Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors)

by Margaret Daley

  Samantha had started to leave when Brock said, “This is the time of day I like best.”

  She made her way to his side, acknowledging the beauty of the sunset. The river was tinted a purplish red, reflecting the setting sun in its swiftly moving waters. A towering tree, standing proudly alone above the rest, was dark against a deep purple sky laced with streaks of golden and orange lights. The tree reminded Samantha of Brock, proud, erect, a loner, needing no one.

  He slipped his arm about her shoulders. “We both know we’ve gone beyond being just business partners.”

  She nodded, fighting tears and the lump in her throat.

  “When two people are thrown together, as you and I have been, everything is heightened. When you return to New Orleans and your normal life, though, you’ll eventually forget the adventure we had. It will become like one of those books you’ve read. Before long you won’t even remember characters’ names or locales.”

  In one respect he was right about their adventure becoming like a book she’d read. She would treasure it, savoring the important parts over and over on lonely nights. The main character would never fade from her thoughts, she strongly suspected, because he had left a mark on her that was rare for a book but occasionally possible. Who could forget characters like Rhett Butler or Romeo?

  “Who is Emma? Your sister?” The question had been in the back of Samantha’s mind ever since he had said the name in his feverish state.

  His arm on her shoulders tensed. He inhaled sharply. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “From you. While you had your fever.”

  For long moments he didn’t say anything but continued to stare at the river. The sky darkened, the shadows of night enclosing them. “Emma is my ex-wife.”

  She wanted him to continue. She wanted him to tell her he didn’t care about Emma anymore. She waited.

  A shriek sounded in the night. Samantha tensed.

  “It’s only a macaw. But we should get back to camp where it’s safer with the fire.”

  Brock walked ahead of Samantha, but they were linked together by their clasped hands. Samantha had hoped he would tell her more about himself, but in camp he immediately started building up the fire and preparing something to eat, as though he were looking for something to keep himself busy.

  Seated by the fire while they ate, Samantha avoided looking at him. He was trying to keep their relationship on a less personal level, which in the long run was better for both of them, and she kept trying to get closer, to probe deeper into the man Brock Slader was. But even knowing in the end that the closer she was to Brock the more hurt she would endure when she left Brazil didn’t make any difference. She wanted to know him on all levels.

  Is Emma important to you? Are you still in love with your ex-wife? “How long have you been divorced?” was the question that Samantha finally asked.

  “Seven years.” Brock rose, his look shuttered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some rest if we’re going to leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured, watching him walk to his hammock. "Now you want your rest."

  As before, she felt shut out of his life, and, Lord help her, she was in love with him. If he knew, she suspected he wouldn’t even stay around to find out what the treasure was.

  * * *

  “This is a village? There are only four houses in it!” Samantha wasn’t even sure she should call them houses—they were more like huts.

  “This is a village because it’s the only one for a fifty-mile radius. The important thing is that a steamer does stop here.”

  They entered the village cautiously at high noon. Brock had insisted they wait until everyone was taking a nap before showing themselves. He wanted to scout it out before approaching a villager.

  “You stay here.” He rubbed his half-grown beard, which he had let go for the last several days. “I look like someone who belongs in the jungle. You don’t. I want to find out when the steamer will arrive.”

  Samantha hid in a grove of banana trees behind one of the houses. She expected Brock to be gone for a while, but he was back in a few minutes.

  He pushed her further behind a tree, whispering, “Stay down. I think one of Carlos’s men is in the village.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Terrific. Had she and Brock spent over a week trekking through the jungle only to have things end in a collection of four huts in the middle of nowhere?

  The searing sun beat down on her and the air was still. Swatting at an insect, an action she had done a lot in the past week, Samantha waited quietly while Brock decided on a course of action.

  “We have to get to the river without being seen by him,” he finally whispered, his body hugging close to Samantha’s.

  “Where is the guy?”

  “Sitting in front of the house closest to the river. He has a hat pulled low over his head as if he’s asleep, but I saw him lift his head and peer out, scanning the village.”

  “What if the whole village is helping him?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “How far is the next village?”

  “Too far. And there could be someone waiting there too. If I were Carlos, that is how I would do it.”

  Alarmed by the idea that everywhere they went one of Carlos’s men could be waiting, Samantha asked, “How big is Carlos’s operation?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m worried. That man might be perfectly innocent. There’s no sure way to tell, so we can’t take any chances. All I know is he doesn’t belong in this village."

  “What if we flag the riverboat down below the village and get on then? We’d be safe if no one who works for Carlos is riding the boat.”

  Brock stared at the four houses as if he could see into the huts to what was going on inside. “You may have a point. We have to take a chance on the steamer or it will be weeks before we can reach Manaus. And we’re ill equipped to travel in the jungle for that length of time. Let’s hope Carlos can’t cover every base or that I’m being paranoid and no one is waiting for us.”

