Her knees were weak and shaky, and Dana prayed she wouldn’t faint. “It was such a shock,” she managed. “One minute I was walking along, and the next minute it was around my neck.” She shivered violently. “Oh, God, it was awful.”
“The snake was probably as terrified as you,” Alex comforted.
Dana took a few deep breaths and stepped away. She hadn’t meant to cling to him. “It could have bitten me. Do you think it was poisonous?” The possibility made her ill.
“I have no idea. There’re hundreds of snakes in Africa. No point in wondering now, anyway. It’s long gone.” He put two fingers under her chin and studied her face. “Are you going to be okay? Can you keep going?”
“Of course. I’m fine. I just had a momentary nervous breakdown.” She gave him a weak smile.
“I thought you were the outdoor type, the rough-and-ready girl who wouldn’t be afraid of snakes.”
“I have a healthy respect for them,” she said, “when they stay were they belong—on the ground. But flying snakes are another matter.”
Alex laughed.
“Well, it was airborne when it landed on me!” She shivered again, thinking about the snake’s sinuous coils. “Thanks for coming to the rescue. I was too frightened and surprised to do anything but scream.”
“No problem. Now that you’re all right, let’s get going. And don’t worry, I promise to keep a lookout for snakes.” Alex stalked down the trail, and Dana followed, hating that she needed him. But she did, as they both knew. He’d made that point to her back at the tent, and while he hadn’t mentioned it again, the fact of her dependency was implicit. The episode with the snake had just made it more obvious.
Confused and weary, Dana prayed that the day would soon end.
When sunset finally came, she welcomed it in one way and in another dreaded it. She was relieved to be able to sit down in front of the campfire with food and drink. But she hated thinking about the night to come when she would share the tent with Alex, lie next to him, wake beside him.
They made camp and ate in silence. Afterward, Dana cleaned up and finished preparing for bed while Alex put up the tent, a task that seemed to take on much greater importance than usual. She watched for a few minutes and then sat by the fire, arms on her knees, her head resting on her arms, lost in thought.
She jumped when Alex shook her shoulder. “Why don’t you turn in for the night?”
“I’m trying to decide if I’d rather sleep in the tent with you or outside with the snakes. It’s a hard choice. But then some people might say there’s no difference.”
She’d spoken without thinking, but Alex just grinned, unbothered, and sat down on the other side of the fire. He poured a cup of weak tea they’d brewed with the last tea bag. “Bitterness doesn’t become you, Dana.”
“I’m not bitter, but I am angry.”
Alex sipped his tea. The firelight played over his face. He’d lost weight, she realized; the lines of his cheekbones were more prominently defined, and there were new creases in his forehead. He looked directly at her, meeting her gaze dead-on. “I made love to you because I wanted to, Dana. It had nothing to do with the elephant or Louis or anything that happened in Porte Ivoire or Brazzaville. It had everything to do with you and me.”
What was the point of arguing? She didn’t believe him; she certainly couldn’t trust him. In a flat, neutral voice she said, “Since I can’t change what happened, I might as well accept it. And live with it.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” His lips curved in a half smile. “I guess if you brought home a rogue like me, your brothers wouldn’t approve.”
“I told you once before, my brothers don’t run my life.” She didn’t add that she couldn’t imagine taking him home—with or without approval—a rogue, if not a murderer.
“But you care what they think.”
“Of course I do. They’re my family. Don’t you care what your family thinks?”
“Don’t have any.”
Dana looked at him questioningly.
“I was an only child, and my parents are both dead now. Even if they were alive, I’d still be living my way.”
Dana bristled at the comment. “I told you before, I’m also perfectly capable of living my life my way.”
He shrugged, seemingly willing to end the conversation there, but she wouldn’t let it drop. “Weren’t you close to your parents?” When he didn’t answer she decided to try another tack. “Maybe they never gave you the support you needed.”
“Give it a rest, Dana.”
