How had this happened? Brian gripped the pole tight and, ignoring the rain, pushed a large chunk of driftwood away from the boat, looking ahead, while Audrey scanned the river and the jungle for dangers behind them.
She was one determined woman. But to be truthful, he’d rather have her watch his back than anyone else. She was tough, had learned over the last couple of days not to be squeamish, and pulled her own weight. And he knew her at least a little, more so than any of the men among the hostages. She had earned his trust.
They were on the way back. He felt lighter with the first half of their mission done. The hostages were reasonably safe. They had a good guide and good weapons.
“Do you think they’ll reach the village safely?” Audrey asked, her mind obviously running along the same lines as his.
“They should be fine. Hamid’s men are probably nursing their injuries, holed up somewhere. If they think the army is in this part of the jungle, they are probably trying to hide.”
“What does he want anyway? Him and Omar and the rest?”
He shrugged. “What do opposition forces always want? A change in government.”
“To overthrow the monarchy?”
“Not quite. From what I heard over the years, Hamid figures himself to be some kind of a tragically overlooked heir to the throne. You should see the tattoo on his arm, a leaping tiger from wrist to elbow with a crown on his head.”
“Kidnapping people—there’s a real prince.”
“He’s raising money for a coup. And if he scares some foreigners out of the country at the same time, that’s fine with him, too. He’s a religious extremist.”
“And Omar?”
“I don’t think he much believes in their cause, and he doesn’t follow any religion, that’s for sure. He likes fighting. He wants power and since he doesn’t have any under this government, he figures he might have better luck with the next, especially if he helps to bring it about.”
He pushed some debris away from the boat, a bunch of branches and the bloated body of a young wild pig tangled up between them. He registered a moment of regret that the meat was too far gone to eat.
“They’re halfway there,” she said, and he knew she was thinking about Nicky.
“I can’t believe you left your sister for me.”
“I’m a known masochist. A glutton for punishment,” she said in a dry voice.
“I thought maybe some kind of jungle fever addled your reasoning.”
She turned a little, one perfect eyebrow cocked. “Ever considered you might be able to get more from a girl by sweet-talking than by calling her a lunatic?”
And his breath caught, as if someone had dropped a boulder on his chest. Because their conversation was so normal, so lighthearted, so not something he’d expected. It was almost as if she were flirting with him, sounding as if she wouldn’t have minded at all if he tried to sweet-talk her.
God almighty. Did he still know how to sweet-talk? He felt like he just came across a field of land-mines. And acting appropriately, he backed away.
“Your sister will be fine.” He slid from the seat and sat on the bottom of the boat, ignoring the few inches of water. “Pull your head in. We’re close to camp.”
Audrey ducked down beneath the branches that covered the boat on the side and on top, making it look like a tangled mass of a tree trunk broken off by the storm, floating downriver. They were in the middle of the water, letting the current carry them.
“Do you think they’re watching the river?” She breathed the words.
“Not for us at this stage. We’ve been gone too long. But for flooding maybe. Omar’s camp is not that far from here.”
“But if the guerillas who ran off into the jungle last night got here before us—” she whispered.
“The boat is going a lot faster than anyone can in the jungle. Some will come to Omar without a doubt, but by the time they get here, we’ll be far downriver.”
He held his head up enough to see through the branches, keeping an eye out for driftwood, listening for anything suspicious, be it man-made noise or the sound of rapids ahead. He kept as low as he could. Their disguise was good enough to fool someone who happened to catch a glimpse of them from the corner of his eye, but would not stand up to closer scrutiny.
They cleared the area where Omar’s men would have been if they were out there, but were slowed down shortly after that, coming to a stretch where the river widened out. The surface was littered with debris the water had washed down from the mountains. Audrey directed the boat, while he used his pole to keep anything large from crashing into them—hard work for both of them. Night approached by the time they fought their way through the rough spot.
