WHERE TIGERS PROWL

by Karin Story

  "Thought you'd better come back and make sure you'd finished him off, huh?" Fury flowed through her like a raging river, making her brave, giving her enormous power. "Well, that was your mistake. Because you won't be leaving here to tell about it. Whether he lives or dies, you'll never know, you cold, heartless bastard."

  And then, of all the things in the world she'd expected to hear in response, what came out of the man's mouth wasn't one of them.

  "Mare, it's okay, baby. It's me."

  Chapter 19

  * * *

  That voice.

  The voice that belonged to the man she would have died for, would have given up all that she had for. The man who plagued her memories, her thoughts, her senses.

  The man who'd betrayed her. Who'd just shot someone in the back in cold blood. Who was capable of doing God knows what else.

  "Maris, did you hear me? It's okay. Put the gun down. It's me."

  That deep mellow voice that was still music to her ears. The voice of an angel. The soul of a tiger.

  "Let me say this one more time so there aren't any mistakes," she said calmly. "If you move, I'll shoot you."

  The man on the ground moaned. She shushed him, telling him everything was going to be fine. But she never for an instant took her eyes off the man standing before her.

  "For God's sakes, will you cut it out. Put the damn gun down."

  It was more command than request, and if Tom didn't know by now, he was about to discover there was no faster way to infuriate her than to command her to do something.

  She stared at him, still not able to see his face, but knowing without a doubt just what he looked like. The golden eyes, the soft, silky hair, the gorgeous smile when he chose to share it. A smile that, she now knew for certain, hid a darker side.

  "Where's your motorcycle?" Her voice brimmed with barely controlled fury.

  He hesitated for a moment, then answered, "It's over in the trees at the edge of the ruins."

  "Fine, then you and I are going to get it. Let's go." She gestured with the gun for him to lead the way.

  He didn't move. "What the hell has gotten into you? Do you want to get caught here? Don't you know the scum who shot this guy could come back?"

  "He already has, hasn't he?" she spat.

  "Goddamn it!" he ground out in a quiet, but unmistakably hard voice. "No matter what you think, I did not do this. But the person who did could very well show up here any minute, as you already suggested, so he can make sure he doesn't have any loose ends."

  She snorted.

  "Fine," he continued. "Then let me give you another scenario. What if someone else heard those gunshots and called the police? What do you think the police are going to do when they arrive to find you standing over that man with a gun in your hand?"

  Jerk. She'd already thought of that. Why couldn't he just admit he wanted to get out of here so he could protect his own hide if the police showed up?

  Her gaze bored into him, even though she knew he probably couldn't see it in the dark. "Let me make this simple for you since you don't seem to be comprehending things very well tonight. This man lying on the ground is badly hurt. He needs medical attention. You have transportation to get help. You and I are going to go get that damned motorcycle and go for help. Is that clear?"

  "Maris, we don't ha—"

  She fired. The bullet sent up a spray of dust and gravel where it hit the ground in front of him—exactly where she'd aimed. She raised the gun barrel until it pointed directly back at his chest. "Is that clear?"

  A silent, dangerous intensity pounded off him. Finally he gave her a half-nod. "Quite."

  "Good." She bent down and scooped up her backpack, then slipped it over her shoulder. She gently patted the injured man on the forehead, and whispered words of encouragement to him. She wished she could make him more comfortable, but with the limited resources available to her, there wasn't much else she could do for him.

  "I know how you feel, baby. Really, I do. But no matter whether we get help or not, it's too late for him."

  Tom's husky whisper reached her ears, and a lump filled her throat. She knew he was right, but she still had to try.

  Squashing the momentary tenderness she'd just felt toward Tom, she rose and said coldly, "Well, you won't have to worry about having any loose ends then, will you?"

  Even in the darkness, she saw and felt him stiffen once again at her comment. Good. She wanted to make him angry. Wanted to hurt him.

  "Let's go." She motioned again for him to start walking.

  He turned on his heel and stalked off, and she had to work hard to keep up with his long legs. Obviously his thigh was healing well, because she barely noticed a limp.

  They hadn't gone more than a few yards when the sound of several approaching vehicles echoed through the night. He stopped and motioned with his hand for her to stop, too. Silently, they stood listening.

  "Shit," she heard him mutter under his breath. He turned to her. In a whispered, but deadly serious voice he said, "Hear that? Two bikes and probably a truck coming. I don't know what is going on with you tonight, Maris, but I'm telling you right now that if we get caught here, or anywhere around here by whoever is coming, we're in deep shit. So, we can continue on with this damn fool mercy mission of yours if you want, but I'm guaranteeing you that by the time we get back here with help, the man's not going to be out there anymore, and there's not going to be a trace of anything left to show that he ever was."

  He paused, she supposed to see if she was really listening to him. She grudgingly admitted to herself that he might be right.

  "And, if I'm not mistaken, you used a shirt or something to try to stop some of his bleeding. Whatever it is that you used, it's still there. Whoever finds that man is going to find your shirt and know that he wasn't there alone. Also, has it occurred to you that they might have also heard the shot you just fired? It's going to take them about one second to put the facts together. Then they're going to start looking. For us."

