Heart of Fire by Linda Howard

whoever got there first, he'd wondered what kind of ha-ha powder Sherwood was taking. But Rick had had details, enough that Kates had begun to realize he was dead serious.
    He was desperate enough to jump at the chance to involve himself; he needed money, lots of it. He was literally at the end of his rope, jumping at every unexpected noise. His last big shipment of coke had been seized by the police. They hadn't been able to nail him, but the cops were the least of his worries. He owed millions to the people who had fronted him the money for that coke shipment, money that would have been earned back several times over if he'd been able to get the coke on the street, and his creditors were tired of waiting for him to make good on the debt. Those people made the cops look like Mister Rogers.
    Rick's mad scheme was a godsend, in more ways than one. Kates had just enough money to finance this crazy project. If it panned out, then he could save his ass. At the very least, being in Brazil would give him a breather from looking over his shoulder every few minutes, waiting for his head to be blown off.
    If Rick was right… damn, a deal like this came along once in a lifetime. The gems—especially that big red diamond—would bring in a pile of loot that would make his coke debt look paltry. He dreamed about that damn rock, dreamed about holding it in his hands. It was his ticket to easy street, if he could just get Sherwood to keep his stupid mouth shut. The sister wasn't a fool; from what Kates could tell, she'd gotten all the brains in the family. But she was keeping all the information to herself, and the instructions were written in some kind of code that only she could read. He wasn't worried about her, though. All he wanted was for her to get him there. Then he wouldn't have any use for her or any of the others. He had plans that didn't include them, big plans. He was tired of always being pissed on by the big boys; this was one time when he was going to get the lucky break.

    The next day Steven Kates showed up at the bar alone. Ben hid his instinctive distrust of the man behind a facade of good-old-boy affability. A lot of people were fooled by his slow southern drawl and seedy, hard-drinking act; it was a useful disguise. Oh, the drawl was real, but people who knew him long enough gradually realized that behind it lay a sharp brain and ruthless determination. He doubted Kates was smart enough to figure it out.
    "You nearly screwed things up bad last night, talking to Jillian like that," Kates snapped as soon as he sat down at Ben's table. "She's not one of your cheap whores. Keep in mind that we need her to find the site."
    Theresa was working her regular day shift again, and Ben didn't like the way Kates had glanced contemptuously at her when he'd said "cheap whores." She was a warm, fun-loving, sensual woman who adored sex; she was not a whore. He kept his mouth shut, though, because now wasn't the time to get in Kates's face. After they were in the interior, there would be plenty of time to let the jerk know who was boss, and it sure as hell wouldn't be Kates.
    "Buttoned-up lady archaeologists turn me on," Ben drawled.
    "Well, keep your mouth shut and your pants zipped, at least until it's too late to turn back. Then you can do whatever you want."
    "Sure thing, boss," Ben said, and grinned inside, knowing Kates wouldn't hear the mockery in the title. "Where's her brother?"
    "I didn't need him this morning. I'll handle this part of it."
    Which probably meant Kates was up to something. Ben pulled a pen and sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. He'd already worked out what they would need and how much of it; he turned the sheet around so Kates could read it. "That's what I've figured for the supplies, and how many people we'll need. We'll go upriver by boat as far as we can. We'll need two boats; I'll line them up today."
    "Fine." Kates handed him a brown envelope. "Twenty thousand for ten weeks. If the trip goes over