by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
‘Maybe they just want to remind us that they’re out there.’
Brionny stared at him. Was he telling her the truth? Or was he taking advantage of whatever set of circumstances had put that jungle drum corps within hearing?
She thought of that night at the Hotel Florinda, when he’d kissed her and the world had spun out from under her feet. She thought of the moment at the edge of the gorge, when he’d kissed her again and the taste of him had been more dizzying than the sight of the ground plunging away to infinity.
She barely knew this man; she didn’t like him or respect the way he lived—and yet he was taking subtle control of her life.
‘My God,’ Slade said quietly. His eyes were narrowed, fixed to her face, and dark with sudden understanding. ‘You think I made all this up, don’t you?’
Brionny hesitated. ‘Well, it’s—it’s all kind of—I mean, it’s so strange, you know? The bridge, the arrow, and now the drums…’
He let go of her, so abruptly that she staggered back.
‘The arrow came close enough to damned near part my hair. And you saw the bridge yourself; you saw the way the ropes had been severed. And those drums—what do you think, Stuart, that I’ve got a tape player in my back pocket?’
‘No, of course not. I just—look, I’m trying to be completely honest with you, McClintoch. You can’t blame me for expressing some doubts.’
‘Doubts?’ he said, anger and indignation sharpening his voice. ‘Hell, lady, you’re not expressing “doubts”, you’re labeling me a liar—and I damned well don’t like it!’
Brionny stiffened. ‘And I don’t like having stories about headhunters and warning arrows and heaven only knows what else dropped on my head by a man who comes sauntering out of the jungle without so much as a how do you do!’
‘My manners never were the best,’ he said, flashing her a cold smile. ‘Next time, I’ll wait for a proper invitation.’ He took a step forward, and Brionny fell back. ‘Since you’ve got all this figured out, Stuart, why not tell me the rest? Why would I invent this whole elaborate story just for you?’
In for a penny, in for a pound, Brionny thought, and took a breath.
‘It you thought I had the Eye of God,’ she said, ‘and if you wanted it badly enough, you might do anything to try and take it from me.’
Silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn string. Slade was still glaring at her, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly, and suddenly she knew that all he had to do was tell her she was wrong and she’d believe him. Not even the greatest magician could have staged the events that had been happening during the past hours. Everything was too well choreographed for one man to—
Slade snatched the backpack from the ground. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said.
Brionny sighed. ‘I believe you, McClintoch, and I’m sorry if—’
‘I don’t think you might have the emerald,’ he said coldly. ‘I’m sure you have it. And I’m not going to try and take it from you—I damned well am going to take it.’ His mouth twisted in a smile that was not a smile at all. ‘Any questions, Stuart? If not, I’d like to settle in for the night.’
Chapter Five
BRIONNY STARED at Slade, at the narrowed green eyes that were so coldly focused on hers. She felt a flutter inside her breast, a whisper of what might have been disappointment—but then Slade’s lips curved into a self-assured smirk and she knew that the only thing she felt was overwhelming relief.
All the cards were on the table now. She didn’t have to go on wondering if Slade was the villain in this piece or if he was her savior. He had identified himself for her, confirming what she’d suspected—that he was a man with the ethics of a snake and the determination of a pit-bull.
He wanted the Eye of God; he was sure she had it and he would do whatever it took to wrest it from her. Her only safety lay in steadfast denial that she had the emerald. It was her only protection against his stealing it and abandoning her in the jungle.
Slade was still smiling, that same damnably smug grin that made her yearn to slap it from his face. Instead, she smiled too, as if they were both in on some terribly amusing joke.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘now that you’ve made your position clear, I suppose I ought to state mine. I’ll make it easy for you, McClintoch, and put it in the simplest terms possible. I do not have the emerald. I have no idea where it is. But, I assure you, if I did, I’d sooner choke than tell you. Any questions?’
The smile disappeared from his face as he clasped her shoulders.
