Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors)

by Margaret Daley

  “Want to talk about it?”

  The nightmare had seemed so real only a moment ago, but now with his arms about her, listening to his steady heartbeat against her ear, she realized the dream was just her overtired mind at work. “I was being chased by some people in the jungle. They cornered me at a waterfall. You and Mark were on the other side waving for me to jump. I did. I don’t swim very well.” She shivered, recalling the dark water closing over her head as she hit the river. She feared drowning. That was how her father had died when she was a child.

  “You jumped into a river at a waterfall?”

  She laughed shakily. “You know how crazy dreams can be. I’m not responsible for the content of my nightmares.”

  “I’d say crazy was an apt description, especially for a person who doesn’t swim.”

  She pulled away from the security of his arms and stared at him for a long moment. She knew what she had to do. The answers to her brother’s disappearance were at the Para Mission. Could she trust Brock Slader to take her there? Would he even take her if she asked?

  “I need your help.”

  “We’ve already been through that, Sam.”

  She held up her hand. “Please listen to my proposition before you refuse.”

  He sighed. “Okay.”

  “I have to go to the Para Mission.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering again if she should trust him with the truth. If he was going to be her guide, she would be putting her life into his hands. She’d better trust him, and if he was to protect her, he needed to know everything. “When my brother called, he told me there was something of great value there.”

  Brock’s eyes narrowed. “The mission is a big compound.”

  “I think I can locate it when I get there,” she hedged. “But the point is that if you’ll take me to the place, I’ll give you five percent of what’s there.”

  “I’ll do it for fifteen.”

  “Ten, plus a flat fee of five hundred dollars.”

  “Deal.” He chuckled. “And you’re wise not to trust completely, Sam. The less you reveal the better off you are.”

  She tilted her head to one side, regarding him intensely. “Why are you helping me now? I don’t know for sure what Mark was referring to. I do know he’s in big trouble because of it.”

  Brock shrugged. “I suppose it’s the challenge. Searching Manaus isn’t my idea of fun, but a treasure hunt is. And who knows? Your brother might have hit upon something big. Someone is after him. The Amazon is filled with riches if a person knows where to look.”

  Samantha was both disappointed and happy: disappointed because Brock was only going for the challenge and riches promised and happy because he was taking her. Maybe Mark had returned to the mission, and she would find him there. Then this brief interlude in paradise would be over, and she could go back to New Orleans and her real life.

  “When do you want to leave for the Para Mission?” Brock asked.

  “As soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, after you call the hospitals?”

  “I have a friend I can borrow a bush plane from for a fee.”

  “Okay. Make whatever arrangements are necessary.” Samantha mentally reviewed her dwindling bank account. Whom would she call when she needed money to get out of Manaus?

  “Then we’ll leave as soon as I can get things arranged and make those calls. We can reach the mission in a few hours by plane. If there’s no trouble, we should only need his plane for two days.”

  “Trouble?” She paled. Her life had been turned upside down in a space of a week, and she wasn’t even sure why. What was at the mission?

  He reached up and framed her face with his hands. “Sam, someone is after what your brother stashed at the mission, most likely. Why else was someone standing on your third floor balcony? I’d rather be prepared for trouble than not.” His thumbs rubbed sensual circles on her neck, and his eyes met hers with a look that made her want to melt into him, to get to know more of this puzzling man.

  “When I get my hands on my brother, he’s going to get a piece of my mind,” she said nervously, praying she would get her hands on Mark. She sensed Brock’s doubt that she would ever see her brother again. Fear crept through her.

  Brock started to speak, but Samantha put her finger over his mouth.

  “No, don’t say it. I know there’s a chance I won’t see him again. But I’m an optimist. I have to believe I will.” Again she glimpsed sorrow in his eyes and wondered who had put it there.

  “I know. I wish it could be different.”

  “Why?”

  He looked toward the balcony door, his thoughts somewhere else. “I told you I had a sister. Her husband, my best friend all through high school, has been missing in action in the Middle East for four years. She still keeps hoping he’s alive and will come home one day. She’s placed her life on hold.” He looked back at Samantha, his sorrow evident in the grim lines of his face. “I know what my sister has gone through, is still going through, not knowing for sure one way or another. Of course, if she were given a choice, she’d want her husband home alive. But she wasn’t given a choice, and you may not have one, either. I guess earlier today I was just trying to warn you, prepare you for what may happen.”

  Samantha’s throat ached; she wanted to erase the pain from his eyes. “You’re close to your sister like I am with Mark.”

  “We’re twins. It’s uncanny how at times one of us can tell what the other is thinking.”

  “You don’t think Mark is alive, do you?” Silence seemed to make the humid air even thicker, more oppressive. Samantha held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  “The longer he’s missing…” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  His gaze swerved to her and pinned her in a relentless hold. “No, Sam, I don’t.”

  Samantha closed her eyes, wanting to deny the possible truth in Brock’s words. He touched her shoulder, and she allowed him to draw her to his chest.

  “It’s not important what I think. I’ve been wrong in the past, and I hope I’m wrong about this.”

