Jungle Fever Bundle

by Hazel Hunter

  “Please,” she managed to whimper. “I want you inside me.”

  His nose nuzzled behind her ear andf his lips murmured against the skin there.

  “Do I need a condom?” he whispered.

  “No,” she breathed, barely able to think. She’d been on the pill since high school. At least she knew that. “No,” she said again.

  He cupped her breast through the thin shirt and bra. As his thigh pressed into her mound, his fingers squeezed the sensitive flesh. Her choked cry was instantaneous and her hips bucked hard. The clenching in her abdomen renewed and threatened to take over. Her hands found his back as he squeezed her and brought his thigh into her again. Despite the need to feel his arousal deep inside, her hips pumped rhythmically against him. She felt his lips on her neck.

  “I’m so close,” she whispered, her voice a high whine.

  “I know,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear.

  Suddenly, there was pounding on the door.

  “Boss!” Annan screamed.

  The tone of his voice was panicked. She and Clark froze.

  “Boss, the alarm!”

  “What?” Clark said as he rose up.

  “The alarm!” Annan screamed.

  Clark jumped off the bed and flew to the door.

  Jean immediately sat up and shakily adjusted her clothes but she needn’t have. She was the only one left in the room.

  • • • • •

  Though George hadn’t seen it on the way in, he definitely saw it on the way out. He stared at the small white panel with a keypad, next to the door. It was exactly like the one outside–except for the flashing red light.

  “Uh oh,” he muttered.

  How could he have missed it? That had to be an alarm. Nobody had said anything about an alarm. Was he supposed to enter a code on the inside too? Shouldn’t the reset code he’d used on the outside taken care of this? He gaped at it for a moment. Then he backed away from it. There was nothing he could do about it now.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  Everything had gone so smoothly. He was almost home free. He felt the container of cuttings in his back pocket and wiped his forehead with the back of his other hand.

  Don’t panic. You might still be home free. Thirty million dollars is waiting.

  He reached a shaky hand to the doorknob, turned it, and cracked the door open. He peered through the gap.

  The plaza was still empty. Whatever was happening in the main house with Jean must be keeping everybody occupied. Good. He slipped out and let the door close behind him, pausing to hear it click.

  Though he wanted to run, he hurriedly walked down the path to the plaza. Suddenly, he heard yelling come from the main house. There were a couple of raised voices. Though he couldn’t make all the words out, the word “alarm” was very clear.

  Damn.

  He looked left and right. Across the square plaza to the right, there was a building that looked like a smaller version of the main house. It might provide more places to hide but it was too far away.

  To the left was a white, three-sided, barn-like structure that was the garage. Inside was the Jeep they’d used on the tour that morning and a motorcycle. It wasn’t even enclosed but it had the advantage of being closer. He needed to hide–be anywhere but where he was. Now he did run, moving faster than he’d thought possible.

  He had tripped an alarm and that changed everything. Clark would have to know immediately who had done it. Who else was here except himself and Jean?

  George ran into the garage and threw himself to the ground in front of the Jeep, breathing hard. No sooner had he landed then he heard the back door of the main house bang open and then footsteps pounded past the garage entrance in the gravel drive. Ducking his head close to the ground, he looked under the Jeep to the plaza but they were already gone. It didn’t matter. George knew who it had to be.

  He sat up to catch his breath, his back against the front of the garage. As he leaned his head back against the rough wood, he closed his eyes, still breathing hard. There was no chance he’d just be strolling out. He needed a new exit plan–quickly.

  • • • • •

  Clark quickly outdistanced Jean and Annan as he sprinted across the plaza. His heart pounded as he raced up the paved path that led to the greenhouse–but not from the run.

  “Clark,” Jean yelled from somewhere behind him. “What is it?”

  He nearly collided with the door, putting a hand out to stop himself, and quickly jabbed the code into the keypad. The knob clicked and he wrenched the door open.

  “Alarm,” Annan gasped as he and Jean arrived behind Clark. “The alarm went off.”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Jean said, breathing hard.

  “It’s a silent alarm,” Clark said, glaring at the interior panel and keypad. The red light was flashing. “Someone’s been in here.”

  There was only one reason anyone would want to be in the greenhouse. He swiveled his head looking left and right. Through the orderly rows of trees, the entire greenhouse was clearly visible. Whoever had been here was gone.

  But what had they done? More importantly, what had they taken?

  One row was as good as the next so Clark dashed straight ahead.

  “Annan,” he called over his shoulder. “Start checking the trees from over there.”

  He motioned his arm to the right not bothering to turn. Annan would know what to look for.

  Clark raced along, looking left and right, scanning the trunks of each tree in the row. Suddenly, he came to a skidding halt. The branch of this sapling was broken. There was never a reason for a tree to be damaged in the greenhouse. A feeling of dread started to blossom in his chest. The branch hung limp, bent past the breaking point.

  “Clark,” Jean panted behind him. “What are you looking for?”

  He ignored her and gently lifted up the branch.

  “Dammit,” he muttered.

