Troubleshooters 04 Out of Control

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Mmm,” he said when he finally let her up for air. “I thought they would never leave.”

  “They didn’t,” she told him. “We did. And I have to get back. Right now.”

  Jones kissed her neck. “Right right now? Or more like twenty minutes from now right now? Because I want to show you something I found.”

  He pulled her across the glaringly hot runway toward the jungle on the other side, even though she told him, “This is not good. I cannot be returning to the village with my hair a mess and my shirt on inside out and backwards. And believe me, everyone’s going to be checking. They all know that I was with you last night and that we weren’t discussing your extremely procapitalist, anticommunist habit of overinflating the price of toilet paper.”

  But then he was opening some kind of door built right into an outcropping of rock. And she followed him into a cool, damp, dim, narrow room, maybe twelve feet by three feet. There were narrow openings like you might find in a castle wall, obviously designed to shoot a gun through. Not much light came in, because it was nearly completely overgrown—except for one small area that had been strategically cleared.

  “This was where I thought they could hide until the alternator came in—Ken and Savannah. But I don’t blame him for saying no. He doesn’t know me.”

  She could see almost the entire runway from that spot, as well as the Quonset hut Jones called home.

  “It was built by the Japanese during the Second World War,” he told her, his voice bouncing slightly off the concrete and stone walls. There was an air mattress in there, and a cache of food and water. “It’s some kind of pillbox. There’s a bunch of ’em, all around the airstrip—you really have to search to find them. I think the plan must’ve been to pretend to desert the airfield, wait for the Americans to arrive, and then shoot the shit out of them. I don’t think it worked—there’s no evidence there was ever any kind of battle out here at all. In fact, I think we didn’t even bother to invade Parwati Island during the war; it wasn’t worth the trouble.”

  “So the Japanese built these things and just sat here waiting for an attack that never came?” Molly laughed softly. “Why do I find that so sad? I must be extremely twisted.”

  “Yeah,” Jones said. “I think we’ve already verified that.” He came up behind her and kissed her ear, her throat, that delicate place between her neck and her shoulder. She could feel him, hot and heavy against her, aroused again. She loved the fact that he was aroused again. “What time can you get back up here tonight?” he asked.

  His hands skimmed beneath her shirt, brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she heard herself moan. He took that as an invitation and filled his hands with her.

  “I can’t,” she admitted. Oh, Lord, what he was doing to her felt so good. “Not tonight. I want to, Grady, God, I do, but everyone will be watching.”

  “Let ’em watch.” He unfastened the top button of her shorts, slipped his hand down inside.

  Oh, yeah . . . “I’m supposed to be a role model for the women in the village.”

  “You’re a great role model.”

  “I have to be careful,” she gasped. “Really. I don’t want to do anything that’ll make Father Bob send me home early.”

  That caught his attention. “If I can’t see you tonight, when can I see you again?”

  “You can certainly come to tea, but the tent flaps will be up.”

  “I’ll come to tea. But let me rephrase the question—when can I make love to you again?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try to find some other excuse for taking out the boat and—”

  “Now,” he said, his breath hot in her ear. “How about right now?”

  “I have to get back,” she said, but she sounded far less convincing than she had the first time, particularly when he unzipped her shorts and pushed both them and her panties down to her knees. And then, God, he was inside of her, and all she could say was yes.

  Ken watched Savannah sleep.

  Her feet were in really tough shape, she had to be exhausted, and he felt a twinge of guilt for having to wake her and get her moving again.

  He didn’t trust Jones, but he did trust Molly. He should have made an arrangement to leave Savannah with the missionaries. They would keep her safe. And he—he could do what Molly suggested. Lead the gun runners on a chase up farther into the mountains.

  Except, he couldn’t do it. Even though he knew Savannah would be better off, he couldn’t let her out of his sight.

  He had never been so scared in his entire life as he’d been in the village, when that helo approached. He’d never been the fastest man in the Team, but he’d broken Olympic records, racing to get back to Savannah.

  Shitless. For the first time in his life, he’d been scared practically shitless and it was not a pleasant sensation.

  Even now, when he thought about it, thought about what Otto Zdanowicz might have done had he come face to face with Savannah, it made him sick to his stomach.

  Because Zdanowicz could well have taken out his sidearm, aimed it at Savannah’s head, and pulled the trigger. Blam. Savannah could have crumpled to the ground, dead. Executed on the spot.

  And Ken—way across on the other side of the village—wouldn’t have been able to do a single freaking thing to stop it.

  No, Savannah was staying with him. Close to him. Where he knew she’d be safe.

  As for her feet . . . He was going to lighten their load. Take a small chunk of the cash from the attaché case, and then hide the rest of it. After he got Savannah to civilization and safety, he could come back for the money.

