Crystal sprang up, grabbed Eve’s hands, and took off. She hauled Eve as if she were a galloping horse and poor Eve a sled. Fear cracked a wicked whip to speed her steps.
Chapter 50
“J-a-a-a-k-e!”
The shrillness of Betty’s voice pierced Jake’s concentration on the dugout. He looked up to find her head poked over the cliff’s edge, her hands cupped to her mouth. Without a second thought, he dropped the axe and dashed as fast as his legs would run to her side. His heart thundered in his chest. He’d never heard Betty yell like that.
“Do you hear it?” Betty didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. She pointed to the hill on the other side of the trench. “It’s Crystal screaming.”
He didn’t stop to listen. He darted across the trench and up the hill. Cresting it, he halted only to whip the sword out of its scabbard and scan the terrain.
“Help!” Crystal’s voice drew his eyes to where the stream emerged from the jungle. The bank was steeper there, and she was pulling on something half out of the water.
Eve.
He took off at an all-out sprint.
Crystal broke into sobs as soon as she saw him. He fell to his knees beside Eve. She was on her stomach, her head lolling from Crystal’s efforts to tug her ashore by her arms. She was either unconscious or . . .
Dropping his sword, he slid one hand under Eve’s head, the other hand under her abdomen. “I’ve got her.” Crystal let go, and he lowered Eve to the ground. Her skin was cold against his fingertips as he searched her neck for a pulse.
He found it, but it was faint. Her breathing was shallow. He swept her into his arms to carry her to the top of the embankment. “We’ve got to warm her up.” Only when he lifted her clear of the water did he see the blood dribbling down the back of her right leg.
“What happened?” he barked.
Crystal had stopped crying and was facing the stream, legs apart, his sword held high in both hands, as if her next task was to chop off Goliath’s head. Her jaw was clenched. When she turned to him, her eyes were as razor-sharp as the sword she held. Her nostrils flared. “Python.”
Python? He did a double take at the half-pint Amazon in dripping shorts and tank top, standing guard between him and the stream. His jaw dropped in admiration.
“It was as big”—out of the corner of her eye, Crystal peeked at his biceps—“bigger around than your arm. It came after us through the tree. Eve fell out and could barely walk. It chased us . . . maybe down the stream too.” Her chin quivered.
No wonder she’d bawled when she saw him. He checked the stream for the snake. “Come here, sweetheart. Bring the sword, and we’ll warm Eve up with a big toaster hug.”
He climbed the embankment and laid Eve on her side. After checking the stream again for the python, he crouched and pulled up the cuff on the back right side of Eve’s shorts. A jagged cut three inches long stretched across the bottom of her buttock. The stream had washed it as clean as it was going to get. Already, the bleeding was subsiding.
He stood and took the sword from Crystal. “You were very brave. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you!” She threw her arms around him, but she didn’t cry. He smoothed back her wet hair, cradling her head. “When you’re ready, I want to hear all about it.”
She nodded and stepped back, her face sober.
“Here, let’s warm Eve up, you in front, me in back. I’ll keep an eye on the stream.” Pythons typically lay in wait for their prey. Although this one might have been hungry, chances were it hadn’t given chase.
Eve was shivering violently now. He set the sword nearby and hurried to lie down with his chest and hips and legs pressed to her backside. Crystal did the same with her back to Eve’s front. When Crystal was settled, he reached over Eve and secured Crystal’s arm. Goose bumps pockmarked it like icy land mines. He encircled the slender limb in the warmth of his palm and fingers and rubbed the length of her arm until the bumps disappeared.
With a happy sigh, Crystal launched into the details of her adventure with Eve. Details that lasted all the way to the cave while he carried Eve, and ended only after he placed Eve on her bunk. Then he got to hear the story a second time in bits and pieces, with even more details, when she shared it with Betty and Eve and him over the next several days.
* * *
“Jake, what are you doing!” Betty’s voice rose in challenge.
He halted beside her at the cave door. “Why, bringing you ladies lovely flowers.”
