Gone to Dust

by Liliana Hart

  “I don’t want you to think that I can’t handle what we’re doing here,” she told him, and he squeezed her hand to remind her to be careful what she said. She squeezed back in acknowledgment. “Boats and snakes are literally two of the things I’m most afraid of. And heights. I really didn’t like climbing out of that tree. But I’m balls to the wall with pretty much everything else.”

  “You always put real-life stuff in your books?” he asked. There was no air-conditioning, and it wasn’t long before they were both damp from the heat and humidity, but at least the front windows were able to roll down, so there was a little bit of a breeze.

  “Always,” she said. “I watch everything and everyone, and read as much as I can. You never know when one thing will spark an entire book.”

  “You use real people for characters?” he asked, brows raised.

  She lifted her sunglasses and her laughing tawny eyes met his. “I won’t confess to anything on the rec-ord, but I had a character in a book once who looked and acted an awful lot like the head contractor who did some of the work on my house. He ended up dying a horrible death with a nail gun. I might have chuckled while I was writing that scene.”

  “What about me?” he asked. “Anyone like me in your books?”

  “How about you read them all and then tell me if you think you’re in there.”

  “I’ll take that challenge,” he said, nodding. “I like to read. What do I get if I find myself in one of your books? Royalties? Or I could pose for your next cover.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “People never recognize themselves in my books. Tess, or parts of her, have been in several, and she’s never once mentioned it other than she likes that particular character.”

  “We’ll see,” he said. “How many books have you written since we’ve known each other?”

  “Six and a half.”

  “Geez, woman. You need a hobby or something.”

  “I’ve got one. I drink wine with Tess and watch movies. And sometimes we put on real clothes and go out for happy hour and drinks and watch all the other people and talk about them. Though we don’t do that so much anymore because Tess got married, and marriage has a tendency to put a damper on single-life activities.”

  “I’ve heard a rumor this is true,” he said.

  “You’ve never been married?” she asked.

  In another life and time he’d thought about it. When he could’ve been an honorable husband. An honorable father. “No, never been married,” he said instead.

  They crossed over the bridge to the island of Santa Cruz, and the world opened up. The bridge was narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass by each other, and as the taxi reached the middle it was almost as if they were driving on the water. Nothing but blue in either direction.

  “Oh, wow,” Miller said, sticking her face closer to the window. “That’s amazing. I’ve never seen water that color before.”

  The water went from deep blue to turquoise to aqua the closer to shore they got, and it was unbelievably clear. Boats were anchored in the harbor and others were out in the water, sails at full mast. It was postcard perfect, and not even the dingy interior of the taxi could ruin its effect.

  Several resort hotels lined the oceanfront, but the resort area was secluded from the rest of the island. Shops and restaurants and lodging could all be found in one area. They were nestled there along the beach and the mountains rose majestically from behind them, the greens of the grasses and trees as vivid as the water. Everything was in technicolor.

  The taxi puttered along behind a mix of other cars in worse shape than it was and pedicabs. The driver blared his horn a couple of times for good measure and then sped around the pedicabs and took a sharp left turn down a one-way street.

  Gravity had Miller sliding across the seat and up against Elias. She tried to hold herself in place, but she ended up almost in his lap. He wasn’t complaining.

  “Sorry,” she said, crawling her way back to her seat.

  “Anytime,” he said.

  Elias had been watching where the driver was taking them, having studied the map while on the plane. The car radio was half static, half music, but the driver left it on anyway. Sweat drenched his forehead, even though he was fortunate enough to have the breeze from the open window. His dark brown eyes met Elias’s a time or two in the rearview mirror before looking straight ahead again, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

  When they stopped at the corner, Elias felt a tingle across the back of his neck and reached behind his back for his weapon. It was too late. The driver turned and had a gun pointed directly at Miller’s head. He never took his eyes from the driver.

  “Put your hands where I can see them,” he said in very good English.

  Elias could see Miller from his periphery. She was sitting stone still, her eyes on the driver instead of the gun. She didn’t look scared. She looked pissed. And he hoped to God she wasn’t going to try anything stupid. At least not while the gun was pointed at her face.

  Elias slowly moved his hands so they lay on the back of the driver’s seat and said, “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re not the driver we hired.”

  The driver shrugged. “Carlo ran into a small accident. He will be fine in a few days and out making drops again. But I knew you were a prime target. Private plane, private yacht, and no questions from customs.”

  “What do you want from us?” Elias asked.

  “Whatever you have,” the driver said, chuckling. “You are very rich, yes? Maybe worth a nice ransom?” He handed Miller a roll of Duct Tape and said, “Tape his wrists together. Nice and tight.”

  She glanced at Elias and raised her brows, and he was amazed at her composure. He nodded for her to go ahead and do as the man said and she let out a little sigh.

  “I told you so,” she whispered, taking the Duct Tape from the man and strapping it around Elias’s wrists.

  “Good,” the driver said. “Now reach into his back pocket and take out his wallet. And hand over your purse.” He moved the gun so it was aimed at Elias. “Keep your hands on the back of my seat.”

