Brian stared into the forest that glistened in the rising dawn, and planned their route. They’d cross the Baram and go upriver on land instead of on the water. He didn’t want to run into anyone who used the river. Omar wouldn’t be looking for them in that direction, but he didn’t want to be seen by anyone at all. News of strangers in the jungle had a way of spreading.
At least they didn’t have to worry about food—fruit shouldn’t be hard to find this time of the year. And he could hunt, too, although only if they came across easy prey—he couldn’t afford to waste time.
He listened as unseen animals called to each other in the distance. The jungle didn’t scare him. It was merely an obstacle they had to overcome.
Audrey’s warm body pressed against his back—drawing him into a territory a hell of a lot more dangerous than the wild forest.
Her proximity was comforting and arousing at the same time. She’d rolled against him in her sleep at one point during the night, and he hadn’t been able to find the strength to move away again.
The first substantial nonmalicious human contact he’d had in years. It left him weak in the knees. Damn, he was a sap. Pitiful. He had spent the night fighting the urge to turn to her, unable to sleep since she’d woken him.
He didn’t know what he wanted from her—not all of him, anyway. His body had no doubts, but he tried to force his mind to run along more civilized lines. He wasn’t sure what was right, what was realistic.
She was his responsibility, but she was all his fantasies come true, too. And she had earned his respect in the past twenty-four hours they’d spent together.
She was loyal, ready to give her life for family and brave, if a little misguided. Coming to look for the guerillas had been a less than well-thought-out plan, but he could understand her desperation.
He felt her stir then pull away, and rolled onto his back. He got lost looking at her mussed hair and sleep-heavy eyes.
“What?”
“You look beautiful.” He hadn’t meant to say that. The words came out choppy, like a rusty reflex. It had been a while since he’d last paid a compliment to a woman.
A rueful smile tugged up her tempting lips. “Thanks. But I’m going to have to take into consideration that you haven’t been surrounded by women lately.” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “You’re not half as scary without the beard.”
That was a start. She was obviously warming up to him. It was the first attempt she’d made at a joke since they’d met.
“We better get going before the rain starts again.” He slid off the platform and stood, for a second just enjoying the luxury of being able to stand tall whenever he wanted.
Something else was standing tall, too. Just a morning thing. She didn’t control his body. Right.
“We’ll get breakfast where we find it. You can go to the bathroom over there.” He nodded to a wide-trunked palm to his left. “I’ll be behind those trees. Keep your knife handy.”
He picked up her semidry socks and boots and handed them to her, then got his own.
When they were both back, he bent a large, slightly cone-shaped leaf that was filled with rainwater, so she could wash her hands and face, and another so she could drink.
She had a slim, long neck—plenty of landing space for a platoon of kisses. He watched her swallow until he was getting hot and bothered again and decided it was best not to look.
After she was done and he had his fill as well, he broke off the leaf, dried it on his pants and folded it into a pouch. He collected his hair from the ground and packed it in, tying the leaf-bag to his belt with a piece of vine when he was done. “Tinder,” he said before making another pouch and filling that one with ashes. He looped the rope around his shoulder, tucked away the needle. They started out as soon as he was done.
“Shouldn’t we cover up all this?” She glanced back toward their makeshift camp.
He liked it that she was always thinking. It had been a long time since anyone had his back.
“We’re far enough now. We shouldn’t have to worry about Omar’s men.” Not that they were safe from the guerillas altogether. Different groups controlled the various areas of the mountain. But enough of the locals from the villages came into the jungle for hunting trips so that leftovers of a small camp wouldn’t raise any suspicions if a couple of fighters came across it.
They moved at a good pace, as good as his bad leg allowed. The pain in his muscles, not used to exertion, was nothing compared to the pain in his bones. For as long as he could remember, the one thing he was always able to count on was the strength of his own body. He struggled to deal with this new handicap.
After about three hours of walking, he was forced to accept that they would have to stop to rest.
The rain hadn’t started up again yet. That was good. But they hadn’t come across any edible fruits all morning, and he was getting hungry. Audrey probably felt the same.
