Jungle Fever

by Lexy Timms

  He pushed her away far enough that he could whisper in her ear. “Do you have a room? Someplace where I can show you how much you were missed?”

  Of course, she laughed. He’d likely wanted her, too, though she’d been feeling the intense attraction since she’d seen him in the same room. “You came all the way here in record time, called in a favor and...” she mouthed the word ‘jumped,’ “...from a plane, just to have sex?”

  Taylor shrugged. “I really missed you.”

  Angelica swatted his chest, but it pleased her that he felt this way. There was a sincerity behind his words that resonated within her. He wanted her. She wanted him. Now if only the world would just stop for a minute and give them a chance to indulge in that for ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

  “You and I will have plenty of time, I promise. I even did a little online research...” She could feel the blush spreading over her cheeks. “There’re a few things I want to try...”

  “Oh?” Taylor’s hands slid down her back to the top of her butt. “Do tell.”

  “Work first,” she reminded him. “Let’s see what we can do for the girl, okay? First that. Then... this.” She ran her hand over the front of his pants and winked. “I promise.”

  He growled but grabbed his duffle bag. “Lead the way.”

  She took his hand and ducked under it, so it rested on her shoulder as she wended through the complex and the little villages of tents and cots that had sprung up all over.

  “Wow,” Taylor said, looking around, “this is a big place. How many people live here?”

  “More than a thousand, though it’s quickly on its way to holding three times that,” Angelica said. “It was built to handle half that. We don’t have enough beds or blankets or anything else, but the foundation that replaced Doctors International has been very generous. They’re called Meadowlark, and seem to be trying to actually help people. But the need constantly outstrips the supplies.”

  “I was expecting you to get another clinic like that one in South America, the isolated kind. You’re actually pretty close to a city here.”

  She’d considered it. But it had been that remoteness that had led to her kidnapping. She slept better with solid walls around her nowadays, though the staff quarters certainly weren’t much to speak of. She hadn’t told Taylor any of this. Not that he wouldn’t understand, but she didn’t want him to think less of her. To think she was weak for not going back and facing her fears.

  She would. Someday. Just not yet.

  “Well, the government asked for help from the UN to take care of the refugees,” Angelica explained, going with the safer explanation. “A lot of countries are sending aid, but The Meadowlark Foundation added us into the bargain. It’s been pretty standard stuff, and we at least have modern facilities and some decent equipment, but much of the staff is woefully undertrained. We have doctors and even some nurses from the U.S. and other countries, but a lot of orderlies and lower staff are being trained on the job after only a short nursing course. It’s not ideal. I think the whole setup is meant to be temporary. This sudden influx of refugees came up so suddenly, but their own countries are in such disarray right now...”

  “You said once that there was only a handful of doctors here?”

  During one of their infrequent video chats, when they were idly talking after an unsatisfying evening of long-distance lovemaking, she’d opened up about the place and the people. For a moment she felt annoyed he hadn’t paid attention to her at the time, but it occurred to her that he had—he was just wanting her to repeat it. He was already starting his investigation.

  “Dr. Manchester.” She started the list to save time. She could hear his chuckle behind her. “Old as dirt and just as friendly. He’s here because he’s too stubborn to retire and live out his days pulling weeds. I’m sure you’ll meet him first.” She wanted to say more but didn’t dare. They were standing by the mess tent, and she had no idea who was in the good doctor’s pocket. This whole revelation yesterday had left her uneasy about who to trust, and she still didn’t know some of the staff all that well. The few she spotted huddled together at a nearby table might have been in his pocket for all she knew. She really hadn’t been paying attention to the office politics, hating the workplace drama.

  He gave her a look, letting her know without saying anything that he’d picked up on her hesitation, on the tone of voice she’d used. “Charming.”

  Thankful that she didn’t have to go into further detail here, she continued the list where she’d left off.

  “Next is Dr. Tony Webb. Middle-aged, middle abilities, middle ambition. He’s with Meadowlark because he was with DI and he just kept doing the same job over and over until a new employer started paying him. Fairly dedicated to his job. Here off a Stateside divorce. I suspect he’s hiding from his ex.”

  “Joe Average, got it.”

  “Dr. Melinda Johns,” she continued. “A very tired woman. Early 40s, burned out. Still cares a great deal about her patients, probably more than is healthy. She’s the kind to get too attached, especially on the hopeless cases. I’m thinking she really would rather be pulling weeds sometimes but can’t let this place go, even if it would be better for her peace of mind.”

  “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “And Dr. Angelica Truman. Horney as hell and wanting to get laid but is putting it off because she cares about her patients, too. Also has the inside track on people who like to do strange things.”

  His hand slid down off her shoulder, reminiscent of the claw the girl had placed there only yesterday. She winced a little bit, still feeling the ghost reminders of a pain that she’d forgotten until now. The encounter had left her bruised, though she wasn’t about to tell him that. Especially not now, when he looked at her like that.

  He dropped his hand lower, laying it over her heart. The gesture was at once intimate and beautiful. She forgot where she was, that they were standing in the shade between two tents, as he pulled her back against his chest. He kissed her head and she took a moment to indulge in the sheer pleasure that came from just leaning against him. It felt like home.