  He took a step closer and she could finally see the highlights of his face. It was tight with stress, but there was also something else there. Something gentler, kinder. Something that looked too much like her Tom. The Tom she'd fallen in love with.

  She averted her eyes.

  His voice had hints of frustration, urgency, and sympathy. Yet oddly enough, no anger played into it. "It's your call."

  "That man needs help." She was being irrationally stubborn and she knew it, yet couldn't seem to stop. She glared at Tom, silently accusing him of putting her in this position.

  The sound of vehicles grew closer, and the headlights dimly bounced up and down in the night sky.

  He grabbed her by the arm, and she pressed the gun against his chest. But he didn't let go. He gave her a quick shake, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Damn it. It's his life or ours. Which is it going to be? You'd better make it quick, because time's almost up."

  She took a deep breath. "You're the one who's wasting time. Whether we get help for that man or not, we still need to get to your motorcycle, don't we? So why are we still standing here?"

  He growled and grabbed her hand, which she promptly jerked away. Muttering something under his breath that she couldn't understand, he walked away, leaving her standing there.

  But not for long. The sound of motorcycles rumbled through her brain, urging her onward. Both she and Tom picked up speed and began to run. The headlights from the vehicles lit up the whole area now, and adrenaline pumped through Maris's system.

  Tom grabbed her by the hand, and nearly jerked her off her feet. He pulled her behind yet another crumbling ruin, and pushed her into a squatting position. She started to snarl at him, but before she could even get her mouth open, he clamped his hand over it.

  He was behind her, and she couldn't see his face, couldn't even begin to guess at what he was up to. And suddenly, she was no longer the one in control. A shiver traveled through her.

  Damn it! She'd let her guard
down again and he'd taken advantage of it. Instead of keeping him in front of her with the gun trained on him, she'd run beside him, only thinking about the vehicles getting closer to them. For those few moments, she and Tom had been partners again, and she'd forgotten about what had happened just minutes ago.

  Had forgotten he was a killer.

  Now, he was behind her, holding her tight. She couldn't move her arms so her gun dangled uselessly in her hand.

  A tingle shot through her. Part fear, she knew. But also part desire. Pure physical longing. He was so close she could feel the heat from his body against her back, could feel his breath against her ear as he held her, could feel the rough, yet pleasing scratch of his beard stubble brushing against her neck and ear. Could almost even feel the thump, thump of his heart beating.

  Yeah, what heart? She began to struggle.

  "Shh. Look," he breathed into her ear. The soft whisper caused a new wave of desire to course through her.

  But she did look. One of the motorcycles had broken off from the group and was circling the area. Whoever was on it was looking for something. Tom had pulled them behind the ruin for protection, otherwise the motorcycle's path would have crossed theirs. And she knew that if they were spotted, the bike would certainly be able to run them down, no matter how fast they moved.

  "Quiet, okay?" he whispered.

  She nodded, and he removed his hand from over her mouth. The night breeze felt cool against her cheeks and lips, which had been covered by his warm hand.

  They watched in silence as the motorcycle continued to circle, as the other bike and the truck—Tom had been right, it was a pickup truck—stopped right where they'd been standing only a few minutes before. Right next to the man lying on the ground in the Street of the Dead.

  As if he were nothing more than a bag of garbage, two men picked up the injured man and tossed him carelessly into the back of the truck. They were treating him as if he were dead.

  God, maybe he was dead already. She felt a sob build in her.

  "Mare," Tom whispered softly into her ear, "I told you there wasn't anything you could do. He was too badly hurt. I'm sure he was already gone before they put him in the truck. He didn't feel anything."

  Then he did something very Tom-like, he pulled her back against him, cuddling her close. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and trusted in him again. Loved him again. Soaked up the feel, and smell, and touch of him again. God, she'd missed him.

  The sound of a shout brought her eyes open in a hurry. Tom tensed as well, and his comforting embrace became stiff. One of the men by the truck was shouting at the man still on the motorcycle. Stopping the motorcycle, the rider looked back toward the truck. The man at the truck waved something in the air, and pointed out into the city. He gestured again, more frantically, and this time Maris realized what he was waving in the air. It was her T-shirt.

  Her heart thundered.

  The motorcycle rider kept shaking his head, like he couldn't understand what the other man was telling him. Finally, he put the bike back into motion and headed toward the truck.

  "Now!" Tom grabbed her hand, and this time, she didn't complain. The motorcycle was heading away from them. They weren't going to get any better chance to escape.

  They tried to stay behind the cover of the ruins, but speed was of the utmost importance. Sprinting, they dodged piles of rock and low bushes as they got out of the ancient city and into the surrounding land.

  More shouts behind them told Maris they'd probably been discovered. She willed her legs to pump harder, faster, more efficiently. Tom's legs were much longer than hers, but he still limped slightly. And she was a runner. She didn't seem to be slowing him down at all.

  The sounds grew louder behind them, and there was no doubt now that they had been seen and were being followed.

  At last, Tom pulled her into a small cluster of trees, and there sat the beautiful sight of their transportation out of here.

