“We can’t— Rafe, watch out!”
His knees buckled. Glenna cried out as his weight forced her downward, but he pushed clear from her before he hit the ground. He rolled to his side, his lips pressed tight in pain. Nevertheless, he propped the rifle butt beside him and levered himself into a sitting position.
Glenna wanted to weep at his stubbornness. “Rafe, please. You’ve got to rest or you’ll get worse.”
He leaned his forehead against the side of the gun barrel and panted. “I’ll be okay. It’s not a big deal. We have to move.”
“Fine, Rafe. We’ll do that. Right after breakfast, okay?”
“What?”
“That’s what all the fruit you gathered is for, right? I have to eat something before we start out.” She spoke hurriedly, trying to stave off his next attempt to get up. “I’m hungry. I couldn’t possibly go anywhere yet, so you’re going to have to wait for me, all right?”
He looked at her as if he knew she was stalling. “Eat fast.”
“Certainly.”
She hopped to the pile of fruit and grabbed whatever was on top, then returned to sit down at Rafe’s side. He was still leaning against the rifle, but his eyes were closed. She tossed the fruit aside and looked at his thigh.
The bandage that she’d made out of her suit jacket was gone—he must have discarded it when he’d gone into the pool. The torn edges of his jumpsuit gaped open over a shiny, viciously red swelling. She used her fingertip to lift up a loose flap of the black fabric. She had no more than a glimpse of a long groove of shredded, inflamed flesh before Rafe closed his fingers over her wrist and moved her hand away.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, her heart racing. She swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to his face. “Rafe, this is infected. It couldn’t have gotten this bad overnight.”
“Germs multiply fast in the tropics.”
“I should have realized you weren’t just feeling the heat when I saw you sweating yesterday,” she said. “I should have seen that you were ill. But all I thought about was how nice you were being to me and what a wonderful man you are and all the while you must have been suffering—”
“Forget it, Glenna.”
“I’m so sorry, Rafe. How could I have been so blind?”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because I figured you would react like this.”
“You need medicine. I could retrace our steps and find my way back to Juarez. Maybe I could make a bargain with him, offer to have my family pay him whatever he wants for a doctor.”
Rafe curled her hand into his chest toward her, bringing his face within inches of hers. His eyes were still feverishly bright, but his gaze was rock steady. “You do that and we’re both dead.”
“But—”
“You weren’t blindfolded on the trip to his house, Glenna. Until now, no one knew he had a stronghold on this island, but you’ve seen his setup. You could identify his accomplices. Whatever happens, he won’t let you go.”
“But I have to do something. Do you want some water? Do you—”
“Glenna, if you really want to do something, you can help me stand up. The stream we followed yesterday flows out where the pool narrows. We’ll stick with it as long as we can.”
“Rafe—”
“Don’t argue, Glenna. I’ve got to get you as close to the rendezvous as possible before…” He pressed his lips together, tensing as a wave of shivering swept over him.
He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. Glenna could all too easily picture what was going to happen. She might not have any personal experience with conditions like these, but she’d read books, she’d seen movies. She knew that gone untreated, an infected wound would fester. Rafe could lose his leg. He could even lose his life.
Oh, God, no. He couldn’t die. Not like this, not because of the bullet he’d taken for her.
She wanted to whimper and curl into a ball on the mat of palm fronds and pretend she was home and have the nightmare end.
But Glenna Hastings never fell apart. She was always in control. She could do this. She owed Rafe her life.
She pulled away from him and retrieved her crutch and their bottle of water, then returned to Rafe’s side and helped him to his feet.
She never did find the place where the stream flowed out of the pool. Ten feet from their camp, Rafe collapsed.
Chapter 7
Glenna knelt at the edge of the pool and wrung out the cloths she was using for compresses. She had never felt more useless in her life. What good was her career or the skills she’d been so proud of? What point had there been in denying her heritage? She would give anything to have access to the Vanderhayden money right now. And a phone. She would charter a helicopter and fly Rafe to a hospital. She’d call on every family connection to round up the best doctors. She’d build a hospital right on this spot if that’s what it would take.
