“Insect repellant?”
“Gary! Honestly, you make me sound like a child heading off to camp.”
He hadn’t thought of it like that, but she was probably right. “Sorry,” he said with a grin.
Because there was so little traffic this early, the drive to the airport didn’t take long. He insisted on going to the gate with her. Then they stood there waiting, not knowing what to say.
“I don’t want you to worry,” she murmured at last.
“I’ll try not to. Will you phone?”
She hesitated and shrugged lightly. “I don’t know about the phone situation in El Mirador. My guess is the schoolhouse is the only place in town with a working phone.”
He wished she hadn’t reminded him how primitive this village was likely to be.
“I’ll write,” she promised, “and phone if I can.”
“Great.” He had to be happy with that.
Her seat assignment was called and he waited in line with her before she entered the jetway. They hugged and kissed and he clung to her for a moment, then stepped back as she disappeared into the long tunnel that led to the plane. She’d vanished from view, and still Gary stood there.
Despite Lorraine’s optimism, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything—in his life and in hers—was about to change.
Three
J ack Keller had never thought of himself as a big-game fisherman. But owning a thirty-two-foot twin-diesel cabin cruiser made about as much sense as anything else in his life, which was damn little.
He’d “retired” as a mercenary, gotten out of the death-defying game while the getting was good. At the end of his five-year stint he was sick of it all. Sick of the low-profile and corporate rescues Deliverance Company had specialized in. Jack was tired of fighting hotheaded terrorist groups and corrupt governments that used innocents in a cruel game of greed and revenge.
He had, however, been paid well for his skills, and he’d managed to save most of it. The major part had been wisely invested, and with the proceeds of the sale of his condominium in Kansas City, he could live comfortably in Mexico until he was a very old man. Growing old in the tropics appealed to Jack. Footloose and fancy-free, that was him. The boat was a bonus he hadn’t expected. An inheritance of sorts from Quinn McBride, a friend whose life he’d saved a decade earlier. Jack had lived aboard Scotch on Water for the past three years. He’d stayed in the Gulf of Mexico for most of that time, dropped anchor here and there, made a few friends. The strongest of these friendships was with Thomas Dancy, another American expatriate who lived in the tiny coastal town of El Mirador.
Although Thomas was about fifteen years his senior, the two shared a camaraderie and a deep love of their adopted country. Thomas was a man of secrets, but Jack had a few of his own. It was because of Thomas and Azucena that Jack had hung around the Yucatán; in the past few weeks, though, he’d decided to expand his horizons. Lately he’d been thinking about heading to the Florida Keys, stopping off at some of those small Caribbean paradises along the way. He’d heard the people were friendly, and it didn’t hurt any that the women were gorgeous.
Then again, he might return to Belize. He’d pulled into port at Belize City any number of times and he was impressed with the beauty of the country. His American dollars were always welcome; Jack had no problem with that. The women were warm and friendly—and there was a pretty señorita he was certain would be glad to see him. Jack couldn’t quite remember her name, but no doubt it’d come to him in time.
Either Florida or Belize—he had yet to decide. Before he set his course for either destination, he needed supplies and figured he might as well check his mail, too. Not that he was expecting anything. He hadn’t heard from Cain, Murphy or Mallory in several weeks, but he wasn’t much for keeping in touch with old friends himself. His life as a mercenary was far behind him. These days he had little in common with the men of what used to be Deliverance Company. His friends were married now, and the last Jack had heard they’d settled into domesticity. Not Jack, though.
Standing on the flybridge, the sun in his face and a breeze slapping his unbuttoned shirt against his tanned chest, Jack set Scotch on Water in a westerly direction. He checked the chart and saw he wasn’t far from El Mirador. It’d been a couple of months since he’d shared a beer with Thomas. Azucena must be ready to pop that kid of hers any day now, if memory served him right. Perhaps he’d arrive in time for the blessed event, and he and the new father could celebrate.
This was their third kid in six years. Good grief, Thomas was as bad as Cain and Murphy, but at least Thomas had an excuse. Azucena was a traditional Catholic and didn’t believe in birth control. Sex without marriage, sure; birth control, no. Interesting logic, Jack thought with a grin. During one visit, Thomas had confessed how upset he’d been when Azucena turned up pregnant the first time around. In the years since, he’d apparently grown accustomed to fatherhood. Then again, Jack might, too, if he had a hot-blooded woman like Azucena warming his bed. There was some reason Thomas couldn’t marry her, some reason in his past; he’d alluded to it but never explained.
A few years back, fool that he was, Jack had given marriage serious consideration. He found it hard to believe now, but he’d actually been ready to buy into the whole scene—wife, family and house in the suburbs. Luckily he’d escaped that trap…but at the time he hadn’t felt especially lucky. In fact, it’d hurt like a son of a bitch when Marcie turned down his proposal. What really got him was that she’d married a plumber named Clifford instead. It still boggled his mind that a woman as smart and sexy as Marcie would find happiness with a slow-witted moose of a man named Clifford.
But they did seem happy. He found it remarkable, but had to admit he felt relieved; he wouldn’t want her to be anything else. He’d received picture Christmas cards from her and Clifford for the past two years. The first one showed her standing proudly beside her big oafish husband with her stomach extending halfway across the room. She looked a good ten months’ pregnant. Next year’s Christmas card explained why. Twins. He’d forgotten their names now, but they were rather unimaginative, as he recalled. Billy and Bobby or something along those lines. What he remembered most was how happy Marcie had seemed. Her face had glowed with joy as she held one squirming toddler and Clifford hoisted the other. Jack had kept the photograph tucked away on the boat as a reminder that she’d made the right choice in not marrying him. Other than that one all-too-brief episode, Jack had realized a long time ago that he wasn’t the marrying kind. Nope, not even close. He wasn’t interested in settling down with a woman, putting up with all that domestic crap. He enjoyed his carefree life and didn’t need anyone messing with his mind. Or his heart…such as it was.
No question, things had worked out for the best when Marcie married Clifford. Jack would have made a rotten husband, but there were times, albeit few and far between, when he wondered what would’ve happened if Marcie had married him.
He’d drink a beer in her honor, Jack decided, frowning into the wind. To Marcie and their lucky escape.
The Boeing 767 landed in Mérida on the Yucatán Peninsula early that afternoon. As Lorraine exited the aircraft, she peered over the customs counter, hoping her father had received her message and follow-up letter and had been able to meet her plane. The only photograph she had of him was the wedding picture, which showed him with long hair and a beard. He’d be fifty now, and Lorraine