They pulled the boat to shore, up on higher ground as far in as they could, and turned it upside down to keep the rain from filling it, covered it with fallen leaves and branches.
“It’s not bad from afar.” Audrey stood back when they were done. “As long as nobody comes too close.”
“There’s less than an hour left before nightfall. Let’s hope our luck holds.” He moved forward.
“I’m starving,” she blurted out. “Sorry, didn’t mean to complain. Nothing you can do about it.”
While their progress on the river was much faster than it would have been on land, it had disadvantages. Not being able to forage for food was one of them. He searched the trees above for any sign of fruit as they went. “We’ll find something.”
No time to fish now. He had to find a place to spend the night, light a fire, build a shelter. All that before darkness fell. But luck was with them for once—they came across a rock formation not a hundred feet from the river. There was a large indentation in the rock, not quite a cave, but a ledge that would protect them from the elements.
“Up there.” He pointed, and helped Audrey climb.
Looked like they weren’t the first to discover the place. Ashes blackened the rock floor farther in, leftovers of a long-ago fire. There were piles of leaves the wind had blown into the back of the crevice, a couple of chunks of deadwood left behind by whoever had that fire. Enough to start one now.
“Here.” He handed Audrey the waterproof matches he’d grabbed at the guerilla camp, then pulled the papers from his shirt. “Try to dry these.”
He hadn’t had a chance to look at them yet, didn’t want to get them any wetter than he had to.
“I’m gonna look for some food.” He stepped back out into the rain that had turned into a downpour.
He didn’t bother to look for grubs, there was no sense searching the muddy ground. He walked back toward the river and looked for palm trees, came across a patch of wild berries and settled for that, picked his shirt full of the small semi-soft fruit. They’d had a poor diet so far, one that they couldn’t make it on in the long term, but sufficient to get them through the next couple of days.
He spotted something high up a tree, thought it might be fruit, climbed and found it to be orchids, a multitude of them, and on a whim, he filled the rest of the room in his shirt with blossoms.
AUDREY LAID the mess of soaked papers near the fire next to her clothes, close enough to dry fast, but not so close that they’d burn. She anchored them with a stone to make sure a gust of wind didn’t blow them into harm’s way.
“Anything useful on them?” Brian climbed up and sat next to her, dripped on the floor. He took off his hat and wiped the water off his face, brushed his hair back.
“Too soggy. Didn’t think I could pull them all apart without tearing them. Probably better to wait until they dry.”
He looked over the ones that were readable. Blueprints one after the other, but no writing on them, no identification of what building they belonged to. Only one of the sheets was different. It contained some kind of a scribbled list.
“Embassies.” Brian picked up that one. “That’s something. If we get to KL in time, this might be enough of a clue to head off tragedy.” He set the sheet down and placed a stone on top carefully, before turning back to her.
She eyed his bulging shirtfront with hope. “Find anything?”
He looked embarrassed for a second, reluctant.
“What?”
He reached inside and scooped a giant handful of white-pink blossoms, then hesitantly laid them at her bare feet.
“Oh, my God, these are beautiful.” She glanced up at him. “Are they edible?”
He laughed, the first real laugh she’d heard from him, and it reached to her heart. He scooped out another handful, then another. The light of the fire danced on the petals, a soft scent filling their small shelter.
“They are for you,” he said. “For coming with me.”
She stared at him, speechless, the gesture so sweet and unexpected she didn’t know for a moment how to react. “Thank you,” she said, and although she wanted to reach out to him, she didn’t. He hadn’t reacted well to that in the past.
But there was something in the orchid-scented air between them that hadn’t been there before. It made her feel self-conscious of the fact that she wore nothing but her underwear and tanktop, even though it had not been the first time she’d taken off her clothes to dry, nor was it the least amount of clothes he’d seen her in.
“These are to eat.” He brought forth handfuls of berries next, and she fell on them shamelessly.