“We’ll stop here to eat,” he said, and laid his gun against a tree before lowering himself to a fallen log.
She sat next to him with a puzzled expression.
She wasn’t going to go for this. Not in a million years. But he didn’t have the strength or the time to go off on a hunt. And considering what had happened when he’d left her alone the last time, it was probably a good idea to stick as close to her as possible.
He gave Audrey a reassuring smile, reached for a thick, broken-off branch that lay next to them and lifted it, revealing a scampering jumble of grubs. He picked them quickly, as many as he could before the rest disappeared under the decomposing leaves.
“They have more nutrition in them per pound than vegetables,” he said, holding his palm out between them, wishing he could have done better for her.
She stared at the wriggling mess, reached out a tentative hand and pinched a fat white one between her thumb and forefinger, lifted it to her mouth and swallowed it whole, then cleared her throat.
His jaw went slack from surprise.
“You’ve missed a couple of reality shows since you’ve been gone.” She grinned. “People eat stuff like this on TV now almost every night to win prizes.” She went for another grub and sent it after the first.
THE BUGS FREAKED HER OUT, but she wasn’t about to show it.
If he could put up with it, and the pain that must have been just about crippling him all morning, then she sure wasn’t going to whine. She had seen how he walked, how his limp had gotten more and more pronounced through the morning, the muscles in his face growing tighter and tighter. He was doing this for her, for Nicky, whom he’d never even met. She wasn’t going to make his job harder by being difficult. She wasn’t going to fuss over a couple of bugs.
The next one had a little dirt on it. Audrey blew off the leaf dust before she put the thing into her mouth. The grub wriggled all the way down but stopped once it reached her stomach.
He waited until she had her fill before he took any, as he had with the meat the night before and the bananas before that. She made sure she didn’t take more than her share. With this latest course, it wasn’t too difficult.
“Do you think we’ll get there in time?” She watched him as he ate methodically, obviously not thinking of the food.
“It’ll be close, but if all goes well, yes.”
He looked remarkably different without the caveman do, and much younger. With the dreadlocks gone, a lot of the grays disappeared in the short, light brown mess she’d made of his hair. He was nowhere near fifty as she’d thought before—around his mid-thirties perhaps. He had great lips. Her attention lingered on the strong masculine line of his jaw. The skin that had been until now hidden behind the bushy beard was a shade lighter than the rest, giving the odd impression that he was wearing a mask.
And maybe he was. He had told her very little about himself. She opened her mouth to ask, but changed her mind. If he didn’t want to talk about his past, she could respect that. He was helping her save Nicky. That was all she needed to know.
He examined the vegetation around them, got up, broke an eight-inch twig off a tree, brought it over and snapped it in half, offering one of the pieces to her.
“Toothbrush,” he said, and started to chew at the end of his.
She followed his example. The bark was bitter but the inner fibers had a mild spicy taste.
“It’s good to keep everything as clean as you can.” He chucked his stick after a couple of minutes.
They rinsed their mouths, drank and moved on. When the sun reached its highest point in the sky and she noticed he was limping too hard again, she asked if they could stop to rest.
“Right over there.” He pointed, and she followed him to a tree with yellow, podlike fruit hanging from it. “I’ve been hoping we would come across something to eat.”
He grabbed a long stick and beat them down, and she picked them up.
“Looks like starfruit.” Only smaller. She’d seen those in the grocery store but never had one.
“It is.” He sat next to her on the ground and watched her as she took a tentative bite.
“Sweet.” With just a hint of sourness in the juicy flesh. She gobbled the rest of the fruit, then grew embarrassed when she realized he was smiling at her fervor.
“Better than the grubs?” The starfruit juice glistened on his lips. A few drops ran down his chin, and he wiped them off with the back of his hand.
She swallowed. “Anything has to be better than grubs.”
His mouth tugged up at one corner. “You’d be surprised.”
She was about to ask him what he meant, but he tensed and put a finger to his lips.
What? She strained her ears but didn’t hear a thing.
