The Orchid Hunter

by Sandra K. Moore

  “Here. Let me help,” Rick said behind me. I hadn’t even heard him get in the pool, I was crying so hard. “Tip your head back.”

  I did. My body naturally rose to float. I stared up through the trees while he patiently untangled, unwound and debeetled my hair. The sun warmed my front and cold water chilled my back. My mind centered on sensation, on Rick’s fingers and the green trees above me and the small swatch of blue sky shining beyond the canopy. Floating between hot and cold, feeling the occasional waterfall ripple lick up my sides to cool my skin. This was here, now. Horror behind me, horror in front of me. Tears leaked from my eyes. What if I couldn’t find another orchid?

  The sweet soap smell wafted over me as Rick gently worked the lather into my hair. There was only the steady pressure of his fingertips, then the warmth of his bare chest on my back as he drew me close to rest my head on his shoulder while he worked through the ends. He cupped his hand and spilled cold water over my forehead until the soap disappeared, leaving the strands clean.

  “You’d better do the rest yourself,” he said gruffly in my ear.

  I pivoted. He’d washed the blood from his face and hair, leaving something like despair in its place. His dark eyes seemed haunted, guilty.

  “Get some sleep,” he said before I could say anything. “I have a few things to take care of.”

  He stroked away. I watched him easily hoist himself from the pool and dress, then limp off without a backward glance. I felt sorrow—for Scooter, for Rick, for the innocent villagers, for Father João, for Marcello—and all that sorrow fed directly into the core of rage that lay deep in my heart.

  I nursed all that bad feeling while I finished my bath. I nursed it while I pulled on my sun-warmed clothes and strode back through the jungle. I nursed it when the shaman and a group of Yanomamo men paraded the bodies of their people to their sacred ground for the cremation ritual. I nursed it when I saw Rick leaning on a cassava branch crutch, talking with Porfilio outside Father João’s hut, and saw Father João join them.

  I nursed it while I lay down in my hut, pulling the mosquito netting close, as if that thin veil could prevent the world from hurting me. Or my cold rage from hurting it in return.

  Chapter 11

  In the dream, I felt warm and safe and comforted. I knew it was a dream, because I don’t usually feel that way in real life. But my body clock was screaming to get going, so I forced my eyes to slit open, my brain firing on only two cylinders.

  I lay on my side in the hammock, facing the door. The dim light coming through the hut’s cracks told me it was nearing dusk. I’d have time to track the moth to another Death Orchid. That was good news. For a change.

  While I drowsily ran through my mental climbing checklist, I gradually became aware of a warm weight on my side. And on my hand. And on my back. My brain finally ticked over into consciousness.

  Rick spooned me tightly, his arm wrapped around me, our right-hand fingers entwined. Cheeky boy, I thought automatically, then realized he was a few steps further down the road from cheeky if the steady pressure on the back of my bare thigh was any indication. One of the several nocturnal gestures of hope every man has.

  Too bad he wasn’t interested in sharing that hope with me.

  Ignoring the wave of hurt that thought provoked, I extended the fingers tangled with his and stretched. He roused and made room for me to roll over to face him, his arm still draped over my waist. The hammock swung gently with our movement.

  “Good night,” he said sleepily.

  “That’s morning to you and me.” I straightened out my muscle tee that had corkscrewed around when I rolled over.

  He inhaled deeply, then opened those brown eyes. We were nearly nose to nose, our lower bodies touching just enough to remind me of what I wanted and couldn’t have. He seemed to study me for a minute, then did the most erotic thing any man had ever done. He pillowed his head on his bent elbow and started talking.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You were crying in your sleep when I came in.” His eyes wandered to my temple and he frowned. “Good God, Jess, what happened to you?” He moved his arm to stroke the hair away from my forehead, where Daley’s pistol had clipped me.

  I shrugged. “I lost.”

  “Lawrence Daley?” His voice was hard.

