Besides, the killing might not even have anything to do with them. People were murdered all the time down here.
Bobby left the man and the machete right where they were, then doused his bandanna with cool creek water. Jane was standing exactly where he’d left her. As soon as he stepped out of the trees, Lucky trotted up to him and put her face against his knee.
“I think she loves you.”
Horrified, Bobby stared at Lucky, who looked up at him with pure devotion. “What did I do?”
“Saved her life. Just like you saved mine.”
Bobby lifted his gaze to Jane’s. Sadly her eyes did not carry the same slavish devotion. He offered the dripping bandanna. She stared at it confused.
“For your face. The creek water is cool.” He shrugged. “Best I can do right now.”
She smiled, then immediately winced as the expression pulled the cut in her lip. But she took the cloth and wiped her face, then pressed it to the worst of the bruises. Ice would help. Unfortunately, they were fresh out. Bobby sighed and headed deeper into the jungle.
“Do I look that bad?” Jane hurried to catch up.
“No,” he lied. “Hardly a scratch.”
Even Lucky snorted at that.
He set a pace as fast as he thought Jane could manage. They ran across no more cool creeks. There wasn’t a renegade block of ice to be had. Neither one of them possessed an aspirin. Jane’s Band-Aids would be worthless on two black eyes and a fat lip.
Bobby kept an ear cocked to any sounds on the trail. Lucky practically walked backward in an attempt to make sure no one else snuck up on them. Amazingly, no one did.
The lack of pursuit made Bobby even more squirrelly than the knowledge of it had. There were at least two bad guys left alive out there, probably more. So why weren’t they following with guns blazing?
They reached Puerto without further incident, long after the sun slid below the horizon. The town was large enough to possess a decent hotel with a restaurant, but not too large that there were streetlights on every corner. They were able to slink in the shadows, keeping Jane’s battered face and bloody, stained clothes out of sight.
Near the Hotel Puerto, Bobby removed his sidearm and handed it, along with the backpack and rifle, to Jane.
“I doubt they’ll rent me a room if I show up armed, with a beat-up woman and a one-eyed dog. Will you be okay for a minute?”
“I’m in a good-size town, with a good-size gun. What could happen?”
Bobby tightened his lips. “I hate it when people say that.”
He was able to get two adjacent rooms on the far side of the hotel, away from the lobby. That way they wouldn’t have to hoist Lucky by pulley to a second-floor balcony.
“They were okay about the dog?” Jane asked as he handed her a key.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“You didn’t tell?”
“They didn’t ask.”
“But—”
“Does Lucky plan on chewing the bedspread? Peeing on the carpet? Clawing the wall?”
Jane stiffened. “Of course not.”
“Then she’s better behaved than most of the guests. There isn’t another hotel, Jane. And you need to eat and sleep. So do I.”
She nodded. He could tell she didn’t like bending the truth, but she understood the necessity.
They climbed to the second level—always the best choice for security—and Jane opened her door.
“Wait.” Bobby stepped in first.
The room was small, a bit shabby, but clean. Though it was unlikely anyone would know they were here, Bobby checked the closet, the bath, under the bed just to be sure.
Lucky trotted in, sniffed one of the double beds, then the other, before choosing the first. Jane tossed her backpack onto the dresser. Leaning over, she stared into the mirror and gently touched the swelling around each eye. “You lied to me.”
Bobby, who’d been drifting around the room in search of an ice bucket, paused. “I did?”
“You said I didn’t look that bad.”
“You don’t.”
“I suppose you’ve seen much worse.”
She didn’t know the half of it. He shrugged and left it at that. “I’m going to get some ice.”
“Thanks.”
“Then I’ll order room service.”
She gingerly examined her swollen lower lip. “Probably not a good idea for me to be seen like this in the dining room.”
“We shouldn’t be seen anywhere. I’m going to call my superior and have a plane here at first light.”
“Okay.”
Bobby pocketed her key and hurried to the ice machine, concerned at how compliant Jane had become. Though her arguments had been annoying, even life threatening at times, he missed them. And wasn’t that just the most foolish thought of all?
He returned, knocking before opening the door an inch.
“Come in.”
Jane sat on the bed next to Lucky; both were nearly asleep.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my eyes open through dinner.”
“Take a shower,” Bobby said. “That should help you stay awake. You need to eat, Jane.”
She glanced down at herself. “If you haven’t noticed, missing a few meals won’t hurt me.”
He scowled. “I’m not returning you to your mother half sick and beaten to hell.”
“My mother’s the one who told me I could lose a few pounds.”
“Then your mother’s the one who should have her head examined first.”
She was arguing with him again. Bobby felt so much better.
“Shower.” He jabbed a finger at the bathroom. “Ice. Food. Sleep.”
She flipped him a salute. “Your wish is my command, Captain.”
JANE FLICKED THE SECURITY lock on her door, then punched the button on the bathroom doorknob as well. Foolish, since the guys who were after her would laugh at such pathetic measures. Her best bet was the man in the next room. Bobby would never let anyone hurt her.
