Gone to Dust

by Liliana Hart

  He heaved her the last bit of the way until she was sprawled out beside him in the mud, but he held onto her just in case. They lay together, both breathing heavy, the rain pounding against their faces. Miller spit mud from her mouth and then turned her head to look at him.

  “I’ve got to tell you,” she yelled over the deafening rain. “I’m kind of hating today.”

  The comment caught him off guard and he started to laugh. By God, he loved her.

  “I can see that,” he yelled back. “You’ll have to let me know if you hate it more than tomorrow morning when you wake up without coffee.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “We need to stop and make camp before it gets completely dark,” he told her. “Try to find some kind of shelter. This isn’t just one of the island’s afternoon storms. It’s going to be here awhile before it finally blows over.”

  “I can’t tell you how excited I am to hear that,” Miller said. “I don’t suppose you have some kind of crazy secret spy kit in your pocket where you can pull a cord and the whole thing will inflate into a tent with soft feather mattresses.”

  “No,” he said. “But I do have our passports in my pocket. Do me a favor and sit right here on this log. I want to look around without worrying you’re going to be swept away.”

  “Believe me, I’m not going to argue about sitting down. Maybe you’ll find an all-you-can-eat buffet while you’re looking for shelter.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open,” he said.

  He moved quickly since he was racing against the fading daylight, and it took him about fifteen minutes before he found something that would work. A huge tree had cracked in half, the jagged trunk splintered where it had broken, and leaned over in an L-shape. It had fallen on a boulder that was almost as tall as he was and several feet wide, making a crude house of sorts. The ground below wasn’t completely dry, but it wasn’t a mud bed either. It would have to do.

  He hurried back to Miller and almost didn’t see her on the log until he was right up on her. She was covered in mud from head to toe—the same color as the log. There wasn’t a speck of white left on her pants and her legs were caked with it. She was also missing a sandal. He wasn’t sure she’d even noticed.

  “I found something,” he said. “But we’ve got to hurry.” He thought he might have to toss her over his shoulder and carry her, but she heaved herself up and followed him.

  “I think I’ve got mud in my underwear,” she said, walking a little bit like John Wayne.

  “Just think of all those women who pay money to be slathered in mud,” he told her. “You could pretend it’s a spa treatment.”

  “Or I could give you a knuckle sandwich,” she said, holding up her fist. “This cannot be our life. I kind of feel like I’m on that show 24. I’d watch each episode, and I’d say to myself, there’s no way that much stuff could happen to a person in twenty-four hours.”

  “Look on the bright side, at least you haven’t had to get on a boat or fend off any snakes yet.”

  “How is that looking on the bright side?”

  “You could be dead,” he said instead.

  “There you go,” she said. “Thank you for saving me, by the way.”

  “I’m invested,” he said, winking. “It turns out I like kissing you.”

  She blinked slowly at him, and he realized she was almost asleep on her feet. It had taken a while for the adrenaline crash to come, but it was coming hard now. He had his Ka-Bar in his boot, so he cut some ferns to use as bedding beneath the roof of the fallen tree. By the time he was finished, he looked over and saw her sound asleep where he’d left her. He picked her up in his arms and laid her down, curling his body around her to keep her warm. It was a nice feeling. Normal. And he closed his eyes and drifted off without the nightmares of his past lulling him to sleep.

  HER MIND WOKE long before her eyes were able to open. Or maybe they were just caked shut with mud.

  If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend the moss beneath her was a feather mattress and the screeching howler monkeys were her alarm clock. The only thing she couldn’t pretend away was the hot, hard male curled around her, and his very obvious arousal poking at her hip.

  “I can’t believe you have an erection right now,” she said. She tried to stretch, secretly enjoying the way he felt next to her, but her muscles were too stiff and sore. “I’m so caked in mud, the howler monkeys probably think we’re related. Men are so weird.”

  His hand cupped her breast and a hardened chunk of mud broke off into his hand. “I was going to say that there’s not much that can keep us from getting an erection, but I’m starting to rethink that statement.”

  “Stop tickling my leg,” she said, swatting at her leg.

  “I’m not tickling your leg,” he said.

  “Yes, you are. I can feel it. I don’t like being tickled. When I was in the third grade this stupid boy tickled me until I wet my pants. I punched him right in the face and broke his stupid piggy nose.”

  “As terrifying as that threat is, I’m still not tickling your leg.”

  She jerked her head up and felt the crunch of Elias’s chin against her head.

  “Jesus, woman, I’m seeing stars.”

  She couldn’t focus on the pain. She could only focus on the spider the size of a dinner plate crawling up her leg.

  She started screaming and kicking her leg, trying to dislodge it, but it didn’t budge. She kicked out again and Elias made an inhuman sound as she kneed him right in the balls. She would’ve apologized if pure terror didn’t have her in its grasp. She rolled around on the ground like a crazy person and then jumped to her feet, screaming the entire time.

  When she finally took a chance and looked down, the spider was gone. Elias was curled up on all fours, trying to suck in a breath.

  Her lungs heaved as she tried to get herself back under control, and she winced as she realized what she’d done to him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hate spiders.”

