Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors)

by Margaret Daley

  “Short runway,” he commented offhandedly as he prepared to leave the plane. “Some guy over there wasn’t as lucky.”

  Samantha looked toward the place he indicated and gasped. Not far from them was a plane that had collided into the wall of trees. Vines were beginning to grow around it, and she realized the jungle would soon absorb the foreign object.

  “I didn’t want to tell you earlier that the landing can be tricky at these places. Usually the bare minimum of runway is cleared and kept in some kind of condition for planes to use.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered, wiping the sweat from her forehead and neck with a handkerchief. She wasn’t sure if it was from the heat or her nerves, but her blouse was soaking wet.

  As they were climbing down from the plane, Samantha saw another plane parked to the side of the runway. Then she noticed a priest walking toward them.

  Brock tossed down their bags and hopped off the wing to greet the man.

  “I’m Father Carlos.” He offered his hand to Brock.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Father.” Brock shook the older man’s hand. “I’m Brock Slader, and this is Samantha Prince.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Samantha placed her hand in the priest’s. As they shook hands, she felt uncomfortable under Father Carlos’ intent gaze. It must be the after effects from the landing, she decided, her legs still feeling wobbly on solid ground.

  “What can I do for you?” Father Carlos asked.

  “We need a place to stay for the night,” Brock said, cutting in before Samantha could ask about her brother.

  “Of course. You are welcome to use Para Mission for as long as you like. We don’t get very many Americans here. Father Paul will be thrilled to see fellow countrymen.” He began to walk toward the compound. “You must freshen up for dinner and join us. I want to know the latest from the United States. We hear so little out here in the jungle.”

  “Why didn’t you let me ask about Mark?” Samantha whispered while Father Carlos paused to say something to a native.

  “Not yet. Patience.”

  Samantha was shown to her room in a house in the center of the compound, obviously used by Father Carlos. Brock and the priest left her to settle in.

  As Samantha was freshening up, she wondered where Brock was staying, her nerves wound tight. She supposed from the anticipation and excitement.

  There was a basin of water that she used to sponge herself off, and by the time she had changed into her other shirt, she did feel a little better. The sun had set rapidly while she had been cleaning up and the air was cooler as she went in search of Brock and Father Carlos.

  She found them in the living room. They both stood as she entered and both appraised her as she walked over to a chair. In Brock’s eyes there was a look of male appreciation. Father Carlos’s gaze held a calculated shrewdness. It was obvious he was wondering why a woman like her would be in the Amazon. She was wondering the very same thing.

  “As I was telling Mr. Slader here, we don’t get many visitors this way. What brings you to the mission?” Father Carlos asked Samantha.

  Remembering what Brock had said about not mentioning her brother yet, Samantha couldn’t think of a good lie to tell Father Carlos.

  Brock interceded, saying, “Samantha is a zoologist studying the anaconda. We’re flying back to Manaus tomorrow.”

  “Have you been successful, Miss Prince?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. Studying snakes? Of all the creatures in the jungle for Brock to come up with, the anaconda was certainly the last one she would have picked. Why couldn’t it have been the beautiful, sleek jaguar? She would even have settled for the capybara, the largest rodent in the world. Samantha hated snakes.

  Father Carlos stood and excused himself for a moment.

  “I can’t even abide a small garter snake, let alone a snake over twenty feet long,” Samantha said the second the priest had left.

  Brock laughed. “Sorry. That was the first thing I came up with.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  His look dimmed the light in Brock’s eyes. “In the house next door. I’d hoped we would be in the same place, but Father Carlos told me he and another priest from the United States, the Father Paul he spoke of, stay in this house. According to him, there’s one room here and one where I’m to stay. It could be worse. We could be in a hammock outside or in a grass-thatched hut.”

  None of the options were ideal, but then what could she expect in a jungle? “Do you think I should ask him about Mark now?”

  “No,” came the instant reply.

  “Maybe Mark has been back here or maybe he’s here now.”

  “The less anyone knows the better. If Mark was here, Father Carlos would have surely said something about another American being here, especially with the same last name.”

  Brock’s vehemence puzzled Samantha. She started to protest, but just then Father Carlos returned with the same native he had talked to earlier. Her eyes grew round and her mouth dropped open. The man was carrying an anaconda at least eight feet long.

  “I regret that he’s only a baby, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy examining him nonetheless, Miss Prince.”

  Father Carlos waved the native forward, and Samantha pressed herself as far as she could into the chair, wishing she could somehow disappear. As the man towered above her with the thick, long snake wrapped about him, waiting for her to do something, she shot Brock a killing look.

  He could hardly contain his amusement. Did anything nonplus that man? She would love to discover something that got under his skin.

  “Miss Prince, is something wrong?” Father Carlos asked.

  “Oh, no. I’m just speechless you have such a beautiful specimen.” She hoped that sounded enough like a zoologist to appease the priest.

  “Feel free to hold him.”

  She had known he was going to say that. As it was, the snake was too close for her already.

