Hot and Steamy by Jean Rabe Read Free Book Online Page A

a shabbily dressed man watching him from across the street.
    â€œSinclair,” he said to himself, realizing the fellow must have been watching her. Jameson wondered if everyone noticed her great beauty and stared. “Now . . . for those provisions.”
    He hadn’t needed anything, but went shopping anyway. With a new coat and shirt wrapped in brown paper under his arm, he wandered the streets looking into the shop windows. Shortly after one o’clock he sped toward Canal Road.
    Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw someone step over the curb behind him. He had a strange feeling that he was being followed as he rushed down the sidewalk, but then dismissed the notion as silly. “Ah, there it is.” Nearly a half mile away towered a dilapidated warehouse. He arrived out of breath.
    â€œSinclair?” He didn’t see her.
    Jameson wiped a spot on the grimy window to see if Sinclair and her lawyer were inside. At the same time he noticed the acrid smell of something burning and heard a faint hiss. He spun, fully intending to leap out of the way of a snake, when out of nowhere a man tackled him and pushed him face down in the dirt. Before he could react, he felt the ground shake. An explosion rocked the earth and glass shards and splinters of wood pelted them from every direction. He felt his assailant roll off him and heard him coughing, but he couldn’t see through the thick smoke.
    The stranger groped his way toward Jameson, both men still choking on the smell of gunpowder in the thick air. “I got my orders from Cap’n Keel to get you back to the boat right away.”
    Jameson made a connection; it was the shabbily dressed man, who was now even filthier than before. He managed to hoist Jameson under his arm and hustle the archaeologist back onboard the Evangeline.
    â€œSinclair . . .” Jameson wheezed.
    â€œShe’s all right. Wasn’t near the explosion. I’ll go find her,” the man answered. “Just see to yourself.”
    Jameson had no intention of abandoning the comely woman, but he would change his jacket before returning to shore. He’d just reached his cabin, stripped off his shredded tweed, and decided to have a swallow of absinthe to steady his nerves before searching for Sinclair. As he prepared the drink, his door flew open with such force he was surprised it remained on the hinges.
    Captain Keel’s large frame filled the doorway.
    â€œDammit, Watts. What’s it gonna take for you to get serious that someone’s out to kill you?” His eyes blazed as he blew an exasperated puff of air that fluttered his wide walrus mustache. Gold buttons threatened to explode from the vest stretched tightly over his large belly, and his face blazed a disturbing shade of red.
    Momentarily, thoughts of Sinclair fled and Jameson stared, dazed. He poked a finger in his ear, opened and shut his mouth, but he was still unable to hear much after Keel’s outburst.
    The captain stomped over the threshold in the dimly lit cabin just as the archaeologist raised a shaking glass of chartreuse liquid to his lips. Captain Keel reached his ham-sized hand across the desk and knocked the glass of absinthe across the room.
    â€œWatts, are you listening to me?”
    Jameson watched slack-jawed as the spilled green liquor smoked for a moment before it burst into flames, igniting a crumpled newspaper that lay on the floor.
    Keel’s large foot stomped out the fire, then he quickly whisked the decanter of green liquid off the desk. Jameson followed the captain, hanging his head like a scolded dog. Absentmindedly, he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed it while a thousand random thoughts threaded through his head as his heart thundered in his chest.
    â€œWhy would someone try to kill me?” he whispered. “And Sinclair . . . Miss Upchurch . . . I need to know she’s all right.”
    â€œShe’s fine,” Keel blustered.