by Terese Ramin
He felt disconnected from himself, an observer watching himself stumble forward seeking an exit as the mob began chanting. Then he was no longer an observer but part of the melee again, shoved from hand to hand, hearing… what? A motor’s roar? An air horn, definitely. Its voice was deafening. Around him, people screamed and scattered. He turned to witness the cause of the disturbance and stopped dead, his features immobilized by disbelief.
Movement seemed almost suspended around him, people sweeping by in slow motion. He would not—could not—believe what looked like his salvation as a classic, white 1965 Shelby Cobra screamed to a halt beside him. He’d always wanted a Cobra but had never found anyone willing to part with one. Funny thing to think about now.
Simultaneously a voice yelled, "Get in!" and a panicked protester sent him sprawling against the little car. Fiberglass. It was fiberglass. Not a classic, a clone.
For a split second he focused on a pair of disturbingly familiar violet eyes above a pair of aviator glasses. Then rough hands reached for him, grabbed him, dragged him headfirst into the car. The engine roared, and they were off. Cameron clutched at the seat, trying to hang on and turn right side up, while beneath him tires shrieked and the Cobra leaped forward. Ahead of it, people and animals scattered in a leaves–before–the–wind motif.
Gears shifted, and the car careened around a corner, grazing a fruit stand, and emptying some of its contents over him. A hand reached over to grab his belt, holding on to his sliding body.
Sound became different. They had left the buildings and the screaming crowd behind. Once again Cameron attempted to right himself, and his head bumped something soft: a thigh. His eyes lighted on the speedometer as the Cobra left stone pavement for dirt road. Sixty miles an hour and climbing. He swallowed past his stomach, which was currently sitting in his throat, gathered his strength and shifted fully into his seat. His head throbbed, and he reached for his seat belt with unsteady hands. He blinked dizzily and swallowed until his stomach was back where it belonged. Unwilling to move and threaten the status quo, yet remembering those eyes, he let his gaze shift sideways. All he could see was a blue baseball cap, mirrored sunglasses, a slightly crooked nose, a wide mouth and a square chin. Even after all this time, he should have known: Casie.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he yelled over the wind, torn between his delight in the car of his youthful dreams and his fear that his once–beloved Acasia might manage to kill them both.
Acasia grinned at him cheerfully, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "Didn’t you need a lift?"
"Not one that travels at the speed of sound."
The car flew over a pothole and landed with a whump on the other side. Cameron’s head snapped back. If they hit just one rut or rock wrong… An olive–drab Jeep sped toward them, shrouding them in dust as it passed. Its driver braked hard and changed direction fast. They were being pursued.
Three more Jeeps roared after the first, skidding in the rutted road as they turned around to join the chase. A volley of machine–gun fire splattered a warning in the dust behind them, and Cameron decided abruptly that this was no time to worry about Acasia’s driving.
"Want me to slow down?" his savior asked. Cameron cursed explicitly, and her smile widened. "Right." She grinned and put the gas pedal to the floor.
They swerved sharply around some pigs in the road, and Cameron shut his eyes and gripped the seat hard. Deep ravines bordered the road, and they skidded close, too close—
"You get a good rate for dead businessmen, do you?" he yelled.
Acasia grinned and stuck her tongue between her teeth in concentration. She maneuvered the car back and forth across the road, avoiding ruts and pursuing Jeeps alike. The latter faded in the distance, outclassed by the sporty competition, and Acasia slowed the Cobra to a relatively sedate speed. Lifting a hand from the wheel, she removed her hat and rubbed the sweat from her forehead. Yellow hair glinted in the sun when she turned to toss her hat on the floor at Cameron’s feet. She slid her sunglasses down her nose and winked at him. "Nice day, isn’t it?"
Cameron choked. "After sixteen years, you couldn’t come up with a better line than that?"
The mirrored lenses back in place, she turned toward him, her lips pursed. "I could ask you which regret you’re down here chasing," she began, but a sudden jolt garbled the words.
"What?" Cameron called, rubbing his shoulder where it had connected with the car door.
