Not again! she wanted to scream. But she remained silent as Hawk strapped the rifle across his back and headed down the narrow path that led to the road. She refused to look at her watch. No matter if two minutes or twenty passed, each second would seem like an hour.
She prayed for Hawk's safety. Prayed for the success of their mission. Prayed that she would find the strength and courage to save Hawk and Frankie, if that time ever came. And prayed that she did possess the kind of goodness that could cleanse Gabriel Hawk's soul.
Rorie's eyelids flew open as her mouth gasped in a silent cry, as Hawk jumped back into the jeep.
"It's all right," he said. "They've only made a pit stop to eat. They're not venturing far off the road."
"Who are they?" Rorie asked.
"Rebels. Their jeeps are flying Lazaro's flag."
"I thought you said that this was Santos's territory."
"Lazaro's troops are everywhere, fighting both King Julio's army and Santos's renegades."
"If those are Lazaro's men, why are we still hiding?" Rorie grabbed Hawk's arm. "We have a pass signed by the general that gives us permission to go anywhere on San Miguel."
"If we show ourselves now and word gets back to Lazaro, then he'll know where we're headed. The only civilization farther up La Montana Grande is the Catholic mission."
"You're right." Rorie sank into her seat. "I wasn't thinking."
"Besides, there's always a chance that those are Santos's men. They've been known to fly Lazaro's rebel flag whenever it suits their purposes."
The rebel troops headed out after a leisurely hour's break. By the time Hawk backed the jeep out of the forest and onto the highway, Rorie's patience was near the breaking point. She was beginning to wonder what else could possibly happen to delay their journey to the mission.
"Sit back and relax," Hawk told her. "We should be at the mission by noon."
An hour later, Hawk had to eat his words. He cursed a blue streak when he saw that the bridge crossing the mountain gorge had been destroyed. The handiwork of Lazaro's troops? Or Santos's renegades?
"Now we know what those rebel troops were doing up here," Hawk said. "They were blowing up this bridge."
"Oh, dear Lord." Rorie stood straight and stared at the open chasm between the two halves of the highway.
Hawk slammed his fist down on the top of the dashboard. "Dammit! Another hour and we would have been at the mission."
"Isn't there any other way to reach the mission?" Rorie looked at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
"There's always another way," he said. "But no other direct route." He reached under the seat.
"What's that?"
"A map. The one Murdock gave me before we left La Vega." He opened it and spread it out across the steering wheel.
Leaning over toward Hawk, she glanced at the map. "It's hand drawn," she said.
"Yes, it is," was his only reply to her comment. He pointed to a spot on the map. "This is where we are." He studied the markings. "Looks like there's only two ways to get to the mission from here, now that crossing this bridge isn't an option."
"What are the two ways?" Rorie clasped his shoulder.
He turned and faced her. "On foot, through the forest."
"Or?"
"Or we take the old road up to the mission."
"What old road?"
Hawk pointed to the line on the map. "The old road that was cut out of the jungle over two hundred years ago when the mission was first built."
Tears misted Rorie's eyes. She folded her hands in a prayerful gesture and placed them over her mouth. "Thank you, God."
"Don't be too thankful," Hawk told her. "That old road hasn't been used much in the past twenty years, since this paved roadway was put in. It may not even be passable anymore. We could get halfway to the mission and find ourselves in the middle of a jungle."
"What other choice do we have if we want to go on?"
"None, really," he said.
"Then let's find that road."
Hawk traced the line of the winding roadway with his finger. "This looks like a damn drunk built the old road. See how it snakes around the mountain, joins another road and then comes up on the back side of the mission? There's no way, even if the road is partly clear, that we'll make the mission before night."
"Are you saying that a trip, that would take us an hour on the highway, is going to take all day on the old road?"
"Probably. My guess is we'll have to travel at a snail's pace and get out from time to time to clear the way."
"You're trying to tell me that it could be another day before we reach Frankie, aren't you?"
