Dangerous Desires

by Dee Davis

  Madeline relished the feeling of his hand against hers. She was acting like an adolescent, and she knew it, but then she’d never really had the chance to be young and carefree. And just for a moment, despite the situation, she felt something stirring. Something different from the usual rush of anger and resentment that dominated her life.

  Hope.

  She started to smile, then sobered, pulling her hand free as reality slammed home with a sickening jolt. “There’s someone behind us. Another boat.” It wasn’t a whole lot bigger, but based on the roar from the engine, even at this distance, she had the feeling it was faster and probably more efficient.

  “Don’t borrow problems,” Drake said, revving the outboard motor, the gesture in direct opposition to the thought. “We don’t know that they’re hostile.”

  “We don’t know that they’re not,” she countered. “And at least so far in this little adventure of ours, company has meant gunmen.”

  “Well, whoever they are, they’re closing fast.”

  The boat was still trailing a good distance behind them, but Madeline could see that they’d already cut the distance by at least a quarter. “What are we going to do? We’re not going to be able to outrun them.”

  “We’re going to give it a try.”

  “And if that fails?” she whispered, her voice carrying under the sound of the straining motor.

  “There’s always—”

  “Plan B.” She nodded, her heart hammering, her gaze riveted on the boat behind them. “I know. Let’s just hope this one doesn’t involve jumping over a waterfall.”

  “Whatever keeps us alive,” he said, turning to check out the boat behind them. “Looks like a cruiser.”

  “Is that good or bad?” she asked, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

  “Good in that it’s slower than a jet boat. But bad in that it’s going to hold more people.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of your friends riding to the rescue? A helicopter or something?”

  “Grab the com link out of the bag. I don’t think it’ll work, but it won’t hurt to try.”

  Madeline fumbled with the zipper in the backpack and then rummaged through the contents until she found the tiny earphone and corresponding transmitter. “I just talk into it, right?”

  “There’s a button by the earbud.”

  She pushed the button and stuck it into her ear, wincing as static vibrated through her head. “Hello?” she asked. “Is anyone there?” More static.

  “Try switching to a different channel. Three maybe.”

  She twisted the button to the requisite number and tried again. Still nothing. “There’s just static.”

  “It was worth a try.” Drake shrugged, moving the skiff in a dizzying zigzag pattern through the water.

  The cruiser behind them was closing fast. She could see people moving on a sun-shaded platform above the main deck. One was pointing. Another maybe steering. It was hard to tell for sure. But there was no mistaking the man by the railing with a gun.

  “Grab the glasses,” he said, nodding toward the pack again.

  She tossed in the com link and pulled out the field glasses. “I can see a gun,” she said. “The man above the deck. There are two others up there with him, but I can’t make out whether they have weapons.” As if on cue, the second man shifted and the fading sunlight hit the barrel of his gun. “Make that two of them armed.”

  “Handguns or something more?”

  “Rifles. At least I think so. They’re too long to be machine guns.”

  “You recognize any of them?”

  She turned the knob to tighten the focus, her heart hammering. “Yes. Definitely di Silva’s men. I recognize two of them.”

  “Damn bastards are everywhere,” Drake said, his eyes back on the river in front of them. “Any sign of the old man or Ortiz?”

  She moved the glasses in a slow arc. “I don’t see them. And it wouldn’t be like Ortiz to come on the hunt. He likes to keep a low profile. Always letting other people do his dirty work.” Like her. She pushed away the thought as the cruiser’s engine changed timbre, the boat picking up speed. “They’re getting closer.”

  “Then we need to get ready.”

  “I’m not sure what we can do to beat the odds,” she said. “They have a decided advantage. If nothing else, there are more of them and their boat is faster.”

  “Yes, but we’re smarter.”

  It was a nice thought, but judging from the expression on his face, she wasn’t certain that he actually believed it.

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “For now I want you to get your gun and take over the motor. I assume that bayou of yours required using boats?”

  She nodded. “We had one a lot like this.”

  “All right then, I want you to take over. But I need you to stay down. As low as you can and still see to navigate. No matter what’s happening I need you to keep your eyes on the river in front of us. You think you can do that?”

  “No problem,” she said, pulling the gun from the waist of her pants. “What are you going to do?”

  “Give you cover when the time comes, and in the meantime try to figure a way out of this mess.”

  “Assuming there is one.” She hadn’t meant to sound so negative, but she was bone tired and the threats just never seemed to stop.

  “Come on, now,” he cajoled. “I didn’t figure you for a quitter.”

  She lifted her chin, pushing aside her fear. “I’ll be fine. You just work on getting us the hell out of here.” Dropping onto the floor of the little boat, she shifted so that she could more easily control the motor and guide the skiff.

  Drake moved to the other side, keeping the boat in balance as he eyed the cruiser behind them. Madeline concentrated on the river in front of her. The current had slowed, the banks widening as the Rio Negro moved closer to the sea.

  “Try to keep the boat moving in a zigzag pattern. Not so much that we lose additional ground, but enough so that it’s harder to figure trajectory.” As if to verify his words, shots rang out, one of them ricocheting against the side of the boat. She veered to the left and then back to the right in response.