  “And boats,” he said bitingly. “And snakes.”

  “I said I’m sorry.” She put her hands on her hips and another chunk of mud fell away. “Maybe if you’d been paying more attention to flesh-eating spiders instead of your erection you wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.”

  “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “How is this my fault? Lady, your typewriter is short of an IQ.”

  She paused for a second and let it soak in. “That’s hilarious, and I’m going to use it in a book.”

  “Glad I can provide a little humor for you.”

  More than you know,” she said. “That monkey just stole your gun.”

  They didn’t make it to the market in Santa Cruz until almost two o’clock. Miller decided silence was probably the best course of action. Her body ached in places it never had before, she was hungry, cranky, and she would have committed murder for a thimbleful of coffee.

  The mud on her body had dried during the night, and she was caked in the cracking substance. Elias had taken one look at her and read the situation pretty quickly. He’d only spoken when he needed to for the sixteen-mile trek.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she said, coming to a stop. “Am I seeing a mirage, or is that civilization?”

  “It’s civilization,” he said. “About a mile away. Can you make it?”

  “I can be like fucking Usain Bolt,” she said, and took off running.

  The market was busy at this time of day, but she ignored the looks from the locals and focused on the sweet smells coming from a street cart.

  “Hold on,” Elias said, grabbing her arm before she could tackle the poor vendor. She turned her head and growled at him, but he only smiled at her. Maddening man. “We don’t have any money. I’d prefer we not end up in prison for theft. They still cut off limbs for that here.”

  Then she remembered that his wallet and her purse, along with their other bags that had been in the cab that had gone over the cliff. And then she remembered something else and
started pulling at the buttons of her mud-caked shirt.

  “Umm, Miller,” Elias said, trying to pull her shirt together when she’d finally gotten the first couple of buttons undone. “I think you’ve had too much sun and you’re a little dehydrated. You need to leave your clothes on, honey.”

  She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Stop talking to me like I’m a simpleton and help me get to my bra. I stuck cash in there.”

  “You put cash in your bra?” he asked, brows raised.

  “Of course I did,” she said. “I’m from Texas. And everyone knows you never go anywhere without your emergency money stashed somewhere in case you get robbed.”

  “I’d forgotten,” he said, his smile slow. “My mother used to put hers in her shoe. She’d forget when she’d take them off, and I was always finding money in her shoes when I was a kid.”

  “See,” she said. “The problem is getting to it. This mud is like plaster. I can’t even imagine taking my pants off. I’ve probably got an entire mold of my reproductive system.”

  He barked out a laugh and stood in front of her so she was shielded from the occasional passersby.

  “Ah-ha,” she said, brandishing it in front of his face.

  “If I find you coffee, food, and a place to shower in the next five minutes,” he said, “will you let me kiss you again?”

  “If you can find me those things in the next five minutes, I’ll let you get the mud out of my molars with your tongue.” She grinned at him and felt the mud crackle on her face.

  “Tempting offer,” he said. “How can I refuse?”

  TWO HOURS LATER, they were halfway clean, had groceries, new clothes, and full bellies. She wasn’t sure if stripping down to her underwear and being hosed off counted as a “shower,” but she was too tired to argue with the three-hundred-pound native woman wearing a bright blue flowered sarong and no shoes.

  The woman had grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into a straw stall, her Tinker Bell voice completely at odds with her size. She spoke rapidly in a language Miller had never heard before, and she matter-of-factly started stripping off Miller’s clothes, as if she hosed down muddy women on a daily basis. Maybe she did.

  She still had mud in interesting places by the time it was over, but at least she was clean enough to not scare anyone. The woman gave her a purple flowered sarong, tied it at the shoulder, and then threw her muddy clothes and underwear in a big metal trash bin.

  She had to hand it to Elias: he’d delivered on his promises. He must have wanted to kiss her really badly. She had a plastic cup of steaming black coffee in her hand, and though she hadn’t found chicken nuggets, they’d had the most delicious street tacos she’d ever put in her mouth.

  “I don’t think my feet can handle anymore walking today,” she said, shifting the shopping bags in her arms.

  “You want another cab ride?” he asked.

  “No, but maybe you could rent us a donkey or something. Or maybe we could just rent a room somewhere close by.”

  “Why would we do that when we have a perfectly good yacht to sleep on tonight?” he asked.

  “This obsession you have with getting me on a boat is unhealthy.”

  “I’m just trying to help you conquer this fear. And give you top-of-the-line meds from a government facility no one else in this world has access to, so you don’t throw up your lunch all over the deck.

  “How about we take a pedicab instead of a donkey. They’d have to be insane to try and kidnap us and pedal that thing up the mountain.”

  She was too tired to argue about the medication. It would either work or it wouldn’t. Only time would tell.

  Elias flagged down a pedicab and negotiated a price, and they rode to the docks, the sun beating down overhead. Just like the day before, the gray clouds waited in the distance.

  “This weather is insane,” she said. “Is it always like this?”

  “What? Molten hot, followed by freezing rain?” His mouth quirked at the corner. “Pretty much.”

