River of Desire: A Romantic Action Adventure/Thriller

by Winn, J. K.

  Arms clasped her as though wanting to infuse her with him. Skin touched skin in a fusion of panic with passion.

  She lowered her head to his chest and listened to his hammering heart, beating like a snare drum. She had never trusted a man as much as she trusted him. She let down her defenses and relaxed against him.

  A big mistake, because all at once the thought of his imminent departure surfaced and stifled her new-found sense of intimacy. Not only would this trip wrench them apart, but she couldn’t be certain how long he’d be gone. What danger he faced.

  Or if he’d ever return.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dylan sensed Leah’s eyes following him while he finished dressing in the semi-darkness. Then he took a seat by her side on the bed to say his goodbye.

  She wrapped her arms around him. “Are you sure you want to do this? If anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  He ran his hand through her soft, flaxen hair, touched by her show of tenderness. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I know the jungle. I’ll be back here in no time.”

  She clung to him. If he had his way, she’d never let go, but the scrape of the door informed him of another’s presence. He pried himself away. “I have to leave.”

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to say what she wanted to hear. It would be too hard to leave her if he mouthed the words pressing at the back of his throat. Tears filled her luminous caramel-colored eyes and his gut twisted into a knot. He had to turn away.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Are you ready?”

  Dylan moved toward the shadowy figure in the doorway. “Do you have the map?”

  The old man reached a liver-spotted hand into his robe pocket and extracted two folded pieces of paper. “Here is map and letter of introduction for Doctor Von Schotten.” He extended the papers and Dylan pocketed them. “Do you have food enough?”

  “For a few days in the boat.”

  “Do you anything need?”

  “I could sure use my gun.”

  “I cannot to give you firearm. You could turn on me.” Kruger glanced over his shoulder at Kimo standing behind him with a rifle pointed at Dylan. He reached again into a pocket. “But you may your knife have back.”

  A knife in this situation would be about as protective as a tin shield in a bomb blast, but what choice did he have? He took the knife, slid it into the empty sheaf on his belt. “I’m ready.”

  Leah had come up beside him. She laid a hand on his arm. “Please be careful. I need you more than the vaccine.”

  He could not give in to the desire to hold her, he might never be able to leave. “I’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder and strode out the door, refusing to respond to the stifled sob behind him. Outside, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He had always lost the ones he loved. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

  * * *

  Dylan navigated the launch down a long stretch of the Amazon before slipping over the invisible line separating Peru from Brazil. As the sun reached its peak, the population of people living along the river thinned. His only companions were flocks of Kingfishers, a troop of ring-tail monkeys and the occasional Mammoth butterfly. Other monkeys chattered in the trees, crickets stirred the air with their high pitched song. The jungle was often a solid wall of sound.

  Around noon, Dylan pulled ashore at the same site where a couple of other travelers had stopped for lunch. Perhaps they had come from upriver and could give him better directions than the hand-drawn map he held. The two Asian men stood side-by-side warily watching him approach with legs planted at an angle and arms stiffly crossed over chests. “Holá,” he called out to disarm them.

  The two men spoke to one another in a nervous foreign tongue before the taller, leaner one with the Nikon dangling from his neck asked Dylan in Spanish, “What do you want here?”

  “I’m a tourist,” Dylan lied. “I just wanted company for lunch.”

  “Do you have a gun?” the photographer asked.

  Dylan stood, opened his jacket and showed empty hands.

  They let him come closer. “Dylan Hart. American.”

  The smaller, bespectacled man extended his hand in welcome. “Please join us. I’m Tojito. He-” he indicated his companion, “-Iziko.”

  Dylan shook his hand. “Thanks.”

  Iziko bowed formally and gestured toward their aluminum table. “Help self, please.”

  Plates of dried fish and colorful fruit covered the table. Dylan added an offering of Spam to the spread and took a seat on a nearby tree stump. “Where are you headed?”

  “Upriver to sea.” Tojito took a seat on another stool.

  “Many problems ahead. We may turn back. Go to Iquitos.”

  Dylan put down his fork. It didn’t sound like these men had gone far enough to know anymore about the route than he did, but they might have a different type of information. “What kind of problems?”

  Tojito finished chewing his mouthful. “Tourist was shot on river.”

  That would certainly ruin someone’s trip, and it didn’t exactly make Dylan’s day either. “Do you know what happened?”

  Iziko began to clear plates from the table. “We only hear soldiers shoot tourist and take money. Trouble on river. You go back to Iquitos, too?”

  Dylan swallowed hard, concerned by what might lie ahead that could slow him down. “I wish I could, but I have to make time.” He stood. “Thanks for warning me.”

  A shadow crossed over Tojito’s pleasant round face. “Be cautious on river. Sayonara.”

  “Have a safe trip yourself.” Dylan returned to his boat and started the engine.

  With the men’s warning in mind, he motored downstream, staying close to the tree line for protection. If necessary, he could pull ashore at any time and hide among the trees. He kept a watchful eye for trouble.

