Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors)

by Margaret Daley

  “We’ve got to get everything out. We’ve come too far to lose the book now.” Samantha started to rise, but the green of the jungle and the color of the water blurred together to form one hue. She sank back down and closed her eyes to the spinning world.

  “It’ll be there in a few minutes, Sam. Take it easy. I’ll get everything, you just rest.”

  While Brock climbed down to the river’s edge to empty the ruined raft, Samantha brooded. Brock had come to her rescue, and she had found herself dependent on him yet again. While she realized she was in an alien environment and wasn’t expected to be able to do everything correctly, she felt her self-confidence wavering. She had always been self-efficient, but now she was floundering as though there really was a new Samantha Prince emerging in the Amazon who had to relearn everything.

  No. She was the same. The environment was the only thing different.

  She wasn’t going to allow herself to reflect on her near death. Until she had come to Brazil, she had never been required to be brave. She was discovering courage in herself, and that aspect of the new Samantha Prince—if she was indeed changing—pleased her.

  When she returned to New Orleans, she was going to sign up for swimming lessons, she decided. She was never going to put herself in this type of situation again—not that there were that many rapids in the city of New Orleans, she thought with a laugh, mentally shaking off her melancholy.

  “Everything is fine. Damp but still intact.” Brock placed her canvas bag beside her, then sat down. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded. “What are we going to do now?”

  “Walk. This river eventually leads to the Rio Negro, which will lead us to Manaus. I don’t need to tell you it won’t be easy, Samantha, but when we get to a main river, we can hitch a ride on a steamer heading for Manaus.”

  His using her full name yet a second time in less than fifteen minutes surprised her, and it took a few seconds for her to reply, “If it has to be done, I’ll do it.”

  His eyes softened as his finger caressed her cheek. “I know. You’re one tough lady. Out there in the river I thought I’d lost you, but you kept fighting your way to the top. Once we were finally past the rapids I was able to drag you into the raft.”

  “For a man who professes not to want to rescue damsels in distress, you’ve done more than your share.”

  “We’re in this together whether you or I like it or not. I’m not some kind of hero, I just did what had to be done. That’s all,” he replied, a sharpness to his words.

  “Do you have some kind of problem with being a hero? You’re doing your best to declare you’re not one while at the same time you’re rescuing me from one dangerous situation after another.”

  “Heroes are for the books you love to read so much. In real life there are just plain, ordinary men and women.”

  Plain? Brock could never be described as plain or ordinary. That would be like saying Renoir was just another man with a paintbrush. “So I should lump you in with Carlos and Paul? Just another man like them?” Samantha pushed herself slowly to her feet, and this time she didn’t feel dizzy.

  “I’m not a hero, and I wish you’d stop confusing me with one.” He shot to his feet and towered over her.

  Her eyes glittered, her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. “You don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Slader. My brain isn’t that waterlogged from my dunk in the river.” She would love to storm away, but there was no place to go. She was forced to stand inches from him on a rock overlooking a rushing river, waiting for him to indicate where she should go. It was a frustrating experience for a woman who always controlled where she went and when she went there. In many ways she felt like a prisoner to the environment.

  “I didn’t want this job, lady, but I’ll do what I have to get you back safely to Manaus. Then we’ll go our separate ways. Forget about the ten percent of that little black book. Ten percent of nothing is nothing.”

  She straightened, tilting her chin up in a defiant gesture. “Thank you. I’m so grateful for your kind help.”

  “The last thing I want from you is your gratitude,” he replied in a voice that matched the temperature of his gaze—ice cold.

  “Then what do you want?” she asked him in an equally chilled voice.

  His piercing stare dissected her as though he were a botanist studying the local flora. He started to say something, then decided against it. Instead, a bland mask cloaked his expression, and he turned his back on her. “I need to hack out a small clearing for us to set up camp. When I’m through, bring our things,” he said in a tight voice.

  What does he want from me? Why won’t he answer me? Was he a superb actor, after all, and quick thinking to come up with that story about being a geologist in the Amazon looking for oil? Her head began to spin again with all her questions returning to taunt her.

  For the time being she had to accept what he had told her as the truth or she would drive herself crazy always suspecting everything he said or did. But she would hold one part of herself in reserve in case he was lying about who he was.

  Brock was always, the one telling her not to trust anyone. Maybe she should take his advice—but for different reasons. To love someone was to trust that person, but could she really trust him when she was so confused about who he was? Love? Where did that come from? She didn’t need any more complications. She quickly dismissed her train of thoughts.

  Samantha sat back down on the rock and, with her legs drawn up close to her chest, waited for Brock to finish clearing a spot in the jungle. She wiped all thoughts and doubts from her mind and listened to his machete as it rhythmically struck the vines and branches behind her. The sound was hypnotic, and she dozed with her head on her knees, her arms entwined loosely about her legs.

  By the time he was through, Samantha’s clothes were dried by the tropical sun, and she felt refreshed by the short nap she had taken, almost prepared to confront him—almost.