  She turned in his grasp and reached behind his head and pulled his lips down to meet hers. She felt his hardness against her leg, and if she were honest she would have to admit that she was maybe a little wet, a little ready for him, too.

  “All right,” she whispered against his lips, reluctant to let the moment pass, but too worried about her patient to let herself go the way she wanted to. “I desire you, too. Now please? Meet the girl?”

  Taylor’s eyes had a depth to them that took her breath away. She could see the need in his eyes, feel it in his stance and chest and arms, but he was an adult and he was willing to wait. Of course, that only made her want him all that much more.

  The clinic was at the edge of the camp, an abandoned warehouse that had been refurbished for that purpose. She led him straight to the largest ward, on the third floor, past rows of patients who were coughing, sneezing, groaning, and otherwise expressing symptoms of whatever ailed them. For most, their problems were caused by exposure and malnutrition. Infectious diseases were elsewhere.

  Angelica by passed the nurses’ station and headed for the girl’s cot. She stopped and stared at the middle-aged woman who lay in it.

  “Who are you?” Angelica asked, mystified. She turned her head, noting that the patient with the broken arm to the left was still there, as was the patient to the right who was receiving IV treatment for severe dehydration. She was certainly in the right place.

  The woman in Charra’s bed appeared to speak no English at all.

  “Nurse!” Angelica called loudly. One of the nurses held up a finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture and finished writing something on a clipboard. She hurried over to Angelica’s side.

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “Where is the girl, Charra? She was supposed to be under observation.”

  “Oh, the young girl?” The nurse seemed flustered. “Ah, I believ
e she was discharged. I can check for you if you like.”

  “WHAT?!” Angelica rounded on her. “I ordered a 72-hour watch on her! I wanted her here under observation!”

  “Yes, Doctor, but she didn’t show any signs of distress or problems...”

  “That’s inconsequential!” Angelica spat out the words. “I left orders. There were supposed to be tests...”

  “And I overrode those orders,” Dr. Manchester snapped from behind her. “Angelica, may I speak with you privately?” Manchester looked at Taylor as if he were a contaminate in his clean hospital.

  “Where’s my patient?” Angelica said, ignoring the nurse who suddenly found other work to do and had fled to go do it. She followed Dr. Manchester reluctantly to the hallway, acknowledging that it wouldn’t be professional to get into a shouting match in the ward where patients were trying to get some rest.

  “She was sent back to the refugee camp.” Manchester said the words in a voice just above a whisper, somehow still managing to convey that his word was law. “Returned to her grandmother.”

  “She doesn’t have a grandmother!” Angelica spat back, fighting to keep her own voice pitched low so that the sound wouldn’t carry. “That old woman swore up and down she didn’t know the girl. What she does have is someone who breaks her bones and beats the hell out of her.”

  “There were no contusions or fractures when I examined her...”

  “You examined...you examined my patient?” She was dimly aware that Taylor had joined them, that he’d been reading her body language. Hell, he had probably picked up her frustration and anger just from her scent, and had come to stand silently behind her.

  Dr. Manchester glanced at Taylor and frowned. “Doctor, may I see you privately, please? My office.”

  It wasn’t really a request. But there was little she could do but comply. Like it or not, Dr. Manchester was her superior and there was only one way she was going to get any answers.

  It didn’t help that she was so furious that she was shaking.

  Angelica stared straight at Dr. Manchester and nodded. Once. He turned to go, leaving her to trail along in his wake, a chastened child being sent to the principal’s office. She paused long enough to look at Taylor, to say between clenched teeth the only thing she could in the time she had. “Charra. Age 14. Find her.” She slipped her phone into Taylor’s pocket and stalked off in Manchester’s wake, the obedient little doctor.

  Like hell I am.

  Chapter 6

  Taylor strode through the camp.

  Yeah, like this doesn’t look weird. One American male looking for a teenage refugee girl. What could go wrong?

  Still, he had a job to do, and while he hated leaving Angelica to what looked to be a monumental dressing down there wasn’t exactly anything he could do to help right now. If anything, his interference would only make things worse.

  He paused outside the mess hall, figuring that at least there would be the greatest concentration of people to talk to, and pulled up a picture from his phone. It wasn’t a great shot, a slightly blurry screen grab from the video Angelica had sent him, but it was the best he had to work with. He’d captured her face just before the transformation—lips slightly parted, eyes wide. Thankfully she didn’t look like she was in agony so much as somewhat surprised. With her name, it at least gave him a starting point.

  He started at the tables and worked his way out into the crowds that milled throughout the camp. It seemed boredom was the biggest threat within the camp, and people clustered in knots talking, passing the time. The camp itself was hot, set up close to the town, which was more on the plain than in the jungle itself. Here the sun beat down mercilessly on the tents, while in the distance a verdant haze of green gave hint to the jungle just out of reach.

  It didn’t take him long to figure out that no one was talking. Most people simply shook their heads, some refused to look at all. It seemed that no one wanted trouble, and helping the American was something that smacked of it. Some went so far as to turn away deliberately when they saw him coming, and one toothless old man spat at his feet.