“Why can’t you talk about yourself?” she said. “What do you have to hide?”
He poked at the fire with a long stick. “You’re an impossible woman, determined to go on and on.”
He was right, but the more he tried to put her off, the more determined she became to know the real Alex Jourdan, to find out about his life. What drove the man? Why was he the way he was? No matter how she felt about him now, she couldn’t rid herself of the fascination.
“There’s one way to keep me from going on and on. Tell me about yourself, and I’ll shut up.”
Alex shook his head in frustration.
“What about your mother?”
“Beautiful, bright and demanding. She made a tremendous mistake when she married my father.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“Aren’t you the one who always insists on the truth?” he asked. “The truth is that my mother never should have married him. She was taking the grand tour of Europe after college, ready for romance and adventure. She met my father in Paris. He was handsome, charming and no match for her. So of course they fell in love.”
He made the word love sound like something you caught, a bad cold or worse. “What did your father do for a living?”
“Not much of anything. He got by on his looks and his charisma. My mother tried to tame him, push him into a lucrative job. She decided on sales. He tried it, did okay, but never got serious. So when I was about five, they moved to New York. Even though she’d failed to make him into the man she wanted, they didn’t know that back in the States. She was in her element with a French husband, more handsome than any movie star, and a kid who was very cute and very spoiled.”
“And we know who,” Dana commented.
“Yep. The world-traveler kid with the crazy parents. My father liked to keep moving, enjoy life, look for adventure. She wanted to settle down—in the lap of luxury, of course. I know what you’re thinking—I got a little of both of them. But I’m more like one than the other.”
Dana frowned.
“You’ll see. Meanwhile, they went looking for a home. They looked in San Francisco, Denver, you name it, while the bills piled up. My father just didn’t have it in him to make enough money to buy her happiness. That’s when she got busy and found husband number two.”
Dana was surprised. “What did your father do, go back to France?”
Alex finished his tea and stirred the coals again before he answered. “No, actually he...killed himself.”
The remark came so suddenly that Dana had no time to prepare for it.
“He was a Frenchman, you see, and they’re romantics if nothing else, always looking for the grand gesture. In reality, he couldn’t face his failures.” Alex’s voice was bitter, and a look of sadness flitted briefly across his face, to be quickly replaced by his usual sardonic expression.
“Anyway,” he went on, “by then my mother finally had struck gold in marriage number three. My last stepfather was a very rich man. I was ready to take whatever he had to offer even though I detested him. As soon as I finished school, I left. My mother died two years later, and I haven’t seen my stepfather since. He didn’t like me any more than I liked him.”
Dana was quiet, listening to the only sounds around them, the sounds of the swamp—incessantly croaking frogs, squawking birds, the whisper of wind. She wished she knew what to say.
Alex spoke for her. “You don’t need to
draw any meaningful conclusions from what I’ve just told you, Dana. I understand myself perfectly. My father did everything for love, and my mother did everything for money. So while I have a little of his wanderlust, you may have guessed that I’m my mother’s son.”
“I don’t believe—”
“But surely you do, Dana. If you can believe I’m a thief and a killer, you can easily believe that I’d do almost anything for money, big money, that is.”
“Like your mother. But I wonder if that made her happy.”
“I think so. She had no money of her own, but my stepfather indulged her totally. Her last years were lived in the lap of luxury. I don’t want to wait until my last years. If money can’t buy happiness, it’s certainly convenient to have around.”
“Even if it’s illegally acquired?”
“Well, let’s say on the fringes of the law. I was always eager to take advantage of my stepfather’s name—without his permission, of course—which gave me entrée to wealthy people, many of them collectors.”
“Of what?”
“Whatever money could buy. Don’t look so shocked, Dana. I was never into drugs or flesh peddling. I dealt in antiquities—”
“Stolen?”
“I never asked. The Mediterranean provided a lucrative market for my—” he smiled ironically “—import-export business. I enjoyed being successful. I got sidetracked in Porte Ivoire for a while, but I plan to get back on top. It beats the way I grew up.”