  “Fair play.”

  His eyes narrowed and his arm dropped back to my waist. “And he took the orchid?”

  “Yeah. I was stupid. I had two. I should have left them in the canopy and carried decoys.”

  “What about your great-uncle?”

  Fresh pain twisted in my gut. Everything in my life had gone to hell in a handbasket in about four hours flat. “I’ve got six days to get a Death Orchid back to my employer’s pharmaceutical company.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  I took a deep breath and broke yet again my self-inflicted rule about keeping my private business private. “The company is working on a drug and they think the Death Orchid has the compound they’re looking for.”

  “So the hurry is…” he prompted.

  “Scooter’s got maybe three weeks left, if that. They can create the drug to help him after I get back with the orchid.”

  Rick’s chiseled lips pressed to a thin line. “No lab can get a drug out that fast. It takes a year and a half at best to go from formulation to phase two trials on humans.” He paused. “Well, with the new FDA regulations they can cut it to six months in some cases.”

  “I got the impression this pharma had a backup plan.”

  “Backup plan?”

  “Like they had more than one iron in the fire. Take this plant out, put the Death Orchid in.”

  “Then they’re talking about switching out the primary compound.” He shook his head. “The process starts over. Not from elementary research, which could take five to ten years, but you’ve still got the six months to get to trials.”

  I’d never questioned what von Brutten had told me because pharmacology wasn’t my area of interest. I knew only in general terms how pharmaceutical companies got from Point A to Point B, but had never known specific timelines. Not like Rick apparently knew them.

  Had von Brutten been feeding me a line just to get the Death Orchid into his hands faster than usual? Because he had a bet going with Thurston-Fitzhugh? Sure, he wouldn’t win any philanthropy awards, but he’d never lied to me about what he wanted or what he’d give to get it. My considerable bank account vouched for that.

  No, von Brutten must have an ace up his sleeve on this one. Maybe he planned to market the drug as an herbal supplement or something else that didn’t require FDA approval.

  Or maybe the Death Orchid meant a lot more to him than he was letting on. Harrison had disappeared over it. Daley might have killed me for it. Was the orchid really that potent?

  “I can’t risk missing this deadline,” I said. “It’s the only chance I have.”

  “I understand.” Rick was quiet for a moment, then said, “Have you lived with your great-uncle for a long time?”

  “Since I was seven. My parents died in a car accident and I went to live with him in east Texas.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s tough.” Wheels appeared to turn in his head. “Scooter helped make you who you are.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I think he let me be who I am.”

  “Yeah, that’s different,” he agreed. “When did he get sick?”

  “A few weeks ago. He got into a drug trial program because the pharmaceutical was using some kind of natural extract for a drug base.”

  “What? The same pharmaceutical you’re working for—”

  “I’m not working for a pharma,” I said shortly. “I work for a private collector. He’s got the connections to the pharmaceutical, not me.”

  Rick frowned. “Working for a pharmaceutical company isn’t a sin. They do a lot of good work.”

  “Maybe so, but right now I’m thinking t
hey’re about as trustworthy as Old Lady Fenster’s rabbit feet,” I retorted.

  “Old Lady—”

  “Don’t get me started.”

  He sighed. “So what happened to your great-uncle?”

  “He agreed to be a guinea pig for the new drug they made. Then the experimental drug they gave him damaged his heart. They pretty much said, ‘Sorry, Pops, you’re too old to fix.’”

  “Bastards.”

  I followed this understatement with, “My employer has his own pharmaceutical company that’s a direct competitor.”

  “And he thinks he can use the Death Orchid to save your great-uncle.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded, still keeping my gaze. “Six days.”

  “I had to haul ass from day one, but I can’t keep it up.” I rolled to my back, set the hammock swinging again, and thought how good it felt to be putting all this out on the table for someone like Rick. He might not like my choices and tactics, but I got the impression he’d never question my motivation. Being just his buddy was a bitch, but maybe it was for the best, because I sure as hell didn’t have any idea how to be anything else with a man. Except maybe a good lay.