  Yeah. Taylor Mann, Humanitarian of the Year.

  He stopped to collect his thoughts. Anti-American, or was he just special? He watched as relief workers moved through the camp, all nationalities but a fair number of Americans. They were welcomed with smiles and laughter. Just him, then.

  Interesting.

  He turned in a slow circle, this time hunting for something different. Someone was warning the people not to speak to him. Someone had it in for him. But he didn’t spot anything suspicious. Only an old woman who had been glaring at him as he made his rounds. He’d already tried questioning her once, when she’d been on her cot, but she’d just rolled over onto her other side and ignored him. She was staring at him now from the doorway of her tent, eyes hard and unforgiving. Angry.

  Following him.

  Taylor pursed his lips and tapped the phone, as though trying to figure out what to start on next while he thought this through.

  He was standing by a door that led from the encampment to the administrative office. The clinic and Angelica were on the other side of the admin building. Correction: presumably Angelica was still in the clinic. It was just as likely that the old grouch she worked for had her summarily removed and flown back to the States. Medicine wasn’t his specialty by any means, but it seemed that a doctor who examined someone else’s patient without asking or having a damn good reason was, to say the least, unethical. And from the way she’d spoken about Dr. Manchester earlier there was some history there, something that she hadn’t told him yet.

  Add to that the fact that the head of this little clinic had not only interfered in Angelica’s care of her patient, but had had gone so far as to release the patient, again without consulting or asking Angelica. It was no wonder her back was up. It was an executive decision and well within the doctor’s rights, he was sure, but it was unethical. And while he might be wrong, he had the feeling that choices like that were done on very rare occasion, and only as a last resort. Do that too many times and a hospital administrator will find that he can’t get good doctors to work for him.

  And how many times could someone conceivably do that? In Angelica’s case? Once.

  Taylor had never seen her that mad. Despite the life and death struggles they had shared in the Amazon, this was an extreme reaction. So, put it together. If a doctor who works at a Meadowlark Foundation Clinic, someone who works charity in a difficult situation, is willing to risk alienating a good doctor, someone incredibly difficult to find and harder to keep... he had to have a good reason.

  At least to him.

  This begged the question, what was so vitally important about a 14-year-old refugee girl that Dr. Manchester would risk an irreplaceable doctor? Taylor had to leave room for the possibility that he was just that arrogant. It was his experience that the medical profession attracted the arrogant. It had to be a heady feeling to deny death another victim, to bring people back from the dead, to stretch their lives out further and further. Someday they would take what passed for ancient and make it so youthful again that life would seem to never end. Such abilities lent themselves to the kind of person who not only thought he could play God, but do it better.

  Maybe that didn’t say much for the woman he loved. She, too, was drawn to the profession, egged on by the idea of helping others. Yet Angelica showed no signs of arrogance. And if anyone had a right to, it would be her. She’d put herself through school by working summers, scrimping and saving every penny, living in her parents’ basement. And winning beauty contests.

  He would have liked to see that. In a day and age where beauty pageants had become something demeaning, Angelica had seen it as a way to fund her education. If that meant smiling and walking around in high-heels and swimsuit, then the joke was on them. He had no doubt she’d done it damn well, the way she took on every challenge.

  She’d told him that the contest was one of the more ridic
ulous wastes of time she’d ever done, but it had paid for a full year of medical school, and for that it was well worth it. Taylor leaned on the side of the building and shook his head slowly. Angelica was like no one he’d ever met before. As a doctor she was dedicated to life and living, but she wasn’t squeamish. She’d even tried to heal the ones who had kidnapped and tried to kill her. But when Taylor had to open fire to save her life and the lives of others she didn’t hesitate, even when he blew up the mansion.

  “You, American,” a gruff voice called from behind him.

  “If you’re going to sneak up on someone,” Taylor advised the man, “you can start by taking those keys off your belt. That’s like putting a bell on a bull.”

  “You mean a bell on a cat, n'est-ce pas?” The soldier smiled. “Bulls are not quiet. Even without bells.”

  “I stand by my statement,” Taylor said, dropping his phone into his pocket, next to Angelica’s.

  The soldier snorted and smiled. It wasn’t a warm, friendly sort of smile. “The lieutenant wants to see you.” He gestured with his rifle, indicating the direction he wanted Taylor to go.

  Taylor smiled and faced the smaller man. It was a cheap trick, something that backyard bullies did to smaller children. But because of that it was an effective way to take another man’s measure. Taylor puffed up and stared the other man in the eyes and crossed his arms, giving his best imitation of a boulder. Unmovable.

  “What if I don’t want to see him?” he growled.

  The soldier’s eyes lit up and the smile was genuine this time. “That would make me very happy,” he said, his finger flirting with the trigger.

  Taylor’s smile was genuine, too. In that moment he assessed the man’s abilities and attitudes, and figured out the possibilities of success in a fight. It would be close. Taylor had rapid healing on his side, that would probably be the biggest factor in any success, but the man was trained and experienced.