Long after the initial passion subsided, they lay quietly, her head cradled on his shoulder, his arm thrown across her hip in a tender, possessive gesture.
“I should replenish the fire,” he murmured, but he made no move to disengage himself.
She opened her eyes. The firelight glistened on his moist skin, the light and shadow still chased itself across the low ceiling. “Not yet,” she whispered. She sensed that this was a moment out of time, and she wanted it to last as long as it could before she would need to dissect it for meaning.
Eventually she stirred. He pulled the sleeping bag up over her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
Beautiful. Nothing about what he really thought of her. Nothing about love. But she must mean something to him; he had changed his mind about helping her. “Brian,” she said, “why did you change your mind about helping me find Dimitri’s killer?”
He hesitated, running the question through his mind. He no longer thought she was involved with the CIA, or that she was hiding anything from him. Perhaps he should level with her. The way he felt now, basking in the aftermath of lovemaking, he wanted to tell her the truth. Or part of it, anyway.
“You weren’t the only one having bizarre accidents. My apartment had been searched, I’d had some warnings. I didn’t know what to connect them to, until you told me about Dimitri and what was happening to you. Then it seemed somebody was after both of us, and for the same reason. The connection was Dimitri. I figured I didn’t have much choice—either I found whoever was jerking us around, or he found me.”
He saw the shadow in her eyes and suspected she knew how much he had distrusted her at first. That was no longer true, but it didn’t change the larger issue. He couldn’t afford to get too deeply involved with Malinche. When this episode was over, and they had run down Dimitri’s killer, their idyll would be over. He would accept this wonderful interlude as a gift, the most beautiful he’d ever known, but he knew better than to expect it to last.
BRIAN STOOPED to enter the cave that had become as familiar as his own apartment, and slipped his pack off his shoulder. Malinche was still sleeping, curled like a warm soft rabbit in her sleeping bag. She seemed quite comfortable. It was amazing how during the two days they had been marooned here she had adjusted to the rhythm of the land.
She heard him and raised sleep-heavy eyelids, a slow smile curving her lips. “Brian—I didn’t hear you go out.”
His heart twisted with something very like pain She was so utterly desirable. His body reacted, signaling its readiness, as it did each time he saw her. She drew him like a magnet. He went to her immediately and gathered her in his arms, luxuriating in her sleep-warm body.
Everything seemed unreal, and yet in some ways more real than anything he had ever known—the nights of fervent lovemaking, the days of intimate conversation. If they had been anyplace else he knew it would have been different, but both seemed to have silently agreed to savor this moment. It might be all they had. Who knew whether they would survive, and if they did return to the normal world, he suspected they would pick up all their old problems and suspicions. But for now, he knew the meaning of Eden.
When they left the cave—The thought hung over him. They had put off discussing it, and they had to talk about it.
Gently, he unwound his arms from around her and stood up. Thinking was easier the farther away from her he was
“Malinche, it’s time we made some plans…”
She stretched luxuriously, exposing her sweet high breasts, then tilted her head back and lifted her dark hair from her neck, sending it streaming down over her back in a gesture so sensuous, so compelling, that his mouth went dry. He almost wished they were back in time, hunters and fighters in a precarious world, and this woman was his to protect and cherish.
He laughed at himself for the thought. This woman was made for civilization, for gentle, easy living, and he’d better not forget it. But their situation was precarious enough; that at least was true.
“Plans?” Malinche echoed. “What can we do? If we step outside, we run the risk of exposing ourselves to the shooter. You said we had no alternative but to wait for rescue. Even if the plane didn’t return, you said it was impossible to walk to safety.”
“We’ve heard the plane only once in the past two days. Maybe he’s given up, and plans to leave us to the elements. Anyway, we can’t stay here much longer. Our food is running out, and I haven’t seen any game. Before our supplies are all gone we had better try to walk out. Maybe we can make it—it’s a chance.”
“Wouldn’t we be worse off, blindly striking out onto the tundra? How far are we from a settlement?”
“I don’t know exactly. Quite a ways.” And the trek would be a gamble no matter how far they had to go. Even he, familiar as he was with the wilderness, would have a hard time. They would have to count on killing game, scarce at this time of year, and the Brooks Range barred the way to Kotzebue. Going back to Barrow was equally unthinkable. They would have to head for the seacoast and hope they ran into a Native village.
Bad for him, nearly impossible for her. But staying here to await slow starvation was impossible.
He cursed himself for allowing her to get into this situation. If they ever did get out, he was putting her on the first plane for Seattle if he had to throw her aboard.
She rose to her knees, bent to place a branch on the embers of the fire, and glanced up at him. “We don’t have much choice, do we? If we were going to be rescued, it would have happened by now.”
He nodded. “Let’s stay one more night, then get an early start tomorrow. Although, with the light the way it is, I suppose we could start anytime.”
“Let’s wait for morning.”
He nodded. He desperately wanted one more night with her m this fantasyland before reality intruded.
