River of Desire: A Romantic Action Adventure/Thriller

by Winn, J. K.

  When she returned to the hut, the guard entered behind her, said something to Dylan and pointed the dart gun toward the door flap.

  “We’re about to be escorted to the Kakaram. Are you all right to go?” Dylan asked.

  “Sure.” What choice did she have? She didn’t know whether to be relieved or petrified and felt a little of each. Maybe there would be a resolution, hopefully one that favored them.

  They followed the guard to the Kakaram’s thatched hut and entered into the dark, dirt-floored interior. Two large mutts greeted them with a growl. Seated behind them, the Kakaram, a solid looking, squarely built older man dressed in jaguar skins, quieted the dogs and acknowledged Dylan with hardly a nod. He spoke to an old woman in a bark dress and she eyed them while backing slowly out of the hut.

  A sweep of the old man’s hand indicated they were to squat on sisal mats. The leg Leah tucked under her made her squirm. Unversed in the tribal norms, she sat as still as she could, and ignored her discomfort.

  The Kakaram and Dylan conferred for a few minutes before Dylan glanced over at her. “The Kakaram has been admiring you. He says you’re good looking but too thin.”

  Leah attempted a smile. “Tell him where I’m from, a woman can never be too thin.”

  Dylan again addressed the Kakaram. “He also confirms that an old white man visited the village just before a handful of his people took ill and died. He thinks, since we’re white, we may be bearers of the same black magic.”

  She glanced at the Kakaram with his beads, paint and feathered headband. He would look as fierce as his warriors if the skin didn’t sag on his arms and chest. “These folks don’t look like a sociable lot. Why did they let the white man go if they thought he was up to no good?”

  “He told them he was there to help with a degenerative bone disease common in this tribe. He left before the sickness began.”

  Leah swallowed the queasy shudders in her throat. Nothing about this situation, even Dylan’s presence, comforted her. “What do they plan to do with us?”

  Dylan squeezed her arm. “Stay calm when I tell you this. Okay? We don’t want to upset the Kakaram. I’ll think of a way out of here, but he wants us to remain for a time.”

  “What for?” The image of a large black cauldron boiling over a blazing fire popped into her mind. She swallowed again to keep the rising hysteria out of her words. “You mean as their prisoners, don’t you?”

  Dylan’s eyes betrayed no emotion. “Call it what you will. They think we’ve been sent by the white medicine man and we’re working with him. The Kakaram is adamant about this.”

  Dylan conversed again with the Kakaram. His voice at first soft, grew louder and more adamant.

  Leah tugged at his sleeve. “What are you saying?”

  Dylan raised a hand to silence her and again bargained with the chief.

  The old man stood abruptly and shouted an order at a guard with a painted black face. The black-faced guard thrust himself in front of Dylan, his eyes red with fiery rage. At his insistence, with the help of the other guard, they were hustled back toward the prison hut.

  “Why the black-face?” she whispered to Dylan as she stumbled along.

  Dylan kept his voice low. “They paint their faces black when they want to be invisible-when hunting or going to war.”

  Leah could barely breathe from fear. She stumbled past an open hut not far from the Kakaram’s where she glimpsed a row of shrunken heads lining the floor on the far wall. Her gut wrenched at the sight.

  What Dylan had failed to say earlier, but what she heard between the lines— the Jivaro planned to keep them until deciding how to dispose of them. Even with Dylan’s capabilities, she now doubted he could get them out of this mess.

  Overwhelming panic caused her bum leg to fold and she crumbled to the ground before reaching the prison hut. Dylan stopped to help her up, only to be pushed forward by the intimidating guard. A strong hand yanked her to standing and pushed her behind Dylan through the door flap.

  Only Dylan’s arms kept her from pitching forward onto the ground. When he eased her down she was still pressed to him. His heart pounding against her ear couldn’t be beating any faster than hers. “I need to know what you said to the Kakaram after he told you he planned to keep us here.”

  “I told him you were here to cure the sickness, not spread it. I asked him to let you go so you could bring the cure back.”