  “It’s my fault,” he said suddenly.

  I turned my head to look at him.

  “The attack on the village,” he continued, his eyes growing haunted again. “I thought if I could just talk to those guys, make them see reason—” His jaw clenched, then released. “You were right. I had no business getting in the middle of it. They don’t know how to negotiate with anything other than guns.”

  I rolled to my side and hesitantly stroked his cheek. “Their being bastards isn’t your fault,” I said as gently as I knew how.

  “But I should have stayed out of it. You were right about not getting involved. Marcello might still be here if I’d left it alone.”

  “What about Porfilio?” I demanded. “Wasn’t he there trying to fix things, too? Why isn’t it his fault?”

  “Because I convinced him to bargain with the colonel,” he said flatly. “I thought the best thing to do was to be up-front with them, make an offer for peace. I was wrong.”

  “Did you do what you thought was best?” I asked.

  He knew where I was going and didn’t answer the question.

  So I badgered. “Or did you blow in with your typical arrogance assuming you knew what was best for everybody else?”

  He irritably withdrew his arm from my waist and turned to lie on his back.

  “I guess it was the latter, then,” I said. “I hit some button square on, didn’t I?”

  “Look, I already feel like hell.”

  “I know,” I said softly, raising up on my elbow to lean close. “That’s why I think you should cut yourself some slack. Yes, people died.” I let the tears pour, unashamed. “Yeah, Marcello died. But I don’t remember you pulling a trigger or swinging a machete. You were just trying to help.” I wiped my cheeks dry as I added, “You did your best, and that’s the best anyone can do.”

  He shook his head. “No. I could have stayed out of it. First rule of fieldwork. And now Porfilio and the Yanomamo expect me to lead their war council.”

  I sighed. Dr. Richard Kinkaid, Bug Nerd, was the best man I knew. “Heart of the jaguar” had been a fine way of putting it.

  “I should have listened to you,” he continued. “You always know what you’re doing.”

  “No,” I said truthfully, “I don’t.” My voice caught as I said, “I could have been here. I could have dumped a decoy orchid on Daley and come back here to help. Or waited another day.”

  “But our agendas were different. The talks with the miners wasn’t what you were doing.”

  “Maybe it should have been.”

  And I had to face that possibility. Maybe it was time to consider the idea that my determined self-interest, the ease with which I let everyone else’s problems be their own, without lifting a finger to help, might not be the best plan. Not always.

  Had I waited another night, couldn’t I have helped the Yanomamo fight the pistoleiros and still gotten my orchids, perhaps giving Daley a day to get farther away without finding me? Now I was yet another day behind, with no moth to track, and would have to execute another dangerous climb tonight in hopes of finding an orchid I overlooked the night before.

  Meanwhile, Scooter was dying. The villagers had died or were preparing to. People I respected, even if they didn’t like me or want me around, were injured.

  And Marcello was gone.

  Rick rolled to face me, but instead of putting his arm over me, he stroked my face. “Did you do your best or did you waltz in believing you knew what was best?” he chided gently. “You always know where you are and what to do,” he whispered. “I envy that.”

  He leaned forward and kissed me, as if our contact would somehow imbue him with those qualities. It started out soft, searching. The sheer comfort of being touched by a man who respected me took my breath away. It was peaceful and simple and innocent. As it always would be with Rick, who was far too good a man for me.

  Then he groaned, pushed me onto my back and rolled on top. Before I could move, he lowered his head and kissed me again. His tongue thrust into my mouth and I welcomed it, tasting him, matching him passion for passion. He broke the kiss. His mouth started roaming my neck, his breath hot. The hammock’s shape made him arch into me and I gave him room to settle between my thighs.

  I hadn’t earned it, and I certainly didn’t deserve it, but my God, did I need it.

