through the brown limbs and green leaves of the thousands of trees.
The path opened into a small, grassy clearing. At the other end was the mission. It wasn’t much, in Jake’s opinion—just a grouping of three or four structures with a white cross on the roof of the largest building. That had to be the church. The place was well kept, and the path obviously had been swept, probably with a palm-leaf broom. Pink, white and red hibiscus bloomed around the buildings in profusion. Orchids hung down from the trees, turning the air heady with their cloying perfume.
Just as the Indian boy stopped and pointed at the church, Jake heard angry, heated voices. One was a woman’s. He turned, keying his hearing to the sound. Giving the boy a few coins in thanks, Jake set his duffel bag on the ground and followed the sound. Turning the corner, he spotted a small wooden wharf down by the river, with several canoes pulled up onshore nearby. Five people stood on the wharf.
Frowning, Jake lengthened his stride down the sloping path. As he drew closer, he recognized Shah Travers in the center of the group. His heart started to pound, and it wasn’t because of the suffocating humidity or because of fear. Shah was tall—much taller than he’d expected. Her hair hung in two black, shining braids that stood out against the short-sleeved khaki shirt she wore. Mud had splattered her khaki trousers, and she wore calf-high rubber boots that were also covered with the thick, gooey substance.
What was going down? Jake saw the Catholic priest, an older man with wire-rimmed glasses, dressed in white pants and a shirt, plus his clerical collar, standing tensely. The other three made Jake uneasy. Two of them looked like goons hired by the well-dressed third man. Shah’s husky voice was low with fury, and he couldn’t catch what she said, but she was squaring off with the man in the light suit and white panama hat.
“I will not stay off that land!” Shah told Hernandez heatedly. “You can’t make me!”
Hernandez’s thin-lipped smile slipped. He touched the lapel of his cream-colored linen suit, where a small purple-and-white orchid boutonniere had been placed. “You have no choice, Miss Travers! That is my land, and I can do whatever I please with it—and that includes cutting down the trees!”
Shah tried to control her anger over the confrontation. She saw both of Hernandez’s bodyguards come forward, trying to intimidate her. Well, it wouldn’t work! She was aware that Pai Jose was wringing his hands, wanting to make peace. Her own heart was pounding with fear. She dreaded this kind of conflict. She’d been raised in a family of screaming and shouting, and she hated it.
“Look,” she said between gritted teeth, “you can’t stop me from going onto that land! I know my rights, and I know Brazil’s laws!”
Hernandez glowered down at her. “You are impertinent, Miss Travers. You Americans think you can come down here and cause trouble. Well, you can’t! I forbid you to come into the area where we are going to log.” He turned and looked at his men. “And if you so much as set foot on my land, I can assure you, my men will take care of you!”
Permanently, Shah thought. Before she could respond, the larger of the two men, a blond, German-looking hulk, moved forward. He gripped her by the collar of her shirt. Gasping, Shah froze momentarily. She heard Pai Jose give a cry of protest.
“Please,” Pai Jose begged, “this isn’t—”
Suddenly a hand appeared on the hulk’s shoulder. “Now, where I come from, you treat a lady like a lady,” the new man growled, pinching the man’s thick muscles enough to let the lout know he meant business.
Shah’s eyes widened considerably. Who was this man? Confusion clashed with her shock. He was tall. Taller than any of them, and bigger, too, if that was possible. Momentary fear sent a frisson of warning through her. He looked like an American, yet he’d spoken in fluent Portuguese. Her heart pounding hard in her chest, Shah gulped. His face was rugged and lined. When her gaze flew to his, something happened. Her heart snagged, a rush of wild feelings tunneling through her. His gray eyes were narrowed and nearly colorless, and for a brief second, Shah saw them thaw and felt an incredible sense of safety.
Instantly her heart and head denied those feelings. Men didn’t protect, they abused. “Get your hand off me!” she snapped at the blond man, and started to take a step back.
Jake jerked the hulk’s shoulder just enough to force him to release Shah. The other bodyguard, a leaner, meaner-looking man, whirled toward him, his hand on the butt of the machete he carried in a long leather sheath at his side.
“Now,” Jake drawled in Portuguese, “I don’t think any of us should behave like ruffians, do you? This is a lady, and we have a priest here. I know you boys have manners. How about showing them to me?” Jake stepped away, his hand moving to the butt of his Beretta in a not-so-subtle warning that didn’t go unnoticed.
Hernandez hissed a curse and spun around. “Who are you?” he demanded.
Jake smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Both goons were statues, waiting for orders from their thin Brazilian boss. “I’m Ms. Travers’ bodyguard,” he said levelly.
Shah’s mouth fell open. “You’re what?” The word came out like a croak.
“Darlin’, you stay out of this for now. This is male business.”
Shah’s mouth snapped shut. Fury shot through her. “Why—”
Jake barely turned his head. “Pai Jose, why don’t you take Miss Travers back to the mission? I’ll finish the conversation with these boys alone.”
Hernandez jerked a look toward Shah. “A bodyguard?”
“Well, you’ve got a couple, from the looks of it,” Jake pointed out mildly, giving Hernandez a lazy smile. “Why shouldn’t she have one?”
“Well—” Hernandez sputtered, then glared at Shah. “It won’t do you any good! You hire this, this American pig, and—”
“Hernandez, I didn’t hire him!” Shah protested, straightening her shirt and collar. Who was he? Too much was at stake, and she wasn’t about to get away from the point of Hernandez’s unexpected visit. “And even if I did, I would still go onto that parcel of land where you’re going to cut down the rain forest trees. It’s my right to film anything I want. You can’t stop me.”
Jake saw Shah’s cheeks flush. Her skin was glistening from the humidity, and she was simply breathtaking. Her body was ramrod-straight, her shoulders were thrown back proudly, and he wanted to applaud her courage. Still, under the circumstances, it obviously was a foolhardy stance to take. This character Hernandez clearly hated everything Shah stood for. In Brazil, he knew women were frequently considered second-class citizens. Too many Brazilian men viewed women merely in terms of how many children they could bear, proof of a man’s macho ability.
“Let’s call an end to this discussion,” Jake suggested amiably. He opened his hands and gestured toward Hernandez and his henchmen. “What do you say, gentlemen?”
Intimidated by the hardware Jake was carrying and by his size, Hernandez snarled, “Come!” at his goons, and they moved back into a dugout canoe with a small motor attached to the rear.
Shah remained tensely beside Pai Jose, breathing hard. She was still shaking inwardly from the man grabbing her by the collar.
“Thank God,” Pai Jose whispered. He clasped his hands in a prayerful gesture and nodded to