  “That’s the ticket,” Drake said, the quirk of a smile lifting his upper lip. “At least we know now where we stand.”

  “Definitely not friendlies,” she said, using his terminology, as another round of bullets cut into the water beside them.

  “Just keep down, and keep the boat moving.”

  “Not a problem,” she said, swerving again to the right and then back to the left, the little boat lurching as it moved through the water. Ahead of them the current picked up as the river grew more shallow, rushing across a group of boulders stretching from one side to the other.

  “There are rocks ahead,” she said. “I’m going to have to slow down. Make sure I don’t hit anything.”

  Drake nodded, bracing himself against the side as the cruiser pulled closer, the hail of bullets finding purchase in the sides of the boat. Lifting his gun, he fired a couple of times in rapid succession, and one of the men fell over the railing and into the water.

  “One down,” he said, still firing, as she slowed to navigate the rapids.

  The current grabbed the boat, sending it spinning forward, as Madeline fought to maintain control. Behind them the other boat slowed as well, recognizing the danger that lay ahead.

  Drake dropped down beside her, reaching into his bag for a clip to reload. “We’re down to three. Two shooters and the guy driving.”

  “I’d say that narrows the odds,” she said, gritting her teeth as the boat scraped against the jagged side of a boulder.

  “One more and I’d say we’ve got an advantage.” He grinned and popped up to resume shooting as bullets slammed into the seat behind her, the other boat powering through the rapids. “Stay down,” Drake called, a bullet just missing her hand.

  She nodded, keeping her focus on the river and the skiff,
passing the last of the boulders with a sharp release of breath. “We made it past the rocks, but the skiff took a hit, and the motor is running hot. There’s no way we’re going to outrun them.”

  “I know,” he said, as the cruiser cleared the rocks and began firing again, this time one of their bullets finding its mark. Drake gasped, his face going tight with pain, his shoulder blossoming crimson.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped, her heart stuttering to a stop. “You’ve been shot.” She started toward him, her mind fixed only on making sure he was okay.

  “No.” He held up a hand. “Stay where you are. We’ve got to keep moving. I’ll be okay. It’s a through-and-through and it didn’t hit the bone.”

  She hesitated for a second more, and the other boat took advantage, moving closer, their gunfire audible now as bullets chased through the water.

  “Madeline, move. Now.”

  She gunned the motor, pulling back ahead of the cruiser, keeping the little boat moving in an irregular pattern. Beside her, Drake popped up to fire again, the line of his jaw letting her know that he was not okay. Forcing herself to push all thoughts of him out of her mind, she concentrated instead on the water in front of them.

  Ahead she could see a bend in the river, and just beyond it, the beginnings of what looked to be an island. Madeline squinted as she studied the curve, memory tugging, presenting a different body of water.

  The bayou.

  She’d been twelve. Jenny ten. And they’d been frog-gigging. It was really late and they were heading home when the lights of another boat had approached from behind. The bayou wasn’t the safest place, especially at night, and even if the other boat proved not to be a threat, there was still the fact that they’d snuck out, and there’d be hell to pay if their father were to find out.

  At first they’d tried to outrun the other boat, but when it had become apparent that they were losing ground, Madeline had doused the lights and pulled into a small cove. She could still feel Jenny’s fingers closing around hers. Hearts pounding in unison, they’d waited. The other boat had roared past them, the darkness keeping them safe.

  “Maybe we can use the island,” Madeline said, pulling her thoughts back to the present, her memory giving her the germ of an idea. “If I take the narrow side, I don’t think the cruiser will be able to follow.” She nodded toward the tree-covered strip of land as they made their way around the bend.

  Drake narrowed his eyes as he swung around to study the possibilities. “They’ll cut us off on the far side, but maybe we can turn that to our advantage. Do it,” he said, the stain on his shirt already turning dark as the blood oxidized.

  The other boat was so close now, she could read the call letters on the side. Bullets slammed into the skiff and strafed the water. She pulled the boat to the right, giving every indication of following the current along the wider side. The cruiser followed suit, and the two boats careened through the rushing waters.

  Then, just as they reached the point of the island, Madeline pulled the little boat hard to the left, the skiff skipping across the water like a giant stone. In seconds, they were behind the shelter of the trees, leaving the other boat no choice but to continue forward along the opposite shore.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’ve had worse.” He grimaced. “We’ll deal with it when we get out of this.”

  “All right,” she said, accepting his assessment. “I’ve bought us a couple of seconds. What do you suggest we do?” She slowed the boat slightly, as they continued to move forward, with an occasional glimpse of the other boat through the trees.

  “I’ve got an idea, but it’s going to be tricky. I want you to pace the boat so that the gap between us is infinitesimal. Then as we hit the end of the island I want you to slow down so that we’re behind them as we come out from cover.”

  “But we’ll be trapped. There’s no way this engine can outrun theirs going upriver.”

  “I don’t want to outrun them,” he said. “I want to take them out. One shot to the gas tank and they’re history.”

  “You think you can manage that? We’re sitting a lot lower than they are, and being that close will make us sitting ducks. And besides, you’re hurt.”