Lucky insisted on joining Jane wherever she went. She couldn’t blame the dog. Lucky had been as terrified as Jane when they’d been taken hostage. The dog was now as attached to Bobby as she’d been to her. He had saved them, and neither Jane nor Lucky was ever going to forget that.
Jane stripped off her bloody, dirty, sweaty clothes and tossed them into the trash. She couldn’t believe she’d had the wherewithal to throw a second set into her backpack, but she had.
Unwrapping her ankle, she was surprised to discover very little swelling and no pain. Sometimes, if the injury was wrapped quickly and tightly, and it was minor in the first place, no further medical attention was necessary. Her wrist was merely bruised and already on the mend.
The heated water felt heavenly on her body but stung her face. She needed ice to ease the swelling and the ache.
Lucky stuck her head into the shower and a river of mud swirled down the drain.
“You’d better get in here, too,” Jane said. “Or there’s no way you’re sleeping on the bed.”
The dog stepped daintily into the tub—sometimes Jane swore Lucky understood everything—and Jane shared the shampoo. Soon they were both squeaky clean, then Jane and Lucky shared the blow dryer.
Jane peered into the mirror, wincing at the sight of her puffy, colorful face. Her mother was going to use this incident to try to convince her to stay in the States. And once again, Jane couldn’t let her.
She’d wither and die in D.C. Jane wanted to help the helpless. She needed to be needed. She wasn’t happy unless she was working in a country of quiet desperation. The senator had never understood that.
Jane rustled around in her backpack for the extra pair of shorts and tank top she’d stuffed inside. No underwear, no bra, which only made her realize she’d been prancing around the jungle without one.
Thank goodness she hadn’t remembered that before now. If she’d known she was bra-less among the sleaze buckets, she’d have b
een a lot more nervous. As if that were possible.
Come to think of it, none of them had ogled her, sneered, grabbed or behaved in any of the ways she would have expected them to with a helpless woman in their power.
Which was just plain weird and a little bit insulting.
“Idiot,” Jane muttered. “Would you have preferred the opposite?”
The idea made her shiver, then she couldn’t stop. She eyed the bed, the blankets, the pillows.
“Just for a minute,” she warned herself. “Just to get warm.”
Jane lost the damp towel and slipped beneath the covers. In an instant she was asleep.
A moment later she began to dream.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR DINNER, BOBBY WOULD have preferred steak, baked potatoes and green beans, with a bottle of red wine on the side. What he got was beef and chicken enchiladas, rice, refried beans and tequila.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers. When in Rome…et cetera, et cetera. The clichés were as endless as his mother’s lectures.
He’d showered while he waited for the food. Managed a phone call to his superior after he’d washed his T-shirt and socks in the sink. The pants he’d just have to wear dirty.
“The woman wasn’t kidnapped?” Colonel Delray asked.
“Not when I got here.”
“Odd.”
“Maybe you should have a talk with the senator.”
“Maybe I should.”
“And tell her Jane’s fine—”
“Jane?” the colonel murmured, amusement as well as warning in his voice.
“Spending twenty-four hours running for your life through the jungle makes short work of titles. Sir.”
When on a mission with his team, titles were never used, only first names. In that way, the enemy couldn’t find out who was after them, nor which man was in charge. However, Bobby had always had a difficult time calling Delray anything other than “colonel” or “sir.”
“Just remember who you are,” Delray said. “And who she is.”
Bobby frowned. Why had the colonel found it necessary to remind him of that as if he were a kid and unable to keep it in his pants around a female?
Bobby knew the rules. Fraternization with an assignment could get him in huge trouble. But if anyone was worth the trouble—
“The doctor needs sleep,” he blurted. “Badly. She shouldn’t be disturbed this evening.”
“Don’t worry, Luchetti, I’ll soothe the senator’s hysteria. Make sure she doesn’t call her daughter, then send a plane in the morning.”
“You might want to prepare the senator, as well.”
“For?”
Bobby winced at Delray’s sharp tone. The colonel was a good soldier, but he hadn’t been in the field in a very long time. He didn’t remember, or maybe he’d chosen to forget, all that could go wrong with any mission.
“Her daughter’s a little banged up.”
“How little? Dammit, Luchetti, this is a U.S. senator we’re talking about. She will eat your liver for lunch when she finds out you let her baby girl be sullied by those monsters.”
“Sullied? Oh, no, sir. Nothing like that.”
Not that he had any doubts that would have followed once they’d gotten the information they wanted. But Jane had kept them at bay—protected him, and in doing so, protected herself.
“What then?”
“They hit her.”
“How much?”
“Enough. She looks like she ran into a brick wall with her face.”
The colonel sighed. “The senator is going to be pissed. Nothing makes ’em madder than when the goods are physically damaged.”
“I would think she’d be glad Jane’s alive,” Bobby said quietly.
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?”
Bobby frowned at the spark of annoyance in the colonel’s voice. How much of a problem was Senator Harker going to be?
“Put her on the plane, Luchetti.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we’ll discuss your next assignment.”
“You’ll be at Fort Bragg, sir?”
“No. I’ll be on the plane.”
“What?”