When his shirt was empty, he took it off and laid it by the fire to dry, putting his pants next to it. She kept her gaze averted as she ate. There was a new-found awareness between them, she didn’t know what to do with. At some point he had transformed from wild man to simply a man she was interested in. It was absolutely crazy. They knew nothing about each other.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Ladder, a very small town. My father worked for the post office. My mother was a homemaker.”
She deleted the cowboy image she’d been trying to put together. It never quite gelled anyway. “You never told me your full name.”
He held her gaze, his masculine lips stretching into a wry smile. “Old habits die hard. I don’t suppose it matters now. Brian Welkins.”
He’d been on some secret jungle mission before he’d gotten captured. She didn’t ask more about that. But she did want to know more about him. She knew his parents were gone and that he’d been their only child, adopted.
“Are you married?” she asked as it suddenly occurred to her, her heart beating harder as she waited for his response.
“Come on now, you’ve known me long enough to know that no woman would be crazy enough to have me.” He was joking, but there was a sour tone to his words.
“You’re not missing much. Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever been tempted to give it a try.”
She stirred the fire with a stick. If they could keep it going for a while longer, they would have dry clothes for sleeping.
“My parents got divorced when I was in high school. I was so mad at them. I wanted a real family again. I got married way too early, for all the wrong reasons. Even if we didn’t have all that stress from not being able to have a baby, I doubt we would have lasted. We just would have floundered longer.”
Silence stretched between them.
“The bugs got you.” He reached out to trace a finger over the row of red bumps on her arm.
The blinding lust that hit her out of nowhere froze her limbs for a moment, knocked the air out of her lungs. He misunderstood her reaction and pulled away.
“It’s okay,” she said, then felt embarrassed.
It’s okay? What was she, an idiot?
His blue gaze fastened on her face. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid.” She ran her own finger over the tingling line his left behind. “I just don’t always know what to expect.”
He nodded and gave her a rueful smile. “Me neither.” He looked away. “I’m not like other people. I’ve been away too long. I want to be just a man, but I don’t know if I can do it.”
There was a tug in the vicinity of her heart. “You are everything any man could ever hope to be. You’re a hero,” she said when she recovered.
“I’m damaged. And I want things I cannot have.”
From the way he was looking at her, she understood what he wanted, and her blood lurched into a sprint through her veins.
What do I want? She looked away and her gaze fell on the orchids at her feet. Him. She wanted him, scars and all.
He stretched out on his back, his hands folded behind his head, his eyes closed. She scooted over and lay next to him on her side, watched the rise and fall of his chest in the light of the fire. Even undernourished, he was the most physically perfect man she had known. The scars that marred his skin could not detect from the strength of his body, the beauty of the muscles that carried her up the trees and pulled her out of the river.
She touched a fingertip to a raised bump. “The bugs got you, too.” Her finger glided on to the next and the one beyond that, zigzagging over his ribcage.
He placed a hand over hers, pressed her palm against his skin. His heartbeat raced as fast as hers did. She looked up and found his eyes open, his gaze heated. And then she was scared. Not of him, but of her own reaction. Because she wanted him, a stranger, more than she had ever wanted another man before, more than she had wanted her husband.
She looked away, only to be confronted with the proof of his desire under the stretching loincloth.
“Brian…” Her voice tripped.
“Let me touch you.” He waited, giving her time to say no.
Instead, she closed her eyes.
She expected an intimate caress, his fingers circling her breasts, or outlining her aching nipples. But it was the back of his hand on her cheek that she felt. And when his fingers did come to play on her skin, he drew with them the line of her jaw, her eyes, her lips. He followed the curve of her neck, hesitated at the hollow spot there and replaced his fingers with his lips and tasted her. And when he pulled away, she opened her eyes and looked into his.
“You’re seducing me,” she said, feeling as if the heat of the fire had moved deep inside her.
“I would love that more than anything.” His sexy lips stretched into a semblance of a smile. “If I still knew how.”