  Elias had to hand it to the guy. He was smarter than most penny-ante thieves. But he did as he was told and kept his hands on the back of the seat while Miller reached down to dig his wallet out of his back pocket. Her hand skimmed over the gun in the back of his pants and lingered there, and he shook his head no, the movement so minute he wondered if she could see it. But she moved past it and got the wallet. And then she put the wallet and her purse in the front seat.

  “Good, good,” the driver said, his smile displaying several gold teeth. “We’re going to take a little drive up the mountain. If you move your hands from the back of my seat I will shoot her. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” Elias said with a shrug. Where he put his hands wasn’t going to make a difference. Once the opportunity presented itself the man would be dead one way or the other.

  “Are you private or do you work for someone?” Elias asked.

  “I work for myself,” the driver said, kicking open his door. “I’m an entrepreneur.”

  Miller snorted in derision and the driver glared at her, his eyes turning mean. “Shut up,” he said, jabbing the gun toward Miller’s face. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will. You’re a little older than they like, and your hair is too short and the wrong color, but you have good skin and you’re very pretty. You’ll bring a good price at auction. And your man, he seems very important. Lots of money. Someone will pay a big ransom for his return I’m sure.” The driver laughed and spittle spewed from his thin lips. “I’m going to kill him anyway, but the money will be very helpful to my village.”

  “It’s like community service,” Miller said, popping off.

  “Miller,” Elias warned, shaking his head.

  “That’s right,” the driver said. “You need to teach her some manners. My son is good at such things. I think I’ll let him spend some time with you once we get to the
village.”

  Unfortunately, what he was speaking of wasn’t uncommon in parts of Central and South America. Entire villages would plan for the kidnapping and killing of tourists, hoping whatever they stole from them or were able to get for ransom would be enough to keep them fed and roofs over their head. He had to deal with the driver before they got to the village and were outnumbered.

  The driver kept the gun in his hand but put it back on the steering wheel, looking in the rearview mirror at Elias, and then he pressed the accelerator and the car lurched forward. It wasn’t long before Santa Cruz was behind them and the crudely paved roads turned into dirt paths that led higher into the mountains. There were no other buildings—no houses—nothing. Only thick trees and jungle.

  The roads were curvy and dangerous, and Elias was biding his time, but they’d been on the road for a couple of hours and he knew the time was probably growing short. The driver had increased his speed and he was getting nervous. He kept looking back at them and pointing the gun in their general direction on occasion. Elias was afraid if anything spooked him he’d end up popping off a shot out of reflex.

  They took a curve at high speed and Miller slid toward him again, but she quickly righted herself. The road opened up to a short straightaway, and there was a natural lookout point directly in front of them. There was nothing but ocean and a steep drop off a cliff in front of them.

  There was no time to spare. He lifted his bound wrists over the headrest and the driver’s head and jerked backward with his thumbs straight and stiff, knowing he’d hit at least one eye. There was an unholy scream from the driver and he dropped the gun as he brought his hands to his face. But instead of pressing on the brake to stop the car, he pressed on the accelerator and they shot forward.

  “Shit,” Elias said, untangling his arms from around the man’s head. “Reach over me and open my door. We’ve got to jump. Now!”

  Miller shot into action and reached across him, pushing open the car door, and then he grabbed hold of the back of her shirt and tossed her out of the car. He rolled out right behind her, and then looked up in time to see the car shoot out over the edge of the lookout point.

  “Oh, hell,” he said, breaking the duct tape around his wrists and then sprinting toward the edge of the cliff. Drawing more attention to them wasn’t in the plans.

  He heard the clunk and crash of the car as it hit the craggy cliffs on the way down. He looked over in time to see it hit the rocks and water below, and there was a hissing noise seconds before the car exploded, sending a fireball of heat and orange flame straight up into the air.

  He backed away and headed toward Miller, only to find her on her knees, talking to herself.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, approaching slowly.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked. “You just threw me out of a car. No, I’m not okay. Why are you always throwing me? Out of windows, down trees, out of cars? If you want to throw people then go join the damned circus.”

  He moved toward her and helped her to her feet. Her shoulder pads were skewed, her white pants were covered in dirt, and she had pieces of fern in her hair.

  “I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but have you noticed how different it seems in the jungle when we’re not protected by the safety of a vehicle?” She swatted at a mosquito the size of her thumb.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call that cab ride safe,” he said. “But I get what you mean.”

  There had at least been some semblance of protection inside the taxi. Without it, there was nothing but them and the jungle. The trees canopied over the tiny excuse for a dirt road, casting everything in shadow, and there was nothing but green for as far as the eye could see. Even the tree trunks were covered with moss. Thick vines hung low from the branches and ferns sprouted up from a tangle of roots and fallen limbs. It smelled of damp earth and mold, intermingled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and other exotic flowers.

  “I’m going to make a bold statement,” she said, putting her hands to her hips.

  He couldn’t help but grin. “Please do.”