  Carved into the wood, an elongated scar dotted with latex stared back at him. His stomach felt as though he were sinking in an elevator and tunnel vision closed in around the white oval.

  “Clark?” Jean said. “What is that?”

  It’s my life. It’s decades of my family’s work. It’s all the hopes and dreams of everybody on this ranch. He gripped the wood edge of the seedbed, hung his head, and took a deep breath.

  “Clark?” Jean asked quietly.

  Suddenly, he ripped the branch from the trunk and glared again at the place where a bud had been cut. As he stared at it, though, something in the dark soil in front of him glinted. He jerked his gaze down to it. A pair of glasses? He snatched them up along with a fistful of dirt. They were thick glasses with black rims, ones that he recognized.

  Fury quickly welled up inside him, replacing the fear and dread that had now been confirmed.

  “Where is he?” Clark ground out between clenched teeth. He spun around to face Jean. “Where is George?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  George looked into the open passenger’s window of the Jeep.

  No keys.

  He checked the plaza, which was still empty, and ran to the metal workbench on the wall opposite the Jeep. Frantically, he started yanking open drawers. Random tools appeared, then a distributor cap, then some wiper blades. He slammed the bottom drawer closed. The keys wouldn’t be in here.

  A Jeep and a motorcycle didn’t amount to anything without a damn key.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  He bolted back to his hiding place and hunkered down.

  The keys have to be in the main house.

  He looked over at it. It wasn’t far but the gravel drive was completely exposed. Plus, he had no idea who was still left inside. They were already looking for him but it didn’t mean the house was empty. He felt the specimen case in his back pocket. Thirty million dollars. He wasn’t about to give that up. He swallowed in a dry throat and looked at the house. If that’s where the keys were kept, that’s where he had to go.

 
; Just then he heard an engine–dim in the distance but definitely a car. He crouched down low between the Jeep and the front of the garage. A vehicle was coming up the drive. He could hear the sound of the tires crunching on the gravel, getting closer and also slowing.

  They’re headed here.

  He crouched down even lower, moved left, and peered down the passenger side of the Jeep. Gradually, a smaller Jeep with a soft top and plastic windows rolled past his vantage point. As it did, he could hear the tires turning. With his head low, he moved to his left, keeping the parked vehicle between him and the new arrival. It slowly pulled into the last spot, next to the workbench. The garage was full now–two Jeeps with a motorcycle between them. Slowly, he raised his head and peeked over the passenger door. There, some twenty feet from him, he saw who was behind the wheel–the old woman.

  Finally, some luck.

  • • • • •

  Jean realized Clark was staring at her.

  “Where’s George?” he bellowed.

  “I…I don’t know,” she said, gaping at Clark. “How would I know?”

  “Where is he?” he screamed.

  His face was red with anger and his eyes suddenly looked bloodshot.

  “Clark, please!” Jean yelled. “I don’t know! I was–”

  “You were what? Keeping me busy?”

  She backed up a step and blinked. One hand flew to her chest and the other gripped the edge of the raised bed in back of her.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Oh you were good,” Clark sneered.

  His hands balled into fists at his sides. She heard Annan run up but she couldn’t take her eyes off Clark's face.

  “You and George,” he hissed between his clenched teeth.

  “He’s my employer,” she said. “But I–”

  “Your employer. How did you interview? With a photo? Or did you audition?”

  What? she thought. What was that supposed to mean? What is he talking about?

  Suddenly, though, she remembered the agency photos. All the candidates had been required to update their employee web pages, including three pictures for their profiles. Candidates without them would not be considered.

  “There were photos–”

  “Of course there were!” Clark said, whirling away from her. “Of course there were. How could I have fallen for it?”

  “Clark, please,” she implored. “I don’t understand.”

  What does the photo have to do with anything? What is going on?

  “Annan,” he said, turning to face him. “Lock the front gate.”

  Annan looked between her and Clark.

  “Don’t just stand there! Move!”

  Annan immediately began backpedaling and then turned and ran.

  Suddenly, Clark had her by the arms.

  “Where did George go?” he ground out through clenched teeth. His face was inches from hers. He shook her, making her head snap.

  “I don’t know,” she cried out, trying to back away.

  “Tell me where he went!” he yelled, shoving her into the raised bed behind her.

  “Clark, please, you’re hurting me.”

  “Where is he taking the buds?” he yelled, shaking her again.

  “Buds?” she shook her head. “I don’t know about–”

  His fingers dug into the backs of her arms as he bent her backwards, looming over her.

  “Was it fun pretending to be her?” he snarled.

  She cried out at the pain behind her hips.

  “Did you enjoy it?” he sneered.

  “Please!” she wailed.

  “You could be sisters,” he spat at her. “Twins!”

  “Twins with who?” she finally screamed. “In god’s name, who?”

  “Linda!” he screamed into her face.

  As though he’d woken from a nightmare, he blinked at her, breathing hard, and let her go. He took a couple of steps back.

  Slowly, she straightened up and tried to catch her breath. Her legs threatened to go out from under her. She propped herself against the raised bed.