Dana didn’t answer. Instead, she got to her feet and headed for the tent. “You’re right. I am tired, Alex. I’ll see you in the morning.”
* * *
MANY PEOPLE KNEW of the elephant. It was legendary, the stuff that dreams were made of. But only a handful knew that the Egyptian had it. Any other man would have come after the prize. Why hadn’t he?
Maybe he had. Maybe the Egyptian was out there. That would make everything very complicated. Someone else would have to die.
Louis Bertrand had died for the prize. He hadn’t been the first. Now, it seemed, he wouldn’t be the last. Those who knew about the elephant would do anything to get it. The situation was becoming dangerous. It had to be ended. And soon.
* * *
SHE WOKE later than usual and crawled out of the tent feeling groggy and tired, limbs heavy, eyes bleary, her mind filled with Alex’s confidences of the night before. She couldn’t erase from her mind the picture of a little boy, unsettled, moving from town to town, torn by the love of his parents. And it was love, Dana realized. In his way, he’d loved the dreamer in both of his parents, even though theirs were very different dreams.
But the psychology behind Alex’s offerings of the night before wasn’t her concern now. Now she had to worry about her lethargy, wonder if she was coming down with malaria or some other disease. She had to worry about Alex’s map and directions made in the Pygmy camp, which might be nothing more than squiggles. She had to worry about being on the trail again and encountering snakes and crocodiles, not to mention heat, insects and painful, pelting rainstorms.
Dana, who hated uncertainty, was faced with just that. Most importantly, she didn’t know whether or not the man she slept next to, the man she had foolishly made love to, murdered his best friend. She had no idea what the next day, the next minute, would bring.
He’d promised to get her out alive, but his promises meant nothing.
Aware of that, she went out to face the morning—and Alex.
She found him withdrawn and quiet, staring moodily into the distance. Without comment, she began the usual breakfast preparations.
But there was nothing normal about today’s ritual. Her anxieties were in full bloom, and she found herself jumping at every sound in the nearby swamp. She was trapped, not only by the swamp but by her own morass of foreboding and despair.
They were down to the last of the food; the tea and coffee were gone. That worried her, too. She wondered if Alex was any kind of a hunter. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine him going out into the forest with his blowgun, bow and arrow or even pistol to catch game. If he couldn’t find food for them, Dana imagined herself as provider, slogging through the swamp, gathering berries and roots for them to eat.
“They’d probably be poisonous and kill us both,” she muttered aloud.
Suddenly, Alex sprang up and grabbed her, covering her mouth with his hand as he pulled her to her feet. He whispered hoarsely in her ear. “Someone is out there. Get into the tent and be quiet.” He gave her a little shove. “Jean Luc’s gun is in my bedroll. Use it if you have to.”
If Dana knew one thing it was not to fight Alex when he made a demand like that. Obediently, she headed for the tent, looking back once to see Alex, his face tense, his gun drawn.
Once inside the tent, she scurried to the other side, as far away as possible. Still, she could hear someone approaching, footsteps furtive, cautious. There was the whisper of vines breaking, the snap of a twig underfoot. Could it be Kantana? Not so soon, she thought. But maybe, just maybe... If he was out there, would she really give herself up to him?
She didn’t know.
Hunched in the corner of the tent, Dana held her breath and waited. Silence. Nothing happened. But something was going to occur—soon; they couldn’t avoid it now. There was no place to hide.
She found the gun and held it helplessly in her hand. She’d shot rifles in target practice with her brothers, but she’d never used a handgun. Keeping the muzzle pointed to the ground, she gathered up the necessary strength, mental and physical, to creep to the entrance, pull back the flap an inch or two and peer out. Alex was waiting in the shadow of a tree, his gun raised and steady.
All kinds of dramatic scenarios played wildly in her head. Alex shooting Kantana, plunging them even deeper into trouble, cop killers on the run for the rest of their lives. Or Kantana killing Alex, leaving Dana prisoner again, behind bars forever in the Porte Ivoire jail.
