They were almost to the top of a long, rocky knoll, using tree limbs and thick, woody vines to help pull themselves up the steep, rain-slick grade, when they heard voices behind them.
Lily glanced over her shoulder when Manny swore; not thirty yards behind them at the foot of the hill was a troop of soldiers, all carrying semiautomatic weapons. She could hear their shouted orders and figured they’d be fanning out and combing the area and would not give up until they found her and Manny.
“Go, go, go!” Manny ordered with a quiet urgency that sent her scrambling to keep up with him.
If the rebel troops spotted them, they’d pick her and Manny off like sitting ducks.
When she slipped and slid a few feet backward, Manny reached back and grabbed her hand. He jerked her up beside him and catapulted them over the rise. The momentum sent them flying over the rim of the hill—which dropped off at a drastic angle. She was vaguely aware of Manny wrapping himself around her as they tumbled down the hillside like Jack and Jill on their botched attempt to get water.
Lily didn’t have time to think, let alone scream. It was all she could do to keep hold of her pack while they rolled, bounced, skidded, slipped, and careened down the steep embankment like a runaway tire. She felt like she’d been caught up in an amusement park ride—only she had no idea when this one would stop and let her get off.
They bounced hard enough to jar Manny’s arms loose and he flew one way, she another. She landed flat on her face at the bottom of a ravine, a bed of ferns and moss cushioning her fall. For several seconds, she just lay there, catching her breath, assessing for damages. When she was relatively certain she was in one piece, she pushed up to her knees—to see Manny spread-eagled on his back five feet away.
His eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving. And then she saw the blood. Lots of it, covering his right temple.
Oh God.
She scrambled to his side on all fours, decayed leaves and fern fronds rustling in her wake, the rain, if possible, pouring down even harder.
“Manny,” she whispered, and checked for a pulse—strong, thank God—then lifted an eyelid. He flinched. Another good sign.
“Manny!” She tapped his cheek with an open palm, trying to rouse him.
He groaned and rolled his head to the side.
Relief that he was coming around zipped through her chest like fresh air.
“Come on,” she urged him, kneeling by his head to inspect the cut. It was nasty. He must have hit a rock on the tumble down the hill. A two-inch gash sliced through his scalp, just inside his hairline. That accounted for the blood. Head wounds bled like blazes. The knot roughly the size of a robin’s egg beneath it accounted for the unconsciousness.
“Come on,” she pleaded this time, trying to rouse him. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
His eyes opened then. He tried to sit up, swore, and went slack again. “Whoa. Spin cycle.”
God. He couldn’t run in this condition. She had to hide them. Fast. And he wasn’t in any shape to help her.
Frantic, she looked around, spotted his rifle and ALICE pack through the pouring rain. Crouching low, she slipped and slid her way to retrieve them. Once she’d gathered all their gear, she searched for a place to hide.
Ten feet away, she spotted a thicket of wiry brambles butted up against one of the many man-sized boulders scattered along the jungle floor. Trailing vines, ferns, and thick, lush orchid stems made a curtain around the boulder. At its base a natural hollow, like a bowl, almost like a narrow set of root cellar steps, cut a cove of sorts. A cove big enough to hold a man.
And a woman, she thought, if they didn’t mind getting up close and personal.
Knowing it was only a matter of minutes before the rebels popped over the ridge, she scrambled back to Manny.
“Help me,” she ground out as she worked her hands under his armpits and, employing every ounce of strength left in her, started dragging him toward the boulder.
He weighed a ton, all muscle, solid as stone, and mostly deadweight. He made valiant attempts to dig in his heels and push, but his weight tore at her burning muscles. She thought she heard a shout—and adrenaline kicked in again and helped her drag him the rest of the way.
He was holding his head up and trying to roll to all fours when, panting from the exertion, she left him next to the stone steps and scrabbled back for their packs and his rifle. When she returned, she tossed the packs into the hole for a cushion.
“Survival…blanket,” he muttered, poised on his hands and knees now, head hanging as blood dripped onto the ground between his flat palms and slowly seeped away in the rain-saturated ground. “Camo. In the pack. Get it.”
Her wet fingers flew as she dug inside his pack, found the blanket, and tugged it out.
“Hurry…we’ve got to get down there.” When he didn’t move fast enough, she gave him a none-too-gentle shove.
He landed on his back on top of the packs with a grunting groan. Wasting no time, Lily piled in on top of him, dragged the rifle down into the hole with them, then covered them with the blanket.
Lying as still as the earth surrounding them, Lily tried to regulate her breathing. Then she held her breath altogether and covered Manny’s mouth with her palm when the distinct sound of boots on the ground—lots of them, very, very close now—drowned out the rapid-fire beat of the blood rushing through her ears and the rain pummeling the blanket.
CHAPTER 18
Nothing but the thin camouflage blanket above her protected Lily and the 180 or so pounds of hard, bleeding male beneath her from the rebel forces.
Seconds passed. Minutes. Each one felt like an hour.
