Into the Fray (Daring Escapes #3) - Margaret Daley Page 0,8

swayed backward toward the sound of his voice.

"We need to talk about this job you offered me."

The safe cocoon she felt woven about her vanished, replaced with reality—a reality where she realized she could only depend on God and herself in the long run. She stiffened and turned to face him while stepping away from him and the balcony door. "You’re reconsidering the job?"

He offered a curt, almost reluctant, nod.

"What made you change your mind?"

Running his hand through his dark hair, he fixed her with a probing stare. "Let's just say your encounter yesterday persuaded me to reconsider."

With her eyes narrowed, she tilted her head to one side. "In other words, you aren't really going to tell me why?"

"When are you returning to your dig?" His gaze slipped down the length of her.

The fiery intensity of his look seeped into her every pore and became a part of her. Her senses were keyed to his movements and nuances. Should she trust him? Yes. Juan had recommended him, and Guerrero had saved her life, but was that enough? They would be miles and miles away from civilization and would often be alone together.

As she wrestled with that question, Guerrero cleared his throat.

Her gaze locked with his, and she knew the answer came from the Lord. He sent Guerrero. "As soon as you can leave. Let me get dressed, and we can talk."

His smile was lazy, a slight upward turn of the corners of his mouth.

The playfulness in his eyes heightened the tension that sharpened the ends of her nerves. Backing away from him, she indicated the balcony. "I'll only be a minute."

The second the door closed, Tory flew toward the bathroom, snatching up a pair of jeans, her undergarments, and a blouse lying on the chair. She dressed in less than five minutes. As she started to leave the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. A slight flush still stained her cheeks, and her large green eyes held a touch of wariness in them, highlighted by the fact she’d brushed her damp hair back into a short ponytail.

If Guerrero agreed, she would have her protection, but would that be enough to defend the archaeological site? As it was, she would be paying Guerrero out of her inheritance from her grandfather, who had always supported her chosen profession. One guard was better than none. Juan had told her Guerrero was familiar with the villagers in the area. She hoped that he could persuade possible locals to help. She rolled her shoulders to ease the stiffness. The dig was in jeopardy. Someone didn't want her there. She couldn't throw away all those years of work, especially now that she sensed something big was about to happen. This archaeological site was the break she was looking for to prove possibly her theory about an ancient people who lived there, and she wasn't going to let some unknown person scare her away.

Tory stepped out of the bathroom.

A knock at the door startled her. She gasped, looked toward the balcony, and then back toward the door. She started forward, reaching for the knob.

"Don't open it."

She glanced over her shoulder. "It's probably room service,” she whispered. “I left a breakfast order yesterday."

"Check first." Guerrero nodded toward the peephole, a finely-honed alertness vibrating from him.

Standing on tiptoes, she stared out into the hallway, her pulse pounding through her body. A dryness jammed her throat closed. She wasn't used to questioning every little thing. A man in a waiter's white coat loomed disproportionally before her. "It's a waiter."

"Ask to see his hotel identification card," Guerrero said in a low voice.

She did, and the man held up his card to the peephole. "It's room service like I thought."

Guerrero was beside her, positioning himself so he was hidden when she opened the door. "Okay. Slowly."

The ache in her throat expanded, threatening to cut off her next breath. Her pulse rate continued to beat fast as though she had just run up and down the stairs. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned the knob and eased the door open, expecting any second for the waiter to shoulder himself into the room and assault her.

"Good morning, senorita," the man said with a beaming smile as he wheeled the cart into the room.

She returned his greeting with a shaky smile and a large tip for all the nasty things she envisioned the man was capable of doing. He was probably married with a horde of kids to feed. She hated this