“FIVE…”
“If you’re going, I’m going,” Winter protests.
“SIX…”
“No, you’re not.”
“SEVEN…”
“Logan, please.”
“EIGHT. I’m running out of patience. NINE…”
I stand up, shouting, “I’m coming!”
All the soldiers’ heads turn toward our hiding place, and Montgomery points his gun at my chest.
“Good boy,” Smith says, not lowering the gun pointed at Archie. Neither does Carter. “Now come down very slowly, hands above your head, and don’t try anything funny. You, too, Miss Knowles. We all know you’re the real shooter of the group.”
Before I can tell Winter to stay hidden, she stands up, shrugging at me in a what-was-I-supposed-to-do? way.
We draw courage from each other as, hands raised above our heads, we walk down the hill to join the others.
“Search them,” Smith orders as we step into the camp. “I want that gun.”
Carter pats me down while Montgomery drags his hands all over Winter’s body. I’ve never felt anything more violent than the rage rising in my chest at seeing the filthy soldier’s hands on her.
“Sir,” Carter says. “He’s clean.”
“Yeah,” Montgomery echoes. “Her, too.”
“So, where’s the gun?” Smith asks.
“I dropped it,” Winter says. “When you started shouting. You startled me, and it slid down the hill before I could grab it.”
“Oh, really?” Smith looks unconvinced. He’s no fool; he knows something’s off. “Carter, go check if you can find a gun where Miss Knowles has indicated.”
With a sinking heart, I watch Carter trek up the hill.
What happens when he gets there and finds nothing? They’ll start asking questions, that’s what, and if they threaten Winter I’ll tell them everything.
“Sir!” Carter shouts after a few minutes. “There’s nothing here.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Smith says. “So, where’s the gun?”
Winter stares at me, eyes wide. We’ve run out of excuses. I’m sure Smith can read the lies on our scared expressions.
“Okay, Dr. Spencer, I tried to be reasonable, but I really don’t have time to play games,” Smith says. He steps behind Winter, wraps one arm around her waist, and points his gun directly at her temple.
Twenty
Winter
The metal is cold against my skin.
It’s a sharp contrast to Smith’s warm, rancid breath, which grazes past my ear when he speaks next. “You know the drill, Dr. Spencer. Tell me where the gun is, or…” He joggles the Beretta against my temple. “ONE…”
I always imagined having a gun pointed at my head would be more terrifying. Well, not that I’ve ever really pictured myself being taken hostage before today. I never thought I’d find myself in such a predicament. But now that I’m standing here, literally looking down the barrel of life and death, the experience is surreal. As if it were happening to someone else. Honestly, I half-expect a camera crew to jump out of the bushes and scream, “You’ve been Punk’d!” any time now.
The psychology behind such a reaction is pretty straightforward: our bodies respond to life-threatening situations by creating a rush of adrenaline, supplying us with courage we don’t normally have. Providing a willingness to fight when exhaustion should’ve taken it away.
So here I stand, brave in the face of death. If I have to kick the bucket today, I’ll go with my head held high, staring into the eyes of the man I love. Not the worst way to die, I suppose.
“TWO…”
But as I stare at Logan, I don’t see the same resolution in his hazel eyes. He’s too afraid for me. He’s going to cave and tell Smith all about the satellite phone and help being on the way. And then the colonel will pack us all off before the Thai police can get here.
But I don’t blame Logan. I’d do the same if it were him with a gun pointed at his head.
“THR—”
The bushes around the camp explode into life. In a blur, heavily camouflaged soldiers emerge from the jungle, and before our captors have time to realize what’s happening, the newcomers overpower Carter and Montgomery. Guns pried from their hands, they’re made to lie flat on their bellies, faces smashed into the dirt, while our saviors bind their wrists behind their backs with zip ties.
But there’s still the small matter of Smith holding a gun to my head. The colonel and I both realize what’s happening at the same time; I can tell by his grip tightening around my waist.
“Let the girl go,” one of the armed newcomers orders, pointing his rifle at us—at Smith—along with three other members of his commando unit. That makes it a total of one gun and four assault rifles pointed at me.
Smith snickers. “That would be really stupid on my part, wouldn’t it? You can’t shoot me while I’m—”
Something hisses in the air below my ear and passes beside my neck. Smith goes limp without warning, his body slumping down behind mine. As he hits the ground, Smith’s hand falls open and the Beretta scatters in the dirt.
I hear screaming, and it takes me a while to understand it’s me. Smith’s dead! All the fear, tension, and exhaustion of the past few days erupt out of me in strangled screams.
“Miss, miss.” A soldier is holding my shoulders and shaking me.
“You killed him!” I shout, in shock, feeling the side of my face for blood that isn’t there.
“Miss, he’s just taking a nap.” The soldier turns me, forcing me to stare down at Smith. And, indeed, the colonel’s features are relaxed, his mouth slightly turned up at the corners in a serene, contented smile. “We used a powerful sedative dart, not a bullet.”
I grip the soldier’s arm. “Smith’s alive?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s probably having a better time than we are.” The soldier gently squeezes my shoulders and lets me go. “But I promise the music will change when he wakes up.”
