Running Wild

by Susan Andersen

  She, too, peered up at the vast canopy. “It’s probably a good idea. I forgot how dim it can get down here.” She glanced at the creek. “We need to hike to a higher place, though, away from the water.”

  “You sure? That seems counterintuitive.”

  “I know, but it was always the rule the few times I camped out as a kid. Higher ground was best. It had something to do with malaria and typhoid fever. Malaria is caused by mosquitoes, so staying away from stagnant puddles and ponds that are by-products of the creek makes sense. My knowledge is a lot sketchier when it comes to typhoid.”

  “Neither of us wants to risk exposure to either disease, though, so camping away from water it is.”

  They jumped the creek and climbed an increasingly steep slope on the other side, digging in their poles for balance where necessary and using the more vine-like vegetation to pull themselves up when the poles weren’t enough. Finn carefully tested every patch of ground he managed to clear with the machete they’d picked up last night before he’d let Magdalene attempt it. They arrived at a small plateau just as it began to rain.

  Dropping his pack by his feet, he pulled out the tent, separated out its fly and hung it from overhead branches for a shelter while he set up the tent. He squatted beneath the tarp to clear a spot but when he reached out to level the area by sweeping away part of the first stratum with his hands, Mags stopped him.

  “Use a stick or your hiking pole to do that,” she said. “Snakes tend to stake out spots beneath or in the lee of downed branches. Add a nest of leaves to that and they think it’s the Four Seasons.”

  He managed to suppress a shudder, but man, he hated snakes. He hoped to hell she couldn’t tell, because she seemed pretty copacetic with the whole hidden-carnivorous-reptiles thing, and he wasn’t about to admit he was scared of something she wasn’t. “You gotta be the first chick I’ve ever met who can speak neutrally about snakes.”

  “I hate the startle factor of them, but if I know they’re there they don’t bother me much. Spiders, now, that’s a whole different story.” She shivered. “Spiders are my kryptonite. Just talking about them gives me goose bumps down to my ankles.”

  “Hey, I’ll kill your spiders if you kill my snakes.”

  “Deal. I’ll even skin them out and roast them over a fire for dinner.”

  He gaped at her. “Tell me you’re just screwing with my head.”

  She snorted. “Well, yeah.” She let loose a huge belly laugh. “God, you should see your face.” Even as she messed with him, however, he noted the way she bent to give his hair a consoling little stroke.

  “I might not be terrified of reptiles,” she continued as she straightened once again, “but I’m sure as heck not getting within touching distance of one. Especially not one of those boas that can pretty much match a pickup for length, headlights to a freaking open tailgate.”

  Christ. “There’s an image I could have lived without you planting in my brain.”

  She just grinned at him and he found himself smiling right back at her.

  He was almost finished setting up camp when a troupe of howler monkeys swung through the treetops, heading in their direction. A couple of the smallest scrambled from branch to branch partway down a nearby tree to check them out. They stared silently and Finn pulled his camera out of the pack and zoomed in on them. He snapped a couple photos before one noticed him looking back at them through the viewfinder. The monkey threw back his head and, mouth open wide to display an impressive set of sharp teeth, let loose with the guttural, barking noise that was the breed’s trademark. The other monkey simply stared at them as he placidly chewed a leaf. A few moments later both grew bored and chased off after the adults, who were now several trees ahead of them. Finn put his camera back in the pack and refocused on setting up the remainder of their camp.

  Half an hour later, he and Magdalene sat in the tent with their feet outside, eating their newly heated meal and passing a bottle of red back and forth as they took turns drinking directly from it.

  “We’re only a day or so from where we think Munoz’s grow farm is,” he said. “We should probably talk about how we intend to spring your folks without getting captured ourselves.” If the place was as tightly secured as he imagined it must be, their chances of actually freeing her parents without getting the Delucas and themselves killed were...well, not real good.