  Leah studied him. “And what about you?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I told him I would stay behind so he could be assured of your return with the potion.”

  Leah couldn’t believe her ears. Dylan would be willing to sacrifice his life for her. Maybe she had totally misjudged him. A twinge of guilt pierced her for even considering leaving him. “But what would they do with you if I didn’t return?”

  He shook his head and looked away. “It doesn’t matter, they won’t let you go. I did everything I can think of to persuade him.”

  “I don’t really want to go without you,” she said and, for the first time, really meant it. “But how long do they plan to hold us here?”

  He hesitated long enough to answer the question before he even opened his mouth. “Let’s just say they think of us as permanent guests.”

  Chapter Six

  Leah stared at Dylan in horror. He had just confirmed her worst fear. If the Jivaro had their way, the two of them would soon join the shrunken heads on display in the Jivaro version of an anthropological museum. She reached for Dylan’s hand and pressed it hard. “What can we do?”

  He squeezed hers back. “Give me time. I’ll find a loophole.”

  “Good,” she quipped, “because if I really wanted my head shrunk, I’d see a therapist in L.A.”

  “After this trip you might need one.”

  She pointed past him out the door. “Is there any way to get around that guard?”

  “There has to be. I’ll come up with a plan.” He scratched his jaw. “I know I got us into this. I’ll figure a way out.”

  “Look, I don’t blame you...”

  A woman appeared at the entrance to the hut carrying two steaming calabash bowls.

  “That’s an encouraging sign.” Dylan took the bowls from her and handed one to Leah. “They’re offering us stew. We must be honored guests.” With a flat clay disk extracted from the edge of his bowl, Dylan scooped up his stew. “Try the meat. It’s a common native dish. You’ll like it.”

  The thought of their fate had Leah’s insides performing somersaults, and the last thing she wanted was a meal. She glanced down at tan chunks of meat floating by in yellow liquid and almost regurgitated, but forced herself to take a bite. Even with its exotic smell, the meat tasted sour to her. She had the urge to push the bowl aside, but was determined to be more adaptable. She tried again, eating as much as she could stomach. “What kind of meat do they use?”

  “Howler Monkey. It’s part of the tribal diet, which consists of agourti, tapir and peccary.”

  Monkey? The thought of eating a primate ancestor bothered her, but she had to be philosophical about this. She couldn’t exactly demand familiar cuisine in an unfamiliar world. “I guess I should say it tastes just like chicken, but it doesn’t.” She held her bowl out to him. “If you like it so much, why don’t you finish mine.”

  The old woman left and returned with two more bowls. Leah stared at hers, a purple drink that looked a lot like Koolaid.

  Dylan took his bowl, mumbled something to the woman and saluted Leah before taking a swig of the liquid. “Drink up, it’s good. It comes from the Camu Camu tree.”

  Leah took a sip. The beverage tasted like rotten grape juice, tolerable if one was thirsty enough. And she was.

  The guard pushed skins aside to look in on them, and Leah had to wonder if she had just eaten her last meal. Relief flowed through her when he held out a hand for the bowls.

  Before the painted man could remove the meal, Dylan extended the half-empty bowl in her direction. “Are you sure y
ou don’t want to eat more? You’ll be sorry later.”

  Later? She hoped she’d be alive later to be sorry. “No thanks. You eat it.”

  He pulled the bowl back. “I don’t want to waste it.”

  She watched him scarf up the last of the stew and her nausea returned. Even if offered a Filet Mignon, she would have to decline, but she had to admire Dylan’s bravery. It reassured her.

  After bowls were collected, Leah levered herself gingerly into one of the two hammocks suspended between poles. “Okay, Indiana Jones, what’s your plan?”

  “I haven’t got one yet.” Dylan wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You catch some sleep. You’ll need it. I’ll keep watch. I need the time to think.”

  “Since you haven’t come up with anything, I have an idea.”

  Dylan brushed her off with a flap of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

  “But...I’ve already thought of something.”

  He seemed distracted. “We have to carefully consider...”