“And how come you’re going around with a tranquilizer gun? Is that standard equipment for the army?”
“No,” the soldier smiles. “We were on a search and rescue for an American tiger that got lost in the jungle—”
“What’s an American tiger doing so far from home?”
“She’s a rare species, and was here for reproductive reasons when she escaped…”
“Oh,” I say. “And are you still going to retrieve her?”
“That’s our next stop, miss, once we’re done dealing with these fine gentlemen.”
The soldier unceremoniously flips the colonel’s unconscious body in the dirt, not bothering to be gentle, and binds his hands behind his back.
The shock is passing now, and I turn to meet Logan’s eyes. He opens his arms, and I fly into them, collapsing in a fit of sobs against his chest. I don’t even know why I’m crying, or if they’re happy or sad tears.
“Shhh,” Logan shushes me, while he holds me tight and gently caresses my back in a soothing motion. “It’s over now.”
“Err…” Someone clears his throat next to us, and we pull apart. “Sorry to interrupt.” It’s a different soldier, still wearing his netting-covered helmet. “Are you Dr. Logan Spencer?”
“Yes,” Logan says.
“I’m Colonel Sanchez, responsible for the operation.”
Logan smiles brightly. “Never been more pleased to meet someone, Colonel.”
The colonel acknowledges Logan’s implicit thanks with a curt nod. “I just need to confirm all the armed parties have been apprehended. There were only three, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And you said you had a gravely injured man in your midst?”
With a sinking feeling of guilt, we both turn to the prisoners’ encampment. I’d forgotten all about them in the drama of the moment. Archie is being helped to his feet by Tucker and another soldier; it’s clear he still isn’t strong enoug
h to stand on his own. Next to them, Dr. Boonjan and Somchai are drinking water in long, thirsty gulps.
“Yes,” Logan says. “The blond man. He’s in need of immediate medical attention.”
We watch as Tucker sways slightly under Archie’s weight. A second soldier takes his place, and both Tucker and Archie are given water.
“The rest of us should be fine,” Logan says. “Except for mild dehydration.”
The colonel nods. “Our medic will have a look at your colleague, and we have a helicopter on standby. I’m calling it now. We’re flying your friend to Bangkok.”
When the helicopter arrives, there isn’t a stretch of flat ground large enough for it to land, so they hover as close to the ground as they can and pass down a stretcher.
The two soldiers holding Archie upright act as human crutches as he limps toward the gurney.
“On my belly, please,” Archie pleads.
The soldiers help him turn and lower him down, securing him to the cot.
Logan and I kneel next to Archie’s head, the wind and noise of the rotating blades roaring above us. Logan takes his hand and shouts, “I’m going to see you soon!”
“Yeah, not so easy to get rid of me,” Archie jokes feebly. His eyes flick to me. “I owe you my ass, Snowflake—twice over!”
Fresh tears threaten to spill from my eyes, and I bend down to stamp a soft kiss on his left temple.
“Please stand back,” a medic in uniform requests. “We have to hoist him up now.”
We take a step back and crane our necks up, waving as Archie is hauled onto the helicopter. The men on board pull him in, and then the powerful machine rises higher in the sky and quickly disappears from view.
“Dr. Spencer,” Colonel Sanchez calls. “The embassy has arranged for a military convoy to escort you from the nearest village to Trat’s airport. Horses should arrive soon to transport you back to the village. I assume you’ll all want to leave today, yes?”
“What about the site?” Logan asks, the archeologist in him prevailing over the exhausted man.
“The Thai police are on their way to secure the perimeter and make sure no pillaging takes place.”
Even after the colonel’s reassuring words, the struggle is easy to read on Logan’s face. Part of him wants to stay and ensure his discovery is not tampered with, but the rest of him is dying to be at Archie’s bedside and help our friend recover.
Dr. Boonjan drops a heavy hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Go look after your friend,” he says. “I can stay behind and make sure everything is handled properly. I watched them load the treasure onto that poor mule—I’ll make sure that’s properly cataloged as well.”
“Are you sure?” Logan asks. “You don’t want to go back, take a shower, sleep in a real bed?”
Dr. Boonjan’s lips part in a rare grin. “I’ve slept in worse places, and I’ve never taken a more scenic bath than by the river here. You, on the other hand, look like you could use that shower.”
Logan, his face and body still covered in mud, laughs. “I suppose we could.”
“Take care of Archibald,” Dr. Boonjan says. “I’ll handle things here until you can come back.”
Logan nods at him, and then turns to Colonel Sanchez. “Colonel, we’re ready to leave whenever you are.”
Twenty-one
Winter
Two days later, in Bangkok, I wiggle my toes under the foam of the bubble bath I’m taking in the hotel’s tub. We checked in last night, after first visiting Archie at the hospital. His prognosis is good. Our sweet Viking will be back on his feet in no time.
“If you stay in that tub any longer,” Logan calls from the adjoining room, “you’re going to turn into a mermaid.”
I stare at the skin on my fingertips; indeed, it’s already all wrinkled up. I don’t care, though, I’m not getting out of this tub for anything in the world.
“I’ve ordered dinner,” Logan says.