  She brought their things the short distance into the jungle, the shade of the tall trees a comfort after the glare of the harsh sun. Silently they went about their separate tasks. Brock hunted for their dinner while Samantha made the fire and slung the hammocks.

  The tension between them was heavy with unspoken emotions, but Samantha was determined to keep her distance. She had to, because she didn’t know what she felt anymore. Brock Slader had a way of overwhelming her and turning her rational thoughts into a jumbled mess.

  They ate their dinner in the same stifling silence. Occasionally Samantha chanced a look at Brock, but he was staring at the fire. She sensed he was wrestling with some inner dilemma. That perhaps was the only thing they had in common, she decided, rising to her feet to go to bed. Unless she was sick, she never went to bed before eleven in New Orleans, but in the jungle a person geared his life to the movement of the sun.

  Brock broke the silence. “Good night, Sam.” She paused by the fire and decided to ask one of the questions she had been thinking. “Now that we’re on foot, how much longer will it be till we reach Manaus?”

  “Amanha.”

  “Amanha? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Here it means anywhere between tomorrow and next year.” His expression gentled into a smile. “I don’t know how long. Probably more than a week is all I can say.”

  She walked to her hammock and lay down, pulling the net over her. Three days ago she would have been extremely upset by what Brock had just told her. But now she accepted it with a surprising calm because there was nothing she could do about it. She was learning there was no planning in the jungle. She had to take things as they came. There was an order to this world, but it was nothing like what she was used to. The order centered around nature, not man.

  She fell asleep, strangely composed, more resigned to her situation than she would ever have thought possible.

  * * *

  A sound from purgatory filled the night. Samantha was torn from a deep
sleep and flung into the world of darkness. She sat up and swung her legs over the hammock’s edge. In the dim light of the fire she saw Brock still sitting there, and her fright was eased as it always was around him.

  Continuous roars blended into one long tormenting sound, sending a terrifying chill up Samantha’s spine. She quickly moved to the fire, feeling a lot safer by its protective flames and in Brock’s presence.

  “What’s that?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  “Howler monkeys.”

  “Monkeys? It sounds like a chorus of demons shouting at each other.”

  “There are two clans battling vocally.”

  “The sound should be taped for a horror movie. How long will this go on?”

  “Until one backs off. Possibly hours.”

  “At least I’ve never been one to require a lot of sleep.” Samantha sat down across from Brock and looked over the flames toward him.

  “Neither have I.”

  “Ah, we’ve found common ground,” she said lightly, wanting to erase the tension that had developed earlier. They had a long way to go, and being a practical person, she realized it would be easier if they were on friendly terms.

  “If we searched long enough, I knew we would,” he replied, smiling for the first time in hours.

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  Brock arched a brow.

  “Okay, another favor." She grinned. "While we’re strolling through the jungle, will you teach me about it? I want to learn. That’s part of the reason I love to read so much. I love to learn about different things. In fact, there isn’t anything I can think of that I wouldn’t be interested in.”

  “Snakes?”

  Samantha laughed. “Well, possibly snakes, but even they are fascinating creatures so long as they are on a page in a book or behind glass. Maybe if I learned about them, I could appreciate them. I suppose anything is possible. This will be a perfect opportunity to experience something firsthand, as you’ve suggested.”

  For a few seconds surprise flickered into his eyes, but he quickly concealed it and replied, “I would love to show you the delights of my life-style.”

  She hadn’t fully realized until she had asked him to teach her about the Amazon that she had accepted her situation and was going to make the best of it. Now, in several ways, she looked forward to the next week, because with her acceptance came a peace and relaxation she hadn’t experienced before.

  “I want to learn how to survive in the jungle. I want to learn which foods to eat and which ones to avoid. You talked about swarming a tree. Will you teach me how?”

  “It’s not easy.”

  “I know. But it’s one way you gather food. So much is up in the trees, out of reach. There are a lot of animals that a person can’t even see from below, living hundreds of feet off the ground.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure?”

  She nodded.

  Suddenly the jungle was quiet, the only sounds those of the crackling fire and the different insects that Samantha had learned from the beginning to tune out.

  “I guess we’d better get as much sleep as possible,” Samantha murmured, her gaze trapped by Brock’s.

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  Neither moved.

  “Brock, I don’t think of you as a hero. In fact, you’re very different from my imagined hero.”

  He stared at her for another full minute, then chuckled. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a complaint.”

  “Neither. Just a fact.” She paused, swallowed several times, and continued, “I'm grateful to you for saving my life on more than one occasion, but I feel more than gratitude.”

  “What are your feelings?”

  “As confusing as I suspect yours are. Am I right?”

  “When I returned to Manaus from my previous expedition into the jungle, the last thing in the world I wanted was anything—or anyone—to complicate my life. I can’t say my life has been simple the past few days.”

  “You still have ten percent of whatever is in the black book. I believe my brother when he said it was valuable. You’ll have your money for your oil deal. That’s the least I can do for you.”