  “Do you know a place on the river where someone on the steamer might see us and pick us up?”

  His eyes sparkled as they slowly took in her face. “Yes, I do. It’s only a few hours from here.” He gently touched her cheek with his forefinger. “We’ll have to leave now and walk in the hottest part of the day. I don’t know when the steamer will be arriving here. We could wait days, or we could miss it while we’re walking.”

  “And we could get caught.” She didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary in the jungle for the obvious reason that it wasn’t a easy place on a novice like herself. But it also forced an intimacy between herself and Brock that made her dream, emotionally dangerous dreams that were going to leave her very hurt in the end.

  “That’s definitely a possibility.” His fingertip whispered over her face.

  His touch emphasized the bond that had formed between them through this ordeal. “We have to do it. We have no other choice.” Her skin tingled where Brock’s finger skimmed over her, and she forgot all about the intense heat, the insects, and the man in the village.

  “You’re quite a lady, Samantha Prince.”

  The world seemed to stop for a few moments as Samantha gazed into Brock’s eyes that gently caressed her from their smoky depths. Her attention became absorbed in every minute detail of his features. The fullness of his lips, the roughness of his beard, the warmth of his silver-gray eyes, were all she cared about.

  She wanted to tell him he was quite a man, but the moment passed and the sensual gleam in his gaze faded.

  His usual shuttered look descended as he straightened away from her. “We have no time to waste.”

  They followed the river for three hours before Brock stopped and pointed toward the water. “The riverboat will have to come in close to shore here. Hopefully someone on board will see us signaling.”

  �
�How will we get to the boat?”

  “Swim.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” Samantha shielded her eyes with her hand and scanned the river. She’d only had one swimming lesson and certainly wasn’t ready for the big test yet. “Maybe we should have taken our chances at the village.”

  “You’ll do fine, Sam.”

  “Because I have no other choice,” she finished with mocked laughter. She was doing a lot of things she hadn’t thought herself capable of two weeks before because there was no other choice, but it helped to know that Brock had faith in her.

  They positioned themselves on the bank to begin their watch. Samantha drew her knees up to her chest and clasped her arms around her legs. The breeze stirred wisps of her hair and cooled her sweat-covered skin as the sun descended toward the horizon. In between short, intense rainstorms the insects continued to love the taste of her skin and were holding a party on her.

  “Do you miss your family living here?” She slapped a small insect that had come in for a landing.

  “I keep in touch. I haven’t been in the Amazon that long.” He stretched his legs out and crossed them at his ankles, then leaned back and propped himself up on his elbows.

  “How long?”

  “Thirteen months.”

  “Where were you before Brazil?”

  “Alaska.”

  “One frontier after another.”

  “You could say that.” He pulled his hat low to conceal the expression in his eyes.

  “Tell me about Emma. Did you start your world traveling after or before your divorce?” Though she couldn’t see his face well, the slight tensing of his body told Samantha she was treading into dangerous territory. But having spent over a week in the jungle, she was a lot braver.

  “After.”

  “Is she the reason?”

  He pushed up the brim of his hat and sent her a sharp look that would have left most people speechless. But in the past week they had been through a lot—more than many people went through in a lifetime together.

  “Are you running away from something or someone?” she persisted, determined to get inside of this man she knew little about as far as his past history went. She knew a lot about his character.

  “Why do people assume just because I reject their way of life that I’m running away?”

  “You avoid the subject of Emma. You avoid the subject of yourself. Why?”

  “The subject matter isn’t suitable for an autobiography. A reader wouldn’t get past the second page.”

  “This reader would.”

  Sitting up, he stared at the river again, lacing his fingers together until his knuckles whitened. “I suppose if I don’t tell you the gory details I won’t have a moment’s peace.” There was more resignation than anger in his voice.

  “A mystery has always intrigued me. That’s why I love reading mysteries.”

  “And if I take the mystery out of my life?”

  She would still be intrigued, Samantha suddenly realized. But she remained quiet, not daring to reveal that bit of information.

  He sighed. “I assumed Emma would understand my need to do something else with my life other than work for a large oil company, making a lot of money. I assumed wrong. Emma was accustomed to a certain life-style, and she wanted it to remain that way. I’ve learned you can’t change people just because you want it.”

  “You changed.”

  “In order to survive. Emma is a closed chapter.”

  “Not to be reread?”

  “A waste of a person’s time.”

  “A good book is meant to be savored many times.”

  “I wouldn’t argue that with you. But with us the story was over before the final page. I was just too busy to see it. I was only a meal ticket to Emma.” Brock paused, then said, “Tell me about this brother of yours.”

  “You are so good at changing the subject when it gets too hot.”

  “What does your brother do when he isn’t getting himself into trouble?”

  Chuckling, she shook her head. She wasn’t going to get anything else out of him, and she strongly suspected that, if he hadn’t wanted her to know it in the first place, she would never have learned what she had.

