“And he bought that!”
“That and a large amount of money to keep quiet. The less we’re seen together the better. Most people along the river mind their own business, but it helps to give them a reason to.”
“Out of sight, out of mind.”
“Right. Carlos and Paul will be looking for a couple.”
After the wide open spaces of nature, Samantha feared she would get a good case of claustrophobia. What would they do with their time? Twiddle their thumbs?
“First, we should hang up any extra clothing that’s in our bags so it can dry.”
Again she scanned the small cabin. “Where?”
“I have some string we can use.”
That task occupied their time for ten minutes, which left over forty-eight hours to go. With the clothes on her body only slightly damp now, Samantha sat on the bunk, leaning back against the wall, and watched Brock check his gun.
“Is it ruined?”
“I hope not. We’re not back in Manaus yet.” He replaced it in his backpack.
“But no one else will know if it’s ruined, so if you need to use it, you can.”
“If you point a gun at a person, you’d better be prepared to use it.”
“Have you ever had to?”
“No, but then I’ve never had to run for my life.”
“You said you like a challenge.”
“Did I? Well, I think I’ve had my quota for the next five years.”
Suddenly the boat stopped. Samantha tensed. “Why are we stopping?”
Brock looked out the porthole above her head. “I don’t know. We’re in the middle of the river.” He moved closer to the window and opened it to get a better view. “There’s a boat approaching us.”
“Carlos?”
“I can’t tell. I’m going out to see.”
Samantha gripped Brock’s arm as he was straightening.
“Don’t leave the cabin. Don’t leave me.”
He cupped her face. “I have to know, Samantha. I won’t be gone long. Lock the door behind me.”
“A lock won’t stop Carlos.” She balled her trembling hands.
“But it might make you feel better.”
She locked the door behind him and began to pace. Two steps one way, then two steps back. It didn’t make her feel better. It seemed as if she spent her time either running or waiting, and neither was very good for her nerves.
By the time Brock returned to the cabin, Samantha’s clothes were completely dry and her nerves were frayed. She had visualized all kinds of horrible things that had happened to him while he was gone. Her imagination was just too vivid for this kind of waiting. And she could shake the thought she would be the reason Brock was killed.
When she unlocked the door to let him in, she threw her arms about him and hugged him tightly. “Is it Carlos or his men?”
“No, it’s the Brazilian authorities, inspecting boats for turtles.”
“Turtles! And you believe it?” Aghast at his naiveté, she pulled back. Maybe his malaria fever had done more damage than she had thought.
A deep chuckle rumbled in Brock’s chest. “Yes, because they do. Turtles are an endangered species protected by the government, along with some other animals. It’s just that the people along the river don’t agree with the law, so the government patrols the river and searches boats occasionally.”
“What took you so long?”
“Clothes and dinner.” Brock held up a bundle he was carrying, then opened the door to retrieve the food he had gotten. “When we leave the steamer in Manaus, I want us to be disguised as locals as best we can. I have a turban for you to put around that hair of yours. It should help some.”
“What’s for dinner?” Samantha asked, more interested in the food, its tantalizing aroma wafting through the cabin.
“Fish.”
“Just so long as it’s not another nut.”
As Samantha enjoyed the dinner, she shared stories of her and Mark growing up in New Orleans. Brock even talked about his family in Texas. For a short time if she could ignore the sound of the steamer making its way on the river and the fact they were in a tiny cabin, she could imagine they were out on a date like any other normal couple. She came up short at that thought. She was too relaxed and her guard was completely down, which was extremely dangerous around Brock and his masculine appeal.
When they finished their dinner, Brock placed the food tray outside the cabin door. As he turned back into the room, Samantha moved over on the bunk to allow him enough space to sit next to her. He paused, indecision in his expression.
“I won’t bite.” She patted the bunk, one part of her astonished at her brazen behavior.
“To discuss business?”
“Hardly. To discuss us.” She had heard about vampire bats in the Amazon. Had she been bitten by one and not realized it? Was she turning into something entirely different now that the sun was going down?
He remained standing. “If I come over to the bunk, it won’t be to waste our time talking.”
She laughed, a light musical sound. “Sir, no gentleman would take advantage of a damsel in distress.”
In one step he was next to the bunk. “I’m no gentleman, Samantha Prince.”
“In spite of your protest, yes you are, Brock Slader. I’m alive because of you.”
Eyeing her, he sat on the bunk. “We’re no good for each other.”
“I know. As different as day and night.” She turned to face him.
“I’m a security risk.” He wound his arms about her and drew her close.
“An unemployed wanderer.” She combed her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in its rich texture.
“With no retirement plan.” He bent forward, his mouth an inch from hers.
“Forget retirement. That’s over thirty years away. It’s now that I’m concerned about.” Samantha brushed her lips across his, once, then twice, the roughness of his beard in stark contrast to the gentleness of his hands as they rubbed up and down her spine.
