Riley didn’t listen to Dean, of course, and shoved the man into the bushes so he landed hard on his backside with a grunt. His flashlight flew into their hiding place, the yellowed light casting everything into an eerie glow.
Riley rushed to Dean and tugged at his arms. “We have to go!”
“Riley. Stop. I know this man.”
She continued to yank on him. His skin pulled around the bullet, the pain blinding. In her panicked state, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Her eyes darted back toward the man, then behind them in the woods, before resting again on Dean, whom she still wrestled upwards.
Summoning all of his strength, Dean tugged her down beside him. He used his good hand to grab her chin and make her look at him. “Riley. This man rode into town with me. He’s Danilo’s father.”
She blinked, and her vision cleared. “What’s he doing out here? Is he with them?”
Dean shook his head. Over the years, he’d learned to trust his gut feelings. He’d ignored them with Veronica, turned by a pretty face and empty promises, and had paid a steep price. “Danilo said his father distracted the terrorists by leading them away after the shots were fired. It saved Danilo’s life.”
The old man sat up, his frown deeper. “Bad men close. I help.”
Riley took a cautious step toward him. “I recognize you. You’ve come to the clinic before. Rodel, right?”
The man nodded gravely, then asked, “Danilo?”
“He’s fine. I hope,” Riley said, sounding uncertain. “Dean can’t go.”
“Okay. I help.” Rodel stood and motioned for Riley to follow.
She glanced at Dean, trepidation written all over her face. “If I go with him and he’s with the terrorists, then we’re done.”
“I know.” Dean closed his eyes and resisted giving in to his pain. “But I trust him.”
“How did he find us?”
“We followed a road almost all the way here.”
“If it was that easy for him, how easy will it be for the terrorists?”
Dean scrubbed a hand along his chin. “Even more reason to accept his help, I think.”
She hesitated before nodding. “I’ll see where he wants me to go, and then we’ll be back. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll survive.” He hoped.
She studied his arm using Rodel’s flashlight. Even now, blood oozed past the tourniquet she’d made out of his tie. She brought the back of her hand to his cheek, and her cool fingers felt like heaven against his skin. She frowned in worry.
“Rodel. We need medical supplies. Wraps, bandages.” She pointed to the wrap on his arm. Rodel narrowed his eyes, and then nodded.
“Be smart. With the light,” Dean said.
She nodded and smothered most of the glow with her hand. “We’ll be back soon.” Her hand slipped away. Darkness swallowed her up, and Dean was all alone.
◆◆◆
He didn’t know how long he slept before the voices awoke him. He sat up in relief, hoping Rodel had been able to lead Riley to some pain medication. The voices seemed to be moving away from him. He nearly called out, but paused when he realized it was two men speaking, and not in English. He rolled over and peered through the bushes to see the outline of two young men with guns. The glow of their flashlights exaggerated the hardness of their faces as they searched the foliage.
“… tricycle,” one of them said. They’d found the bike, which meant they knew Dean and Riley had come this way.
The men worked methodically down the small dirt path. In only moments, they’d discover his hiding place. He rolled onto his hands and knees, biting back a cry of pain. He collapsed to the ground when he tried to put weight on his left arm, slamming his cheek against the ground.
Army crawl it is. The ground moved mere inches beneath his weak slither. He regulated his breathing to be as quiet as possible as the men searched uncomfortably close to his location.
He wanted to scoot faster, but it was nearly impossible with the pain. In the silvery glow of moonlight, he spotted another cluster of banana leaves, this one thicker and covered with vines. There was a good chance wildlife had made its home in there, but if not, it could be a perfect hiding spot.
If only he could make it there.
Their footsteps grew closer. The bushes near him parted. He held as still as he could while the men’s faces, illuminated by bright flashlights, were revealed to him. They scanned the area only inches from where he hid, his thicket now seeming more impossible to get to than ever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
◆◆◆
Riley stayed close to Rodel, her nerves rising the farther he took her away from Dean. They passed the dead tricycle, closer than she’d hoped. She tried to memorize landmarks, but in the dark, everything blended together into unrecognizable shadows. Maybe she needed to turn back. Her stomach churned at the thought of Dean, injured and vulnerable. She had no doubt that uninjured, he could take care of himself, but in his current state, with all of his blood loss, he was a sitting target if anyone found him.
“We need to go back,” she whispered to Rodel.
“Soon,” he said in return. She sighed and continued to follow him against her better judgment. But she had no other good option. Even this was better than sitting around waiting to be caught or for Dean’s fever to get worse.
After maybe thirty minutes, Rodel’s flashlight lit on a dark car, the front end smashed into a tree like an accordion.
Rodel opened the passenger door, where a package of water bottles rested on the seat. Riley rushed forward and gathered as many as she could into her arms.
A glint of light caught on the dangling keys in the ignition, and her excitement grew. While Rodel continued to search the car, she rushed to the driver’s side and sat in the seat. She turned the keys, but the engine didn’t even make a noise. Of course it would be too easy to find a working car in the middle of the jungle that she could drive straight to Dean.