"I said…" Acasia began again, then stopped herself. Drive, don’t judge, she admonished herself. He’s a job, not an old friend. Keep it light. "Nothing," she said, and jerked the steering wheel, making the car veer more firmly than necessary around a large rock. A pair of scarlet macaws took flight out of the jungle, their brilliant red–yellow–and–blue wings spread wide. "I asked if you were enjoying the scenery."
"Scenery’s great. You’re a helluva tour guide." Cameron braced a hand against the dashboard, wedging himself into his seat as firmly as possible. It had been a long time since he’d felt this sort of run–for–your–life exhilaration. But then, it had been a long time since he’d driven anywhere with Acasia. "What are you doing here?"
"What?"
"I said, what are you doing here?"
"In Zaragoza?"
"Yes."
Acasia glanced at him, then back at the road. She could tell him, but it was easier and more distancing to be flippant—and ninety–eight percent truthful. "Someone told me you needed a nanny, and I’m in the business."
Cameron didn’t like what she was implying, but they could argue about that later. "You hardly remind me of Mary Poppins."
He squeezed her leg, and she smiled, feeling a warmth that did not come from the humid air. She didn’t want him here—Zaragoza posed too much risk to him—but oh, he looked good! He felt good, too. She’d missed him. She cast a glance down at the hand spreading heat deep into her thigh. She should have known better than to believe this could be a simple, everyday rescue. There was nothing "everyday" about it—or about the man beside her.
If we had more time… she thought wistfully.
But they didn’t. Right now she had to get Cameron through the jungle and out of Zaragoza. He was her responsibility. Her job. Period.
Job, she thought viciously. The word was an obscenity.
In front of them, the track began to narrow, and she turned the wheel to bring them onto a worn path barely wide enough to admit the car. Tall grasses closed in around them, and the scent of hot tropical vegetation was everywhere.
Tension dripped in the air, as thick as the moisture that trickled down Cameron’s neck. He hadn’t noticed the discomfort before Acasia had stiffened beneath his touch, but now… One thing she’d never done was shut herself away from him. He pulled back. But that was then. It had been a long time…. Change was inevitable.
He shrugged regretfully and turned his attention to less difficult concerns. His shirt was sticky and uncomfortably bloody on his neck. He undid his tie and his collar button and gingerly checked his head wound. It was a mess, but not deep, hardly more than a scratch compared with what it might have been—thanks to Acasia.
He eyed her again, watching silently as she negotiated the lane that was growing so rutted it was nearly impassable. Cool under pressure, prickly, thorny, playing the ice queen. Same old Casie—almost. He remembered the first time he’d ever seen her. She’d flirted with similar odds then, too, insinuating herself between two mobs of angry students who’d been about to come to blows—or worse—over politics and religion. She’d been matter–of–fact about it, defusing the potentially volatile situation with a furious, "This isn’t going to happen, nobody dies today, understand?" then ducking quickly out of the limelight when the shocked private school students realized what they were doing. He’d found her crying later in a delayed reaction, her hands shaking too badly to open her locker, and for the first time ever he’d found himself involved in someone else’s life, opening his arms and his heart to her wi
thout thought—or preparation. To his family’s dismay, they’d become friends—and, eventually, more.
Sixteen years of unfinished business sat in the seat beside him, calmly maneuvering him out of one set of volatile circumstances and, most likely, into another. Cameron eyed Acasia with a faint sense of bitterness, with regret, with curiosity. He’d like…
Not now, he thought. Not now. "Where’re we going?"
Acasia glanced sideways. "To see Fred."
"Fred?" Less pleasant memories rushed in on Cameron. He grimaced; Acasia nodded. "Wonderful. A hostile brother in a hostile wilderness."
Acasia murmured her agreement, giving in to the urge to grin. "But the village he’s in is our safest bet for getting out of here by chopper in one piece. Sanchez’s soldiers are afraid to go there, and it’s tough to get to besides." Her grin tightened as the car lurched sideways. "Don’t worry, we won’t be there long, and I promise not to let him harm you."