  Until then, he’d bury it. And what better place to bury it than in the backyard of the local smuggler? This cowboy, Jones, knew damn well that Ken didn’t trust him. He’d never expect him to hide an attaché case filled with American dollars within spitting distance of his Quonset hut.

  Then, with the case out of the equation, Ken would only have to carry the knapsack with their recently purchased supplies. That way, he could help Savannah—maybe even carry her part of the way.

  Tunggul, the village elder—the old guy with the leather face—had told Ken that there were people who might sell him a boat if he headed up to the north side of the island—away from Port Parwati.

  This was a doubly good plan, since Zdanowicz wouldn’t expect them to head away from the city.

  He and Savannah were going to head toward that river he’d seen when he’d followed Beret and his army. If they could beg, buy, borrow, or steal a boat, they could travel by sea around the island to the port.

  There were two major obstacles, Tunggul had warned.

  First, that part of the island belonged to the local rebels. Beret was none other than Armindo Badaruddin, a revolutionary who wasn’t above using terrorist tactics when the mood struck.

  Second, once they hit the open sea, they would be the potential target of pirates.

  Ken, however, was confident in his ability to avoid Badaruddin’s less-than-expert patrols. An additional bonus was the knowledge that Zdanowicz would think twice about crossing into Badaruddin’s territory.

  As for the pirates—yeah, just let them try to attack. Most of the pirates were poorly armed, Tunggul had admitted. Ken, however, still carried the Uzi and had enough ammunition now to start a small war.

  Savannah murmured something in her sleep, and Ken couldn’t bring himself to wake her.

  Instead, he took the attaché case and quietly went out the door, taking care to lock it securely behind him.

  Molly kissed him again, both amusement and chagrin in her eyes. “What am I going to do about you? I tell you I have to go, or that I won’t make love in my tent, and you just steamroll right over me.”

  “Hey,” Jones said. “You’ve got to give me some credit—I didn’t mess up your hair.”

  She laughed. “Fair enough.”

  She kissed him again, but he pulled free, his eye caught by movement outside of the Quonset hut.

  What t
he hell . . . ? It was Ken. He was coming out of the hut, carrying that metal case in one hand, Uzi in the other.

  Molly turned to look, too. “What’s—”

  He quickly put his hand over her mouth, held one finger to his lips.

  As they watched, Ken stood silently, watching the jungle as one minute became two became three became even more. And Jones knew what he was doing. He was making sure that they really had gone back to the village. Ken knew that Molly, inexperienced in the tricks of the special forces trade, wouldn’t be able to sit in the jungle for long without giving away her position.

  Except, of course, if she were safely hidden in an old Japanese hide.

  When he was seemingly satisfied, Ken vanished into the jungle, just beyond the hut.

  “Shit, he’s ditching the blonde,” Jones breathed into Molly’s ear. That was just terrific. What was he supposed to do with her?

  “I think he probably just needs to pee.”

  “With the case?” He snorted. “No, he’s outta here. I wonder what the hell’s in there, anyway.”

  “Money.”

  Jones turned to look at her. “Excuse me?”

  “Savannah told me there was money in that case.”

  “How much?” Jesus, a case that size must hold . . . Damn, it would depend on the face value of the bills. If they were hundreds . . .

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Of course not. But probably more than twenty thousand dollars. Jesus Christ, if the Cessna had been able to fly, Jones could have walked away with twenty grand in cold hard cash. That hurt.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the money before?” he asked her.

  “It didn’t seem important.”

  “You thought if I knew about it I’d try to take it.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “Actually, that thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Well, maybe it should have.”

  “I really have to go,” she told him.

  “Hey,” he said, catching her by the wrist. “No way. You’re staying here with Blondie. I’m going after Ken to drag his ass back here.”

  “Wherever he went, he’ll be back,” Molly said. “He’s not leaving here without her. Didn’t you see the way he looks at her?”

  “You mean, like he wants to fuck her?” He said it just to get a rise out of her.

  Being Molly, she didn’t even blink. She just looked at him, and he was the one who caved.

  “Sorry. Yes, I noticed. He’s obviously crazy about her. You’re right. But there’s got to be close to a hundred grand in that case. Love’s all fine and good, but money like that transcends human emotions.”

  “He didn’t take the knapsack with the supplies,” Molly pointed out. “Just watch. He’ll be back.”

  “Ken!” The shriek echoed inside the Quonset hut, followed by the unmistakable sound of pounding on the door.

  Jones swore. “The son of a bitch locked her in.”

  Savannah couldn’t believe it. “Kenny, you . . . you . . . asshole!”