  He draped a leg gracefully over the bike and she didn't waste any time clambering on behind him. One kick and the bike roared to life. She took advantage of that moment to stash her gun in her pack, slip her arms through the straps, and settle the pack more firmly on her back. All thoughts of holding a gun on Tom, or of being afraid of him, were thrust aside because of the very real terror behind them.

  The bike slid into motion. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life as he navigated them out of this place at break-neck speed. The sound of gunshots echoed through the night air, but she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and focused all her thoughts, prayers, hopes, and faith on the man in front of her.

  The bike swerved and bumped on the rough terrain, but finally, the sounds behind them grew farther and farther away, and the gunshots stopped.

  Had they done it? Had they actually escaped?

  When she felt Tom's back and shoulders relax, she knew they had. Then and only then, did she allow herself to relax, too.

  It wasn't until she leaned forward to rest her head against his back, and loosened her hold around his waist that she felt the bulge under his jacket.

  A bulge which could be nothing else but a large gun.

  A gun that she'd seen being pulled out and fired at a man who was walking away. A gun that had been put smoothly away afterward, as if shooting someone in the back was all in a day's work.

  * * *

  "Señor, telefonó."

  The tall man was about to step into the waiting helicopter, but through the din of the propellers he heard the shouted voice. He turned to see the perfectly polished soldier pointing to a phone in the Hummer from which he'd just emerged.

  He signaled to the pilot to wait, and with a muttered curse, crossed back to the vehicle. With a nod dismissing the soldier, he snatched up the phone.

  "Sí?"

  "You did not report to me tonight."

  "I've been busy, Juan."

  "No excuses! Have you found him yet?"

  "Haven't we already had this discussion? When I find the boy, you'll be the first to know. Now I haven't got time for this. Let me get on with my job. Remember, I do mine, you do yours. "

  Juan swore loudly into his ear, causing the tall man to hold the phone away briefly. "You remember who employs you. Now, what news do you have?"

  "If I didn't have to stand here and listen to you, I might have already found him. He's been spotted outside Mexico City. I was on my way there before I was pulled away from my mission by your phone call."

  "Why did you not say so? Find him. Do you hear me? Find him and bring him to me alive."

  The tall man chuckled. "Oh, I'll find him."

  "Don't cross me. I know your ways. I will not have him in pieces before I have a chance to find out what he knows of my operation. You will bring him to me alive. Is that clear, mi amigo?"

  "I'll bring him to you, Juan. Have no fear of that."

  "Alive. I will have no more mistakes, comprende?"

  The tall man smiled and replaced the receiver without further comment. Juan was becoming quite troublesome and annoying, but he'd serve his purpose a little longer. Then he'd have an accident one day. The cartel would be in chaos. And who would they turn to in their time of need?

  A full-blown laugh erupted from his mouth as he climbed back into the chopper and pulled the headphones over his ears.

  Right now it was time to waylay his boy. The men had sent word to him that he was out near the ancient city of Teotihuacan.

  I've almost got you. And in spite of what Cardoza wants, I've got plans of my own for you, my boy.

  "Vamanos!" he ordered the pilot.

  With a nod, the pilot lifted the bird into the air. The tall man watched the ground slip away beneath him.

  No, my boy. It won't be long now. And then I will truly make you mine. You'll be mine, or you'll die.

  He smiled.

  * * *

  The nearness of Maris saturated his senses. Tom hadn't allowed himself to hope that he would ever ev
en see her again, much less have her pressed up against him as she was now on the motorcycle.

  But what the hell was she doing here?

  On his way back to his bike to follow the shooter, he'd seen the small figure emerge from behind one of the ancient ruins. He'd assumed it was one of the downed man's friends, or a backup—neither important enough to deter him from going after that bastard Duran. Until, in the dull moonlight, he'd seen a flash of red. A ripple of recognition had coursed through him at the sight of the jacket the figure wore.

  He'd crept closer, needing to make sure he was imagining things. But the confident stride, the proud tilt to the chin, and even in the dark, the head of curls swirling around her shoulders could only belong to one person. Even before she'd spoken, he'd known it was Maris.

  He'd worked so hard to push all thoughts of her away, and then when he'd least expected it, there she was. Holding a gun on him nonetheless, even after she knew it was him. Son of a bitch! She'd even had the gall to fire it as his feet. And the really disconcerting part was that somehow the gun looked natural in her hand, and she clearly knew how to use it.

  Had he done this to her? Had he pushed her over the edge, causing her to start carrying a gun, and looking him straight in the eye as she fired it?

  Guilt crept through him, seeping into his limbs, and all his internal workings.

  No, damn it! Just what the hell was Maris doing there tonight? How much of that exchange had she seen, and was she close enough to hear anything? Where did she get a gun? He'd left her in that cabin almost a week ago, and somehow she'd managed to follow him here. Not just to the general area, but to the exact location where he was tonight. And she knew about his motorcycle. How long had she been following him?

  Of course, her look of pure hatred earlier had told him she believed he'd killed that man back there. She could have assumed he had a motorcycle because she believed him to be the one who'd ridden in there and shot that man, then ridden off so casually.