“Hey.” She grinned at him. “I might not be as experienced as the average teenager, but I still know when I’m being seduced.”
He dipped his head to the valley between her breasts, until she could feel his hot breath through the thin material of the tanktop. “I’ll let you be the judge of things then,” he said.
He pressed his lips to her body, dragged them over her breast until his mouth was over a nipple, then he sucked it through the tanktop. She grew damp between her legs in response and arched her back, shameless, wanting all he was willing to give.
His fingers moved over her stomach and gripped her hips and he ground himself into her. The shock of it, the electricity that zinged through her, brought her to the edge. It was too much, too soon. She wasn’t used to it. Her body didn’t work at these speeds.
He pulled back and scooped up the flowers, held them above her then let them slip through his fingers one by one, raining white-pink blossoms over her body. He kept one, feathered the soft petals over her lips, her neck, across the narrow strip of skin that showed between her tanktop and panties, then moved lower and caressed the soles of her feet, drawing curlicues with the orchid up her inner thighs.
When he got where he was headed, he brushed the flower over her underwear a couple of times before tucking it into the band. She trembled as he pressed his hot palm against her.
In a circular motion he pushed and massaged, while he bent over and fastened his lips on her nipple, her clothes still between them. He changed the rhythm then, to slower strokes, up and down, then circular again, the heel of his palm against her opening, his fingers against her swollen nub of pleasure.
As he had pulled her up hillsides, and rocks and trees to save her life, he pulled her now to the sky, higher and higher. And then his teeth closed over her nipple and she tumbled.
The first thing she could hear was her own harsh breathing, her body still contracting. She looked at his badly cut hair, his head resting between her breasts, her mind swimming in confusion as her body was still swimming in bliss. How could he so fast? What he had done to her? Was it even possible?
She still had her clothes on, he’d never even gotten as far as her naked skin, let alone having any part of him inside her. Sweet heavens. The man and the way her body had responded to him took her by surprise. He singed her, turned her inside out. She loved every second of it. Audrey reached for him and ran her fingers through his hair, caressed his back.
He pulled up and turned her with her back to him, locked her tight into his arms. His lips were pressed hot against her shoulder, but he didn’t move them, didn’t move anything, although she could feel his hard length against her bottom. There was a thrill in knowing that she affected him this way.
“Go to sleep,” he whispered into her ear, brushing his warm lips over her lobe.
“Brian?” She tried to turn and found herself gently restrained. “You don’t have to— I mean, I want to. I want you.”
Lord, it sounded pitiful and shameless. Her body hadn’t even fully calmed down yet, but she did want him, again, still. How could he not know that? Or was there more to it?
He had broken through all her defenses with amazing speed and ease. And now she realized he wasn’t about to let her come anywhere near his. The mask was still firmly in place. Was he hiding from her, or from himself?
He pressed his lips to her skin again, then repeated, “Go to sleep.”
And from the strain in his voice she understood what it cost him to rein in his own passion.
“Let me touch you, then.”
He drew a deep breath. “Maybe another time.”
“Tomorrow we might not be alive. You need me as much as I need you.”
“I don’t want you to give yourself to me because I need you. Not to escape from reality, not for pity.”
“Pity has nothing to do with it.” The fierce denial tumbled from her lips. She tried to turn again, frustrated by the arms that wouldn’t let her. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair to either of us.”
She could feel his heartbeat against her back, slow and measured. Hers, on the other hand, was still scrambling. His heat enveloped her, comforted her, and it made her mad that he wouldn’t let her give the same comfort to him. “What reason would you accept? What do you want?”
He touched his forehead against the back of her head and stayed silent for so long, she didn’t think he would respond at all.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice raspy and full of emotion. “I no longer even know who I am.”
THE ARMY was in the jungle.
