Reckless

by Amanda Carpenter

  “They had help from someone who worked on the airline,” Leslie murmured thoughtfully. “A logical explanation would be that they needed someone or something out of the States badly enough to hijack a plane in order to do it.”

  She looked around. Scott’s face was about as readable as a blank rock. Jarred was plucking grass, head bent. Wayne was the one who answered, “That’s a fair guess. But then the question is what or whom?”

  After a bit of useless speculation and half hearted discussion, during which both Scott and Jarred were silent, Leslie stood and restlessly walked around the designated area. Scott was moodily preoccupied, staring at the forest and running a blade of grass through his long fingers. Wayne and Jarred seemed as disinclined to talk. She walked towards the building and then turned to walk to the other border. As she did this a second time, she noticed the commander coming towards the guard closest to her. She curled up into the grass, her back half turned to him, plucking the green strands idly.

  He must have come up right beside the guard, for he said quite audibly, in Spanish, “It won’t be long, now.”

  Leslie pricked up her ears, striving to act supremely unconcerned and unknowing. Though the two men were standing about ten paces away, she could hear them fairly clearly. If there had been the slightest breeze, she wouldn’t have been able to, but as luck would have it, the air was as still as could be. A bee droned by.

  The guard said, “It’s been too long already. I don’t like it…”

  “It couldn’t be helped. We’re waiting right now to hear from our contacts. The news team and a few others could be working undercover. Nearly everyone else checks out.”

  “Sh, one of them is right over there.” Leslie knew that it was her they were talking about.

  “Don’t worry. She doesn’t know Spanish,” the commander said. “Her face was totally blank when you so graphically interrupted earlier. We can’t get anything on the reporters, or a few of the men. There’s no telling how much Rodriquez let out before we caught up with him. We may just have to kill them before we relocate.”

  Leslie turned her head and stared blindly out to the forest, her face chalk white, as shock rippled through her. Her eyes flickered to Scott, Wayne and Jarred. Wayne glanced her way, and then glanced again, his attention arrested by her pallor which was obvious even from that distance. Then he deliberately and casually turned away, saying something to the other two. After a moment, they glanced her way briefly, uninterestedly.

  The guard was muttering something.

  The commander replied, “…know that he had to have told them something…flights to Cuba were being watched. It’s been…” The wind was beginning to gust his words away. Leslie crushed a blade of grass. “…still very profitable. Florida’s become too risky, anyway. Too many patrols.”

  What did he mean? She searched her mind for something that made sense. Were they smuggling? He was speaking again so she focused back to the conversation.

  “What are we to do?”

  The “commander” said briefly, “If we don’t hear by tomorrow either way, we’ll kill the six and move out as soon as possible—before daylight if we have to. Any longer than that and we have to assume that they’re on to us and about to make their move. We can’t stay. There’s too many chances of something going wrong.”

  “…the last haul, eh?”

  “From this location, yes. Have any of them said anything revealing?”

  “No, they all sound quite innocent, though the four reporters were pretty tight together for a while and talking about something real low.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Do you really expect for them to check out that easily? It’s only been a day and a half.”

  “No, I don’t. They haven’t enough time. It’s a shame. The woman’s attractive enough.”

  “She’s got it in the right places, at least,” the guard agreed appreciatively.

  At first Leslie was rooted to the spot, paralysed. But then she stood aimlessly and stretched in a lazy fashion, slow and deliberate, showing off the lines of her body leisurely. Dead silence behind her. Her hands were shaking with a fine tremor, but luckily it wouldn’t be distinguished at any distance away.

  This was it. The way the cards had fallen was not good, but there was one, slight chance. If she blew it, it wouldn’t matter anyway. If she did nothing they would all surely die.

  She squinted up at the sun, shaking her hair back from her face so that it fell in a silken tumble down her back. Then she glanced over her shoulder towards the buildings and, incidentally, close to where the “commander” and the guard were standing. Then, as if just becoming aware that he was standing there, Leslie turned her head that much further, looking at him for a long moment from under heavy lids and then smiled her slow smile. Even from ten paces she could see his eyes widen. He walked towards her deliberately, coming to a halt so close beside her, she could feel the heat from his body.