  Frustrated, she raised her voice, ‘Listen to me,” and then quickly lowered it not wanting to alarm the guard and call attention to herself. Dylan stared at her open-mouthed. “My earlier excursion into the bush gave me the idea. When the village quiets for the night, what if you ask the guard to allow me another bathroom break. While I’m in the brush, I’ll distract the guard.”

  “Is this where I come in?”

  “I’m getting to that,” she said. “It’s your job to grab a branch and smack him over the head with it.”

  “How about this?” He took her hand and patted it against a long, hard object in his pocket.

  “Is that a pistol? How did you ever smuggle it in?”

  He placed a finger over his lips and whispered, “Lucky for us they didn’t frisk me, but I hope I don’t have to use it to shoot anyone.” He squatted on his haunches. “Your plan doesn’t sound bad, but we’ll only have minutes to clear out of here before someone reacts to the commotion. Do you think you can run on that ankle?”

  She pressed a palm against the bandage binding her ankle. Her touch caused a shock to radiate up her leg. “What choice do I have?”

  “Not much of one. We either split tonight or we may be split in two tomorrow.”

  While she liked barbecue, she didn’t want to be the ribs. Goose bumps sprang up on her arms. “That’s enough motivation for me, but how will we know where to go in the dark?”

  “I still have the flashlight in my bush jacket. It’s not much, but it will have to do. They don’t provide street lights here.”

  She appreciated his weak attempt at humoring her. While she hoped he was better at magical disappearing acts than comedy routines, his calm courage again impressed her. “No paved roads either, I suppose.”

  “We’ll have to make do with the lack of infrastructure. Now get off that leg and catch some Zs so you’ll be at your best for the Maranon Marathon.”

  Leah hunkered down in the hammock, but was unable to sleep. The pounding of her pulse reverberated in rhythm to the beat of drums outside the hut. The pulsating percussion interwove with flute music and a syncopated chant. Were the Jivaro celebrating their capture? And what would be their fate? Sweat beaded her forehead. To quiet the terror, she focused on her reason for being in the jungle in the first place. A humanitarian mission had brought her to this place, a mission she fully intended to fulfill. If she could only make it out of this place in one piece, she still might be able to trace the source of the virus-and find her grandfather.

  If he was still alive.

  For that matter, if she was still alive.

  * * *

  Dylan sat in the semi-darkened hut and counted the passing minutes. While he had tried to act cool for Leah’s sake, the precarious nature of their escape worried him. Their lives hung in the balance.

  When the croak of frog and the chirp of cricket were the only sounds he could hear, he shook Leah awake.

  In the moon-lit hut, she jerked upright, trembling all over. “Okay,” she whispered. “I haven’t been asleep. I’m ready.”

  Surprised by her fortitude, he squeezed her hand. She had mettle to spare. “Go with a limp to allay any suspicion.” He patted her shoulder in support, then approached the door flap and spoke with the guard. After getting the okay, he signaled to Leah with a thumbs up. She limped through the flap and into the thick brush. The uneven crunch of twigs under her exaggerated limp unnerved him. Each step she took moved them closer to their destiny.

  A moment later, she released a muted scream. The guard left his post and moved in the direction of the brush. With no time to lose, Dylan slipped from the tent and scrambled up behind him, striking the smaller man on the back of his head with the pistol’s butt. The guard half-turned and grunted. A second wallop to the frontal lobe felled him with a thump.

  Reassured by their luck so far, Dylan quickly slid the pistol into his pocket, seized Leah’s hand and pulled her along through the trees. With his free hand, he aimed the flashlight beam at the narrow path they had taken on their way from the river into the jungle. Branches scratched at his skin, tore at his clothes. Behind him, the silence failed to surrender a single sound of alarm or pursuit.

  He jogged along the path as fast as he could with an arm around Leah. The farther they traveled, the more her weight began to work against him. While her pain had to be excruciating, they couldn’t stop for rest.