  She swallowed several times and tried to think of a way out of this mess. She desperately glanced over at Brock for help, but he was too busy looking somewhere else. Chicken. She moistened her parched throat.

  She forced herself to rise and reach out to touch the snake, all the time making sure her face didn’t express the disgust and fear churning her stomach. She was surprised the skin felt dry, not wet or slimy, as it looked. A little braver, she stroked the anaconda, once, then twice, and felt her courage increase.

  But when the native thrust the snake into her arms, she nearly screamed and backed away. The chair and the puzzled look on Father Carlos’ face, however, stopped her.

  Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she gingerly took the snake and it immediately began coiling itself around her arm, moving slowly up it—toward her neck. Had she come thousands of miles to be strangled to death by a snake?

  Something in her expression must have triggered a spark of chivalry in Brock, for he interrupted her “examination” of the snake to take the anaconda from her, muttering something to the effect that he would love to look at it too. She gladly gave the snake to Brock.

  With ease he handled the long snake, and Samantha was beginning to think nothing frightened the man. The anaconda was completely wrapped around him and he actually looked as if he was enjoying it.

  When an Indian woman came to the doorway, Father Carlos announced, “Ah, I see our dinner is ready.”

  The native took the snake away, and such relief trembled through Samantha that she knew she would have collapsed if Brock hadn’t been there to support her with an arm about her waist. She wanted to hit him for having put her into the situation in the first place, and she wanted to hug him for having rescued her from it. It seemed her feelings for Brock were always at odds.

  Over dinner Samantha told Father Carlos the latest news from the United States and steered the conversation as far away from snakes and zoology as possible. Halfway through dinner they were joined by Father Paul, who wa
s new to the mission, having arrived only recently, Father Carlos told Brock and Samantha.

  Throughout the rest of the dinner Samantha often caught Father Paul’s eyes on her. He made her feel uneasy, as if she were the specimen and he the zoologist. There was something about the second priest that bothered her. Maybe it was the faint odor of tobacco emitting from his clothes. She didn’t like the smell at all.

  When dinner was over, she was glad that Brock suggested they retire early for the night. He escorted her to her room.

  “I’d invite you in for coffee, but I think our hosts might frown upon that. Father Paul kept giving me looks all through dinner. Do you suppose he doesn’t approve of us traveling together, unmarried?” Samantha was trying to appear light and unconcerned, but her stomach was twisted into a huge knot. She really wished that Brock weren’t a house away.

  “We’ll be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Brock, I…”

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing." She had almost asked him to spend the night in her room again—on the floor. But she had no right to ask him just because she was uncomfortable and edgy. She couldn’t even tell him why, because she didn’t know why she felt that way herself. Probably because everything was so different from what she was used to.

  “Well, I guess this is good night then,” he murmured, leaning closer, his hand braced against the wall next to her head.

  “Yes, I guess it is.” Her words came out in a breathless rush. His mouth was only inches from hers, and she wanted him to kiss her again.

  “We have to get up early,” he whispered, lifting both hands to gently touch her throat slowly, deliberately. His eyes seemed absorbed in the movement of his fingertips as they stroked her sensitive skin, pausing to graze the hollow at the base of her throat.

  Her pulse rate jumped alarmingly. His gaze whipped back to hers, as though they both were startled by her intense reaction to his caresses. Some new and indefinable tension laced the air between them.

  “We really should get some sleep.” He breathed the words against her lips right before claiming them in a deep kiss that brought her hands up to clutch his shoulders for support.

  Her equilibrium suffered a further disruption when he trailed light kisses to her earlobe and began to nibble. Her world was upside down, and she was beginning to think Brock Slader was the cause of it rather than her brother’s disappearance or the Amazon jungle.

  “I’d better go.” His words tickled her ear and neck. Reluctantly he placed her away from him. “Good night, Sam.”

  She watched him walk away, her hand brushing across her kiss-swollen lips. After Brock had disappeared around a corner, she stood in the hallway a moment longer, staring at nothing in particular. The humid air was saturated with the smell of damp foliage and tobacco.

  She practically floated into her bedroom on a cloud of romantic dreams, but the laughter of Fathers Carlos and Paul pierced her haven, sharply reminding her of her quest. She closed the door, looked for a lock, and when she found none, she thought about putting the table or chest up against the door.

  Their robust laughter drifted to her again, and she tensed. Something was wrong. She felt it deep in her bones. Too restless to sleep, she dragged the chest over to block the door, then began to pace the small room.

  Suddenly she stopped and whirled toward the door, her hand flying to her mouth to silence a cry. Was Father Paul was the same man who had been out on her balcony? She’d only gotten a glimpse of the man in the shadows on her balcony at the Grand Hotel, but she couldn’t take a chance, in case she was right. Out in the hallway and at the dinner table, the cheap cigar tobacco she had smelled had been the same as in her hotel room.

  Her trembling quickly spread through her entire body. She sank onto the bed and tried to think rationally. “It’s impossible,” she whispered into the silence. “He’s a priest.”