  “I’m not a fan of the jungle. It’s claustrophobic. And I don’t trust that monkey behind you. He looks shifty, and I think he’s trying to steal your gun.”

  He looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was a howler monkey hanging from a branch, dangerously close to reaching his gun. The second Elias looked at him, the monkey hissed and climbed up to a higher branch.

  “I like how you make friends everywhere we go,” she said.

  He turned back to and arched a brow. And then took a step toward her.

  She took a step back and put her hand up.

  “I know that look,” she said. “Don’t you dare kiss me.”

  “Too bad,” he said, and tugged her toward him. He breathed in the scent of her—heady and seductive—and the control he held onto so carefully slipped away the second his lips touched hers. She was his every fantasy. He devoured her, his mouth demanding on hers. He drank in her sighs and reveled in the surrender of her body against his.

  His hands cupped her ass and he pulled her against him, lifting her off her feet. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she lifted her legs around his waist.

  “Jesus,” he said, breaking their kiss so he could catch his breath.

  “More,” she said, and he couldn’t deny her.

  He felt the raging heat of her against the hard length of his cock, and if they’d been naked, he’d already be inside her. She made him dizzy, and it was everything he could do to stay on two feet and not take her to the ground. Or maybe that’s exactly what he should do.

  A crack of thunder rent the air and the first cool drops of rain from the storm that had been moving in splattered against their overheated skin. He swore and moved her so they were under the canopy of trees that lined the road, but it didn’t do much good. There was another crack of thunder and the sky opened.

  “It’s like I’m being punished for something I did in a former life,” Miller said with a defeated sigh. Her hair was plastered against her head, and she was soaked to the skin in a matter of seconds.

  “What are we going to do?” she yelled. The rain was deafening as it slapped against wide, waxy tree leaves, the sound amplified inside the jungled canopy.

  “Start walking,” he yelled back. “We’re probably more than twenty miles from civilization.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” She started walking back toward the way they came and he followed after her, enjoying the way her wet clothes hugged that lush body. “I’m just going to warn you that I can’t be held responsible for anything I say or do without coffee.”

  “I’m aware,” he said, still walking behind her. “I’m hoping things won’t get that desperate. I’m just starting to get used to you.”

  They walked for miles, and the rain never let up. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t soaked. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes and down the collar of his shirt. Mud caked his shoes, and the temperature had dropped. Miller’s lips quivered and she’d started talking to herself about a mile back. He knew enough about women to know that was never a good sign.

  “Have you ever seen that movie with Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas?” he asked, lifting a branch out of her way as the road began to narrow.

  “Romancing the Stone?”

  “That’s the one. I can never remember the name.”

  “I’m a romance novelist,” she said. “Of course, I’ve seen it. Though I’ve decided I might need a career change. I was just practicing my interview questions for when I start working at Wendy’s.”

  “Why Wendy’s?” he asked.

  “Because I wouldn’t have to stand in the rain, and I’d get as many chicken nuggets as I wanted. I have to confess, there’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for chicken nuggets right now.” She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye.

  “I almost wish I could conjure some for you,” he said, lifting more limbs so they could pass
under them. The rain had made the branches heavy and many of them almost touched the ground, blocking the way that they came.

  “What do you mean, almost?” she asked.

  “You’ve been talking to yourself the last hour, and you’ve got kind of a crazy look in your eyes. My sister used to do that whenever she was about to start her period. I still have bad flashbacks.”

  She grunted, but he saw the hint of a smile. “If you really wanted to be like Michael Douglas you’d have a machete right now and cut through all this stuff like a real hero. I feel a little cheated.”

  “I just tossed you out of a moving car before it exploded. That doesn’t count as being a hero?”

  “I forgot about that,” she said. “It seems like days ago.”

  “I always felt like Michael Douglas’s character was underappreciated. Look on the bright side, if you get swept away by a muddy waterfall at least you’re not wearing a skirt.”

  She grinned up at him. And then she vanished with a whoosh of air, and he heard a thud and a scream as a mini mudslide swept her down the road.

  “Oh, shit,” he said. “I was just kidding.”

  He moved after her as fast as he could, but he had to be careful so he didn’t end up in the same predicament she was in.

  Then he saw the problem and he decided to hell with it and moved faster. The road narrowed, and the mudslide was shooting over the edge of the road, down into the dense jungle, like a waterfall. Only this wasn’t a waterfall like in the movies. Shooting off that waterfall would be the equivalent of jumping off a three-story building. It would hurt, and there would almost certainly be death.

  “Try to grab onto something,” he yelled as he cut the distance between them. He didn’t know if she could hear him or not.

  He only had moments to leap forward and grab her arm as she started to go over the side of the road, his body sliding through the mud and carried along with the current. He caught his foot on a tree root and held onto Miller for dear life, hoping he didn’t go over the edge with her.

  Her scream was cut off as they jerked to a stop, and she stared up at him out of big round eyes. He pulled her up, scooting back slowly toward the tree root he was still attached to.