She could hear the shouts of the rebel squad scouring the area. Died a hundred deaths when she thought of the marks Manny’s body had to have made when she’d dragged him across the jungle floor, which must surely point like an arrow to their hiding place. And then she prayed that the rain washed the signs away—and that this hole didn’t fill up and drown them.
Beneath her, Manny groaned and struggled to sit up.
“No…no, shush,” she whispered, desperate to silence him, recognizing he was most likely disoriented and confused, because he’d been half-conscious when she’d shoved him into the hole.
“Have to stop them—”
She covered his mouth with her hand, pressed her cheek against his. It had been a while since a razor had touched his face. His whiskered stubble felt like sandpaper against her skin. She welcomed the stinging abrasion. Welcomed the reminder that he was strong—would be strong again as soon as he shook off the effect of the blow to his head.
She breathed deep. He smelled like rain and jungle loam and blood. Like sweat and man and things she’d been missing in her life for a very long time.
God. Sex? She was thinking about sex when they could be heartbeats away from death. Okay. She cut herself a little slack on that one. She’d worked enough trauma to know that an adrenaline rush could supercharge all the senses. Libido included. Nothing like a little brush with mortality to trigger a knee-jerk need to experience all the good things soon to be gone. And sex with Manny had always been a very good thing.
He shifted again and she pressed herself deeper into him.
“Manny, be still,” she murmured. “Lay still. Please, please. You have to stay quiet.”
He stilled abruptly. The tension-wrought confusion in his muscles eased. And then he said her name. “Lily.”
His gruff whisper wasn’t a question. It was a statement of relief. Of recognition.
He let out a breath, deep and long, said it again. “Li-ly.”
Memories…of long, loving nights and deep, rich emotions filled her chest with tender longing. So tender, it brought tears—for all that had been. For all that could never be.
She turned her head ever so slightly toward his, their warm breaths meshing, their heartbeats pounding. Against her belly, she could feel the length and strength of an erection that told her his thoughts had gone the same
way as hers.
His physical reaction to her had always been instant and intense. Even now, with rebel forces surrounding them, practically walking on top of them, and Manny drifting in and out of consciousness, he recognized her body, wanted to claim it as his.
“Liliana,” he whispered, and touched his lips to hers. “I’m with you now.”
Then he kissed her with a longing that accelerated the already rapid-fire beat of their hearts. A longing so big, it made her heart hurt, her throat swell.
“I’m with you now,” he repeated against her mouth, then touched a hand to her hair. “Tell me what’s happening.”
It took her a moment. A moment to snap herself out of the unexpected sexual heat he’d ignited with one kiss, one whispered word—Liliana—and not a single stirring from his honed, muscular body. A moment to regroup and come back to the reality that death could come quickly and she would never have the chance to tell him she had loved him. Never see the face of their beautiful child again.
“We fell,” she whispered shakily, willing herself to pull it together, “into a ravine. You hit your head. Here.” Very carefully, she touched her fingertips to the wound and felt the sticky wetness of clotting blood. “You were unconscious for a few minutes. We’re in a…I don’t know…it’s like a bowl at the base of a boulder, hiding from the rebel soldiers.”
“They’re gone,” he said after a moment.
She cocked her head. Listened. Heard only rain. “You’re right. I don’t hear them. They’ve moved on.”
“They’ll be back,” he said with absolute certainty.
“I need to check your head.”
His hands on her waist stopped her when she tried to get up.
“Not yet,” he said. “There could be trailers.”
She didn’t argue. With great care, she eased back down onto him. Aware now of every breath, every heartbeat, every pulse point where their bodies brushed and melded. Of the erection that hadn’t slackened an inch.
And then she allowed herself to think about the moment when he’d kissed her. Allowed herself to relive it, savor the memory of the supple pressure of his lips. The adrenaline-tinged taste of his mouth. The end to a drought of sensations she’d experienced with only him.
A lifetime ago.
“Are you okay?” He ran his hands up and down the length of her. While it was clear he was assessing for injuries, the feel of those strong hands heated her body in ways the close jungle heat could never do.
“F…fine,” she finally managed. “A few bruises. That’s all.”
His hands lingered over her hips, no longer assessing, not quite possessing.
The very air stilled around them. And for the first time, Lily noticed that the rain had started to ease up. Not so the pressure of his pulsing erection against her belly.
She sucked in a fractured breath, realized he’d done the same, and met his eyes in the hooded darkness beneath the blanket.
“I’d better check things out,” he said abruptly.
“Um…yeah,” she whispered, part of her thankful that at least one of them—the one with the head injury, no less—had his wits about him. The other part, however, wanted to shut out the threat of terrorists, of possible capture and death, and just stay wrapped under the blanket and in his arms and pretend everything that led to this point was just a bad nightmare.
He shifted her to the side. Then peeling back a corner of the blanket, he raised his head just enough to see at ground level. “It’s clear.”
Lily scooted to the side as he braced his hand on the side of the boulder for leverage. She froze the same time he did when the screeching scrape of stone against stone rent the air.
Manny stared from the boulder to her. “What the hell?”
“Did that boulder just move?” Lily couldn’t believe what she’d just seen.