  “Yeah,” she agreed gloomily and knocked back another gulp from the neck she’d just wiped with her hand in preparation to sharing it with him. Lowering the bottle, she knuckled her bottom lip, where a drop of wine had nestled, looked at the smear it left on her finger, then licked it away. “Truth is,” she said to her feet, “I’ve been kind of avoiding that.”

  Then she turned her head to look him directly in the eye. “Because after dragging you into my mess and coming up with my big plan to bust my parents out of Munoz’s grow farm, I don’t have the first idea how we’re supposed to manage that.”

  “We need a diversion.” He gave her a big, feral grin. “And for that we have Joaquin’s gun.”

  “Omigawd,” she said faintly. “We’re going in guns—gun—blazing?” Her horrified eyes told him what she thought of that idea.

  “Hell, no. The big problem, as I see it, is that Munoz probably has the perimeters of the grow farm rigorously patrolled. That’s what I’d do, have a lot of men out there to make sure no one got in or out. So we’ll watch them until we know what the routine is, then set some traps. If we can thin the ranks without getting caught, we’ll set the traps again, build us the smallest smokeless fire we can get away with. Then, when it’s nice and hot, we’re tossing the J-man’s bullets into it and getting the hell away from the area, because, darlin’ that’s gonna bring soldiers on the double. And while they’re checking out the disturbance we’ll try our damnedest to locate and extricate your folks.”

  Mags merely stared at him openmouthed and he shrugged apologetically. “I know,” he said. “It’s a far from awesome plan. But it’s the best I can come up with without more in our arsenal than a handful of bullets, a decent amount of rope, the machete and my two flares, which we’ll also utilize.”

  “Oh, God, are you kidding me?” She threw herself in his arms and smacked little soft-lipped kisses all over his face. “At least you have a plan. I had nothing. Nada—not a single freaking idea in my head. With my skill sets, what was I going to do, give them a makeover?”

  “That’s actually part of my plan.”

  She blinked, then stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Giving them a makeover?”

  “No, camouflaging us. Truth is, we won’t know what we’re dealing with until we get there, but don’t you imagine the farm’s likely been reclaimed from the rain forest?”

  She nodded. “Makes the most sense.”

  “It does, and the better we blend into our surroundings—the forest that hopefully comes right up to it—the safer we’ll be. So, your makeup skills are important. You’ll need to make us one with our surroundings.”

  She gave him a delighted smile. “I can do that!”

  “Damn straight you can. In the dead of night, blindfolded.”

  She stilled. “Da-a-amn, Finn. You are probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”

  He bit back a grimace. But, please...again with the nice? Even knowing she considered it a bona fide compliment, he couldn’t help but think that nice from the mouth of a pretty girl was usually the kiss of death. It meant they wanted to be friends with a guy.

  Which was Kiss of Death II, The Overkill.

  And didn’t his timing just suck the atom bomb? Because after all his do-I-or-don’t-I’s, he’d solved his dilemma about whether to seek a monogamous relationship or to carry on with his long-standing, comfortable man-ho ways.

  He wanted a relationship. With Magdalene.

  What a kick in the pants. It felt like a revelation, yet it wasn’t out of the blue. From the moment he’d clamped eyes on her, he’d been drawn like he was the magne
tic needle and she true north. Still, whenever he’d found himself hung up on her smile, her fit body, her eyes when the sun hit them or her uncomplaining way of getting things done—even the curve of her cheek, for God’s sake—he’d assured himself he’d known her for a couple of days and the way she made him feel was likely simple lust or part of the adrenaline rush of their mad scramble across El Tigre.

  And, shit, who was to say that wouldn’t turn out to be the case? Maybe his feelings wouldn’t carry over to real life when things went back to normal and they left this country behind.

  But he didn’t believe that. Because he got it now, why people committed to just one person—he totally did. He’d never known he could feel about a woman the way he did about Magdalene. Yet suddenly he could visualize something he’d never even imagined. He could truly see them settling into a regular everyday life—hold the big adventure—and still couldn’t imagine himself not wanting to commit to her alone for the long haul. And where the mere thought should have been enough to make him break out in a cold sweat, it instead made him feel...great. Shockingly, amazingly great.