  “You have to be,” she whispered against his bare chest, the heat of his body warding off the chill she suddenly felt.

  Brock lounged back against the headboard, cradling Samantha against him, his hand caressing her arm. “We have a long day ahead of us. Try to get some sleep,” he murmured against the top of her head.

  She listened to his steady heartbeat, its soothing rhythm lulling her with its sense of peace, security. Her eyelids drifted closed. Did she imagine him kissing her hair? she wondered as sleep descended.

  * * *

  Sunlight poured in through the balcony door, heating the room to a stifling temperature only an hour after dawn. With her body sprawled face down on the bed, Samantha felt the warmth of the sun on her left cheek and forced herself to open her eyes, though her whole being protested the rude awakening.

  It took a moment for her to remember where she was, but one glimpse of the shabby room, and she instantly recalled everything about the night before—Brock’s kiss, the man peering in through the window, her nightmare, Brock’s arms about her as she fell asleep a second time.

  She shot up in bed and looked around for Brock, who to her relief was sleeping soundly on the floor. Sighing, she sank back down onto the mattress and gave herself some time to fully awaken. At home it always took a good thirty minutes before her mind began to function in the morning.

  “Good morning, Sam.”

  She gasped and twisted her head toward Brock, who towered over her. She hadn’t even heard him move.

  When she didn’t say anything, his mouth slowly curved into a positively sexy smile that no man should have a right to own.

  “This is morning, I believe,” he glanced out the balcony door, “and if we’re successful and find what your brother hid, it will be a good day.”

  “Hello, how are you?” Wh
at a ridiculous thing to say after spending the night with him in the same room. But that was what happened when she only had five minutes to awaken.

  His smile broadened. “Fine. We’d better get a move on. There’s a lot that has to be done before we leave. I’ll need to make those calls to the hospitals as well as my friend. Pack light for a couple of days in the jungle. What kind of clothes did you bring?”

  Samantha stared wide-eyed at him. He was clicking off things to do so fast she was having a hard time keeping up, even as organized as she usually was.

  “Clothes, Sam?” The gleam in his eyes brightened.

  “Oh! Uh, a few sundresses, sandals, a pair of jeans, and a short-sleeve shirt. And shorts.”

  “In your suitcase?”

  She nodded. She hadn’t had time to unpack the day before.

  Before she realized his intention he had her suitcase on the bed and was starting to open it. She scrambled to a kneeling position and banged it closed, nearly smashing his fingers.

  He glanced up at her with amusement in his eyes. “Sam, we have very little time if we want to get to the mission by dark. From your description it sounds as though you have nothing appropriate for the jungle. Rio, maybe, but not here.”

  “Do you always take charge without asking?”

  “Since I’m taking you to the mission, yes. Since I’ve traveled in the jungle and you haven’t, yes.”

  She practically sat on her suitcase to prevent him from looking inside. The very top item was a lacy bra and panties. When she had purchased them in New Orleans, she had bought the saleswoman’s line about a woman having silky, pretty underwear next to her skin to make her feel confident and good about herself. “What kind of clothes do you suggest I take?”

  “Cotton pants and a long-sleeve shirt in a light color. They should fit loosely. And good sturdy shoes.”

  “Why? We won’t have to hike. And long sleeves in this heat?”

  “I told you I always travel prepared for any kind of situation. You have to in the jungle. Tennis shoes will do. And the long sleeves are for protection against the sun and insects.” He gathered up his few possessions and started for the door.

  “Where are you going? What am I suppose to do about clothes? I don’t have anything like that.”

  At the door he turned back and replied, “I’m going to get ready and make the calls downstairs. Then I’ll be back to pick you up for breakfast and a quick shopping trip. I need to get a few items too. Wear one of those sundresses for the time being.” He opened the door.

  “Wait!”

  Brock paused in the doorway.

  Sitting on her suitcase reminded Samantha of her brother’s still unopened one under her bed. Maybe there was a clue to his disappearance in it. She slipped from the top of her suitcase and started to retrieve Mark’s.

  “Sam, we’re wasting valuable time.” Brock glanced back at her, her bottom sticking up in the air as she searched for something under the bed. “As much as I appreciate the delightful picture you present, I have a lot to do before we can leave.”

  She slid Mark’s suitcase out from under the bed. “I need you to open this.” Straightening, she dropped the piece of luggage down on the mattress.

  “You mean you haven’t? That should have been done first thing.”

  “It’s locked.” She wasn’t about to mention that with his presence in the room she had forgotten all about the suitcase.

  Brock walked back to the bed and took five seconds with his pocketknife to open it.

  “Where did you learn that?” Samantha asked, astonished at how easy he made it look.

  She would never bother to lock her luggage again when she traveled.

  “Around.” He flipped back the suitcase top and rummaged through Mark’s belongings, then checked the lining, but there was nothing in it to indicate what had happened to her brother.

  “I didn’t think he’d put anything important in this, then leave it behind, but it had to be ruled out.”