  It took about twenty minutes in the pedicab to make it to the docks where their yacht was berthed. Miller couldn’t move. Just the way it bobbed up and down in the water made her stomach churn.

  “Uh, oh,” he said. “How can you already be green? We’re just standing on the dock.”

  “Just a hidden talent of mine,” she said deadpan.

  “Hold on a second and I’ll get the medicine and bring it back here. I’ll take the groceries up with me and put the cold stuff away. I don’t want the ice cream to melt.”

  “I can’t talk about food right now,” she said, pinching her lips together and swallowing.

  “Right,” he said. “Be right back.”

  He wasn’t gone long, and she noticed how easy he made it look going up and down the ramp to the boat. He had a black plastic box in his hand, and when he reached her he opened it and took out a syringe with a ridiculously long needle.

  “Wait a second,” she said, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the syringe.

  “Your choice,” he said. “A little prick now or a lot of vomiting later.”

  “I’ll show you who’s the little prick,” she said stubbornly.

  He barked out a laugh and thumped the syringe to get rid of the bubbles. And then he leaned toward her and captured her lips in a kiss so hot she was surprised she didn’t turn into a puddle at his feet. When he pulled away they were both breathing heavy.

  “Is that your payment kiss for the shower and coffee?” she asked.

  “No, I’ll take payment on that later. I just felt like kissing you.”

  “Good to know.”

  “At least when I kiss you next time you won’t have to worry about getting seasick. Let me get you a Band-Aid.”

  She looked at the empty syringe in his hand and then down at her arm, which had a tiny drop of blood where he’d injected her. And then she looked back at him again with her mouth open in a soft O.

  He grinned at her unapologetically. “Bet you can’t think of a movie reference for that piece of action, can you?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Miller would be the first to admit she didn’t know a lot about boats—nothing at all really—but it wasn’t the jungle and there was a solid roof over her head, so she wasn’t going to complain. It probably helped that the nausea had disappeared within a few minutes of the injection, so she was feeling a little more confident as she studied her new lodgings.

  Elias had been right. This was an expensive piece of equipment. He’d checked it thoroughly, weapon in hand, before they’d hauled the rest of the groceries, supplies, and new clothing purchases on board.

  “I can’t believe that people live like this,” she said, looking around wide-eyed. “It’s bigger than a house. And look at the quality of the floors and cabinets. I keep thinking about Titanic. All that opulence and the ship still sank.”

  “Probably not the best movie reference for the circumstances,” Elias said. “The boat’s been boarded,” he said. “As I’d expect it to be. They left a footprint on the deck. And I found a couple of bugs while doing my search. I’ll have the computer scan for others.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not talking about bed bugs and cockroaches,” she said.

  “No, the other variety.”

  There was an unassuming panel on the wall, much like in the railcar, and Elias placed his hand on it. The interior came to life, panels opening in the walls and extra control panels appearing with all the gadgets and knobs that she assumed made the boat run.

  “Elias Cole, agent number zero zero four,” he said.

  Agent confirmed by voice recognition … the computer said back.

  “You’re agent 004?” Miller asked. “Seriously?”

  He winked and said, “Run diagnostics.”

  The Devil’s Due was last boarded at twelve-twenty-three p.m. Tanks are full and engine systems are functioning at one hundred percent. Temperature is dropping at a steady and rapid pace, and thunderstorms are expecte
d in exactly twenty-three minutes. It is suggested to find a secure location to anchor.

  “Any signs of tampering or discovery?” Elias asked.

  No signs of tampering, and security was not breached.

  “We’re free to talk,” Elias told her. “As soon as I placed my hand on the panel we became shielded. The only place we’ll have to be careful is out on deck. There are so many long-distance listening devices it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Why would they board? Do you think they know we’re here already?” she asked, eyeing the lone footprint.

  “Unlikely,” he said. “Cordova’s men have their finger on the pulse of everything that happens on the islands. They know regular tourists from tourists with ‘money.’ It’s obvious we came in with money. They’ve got our identities, and they’ll put our backgrounds through the paces, so we’ll keep our fingers crossed the agency did a thorough job there and aren’t going to leave us high and dry.”

  The clouds rolled across the sky, turbulent and gray, and the wind caused ripples across the water. The boat rocked beneath her feet, but she didn’t feel the waves of nausea she expected. She was keeping her fingers crossed that Elias’s magic shot would do the trick. Things might be different once they actually got out onto the water.

  “I’ve got to tell you,” she said, “I could go the rest of my life without ever seeing rain again after last night.”

  “I can promise this is going to be a totally different experience,” he said. “Unless your Titanic premonition comes true, and then we’ve got other problems to deal with.”

  The yacht was beautiful and a sleek white with two blue stripes down the side. The trident she’d become familiar with was painted on the hull. Windows surrounded the main living and kitchen area, letting in watery light. White leather bench seats lined the walls in a U shape beneath the windows, and a dining table for six was bolted to the center of the teak floors. The kitchen cabinets matched the floors and the countertops were the same bright white as the leather cushions. There was a spiral staircase that led both up to the top deck and down below to the lower cabin.