"I'm trying to tell you—" He hesitated, realizing there was no point in telling her what he suspected.
He was only guessing. He couldn't be sure. But his gut instincts told him that someone else knew Prince Francisco was at the Blessed Virgin Mission and also knew that Rorie Dean was en route to get him and take him with her back to America. Someone had told either Lazaro or Santos where the boy was being hidden. Had that someone wanted to slow down his and Rorie's rescue mission until they could reach the mission themselves? Or did they already have Frankie and simply wanted to delay being found out?
But who could have revealed Frankie's location? No one knew, except King Julio, Nina, Captain García and Murdock.
"What are you trying to tell me?" Rorie jerked on Hawk's shirtsleeve.
"I'm trying to tell you that you might have to spend another night out under the stars sharing a sleeping bag with me."
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Hawk heard a waterfall in the distance. From the sound, he deducted that it wasn't very far away—perhaps no more than thirty-five or forty feet off the road.
Evening shadows fell across the overgrown dirt trail, which had become little more than a wide path through the forest. When night fell, it would become more and more difficult to detect the obstacles blocking their trail up the mountain.
As he had suspected, the old road to the mission was nearly impassable in places where the jungle had reclaimed the land. The low-growing vegetation had been easy enough to drive over. But where bushes and saplings had sprung up, he had used the machete to cut through the heavy growth, while Rorie eased the jeep along behind him at a snail's pace. The biggest obstacle they'd encountered, up to this point, had been a huge downed tree, obviously severed by a long-ago lightning strike. Finding it useless to try to move the heavy, rotting pine, he had cleared enough brush along the roadside to drive around the tree. Hours had slipped by as they made their way, mile by mile, sometimes foot by foot, upward into the cloud-covered forest.
"We're going to stop for the night," Hawk said.
"No! Please, let's go on. I can make it a little farther." Grasping his shirtsleeve, Rorie looked at him pleadingly. "We can't be that far from the mission. We've been traveling all day."
"The mission could be a mile away or it could be ten," he told her. "It doesn't matter. You can't go on. You're exhausted."
She opened her mouth to protest. Hawk pulled the jeep to a halt, snapped his head around and glared at her. His hard look silenced her immediately.
"You're hot and dirty and hungry and thirsty and probably dying to … to relieve yourself." He cleared his throat. "We've stopped only once all day since we detoured off on this old road, and that was for less than fifteen minutes."
"We could stop for a few minutes and then go on. Really, Hawk, I can make it."
"Well, I can't. In another hour it'll be too dark to see a foot in front of us and there's no telling what we could run into in the darkness. Even with the headlights to guide us, too many dangers would be easy to miss." He backed the jeep off the road and over some heavy underbrush.
"Go do whatever you need to do." He nodded behind him at the thicket of greenery. "Don't go very far. Stay as close as possible and hurry back." Hawk jumped out of the jeep and rounded the hood.
Not protesti
ng in any way, Rorie nodded agreement. When she started to step down, Hawk caught her around the waist and lifted her out of the jeep, then set her on her feet and released her quickly. She scurried away from him and into the thicket. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and lifted the machete in his hand. Pushing through as much of the vines and branches as would give way to the invasion of his big body, Hawk headed toward the sound of a waterfall. Several yards off the road, the sound grew louder and the vegetation denser. He hacked his way toward the sound and within minutes came upon a breathtaking sight.
A watery deluge flowed down the mountain, dropping off in a pure white shower as it cascaded into a secluded glade draped with lianas and ferns. Rippling over moss-coated rocks and rounded boulders, the teeming flow spilled over into a pond. The excess water continued its journey, splashing over the rocky streambed that spiraled ever downward toward the Rio Azul, on the windward side of San Miguel.
Flame-orange flowers of the lobster-claw heliconia plant arched above the pond. Hawk wondered if this spot had changed any since the first Spanish conquerors had set foot on the island nearly five hundred years ago. Paradise untouched. Eden revisited.