He motioned to her to stand and follow him as he examined the trees around them, selecting one that had branches starting low to the ground. He stepped up quickly and pulled her after him, higher and higher, until they could no longer see the ground from the leaves.
He lay on his stomach on the jumble of branches and she did the same, hanging on for dear life. He was watching something, then she spotted the opening in the foliage that gave them a view of what was going on below. A guerilla fighter passed under them, heading straight for the fruit on the ground. He picked up a couple, calling out to others who appeared soon. They gathered the starfruits and took potshots at the ones that remained on the tree.
She was holding on to the branches so tightly she was getting a muscle cramp in her arm, but she didn’t dare move. Her blood pounded loudly enough in her ears to drown out half the voices below. She waited, as still as she could. Then a small movement caught her eye a few feet up the branch she was laying on. A spider. Not just any spider, this was the prototype, the mother and father of all spiders, as big as her palm with fingers outstretched. And it was coming toward her.
She had quarter-inch goose bumps, every hair on her body standing on end. She clenched her teeth and watched the beast move closer and closer. It would reach her face first. If she let go of the branch to try to shoo it away, she would fall.
She blew at it gently as it got within a few feet and stopped. It didn’t seem to notice. She blew harder.
The fighters were still talking down below. Never a better time to take a break, for heaven’s sake. The beast meandered forward a few inches as if trying to figure out what she was.
Eating grubs was one thing, but if Gargantua came another spidy step closer, she was going to get seriously freaked out. No way could she take it if the spider crawled on her face. She needed to think of something else. No matter what happened, she couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t let go of the branch.
Then she saw Brian’s arm come into her field of vision and she looked up just in time to see him scoop up the beast. He placed it gently on a cross branch a good distance from her, and gave it a gentle shove in the opposite direction. Gargantua obeyed.
She was weak from relief, a wet noodle draped over the branch. She owed him. She owed him big.
Then finally the guerillas moved on. Brian waited a couple of minutes before starting to climb down, helping her descend after him. The job required patience, since her knees were still shaking. Her heartbeat was as labored as a marathon runner’s.
He slid to the lowest branch with ease. As difficult as walking seemed for him, up in the canopy he moved like the lord of the jungle, having enough upper body strength to spare, allowing him to pull himself up, or lower himself from branch to branch with ease.
He held his hands out, and she thumped down next to him, right in the circle of his arms. She put one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, aware the instant they touched of the muscles beneath her palm, his darkening gaze on her face, his lips a few inches from hers. His eyes really were extraordinary. Fire leapt in them, but she didn’t pull away.
She kissed him.
BRIAN FROZE.
Her soft, warm lips pressed against his and short-circuited his brain, sending an electric charge through his body that had sparks buzzing over the surface of his skin. He wanted more, he wanted all of her, with an urgency that stole his breath, but he also recognized the kiss for what it was—a gesture of gratitude and relief. And he would have had to be the worst kind of bastard to take advantage of it.
He pulled back and saw surprise flicker in her eyes before he looked away. Surprise at her own spontaneous gesture, or at his reaction? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going there. He couldn’t.
He stepped aside and turned, scanning the forest, forcing his brain to focus on finding a path. “We better go.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was small and edged with embarrassment. “I don’t know what that was.”
He glanced back at her, the touch of pink on her cheeks affecting him as much as the kiss had. “Fun,” he said, and made his lips stretch into a semblance of a nonchalant smile he would have given her had they met four years ago. “It’s just not a good idea.”
“No. No, of course not.” She busied herself with brushing off her clothes.
He liked the way she moved. Even in the smallest tasks she managed to seem efficient and purposeful. He couldn’t help but remember the long, slim limbs that had mesmerized him when she’d washed herself in the creek. His body responded enthusiastically to the memory.
To punctuate another corporeal need, his stomach growled, reminding him how little they had eaten. She had to be hungry, too. “We should be able to find some more food if we keep our eyes open. If not sooner, then when we reach the river.”
She nodded, her features taking on an expression of steeled determination. She was obviously way out of her comfort zone, but no one could ever tell that by looking at her. Her clothes were soiled with dirt, and marred by a couple of small tears left behind by the thorny vines. But she had zeroed in on their goal and didn’t waste time with complaining about things that couldn’t be changed.
