Max railed silently at himself all the way down the mountain. What the hell had gotten into him? The moment he’d laid eyes on Scout Jackson he’d lost his balance. So she wasn’t what he’d expected. That wasn’t any reason to loose his perspective. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his share of female company. So why the hell was he feeling as if he were trapped on a deserted island and she was his only hope for female companionship? He shook his head. He couldn’t answer that question. The heat, maybe? Whatever the cause, there was definitely something about her that spoke to him, even when she wasn’t talking. She was fairly tall, and from what he could tell had a nice, athletic figure beneath her baggy attire. But it was more than that. There was some kind of chemistry going on here.
And he definitely had to get a grip. One wrong step in this country and they could all end up dead.
SCOUT HAD TO HAND IT TO Mr. Pierce Maxwell. He’d gotten them down the mountain, but that wasn’t such an incredible feat. The big deal was the way he’d led them around no less than three rebel camps between them and the route to freedom. Now that had taken some doing. She would never have taken the risk.
As flustered as she was at having to admit to needing help, his skill made the admission a little easier. She’d studied him as he moved. He was more than simply good, he was one with his environment. He had to have spent some time here. He meshed with the jungle too easily, knew all the places to avoid as well as those to utilize fully. Knew how to use the lush landscape to his advantage. The only slip he’d made was in allowing her to sneak up on him. She’d even wondered if he’d allowed that to happen just to put them on somewhat of an equal footing. He’d come here knowing he was going to usurp her control of the situation—not that she’d been in control, after all—and maybe he’d let her sneak up on him so she’d feel better about it. Then again, maybe not.
She watched his fluid movements, unable to stem her growing admiration for his predatory skills. The fact that he was extremely well built and damn good-looking in a rugged sort of way only added insult to injury. He definitely had a great body.
Broad shoulders, muscled arms, lean waist and narrow hips. God, and those long legs. She’d suffered a heart palpitation or two as she’d patted him down. The face wasn’t perfect, of course—a little rough, with sharp angles and firm lines, but not bad in any sense of the word. The blue eyes were an asset. Coupled with the sandy-blond hair, they made him look a little like a California surfer, only stronger and far more dangerous.
Scout shivered, then frowned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met a guy who rattled her so. There was something about his voice—deep, rich, laced with just enough lethal charm to let you know who was boss.
And she hated it.
She absolutely hated being at the mercy of a guy like that. Why was it that women couldn’t resist men like him? The strong, silent hero come to the rescue. The hunk who was ninety percent eye candy and ten percent solid, rugged rock. She’d worked so hard to be tougher than that—not to allow silly, adolescent urges to own her.
All for nothing.
Here she was, trudging through a jungle with danger all around her, and all she could do was lust after the guy.
Pathetic … truly pathetic.
The sound of footsteps behind her drew her up short. Scout halted and listened intently. Maxwell froze as well, turning slightly and stopping Kirstenof with an uplifted hand. The sound hadn’t come from any of them because they were all being particularly careful to be absolutely silent. No, the sound—
An arm went around her neck and the barrel of a weapon plowed into her temple as someone dragged her back several steps.
“¡Detenganse! ¡No se muevan!”
Scout swore. A rebel, judging by the sleeve of his threadbare uniform.
Maxwell remained stone still, then slowly raised his hands above his head. Dr. Kirstenof did the same.
Scout wanted to kick herself for not paying better attention. She should have heard this guy sooner. He’d probably been following them since they’d slipped past the last camp.
Slowly, very slowly, Maxwell turned the rest of the way around. Kirstenof didn’t budge; he obviously took better heed of the order not to move than Maxwell did. Scout figured he didn’t want to waste the time it would take to play this guy’s game. Which meant she was in serious trouble here. She considered the cold steel currently jammed against her temple. If Maxwell made the wrong move she could end up dead.
She didn’t like dead. Which, in her opinion, meant she had to do something before the hero got her killed. The rebel currently shaking in his boots right behind her no doubt had his own hopes of becoming a hero.
Maxwell took a step in their direction.
Scout’s heart practically stopped. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him this much.
“¡No se muevan!” the rebel shouted. His arm tightened around her neck. The smell of his sweat filled her nostrils.
Despite the command not to move, Maxwell just kept coming, one unhurried step at a time.
What the hell was he doing?
And then she knew.
The only reason this guy hadn’t killed her already was that he was waiting for his backup. These guys weren’t stupid. They knew a scientist would be worth big money—even if they didn’t know why. The rebel needed her as a bargaining chip to get Kirstenof, so he probably wouldn’t kill her unless Maxwell forced his hand. She glared at the man still coming closer. Damn, he appeared hell-bent on doing just that.
“¡La mataré!”
Scout swore silently again. Max ignored the guy’s threat that he would kill her.
Considering she was probably about to die, she wondered briefly if God would forgive her for not attending church regularly since she was fifteen. Or for allowing Jimmy Wayne Brown to take her virginity at age sixteen. She’d tried really hard to do better since. She never drove while under the influence of alcohol. She’d never done drugs. She practiced safe sex—well, not that she’d had sex since she broke up with her fiance. Now there was a subject she had no intention of pursuing. Especially right now. She still hadn’t been to church, but she did pray occasionally. In fact, she probably needed to do that right now.