Cameron snorted. How long could it take a six–foot–seven–inch hulk to do him harm? "Fred always thought I stole your virginity long before I actually did."
It was the right thing to say, apparently, because once again he got the sidelong purple gaze, the muted laughter. "Who stole whose?"
He was about to reply when the road bottomed out and the Cobra plunged off the path and down a light incline, ripping through dense undergrowth, plowing its way into the dusky, suffocating warmth of the rain forest. It bumped gently to a stop among the exposed roots of a tree. The air was filled with raucous screams and whirrings, the chuck–chuck–chuck of an unidentified bird enraged by the Cobra’s passing. Then there was silence.
Acasia hoisted herself out of her seat, then slid out over the trunk and opened it. Cameron sat still, gathering together the bits and pieces of himself jarred loose by the unceremonious descent. Now he remembered why he hadn’t missed driving with Acasia, and also the real reason why he’d never bought a Cobra. Neither car nor woman seemed to have any sense of how to get from point A to point C without rattling a guy to pieces.
"Who," he asked tightly, "had the nerve to send you after me?" He caught hold of the Cobra’s windshield and pulled himself erect, turning just in time to catch a pair of worn combat boots in the chest.
"I hope you’re still an 11 1/2 triple E?" Acasia said politely. "The State Department sent me here, via Paolo Gianini."
"Gia—" Words failed Cameron. Not three days ago the director of the private security company recommended by the State Department had looked him straight in the eye and, agreeing blandly to his plans to come down to Zaragoza, said, "Okay, Cam. It’s your hide. No interference." No interference, huh? Then what was Acasia? "You work for him?"
"With him," Acasia said. She clipped her sunglasses to the front of her shirt and viewed Cameron over the trunk lid. "This is not exactly the kind of call I appreciate, you understand, especially not when it involves you. I was under the impression you had more sense. Toss me my hat, will you?"
"You’ve got a helluva nerve talking to me about sense!" Cameron snatched the baseball cap off the floor and pitched it violently at her. "You drive like a maniac, you don’t bat an eye when we’re fired on, and you act as though chasing around the countryside with soldiers on your tail is an everyday occurrence."
"Only some weeks." Acasia caught the hat and fired a T–shirt at him in return. "You might want to lose the top half of that monkey suit. Come on! Sanchez can’t be far behind us. I want to be long gone when they find this car. Let’s move."
His metallic pewter eyes caught her purple gaze and held it as he tried to find the woman beneath the tough–guy guise. "Still a steamroller, eh, Casie?"
Acasia held his gaze unwaveringly, then forced a swagger into her movements and insolence into her cryptic reply. "Just try to stick with me, okay, Cam?"
It was the last way she wanted to act, but she couldn’t think in terms of what had been, so she didn’t tell him that even if Paolo hadn’t asked her to come she would have anyway. She didn’t say that the sight of him alone in the crowd, staggering from the blow to his head, had nearly unnerved her, which could easily have gotten them both killed. They had too far to go from here, in terms of safety and, more importantly, of friendship—and love. She couldn’t lose her control, even for a second, couldn’t let herself think about the past they’d once shared, even though she wanted to. Going back was impossible, but going on? That might be just as tough.
"Here, chew this. It’ll help keep you from getting too thirsty." Acasia tossed Cameron a stick of gum and turned to begin the automatic task of taking stock of the jungle. It was safest, right now, to stick to the job.
Chapter 2
CAMERON CAUGHT THE gum Acasia tossed him and folded it into his mouth. Wintergreen flavor coated his palate, and he glanced at her in surprise. Trust Acasia to remember the only gum he’d chewed at seventeen.
He watched as she buckled a machete scabbard around her waist and hoisted a backpack over her shoulders. The weight of the pack drew her shirt tight, and Cameron found himself completely distracted by the sight. Whatever image she chose to project, the figure beneath was all woman. Her physical appeal was undeniable, as strong now as it had always been. He licked lips gone suddenly dry, and his belly warmed. She had always done that to him, made him feel as if he were starving for something only she could provide.