“Don’t tell me those orchids are for us—they’re for Eve.”
“They’re for all of you.” But even as he insisted, he felt his face redden. “They’re blooming all over the jungle now.”
“I notice her favorite fruits are too.”
“She’s in pain, Betty. A little special attention helps, that’s all.”
“Special attention is what you’d give Crystal. Jake, you’re as good as courting Eve.”
He huffed, anger rising in his belly. “You’re exaggerating things, Betty. I love Ginny. I miss her, and Eve’s friendship helps me not to feel so lonely.” He caught his gaffe. “Just like you and Crystal do.”
Betty’s voice softened. “Ginny is dead, Jake. You’ll always love her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love with another woman. You should someday. But not Eve.” She put her hand on his arm. “You know I treasure both of you. But, please, don’t repeat my mistake of marrying a non-Christian. God’s command has a sound basis.”
It was all he could do to not throw the orchids at her. “I’m not in love with Eve. I’m not going to marry her. And I’m not disobeying God.” He shoved the flowers into her hands. “I’ll be at the dugout.”
Silence followed him like a dark cloud stuck to the back of his head. Past the grass bowing in the minefield, past the waves unfolding against the cove’s shore, past the ocean tossing froth at the island.
At the bend to the sandbar, Betty’s voice pierced the quiet. “Don’t fool yourself, Jake.”
By the evening meal, his curdling guts had settled. He was no crabby old woman who nursed a grudge. Betty’s concern was understandable. Decades of a miserable marriage, and now a renewed love for the Lord, motivated her to champion godly marriages, that was all.
“Don’t be unequally yoked with unbelievers”—he was familiar with the Scripture verse. Not his problem. It didn’t apply to him and Eve. They were just friends. Starting off as they had by butting heads from their first day on the island simply made their current affection all the more rewarding.
To make sure he wasn’t fooling himself, he examined his feelings for Eve while he chipped away at the underside of the dugout. Everything was totally honorable, nothing in the least bit romantic. Nor did he detect anything different in Eve’s behavior toward him.
There’d been that hug after the croc chase, but that had been purely for comfort. And the toaster hug a few days ago to warm Eve up? He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Okay, he was a little guilty of enjoying the embrace. But it wasn’t sexual, wasn’t romantic, just . . . comforting.
When Crystal called him to eat, he discovered the orchids artfully arranged in a seashell on the table. His gaze slid first to Eve, then guiltily to Betty. She quirked an aha! eyebrow. When he automatically sat next to Eve, as he had for the past several months, the same eyebrow rose again. After that, he refused to look at Betty.
That night, he awoke to the thumps of Eve tossing and turning on her ledge. The dream. Before he could get out of bed, she woke with a gasp. Her feet padded in a soft limp past his ledge. Her breathing was still rough. Seconds later, the cave door grated upward, stone scratching against stone. Had she gone outside? He hopped out of bed. The slitted windows showed it was still dark. What if in the confusion of her dream she walked the wrong way and stepped off the cliff, or walked the other way into the minefield? He followed her.
“Eve?”
Her silhouette stood out against the diamond-studded night sky. She was headed f
or the beach. She was in no danger. It was stupid of him to fear anything would happen.
Still, he quickened his pace to catch up. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she whisked around with a loud gasp.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?” A breeze tossed a strand of hair across her face. It just seemed right to reach out and brush it back behind her ear.
She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I had the Dream . . .”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Her skin was satin against his palm.
She began to cry, softly at first, then convulsively. He took her into his arms. She was shaking from head to toe. “You’re going to be okay.” Tenderness welled up from his chest into a mist that clouded his eyes. “You’re going to be okay.”
When her sobs quieted, he became aware of the softness of her body pressed against his. He stepped away and took her hands into his. “Let me pray for you.”
She didn’t protest. When he finished, a sigh wisped from her lungs. “Thank you, Jake. I’m going to sit out here awhile.”