Hamid leaned his back against the rough stone of the cave, trying to think through the throbbing pain in his shoulder. At least it was cool in here, although far from quiet. His men in the back made plenty of noise, arguing about the attack the night before and taking care of their injuries, cursing the Royal Malaysian troops.
For a moment back at the tin mine, he had been certain the negotiator was bluffing. But no, his own men came across a village messenger this morning. There were soldiers not ten miles to the east of here.
They could be the ones who had attacked his camp, returning now with the hostages. He should have been notified when they’d first entered the jungle. Anger pulsed through him. Where had the village watchers been then? An example would have to be made. But not yet. He had other things to take care of first.
“I have an important job for you,” he told the man across the fire from him.
“Anything,” Omar responded.
A spark flew from the fire and landed by his feet, going out quickly on the cold stone.
“You must gather your men and what’s left of mine and attack the army. We must slow them down, cause a distraction.” Enough of a distraction for him to slip unseen down the river. He had to get to a doctor—there was one near Miri he trusted, one who had helped him in the past. Then he had to get to KL in time.
The fire popped, its flames not substantial enough to light the whole cave, but enough to show the greed on Omar’s face. He missed Jamil, even if they hadn’t always agreed on everything.
“I will defeat this army unit, I will take their big guns, I will unite the camps. And when you give the signal from KL, I’ll be ready.” The younger man punctuated his words by bringing his fist down on his knee.
Hamid sat straight, wanting to press his palm against the pain in his shoulder, but resisting. It would not be smart to show any sign of weakness in front of Omar.
“You are instrumental to the success of our cause,” he said, and watched the calculating look in the other man’s eyes.
He would have to be taken care of before he became a problem. But not yet. He still had usefulness left in him. And things were bad enough so they couldn’t be picky.
He would let Omar handle the army unit. If the young hothead won, it would be a victory for them all. If he lost, and something happened to him…one less problem to worry about.
The camps were more or less united, and once he succeeded in KL, the stragglers would accept his leadership. But he had problems aplenty in other areas. Having the hostages escape had dealt a blow to phase two of his plan. He had counted on the ransom money for more weapons, had a couple of surface-to-air missiles on order. He needed them to effectively fight the Royal Air Force. He needed a decisive military victory.
“Stop by Ali’s camp once you cross the river,” he said, on second thought. “He will join you if you tell him I sent you.”
“I don’t need Ali.”
“You misunderstand me, friend. It is Ali who needs you. I fear your brother was trying to convince him that a major offensive was not necessary. It would be good for him to see the army, to realize they were already in the forest. It would help him understand that the war has already started, whether he wanted it or not.”
He needed Ali’s calm reason to temper Omar’s blind courage. They both would hate working with the other, but they would make a stronger team than either one fighting alone.
Allah willing, his line would be restored to the throne soon, the country put into the service of the one true god instead of foreign business interests. It had been bad enough when the Chinese skimmed off profits, and most businesses were owned by them, while the Malay people worked the land, peasants and servants in their own country. But at least the Chinese who lived on the peninsula had kept the profits invested in the country. They kept to themselves and respected Muslim law even if they didn’t practice it.
The Western influx of businesses was changing the face of the country, however, and the government welcomed the Europeans and Americans, who looked at the natives as barbarians to be exploited. In its mindless quest for modernization, the government failed to protect the culture of the country and its citizens. Young Malay people worked in sweat-shops under conditions little better than slavery, making products they would never be able to afford to buy, for business owners who took the profits and distributed them to their shareholders back in the west.
His country was under occupation, not by a foreign army, but by foreign businessmen. And to make things worse, it was the country’s very own government who held it down, allowing it to be raped.
He was fighting in a righteous war. And he couldn’t lose. If he lived to see victory, he would be king. If he fell, he’d be a martyr for his cause, and his brother would be forced to give up his misguided acceptance of the status quo. Yes, his brother would be forced to avenge him, to take up his weapons.
Either way, the true line of succession would be restored soon. The KL attack would start a tide that could not be turned back.