He glanced back at the boulder and pushed again. This time it moved a good foot.
Incredulous, Lily tested it herself. It moved again. “How can that be? It has to weigh tons.”
He shifted around so he was on his knees in the hollow. As he faced the boulder, his big hands roamed and felt it all over before he reached under the bottom of the huge stone.
“It’s hollow,” he said, and pushed again.
This time the boulder swung wide.
“It’s a door,” Manny said, reaching for his ALICE pack.
He rummaged around inside and came up with a palm-sized flashlight. He released a handle on the light, cranked it several times, then turned it on.
A slim beam of light illuminated what appeared to be a series of steps that led to a passageway of sorts.
“Is it a cave?” Lily asked.
He nodded. Pointed the light upward where intricate drawings—frescoes actually—high on the ceiling led down the halls to a room. At the far end of the room sat a statue of a benevolent Buddha.
“A cave that was once used as a dagoba,” he said.
“A temple.” Before Lily could decide if she was spooked or intrigued by their discovery, they heard voices again.
The rebels had returned.
She didn’t understand what they were saying, but there was no mistaking the tone of their voices. They were pissed. And they were determined.
“Inside,” Manny ordered.
She helped him gather up their gear, then with the trepidation of a condemned prisoner, entered the realm of the dark…and the unknown.
The shouts of rebel forces grew closer and louder as Manny wrapped his fingers around the stone door and pulled it shut behind them, blocking out all outside sound and light.
Blackness swallowed them whole.
With the flashlight guiding the way, Manny moved slowly into the temple. Beside him, Lily clung to his arm. She didn’t say a word, but he knew she was spooked. She was wet, and despite the heat of the jungle, she was probably cold. The temperature inside the temple ruin had dropped by a good twenty degrees.
The cooler temperature helped him clear his head of any lingering wooziness from the knock he’d taken, but it still throbbed like a bitch.
“Amazing,” Lily said as the slim beam of light bounced off the interior walls.
Other than their breathing, only a steady, heavy drip of water into water broke a silence as hollow and thick as the dark.
Manny shined the flashlight around every corner and finally found the source of the sound. It was a small pool—maybe four feet around—in the center of the stone floor. Shining the light upward, he found the source of the drip. A tiny pinpoint of light shined down from outside. A hole in the earth that formed a natural dome around the abandoned temple.
“I wonder how old this place is.” Lily’s voice was hushed as their footsteps made hollow, echoing sounds in the cavernous room.
“Very,” he said finally, sizing up the room as approximately ten by twenty feet wide. “According to the guidebooks, there are abandoned ruins all over the area. This one’s evidently been forgotten for a while.”
“It’s in the middle of a jungle,” she pointed out. “I’m not surprised. It’s also pretty spooky.
“Those paintings.” She nodded toward the ceiling, shivered again, and Manny suspected it wasn’t just from a bad case of the creeps. “They’re, um…quite graphic.”
He agreed and added “explicit” to the depiction of couples in various sex acts.
“This must be where they sent the bad monks,” she said after they’d both studied the truly remarkable drawings. “The ones who couldn’t toe the line.”
Manny couldn’t help it. He grinned. “And their punishment was to paint what they were missing?”
“I’m thinking graffiti—idle minds and all that,” she said, and he heard, rather than saw, the tremulous smile in her voice. “Of course, that’s just a theory.”
This woman was strong. She was also cold. He heard the slight chatter of her teeth.
“We’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes and into something dry.”
; “We will. But first I need to take care of your head. No debate,” she said, bristling when he opened his mouth to argue. “It needs attention. If something happens to you, it’s not going to matter if I’m warm and dry, so sit, be quiet, and take your medicine.”
Since it was obvious she wasn’t budging, he chose not to argue. Shining the light around the room, he found a blocky wooden chair next to what was probably a bed frame—also solid wood and blocky.
He dragged the heavy chair away from the wall. The legs screeched like jungle monkeys as it slid across the stone. Chances were good that he was going to be doing some screeching, too, before she was through with him.
“Okay, Doc. Get it the hell over with.”
Manny sat, then gritted his teeth to silence a yelp when she started cleaning the wound.
“Christ,” he hissed through a strained breath.
“Sorry. It’s the alcohol,” she explained as she dabbed at the cut with a piece of gauze she’d soaked in liquid fire.
“What other instruments of torture have you been carrying around in that bag?” he grumbled when she set the medical kit on his lap.
“All kinds of fun things.” She rifled around and found an instant ice pack, smacked it to activate it, and laid it against the cut. “This will numb it a little, take the swelling down.”
She cast him a concerned frown. “You know that you need stitches.”
He heaved a thick breath. Yeah. He’d figured.
“I didn’t have access to any lidocaine. It’s gonna hurt like hell.”
He’d figured that, too. “Just do it.”
She raised one of his hands to the ice pack. “Hold this tight against it.” Then she directed the flashlight he held in his other hand. “Right here…yeah, there,” she said as she prepared a suture kit.
Cindy Gerard - [Bodyguards 05] Page 18