  “Whatever there is to do that interests my little brother,” she finally answered. “Much like you. In fact, you two would probably get along well. Kindred souls.”

  “Has he been in Brazil long?”

  “Two years. He lives in Rio. I’m not sure why he’s in the Amazon.”

  “To find the lost city of gold?”

  “Anything is possible with Mark. A challenge is everything to him. He attacks life with zeal, making sure nothing ties him down.”

  “Never worrying about the future? Roth IRAs? Retirement?”

  Her back stiffened, and she glared at him. “Those are genuine concerns for many people.”

  “I’ve learned plans have a way of changing no matter how carefully you construct them. I had everything planned, my career, my marriage. The only thing that I didn’t figure in was that I would change. Ultimately, people aren’t really in control. God is.”

  “I may like things organized, but I’m not inflexible.”

  Brock laughed. “No, you’re not, at least not after this past week. The jungle has a way of changing that."

  “Shock therapy can do wonders for a person,” Samantha replied with a smile slanting at him.

  Suddenly Brock was on his feet and waving his arms. Samantha looked toward the river to see a riverboat coming toward them, and she jumped up and began waving her arms too. They shouted as they ran down the bank toward the water.

  “They don’t look like they’re stopping to pick up passengers,” Samantha said, inhaling deeply to slow her labored breathing.

  “They won’t stop, only slow down. We’ll have to swim out to them.” Already in the water, Brock paused and turned back to her. “We only have a few minutes to make the connection or they’ll go on by.”

  Samantha’s eyes were round as she stared at the water between her and the steamer. When the boat passed the place where they were, it wouldn’t be more than a hundred feet away from the shore, but to a non-swimmer it seemed like a mile.

  “Sam! Come on!” Brock held out his hand for her.

  Her legs felt rooted to the ground. She wanted to pick them up. She couldn’t. Brock hurried back, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the river.

  “You’ve got to swim, dog paddle. I’ll be right next to you. Nothing is going to happen. We haven’t come this far to have it all end.”

  Samantha listened to his soothing words as the water got deeper. Finally she could no longer walk but had to swim. And as before, she did what she had to do. All she thought about was the next stroke; all she focused on was the side of the steamer getting closer.

  At the boat Samantha was the first one to grasp the rope flung over for them, and then Brock did. Two men on board hauled her up with Brock right behind her. Safe, she sank to the deck, drawing in deep gulps of air. Her heart finally slowed its frantic beating.

  The shore where they had sat quickly disappeared from her view as the steamer went around a bend. Their short swim couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but to her it had seemed like a lifetime. Yet she had done it, and a sense of satisfaction in her accomplishment filled her.

  “I’m going to see the captain,” Brock informed her, depositing their wet belongings next to her on the deck.

  While Brock was gone, Samantha took a moment to look at the riverboat. It needed a coat of paint, but it appeared to be in good condition. There were two decks to the steamer, with cargo stowed on the lower one out in the open. A family of Brazilians was staring at her as though she were one of the legendary mermaids of the Amazon.

  Did they work for Carlos? Did the two men that brought her on board work for Carlos? She hated the need to be suspicious of everyone she encountered. It wasn’
t in her nature, but that, too, she found she had to change in order to survive.

  When Brock had been gone for an unusual amount of time, Samantha began to worry. What if someone was holding him captive? Or what if someone had deposed of him and she were all alone now with the black book?

  The book! She had forgotten all about it. Quickly she rummaged through her canvas tote until she found her makeup bag. She checked it to see if the book was soaking wet like everything else. Thankfully the bag really was waterproof and the book was dry.

  The sound of footsteps brought her head up, and she hurriedly stashed the book back in its hiding place. Brock and a stranger were approaching. She stood and hoped the stranger was the captain, not one of Carlos’s men.

  “We’re in luck. The captain has a cabin for us.” Brock slipped his arm about her, pulling her close. Whispering into her ear while it appeared as if he were kissing her, he added, “I told him we wanted privacy.”

  First the headhunters, now the captain, and soon the whole crew would think she was Brock’s woman—everyone but Brock, she realized, wishing he thought it too. Shocked by the direction her thoughts were going, she decided she must have a walking case of malaria. Surely her thoughts were the result of a high fever.

  The cabin was actually a room that barely fit two people and a bunk made for one. But at least it was a roof over her head and the bed wouldn’t swing. The bunk even had a mattress that looked comfortable.

  When the captain left, grinning from ear to ear, Brock said, “It isn’t the Queen Mary, but it’s home for the next few days.”

  “Well, I suppose we can spend most of our time out on deck,” she said as she inspected the cramped quarters again.

  “No, we can’t.”

  “Why not? We can barely turn around in here without bumping into each other.”

  “I told the captain your father was looking for us, that we’re running away to be married in Manaus.”