He had to stop keeping a running list of the things he liked about her. Hell, it was pretty much everything. Liking her and doing something about it were two different things, however. “Ready to move out?”
“Absolutely.” She regained her composure enough to flash him a cautious smile.
He really liked the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
HAMID LISTENED to his men report back, finishing his rice. No sign of the two that ran away. Where the hell were they?
If it were just the woman, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But the man bothered him. Jamil’s prisoner was a survivor. He had made it through malaria, beatings, years in that damn cage where Jamil had kept him like a pet. He could be halfway to Miri by now. No, maybe not halfway, the woman would slow him down.
They hadn’t gone on the river. Omar’s men were watching day and night. That was good at least. The jungle would slow them even further, give him more time to act.
He set the bowl down and got up, walked to the crate in the corner. The bombs were ready. They were as powerful as he could make them. But they were no longer safe here. If the man made it out, he could give the army Omar’s location. And if Omar was captured, he might give their plan up to save himself.
He called for his men, looked at the two that entered. Good. They were part of the old guard. “You two and your brothers—” he nodded to the taller one “—will take the crate now.”
“To the city?”
He nodded. It was too early, not what they’d planned, but at times like this, flexibility was the key.
“Is Muhammad coming?” the man asked.
“No.” Especially not Muhammad. He had caused enough trouble already by bringing western hostages to camp. “You will go quietly. Keep a low profile. Don’t stop at any camps. Take enough food. Don’t even stop to hunt.”
“Of course.”
“You stay with the bombs and wait for me.”
He would have to go. That part of the plan would have to change, too. Muhammad was too much of a man of impulse, he saw that now. Omar could have gotten the job done, he was eager enough to prove himself to volunteer for any mission. But if something went wrong, would Omar be willing to sacrifice himself for their cause?
Jamil would have, if he could have been talked into it, but too late to think about that now. Jamil was dead.
Hamid ran his fingers across the top of the crate. He would go. And when the time came, he would do whatever was necessary. First the bombs, to scare out of the country the foreign dogs who supported the current government and its malpractices. Then he would unite all the guerilla groups in the hills—he was making good progress with that—and go head-to-head with the military.
And then his country would finally be free.
THEY WALKED IN SILENCE, picking their way over fallen logs and through leafy bunches of vines that were hanging from the canopy, blocking their way.
“This way,” Brian said, wincing at the stab of pain that flashed through his knee every time he put his weight on his bad leg.
The ground was waterlogged, extensive buttress root systems tripping them up, blocking their way. “Look for game trails,” he told Audrey. “It’s the easiest going, as long as you remember to get off them at dusk. You don’t want to run into any night predators.”
“Have you ever come across a tiger?”
He glanced back. “The native tribes believe if you speak the word out loud one will appear.”
“Oh.” She looked around and stepped up until she was right behind him.
He hadn’t planned on telling that story to anyone. Wasn’t even sure what had really happened. But what the hell. What else did they have to talk about?
“Once,” he said, keeping a steady pace. “I think. I could have been hallucinating. I was fighting malaria at the time.”
“Was it after you were captured?”
He nodded. “I was pretty much out of it. The fever was so bad Jamil’s men didn’t even tie me up. I remember coming to in the middle of the night and deciding to escape. I made it about six feet before I collapsed behind some bushes and passed out.”
“Were you attacked?”
“It was the strangest thing.” He stopped to look at her. “I remember coming around, feeling a hot breath on my face—boy, did it stink. Think dog breath a hundred times over. I looked up into the face of this enormous beast. I thought, this was it, I was finished. And it licked my forehead a couple of times then walked away.”
She stared at him, her green eyes round. “It licked you?”
“I’ll never forget it. He had a big tongue, rough. Maybe he liked the salt in the sweat.” He shrugged.
“Maybe he was tasting you and decided there was something wrong with you and you might make him sick.”
“Could be, although predators usually pick the sick and weak of the herd.”