  Brock closed the suitcase. “Now, I’m going. If we’re lucky, we’ll manage to be out of here by dark.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At three o’clock Samantha was seated in the small bush plane with Brock, waiting for him to take off. Dressed in cotton pants and a loose fitting, long sleeve, white blouse, she had to admit it was comfortable and as cool as possible in Manaus’s staggering moist heat. She had also purchased another, similar shirt along with a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of tennis shoes. She had packed the extra shirt for her trip to the mission in a new canvas bag that was easier to carry than her or Mark’s suitcase, which she had left with the clerk at the Grand Hotel—for a price, of course.

  What had disconcerted Samantha about their shopping trip was that Brock had bought weapons, a machete, a knife, and a gun. They were going to a mission run by priests, and he was carrying an arsenal. She hadn’t thought it would be that dangerous since they would fly in then right back out as soon as they found what Mark was referring to, or more preferably, her brother.

  Finally they were given clearance to take off. Samantha braced herself and closed her eyes. Flying was right up there with exercising as one of her least favorite things to do, especially when the plane looked as if it had flown in World War II, or at the very least been through several battles.

  “We’re up in the air now. You can open your eyes,” Brock said, laughter tingeing his voice.

  Annoyed at his amusement, she asked, “Are you afraid of anything?”

  “Yes. Women like you.”

  “Women like me? What does that mean?”

  “Helpless.”

  “Helpless! I’ll have you know I’ve been on my own for years and have done very well.”

  “Yes, back where you come from you probably have,” he admitted, “but here you’re totally out of your element.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. Ever since she had walked into the Grand Hotel and he had helped her with the desk clerk, she had been dependent on him—something that was as alien to her as the environment she was in, the situation she was in, and the man she was with.

  “I’m not a hero, Sam. I don’t make a habit of rescuing people.”

  “Then why did you rescue me yesterday at the hotel? You could have ignored my predicament with the desk clerk.”

  He remained quiet, kneading the coiled muscles of his neck and shoulder."I’m stiff from sleeping on the floor," he finally said as though she hadn’t asked him a question.

  Which means he doesn’t want to answer me. “Why, Brock?”

  “For the life of me I don’t know,” he finally said with a wry smile. “Let’s just chalk it up to helping a fellow American.” He spared her a quick, probing look. “A pretty one at that.”

  Samantha blushed and averted her gaze. Finally she got up the courage to lean close to the side window and look down. A few hundred feet below was a blanket of green extending as far as she could see. Occasionally a brown ribbon of water or a flight of some vividly colored birds broke the green. Sprinkled among the green were the golden canopies of vochysia trees, often two hundred feet across. On the plane to Brazil, she’d spent her time reading everything she could on the country.

  When Brock pointed to a waterfall below, Samantha was reminded of her nightmare the night before as she watched the churning water plunge into the ravine. Leaving the relative civilization of Manaus behind and entering the world of the primitive, hostile jungle made her nightmare come back in full force. She began to wonder if she would ever see New Orleans—or even Manaus—again. She shivered.

  “You can’t be cold. It must be ninety degrees.”

  She was surprised that Brock was so attuned to her every movement. There was nothing casual about the man. He was always keenly alert even when he seemed relaxed.

  “That waterfall reminded me of my dream.”

  “Believe me, I would never motion for you to jump into a raging river right before a waterfal
l.”

  “It seemed so real.”

  “Dreams often are. Forget it. That waterfall back there is the closest you’ll come to seeing one. But to be totally honest, I have to say I’ve found anything is possible in the jungle.”

  "Gee, thanks for that reassurance."

  Again his gaze captured hers. "I won’t sugar coat anything."

  For a brief moment, his regard trapped hers and held it hostage. Her throat went dry, and she finally dragged her attention to the window again.

  “Everything looks the same to me, green. How can you tell where you’re going?” she asked to change the subject.

  “By certain landmarks, usually rivers, sometimes mountain ranges.”

  “How long have you been in the Amazon?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Houston.”

  “Oh, that’s not too far from where I live in New Orleans.”

  “Practically neighbors,” he said, giving her a brief smile before again falling silent.

  Samantha got the impression he wasn’t one for small talk or he didn’t like the subject—himself. She supposed when a person traveled in the jungle he got out of the habit of conversing to pass the time.

  Over two hours later and several failed attempts to discover more about Brock, Samantha saw the clearing and mission come into view. Brock circled once, then started his descent toward the small strip of jungle that had been cleared for a runway.

  As they landed, Samantha forced herself to keep her eyes open. She wished she hadn’t. The wheels hit ground, but they continued racing toward the end of the runway and the wall of green trees. It seemed minutes, rather than seconds, later before the plane started to slow down. Samantha was sure they were going to crash into the jungle, and for the hundredth time she wondered what insanity had prompted her to come to the Amazon.

  Two feet from the wall of trees they came to a stop. Samantha released her death grip on the seat at the same time as her bottled breath. She tore her gaze from the jungle in front of the plane to look at Brock. That familiar silver flash in his eyes made her simmer.