‘Not a one,’ he said with soft menace. ‘But I do have an observation that might interest you. Keep pushing me and you may not like where you end up.’
‘I don’t like being threatened,’ Brionny said coolly, despite the sudden frightened race of her heart. ‘And I don’t like being manhandled, either.’
‘Manhandled?’
She dropped her gaze to where his fingers dug into her flesh. ‘Manhandled,’ she repeated in a frigid tone.
They glared at each other. The woman was impossible, Slade thought grimly. Her perfect little world was verging on collapse, but rather than admit it she’d decided to blame it on him.
‘People like you amaze me,’ he said. ‘You go through life acting as if the world were created for you to command—and then you accuse the rest of us of not knowing how to behave.’
‘On, give it up! The only thing you know about people like me is that if you hang around us long enough you might get a shot at stripping us bare.’
Slade laughed again, but now his laughter had a soft, suggestive sound to it.
‘What a creative thought, Stuart. That’s the best idea you’ve had yet.’
A wash of color rose under Brionny’s skin. ‘You know what I mean,’ she snapped. ‘You want something you think I have—’
‘Damned right I do.’
‘Face the facts, McClintoch. You’re out of luck.’
‘Back to square one,’ he said flatly. ‘You’re going to keep insisting you don’t have the emerald.’
‘I can’t help it if you don’t want to deal with the truth.’
‘Your story might impress me more if the Mali-Mali weren’t after you—or do you think that band concert we were just treated to was for kicks?’
‘Assuming you’re right—if those were drums—’
‘If they were drums?’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘What else could they have been? Castanets?’
‘If they were drums,’ Brionny said firmly, ‘maybe they were serenading you.’
‘Me?’
‘Come on, McClintoch. Don’t sound so all-fired innocent.’ She gave him a look that she hoped blazed with accusation. ‘Remember that company you worked for, the one putting in the road? Maybe the locals don’t like the idea of the jungle being desecrated.’
‘Putting in a desperately needed road isn’t a desecration. If you’d ever had the worry about getting to a doctor or a hospital or a decent school, you’d understand.’
‘Slade McClintoch,’ Brionny said, ‘candidate for this year’s Albert Schweitzer Fellowship Award!’ She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.
‘What I don’t want to be,’ Slade said sharply, ‘is Martyr of the Year. If you’ve got half a brain in that beautiful head, you’ll take my advice. Give me the stone—’
‘Hah!’
‘Give me the stone, and I’ll return it to the Mali-Mali.’
‘Why, Mr McClintoch,’ Brionny said, giving him a look of wide-eyed innocence, ‘I’ve misunderstood your motives. You don’t want the Eye for yourself. You want to return it to its rightful owners.’
‘Dammit, Stuart! Will you stop being a fool?’
‘You’re the fool, not me, if you think I’m going to believe you’re really Robin Hood in disguise.’
Slade stared at her, his jaw set, and then he grabbed the backpack from the ground and began yanking open the straps that kept it closed.
‘What do you think you’re doing?�
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He sank down on a log, the pack in his lap. ‘Figure it out, Stuart. What does it look like I’m doing?’
‘That’s my stuff,’ she said, reaching toward him. ‘You’ve no right to—’
He brushed her hand aside. ‘Stop me, then.’ He looked up, smiling tightly. His voice was soft as velvet, yet somehow rough with menace.
Don’t react, Brionny warned herself; don’t do anything.
She shrugged, as if the sight of him examining the contents of the pack weren’t important.
Go ahead,’ she said casually. ‘Throw your weight around.’
Helpless to stop him, she watched as he sifted through her things. Her extra socks looked incredibly small in his hands. When he picked up a pair of white cotton bikini panties and looked at her, brows lifted, she didn’t give an inch. ‘My underwear,’ she said coldly. ‘I’d offer to lend, but I doubt we’re the same size.’
Slade grinned. ‘Let’s see what else we have here that might be useful.’
‘Just some stuff to eat and some personal things,’ she said, with a show of disinterest. ‘If you want something in particular, ask.’