The adrenaline rush produced by their flight was wearing thin. He slapped harder than necessary at a mosquito on his neck, and Acasia turned her attention to him again. For an instant he saw what he’d been looking for, there and gone: memory followed by regret. Then she settled the baseball cap over her short, straight hair, and the visor hid further revelations from him.
He realized he was still holding the shirt she’d thrown him, and he tossed it down beside the boots so that he could rid himself of his ruined dress shirt and the tie he hated. The forest brushed heavily against the silence, seemed to close around them. Everywhere Cameron looked, life grew out of decay, swarming frantically heavenward seeking light.
A thought, irrelevant and misplaced, came to him from some past reading binge. A world sufficient unto itself… Just like Acasia. She’d told him once that love and trust were wonderful emotions but the only person you could ever really depend on in this life was yourself. She’d gone out of her way once to prove to both of them that she would never need anyone but herself in order to survive. Refused to need—or to trust—anyone but herself, as Cameron himself had pointed out to her. As far as he could see, that state of affairs hadn’t changed. He worked the T–shirt over his head and sat to pull on the boots.
"Tuck your pants into them," Acasia advised automatically. "It’ll keep anything from crawling up your legs."
"You want to tie my shoes for me, too, Mom?"
"What?" Acasia looked up in surprise, then reddened slightly. Cameron had been the one to introduce her to the pants–in–the–boots trick. "Sorry. Habit."
Cameron sighed and laced up his footgear. The sparring was an old habit, too. He wiggled his toes inside the boots and permitted himself a grin. So, Madame Abrasive was not, perhaps, as tough as she appeared. Not if she remembered his shoe size. He watched curiously while she moved around at the back of the car, using minimum effort for maximum results. There was nothing delicate about her. She was too tall, too strongly built, too unbreakable; every curve was well–defined, but firm, graceful. He liked to watch her move. There was something timelessly seductive about her unselfconscious comfort with her surroundings. What, he wondered, made her so in tune with them? This was not the sophisticated Acasia who’d regaled him with stories of her father’s exploits on the Riviera, the one who’d made polite faces when he’d introduced her to his collection of zoological specimens, the one who’d been cautious in the woods….
"You ready yet?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
She set a small box on the Cobra’s fender and closed the trunk. Cameron’s heart nearly stopped. Held casually in her hands was
a 12–gauge shotgun. What had begun to feel almost like a fantasy was back to cold reality now. She checked the magazine, then pumped a shell into the chamber and added another to the magazine. The rest of the shells were dumped into a pocket of her khaki fatigue pants before she covered the gun’s muzzle with a canvas jacket and slung it over her shoulder. Her expression was one of such detached efficiency when she lifted her face to him that he gaped at her.
"Who are you?"
She shoved the cap to the back of her head and perused him quizzically, laughing when realization dawned. The corners of her mouth lifted sheepishly. "Hell, Cam, I don’t know. I ask myself that same question every morning."
Cameron slid out of the car and walked around to her. "What’s happened to you? This isn’t like you. You hated guns."
"Nothing stays the same, Cam."
"No? Then why am I still wondering if I’ll survive you?"
There was no laughter in the question, and Acasia swallowed and turned away, evading the well–remembered, too–incisive stare. "There’s a trail around here somewhere. Stay close."
"Casie…" Cameron caught her arm, and she shrugged him away without replying. Her remoteness had him stumped. His memory had kept her the way she’d been: tough but gentle; cynical but open; one of those rare people with whom friendship had been accidental and immediate, verbal communication an afterthought, love part of the natural progression. A friend with whom the conversation, even after half a lifetime, should have resumed as though they’d never left off. Even here. Instead…
He blinked, and nausea assailed him. His head throbbed, and he swayed, fighting the cloying heat. It came at him unexpectedly and relentlessly from all directions, pressing in on him, giving him the sensation of being trapped inside it. He shook his head to clear it, then focused on Acasia, who had found the trail with deceptive ease.
"Let’s go," she murmured, and motioned him along behind her, darting through the spaces of light and dark, hardly seeming to notice where she was, as if movement were all that mattered.