  Why would a priest be spying in her room in Manaus? But the more she thought about the man on the balcony, she knew he was Father Paul. And with that, she realized Brock and she were in danger.

  Samantha snatched up her canvas bag and stuffed all her belongings back into it. She had to find Brock. She looked at the door, then at the window. The two priests were in the living room, and that was the only way out of the house except through her window.

  Tossing her bag out the open window, Samantha climbed out, landing on her bottom in a bed of flowers. She pushed herself to her feet and allowed her eyes a moment to adjust to the moonlit night. The house next door was pitch black. She had no idea which room Brock was in, but she felt the urgency to get to him.

  Glancing over her shoulder several times, she hurried in the moonlight toward the house. Once inside, she realized the design of this house was similar to the other. She decided to go to the room that would be hers in the other house, hoping that was where Brock was staying.

  Samantha paused at the door, then slowly turned the knob and eased it open. Peering into the room, she saw the outline of a body in the bed and wedged herself through the small opening. She tiptoed toward the bed, her arms outstretched to prevent her from bumping into anything.

  At the bed she reached down to touch the dark shape when a hand was clasped over her mouth, cutting off her breath. Something cold and metallic was thrust against her throat.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The icy touch of the knife against her throat paralyzed Samantha. She suddenly felt like the man in the fable who had a choice of two doors, one with a tiger behind it and the other with a beautiful woman behind it. She had obviously picked the tiger.

  With one arm across her front, her assailant hauled her back against his broad chest. Samantha was so frightened she couldn’t breathe. Whose room had she wandered into? Father Paul’s? Did he live in the other house?

  “Shh, Sam. It’s me.” Brock loosened his hand from her mouth as the knife dropped away from her throat.

  Samantha, inhaling deeply, slumped back into him. When she had filled her lungs, she spun around, her hands flying to her waist. “You could have warned me or something. I think I aged ten years in one minute."

  “I didn’t want to take the chance you might scream. I’ve heard you before. I didn’t want the whole compound awakened.”

  “Do you always try to shut up people with a knife at their throats?”

  “I didn’t know it was you at first. I told you I never take things for granted.”

  He grasped her arm with one hand and tugged her toward him while his other hand tilted up her chin, forcing her to look at him. Then, before she could say anything more, her soft lips were crushed beneath his. His caressing fingers glided to the curve of her neck.

  Sensations bombarded her with a stunning effect: the bristly feel of his day’s growth of beard against her tender skin, the taste of him on her tongue, the warmth of his hands on her body as they roamed down the length of her back, the masculine scent of him that intoxicated her.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he asked, his breath fanning her cheek.

  She ignored his husky tone. They didn’t have any time to lose. Before she forgot why she had come to his room in the first place and surrendered to the dazzling pleasure he offered, she pulled out of his embrace, backing up against the bed, only seeing his outline in the dim moonlight streaming through the window.

  “You don’t have to worry if our being in the same bedroom will shock the dear fathers. They aren’t priests—at least I don’t think they are. Father Paul was the man on my balcony.”

  “Well, that explains that nagging voice inside my head.”

  “Nagging voice?”

  “When something doesn’t quite ring true, I have a little nagging voice, a sixth sense some people call it, that warns me.” His voice was businesslike now, all traces of the husky, passionate tone gone. “Did you notice how deserted the compound was when we arrived? It’s possible Father Carlos isn’t the real padre and that they’re bo
th involved with what’s going on—whatever that is. From all I’ve heard concerning this mission, the real Father Carlos has his hands full. Too many Indians come for aid and there aren’t enough workers to help.”

  “And we only saw two Indians, the cook and the one with the snake. By the way, when we get out of this mess, remind me to pay you back for that one.”

  “Come on.” Chuckling, he took her hand and grabbed his backpack from the chair. “When we’re safely back in Manaus, it will be a pleasure, Sam. Right now, I think we’d better get out of here.”

  “But the treasure! We can’t leave without it.” She tugged her hand from his, standing her ground. They had come too far not to search for it. It had been important enough to her brother that he’d told her about it. Why? What was it?

  “Where did your brother hide it?”

  “Under the altar in the church.”

  “Great. That’s across the compound from our plane. No one ever hides anything right next to the landing strip. Everything would be so much simpler,” Brock muttered as he eased the door open and peered into the hallway lit by a single light at the end of it.

  “I wonder why they put you in this house.”

  “Have you ever heard of divide and conquer?”

  A shiver streaked up her spine. “Do you think they’ll try something during the night?”

  He shot her a quick look over his shoulder as he led the way out of the house. “Yep, I’m afraid these men have been about as patient as they’re going to be.”

  “I wonder where the real priests are.”

  Brock halted at the front door and turned toward her, gripping her arms and pulling her close. She thought he was going to kiss her again, and her feminine side welcomed it, even though they couldn’t afford the time.

  Instead, he whispered into her ear, “Sam, wonder about those things some other time.”

  “I always talk when I’m scared. The sound of my own voice calms me.”

  “In this case the sound of your voice will alert them.” His words came out gently while his hands lessened their hold on her arms.