He’d marched her silently along the river, stopping only to rinse off at a place where the water was running rather briskly.
“No leeches here,” was all he’d said, and she’d gone in with her—his—clothes on.
After she’d come out, he’d resumed the fast pace. She’d had to struggle to keep up. There was no way she could maintain that pace and try to talk to him at the same time, so they’d walked in silence for hours, stopping only during the sudden occasional cloudbursts, when the rain got too heavy to see their feet, or when the helo passed overhead.
As they walked or waited out the rain or hid from the helo, she’d brooded over the fact that if he hadn’t forgiven her back by the slime pit, then he probably was never going to forgive her.
But now he set down the sack of dynamite. “We’ll stop here for the night.”
He was kidding. He had to be. It was still early, wasn’t it?
Her watch was set to Hong Kong time. She had no idea what time it was here. Wherever here was.
“Now would be a really good time to relieve yourself,” Ken told her. “Don’t go too far, and bury whatever you leave behind. Really bury it—don’t just kick around a little dirt. Then get back here. When it gets dark out here, it gets dark fast.”
“You’re serious,” Savannah said, blinking at him. “I thought . . .”
He was trying to untie himself from both the vines and the attaché case, and he only glanced briefly over at her. “What, that we would make it all the way to that town on the coast in one afternoon?”
“Well . . . yes.” She started toward him. “Can I help you?”
“No.”
His response was so vehement, she took a step back.
“At the slow pace we were moving, it’s going to take us a couple of days, at least,” he told her.
That gallop they’d done all day was slow?
“Think about it,” he said. “How long were we on the helo after we hit land, heading up into these hills?”
These mountains were hills?
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I was. It was close to an hour. Fifty minutes or so. And we were probably moving at . . . Well, cruising speed of a Puma is about a hundred and sixty miles an hour.” Ken finally got out his knife and cut himself loose. “God damn it.”
And Savannah could see why he’d had such trouble getting free. The vines he’d used to tie the case of money to his bare chest and back had rubbed his skin raw in places. “Kenny, my God, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped carry something.”
“I didn’t want to slow us down.” He shrugged it off. “It’s not that big a deal. While we were walking it was a little annoying. And now it stings. Nothing more. Really.”
“And what happens tomorrow?”
He was already moving, already organizing where they would sleep. On the ground, with the snakes and bugs. Oh, joy.
“I’ll tie the case on in a slightly different spot,” he said shortly.
“And you’ll get rope burns there, too.” She fished in her bag for the antibacterial gel. Who could’ve known it would become her most precious possession? If she had to choose between leaving behind the gel or the case with the money, she’d leave behind the money, no doubt about it. “Tomorrow you can have your shirt back.” She brought him the bottle. “Do you want me to help you put this on?”
He’d already started cutting branches that he was no doubt intending to use to camouflage them once they settled in for the night. Although, if the jungle were as dark as he’d described, it seemed kind of unnecessary. As she moved closer, he stopped and looked directly at her, the strangest look in his eyes. “I still smell your perfume.”
She took a step back. “You couldn’t possibly.”
He came toward her and sniffed her hair, her neck, her throat. He pulled her shirt—his shirt—out from her body and actually took a whiff down the neckline.
Savannah yanked the shirt away from him and took another step back. “Excuse me.”
“Take off your underwear,” he said. “It smells like perfume. What did you do, put it on before you got completely dressed, while you were in your underwear?”
“Yes. That’s the point of perfume—to make you smell good, not your clothes.”
“Take it off and bury it,” he ordered, back to cutting branches. “And, by the way, now I’m really looking forward to you giving me my shirt back in the morning.”
He was purposely being rude. Savannah gritted her teeth as she headed for the underbrush. But then she turned back. She couldn’t keep herself from saying something. “I thought we were over the pouting phase. Aren’t you getting just a little tired of—”
“I wasn’t kidding about the way it gets dark out here. I don’t know when moonrise will be. I do know it’s only a crescent tonight—waning—so it’s not going to help much in the night-light department even when it is up. So if you want to be able to see where you’re walking after you answer the call of nature, you better go now.”
The light was definitely fading. It was spooky how fast it was going.
Savannah turned and walked into the jungle on feet that stung. Still, it was nothing compared to the way Ken made her feel with his unhidden disdain.
Savannah came back out of the jungle pissed off at him.
Good. Ken was okay when she was pissed. It was when she got all doe-eyed and soft and vulnerable that he had trouble being around her. Or when she stood around in her underwear, or when she touched him or talked to him or smiled at him or . . . Crap. It was only when she was tight-lipped and angry that he didn’t want to pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. That not only was he going to get her safely out of here, but he was also going to be her personal slave for the rest of his natural days.
