he reminded me, rising from the chair and stretching a bit. “Meet me for a late breakfast? Ten o’clock?”

“Yes, sure, fine.”

Walking over to the balcony, he shut the opened door, fiddling with the latching mechanism. “Pretty clean work, here,” he said and I heard the click of the lock.

“I’m changing rooms in the morning,” I stated. “The ones on the other side of the hallway don’t have balconies.”

With a reassuring smile, Mart gave me a chuck under the chin, as if he were the big brother I never had. “You’re okay,” he told me. “You can take care of yourself.”

“Highest praise, seeing that you’ve rescued me twice today,” I said, feeling a quiver at my own words.

Opening the door to the hall, he didn’t debate me. “See ya.” One hand flapped in a wave then he headed off to his room.

I shut the door securely, ramming the lock home and putting a chair under the knob. With the faintest light of dawn beginning to peek through the curtain, I turned back to bed.

Chapter Nine

Mart and I met at the doors of the hotel dining room, joining a few other stragglers for our meal. Our breakfast was a lengthy event, with Mart listening in deep concern to my story about seeing Clark in the forest the day before. I could relate it coherently now, having thought about it ever since waking up.

I kept my eyes on him as I spoke, waiting for any sign of false concern. A blink of the eyes. A glance away. But he just pondered my words, chewing slowly, his eyebrows knitting together as he thought. If I expected him to give me any answers, however, I was mistaken. When I pushed gently, he evaded me.

Those broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Clark’s a different kind of guy. I’d never claim to understand him, Allison.”

I set my fork down with a clatter. “I realize there’s no love lost between the two of you,” I told him, “and if you’re worried that I’ll mention that in my stories, you can relax. The readers of the
Rochester Breeze
aren’t particularly interested in personality conflicts. They just want a travelogue.”

“It’s not that, honestly,” he began and I held up a hand.

“I don’t expect you to tell me any secrets, Mart, but this one seems to concern me. My room was broken into, perhaps because of that picture I took.”

“And someone pushed you down the steps,” Mart reminded me.

“What? That was an accident.”

I was shocked at the implication in his sentence. Until that instant, I’d made no connection between the two events. They’d been horrible parts of the same day, and this man eating pineapple across from me had been close by for both. Which might or might not be meaningful.

Now, my hand froze around my coffee cup and I leaned over our breakfast plates to ask, “What are you telling me? Do you think that was deliberate? Do you think someone was actually trying to hurt me?”

Mart blew out a long column of air, pushing out his lips and letting his eyes drift to the ceiling. “Maybe I’m wrong,” he said, his voice clearly stating he didn’t believe the sentence. Still without looking at me, he fidgeted with the silverware, moving it around on the tabletop.

The jangling and clanking were too much of a distraction for me. My hand shot out to cover his and halt its movement. When my skin touched his he seemed startled, but his hand went motionless under mine.

I watched his face. Watched the start of a smile edge across his lips. When he looked up, our eyes met, and the message they exchanged suddenly had nothing to do with zoo directors or burglaries or accidents.

Those dark, serious eyes were wide and warm, inviting me in. My gaze dropped to his lips. The top one was thin, the bottom full and luscious. What would those lips feel like on mine? I wondered, flicking my tongue over my own dry lips.

Mart sighed and I blinked, breaking the spell we’d slipped under.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” he repeated, bringing our conversation back to its disturbing topic, “but last night, I was thinking about it. You fell shortly after taking a picture someone didn’t approve of. Now, the steps of the temple aren’t deep, but they’re pretty wide. Even with that crowd, they’re surely wide enough for someone to have gone around you without knocking you over.”

I nodded and withdrew my hand. He had a point and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

“So, perhaps your ‘accident’ wasn’t an accident. It could have been — ”

“An attempt to kill me?” My voice came out high-pitched and a little too loud.

“No, not necessarily,” Mart hurried on. “But your camera did suffer in the fall, right? Banged around a bit on the stones?”

I nodded.

“My guess is the camera was the goal. You were just in the way.”

Turning my hands over, I looked at the scratches and cuts on them. They didn’t ache quite as much this morning, but the skin was still tender and bruised. “If they’d asked for the camera, I might have been persuaded to hand it over,” I said wryly. “Better that than this.”

“If it’s any consolation, Allison, I’d say it’s a safe bet they’ll leave you alone now. They accomplished their task and got your pictures. You can borrow my camera for the rest of the trip.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. But, my pictures — when I got back to my room, I sent them to my work address.”

He was silent an instant as my meaning became clear. Mart dropped his voice low. “You’d already saved the pictures?” There was no one around our table. Most trekkers had long since headed off to the marketplaces. Still, he spoke cautiously. “You can still access your photos from Tikal?”

Slowly, I moved my head up and down. “Safe and sound,” I said. “I’ve got that blog to keep up, remember? I want to put the pictures on the page.”

Mart drew his index finger down the length of his nose several times, as if that would help him concentrate. “Well, that puts things in a different light. I’d like to see those pictures later.”

“Any time. And I’ll just let the burglar think he got what he wanted,” I stated. “But I still don’t understand. Mart, what is Clark involved in? What do you suspect?” It was hard for me to picture the suave, professional zoo director as part of some cloak-and-dagger scheme, but explanations weren’t exactly heavy on the ground.

“Allison, I think it’s best if you stay out of this.”