He pulled back and framed her face with his work-toughened palms, staring into her eyes for a passion-building moment. She took immense satisfaction in watching him watch her. Her effect on him showed in his eyes, now a bright silver with desire, in the slight flaring of his nostrils as his breathing came faster, in the swift beat of his heart beneath her splayed fingers.
Any restraint he had evaporated as his lips moved over hers in a hungry mating that reflected his appetite for her, held in check for days. His mouth was driving in its possession.
Carefully he removed the pins from her hair and ran his fingers through the lush strands, then arranged it about her face. Again he stared at her. "You remind me of that orchid I gave you. You’re frail looking but I know how sturdy you really are. For over a week you’ve survived in an environment that’s harsh even on the people who lived in it all their life."
"Only because of you."
He rubbed his thumb across her kiss-swollen lips, and she bit down on its tip gently. He could no longer ignore the silent message in her eyes. It made him feel as though there was no other man in the world for her. It made him feel heady, powerful, but vulnerable too. There was no future for them, and she deserved that from a man.
He was going to do the hardest thing he had done in a long time: walk out of here and find a place on deck to sleep where he could keep an eye on the cabin but be away from the temptation of loving her. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’d made him feel again when he hadn’t thought he could. After Emma’s betrayal, especially when he discovered his wife had been having an affair while he’d worked to provide her with the luxuries she wanted, he’d vowed not to make that kind of commitment again.
Samantha—no Sam—caressed his shoulders and pulled him back to her, kissing him. He grasped her upper arms and wrenched away from her.
"I can’t give you what you deserve, and I won’t complicate our relationship
for a one night stand because that is all it would be." He rose from the bunk. "On second thought, I think I should stay outside and guard the door just in case I’m wrong and one of Carlos’s men is on board. We’ll be in Manaus in a couple of days, and then you’ll be able to go back to your old life. And I can return to mine. I’m locking the door when I leave."
Brock snatched up his hammock and left the cabin. But he would remember the look on her face for a long time: the pain reflected in her sherry-colored eyes would haunt him for a long time.
* * *
When the click of the locked sounded in the quiet of the cabin, Samantha stared at the exit that Brock had disappeared through.
I belong to him, regardless of what he wishes. It’s too late to change that.
She could no longer deny the feelings that had begun the first day in the lobby of the Grand Hotel. Tears crowded her eyes as she thought of the past few minutes.
She loved a man who wanted no one in his life permanently.
She loved a man who had given up all commitments.
A wet track ran down her face.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“No, I’m going in there with you. We’re a team, remember?” Samantha and Brock were seated at a table in the restaurant across from the Grand Hotel.
“Not in this, Samantha.” Brock took a sip of his Brazilian coffee, the expression on his face unyielding. “I go alone.”
She had expected to hear him say those words when this was all over, but not yet. “You’re asking me to sit here and wait for you.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice firm.
“I’ve had my fill of waiting, especially after that episode with the Brazilian authorities on the riverboat.” And the times she spent alone in the cabin, but she pressed her lips together and kept that thought inside.
“I don’t care. It’s safer this way.”
“Not on my nerves, which have been stretched, tattered, and pulled apart.” She reached across the small table and grasped his hand. “Please, Brock. If they are waiting in there for you—”
“I don’t want you in the middle. I can take care of myself, but if I have to worry about you too…" He laid his hand over their clasped ones. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll go in and scout the place out. I’ll get our luggage from the clerk and see if your brother has been there. Then I’ll leave. Simple and quick. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“If Carlos or his men aren’t there.” If they were, she might never see him again.
“And if they are, what could you do?”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “Scream?”
Brock looked at her for a long moment, then started chuckling. “That ought to confuse everyone so we could make our getaway.”
“You see? I do have some value.”
“To me, yes. But only alive and in one piece, Samantha.” His voice was husky and his expression softened as his gaze traveled slowly, caressingly over her features.
Samantha wanted to shout: You don’t get to look at me like I’m the only woman in the world for you. Not after the past couple of days on the steamer.
“Besides, even Carlos would have a hard time recognizing me.” Brock ran his hand down his jaw.
Samantha had to admit that he did fit right in with the rest of the people in Manaus. He’d let his beard grow out, which was an effective disguise, altering his appearance quite a bit. And with his straw hat pulled down low on his head and the old, worn-looking clothes he had on, Samantha knew it would be difficult for Carlos or Paul to spot him. But she still felt uneasy. What if they did? He might not love her, but she loved him.
“Stay here and guard the black book. That’s what Carlos really wants anyway. If you come and Carlos is there, he’ll have it. This way if I’m caught, I’d have some bargaining power.”
She couldn’t argue with his logic. Frowning, she dropped her gaze to their hands, still clasped on the table. “Don’t take any chances.” Because I’ll never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you.
“I won’t. I want to stay in one piece, so there will be no heroics.”