Jesus, he was mad at himself for wanting her like that. He didn’t even fricking like her—well, at least not very much. After the slime fight, and after practically running her along the river for hours without a single complaint, he really had to work at not liking her.
They had five, maybe ten minutes of light left—tops—and she came marching over to him and threw her underwear at his head. He hadn’t been expecting that, and she got him dead on.
Good arm. It was hard not to like someone who had such good aim.
“My underwear does not smell like perfume,” she insisted.
Her bra and panties dropped into his hands after they banked off his face. They were still warm from the heat of her body, all slippery satin and yellow lace. God, God, God. He held them up to his nose and breathed deeply. “Yeah, actually, Savannah, it does. You’re just used to the scent.”
She was staring at him like he’d just grown a second head, and he realized he was sitting there, sniffing her panties. Perfect, Karmody. Way to go. Nothing like confirming the fact that he was a raging pervert.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll, uh, bury this for you later.” He dropped it behind him and handed her one of the coconuts he’d cut and bored a pair of holes in with his pocket knife. “Drink.”
“Thanks.” She sat down, her eyes widening as she caught sight of tonight’s main course.
Plenty of people around the world ate bugs and insects for protein. As a SEAL, Ken had eaten more than his share in the past. Some people enjoyed what he thought of as the clam-and-oyster effect—eating something that was still alive. He personally preferred not to eat things that wiggled, particularly if, like tonight, he wasn’t in a hurry to get moving again.
He’d found a fine collection of edibles under a fallen tree trunk—it wasn’t really enough to feed them both, but then again, he doubted Savannah would be joining him.
He popped one into his mouth. “Some of ’em have a nasty aftertaste, but this one isn’t half bad,” he told Savannah.
She just looked at him expressionlessly. It was actually pretty amazing that she managed to completely hide her revulsion and shock, especially knowing how freak
ed out she got by bugs.
“If you don’t eat,” Ken told her, “we’re going to have to slow down even more tomorrow.”
Savannah shook her head and laughed. It was a pissed off kind of laugh. “What’s the response you’re looking for from me here, Kenny?” she asked. “Am I supposed to faint? Or maybe start to cry?”
She picked up a particularly plump-looking slug. “I bet this tastes a lot like escargot. It could probably use some butter, but what can you do?”
She ate it. She freaking ate it. Now he was the one gaping in amazement. He managed to get his mouth shut.
“You hate bugs,” he said inanely.
“I would also hate cows if they were an inch long and tried to crawl up my pants leg,” she told him. “But that wouldn’t keep me from enjoying a nice steak.”
Ken laughed. Well, what do you know?
“When I was little,” she told him, “Uncle Alex used to take me to these exotic little ethnic restaurants in New York City, where they served God knows what. We tried it all. I was probably eating bugs years before you were, back when I was five. Then, after my mother made us move to Atlanta, he started sending me chocolate-covered grasshoppers. I didn’t particularly like those—I’m not a big fan of the crunchy ones—but I used to eat ’em—I still do—to annoy Priscilla.”
Priscilla was her mother.
She was silent for a moment, no doubt thinking about the fact that her uncle wouldn’t be sending her anything anymore.
But before he could think of anything remotely comforting to say, she shook herself out of it and pulled herself back into the here and now.
“I was thinking about the shirt thing,” she told him as she helped herself to another slug, washed it down with some coconut milk. “How about we cut these pants you’re letting me wear into shorts, use the legs to make a couple of sacks to carry the dynamite? That’ll free up your undershirt. I can wear that, and you can have this shirt back—it’s thicker and it has sleeves. It’ll keep you from getting more rope burns.”
It wasn’t a half-bad plan. Except, “I was going to dig you in here, get you settled for the night, then do some scouting. Roam around this part of the jungle. See if I can find where that boat came from, maybe snag some supplies and a few more clothes to wear.”
“Snag?” she said, her eyes widening. “You mean steal?”
Oh, Jesus.
“I’d leave money in return,” he told her, “but that could lead the bad guys with the big weapons right to this part of the jungle. I mean, imagine if you were living out here, and your extra shirt disappears and there’s a hundred dollars American in its place. Aren’t you going to talk to about it? Pretty loudly, too?”
She definitely saw his point, but she still wasn’t happy.
“Look, if it really bothers you, we can make sure we send money or food or clothes or whatever we take back to this island after we’re safe.”
“How about if you leave behind Indonesian money?” she asked.
That’s right. He’d forgotten she had a wallet full of the local currency. Still . . . “Don’t forget the thank you note with the smiley face,” he said. “We better leave one of those, too.”