  He stared down at her, the message in his eyes unmistakable as they travelled down her length. She felt soiled, dirtied by it, and it took every ounce of effort to hide how repelled she was by him. “The sun is not too much for you?” he murmured quietly.

  Her slow smile widened. She tilted her head to one side. “It’s a bit warm,” she whispered, and brought one hand up to unbutton the top of her blouse, waving an ineffectual hand in the air as if attempting to cool herself down. The opening now exposed the beginnings of the swelling of her breasts and the shadow between. His eyes were drawn to the spot and transfixed by the creamy skin. She drew a deep breath, which heaved her chest, and then blew it out in a sigh. He unconsciously sighed, too. She ran a finger lightly over her skin just below her collarbone. “I’m all wet with sweat.”

  “It’s much cooler inside,” he said, and in spite of himself, licked his lips.

  She turned guileless eyes to him. “Oh, is it cool in your room? That bunkhouse gets so stuffy, with everyone crammed together like sardines in a can. I’m sure I’ll never sleep in there tonight.”

  “You would be—more comfortable somewhere else,” he replied, eyes going back to her chest.

  She laughed throatily and moved up close to him, standing so near they were almost touching front to front, hands on her hips, head thrown back to expose the line of her graceful throat. His eyes were getting hungry. “I thought you’d never ask,” she murmured. His gaze snapped to her face and she mockingly cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why so surprised, commander? If you haven’t figured it out by now, you should have. I’m simply a survivor, and I roll with the punches. And I don’t like being uncomfortable. You help me…” Her hand went up and her fingers lightly caressed his jawline, feeling the muscle clench. “…and I help you. A most satisfactory arrangement.”

  A coldly lustful gleam suffused his eyes, and at that she knew. This was the kind of man who would have no compunction about taking his pleasure with her and then having her shot. It was a good thing she was as intent on using him as he was on using her. He held her eyes as he bent his head forward. She didn’t move but again laughed lowly as he nuzzled her neck in front of the entire group. She didn’t let herself think or feel, for to think of the awful consequences if she failed or to feel the shame she knew would come, would be disastrous. For one terrible moment she faltered, feeling like she would retch. But then she had herself in complete control, sliding her arms up deliberately to encircle his neck, pulling his mouth to hers.

  The shocked silence all around was broken once by a woman’s hissing ejaculation, “Shameless slut!” The man kissing Leslie put his arms around her and hauled her up against him roughly. She let her head fall back. Then the “commander” was lifting his head to devour her with greedy eyes.

  “Come on,” he said thickly, turning and hauling her away with him.

  Wayne was fighting mindlessly against the restraining arms that bound him, much in the same way that Scott had last night. When the haze of fear and rage cleared enough to let him see, he foun
d Jarred and Scott grappling his arms. Some distance away, two guards watched alertly, guns held ready in case of trouble. “Let go of me,” he snarled, “or I swear I’ll kill you both!”

  Scott’s face was rock hard, absolutely white, with dark eyes burning blackly with the force of some strong emotion. “Let it go, Wayne,” he bit out harshly, and even Wayne in the midst of his sick fury stared at the oddness of his intensity. “It’s her life. If she wants to spend it bedding those—”

  Wayne swung with everything in his body, and Scott rocked back with the force of the blow to his jaw. Then Wayne found himself flat on his back and seeing the world spin as Scott moved faster than sight and knocked him clean off the ground.

  He just lay there, nursing his jaw, saying hopelessly, “You bastard. Don’t you ever say filthy things about Leslie again, do you hear? She wouldn’t do that! My God, she’s the most celibate woman I’ve ever met! She’s been that way ever since her husband and daughter died, four years ago!”

  Scott blanched. “Husband?”