But what if it wasn’t Kantana? What if it was the mysterious killer of Alex’s hypothesis? Dana closed the flap. Kantana was a threat, but he wouldn’t kill her unless she ran from him—and maybe not even then. But she couldn’t predict her fate at the hands of Louis’s hypothetical murderer. A person who’d killed once wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
There was a third, even more frightening possibility. The man who last owned the elephant could have sent a band of mercenaries to reclaim it. That thought caused perspiration to break out on Dana’s forehead. It was the worst scenario. Against mercenaries, they didn’t have a chance.
There was one answer to each of those possibilities—the Elephant d’Or. Give it to them!
Frantically, Dana rummaged through Alex’s backpack, checking all the hiding places, but she couldn’t find the elephant. Where had he hidden it? Why hadn’t she paid attention? She needed it desperately for them to get out of this situation alive. She would willingly hand it over to anyone in return for their lives...Alex’s greed be damned!
There was a sudden rustle in the bushes at the edge of the camp. Dana heard it, and the click as Alex cocked his pistol. Even in her fear, she found herself creeping to the front of the tent, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.
The footsteps stopped. The silence that followed was unnerving. It grew and grew until Dana wanted to scream. Instead, she remained perfectly still, trying to ignore the cramps that were beginning in her calves. Mosquitoes and insects buzzed incessantly around her. The perspiration continued down her face and neck into the valley between her breasts. Tension mounted, vibrated on the hot, moist air like a living thing.
Then she heard the movement again, rustling from the brush. She tensed, grasping the gun in her sweaty palm as a large man, holding his hands above his head, burst into the camp.
“Don’t shoot, mate. It’s me. Mac McQuire. How’s about a cuppa tea with a little shot of whiskey to start the day?”
Chapter Ten
Alex didn’t lower his gun. “What the hell are you doing here, Mac?”
>
“Please, mate, the gun makes me nervous.”
“Answer my question,” Alex said through clenched teeth.
“I will, just as soon as you put the gun away and give a pal a drink.”
“We’re out of everything,” Alex said flatly. “Except water, and that’s getting low.”
“Water I have plenty of,” Mac replied, tossing his canteen on the ground. “It’s yours. Now the gun, mate.”
Alex shoved the gun into his belt, well aware that the Irishman wasn’t going to try anything in broad daylight. Mac was a sneakier sort. “I’m ready for your explanation.”
“Simple, mate. Been tracking the Pygmies to do a little trading. Imagine my surprise when I came upon two other sets of footprints, definitely not our barefooted little Mgembe.” He grinned broadly. “Being the curious type, when the tribe took off after the elephant, I decided to find out where the other two chaps went. Who’s your partner?”
“Come on out and meet my friend,” Alex called to Dana, hoping she would put the gun back in the bedroll. No point in giving away everything to Mac.
When she slipped out of the tent empty-handed, Alex breathed a sigh of relief—until he saw the look McQuire gave her. The Irishman’s eyes ate her up, and Alex realized why. Even with her wrinkled clothes, hair pulled back and no makeup, Dana was a hell of a good-looking woman. Her blue eyes seemed huge against her recently acquired tan, and because she’d lost weight, her features seemed more finely chiseled. Mac was probably thinking that she looked almost fragile; Alex knew that Dana Baldwin was anything but dainty.
In fact, she was something pretty exciting to come upon in the middle of the jungle, for any man. And from the look in Mac’s eyes, Alex saw trouble brewing. Besides the swamp, the dwindling supplies, the race against time, he now had another problem. Mac McQuire was lusting after Dana.
“Mac, this is Dana,” he said matter-of-factly. No need for explanation, Alex thought as he watched Mac’s next move. The Irishman bent over Dana’s hand, bringing it to his lips and spouting an abundance of Gaelic superlatives in response to her beauty.
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