The day passed as the ones before it, with intimate talk and occasional forays outside the cave, always with their eyes and ears tuned to the sky. Being held captive by an elusive enemy should have infuriated Brian, but he admitted it had its joys. Here they were just a man and a woman, existing at the most elemental level. All everyday problems seemed inconsequential, when life was stripped to its essentials. And Brian was desperately afraid that Malinche was becoming one of the essentials.
Malinche saw the ambivalence in his face, and bent to blow on the fire so he couldn’t see her own expression. These few days had shattered her defenses. If she allowed it, she might love this man. Perhaps she already did. She told herself she felt that way because they were imprisoned together in this remote wilderness, removed from all conflict. It would be another story when she faced her old demons.
She hadn’t the slightest idea how he felt about her. She knew he loved making love with her. He was both fierce and tender, showing her almost every facet of himself.
Almost. There were times when he drew his reserve around him like armor.
She reached into the backpack and pulled out a cellophane package. “This is the last of the coffee. Do you want some now?”
His hand closed over hers. “Right now I want you.”
She came to him eagerly, raising her arm to bring his head down to hers. Their lips met, clung…
She pulled slightly away. “Wait. Do you hear it?”
He raised his head. The faint hum was becoming louder. “It sounds like a plane. Do you suppose he’s back? If so, we’re still trapped.”
“It’s possible it’s someone else.”
Hand in hand, they crept to the entry and peered out. Several hundred yards away their plane still stood, like a bird whose wings had been clipped.
Another plane circled around it, then straightened out to come in for a jerky landing.
“I don’t believe it!” Brian gave a jubilant shout. Even from this distance he recognized the squat, heavy figure of George. The man glanced all around, then began waving his arms and shouting.
“It’s him!” Brian
yelled. “He’s come for us. Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait! What if he’s the one who cut the fuel line?”
“Then he wouldn’t have come back for us. Come on!”
Grabbing up their packs, Brian made for the door.
Malinche followed more slowly behind him. She never would have believed she could be so torn. They were safe, they were rescued. They would soon be on their way to civilization.
And yet—civilization meant losing this halcyon time, leaving this tiny spot on earth where she had been happier than she had ever been. Or possibly would ever be again.
She paused in the entryway and took one last look at the cave where she had lost her inhibitions, her fears, where she had followed her heart.
She would never see it again, and it hurt more than she would have believed possible.
Chapter Seven
“Hey! What do you guys think you’re doing? On vacation or something?” George’s face was wreathed in smiles as he ran toward them, his short legs moving fast over the rough terrain.
Brian reached him before Malinche did, and grasped his hand. “Are we ever glad to see you. What took you so long?”
“You didn’t leave a map.” George glanced from one to the other with a sly smile. “What are you complaining about, anyway? Don’t tell me you couldn’t find a way to fill the time?”
Malinche hurried to join them. She would never understand the masculine sex. They were laughing and joking as though there had never been the slightest danger. She, at least, would never forget her terror as their plane plummeted to the ground.
Nor would she ever forget the hours of ecstasy. Brian, on the other hand, chatting casually with George, refused to meet her glance, seeming to have forgotten that interlude as well.
She put out her hand to George. “Thank heaven you found us. How did you manage it? There was no answer to our radio call.”
“I picked up the call that you had crash-landed—then you cut out. I couldn’t tell where you were, and I couldn’t get a reply when I called you. So—I just started looking.”
Malinche shivered. I just started looking. Those simple words said a lot. There was so much territory to cover. Sheer luck must have had a lot to do with their rescue.
As though aware of her thoughts, George shook his head. “I knew pretty well the course you would follow—it just took a while to locate you.” He turned back to Brian, all business. “Now, let’s take a look at your plane.”
The two men moved to the fuel line. Brian gestured, George nodded. Malinche heard the murmur of their voices as she looked back at the cave where she had spent some of her most fearful and happiest hours. In a few minutes it would be nothing but a memory. The knowledge imparted a bittersweet sadness to her relief at being rescued, a poignant feeling of loss.
Brian walked toward her, wiping the grease from his hands on his jeans. “George agrees. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong but a break in the fuel line.”
“Did he bring anything to fix it?”
“That’s not the problem. The break is easy enough to plug. But he doesn’t have enough gas to get both planes to Kotzebue—or back to Barrow. He’ll give us a ride to Kotzebue, and I’ll come back for the plane. Let’s get our stuff aboard.”
Malinche tossed her duffel bag into George’s plane. The Cessna, the same model as Brian’s, looked a little beat-up, but who was she to find fault now? Anything was better than walking.
George grinned at her expression. “She runs like a jewel, miss. Don’t worry. She’ll get us to Kotzebue.”
And she undoubtedly would, Malinche thought. George seemed to be competent in a lot of things Malinche wouldn’t have suspected when she met him a few days ago. Apparently sabotage wasn’t one of them, though, or he would not have searched for them. Unless the crash wasn’t meant to kill them—just scare them enough to make them drop the investigation. Brian didn’t think so, but was it conceivable that George had arranged for everything, figuring a couple of days would soften them up?
The theory didn’t stand up, though, against the memory of the bullets slamming into the tundra as they ran for the cave Those bullets were too close; the assailant had been doing his best to kill them.