  “Yes! You fool, don’t you realise—” Wayne was shouting it out and Jarred grabbed his arm to gesture silence with his hand, out of the two guards’ line of sight. He continued more quietly, nearly in tears now and unashamed of it. “Don’t you realise what happened? She overheard something, something that’s frightened her so badly, she’s about to do something desperate! I don’t know what she’ll try, but she’s going to try something! When she was first hired, Carl made her take self-defence courses so that she could take care of herself in a rough situation, in case I wasn’t around to help her.” Wayne nodded to the buildings behind him, whispering, “There are too many of them. They are all over the place.” Jarred and Scott looked totally blank, stunned. He finished miserably, “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? She’s going to get herself killed.”

  Chapter Five

  “What’s your name?” Leslie asked, with a great effort managing to sound nonchalant.”

  “Call me Paul.” She nodded, and he ushered her into a sparsely furnished bedroom. She sent a swift glance around; the room was not especially clean, but at least there was a fair chance that there were no little animals living under the bed. A wave of pure panic shocked through her. She clamped it down. One chance only.

  She walked further into the room carelessly, and his grasping, hurting hands came to her upper arms. But she forestalled him, putting a light finger to his lips and smiling provocatively up into his lustful eyes.

  She then stepped back, her eyes holding him, promising things she dared not contemplate. For one horrible moment she thought that he would not let her go, but he did. She moved over to the door and found a lock, turning it, glancing coyly back over her shoulder. Her move made his eyebrows shoot up, and then he looked amused, but his look of amusement didn’t last for long. She started to walk forward very slowly, her fingers going to her blouse. His eyes were arrested by the movement, and he flushed with excitement. He would have come forward then, but she shook her head, moving her tongue over her lips. She could feel his desire barely held in check, and she knew that her time was running out. Soon she would no longer be able to keep him away.

  “Take your time,” she murmured lowly. She walked over to the bed, holding his gaze, and his eyes were then dropping to her chest and staying there. “We have all the time in the world.” She eased back on the bed, deliberately slipped off a shoe and let it plop, leaning back on one hand and smiling at him suggestively. Only one chance…

  Because of the heat of the day, she hadn’t put on a bra, and as her blouse fell open bit by bit, she felt a moment of secret exultation. It was the deciding factor; she had him completely now. He ripped off his shirt and threw it into a corner, and then unzipped and drew down his pants, his eyes hot on her, making her want to writhe in disgust. Her eyes beckoned, her smile invited, and her hand drew her shirt slowly apart the rest of the way as she casually propped one foot on the bed, the other leg thrown out. Her breathing was coming heavier as excitement, fear, revulsion—all caused the adrenalin to surge. He saw it, mistook it for passion, and then he came for her.

  He never noticed that the foot she had propped on the bed was the one fully shod. All of his attention was on her bare chest, her parted lips, the movement of her chest as her breathing deepened.

  He never saw the kick that levelled him, knocked him clean out.

  Leslie jerked to her feet as the commander arced back to the wall behind him and slumped to the floor. She pulled her shirt together with a violent movement and buttoned it with jerky fingers that bespoke disgust and total revulsion. Then she went over to Paul and poked him gingerly with her foot. He didn’t budge. She bent down and gave a great heave, and his body flopped over like a landed fish. His head lolled back, mouth slackened. A swelling purple mark was beginning to rise on his jaw and she grinned maliciously. Good. Then in sudden worry, she felt at his jaw, afraid that she might have broken it. She had kicked him pretty hard.

  It wasn’t, and she sighed in relief. Much as she didn’t like the man—detested was the better word for it—she didn’t want to become a murderer, and she’d been afraid that she might have blocked his windpipe. She looked from him and then to the bed, sighing. Then she bent down and started to heave him on to the bed. It was a long hard pull, for he was a pretty big man and she was on the slight side. She could still remember what her self-defence instructor had told her, when he had thrown her time and time again.

  “You’re smaller than I, Leslie! I can beat you every time. I have the strength. I have the power. I could break your neck with one blow to your jaw! Men are stronger, and they are usually faster. What you have to do is use the one thing that you have in abundance: your brain. Outsmart ’em, Les. And I’ll help you work on how.”