The dying sunlight filtered through the trees and dense forest growth, dappling the greenery with white gold and the crystal-clear pool with a soft shimmer.
Hawk met Rorie back at the jeep and together they unloaded their meager food supply and carried the sack to the waterfall. She stood perfectly still and gazed at the incredible scene.
"It's as if we've gone back in time," she said. "As if we've walked straight into the middle of another century, maybe even a different millennium."
"I agree it's a beautiful sight."
Hawk looked directly at Rorie, scanning her from head to toe as she stood at the edge of the pond. Filtered sunlight touched her hair with tiny white-gold fingers and slid down her body, caressing it with wavering glimmers. La dama dorado. Golden lady. As awe-inspiring as the secluded waterfall, the enticing pool and the emerald canopy of life that surrounded them, Aurora Dean was woman in all her glory.
Hawk's body responded as it always did when he allowed his mind to dwell on thoughts of Rorie.
"We don't have much time to waste on sight-seeing." His voice was harsher than he'd intended. "We don't have a lot of daylight left, so we need to eat and bathe before it gets pitch-black."
"Can't we use the lanterns or the flashlights?" she asked. "Or you could build a fire." Realization dawned on her before Hawk could reply. "No, of course not. What was I thinking? Any kind of light could be seen and give us away."
"Come on." He motioned for her to follow him. "We need to cover the jeep and then take advantage of the remaining light."
Using limbs from nearby trees and shrubs, Rorie helped Hawk camouflage the front of the jeep, which was partially visible from the road. He wished he could gather wood and build a fire for Rorie. But he didn't dare take any chances—not where Emilio Santos was concerned. The renegade leader and most of his troops might be far away, but a roaming band of cutthroats could be heading for the mission. Or they might already be there. Hawk wanted to believe that Santos would honor the sanctity of the mission, the way Lazaro and King Julio did, but he figured the odds were against it.
"I'll spread out the sleeping bag in the back of the jeep," he said. "You get us some fresh water and open a couple of those delicious dinners Murdock packed for us."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a warped sense of humor?" Placing her hands on her hips, she glowered at Hawk. "You can eat those army rations, if you want to. I think I'll make a meal of the fruit we have left."
They ate hurriedly, aware that daylight was fading fast. Rorie shared the papaya and bananas with Hawk, but refused to even taste the brown lump he held out on his fork for her to sample.
"You want to bathe first?" he asked. "Or do you want to stand guard and let me go first?"
"'Stand guard'? Do you think that's necessary?"
"We're in the middle of a jungle filled with snakes. And you never know when the descendants of old King Rodolfo's jaguars might be prowling around." Hawk grasped her wrist. "I don't think we have to worry about any of Santos's troops, but there's always a chance that a small band of them could be close by."
"I understand. I'll bathe as quickly as I can."
"Feel free to undress and take a real bath," he said. "I promise to keep my back to you and not peek."
"Can I trust you?" she asked, half seriously, half jokingly.
"If you can't trust me, who can you trust?" He unstrapped her shoulder holster and removed it. When she stared at him with her blue, blue eyes, he held his breath for a split second, then swatted her on the behind and laughed. "Get a move on. I don't want to bathe in the dark."
Hawk found himself a large, smooth rock to sit on. With his back to the pond, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked straight up, through the towering trees dripping with heavy vines. An hour, perhaps less, of daylight remained.
The water splashed when Rorie entered the pond. Hawk envisioned her naked body.
He listened to sounds of the evening in the jungle, a mixed chorus of birds and insects and the distinct song of the tiny coqui, an island frog only an inch long.
After hurriedly unbraiding her hair, Rorie plunged deeper into the pond and swam across its narrow width. Finding a shallow spot near the opposite bank, she dipped into the cool, refreshing water and scrubbed her face and body with her hands. As the grime and perspiration washed away, her skin tingled from the brisk rubbing.