It was a nice car, nicer than she’d seen in her village. She reached across the middle seat to open the glove box and pulled out a yellow paper from on top. She turned on the overhead light to read it. A contract with Dean’s name. This must be his rental car. But if so, where was the driver? And what had run him off the road? A shiver slid down her spine, along with the urge to get out of there quickly. She turned off the light and popped the trunk, leaving the keys where she found them.
“Dr. Rogers,” Rodel called.
She found him at the trunk, holding a first aid kit. She nearly dropped to her knees in gratitude. She rummaged through the trunk until she found the tire iron. If needed, it could be a good weapon, although she hoped with all of her might that things didn’t come to that.
“Let’s go,” she said, and Rodel nodded. He led her through the jungle, not pausing once to consider which way to turn. She hoped he knew where they were going, because she felt hopelessly lost. All of her observing had been a waste, since nothing seemed familiar at all.
They moved slower this time, both weighed down with things, and it took almost an hour to arrive at the tricycle.
Except, it was gone. Deep rivets of another vehicle remained in its place. She swiveled around, fear strangling her. Dean!
She rushed toward their hiding place, Rodel close behind her. She pushed through the bushes, redirecting when Rodel called out. He stood still before a puddle of blood. No. No. No. He had to be somewhere.
“Dean!” she whispered as loud as she could. “Dean!”
A quiet moan sounded from a cluster of bushes farther away. Riley pushed through them, skidding to her knees to get to where Dean lay, unmoving. She turned him over and leaned her head on his chest to listen for his breathing. It sounded steady but labored.
Rodel had the first aid kit ready. She found a penlight inside, along with pain medication to help lower his fever. She motioned for Rodel to lift Dean up so she could put the crushed medication on his tongue. He blinked his eyes open and swallowed it down without comp
laint.
“They came,” Dean said.
“I know. We’re safe for now.” Riley hoped it was true.
His eyes fluttered shut, and she readied her supplies. She didn’t want to dig out the bullet. The risk of infection only worsened if she introduced new contaminants by attempting removal in this unsterile environment. Instead, she focused on cleaning it with alcohol and wrapping it in fresh gauze. He winced while she worked but remained quiet, to her relief.
Rodel crouched near her side, handing her the things she needed. After a while, Dean’s breathing turned less labored, and he fell into a restful sleep.
“Now you,” she said to Rodel, taking his arm.
He shook his head. “I okay.”
“I’m the doctor,” she said in her stern voice, not sure how much he could understand. Many Filipinos could understand more English than they could speak, and tone often carried across the language barrier.
He submitted to her ministrations, stoic as she unwound his bandage. The dried blood stuck to it, and she hesitated to pull off the natural bandage it had become. She remembered Rodel’s case now as she studied his arm. Melanoma. She’d removed a dark spot, probably cancerous, from his arm several months ago, but with no access to radiation treatments, she’d been limited.
She cut off the old, hanging bandage and applied a clean one, giving him a packet of pain relievers to take as well.
“Sleep,” Rodel said. “I watch.”
She nodded. Although she was exhausted, there wouldn’t be much sleep for her that night.
◆◆◆
An unfamiliar noise startled Riley from her light sleep. It was still dark, but in the distance the beginning of sunrise glimmered on the horizon. Her neck ached from lying on the hard ground.
“Sorry,” Dean said. “I couldn’t hold in my cough any longer. Go back to sleep.”
“It’s fine.” She sat up and stretched her muscles. What she wouldn’t give for a long, hot shower. “Where’s Rodel?”
Dean pointed to a place a few feet away, where the old man slept. “I told him I’d take a turn watching.”
She grabbed a water bottle and handed it to him.
“How many of these do we have?” he asked.
“Enough. Drink it all.” She couldn’t have him getting dehydrated on top of everything else.
He drank the water down quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. “Thanks.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t imagine your trip turning out like this,” Riley said, getting the smile she hoped for. It resembled a grimace, but was more real than the magazine cover’s glossy smile.
“I think my mom did.” Every word sounded pulled from somewhere deep inside of him.
The smarter part of her knew he needed his rest and that they should remain quiet, but she was scared and didn’t want to sit in silence anymore. “Why do you think that?”
“She sent me a bunch of articles on the political unrest and drugs in this region of the Philippines. She really wanted to come with me, but my brother had a gala in New York she’d already agreed to attend.”
“She knew how dangerous it could be, and she wanted to come?”
“That’s my mom.” His harsh breathing filled the early morning stillness. “I take after her more than my dad.”
His dad. The great Gregory Matthias. The man whose face graced newspapers and television for all of his philanthropic ventures as well as his sound business sense. “What’s he like?”
“Serious. Stern. Methodical.”
“Doesn’t seem like the kind of person you’d want to rush home to spend the holidays with.”
He let out a short laugh. “As long as you’re pleasing him, my dad can be your best friend. If you’re not …”
“Which camp do you fall in?”
“Well, my entire family is in New York for a fancy awards dinner in honor of my brother while I’m here, hiding in the jungle with a gunshot wound.”