He didn’t join her. Couldn’t. Not when his heart was whooping and hollering at a party that, until now, he hadn’t known was going on.
Maybe Betty was right.
He’d almost kissed Eve instead of praying for her.
Chapter 51
Eve handed Jake a vine and watched as he lashed it around two culms of bamboo lying at a perpendicular angle on the sand. Her arm muscles smarted from wrestling the last of the leggy canes through the jungle and around the swamp to the beach. Jake had insisted she didn’t need to help—he’d already hauled a big load while she was laid up with her injury—but this was her first chance to get him alone. Her first chance to test him.
“There, we’ve got the frame done.” He stepped back, hands on his hips. “The two longer culms will help us slide the raft to the water. I’m going to make the floor several layers high, so it’s going to be a heavy bugger to push.”
“Won’t that make it more likely to sink?” It was hard to believe they’d be sailing away from the island in a matter of days. According to the hash marks on the cave wall, it would be June, only a few weeks short of a year from when they’d arrived.
She didn’t have much time if she was to realize her hopes.
Jake tapped the frame with his foot. “Shouldn’t. The culms are cured. A multi-level floor will give you gals a better chance to stay dry.”
He instructed her how to lay out the bamboo into pontoons at each end of the rectangle while he worked on the floor between them.
She lashed bamboo until the roller coaster her heart was riding leveled out. One deep breath to assure a casual tone of voice, and she launched her question. “What was Ginny like?”
She scrutinized his face for reactions. Yep, there they were—a jump of the eyebrows, a quick, questioning glance at her, then wariness corralling his thoughts. She anticipated his answer would be slow in coming, his words carefully phrased. An awful lot of preparation on his part to a very simple question on her part. All unnecessary unless she was right: Jake was falling in love with her—and he didn’t want her to know.
“Well . . .” Jake placed two bamboo culms into the lineup of the floor, cleared his throat, and finally looked her squarely in the eyes. In typical male fashion, he ticked off a list to answer her question. “Ginny was warm and giving and knew how to make people feel comfortable. She was very feminine and let me open doors for her, was always pleased with the little gifts I got her. She gave insightful counsel and helped me every way she could. She loved our kids and was involved in everything they did.” He scratched his beard. “Why?”
The portrayal wasn’t quite what she expected. She was used to people being described in terms of their accomplishments, not their character. The picture left her feeling strangely inadequate.
“I was wondering what you’d value in your next wife.”
“Oh.” Jake’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not ready for that.”
“What, for a wife, or for that kind of wife?”
“For a wife.”
Her insides felt hollow. “What will you look for when you are ready?”
“God’s will.”
She grimaced. Why did he always have to bring up God in the conversation? “Would you consider someone like me?” The words jumped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Jake’s eyebrows shot up.
“It’s hypothetical,” she blurted. Stupid! She could ask a question like that, but couldn’t tell him she was a federal prosecutor? Her cheeks heated as he studied her face.
“There are many things I admire about you, Eva Gray.”
She flinched at the name, but he didn’t appear to notice. His eyes rested with tenderness on hers. His lips softened into a smile. Her heart melted into a warm, oozy puddle.
“Of all the passengers on the lighter, you alone came to Betty and Crystal’s aid. That took courage and a self-sacrificing attitude. There’s no question but that your bravery saved their lives.
“And here on the island, you’ve never complained about the conditions, primitive and harsh as they are. You didn’t expect me to find all the food for us, but you pitched in and helped. You saw things that needed to be done and did them without being asked. All those are wonderful qualities that cause me to have the highest respect for you.
“And then”—his voice lowered—“I owe you my life. I would have bled to death if you hadn’t sewn me up after the leopard attack.”
Not exactly the most romantic words she’d ever heard—more like she was was receiving a Medal of Honor—but the fact that he admired her gave her hope.
He shifted his stance and looked down before fastening his eyes on her again. Her heart skipped a beat. The tenderness was still there, but . . . saddened somehow.