  She finally managed it, with a great deal of difficulty, and then she took his top sheet to tear it in wide strips, from top to bottom. She tied him up as tightly as she could, and as thoroughly. She didn’t much care about his comfort. He wasn’t going to get loose, and that was all there was to it.

  After she had him firmly bound, she searched around the room thoroughly. There was a hand gun in the top drawer, and she took it. It was an automatic, so after some rummaging around she found a few extra clips in another drawer. She took those too. Then she yanked his pillow from under his head, threw it on the floor for a cushion, and settled herself down for a comfortable wait.

  She was in for a long one.

  She was starving by the time darkness had well and truly settled over the island. The sun had been dipping fast when she had entered the room with Paul, so objectively it was not that long before she deemed it safe to make a move. But together with nervousness, hunger, and exhaustion, the time seemed interminable. She could thank whatever god was watching over her that Paul had left instructions not to be disturbed until he emerged from the room. It gave her a bit of security for a time.

  She stood, fingers trembling, and listened at the door closely for a long moment. Just before she was about to brave slipping out the door, a sound caught her attention. It was coming from the bed. She turned and whitened as she realised what she had forgotten.

  She’d left the most obvious and dangerous thing of all. She ran back and, shaking fiercely, stuffed a sock into the man’s mouth, tying it in place with another sock. Just as she finished knotting it and put his head back down, he opened his eyes and glared at her silently. She put her hands to the sides of his cheeks and smiled down at him with her slow smile.

  “It’s all or nothing now,” she told him in perfectly fluent Spanish. His eyes widened in shock. “You know it and I know it. I won’t apologize for the kick to your jaw—you deserved it, and worse.” She backed away as she heard a soft, muffled groan. She was chuckling under her breath as she listened again at the door. He must have one hell of a headache by now. It gave her a sense of satisfaction to know that he would be reclining without his pillow.

  The night was alive with creature so
unds: the buzzing of winged things, a raucous cry from overhead, rustles in the undergrowth. Leslie slipped out of the barracks and sped on light winged feet to the dark shadows of the bushes by the building. There were two buildings between herself and the barrack—a deadly obstacle course. For the first time, as realisation dawned on her of the hopelessness of the situation, she felt the pangs of despair. The time was approaching midnight, and most of the lights were off, but there were a few still with gleaming yellow shining from windows. That meant a few were still up and about. And there were two guards at the barracks doors. And the hostages were dismally outnumbered, on an island, with men who were trained to kill. She sagged against the side of the building and muffled a sob. She was so very tired.

  But then she pushed herself and straightened away from the wall. It was all or nothing. She went down into a cautious crouch, slipped forward out of the bushes, hissing at the rustle of leaves, and sprinted for the first of the two buildings. It was a nightmarish run. Her clothes were light and must show up like a blurred beacon, she thought nervously. The night air was cool, and she jerked violently to the side as something brushed her cheek—a mosquito. She then had to laugh soundlessly at her overreaction.

  Then she had to steel herself and make the run again to the second building. The worst was ahead of her. Presumably everyone would be relaxed and off guard, but the two men stationed at the barrack doors would be alert. The building was further off from the others, which would mean, on the favourable side, less chance of anyone hearing strange sounds. On the negative side was that she had to somehow run without being seen from here to there, over open ground, and quietly overpower two armed guards. She quailed at the thought.

  Her eyes narrowed on the dark silhouette of the building, which was her goal. The barrack doors opened to the right from where she was. It would have been disastrous if they’d been facing the other buildings. If she sneaked around to the left of this building, ran for the cover of the undergrowth some distance away, and came at the building from directly behind it, there was a chance she would not be seen. The guards, though alert, could not be expecting any trouble. Their charges were locked safely away in a building which they could not get out of without considerable noise and effort, due to the windows installed. There was no way out other than the doors they were charged to guard. And there was no reason for them to suspect their commander to be outsmarted and physically overcome by a mere slip of a woman.