Swimming back toward the bank, she looked up and saw Hawk's broad back. True to his word, he didn't turn around when she rose from the pond and stepped onto the grass. She slipped into her slacks and shirt, then picked up her bra, panties and socks and dunked them at the water's edge.
"You can turn around now," she called out over her shoulder as she wrung out her underwear.
Hawk walked over to her and hung Rorie's holster over her shoulder. "Now it's your turn to guard the camp, while I take my bath."
"All right." She gazed up into his dark eyes—such a deep, pure brown that they appeared almost black. He was close—close enough for her to feel his breath.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her up against him. Her lips parted. He lowered his head, covered her mouth and slid his tongue inside. She melted in his arms, her limbs softening. She dropped her underwear to the ground.
While he ravaged her mouth, he speared his fingers through her long, wet hair and grasped her head. Holding it firmly, he urged her into the kiss, seeking a response. Rising on tiptoe, she twined her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts into his chest. Hawk groaned. She moved her tongue from side to side, encountering his tongue with her movements. He retreated, then flicked her lips with the tip of his tongue, encouraging her to respond. Timidly, she entered his mouth and slowly explored the interior. He sucked tenderly. Rorie shivered. Involuntarily, she rubbed her lower body against his.
Breaking the kiss, Hawk grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away from him. They both breathed raggedly, as if they'd been running.
"I'd better take my bath now," he said.
"Yes, you'd better." Her cheeks flushed with warmth and her body quivered with arousal.
"Keep your back turned." He grinned. "And don't let me catch you peeking."
"It'll be difficult not to watch you strip, but I'll try to control myself." She laughed, wanting desperately to imitate his lighthearted banter.
But if she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she was curious about Hawk's body. Although she'd seen him in nothing more than brief swim trunks and felt his naked body hovering near her in the darkness, she could only imagine how magnificent he was, completely unclothed.
She reached down, picked up her wet undergarments and bundled them together. Forcing a smile to her lips, she nodded to Hawk and walked past him.
He sat down on the bank, removed his shoes and socks and then l
ooked across the clearing to where Rorie had taken her perch on the same rock where he'd kept watch. More than anything, he wanted to tear her damp clothes off her body and drag her into the pond with him. Would it be so wrong to make love to Rorie? To take his pleasure in her soft, sweet body?
After placing his rifle and holster on the bank, he removed his clothes and walked into the pond. He swam to the deepest part of the lagoon and dived beneath the water. The moment he sprang from the depths, he heard Rorie calling his name.
"Hawk. Hawk!"
Shaking nervously, her eyes round with fear, Rorie backed toward the pool. Hawk trod water for a couple of seconds. Then he heard it—the loud, deep roar of a marauding cat. A big cat. And the only big cats on San Miguel were the descendants of old King Rodolfo's black jaguars.
"Don't panic, Rorie," he called out to her. "He's close by, but he's probably in a tree."
Hawk rose from the pond, totally naked, water falling from his body in rivulets. He reached down to the ground and lifted his rifle, then slid his arm around Rorie and drew her back up against his hard, wet body. She gasped.
"I want you to get behind me," he said.
She obeyed his command instantly, allowing him to shove her behind him. The dark shadows of twilight waved around them like eerie gray phantoms. The animal cried out again. Rorie trembled. Hawk focused on the direction of the sound. To the right. On higher ground. But close. Very close.
"Is it a jaguar?" Rorie whispered.
"Yeah, that would be my guess."
The leaves rustled. Rorie gasped. Hawk lowered the rifle and pointed the bolt-action Ruger. Less than twenty feet from them, a large black cat stalked out of the jungle and into the clearing. With gleaming golden eyes, the beast glared at them. Hawk aimed the rifle directly at the jaguar. The moment his finger touched the trigger, Rorie knocked the weapon sideways.
"What the hell are you doing?" he whispered in a growling hiss.
"You aren't going to kill it, are you?"
"That was my plan."
"Please, don't kill it unless you have to." Rorie laid her hand on Hawk's back.
GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY Page 16
