Come on. “You know—batteries,” she said caustically. “And they’re going to be dead before I get back if you keep that up.”
He stopped suddenly and studied her with those piercing gray eyes. “Batteries?” he repeated. “This small?” He turned the flashlight upside down and located the little sliding panel to the battery compartment.
“Hey!” Mac made a grab for the flashlight, but he kept it easily out of reach and tucked it somewhere in the back of his belt.
Mac revised her earlier speculation about Liam’s double. Maybe he was an exceptionally clean hermit. Or he’d been living in some country where they didn’t have flashlights. Or he’d escaped from an asylum somewhere.
“Listen,” she said in a low, even tone. “You can keep the flashlight as soon as I’m back in Tikal. I promise. Just let me use it to get there in one piece.”
“But you won’t be going alone. I’ll escort you there myself, and have a word or two with the man who left you.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your help, and there is no—”
He fixed her with a look that silenced her instantly. The only person who’d ever been able to do that to her was Homer, and she wasn’t about to let this guy have the privilege.
“Excuse me, but—”
“I’m not your fool of a guide, Miss MacKenzie,” he said softly. “You have two choices. Come willingly or be carried.”
He’d do it, too, of that she was certain. His tone brooked no arguments. Why he was so intent on “helping” her she couldn’t figure out, but she knew she wasn’t going to get rid of him. She’d simply have to make the best of it.
And there was at least one good thing to be said for the man—he appeared to know about the jungle. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to have him with her. Once in Tikal proper she’d be able to get to the hotel and ditch Liam Junior.
“All right,” she said. “What do you suggest?”
“You do have some sense. Wait here.” He turned on his heel and strode back to the tunnel entrance.
Mac used the time to dig in her backpack for mosquito repellant and a potential weapon. There was a small Swiss Army knife—her father’s, sent back from Vietnam—but other than the flashlight, which her new friend had confiscated, that was about it. So if he attacks me I can give him paper cuts.
She lost her sense of humor when her would-be escort returned with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, the unmistakable butt of a gun sticking up from one of the pouches on his belt, and a wicked machete in his hand. A stained Panama hat sat on his damp hair.
“Do you think you can carry my haversack, Miss MacKenzie?” he asked with a frown. “I’ll need my hands free for the machete.”
The canvas bag didn’t seem particularly heavy, but he clearly expected her to refuse. His impression of her was pretty mixed-up, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Sure,” she said. “No problem.”
He hesitated and passed it to her somewhat gingerly. It took a bit of balancing, and she could feel several objects rolling around inside. Another potential weapon if it came to that.
“Are you sure you can manage it?” he asked. “I can’t have you losing it.”
“It doesn’t exactly weigh a ton. I won’t drop it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He gave her a dubious examination and decided to take her word for it. He lifted the machete; light glinted off the blade, and Mac flinched in spite of herself. He dropped his hand and scowled at her.
“Your prudence comes a little late, Miss MacKenzie, but there’s no need to be afraid. I’m not going to attack you.”
His black expression belied his assurance, but she wasn’t about to betray another hint of unease. “I’m not afraid. It so happens I know how to defend myself. And anyway, you won’t need the machete once we find the trail.”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “women” and “irrational.” “Stay well out of my way,” he commanded aloud. She stepped aside as he took a savage swipe at some hapless bush with his machete.