She dunked the cloths back into the water. These rags were all that was left of her skirt. At least her wardrobe was still proving useful.
She hiccuped on a sob, propped her crutch under her arm and pushed back to her feet. The light was fading fast, but it was easy to find her way back to their camp. She’d been back and forth to the pool so many times, she’d worn a path.
Rafe’s eyes were open when she returned. Shehope that it was a positive sign, but he’d been fading in and out of consciousness all day as his fever had raged. He’d told her the fever itself was a good thing, simply his body’s way of fighting the infection. Glenna suspected he was trying to protect her from the truth.
Yes, that was Rafe. Flat on his back, crippled with fever, and he was still trying to protect her.
He’d lanced his wound himself shortly after midday. He’d tried to shelter her from the horror of that, too. He’d cut away his left pant leg with the knife he’d taken from the guard, then sharpened the knife on a piece of rock, instructed her on how to build up the fire and sterilized the blade. He hadn’t made a sound as he’d sliced into the puffy mass of swollen tissue on his thigh. He’d been silent as the foul-smelling fluid had drained. When he’d used the hot blade to sear the wound closed afterward, she had been the one to cry out.
God, she wished it was only a nightmare. But she couldn’t fall apart. Rafe needed her. As useless as she was, she had to keep trying.
She dropped to his side, folded a cloth and put it on his forehead. “Hello, Rafe.” She forced a smile. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes looked right past her. There was no recognition in his gaze.
“Rafe, do you want a drink? I refilled the water bottle where the stream flows into the pool.” She held the bottle to his lips. “It tastes wonderful.”
He swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. “John?”
She set the bottle aside and blinked back a surge of tears. He’d called out that name before. His periods of lucidity were getting fewer and farther between. “It’s Glenna, Rafe.”
“John? Answer me!”
“It’s all right, Rafe.” She turned the compress over. It was already warm to the touch. “Try to rest.”
He grabbed her hand, his grip startlingly strong. “Have to find him. Got to get him out.”
“Rafe…”
“Got to help him.”
Glenna glanced at his leg. The edges of the wound were dry—the treatment he’d self-administered had been brutal but effective. Still, she worried that he would do further damage if he moved around. She eased her hand from his grasp and tried to soothe him. “We will, Rafe. You rest now. We’ll get John.”
“The water. He’s in the water.”
“Okay. We’ll get a boat.”
“No.” He moved his head from side to side in a quick negative. The folded cloth fell to the ground. “No time. He can’t swim.”
Glenna put a fresh compress on his forehead. Can’t swim? she wondered. She had assumed Rafe was reliving a mission, but wouldn’t his fellow soldiers know how to swim?
>
“John! Johnny, hang on!”
His voice was rising. She could see his muscles tense. Concerned, she leaned over him and tried to catch his gaze. “Rafe, pleas. Lie still.”
He put his hand over his scarred cheek. His lips pulled back in a grimace of pain. “Can’t see him. Too much blood. Oh, God! Johnny!”
Rafe tried to get up. Someone was grabbing his shoulders, calling his name, telling him to stop, but he couldn’t. Not this time. Johnny hadn’t surfaced yet.
There were people in the way. So many other guys needing help. Each time Rafe went into the river, he pulled someone else out. He couldn’t pass them by. He couldn’t leave them to drown.
But where was Johnny?
Rafe pressed his palm harder against his face. The cold water was numbing the pain, but pieces of skin kept sliding between his fingers. He couldn’t hold his face together. He couldn’t see. There was too much blood in the water.
Johnny had been at the back of the bus, not up front with the driver like Rafe. All the first-string guys liked to ride in the back on the way to the games. They’d been flying high today. One more victory and they’d go to the state championships. The college scouts would be watching the game. They’d be watching Johnny.