Surprise startled the word out of Bobby without the usual “sir.” The colonel didn’t appear to notice.
“We’re trying to keep this mess under wraps. The senator insists that I be the one to retrieve her daughter. So I’ll see you in the morning.”
He hung up. Bobby stared at the phone for several seconds. The senator must have a lot of power, or a very big mouth, perhaps both, to warrant this type of treatment.
The food arrived, and Bobby signed for it, then pushed the cart to Jane’s door. When he knocked, no one answered.
At first he wasn’t concerned. Even when he heard the tiny whimpers, he figured they were Lucky’s, imagining the dog on the bed, paws churning as she chased rabbits and squirrels through an imaginary forest.
He was even smiling at the thought, when a cry drifted from inside. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bobby lifted his boot and kicked in the door.
JANE’S DREAM WAS LIKE a hundred she’d had before. Someone was dying and she couldn’t fix them.
Logically she knew that she was a doctor, not a god. People died. But that didn’t mean she had to like, or accept, it.
In this dream, the victim was a child who could have been her own. A cherub with hair much blonder than Jane’s and eyes much bluer than the sky. She had…
Jane concentrated, trying to determine what was threatening the child’s life. In the way of dreams, she had no concrete answer, only the usual certainty that whatever the disease, there wasn’t a thing she could do to help.
The familiar rock of despair settled in her gut, causing her to thrash, moan, then rail against fate, God and modern medicine. For all the good it did.
The exam room receded. The child disappeared, and Jane found herself alone in the middle of a graveyard. She’d had this dream before, too. However, knowing that didn’t make the sadness any less oppressive as she walked up and down rows and rows of stones, all marked with the names of her failures.
Glancing around the cemetery, she hoped for someone, anyone, to share her grief, but she was as alone now as she’d been all of her life. Tears pushed at the back of her eyes, a tiny cry escaping before she could shove it back into the darkness where it belonged.
Suddenly there was a loud thud, the bark of a dog, then a large, cool shadow loomed.
She ran, though she had no idea where she was going, no clue where she was. The cemetery had become a jungle. The air had gone so cold she expected flakes of snow to tumble from the dark and threatening sky. Yet no matter where she ran, no matter how fast, someone was right behind her.
When she attempted to call for Bobby, her mouth seemed glued shut. The words stuck in her throat, trapped, bubbling, desperate for a way out, but there was none.
Jane struggled against the night, the silence, the chill, and in the distance someone called her name.
“Help!” she shouted.
The only thing she heard was a muffled plea from lips that still wouldn’t open. She tried harder, and the word erupted at last, so loudly she woke up.
The room was dark, but not so dark she couldn’t see the man hovering next to the bed. She rocketed upright, and the covers pooled at her waist. The chill of the room made her nipples tighten. She’d fallen asleep without any clothes.
She snatched the sheets to her chest, just as the shadow murmured, “Jane?”
She should have recognized Bobby immediately by the slope of his shoulders, even if she could have ignored Lucky’s incredible dance of joy, which was starting to remind her of Snoopy’s.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her hand trembled as she shoved her hair out of her face. “How did you get in?”
He shrugged, the movement telegraphing his embarrassment, and his lack of a shirt. Confused, she glanced toward the thin strand of light coming from
the hallway. Her door hung by the hinges.
“What the…?”
Jane searched frantically for evidence of an intruder, but the rest of the room was as shrouded in shadows as Bobby’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You cried out, but the door was locked.”
“You broke down the door?”
“I lost my head.”
Jane glanced at the ruined wood, then back at the man. Why did she find the testosterone overload and Neanderthal tactics as attractive as his naked chest? Perhaps because without them, she’d be in a graveyard—and it wouldn’t be a dream one.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he pressed.
“Yeah.” The details were as clear now as they’d been when she was caught in the grip of that other world. The child, her failure, the graves, someone chasing her. She hated those dreams.
Jane’s shivers turned into the shakes.
“It’s too cold.” Bobby turned on the light, then checked the thermostat. “No wonder.” He flicked the gauge with his finger. “Busted. You can’t sleep in here.”
Without waiting for permission, Bobby scooped both her and the bedspread into his arms, then strode out of the room. Though Jane was completely covered, the slide of material between her naked skin and his created a sensation that shot straight to her stomach, then lower. The hard knot of sadness left from her dream dissolved as something else took its place.
“You can’t sleep in a room with a broken door.” The bed dipped as Bobby sat beside her. “Not in this neighborhood. Not in any neighborhood.”
He started to stand, and Jane found herself clinging. The remnants of her dream faded, becoming as ethereal as the scent of Bobby Luchetti and hotel soap.
“Hey.” Concern laced his voice. “He’ll never hurt you again.”
For an instant Jane’s mind went blank. Then she understood he was talking about the General.
“It was just a dream,” Bobby soothed.
“No.”
He stiffened and looked toward the door. “Something more?”
“No.” She had a hard time thinking as he tucked her head beneath his chin, and his breath stirred her hair. “I meant I had a dream, but not about him.”
“Oh.” He sounded confused. “About what, then?”
A Soldier's Quest Page 8