‘I already did. I want the emerald, remember?’
‘Well, you won’t find it here,’ she said with more conviction than she felt.
‘In that case, I’ll just have to settle for whatever I—Aha!’
Brionny’s pulse skittered. ‘Aha, what?’
‘Bug goop,’ he said, tossing a plastic bottle to her. ‘Better put some on before there’s nothing left of you.’
She nodded, then sank down on the log beside him, watching with growing apprehension as he continued his hunt.
‘What’s this?’
‘Penicillin tablets. The museum people thought it would be a good idea if—’
‘This?’
‘Aspirin.’
‘What’s in here?’
‘An antibiotic. Honestly, McClintoch, if you’d just let me—’
‘You’ve got a regular pharmacy here, Stuart. I’m impressed.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it. Are you done messing with my property?’
‘Well, well,’ Slade said softly. ‘And what have we here?’
Brionny went very still. He was holding the little tin tea box in his hands and looking at her as if he were a cat who’d found the key to the mouse hole.
‘It’s tea,’ she said, when she could trust herself to speak.
‘Tea?’ He smiled gently. ‘I thought there was nothing in here but personal stuff and first aid equipment.’
‘Well—well, the tea is personal.’
‘Do tell,’ he said, very softly.
Brionny nodded. ‘I like tea,’ she said, her voice steady.
‘Oh, yes, you must—if you were willing to carry your own supply instead of trusting it to one of the porters.’
‘What’s your point, McClintoch?’
‘No point at all. I like tea myself.’ His thumb toyed with the box cover. ‘You won’t mind if I open it, then, and take a sniff?’
His smile made a mockery of the polite request. You bastard, Brionny thought, you miserable bastard…
With one swift motion, he yanked the cover from the box and upended it in his lap. Tea leaves spilled out, trickled across his thighs, and fell on the ground. Slade looked down, then lifted his eyes to Brionny’s.
‘It’s tea,’ he said flatly.
‘Yes.’ She smiled sweetly, trying to still the race of her heart, trying not to think about how close she’d come to disaster. ‘Did you expect to find something else?’
He glared at her, slammed the container shut, and dumped it into the pack.
‘Are you satisfied now?’ Brionny said. ‘You’ve pawed through my things, acting as if you owned the wor—’
She swallowed. Slade was holding something else in his hands. It was the package of tampons.
Her mouth went dry. Say something, she thought fiercely; say something before he opens it.
‘They’re tampons,’ she said briskly. He looked at her and she smiled coolly. ‘Do you need me to explain what they are? Or would you rather dump the contents all over yourself so you can make an in-depth analysis?’
It was wonderful to see the quick flood of crimson that sprang out along his high cheekbones. His eyes dropped from hers. He looked at the tampon package as if it were liable to go up in flames, frowned, and tossed it into the pack.
‘I thought you had something to eat in here,’ he said gruffly, shoving the pack at her.
Casually, as if her pulse-rate weren’t somewhere off the charts, Brionny nodded.
‘I do.’ She pulled out a couple of plastic containers. ‘Nuts. And dried fruit. You get your choice.’ She hesitated. ‘Or do you want to spill it out and check to see if any of the raisins are emerald-green?’
Slade rose to his feet. ‘I just hope you’re still laughing when our drummer pals get tired of following us and decide to move in for a closer look,’ he growled.
Brionny’s eyes suddenly seemed very large in her pale face, and Slade almost regretted his sharp words. But then he looked past her, to the shadows surrounding the little clearing, and he knew the only thing worth regretting was Brionny Stuart’s damned determination to hang on to her ill-gotten prize, even if it meant both their necks.
There wasn’t any question in his mind now. The determination of the men following them, plus the woman’s dogged declarations of innocence, had convinced him. She had the stone. But where? It wasn’t in her pack. Was it, then, stashed somewhere on her?