She didn’t back down. “What if you steal—not snag, Kenny, steal—someone’s extra shirt, and it turns out that bad guys with big guns are after them, too? What if they need that shirt more than we do?”
She was back to calling him Kenny all the time, damn it. As if she didn’t particularly care that it annoyed him.
So he wouldn’t let it annoy him.
Except, God damn, it annoyed him.
And then, like an anvil from the sky, the last of the light vanished and darkness fell.
“Oh, my God,” Savannah breathed. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Freaky, huh?” he said. The devil in him wanted to sit absolutely still and be completely silent—let her think he was gone. See how long it took her to panic. But even he wasn’t enough of an asshole to do that to her.
“I can’t even tell which way is up.” Her voice shook.
“Are you claustrophobic?” he asked. Gee, maybe if she was, he’d have to sleep with her holding on to him, to help her ground herself. That would be too bad, wouldn’t it?
She laughed nervously. “I never thought so before, but something tells me I will be after tonight.”
He could hear her moving toward him, felt her touch his leg. She sat next to him, close enough so that she could hold onto his ankle.
He reached down and took her hand, pulled her so that they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, leaning back against the trunk of a fallen tree, touching at the hips as well.
“Please,” she whispered, holding tightly to his hand, “don’t go anywhere tonight.”
Ah, crap. “Savannah, you’ve got to trust me to find my way back here. I can move around much faster without you—I’m not saying that to insult you or anything, so—”
“No,” she said, “I know it’s true. It’s just—”
“I’ll get you settled, take a short nap myself, then take a few hours and find the quickest route out of here. It’ll be a big advantage in the morning.”
She was silent, and he knew she truly didn’t want him to leave her alone—and that she probably wasn’t going to say another word about it.
“Ah, Christ,” Ken said as it started to rain again. It was the rain forest, after all. This one was less furious than the cloudbursts they’d endured throughout the day, but probably wouldn’t be over as quickly, either. Son of a bitch.
Savannah was so tense next to him, he could almost feel his own shoulders tightening in sympathy. Clearly she wasn’t looking forward to a night spent trying to sleep in mud puddles with snakes and bugs. But she didn’t say a word.
“How come you never complain about anything?” he asked. “Are you some kind of Zen master or something?”
She exhaled a laugh at that. “What’s the point of complaining? It just makes the people around you feel bad, too. Besides, if I ever feel really awful and pathetic, I just . . . think about my grandmother.”
“What, did she beat you with a big stick every time you whined?” Ken asked.
Another nervous burst of laughter. Man, she was unbelievably tense. Still, she was talking to him. That was a good sign that her head wasn’t going to explode. Yet.
“No, she was a special agent for the FBI and the OSS—she started working for them during World War Two. The Nazis thought she was one of them, but she wasn’t. She was a what-do-you-call-it. A double agent.”
No shit?
“If she had been found out,” Savannah continued, “they would have killed her—killed all of her mother’s—my great-grandmother’s—family still living in Germany. She took risks I can’t even imagine, and spent every day of her life for years looking over her shoulder. These past few days are the closest I’ve ever come to knowing what she must’ve lived through. I think about her and suddenly I don’t have too much to complain about, you know?”
Yeah, he did know. “I bitch and moan all the time.” Ken felt humbled. “You must think I’m a real jerk.”
“Yes, well, I think you’re a jerk but not because you complain all the time. I actually haven’t noticed that. Probably because your other jerkishnesses are so prominent.”
“Ha ha,” he said. “Very funny.”
“She’s still alive,” Savannah told him. “My grandmother.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, she’s in her eighties and she just wrote a book—an autobiography. Of course, it made the Times list when it first came out. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”
“That’s the book you’ve got in your bag,” he realized.
“Yeah. I’ve been carrying it around for months because I haven’t read it yet. I feel like I should, but I already know the story so well. Family legend, you know? I grew up hearing about her. And, well, nothing like inducing feelings of inadequacy. I haven’t been able to crack the book. I mean, imagine if
you were Wonder Woman’s granddaughter, except you had no superpowers. Oh yeah, and you were skinny and kind of squinty, too.”
“You’re not squinty.” He knew the moment the words left his lips that it was the wrong thing to say.
“Gee, thanks, Ken.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” She was quiet for a moment. “If Alex really is dead . . .” She sat in silence for several long beats before going on. “It’s not going to kill her—sometimes I think she’s immortal—but it’s really going to hurt. I think much more than if it was my father who died. There’s a lot that’s been left unsaid between Rose—my grandmother—and Alex.”
Troubleshooters 04 Out of Control Page 26