  Linda? The wife who’d died a year ago?

  The image of Annan’s smiling eyes in the rear view mirror flashed into her mind. Mrs. Juntasa’s stunned reaction at dinner. The looks of the workers in the processing building. She shook her head.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Oh yes,” he hissed. “You two were good.”

  Is that why she’d really been hired? Because of her photo? Her resemblance to someone that Clark had once loved? So that he would–what? Fall in love with her? Tears suddenly stung her eyes. George had used her to keep Clark busy. George had come here to steal something–she glanced at the tree with the oval scar–and he’d succeeded. She blinked, no longer seeing Clark. It hardly seemed possible and yet there was the proof.

  The whole trip was a lie. George, the auditing, the investors–everything a lie. Even her.

  Oh god.

  The realization struck her like a blow. She nearly lost her footing but caught herself on the seed bed.

  “I didn’t know,” she finally said, her voice shaking. “I didn’t know.”

  Clark quickly turned on his heel and strode away.

  “Clark?” she said. The tears in her eyes made him blurry. “Clark, please! You have to believe me. I didn’t know!”

  “Save it for the police,” he said over his shoulder, not even turning.

  He opened the door and slammed it closed after him. She heard it lock.

  • • • • •

  It shouldn’t be too hard to sneak up on Mrs. Juntasa, George thought. She moved so slowly. As he crouched low and approached from the front of her Jeep, he felt the warmth of the engine. The jingling of the keys made his ears prick up but he couldn’t see them through the open driver’s door.

  Come on, old woman, close the door.

  As he watched the ground under the door, she put one foot down and then the other, as she slid out of the seat. She landed with a little plop of her sandals. When she stood, she was no taller than the Jeep.

  Close the door.

  He could see her clearly through the plastic window. Her hair was completely white and her neck was pencil thin. He stared at it. That was going to be the quietest. He couldn’t risk her screaming. Though he wished he’d had the foresight to grab a heavy tool from the workbench, it was too late for that. Her craggy fingers appeared at the edge of the door as she stepped out of its way. Finally, she pushed it closed with a solid thud. Then, she turned toward the rear of the vehicle.

  George leapt at her. In only two long steps, he had his arm around her neck. As he dragged her light frame backward and down, he pushed her head forward with his free hand. Her enormous purse fell to the floor as her hands went to the arm around her neck. He tightened it as he dragged her to the front of the Jeep. Though she struggled for the first several seconds, in under a minute, she was unconscious. He dumped her just in front of the bumper. Though the sleeper hold was a quick and quiet way to subdue someone, it wouldn’t last long. He needed to get moving.

  Suddenly, there was shouting from the plaza. George crouched near the front bumper and peered around the driver’s side. Annan ran by, followed by Clark. No doubt they knew they’d been robbed. George dashed to the old woman’s purse and upended it. The keys hit the ground with a jangle and he snatched them up. Though he’d just been about to yank the door open, the sound of running feet stopped him.

  Someone was coming.

  Quickly, he reached into his pocket and brought out the grafting knife. He opened it and saw the white smears of latex that streaked it. He’d never used a weapon of any sort but–he touched the case of specimens in his back pocket–he’d never had a thirty million dollar payday.

  Again he crouched down low, got on hands and knees, and looked underneath the vehicle. He glanced at Mrs. Juntasa’s still form. Unless someone were standing there, right in front of the Jeep, they’d never see her. The running grew louder and
he looked back toward the garage entrance. Sandal clad feet scampered into the garage, between the far Jeep and the motorcycle. That had to be Annan. He was in a hurry. George heard the keys, then a door opening, and Annan’s feet disappeared. The engine roared to life as Annan gunned it, jammed the gearshift into reverse, and the vehicle flew backward. Gravel spewed from the back tires as he turned and slammed it into first gear. He drove off toward the front of the building, picking up speed quickly.

  “Shit,” muttered George.

  They were getting ahead of him. Why else take the Jeep to that end of the ranch? That was the direction he needed to go. He had taken too long.

  “Dammit!” he said, hitting the door with the palm of his hand. “Dammit! Dammit!”

  Still on his knees, he leaned his forehead against the metal. How was he going to get to the airport? He looked up. He needed a diversion. There were so few people on the plantation, they couldn’t cover everything.

  Just then, Mrs. Juntasa coughed. Though he checked to the right first, George wasted no time. He stood and went to the front of the Jeep. Mrs. Juntasa was already sitting up. Without hesitation, he planted the heel of his shoe in her forehead. She hadn’t even had time to look up as her head snapped backward and she hit the ground hard.

  That would keep her for awhile.

  He ran to the back of the Jeep. Each of them was equipped with an extra gas can strapped to the back. He checked left and right. There was no one. The red can sat on a metal platform extending from the bumper. He quickly released the canvas strap over the top and picked up the can. It felt full.

  • • • • •

  Clark charged into George’s room, muscles pumped and ready. Though he’d hoped to find George, that wasn’t going to be the case. George was nowhere to be seen–but his suitcase was.