Scout closed her eyes and started reciting her favorite prayer aloud. If she was going to die, she might as well go down doing something right.
“¿Qué hace?” As the nervous rebel demanded to know what she was doing, he tightened his grip on her. When that didn’t slow her chanting, he ordered her to stop. “¡Pare!”
Scout kept praying. She cracked one eye open just enough to see that Maxwell was now only a few steps away.
“Put the gun down, amigo,” he said quietly, his hands still held high.
“¡Detenganse! ¡La mato!”
Apparently uncertain where to keep his aim, her captor loosened his grip for one instant. Scout reacted instantly, jamming her elbow into his side. The weapon in his hand went off, the bullet missing the top of her head by about two inches. She whipped around and landed a kick to his rib cage, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Maxwell took him down from there.
“Run!” Max shouted over his shoulder. “Get the doc out of here!”
Scout didn’t question his order. She knew as well as he did that the gunfire would bring the rebel’s pals swooping down on them.
She hooked her arm in Kirstenof’s and ran like hell, practically dragging the old man. The jungle understory wasn’t as dense and impenetrable here. They could move more quickly here, except there was far less cover.
Gunfire erupted behind them. Her breath caught at the sound, but she kept going. She prayed, really prayed this time, that Maxwell would be okay. Her first priority had to be Kirstenof. That was her mission—to get him back to the good old U.S. of A. safely.
She couldn’t help one final backward glance as she pushed onward. But, of course, she could see nothing.
More gunfire.
Much farther off and to the west this ti
me.
Maxwell was leading them away from her and Kirstenof.
Tears stung her eyes as she pushed forward.
She scarcely knew the man, yet he was willing to give his life for hers and the scientist she was dragging away from danger.
Damn.
Pierce Maxwell was a hero.
Why hadn’t she been nicer to him? Instead she’d let her pride get in the way and she’d resented his interference. Interference that was now saving her hide. Not to mention she hadn’t fully trusted him.
Scout blinked back the moisture pooling behind her lashes as she moved steadily forward. All she had to do was get to Bogota and she would be home free. Everything was set from there—a hotel room that only she knew about and an SUV rented under an assumed name.
Unable to help herself, she looked back yet again but there was no sign of Pierce Maxwell. There were no more gunshots. He was probably dead already, or maybe they would keep him alive long enough to torture some answers out of him. But he knew nothing about where she was going. No one, not even Harold, had known about the hotel room and SUV. But that wouldn’t keep those overambitious rebels from trying to get the information out of Maxwell.
Fury welled inside Scout. How the hell could she leave him like this?
She couldn’t.
As soon as she got Kirstenof to safety, she would come back for Max.
IT WAS ALMOST DARK when Scout left Kirstenof alone in the hotel room. She’d given him strict orders not to answer the door or step outside for any reason. He wasn’t even supposed to peek through a window. They should be on the road by now, but she had to see if there was anything she could do to help Maxwell. She would never be able to sleep again in this lifetime if she didn’t.
Kirstenof knew the location of the vehicle, and she’d left him orders to leave the hotel at midnight if she had not returned. He didn’t want to do it, but he’d finally promised to follow her instructions. He was to use the cellular phone in the SUV to call in and report that he was headed out of Colombia. Help would meet him en route. That was the plan.
Scout had considered arranging air travel out of the country, but the timing was too uncontrollable to make it work. Besides, the faction after Kirstenof and whatever he carried would be expecting them to try and fly out. Ground transportation was the best bet, all things considered.
She slipped through the dark alleys until she’d made her way out of the city, then disappeared into the woods at approximately the same point from which she and Kirstenof had emerged less than one hour ago.
The darkness added another layer of apprehension to her already acute tension. But she didn’t have time to waste. Fortunately, the moon was fairly bright and offered enough illumination for her to make her way through the lush foliage without being seen.
It would take her a couple of hours to reach the spot where they had encountered resistance. After that, she would simply—
From out of the darkness a strong hand clamped around her arm. A second one closed over her mouth when she would have screamed.
“It’s me,” a male voice whispered harshly in her ear.
Her heart slammed hard against her rib cage as recognition flared.
Pierce Maxwell.
She whipped around in his arms and squinted in an attempt to make him out more clearly in the darkness. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. It just took me a while to lose them. Where’s the doc?”
“He’s okay. Come on.” She grabbed Maxwell’s hand. “I’ll take you to him. They’re already looking for us in the city. We have to get out of here.”
“You got that right,” Maxwell muttered.
It wasn’t until she had closed the door behind them in the hotel room that she got a good look at Maxwell. His left forearm was bleeding.
“You’re hit.” She moved closer, reaching out to check what was most likely a gunshot wound. “Let me—”
“No time,” he argued. “We need to get out of here before we run into any more stumbling blocks.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. He was right. They’d lost enough time already. The rebels methodically combing the city would reach this particular hotel eventually. “All right, but as soon as we’ve put some miles behind us, we should get that looked at.”