A few minutes later they were aloft. Malinche looked down at the ground, unexpectedly forlorn. The site was becoming smaller and smaller as the plane gained altitude. Now the cave wasn’t even visible in the vast gray-green of the tundra. Was it even there? Was the entire episode a hallucination?
As far as Brian was concerned, it might as well be, she thought sourly. He had hardly touched her, hardly glanced her way, since George had touched his plane down. She could have been a casual acquaintance, not someone who had shared with him an incendiary passion.
Which was fine with her. The episode was best forgotten. It had been an extraordinary time, and neither had reacted as they normally would have. She had forgotten her determination to be free of male domination; and he had acted as though he loved her—although the word love had never passed his lips. In spite of their closeness, their passionate intimacy, she had never penetrated his deep reserve. She had been very close to loving him. Perhaps she actually had, for a brief moment. But the moment out of time had passed, the fantasy was over.
She mustn’t lose sight of her primary purpose—to find out who had killed her brother and to make that person pay. Brian was important only to the extent he could help her do that.
She glanced at his profile, a sight now imprinted on her heart. His jaw was set, his eyes focused straight ahead. His macho-man armor was back in place. It was obvious from his manner that making love again wasn’t anything she had to worry about.
Brian felt her glance, a warm touch that sent his pulse racing, and he held tight to his reserve. He had known when he first saw her that she could be dangerous to his peace of mind. She might be capable of upsetting all his assumptions. But nothing could overcome the fact that she belonged to a gentler, softer place than he could ever provide. Would ever want to provide. If he wasn’t careful, she’d be leading him around by a necktie.
During the interlude of sheer happiness in the cave, he had kept such thoughts from his mind. He had known, although he hoped to keep the knowledge from Malinche, that they might never get out alive, and he had grasped for happiness. But now they were returning to the real world, the world where men killed, women betrayed, and the only safety was to trust only oneself.
Yet if he stayed too close to her, he might forget that. The solution was to erect a barrier. He would drop her in Kotzebue and salvage his plane. Then he would make sure she returned to Seattle. He could find the killer faster if he didn’t have to worry about her. He’d drop the whole thing himself, if he could, but he knew someone out there wouldn’t let him.
George’s voice on the radio to Kotzebue control personnel broke into his reverie.
The plane bumped to a landing, and Brian gave a muffled curse. Two men were rushing across the tarmac toward them.
“What the hell is Joe Pasco doing here?”
Malinche’s gaze followed his to the short dark man huffing toward him, the same man who had so opportunely been at the pier when they left Anchorage. “Your boss?”
“Looks like. I never saw half as much of him when I was working in Anchorage,” Brian muttered. “George, do you have any idea what he’s doing here?”
“When you radioed for help, I called your office—I figured they’d be concerned. Did I do the wrong thing?”
“Of course not.” Brian swung open the door and jumped down on the tarmac, then lifted his hand up to Malinche. She evaded it skillfully and stepped down beside him.
“Brian, thank God you’re safe. You had us worried.” Joe Pasco, smiling and expansive, held out his hand.
“I must have, to get you out of the comforts of town,” Brian said easily. “You’ve met Malinche Adams.” He glanced significantly at the man standing to the left and slightly behind Pasco.
“Yes, of cou
rse. Glad to see you safe, Miss. This is Jim Wilson,” Pasco said. “Out of our Denver office.” He gave no further explanation, and Brian scanned Wilson with curiosity. He had never heard the name before, but that meant nothing. He could easily have forgotten. Jim Wilson seemed almost a generic name, and the man himself seemed to fit it: average height, regular features, an unassuming, almost self-deprecating attitude, which made Pasco’s deferential manner when he introduced the man rather curious.
Pasco turned to George, his manner much more authoritative. “I have a car here—I’ll take these two to rooms I’ve reserved downtown. Can we drop you anyplace?”
George hesitated, then shook his head. Pasco and his friend had taken control of them very smoothly, Brian thought. He spoke quickly. “I’d like to go back to my plane tomorrow, George. Could you be here in the morning to take me back?”
“Sure.” George threw the bags down from the plane, and the three—Pasco, Brian and Malinche—hoisted them to their shoulders. Wilson strode ahead to lead the way to the automobile parked near the terminal.
Malinche didn’t join in the conversation on the way to the hotel in downtown Kotzebue. Her mind didn’t register the narrow streets lined with low buildings, or the few pedestrians who gazed after their vehicle. In only a few minutes they pulled up in front of the hotel, a two-story, frame structure. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until she entered the warmth of the rustic lobby.
As they approached the desk, she glanced quickly around. It was more welcoming than she had at first thought, with logs blazing in a huge fireplace, and comfortable chairs pulled up in front of it. All she wanted now, though, was rest. It was quickly arranged to take her bag to her room; she plodded slowly up the narrow stairway, with a glance back over her shoulder at Brian, who followed closely.
He entered her room behind her and scrutinized the surroundings. He wasn’t going to take any chances on an ambush. Everything seemed ordinary and safe: the sparsely furnished room; the bed with the green comforter standing in the middle of a beige carpet; the dresser along one planked wall; the bedside table with a reading lamp.
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