  He’d left.

  He’d taken the money and left her here alone.

  There was no note, no explanation. Just a serious lack of Ken.

  He’d locked her in, the jerk. How could he do that to her? She threw herself again against the door, but it wasn’t going to budge. And there was no other way in or out. All of the windows in this place were barred.

  “Ken!”

  Yes, her feet were a mess. But she hadn’t complained, she wouldn’t complain. She’d keep up—somehow.

  “Kenny!” She was screaming in vain. She knew it, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop pounding on the door, either.

  How could he have left her?

  How could she have been so wrong about him? It didn’t seem possible—like watching Ghandi kick a puppy.

  Okay, so maybe Kenny wasn’t Ghandi, but he’d been so careful to reassure her. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was in this with her until the bitter end.

  So why would he leave her now? Unless he somehow thought she’d be better off here, with Jones and Molly.

  “Kenny!”

  The door opened midscream. Just like that. And there he was. Standing in the sunlight on the other side. He hadn’t left her.

  “Whoa,” he said. “You’re pissed. Sorry about that. I was only gone for a few minutes. You were sleeping, so I—”

  Savannah burst into tears.

  It finally happened.

  Savannah had a meltdown.

  Ken had finally—although this time quite unintentionally—pushed her past her point of tolerance, beyond the edge of her usually tightly held control.

  She launched herself, crying, into his arms.

  “Don’t leave me,” she sobbed. “Don’t ever, ever leave me!”

  “Oh,” he said, completely nonplussed. “No. Babe, I wasn’t. Did you really think—”

  She was crying with great huge, noisy sobs. “I thought you were being an asshole and that you left me behind!”

  He had to laugh.

  She lifted her head to look at him accusingly. “Don’t you laugh at me!”

  “I’m not,” he said quickly. “I’m laughing at me. I’m . . . I should have written you a note.” He cupped her face with his hand and tried to brush away her tears with his thumb. But he couldn’t do it. They were falling too fast. His heart clenched—he actually felt it tighten. It freaking hurt and he knew it was so over—his trying to pretend that he didn’t give a shit about her. “I’m so sorry, Van. Honest. I was hiding the attaché case so we wouldn’t have to carry it. I would never leave you. Never. I swear to God. I would die first.”

  Savannah kissed him.

  One second she was gazing up at him with those eyes swimming in tears, and the next she was kissing him as if there were no tomorrow.

  She was salty and sweet and ferocious. And she nearly knocked him right on his ass.

  It was an amazing kiss. The heavens rumbled and the earth shook, and it wasn’t until the second blast that he realized Tunggul and his posse had begun clearing the road to Port Parwati.

  He pulled out of Savannah’s arms. “Motherfucking idiot! Not you,” he quickly added. The third charge went off. “The villagers are blasting. I asked them to wait twenty-four hours—nothing like shaking the mountain to draw unwanted attention. Zdanowicz is going to be back in this neighborhood in a freaking flash. We better make sure we’re good and gone.”

  She was standing there staring at him, wide-eyed, her face still streaked with tears, her mouth all but begging him to kiss her again. But there was no time to do anything but grab their stuff and run.

  “Savannah, I need you to be tough for me, okay?” Ken said, praying she had just a little bit more of that awesome control left in her. “Can you do that? Can you hang on just a little bit longer?”

  She nodded, quickly wiping her eyes and her face with the heels of her hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Which? Cry or kiss him? This wasn’t the time to ask.

  “Pay attention,” Ken said, “because this is important. I buried the attaché case in the jungle, fifteen paces from the southwest corner of this Quonset hut. And they’re my paces. They’ll be longer than yours. You got it?”

  “Fifteen,” she said. “Paces.”

  “Get your sandals on,” he ordered. “We’ve got to move. As fast as we can.”

  He grabbed the knapsack, and she was back beside him in a heartbeat.

  “You know the drill,” he reminded her as he locked the Quonset hut door. “I say get down, you get down. I say run—”

  “I run,” she said. “I know.”

  Her nose was red, and several tears still hung on her eyelashes, but otherwise she was back together. Ready to run on feet that would have had half the big tough SEALs in Team Sixteen bitching and moaning.

  “If you want, I can carry you—”

  “I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Let’s go.”

  He’d said that wrong. He shou
ld have said, “I want to carry you.” Or, “I’m going to carry you now.” She took orders amazingly well for a control freak—she might’ve actually let him carry her if he’d used the right words.

  Ken led her into the jungle, trying to focus completely on heading north and hiding their tracks.

  But his brain wanted to multitask, and he couldn’t stop thinking of the look on Savannah’s face as she’d finally melted down. Her words repeated over and over with the cadence of their feet. Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!