  “That has nothing to do with it.” He frowned. “Timing is the key. You’ve got to make them think you’re coming out in front until the very last second. Then you’ve got to kill the engine so that they pass us and I can get off a shot. Then you’re going to have to gun us into reverse so that we don’t get caught in the blast.”

  “Piece of cake,” she lied, praying that she was indeed up to the challenge. “Just be sure you hit the tank the first time. I doubt we’ll have a second chance.”

  “Roger that,” he agreed. “Which means that I need to up our odds. Give me your gun.”

  She passed it across to him, frowning. “What are you going to do?”

  “Pull a Rambo. Two guns are always better than one.”

  “Just be careful,” she whispered, surprised at the emotion in the plea.

  “Not a problem.” He shot her a smile, checking the clips in both guns. “I’d say we’ll ETA in less than a minute. Remember, timing is crucial, so wait for my go to kill the engine.”

  She nodded as he moved into place at the front of the boat, aligning himself for the best possible shot.

  Beside her through the trees, Madeline could see the white of the cruiser as it moved along the river. She slowed a little to let it pull ahead slightly, and then gunned the engine again as they moved toward the far point of the island.

  The two boats pulled out from behind their respective sides of the island almost running parallel. Madeline held her breath as she watched the other boat, her brain focused on the task at hand as she waited for Drake to signal.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl, everything moving in slow motion. Then suddenly it sped up again as Drake called “now,” and she killed the engine, the little skiff jumping forward, then hitting the water hard, the cruiser so close, she could almost reach out and touch it.

  On board the men scrambled to realign themselves as their boat shot past.

  The skiff was rocking violently, caught in the cruiser’s wake, but, somehow, Drake managed to keep his balance, rising to his feet, as he fired both guns simultaneously at the stern of the cruiser.

  One second everything seemed to go silent, and then the world exploded in a cacophony of light and sound. Flaming bits of the cruiser rained down on them as Madeline jolted the engine back to life, the little boat skimming backward into the shelter of the leeward side of the island.

  Madeline killed the engine again, the boat bobbing as the river absorbed the reverberations of the explosion. Adrenaline peaked, then ebbed, as the smoke cleared and the pale blue of the evening sky glimmered overhead, an early star twinkling among the leaves of the trees.

  Ahead of her, beyond the island, she could just make out the remnants of the burning wreckage. “You think they’re dead?” she whispered.

  Drake nodded, grim satisfaction spreading across his face. “A fast ticket straight to hell.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The river had grown so wide it was difficult to make out the far bank in the fading light. But the lights of Puerto Remo twinkled in welcome, and Madeline felt her heart soar. “Is that it?”

  “Yeah. We’re almost there. I think we need to ditch the boat, though, and walk the rest of the way. No telling who might recognize it and we don’t need questions right now.”

  What they needed was an emergency room and the Four Seasons, but based on the shacks they’d passed in the last few minutes, Madeline was guessing Puerto Remo didn’t actually lend itself to such accommodations.

  The town was set at the mouth of a shallow bay, the Rio Negro emptying itself into the Pacific Ocean. High on a ridge towering over the town were the tumbled remains of what appeared to have once been a commanding building.

  “It’s a cathedral,” Drake said, following her line of sight a
s he headed the boat for shore. “Or it was supposed to be. It was never actually finished. Fifty or sixty years ago, some bishop decided that this was going to be the next great city in Colombia. He commissioned the cathedral and renamed the town after himself.”

  “Bishop Remo, I presume?”

  “Exactly. But as you can see”—he waved at the ramshackle houses and palm-frond huts bordering the river—“the idea never took off. Buenaventura became the go-to spot, and Puerto Remo pretty much stayed the sleepy village it had always been.”

  “And the bishop?”

  “Died here, actually. Malaria. So much for his grandiose dreams.”

  “But he must have accomplished something. I mean, you said there was a port?”

  “Nothing to write home about. It provides harbor for the local fisherman, a day trip for more adventurous tourists, and valuable access to shipping lanes for the upriver drug trade. Look, we’re almost to shore. Why don’t you head for the bank while I take care of the boat.”

  She nodded and then climbed out of the skiff, wading through the shallow water to the edge of the river.

  Drake wrapped a tattered piece of canvas around the barrel of his gun and shot twice into the bottom of the boat, the material muffling the gun’s report. Then he pushed it back out into the current, the little boat already riding lower as it filled with water.

  “Kind of feel like you just shot a friend,” Madeline said, watching as the boat drifted into the current, the stern riding considerably lower now than the pointed bow. “How long before it sinks?”

  “Ten or fifteen minutes, I’d think.”

  “So what happens next?” she asked as he joined her on the shore. The area where they’d landed was deserted, but there was a beaten path beside the river leading down into the town.

  “We see what we can do about finding you that shower.”

  “And getting you bandaged. How are you feeling?”

  “Nothing I can’t deal with. Like I said, I’ve been through worse. The bleeding’s stopped,” he shrugged, “which is a good sign. It’s only my shoulder. Nothing a little astringent and a bottle of rum won’t cure.”