“True.”
They moved on, and he held a bunch of vines out of the way to let her pass through, brushed off a giant beetle that had fallen on her shoulder before she noticed it.
“Did the tiger get any of the guerillas?”
He shook his head. “They found me in the morning. Never figured it out that I was trying to escape. They thought I went to relieve myself and passed out.”
“They didn’t keep you in the cage back then?”
“The first year they caught me, we spent on the trails, moving from one makeshift camp to another. Then we came across the place you saw, an abandoned poacher hideaway. It came with a handful of sheds and a tiger cage. Jamil took a liking to it.”
“Jamil?”
“The leader before Omar. Omar was the one writing by the fire—short guy with the broken nose.”
They walked on in silence for a while. She was probably thinking about the guerillas.
He was thinking about her lips on his.
She was a shock to the system, no doubt about it. He should have felt relieved that she wasn’t scared of him, despite his appearance, but all things considered maybe it would have been safer for her if she were.
He would never consciously take advantage of her and their situation, but too much civilization had melted off him over the years, and even he wasn’t sure what kind of man had walked out of that cage. He wasn’t sure if he knew himself, if he could trust himself. At one point in his life he’d had principles, he had lived by a code. But while in captivity, all that had been replaced by a single objective: survival, for which he would have done absolutely anything.
He fought his way through some bushes and helped her. “We must be nearing the river. The closer we get, the more undergrowth there is.”
As bad as visibility was in the jungle—no more than fifty yards—here they could barely see six feet around them. The tall plants gave a feeling of claustrophobia, putting him on edge, on alert for what might jump out at them.
Thankfully, they didn’t have to fight the over-grown vegetation long. He spotted a winding trail a few minutes later.
“Deer and wild pigs.” He examined the tracks, a jumble of hoofprints pressed into the soft soil.
They still had to duck under vines that hung from the branches above, but the going was a hell of a lot easier.
“How far is the river?” She kept close, careful not to fall more than a few steps behind.
“Just ahead, can you hear it?”
“No.”
“Listen for the fishing birds.”
They moved forward at a good pace, the soil growing soggier underfoot as they progressed. With all the rain, the river probably had been flooding a lot lately. High water would make crossing more difficult. On the other hand, dangerous waters meant less river travel, less chance of somebody seeing them.
“This probably will be the most difficult part. Once we get to the other side, things will be easier.” He tried to give her something to look forward to.
Crossing a river was risky under the best of circumstances. Walking into floodwaters was sheer insanity.
They came around a bend in the trail and the water was in front of them, rolling slowly, brown with the mud it had washed down from the mountains. He watched drifting wood to gauge the river’s speed, looked for white water that would indicate rocks beneath the surface. He picked out a spot on the other side that looked like a good target for landing, considering the current and the thick jumble of plants that covered the bank.
“I didn’t realize the river would be this wide,” she said behind him.
“It’s the rainy season.” He turned around and found her watching the water, her face reflecting her doubts. He didn’t blame her. Nobody with a smidgen of survival instinct would want to go anywhere near that river.
He hunted around until he found a fallen branch, as thick as his wrist and about six feet long, then looked some more and picked up another, about the same. He stripped off side shoots with his knife, then dropped the two poles at Audrey’s feet.
“Shouldn’t we look for a better spot to cross?” She eyed the rolling water.
If only they had that luxury.
“Can’t afford to waste the time. And we might not find any.” He tossed her the rifle then picked a tree with a multitude of vines hanging from its branches and walked to it. “Better get to work,” he called back over his shoulder. “Keep your eyes open.”
They were on a well-traveled game trail used by animals to get to the river. A prime hunting location for predators. He wanted to be gone from the spot before nightfall. As rare as tigers were these days, it was always better to err on the side of caution.
He climbed the tree, using the vines for leverage, and cut one thick stem after the other. They had to hurry, and not only so they wouldn’t become supper for the local wildlife. They had to cross the river while they still had full daylight to guide them. Waiting until morning was out of the question.
Time was tight.
They couldn’t afford to waste any of it if they were to save the hostages.