He waved her off in typical male fashion. “It’s nothing.”
There was too much blood for it to be nothing, but Scout didn’t argue. Instead, she helped Kirstenof to his feet, noting how unhealthy he, too, looked.
“Are you all right, Dr. Kirstenof?”
He nodded. “Just tired.” He clutched his satchel to his chest. “I just want to get this documentation back to Alexon.”
Scout produced a smile for the weary-looking old man. “I understand, sir. Let’s get going then.”
WITH MAX INJURED, Scout insisted on driving. He looked a little dubious, but finally relented.
Without stopping once, she drove all night and well into the next day. She’d secured all the necessary papers ahead of time. No one at any of the border crossings questioned her.
But now, with the sun high overhead, glaring down with all the force of hell, and the Colombian border far behind them, she’d reached her physical limit.
She stopped, too exhausted to go any farther.
Maxwell stirred, sat up straighter and looked at her. He licked his lips, the movement making her shiver in spite of her exhaustion. “Where are we?” he asked hoarsely.
The blood on his sleeve had dried, but there was too damn much of it. He looked rumpled and as sexy as hell. Exhausted though she was, she still noticed.
“Safe,” she said, too tired to elaborate. She shut off the engine and leaned back in the seat. They were far enough from Colombia to call for backup. “We can get air support from here. Alexon has a private jet.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “I suppose we should find a hotel or someplace to wait.” The highway stretched out before them like a long dusty snake. There had to be some form of civilization a little farther up the road.
Maxwell groaned as he shifted in his seat. “Sounds like a good plan to me. How you doing, Doc?”
The expression that claimed Maxwell’s face sent a chill straight to Scout’s bones. She released her own seat belt and turned around.
Kirstenof looked deathly still. She stared at him, holding her breath until she saw his thin chest lift frailly as he drew in a ragged inhalation of his own.
She and Maxwell were both out of their seats and opening the back doors of the vehicle in an instant.
“Dr. Kirstenof, are you okay?” Scout asked softly, knowing full well that he was about as far from okay as was possible to get and still be breathing.
He shook his head once, so weakly that had she not been staring at him intently she would have missed it. “I’m dying,” he murmured.
Her gaze collided with Maxwell’s.
“What’s wrong, Doc? Was all the excitement too much for you?” he suggested.
Scout hadn’t thought of that. Maybe the scientist was having a heart attack. Okay, she knew CPR. She could help. She glanced around again. But where was the nearest hospital?
“Listen to me,” Kirstenof said weakly. “I don’t have much time left.” He pressed the satchel toward Scout. “See that these papers and disks get to Alexon. They’re your only hope for survival.”
She frowned, thinking that he must be confused. “I don’t understand.”
“My newest antidote is a … obviously,” he said, then fell into a fit of coughing that she was certain he wouldn’t survive.
“Just take it easy, Doc,” Maxwell suggested. “Let us get you to a hospital. We can talk later.”
“No!” Kirstenof protested with surprising strength. He grabbed Maxwell by the sleeve. “You have to listen now. I won’t make it to a hospital.” Maxwell looked at Scout, then nodded at Kirstenof. “Go on.”
“Two weeks ago I was inadvertently exposed to K-141. I wasn’t too worried, since I was sure my newest antidote wa
s a success. So I treated myself. I suffered no symptoms until two days ago.”
Scout realized then that she had seen a drastic decline in Kirstenof’s health in the past forty-eight hours, but hadn’t had time to dwell on it.
“The rest of the antidote was destroyed with the lab, but the formula is in here.” He patted the satchel she now held. “It’s your only hope. Have Alexon’s research team prepare the antidote immediately. It’s too late for me, but perhaps it will postpone the inevitable until they can rectify whatever mistake I’ve made in my latest formula.”
Scout’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand, Dr. Kirstenof. What are we trying to postpone?”
He looked at her then, his brown eyes watery with pain and regret. “Your death,” he said quietly. “I’ve exposed you both to the virus.”
Shock radiated through her. Her gaze flew immediately to Maxwell’s. For one long beat they simply stared into each other’s eyes.
“I’m very sorry,” Kirstenof said. “You came here to help me and I’ve …” He looked from Scout to Maxwell. “You have two weeks at most. Make them correct the formula. Make them—”
He made a sound. One Scout recognized. She’d heard that same awful sound when her father had died—a kind of groan combined with one final, shuddering breath. And then he was gone.
Dr. Kirstenof was dead.
Scout met Maxwell’s gaze.
And so were they.
MAX PACED THE FLOOR. He couldn’t sit still. He glanced at Scout as he retraced his steps. They’d been in isolation for a full forty-eight hours and still no one had come to give them the temporary antidote Kirstenof had mentioned would delay the virus. No one had told them anything.
“What the hell are they doing?” he muttered.
Scout pushed up from the edge of her bed and looked around the room. There was a table with two chairs. A small kitchenette and two double beds. Behind one door was a bathroom. Home sweet home, Max thought irritably.
“I don’t know. Nothing maybe.” She sounded tired, defeated.
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