  I wanted the comfort of his body and his passion and his need, as much as he seemed to need mine. And I planned to give it all to him if it would make this ache in my heart go away for a while.

  My hands ran down his strong back to his hips, where those sexy black briefs he wore snugged his skin. His fullness pressed my sweet spot agonizingly, and when he barely arced his body to rub against me, I nearly came just with the anticipation.

  He raised his head to kiss me deeply again, then settled comfortably along my body and gazed at me with regret.

  “I can’t do this,” he whispered.

  “Yes, you can,” I replied, trying to keep the pleading note out of my voice.

  He shook his head and cast a long lock over his eyes. I ran my hands through his hair to draw it from his face. The bedroom fantasy was back in full force. “You’d look great in a ponytail,” I observed for the hundredth time, the first time out loud. “Now take me.”

  “I won’t.” His soft expression made me ache. “As much as I want to, I won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not just about us.”

  God, I thought, exasperated. What idealistic claptrap was he about to spring on me now?

  “This hut is full of everything out there. Marcello, your great-uncle, the colonel, the villagers. They’re all here. It’s not just us.”

  “I don’t care. I need this.”

  “This isn’t how it should be,” he insisted, still deliciously hard against me. Then something that looked like sadness crossed his eyes. “I don’t want to be just one of your men, Jessie.”

  Every hot spot in my body turned to ice.

  “Yeah, I’d hate to ruin a good working relationship by making you the last in a long line of bad choices,” I said, levering him off me and scrambling out of the hammock.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” He pushed up on an elbow, the hammock swaying hard from my sudden exit. “The pilot, Carlos. You’d known him what? A day?”

  “My personal life has nothing to do with you,” I said, sweeping the netting aside to leave him in the sanctuary alone, “and I don’t remember giving you permission to comment on it or my choice of lovers.”

  “Lovers?” Even through the filmy white netting, I saw every line of his body was taut with tension as he swung out of the hammock. “Is that what you call your one-night stands?”

  “No. I call those fun.”

  “Yeah, you looke
d like you were having a great time when I met you, presumably the day after a little ‘fun.’”

  “Okay, hotshot. Interested in my laundry list?” I challenged. “Should I tell you about Marcus in San Antonio? How about Roy in Costa Rica? Or Jack in Indonesia? There’re plenty more.”

  “I just don’t want to be added to the list,” he said.

  I could tell all the evidence was stacked against me. Self-righteous son of a bitch. “Look, I know I don’t deserve you,” I said, cramming my foot into my pant leg, “so let’s just let it go at that, okay? We agree that I’m not good enough for you. I knew that before you started pawing me, thank you very much.” I zipped up.

  “That’s not what I was saying, Jess.”

  “The hell it wasn’t.”

  “Be honest with me here. ‘Long line.’ Those were your words.”

  “I was honest with you about everything I could be.” I buttoned my shirt up with shaking hands. “Your track record must be pristine. I guess you’ve made excellent choices all your life. I haven’t.” I whipped my hair into its usual ponytail. “Call me a slow learner, but nobody I’ve ever been with has lasted longer than one night. At least give me points for not giving up, no matter how bad it hurts afterward.”

  “One night’s not much to work with.”

  “It was all I had.”

  “And whose choice was that? Who left whom?”

  A sudden spasm gripped my chest. I couldn’t speak.

  “It’s all or nothing for you,” he persisted, stepping close, “except you don’t give anyone anything. You think you do, but you don’t.”

  “I know the way things work.” I hated how weak my voice sounded. “People don’t hang around for long. Not the ones you need.”

  Rick’s eyes narrowed and his voice was gruff. “No, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they don’t even give you a chance.”

  “Hey, I was interested in giving you a chance.”

  “All you had on offer was your body. That’s all you’ve ever offered anyone.”

  Stung, I retorted, “Don’t worry, I’m clean. I get my regular checkups. You wouldn’t have caught anything from me.”