  “Gratitude again?”

  “No, I’m just keeping my promise to you when we began this journey.”

  “A business arrangement, pure and simple?”

  “Don’t you think that’s the wisest?”

  “Believe it or not, I do. I want to keep everything as simple as possible under the circumstances. My life is now based on no ties, on complete freedom to move when and where I want to.”

  “While my life is in New Orleans running a bookstore from ten in the morning to six in the evening.”

  “Orderly, neat, precise.” He was reminding her of their basic differences.

  “Right.” She rose. “I’m glad we agree. No complications in our personal lives. Strictly business between us.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good night for the second and I hope the last time tonight.”

  He didn’t reply and he didn’t go to his hammock. He was still sitting by the fire when Samantha fell asleep again.

  * * *

  True to his word, Samantha learned from Brock as they trekked through the Amazon over the next several days. An appreciation for the primal beauty of her surroundings grew as the days passed. They journeyed through thick jungle with trees over a hundred feet tall shielding them from the sun’s intense rays.

  Lianas, like boa constrictors, entwined themselves around trunks while the trees’ roots snaked along the surprisingly clean ground. There were no dank or oppressive odors, because Samantha found very little rotting. The jungle, its greenery sprinkled with a vivid array of colors, filled her with wonder.

  Ferns, vines, air plants, dripped from the trees as well as moisture. Samantha was bathed in sweat in less than an hour after they started in the morning. Everything about her seemed to be always wet from the rain, and she learned to accept that as well as many other things: their slow pace, the horde of insects, the dim light even though it was daytime.

  Samantha discovered Brock’s patience as he stopped innumerable times to point out a sapphire hummingbird, a column of soldier ants, or a plant used as a contraceptive by the Indian women. She stretched it to the limit with her questions and attempts at learning how to do something.

  The first evening they set up camp, he took her hunting and taught her to swarm a tree. She inched her way up ten feet and fell, but Brock eased her fall. They rolled on the ground and started laughing. She repeated her attempt until she was exhausted, but she had climbed fifteen feet and was determined to double that in the next few days and reach the fruit.

  During the fourth day they briefly left the thick foliage and emerged on a savannah. Samantha immediately put on her straw hat, which wouldn’t have won any awards for fashion, having survived the river and the cramped quarters of her canvas bag. The sunlight hurt her eyes, and it took several moments before she could see well enough to walk.

  While traversing the savannah, Samantha saw a jet fly overhead and wondered about the people on the plane. Where were they going? What would they have for dinner? Were they listening to music or watching a movie? Were they curled up in a blanket because the air-conditioned cabin was too cold?

  For the first time in four days she longed for the simple luxuries of civilization that she had always taken for granted. Then they were engulfed by the semidarkness of the rain forest again, and she forgot about the jet overhead and listened to Brock explain yet another unusual plant.

  The evening of the fourth night they stopped at a place already cleared and slung their hammocks. After they gathered wood for the fire, she and Brock went hunting. For the first time, Samantha made it to the top of a tree and cut the fruit.

  Proud of her accomplishment, she returned to the forest floor to find Brock leaning heavily against a tree trunk. His face was unusually pale beneath his t
anned skin, and sweat trickled down his face.

  “Are you all right?” Samantha asked, picking up the pieces of fruit she had dropped from the treetop.

  “Fine. Let’s head back. This is enough for tonight.” He wiped his forehead and shoved away from the tree trunk.

  Back in camp, Brock didn’t say a word, and Samantha’s concern intensified. They roasted the Brazil nuts and finished off the dried meat from Brock’s hunt the first night in the forest. She tried to draw him out, but after dinner he announced he was going to sleep early.

  Samantha sat by the fire and watched Brock slowly walk to his hammock and lie down. Maybe he was just tired. After all, he went to sleep after she did every night and was up before she was in the morning. She prayed that was the only thing wrong, but concern for him nibbled at her.

  After putting more wood on the fire, Samantha turned in too. But around midnight her sleep was disturbed. Opening her eyes, she listened.

  A moan drifted through the night.

  She sat up in her hammock and looked toward Brock. Another moan penetrated the stillness. He pushed his netting off as though he were fighting off an attacker.

  Samantha hurried over to replace the netting, which protected them from the numerous insects. His body was drenched in sweat, his forehead was hot. He moaned again and shoved her hand away.

  Paralyzed, Samantha stared down at Brock thrashing about in his hammock, a fever raging through his body. She had never felt so helpless in her life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As Samantha tried to decide what she could do to help him, Brock’s eyes opened and he stared up at her. A feverish pain was reflected in them, and it tore at her.

  Focusing on her, he ran his tongue over parched lips and whispered, “Malaria. Medicine in backpack.”

  With trembling hands Samantha rummaged through his backpack until she found the bottle of medicine. She had heard malaria was a common disease in the tropics, but she really knew very little about it except that a mosquito, of which the Amazon had more than its share, transmitted it.