  For many miles, nothing eventful happened. Nothing seemed out of place. The babbling voice of the river, the high-pitched chatter of the monkeys, the twitter of a wren’s mating call, put him at ease. Word traveled slowly on the river. What he had heard might have been old news. For the first time since leaving the tourists, he let down his guard a little and inventoried his supplies.

  He looked up in time to spot a twenty-six foot, official looking Chris Craft motorboat docked upriver. Normally, he wouldn’t think a second about the boat, but after the earlier warning, he needed to check it out. He beached his launch at a distance and, using a grove of magnolia amazonia as camouflage, slipped closer to the Chris Craft, which, on closer inspection, bore the official seal of Peru. Determined to avoid any confrontation with the authorities, he had to locate a channel that allowed him to slip around the craft.

  He made his way back to the launch through the trees. When he neared the beach, he detected voices and slipped behind a large Fan Palm to observe two men in Peruvian army uniforms walk around the stem of his launch. When one of the soldiers pointed toward the trees, he quickly withdrew from sight, praying he hadn’t been seen. He automatically grasped the knife.

  At the sound of nearby leaves crunching underfoot, he remained camouflaged behind the tree, hardly daring to breathe. At one point the clank of metal, rustle of leaves, came so close he could have reached out and touched the solider. The hair stood up on his arms. Nerve-endings twitched in his jaw. He held his breath until the sound of footfalls receded deeper into the jungle.

  As soon as he felt safe, he sprinted for his boat, shoved an oar against land and pushed into shallow water. A gentle current helped him row the boat to open river.

  The roar of the engine brought the soldiers racing to the river’s edge where they opened fire on the launch. Dylan ducked, but not before a bullet ripped through the fleshy part of his shoulder. The wallop threw him backward onto the boat bottom. More bullets flew overhead. His arm was on fire.

  The acrid smell of charred skin made him grit his teeth. He pushed himself up with his good arm far enough t
o look over the bow. The soldiers made a mad dash in the direction of their boat. The larger vessel could easily outrun his, so he reacted accordingly. He had spied a tributary earlier and opened the engine full throttle. He would have to lose his stalkers in the river’s labyrinthine switch-backs.

  With his good arm, Dylan zigzagged the boat from one tributary to another until he could neither hear nor see his pursuers. Finally certain the soldiers had lost his trail. He released his grip on the rudder, sat back against the gunwale. A stab of pain to the shoulder reminded him his wound was severe. He tore the ripped shirt away from clotted blood. Light flashed behind his eyeballs. Blood and cloth adhering to the skin made it difficult to assess the damage. He managed to grab a towel, poured water from a canteen onto it and scrubbed away the grime, ignoring searing pain. Gradually a round hole appeared, marking where the bullet had entered his shoulder. He checked the back of his shoulder.

  The bullet had never left.

  The bullet would have to be removed to prevent infection, but that would have to wait. For now, he could only treat the wound. He pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the First Aid Kit and poured it into the opening. His face contorted against the blazing white light that ripped through him, but he bit back the instinct to cry out. If soldiers were anywhere around, he didn’t want to call attention to his whereabouts. Once the pain became more manageable, he covered the bullet hole with bandages.

  After he’d treated the wound, he sat back, realizing how exhausted he was. The loss of blood had drained the stamina right out of him. But he had to move on. To keep himself awake, he pictured Leah, her soft body naked and vulnerable. He had to shove off. Her life depended on it.

  During his escape, he had managed to lose himself in an unfamiliar maze of tributaries. The sun’s position indicated late afternoon. He had to find his way back to the main river before dark. He couldn’t afford to relinquish another second.

  * * *

  Leah’s heart had nearly stopped when Dylan stepped out the door. She longed to block his way, prevent him taking such a risk, but against every instinct, she had to let him go.

  The guard slammed the door shut at the doctor’s command, leaving Leah alone in the room. She stood still, mutely watching the closed door while rubbing her arms for comfort. When the futility of standing in the dark staring at the door sunk in, she crawled back onto the bed.

  She sat in the center of the bed yoga style while picturing all the things that could go wrong with Dylan’s trip. She had to stop herself from dwelling upon the worst-case scenarios, or she would surely fall apart. She needed to keep a positive attitude so she could do her part.

  The guard entered without knocking and placed breakfast on a table by the bed. Boiled eggs. They had never been her favorite dish, but they now looked especially unappetizing. Their smell triggered a bout of nausea. She clutched her stomach and doubled over in revulsion.

  Behind her footsteps resounded on planks.

  “No appetite? Eat. Schnell. I vant you should have your strength.” Back lit by the dawn light, the doctor looked particularly hoary. His pallid skin hung slightly detached from the old bones beneath. Dark circles lined his eyes.

  She pushed the plate toward him. “I’m not hungry. Take this away.”

  “If you insist.” The doctor motioned for the guard to remove the plate. “Vhen you are ready, ve should our interview begin.”

  Her stomach again turned at the thought of spending time alone with him. If using people as guinea pigs qualified for anything, it certainly called his humanity into question.

