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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, 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 pretty badly 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, buthad 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 halfway across the room. She looked 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 like that. 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 stuff. 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.
    Â 
    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 been able to meet her plane. The only photograph she had of him was the wedding picture, which showed him withlong hair and a beard. He’d be fifty now, and Lorraine had no idea whether or not she’d even recognize him.
    The map securely tucked in her purse showed that El Mirador was about seventy-five miles north of Mérida. She glanced around anxiously. It took an unusually long time to clear customs, with lots of people complaining about the unnecessary hold-up. From what Lorraine could make out, the small customs office was short-staffed because of some museum theft. Apparently every available officer was checking the luggage of passengers leaving the country.
    After what seemed like an eternity, she was waved through. She collected her suitcase and carefully searched the waiting area, but saw no one remotely resembling the man in the photograph.
    â€œTime for Plan B,” she muttered to herself, grateful that she’d thought this out beforehand. She made her way across the airport to the car-rental booth.
    â€œCan I help you?” the clerk asked.
    â€œGreat,” she said, digging through her purse for her driver’s license. “You speak English.”
    â€œYes.” The young woman flashed her a toothy grin.
    â€œI need to rent a car.”
    â€œVery good.”
    â€œI’m not sure how long I’m going to be needing it, possibly an entire month, unless there’s a rental agency I can return it to near El Mirador.”
    The friendly smile faded when