Everyone loved John. He was always smiling. His laughter had been the last sound Rafe had heard before the bus had crashed through the guardrail.
The driver was dead before they’d hit the water—a post had come through the windshield and pinned him to his seat. The broken glass and sheared-off pieces of metal that had followed had caught Rafe in the face. He didn’t know if he screamed. He hoped not. He had to be brave. He had to save Johnny.
“John!”
“Please, Rafe. Calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He squinted, trying to focus on the shadow in front of him. Who was that? There hadn’t been any cheerleaders on the bus, had there? Johnny’s girls. That’s what the guys called them. John always had the prettiest one on his arm. Sometimes the girls would talk to Rafe, but it was only so they could get closer to John. Yes, everyone loved John.
Something cold and wet touched his forehead. He snatched it off and tried to get up.
“Rafe, no!” A weight fell across his chest. “You’re dreaming. Stop.”
Oh, God, he wanted to stop. It hurt. So much. He felt the panic seize his lungs, just as it had before. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t help anyone.
“Rafe, it’s okay, it’s okay.” The weight was soft and warm and spread over his body. “Please, you’re worrying me.”
He wanted to answer. The voice sounded so scared. But if he stopped now he wouldn’t find John. Perfect, lovable John. And he wanted to save John, didn’t he?
Didn’t he?
Yes. He must want to save him. What kind of monster would let his brother die?
The red haze that clouded his vision suddenly lifted. There he was! It would be all right. John was on the front porch, sitting on the rag. He was spinning a football in his hands, tossing it in the air and catching it so it made that solid thumping sound. He flipped his hair out of his eyes and grinned at Rafe. Dad had told him to get a haircut, but John had said it would be bad luck to cut his hair before the game. He hadn’t left yet. It wasn’t too late.
“John, don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.”
But John swung his long legs over the railing and hopped to the lawn. He gave Rafe’s shoulder a punch as he walked past.
“No, Johnny. Wait!”
The high school was at the end of the street. He could see the bus waiting in the parking lot.
“No.” Rafe tried to catch him, but his body wouldn’t move. He couldn’t let it happen. “No!”
It did happen. Over and over again. The crash. The water. The blood. He felt John’s hand, but he couldn’t hang on. He didn’t hang on. Oh, God, why didn’t he hang on? “I’m sorry, Johnny. I’m sorry.”
“Shh, Rafe.” The weight on his chest shifted. The scent of flowers and citrus wafted past his lips. “It’s all right.”
His throat stung. His eyes burned. He felt his temples grow wet. “Sorry.”
Gentle fingers stroked his skin, wiping away his tears. Soft as a butterfly, a kiss settled on his shredded cheek.
The red haze returned. Rafe felt himself spinning backward. He latched on to the woman. He couldn’t save Johnny.
But he would save her.
The night was endless. Glenna was afraid to sleep. Each time her eyes drifted closed she woke with a start and stumbled to the pool to wring out the compresses. Rafe no longer struggled to get up, but it wasn’t a sign he was getting better. The fever was raging unchecked and had drained him of strength. He no longer recognized her or heard her. He was caught in the past.
It had taken her a while to piece together the story. His words had been disjointed and hard to understand at times, but eventually the picture had begun to emerge from his ramblings.
She had wanted to know how he’d gotten his scars. Now she did. But she hadn’t wanted to learn it like this. Each time he relived that accident, he relived the suffering. Not just the physical pain of having his face mutilated, but the emotional pain of losing his brother.
She swallowed hard, her throat tight with compassion. She wouldn’t tell him that he’d cried—she knew instinctively that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to witness it. Because now that she had, she would never regard him the same way again.
This was why he was so determined to be a hero. It was why he’d joined Delta Force and rescued people for a living. He believed he’d failed his brother.
“Oh, Rafe.” She leaned over him, tracing the white ridges on his cheek with her fingertips. “Why can’t you see the man you are? You deserve to be happy.”