  Still, this creature standing before her was her long-lost grandfather-the grandfather she had traveled thousands of miles to find. He was the only living link to a time before her mother’s adoption. She had to learn from him what she could, no matter what horrors could be leveled at him, or the lost opportunity would always haunt her. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  As soon as Kruger left, Leah succumbed to another bout of overwhelming anxiety. All she could think about was Dylan. Dylan alone. Dylan trapped. Dylan in danger. Dylan returning empty-handed without the vaccine, dooming her, but relieving her fears for him. She dropped her sleeping shirt on the bed, strapped on her bra, and forced herself to turn off the slide show in her mind.

  She pulled on her powder blue tank-top and jeans, then took a seat on the bed to tug on her boots. Better to keep her overwrought mind on the appointment with the doctor than to let it dwell on Dylan’s potential disasters.

  She pounded on the door and summoned the guard who escorted her to the doctor’s study. The doctor glanced up from his desk when she entered the room and signaled her to take a seat across from him. Once she seated herself, he lowered the paper he had been reading.

  “So, mein kinder, vhere to begin?”

  She gestured toward the desk. “With paper and pen.”

  Rifling through his desk drawer, he extracted a pad and ball-point. “Here.”

  She flipped open the pad and wrote the date at the page top. “What’s your whole name? I have no idea what you want to be called.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Grandfather. Is that not vhat last night you called me when you vanted vaccine?”

  A warm flush crept up her neck. She had underestimated her target. “I need your full name for the article.”

  “Heinz Seigfried Kruger, but please to call me by my surname. Now vhat about me would you like to know?”

  “Well, Heinz Siegfried Kruger, I’d like to know if you have anything to do with the viral epidemic raging among the native people.”

  He sat back abruptly as though thrown against the seat. “In answer to odd question, nein.”

  She balled her free hand into a fist. “Scores of people are dying and I have reason to believe they’re being deliberately infected to test the morbidity of a viral strain.”

  “I do no such research.”

  She held up her pierced arm. “Why should I believe you after what you did to me?”

  “You must to believe me. Because I could never do that again.”

  Leah narrowed her eyes. “What again?”

  Kruger picked up a paperclip and rolled it between his fingers, staring out the window.

  “Look. Are you going to give me answers, or are you going to play games? If you’re not going to be honest, we might as well forget this whole thing.”

  Beads of perspiration dotted the doctor’s forehead. “I...I...”

  Better he squirm than she enable his deception.

  “It long ago vas. Too long to remember.”

  Leah dropped the pad on the desk. It landed with a clap. “I think you recall it all in Technicolor. Now, do you want me to do this article or don’t you?”

  She was about to rise when Kruger reached across the desk and restrained her with a dry, scaly hand on her arm. “Bitte. This is to me important.”

  “Tell me then, under what circumstances did you use people in your research?”

  Kruger sat back. A slight tremor passed through him. She waited for his reply, imagining what this man might be hiding if it was worse than spreading a terminal disease.

  “I do not like to think in vay you put it. I vas...how would you say...involved in valuable medical research.”

  “And...?”

  He stared beyond her, into the past. “In Germany, I vorked for Major General Kurt Blome. Dr. Blome conducted experiments-on plague vaccine.”

  Using people. The enormity of the revelation bowled her over with the force of a landslide. Suddenly. Violently. She really shouldn’t be shocked after stumbling across the letter, but she was. He had just confirmed what she wanted to deny. It wiped out any last semblance of the myth she had constructed about him. When she regained her voice, she asked, “You worked for the Nazis?”

  “I no choice had.”

  She swallowed hard. She hadn’t wanted to believe the obvious. “Then you’re a Nazi?” She stopped to allow the significance to further seep in. No won
der he changed his name after the war. He was hiding out. “You used innocent people in concentration camps as living subjects for medical experiments?”

  “Nein. You twist vhat I did and make it sound terrible. Vhat I did vas for benefit of all mankind.”

  She gaped at him, again speechless.

  He lowered his head. “I followed orders.” His voice quavered as he spoke.

  She abruptly rose, knocking a paperweight off the desk. It hammered against the wood floor. “You expect me to accept that you were just a victim? Under the present circumstances, it’s a little late to play innocent.”

  He stood and faced her. “But I vorked on vaccines for medical knowledge.” His eyes flickered under her furious stare. “Sit, please. Try to understand.”

  She stood her ground. “You can justify any behavior, but that doesn’t make it all right. How am I going to write about you without condemning your actions?”

  “Do you think I have not to struggle vith everything I did, have not to lay awake night after night for past fifty years filled vith recrimination. I have had to live vith consequences of my actions.” Wearily, he sat. “You are reporter, my dear. You have job been given to report things in objective fashion. You do not bring personal opinions into article.”

  “I will report the truth.”

  His fingers worked relentlessly at the paperclip indicating his anxiety, but his gaze remained steady. “I vant you should do that, and do vell. Let others for themselves decide if I have done right or wrong.” A sweep of his hand indicated the chair. “Now, sit. Ve have vork to do.”

  She stared across the desk at what looked like an infirm old man. But appearances were deceiving. The last thing she wanted was to glorify this Nazi and his actions, but she had offered to do the story as a means of securing his help. What choice did she have?