  Except for that part where she thought he was fucking nice.

  So, that’s it? his subconscious demanded. You just pack up your toys and go home?

  Oh, hell no. He squared his shoulders. He had the woman he—holy shit—just might love on his lap with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. A guy would have to be a much less strategic planner than he was to let that opportunity pass him by. Bending his head, he kissed Mags’s neck.

  She shivered and tipped her head to give him wider access.

  He licked the hollow at the base of her throat, then lowered his head farther to graze her collarbone with his teeth. “I’m not nice, Magdalene—get that through your head once and for all.”

  “Not nice,” she murmured agreeably. “Even if it’s not a bad thing. Got it.”

  “Would a nice guy do this?” Both of them were covered from head to toe to avoid the lively insect life in the rain forest, but he slid his hands up her back beneath her long-sleeved T-shirt and popped her bra. Before he could bring his hands around to cup her breasts, however, he heard a rustling in the woods.

  Ardor promptly sidelined, he lifted her off his lap, held a finger to his lips in the universal “don’t say a word” as he set her back down, then moved to put himself between her and the trail, from which he was 99 percent certain the sound was originating.

  “Finn,” she breathed in protest, but he shot her a steely-eyed don’t-even-think-about-arguing look over his shoulder. And, wonder of wonders, it was actually effective, since she settled behind his back without further argument. Finn reached into his backpack and pulled out Joaquin’s gun. He’d never imagined himself actually using it except in the diversionary way he’d described to Mags, but his aversion to the weapon paled in comparison to his fear for her, so he checked the clip, removed the safety and steadied his grip on an up-drawn kneecap to take aim at the point where the path opened to their camp. The continuing muffled noises were definitely coming from that direction. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades at the thought of a troupe of cartel soldiers stepping into view.

  It was an older man and woman, however, who rounded the bend, and they looked the worse for wear. “Hold it right there,” he said in a flat voice and they stumbled to a stop.

  The woman had a graying blond braid and wasn’t dressed for the rain forest. Instead of being covered up the way Mags had decreed they must, she was dressed only in a lightweight dress. It was made of dark material and had a modest cut, but her arms, exposed from elbow to fingertips, and her legs, exposed from calf to her bare feet, were swollen with insect bites. The man also wore no shoes, but he looked in better shape than she.

  “You’re American,” the woman said in a dazed, yet somehow no-nonsense, voice. In English.

  Mags gave his back a shove, but until he was positive these two weren’t armed he wasn’t about to expose her, so he merely tightened his back muscles and refused to move.

  “Dammit, Finn,” she said and shoved to her feet behind him.

  The woman looked shell-shocked as she said, “Magdalene?”

  At the same time that Mags blurted, “Nancy? Brian?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ON THE HEELS of her shocked outburst, Mags felt as though someone had nail gunned her feet to the ground. For the space of several long heartbeats she could only stand there and gawk at her parents.

  Ever since Joaquin let slip that Munoz had Nancy and Brian, she’d been operating with tunnel vision, her sights firmly set on one goal alone: to locate the farm where her parents were being held and get them away from it. It was an eye-opening shocker when Finn asked how she planned to do that once they found the grow farm and she’d realized she didn’t have the sketchiest of strategies. And worse, that she had dragged him into something with a very real potential for getting them both killed.

  She knew their run-ins with Munoz’s goons should have drummed that into her head from the get-go—knew it, knew it, knew it. Instead, even as it had scared the pants off her, she’d found it kind of exciting. God knew she hadn’t taken the threat to their lives seriously enough.

  Now here her folks stood, alive, relatively unharmed and close enough to touch if she could get her feet to move. So aside from keeping the heck away from anyone connected to Victor Munoz, it slowly sank past the muzziness in her brain that a game plan was no longer needed. And it was a relief—God, such a relief.