I don’t reply.
“Burgers and champagne.”
Okay, now he’s got my attention.
“And I’ve planned something special for dessert.”
“What?” I call back.
“I can’t tell you unless you come out and see for yourself.”
“Sorry,” I say. “This bath is too good.”
“Are you sure? Because dessert involves chocolate-covered strawberries hand-fed to you while naked in bed.”
Burgers, champagne, and a naked hand-feeding of chocolate strawberries?
No bath is that good.
I pull the tub stopper with my toes and get up as the water swirls down the drain. I use the showerhead to rinse my body of all the remaining foam and then step out of the tub, wrapping my body in a fluffy white towel.
Hot water, clean towels, food. Things I’m never again taking for granted.
In the bedroom, Logan isn’t much more dressed than me. He’s sitting at the small, round table wearing only his boxer briefs. His chest, arms, and legs are covered in bruises and bug bites. And his knees are still swollen from the impact with the ravine. Both our bodies have seen better times. But… mostly-naked Logan? Another thing I’ll never take for granted.
I scowl. “I thought you promised me a naked dinner?”
“Naked dessert,” he corrects. “You must endure clothes for the burgers and champagne.”
I sigh theatrically. “The hardships you put me through.”
We ravage the food with the enthusiasm of two people who’ve recently spent seventy-two hours eating basically nothing. And dessert turns out to be as worthy of an abandoned bath as Logan had promised. We make love well into the night and fall asleep curled in each other’s arms.
Who would’ve guessed the standoffish Dr. Logan Spencer was a cuddler?
***
We spend the next week suspended in this beautiful limbo where we live together in a hotel room, make love as we wake up, eat a lush breakfast, and take a cab to the hospital to visit Archie. The rest of the day Logan passes at the Thai Fine Arts Department, while I settle in a nearby cafe working on my computer to post-produce all the photos I took in the jungle. We eat lunch together, work more in the afternoon, pay Archie another visit, and then we go back to the hotel for another night of passionate lovemaking.
It’d be a perfect life, if not for the ticking timer attached to it.
Archie will be discharged from the hospital in two days. He and Logan have already booked a flight to San Francisco. Archie, to take some well-deserved downtime. Logan, to give his dean and the college foundation sponsoring the expedition a full report on our discovery. He needs to ask for more funds before he flies back to Trat to supervise the cataloging of all the treasures we uncovered and study the civilization who lived in the lost city. With a site so vast and untouched, the process will take months. Logan will have to move to Thailand.
I, too, have booked a flight home to LA. A near-death experience has been enough to make me reevaluate a few of my life’s choices. Like the one of not talking to my sister over a boy scuffle. First thing I’ll do when I get home is bang on her door and hold Summer in my arms so tightly, she’ll beg me to let go. Then we’ll crawl into her California king bed and stay awake all night talking until we fall asleep, like we used to do when we were kids.
The only remaining question is: with our lives moving in such opposite directions, what’s going to happen to Logan and me?
Logan
“Man,” Archie says, packing the last of his clothes in his rucksack. We’re in his hospital room, and I’m helping him get ready for the long flight home. Winter has gone to the cafeteria for a coffee run. From here, the three of us will share a cab straight to the airport. “Please tell me the photographer owes me two hundred bucks, yeah?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Back at camp, I bet her one hundred dollars you’d screw each other’s brains out before the expedition ended.” Archie folds a shirt on the b
ed and then turns his piercing blue gaze on me. “She raised me two hundred you guys wouldn’t.”
The statement takes me aback.
Without having specifically agreed on it, both Winter and I have been very discreet with PDAs in front of our friends. No real reason why, I guess we just wanted to enjoy the privacy of our new relationship. But Archie knows me too well…
From the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, I can tell he’ll tease me until the end of time.
“Don’t even try to deny it, man,” he adds.
“Okay, I won’t.”
He pats me on the shoulder, affectionately but mockingly. “My boy, you make your old man proud.”
I push his hand away. “Oh, stop it!”
“I’m sorry.” Archie laughs. “But Dr. Logan Spencer breaking his own rules—to never mix business and pleasure—and for a woman! Not an everyday sight. But, heck, I’ve met the lady… So I understand, buddy, and I forgive you.”
“Forgive me for what?”
“For placing yourself before the mission…” With pretend gravity, he repeats back to me all the warnings about dating a colleague I’d given him weeks ago at the resort. “For risking the expedition on a skirt and a pair of legs, for—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I interrupt. “The moral high ground is yours.”
Archie throws his last T-shirt into the rucksack and ties the cover, then, turning to me, he asks, “So is it just sex, or”—he cups his hands under his chin and, eyes exasperatingly wide, bats his eyelashes—“are there feelings involved?”
A knock on the door prevents me from answering.
“Is everyone decent?” Winter asks from the other side.
Archie answers first. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Snowflake.” Then he looks at me in a you’re-not-off-the-hook way. His unanswered question hangs in the air between us.
Winter comes in and gives me a paper coffee cup. Instinctively, I wrap an arm around her waist and stamp a kiss on her full lips.
Startled blue eyes stare up at me.
From Thailand with Love Page 17