She cringed. “So you’re on the crap list.”
“You could say that.” He tilted his head back against a tree trunk. “You heard about my ex-fiancée, right?”
She’d heard plenty about it. From what she’d read, Dean’s fiancée had been accused of using his restaurant chain to siphon drug funds to other countries, all very conveniently under Dean’s nose.
She shifted awkwardly. It had been easier to think the billionaire from the magazine was a corrupt businessman throwing blame on his fiancée than it was to believe the vulnerable man sitting beside her was capable of such a thing. Still, one night together in the jungle didn’t mean she really knew him, no matter how sincere he seemed.
She leaned her hands on the ground, resting her weight on them. “The magazine article said your brother is the more responsible one, while you’re more impetuous.” Impetuous enough to get involved in illegal activities and place the blame on your fiancée?
He groaned. She removed the penlight from her pocket and shined it in his eyes. The medicine should still be working. “What’s wrong?”
“I hate the word impetuous. Makes it sound like I never think things through.”
She took a deep breath for patience. “I thought you were in pain.”
“I am,” he said, but the corners of his mouth turned up. “And you’ve just made it worse by reminding me of that stupid article.”
“You didn’t like it?” She thought he’d be the kind of person who’d brag about it forever, maybe even carry around autographed copies.
He hesitated. “I did at first. I was flattered. Who doesn’t want to be on the cover of a magazine?”
She almost said that she wouldn’t, but was that really true? If someone came to her today and said they wanted to photograph her for an article about Worldwide Care, would she turn them away to maintain her privacy? Not if it meant exposure for a program she loved.
“They wanted to play up the brother angle, painting us as complete opposites. And in the fallout of that decision, I became the impetuous party boy with poor judgment while Cole is the responsible prodigy. Caricatures of us both.”
“So what are you like, then?”
He winked. “You’ll have to stick around to find out.”
She folded her arms, incredulous. “Flirting again?”
“It keeps my mind from the pain.”
Sympathy washed away her annoyance. In the rising light, his cheeks appeared flushed. “You need to rest.” She helped him lie back and get comfortable. Riley rested her hand on his forehead, concerned at the warmth she felt. It wasn’t a high fever yet, but without care, it could turn into one.
She went to pull her hand away, but Dean grabbed it and held it to his chest. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly at the intense way he looked at her and how perfectly her hand fit with his. Sketchy past or no, Dean knew how to push her buttons.
“Distract me.”
“How?” she asked, flustered.
“Tell me about you. How does someone as young and pretty as you decide to become a doctor?”
All of her fluttery feelings fled. She tried not to bristle at the implication that because she was young and pretty, she wasn’t capable—a sentiment she’d experienced often enough at the hospital. “Is there some rule that only old, ugly people can be doctors?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I was trying to flirt again.” He grimaced. “It obviously fell very flat.”
“Yep.”
“I’m not usually such an idiot.”
“That remains to be seen,” she said, which wasn’t completely true. He’d been a huge help and had impressed her with his tenacity and willingness to help her time and again, even with as much pain as he had to be in.
“I deserved that.”
Her heart softened toward him. “Here. I’ll help you.” She rested on her stomach and held her chin in her hands, about a foot away from him. Her neck hurt from arching it downwards while they spoke. She lowere
d her voice to sound like a man’s. “‘Riley, why did you decide to become a doctor?’”
He tilted his head toward her with an amused smile. “Well?”
She studied her hands in the early dawn light, rubbing her thumb against the dry skin between her fingers that came from washing her hands so often. They had a long day ahead of them; it couldn’t hurt to know each other better. “I don’t remember ever not wanting to be a doctor,” she said. “My younger brother, Adam, was born with only partially functioning kidneys. I grew up with him in and out of the hospital. I wished I could help him, and I soon realized the doctors were doing exactly that every time we took him in. I knew that’s what I wanted to do.”
“How’s Adam doing now?”
“He got a kidney transplant eight years ago, so he has to be monitored closely, but he does triathlons and is seriously dating someone now.”
“Are you close?”
She shrugged. They emailed every other month or so to catch up. She worried about him often but knew her brother didn’t appreciate when her concern for his health became too invasive. “As close as most siblings, I guess.”
“I don’t think there’s any standard measure for the closeness of siblings.”
“He lives halfway across the world. It’s hard to be close to someone who lives so far away.”
“Do you miss your family?”
She folded her arms in front of her and dropped her head to rest on them, facing Dean. In the near-dark of morning, everything felt closer. More intimate. How long had it been since she’d had a real conversation with a man, much less about anything of substance? Despite the looming danger, her body relaxed.
It would be early evening back at home. She pictured how her family might be at that moment: Mom working in her garden before the sun set, Dad watching television in between spurts of helping her. They lived a quiet, steady life, one that she’d itched to break free from when she was younger. And she had. She’d been determined to prove herself at school and then again as a doctor, growing more and more confident with every success.
No. More and more proud.
Hearts In Peril (Billionaire Romance) Page 5