“If anyone suspicious is there, turn around and leave. My luggage isn’t that important, and there’s certainly nothing important in Mark’s. Besides, I doubt Mark has returned to the Grand Hotel.”
“But I need my luggage. I have all my papers in it.”
She reestablished eye contact with him. There was so much she wanted to say before he left, because one part of her was afraid she would never see him again. But the words lodged in her throat. He didn’t want ties or a commitment, and her love for him would be one in his eyes. Instead, she squeezed his hand and smiled at him as he rose to leave.
While she watched him walk from the restaurant, tears misted her eyes. She averted her gaze. She refused to think the worst would happen to him. They had made it this far. They would make it to the end.
For five minutes she sat at the table, absently fingering the fork. She tried to think of something that had nothing to do with what Brock was doing in the Grand Hotel. She couldn’t. If anything happened to him, she didn’t know what she would do.
Impatient, frustrated, she stood and walked to the window that overlooked the street. The Grand Hotel was across from the restaurant, which afforded Samantha a good view of the entrance.
She positioned herself where no one could see her from the street and waited, watching for any suspicious-looking characters entering the hotel. The problem was, the Grand Hotel being what it was, there were a lot of suspicious-looking people going into the place and coming out of it.
One man in particular caught her full attention, and she tensed, watching him carefully as he made his way into the hotel. There was something familiar about him that sent an alarm signal off in her brain. Without thinking of the consequences she headed for the door. She had to warn Brock that one of the men who had guarded the plane at the mission was in the Grand Hotel.
She prayed her Brazilian disguise would fool the man from the mission. She was wearing a white cotton skirt and blouse with a white turban on her head to cover her distinctive hair. Brock had darkened her skin even more than the tropical sun had with some concoction he had learned about in the jungle.
When she had caught sight of herself in a store window on the way into the restaurant, she’d had to acknowledge she looked different from the woman who had arrived in Manaus two weeks before. But the most important thing was that she really was a different woman in her heart and mind.
In the lobby entrance she quickly scanned the faces, hoping to see Brock before Carlos’s man did. She found Brock at the desk talking with the clerk, their luggage at Brock’s feet.
She started forward when she spied the man from the mission. He approached Brock and said something. Samantha ducked behind a large potted plant, the hotel’s one concession to decorating the lobby. She watched as Brock and the man exchanged words. A chill of fear encased her like a cold shroud.
Brock was wearing a disguise, but did the man from the mission know it was Brock?
What in the world were they talking about? Why was it taking so long? One question followed another in Samantha’s mind before she could find answers to any of them.
She twisted her hands together, her palms sweaty. Her doubts that Brock was working for Carlos resurfaced as the two men continued to talk as if they were friends who had just run into each other. Brock gestured toward the entrance and continued to talk to the man from the mission. Was he telling the man where to find her? Had Brock struck a bargain with Carlos after all?
No, it couldn’t be true. Not after what happened between them in the jungle. She turned away from the scene, desperately wanting to deny what she had observed.
Clutching her bag, she escaped out to the street and looked around, undecided what to do next. For a long moment, her heart pounding against her chest, she stared at the restaurant. She couldn’t go back there.
Where could she go? She didn’t know Manaus at all. Whatever she did, she had to do it quickly. She looked around frantically, finally spying a place where she could hide and watch the street in front of the hotel.
She hurried to the alleyway, then tried to act Brazilian and a part of the scenery while she waited for Brock or the man to appear. Brock was the first one to leave the hotel. As he headed across the street to the restaurant, he continually glanced about him, alert, wary.
When he disappeared into the restaurant, Samantha wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Was he going into the restaurant to deliver her personally to Carlos? Or was her vivid imagination taking off again? It was hard for her to deny the friendly exchange between Brock and the guard at the mission, and yet in her heart she knew Brock couldn’t turn her over to Carlos after their weeks together.
Not two minutes later Brock reappeared, searching the street, a worried look on his face. Samantha had started to leave her hiding place, berating herself for jumping to conclusions, when the guard appeared in the hotel entrance. She ducked farther behind the building wall, her heartbeat thundering in her ears and drowning out all street sounds.
As Brock moved down the street away from her, she saw the guard leave the hotel and follow Brock. Samantha trailed both of them, keeping well back from the pair. She felt as if she were playing in a James Bond movie, but at the moment she couldn’t approach either man until she figured out what was going on.
When Brock turned down a narrow street, the man did also. Samantha cautiously peered around the corner and saw that the street was a dead end. The guard, who was holding a gun on Brock, cornered him. The weapon gleamed in the afternoon sun and sent her heartbeat accelerating at an even faster tempo.
She looked down the main street but couldn’t see a policeman. She quickly scanned the people along the street, trying to decide who to ask for help. Then she realized she couldn’t speak the language. She had to be the one to do something.
Next to her feet was a slab of wood. She picked it up and with a tight grip tested its weight. When she entered the dead-end street, the guard was waving the gun at Brock and saying something excitedly.
Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors) Page 15