“You’re an amazing woman, Eve. But to answer your question, no, I couldn’t consider you. The Bible makes it clear that God’s will is for Christians to marry only other Christians.”
“What? That’s ridiculous!” She’d never heard such idiocy. She glared at him. Was Betty’s marriage behind all this folderol? “I know of several successful interfaith marriages.”
He shrugged. Obviously, their examples bore no authority with him.
Her mind leaped to another tactic. “What if I became a Christian?”
For the third time, Jake’s eyebrows flashed up. They landed with the corners of his eyes crinkling above a huge grin. “Then you’d have to tell me everything about you.”
She quirked a miffed half-smile at him. “I told you it was a hypothetical question.”
The man laughed at her. She resisted whopping him with one of his precious cured culms.
Now what? Vacillating between anger and despair, she worked on the pontoons. Even if she told Jake everything and he responded well, what good was it if he didn’t prefer her over his God? Once they finished the raft and paddles, they’d attach the sail and canoe, load up provisions, and off they’d go.
Good-bye island.
Good-bye Jake.
* * *
Within days of switching his stalking grounds to the exclusive Manila Yacht Club, Jojo found his prize. Cameron’s Castle, a lovely pearl of a yacht, sailed into the marina and his gut snarled in triumph. Not only were the occupants americanos, but the owner was the very picture of his father. Tall like Jojo. Broad-shouldered like Jojo. Handsome like Jojo, except blond—exactly how his mother had described his americano daddy. No question that this was the yacht he must steal.
Everything fell into place. The crew, their wallets fat from payday, left the next morning for a weekend of pleasure. Only the first mate stayed behind to oversee the loading of supplies and to guard the yacht. When the owners returned from a stroll down the baywalk to sleep on board, Jojo sent word to Eduardon and the two crewmen, Philippe and Miguel. “Tonight we sail.” The americano and his beautiful wife would provide the perfect entertainment for the trip.
He waite
d until the late-night traffic on Roxas Boulevard behind the club was down to a few stray cars. Waited until the club’s tucked-away basin showed no motion on any of the yachts. Waited until the only threat to detection was the splash of oars as the four of them rowed to the yacht’s mooring buoy.
Philippe stood on Jojo’s shoulders to secure a rope ladder to the yacht’s stern so he could climb aboard. Jojo followed him only high enough to peer onto the deck. At a noise above them, Philippe dropped to a crouch. Jojo didn’t move.
A small head and narrow shoulders darkened the railing of the deck overhead. Before Jojo could draw a breath, the form withdrew. A hand replaced it, moonlight glinting on metal. “Who’s there?”
Philippe stood. “Just me, boss.”
The first mate stepped to the railing. “Who—?”
Philippe flung out his arm. The mate coughed and grabbed at his neck. His pistol clattered to the floor.
Jojo jumped aboard and raced to where the watchman had slumped over. Blood spattered the white railing and darkened the mate’s neck and bare chest. Jojo grunted. What he wouldn’t give to have seen the man’s face when Philippe’s knife landed.
Philippe reclaimed his weapon while Jojo retrieved the dead man’s pistol and the key to the yacht’s engine.
“You told me no killing!” Eduardon stood stifflegged on the deck, hands fisted at his side.
“This one couldn’t be helped.” Jojo thrust the key at Eduardon. “Quick, before someone sees your face in daylight.”
Eduardon’s mouth twitched downward. He didn’t move. Didn’t take the key.
Jojo nodded at Philippe. “Cast off and stand watch. Miguel and I are going below.” He stepped past Eduardon, jabbing the key into the pip-squeak’s chest so that he had to grab it. “Now, ’Duardon.”
Without a backward glance, Jojo swept down the stairs. Rage burned through his arteries. “Check on him,” he snapped at Miguel.
In a matter of seconds, Miguel returned. “He went to the bridge, boss.”
The fire in Jojo’s veins cooled. He smiled at Miguel. “Then we have guests to introduce ourselves to.”
Fatal 5 Page 107