  So, why, at the same time, did it feel kind of...anticlimactic?

  She shook her head to shoo the thought away. “We heard Munoz had you stashed on his grow farm.”

  “And you were coming to get us?” Nancy demanded incredulously. “Oh, Magdalene. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

  She was beginning to. But in an admittedly knee-jerk reaction toward her mother in particular—since Nancy was the more iron-willed of her parents and in Mags’s mind Brian had always done as she wished—she shrugged. Sulkily, God help her, as if she’d taken a page straight out of her angry-adolescent playbook.

  “What were you thinking?” Nancy continued with crisp schoolmarm-to-student use-the-brain-the-good-Lord-gave-you diction. “Munoz wanted nothing more than to get his hands on you so he could use you as a bargaining chip to control us. He knew—”

  “Is this really the way you want your reunion with your daughter to go?” Finn demanded in his most clipped, authoritarian voice, and Mags watched as her mother’s mouth first dropped open, then snapped closed as the older woman turned to face him, chin elevated and her expression loaded with a steely authority of her own.

  Which clearly didn’t affect Finn in the least. “You honest to God want to treat her like the irresponsible thirteen-year-old you shipped off to the States?” He met her mother’s gaze with level-eyed disinterest in her umbrage. “Except, wait. She wasn’t actually irresponsible then, either, was she?”

  His voice went hard. “She knocked herself out and, yes, put herself in danger, all in order to save your ass—and all you can do is stand there and tell her how wrong that makes her?” Without awaiting a reply, he turned his attention to Mags and his tone gentled. “Grab the first-aid kit. Let’s see if we can’t make your folks more comfortable.”

  She turned numbly to follow his instructions. Holy crap, he’d said “ass” to her mother. Her mother! And he’d stood up for her. She smiled slightly as she unzipped the backpack to find the medical kit.

  Behind her Nancy demanded, “Who are you, young man?”

  “My name is Finn Kavanagh. Finnegan, if you feel the need to be formal.”

  “Really?” Mags craned to look at him over her shoulder. “Finnegan? I never knew that.”

  He hitched a muscular shoulder. “Why would you? It’s not like anyone in the known universe ever calls me that except for Ma when she’s mad at me. And then it’s all—” his voice went vaguely falsetto “—Finnegan Declan Kavanagh!”
/>
  Clearly impatient with what she deemed nonessential chitchat, Nancy firmly inserted herself between them, blocking their line of sight to each other. Hands on her hips, she glared up at Finn. “Are you a mercenary?”

  Mags snorted and Finn threw back his head and laughed with uninhibited amusement. He quickly got himself under control, however, and said politely to Nancy, “No, ma’am. I’m a contractor. My brothers and I own a construction company in Seattle.”

  “Finn came to El Tigre to hike the Andes and got caught up in my problems when he came across one of Munoz’s soldiers threatening me. He intervened and we’ve been on the run from them ever since.” Mags gave her head an impatient shake. “But that’s not the important thing here. How on earth did you and Brian get away from the farm?”

  “That would be your mother.” Her father spoke for the first time, then smiled wryly. “Well, in a backward sort of way.” He crossed to Mags to carefully gather her to his chest and give her a gentle hug. “It’s good to see you, kiddo. You’re so grown up.” He stroked her hair. “And even more beautiful than I imagined.”

  Mags closed her eyes against the rush of warmth of being in his arms, and at his scent, which, although faint beneath a bitter, masking aroma of whatever he had smeared on his skin, was still familiar even after all these years. Cautiously, she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him back.

  They stood thus for a moment before he stepped back to hold her at arm’s length. Brushing a tendril away from her temple, he looked down at her. “She finally drove Munoz’s cousin to the breaking point.”

  “I merely pointed out that the prostitutes should have access to medical care and frequent checks for STDs,” Nancy said hotly. “It was in his own best interest, and the way they treat those women is criminal!”