He didn’t respond. She hadn’t expected him to. if he’d been awake, he wouldn’t have listened. Yet she’d heard the torment in his voice when he’d called John’s name. She’d seen the agony on his face as he’d remembered the accident. She knew Rafe would have done everything humanly possible to save his brother. Even in his delirium, the love he felt for John was obvious.
“That’s why you push people away,” she said. “You don’t want to risk loving anyone because it hurts so much to lose them.”
She rubbed her lips across his scars. These were only the scars she could see. She wished she could help him heal the ones inside, the ones on his heart.
How long did it take to fall in love? A year? A month? Was it possible to fall in love at first sight? And would she recognize love if it happened? Was that the connection she’d sensed between them? Was the bond she felt love?
She wasn’t sure. She’d worked so hard at not loving anyone, she hadn’t had any practice.
She picked up a fresh cloth and passed it over his shoulders. She’d stripped off his clothes during her efforts to cool him down. He hadn’t objected to the intimacy, he hadn’t even been aware of it. His body was completely lax.
She flipped the cloth over and moved it across his chest. “That’s why you went swimming yesterday,” she murmured. “You were trying to lower your temperature.” The signs had been there, she simply hadn’t seen them. She’d only seen his gorgeous body.
And it was gorgeous. Oh, Lord, he was like a living, breathing sculpture. He was so…male. Everywhere.
Was there something wrong with her because she could think of him as a man at a time like this? Was it a sign of some moral defect if she couldn’t ignore the appeal of his body even when he was so vulnerable? Or was it all part of the way she felt? Was it love?
She’d worry about that when he woke up. If he woke up. Oh, God, he had to wake up.
Glenna’s gaze skimmed down to his left thigh. The redness around the wound appeared less intense. It was difficult to tell whether it was due to the weak light from the fire she’d managed to build or from her own desperate need to see improvement. She felt a twinge of despair as she tossed aside the cloth. It was already too warm to do
any good. She had to do more.
She looked at the damp spots the compresses had left on her clothes, then looked at Rafe. A crazy idea rose in her brain. If he’d been cold, she would hold him to share her warmth. But if she wanted to cool him down… She got to her feet and limped to the pool. She unlaced her boots and waded into the water, then took a deep breath and dived in. It was colder than she’d remembered. She surfaced with a gasp and lunged for the shore. With her hair streaming wet and her clothes dripping, she hurried back to Rafe and draped herself on top of him.
The heat from his skin warmed her almost instantly. She waited until her clothes began to dry, then went back to soak herself again. For the rest of the night she repeated the process until she no longer had the strength to get up. She stretched out beside him and fitted her head to the hollow of his shoulder. She would close her eyes for just a minute or two….%">
It was another dream. Unlike most of the dreams, though, Rafe didn’t want to wake up from this one. Slim arms were wrapped around his shoulders. He felt the tickle of soft hair on his chin and warm breath on his neck. Someone was holding him as if they really cared. He inhaled slowly and felt a jog of recognition.
Glenna. Why was she holding him? Where were they? Had he fallen asleep? The two hours must be up. They had to move, they had get out of this storeroom…
No, they had already gotten out. The jeep had run out of gas. They’d slid down the stream. He’d lanced his wound. Was it yesterday? The day before?
He felt sunlight on his eyelids. He heard the rustle of leaves and the buzz of insects. He stretched experimentally. His muscles ached, every joint was stiff, but the agony in his thigh had faded. His improvised field first-aid must have worked. All right. He needed to get moving.
But Glenna’s arms felt so right and her body fit so snugly against his where she stretched out beside him that he didn’t want to leave yet. He would stay for another minute.
“Rafe.”
He wasn’t sure she’d spoken his name. It had been half sigh, half whisper. He parted his lips but no sound came. He ran his tongue over them and tried again. “Yeah?”
Eye of the Beholder Page 9