He looked at her again. She was nibbling at the trail mix, bent on ignoring him. He watched as she lifted her hand to her lips. The tip of her tongue dipped delicately into her palm, and he felt his entire body tense.
What would it feel like if that tongue dipped into his mouth? Would she taste as he remembered, sweet and clean and fresh? Would she sigh and lean into him as she had the last time he’d kissed her; would she wind her arms around his neck so he could feel the softness of her body?
Damn! It was the emerald he wanted, not the woman. Where could she have hidden it? Did she have it tucked into a pocket or sewn into her clothing?
The only way to find out was to search her.
His breath caught, seemed to knot just in the back of his throat. He could imagine ordering her to stand, to take off that shirt that clung to her like skin, to peel off her shorts and underpants…
No. First he’d pat her down. Lift your arms, he’d say, and when she did he’d lift his too, he’d put his hands against hers and begin moving his fingers slowly along her skin, down her arms, her shoulders, to her breasts. He’d feel the weight of them against his palms, cup them while he watched her eyes darken as they had that night at the Florinda. Then he’d kneel before her, run his hands slowly over her hips and her buttocks, bring his fingers gently between her thighs while his thumb moved lightly against her.
Finally, when he had stroked every part of her through her clothing, he’d rise to his feet. Take your clothes off, he’d say softly, and he’d watch while she lifted her arms again and drew off her T-shirt, and when her breasts were free he’d bend and touch his lips to her nipples, draw them into the heat of his mouth…
Brionny looked up when Slade groaned. His face was pale, the cheekbones suddenly prominent as if he was in pain.
‘McClintoch?’ He didn’t answer and she got to her feet. ‘Are you OK?’ She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder and he jumped as if she’d touched him with a hot poker.
‘Let’s go,’ he snarled. He grabbed the pack and slung it over one shoulder. ‘We’ve wasted enough time on nonsense.’
So much for treating a rat with a show of kindness, she thought, and her lips curled with distaste.
‘I was only asking if you were ill,’ she said icily.
‘Come on, Stuart. You’d be glad to see me collapse in a heap.’
Brionny’s eyes snapped with anger. ‘Yes, but it’s probably too much to hope for. Wel
l? What’s your next order, General?’
‘We make camp.’
‘Where?’ She swung in a half-circle, then stared after him. He was striding purposefully across the little clearing. ‘Hey. Where are you going?’
The sniping had gone on too long, Slade thought wearily. He had one sort of enemy behind him and another sort beside him, and just now he was damned tired of both.
‘To bed,’ he said. ‘I suggest you get your tail over here and do the same.’
‘But—what are you doing?’
‘For a woman with a bunch of fancy degrees, you certainly ask a lot of dumb questions. What does it look like I’m doing?’
He was standing beneath the branches of an enormous tree, gazing up into them as if he had all night to spend in contemplation of their leaves.
‘I don’t know,’ Brionny said honestly. ‘Is there something up in that tree?’
He laughed. ‘You might say that, yeah.’
She tilted her head back, her gaze following his. ‘I don’t see anything.’
‘Look again, Stuart. Right there—see? That forked branch maybe fifteen feet up?’
‘So?’
‘So,’ he said, flashing her a quick grin, ‘that’s our hotel room for the night.’
She stared at him as the blood drained from her face. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I’m dead serious.’
She looked up. And up again. The tree was huge, taller and bigger in circumference than any she’d ever seen. It was something that might have sprung up after Jack had planted the magic beans.
Brionny took a step back. ‘I am not going to climb that thing,’ she said with conviction.
Slade sighed. ‘I forgot. Your fear of heights.’
‘Yes. My fear of heights. How good of you to remember.’
‘Look at the tree, Stuart. Between the knotholes and the vines there are lots of places to grab.’
‘Forget it, McClintoch. I’m not climbing that thing, and that’s that.’
‘You only have to make it to that forked branch. Once you get up there, you’re home free. The branch is as wide as a sofa.’
‘Forget it, I said.’
‘Look, I know you’re afraid—’