  Mud made the footing extremely tricky. He slid a couple of times, and at one particularly precarious turn, Leah pitched forward with a cry. When he stooped to pick her up, she flailed her arms in resistance. No time to argue. He scooped her up onto his shoulder and continued his dash toward the river.

  Leah groaned. “I can carry my own weight.”

  “Don’t be so damned stubborn,” he growled. When she twisted away, almost as slippery as the mud, he pressed her close to secure his grip, the distraction of her struggle nearly causing him to trip over a vine.

  “Go limp,” he snarled, “or we’re dead.”

  Yelps and cries from behind them signaled that the Jivaro were following in hot pursuit. From past experience, he knew they would never quit until they captured or killed their prey.

  As Dylan neared the water, a dart flew past him and buried itself in a tree. He tightened his grip on Leah and began to sprint in the direction of the raft. Jivaro warriors closed in on them fast.

  He had to make it to the raft or it was all over. With Leah no longer struggling but now a dead weight in his arms, he charged forward. Close to the water’s edge, another dart whizzed by, indicating that the Jivaro were near enough for easy striking distance. He could barely see the raft’s shape bobbing low in the water and made a dash for it. As he approached it, an arrow soared near enough to graze his arm. He pushed Leah into the craft and hurled himself in behind her.

  With a tug at the rope, he tried to wrest the raft from its tether to the mooring tree. The knot held fast no matter how he twisted it. A zipping arrow ruffled his hair. Voices and a nearby splash gave him the incentive to pry feverishly at the noose, knowing if the Jivaro came any closer, it might soon tighten around his neck. The knot sprang open releasing the boat into open river.

  Light from the full moon reflected off the silhouetted Jivaro on shore. Dylan pulled Leah down to avoid the darts now flying thickly over the gunwales.

  An arm appeared over the side of the raft. He kicked at it, smashing the scaling hand with all his might. At the same time, he hammered the face peering at him from the water with the pistol butt. The warrior submerged.

  Darts and arrows whistled by only inches from his head, the darkness alone preventing their aim’s accuracy. On his stomach, he fumbled for the engine fuel can. Only a pitifully small amount remained. He used the container to thrust away another aquatic attacker who tried to climb on board.

  Dylan awkwardly maneuvered the engine overboard into the water, hooked it to the raft’s rear and yanked at the cord. At the same time, another
hand grasped the side of the raft. He was desperate to dislodge it, but had to first start the motor. He wrenched the chord harder and it fired up on the third try. The raft sped off with the hand still holding firm. Dylan pried the hand free of the raft as it moved out of firing range. With only canoes, the Jivaro would be unable to overtake the motorized vessel.

  The reprieve from his attackers offered Dylan a moment to assess the damage. Beside him, Leah lay limp. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her on account of his monumental mistake of visiting the Jivaro. Recrimination ran like acid through him.

  He lifted her head and saw that her eyes had rolled back in their sockets. Her skin felt clammy, her breathing shallow. She was in shock, but she was alive. The torture of running with that bite had surely sent her spinning into a different dimension.

  He clutched Leah to him. With fingertips, he brushed back hair from her face, looked down at her. She looked so helpless, so vulnerable, he knew he had to protect her. His heart ached for her, but there was nothing more he could do now except leave the Jivaro far behind them.

  As he laid her back on the raft, he caught sight of his sleeve, ripped by an arrow. Damn...his favorite University of Texas Tee. At least the skin beneath appeared to be intact.

  As soon as he had gained a significant lead over the Jivaro, he cut the engine and took a much needed breather. With Leah’s head elevated, he gave her the long overdue dose of Jergon Sacha solution.

  She resisted, rolling her head from side to side while moaning, “Robert...Robert.”

  Robert? Who the hell was Robert? Jealousy flowed through his veins like molten metal and when it cooled, he hardened his heart against her. What had he been thinking? Sure he’d always found Leah attractive, but only days before, he’d thought of her as inflexible and unappealing. Why had he taken such a complete about face in such a short time? He had to keep his wits about him and remember his commitment never to become attached to a client. He didn’t need any more emotional calamities than he’d already had, especially with a woman who spoke another man’s name.