ALIAS SMITH AND JONES

by Kylie Brant

  And found it impossible.

  She struggled harder, pressing her body against the metal side of the receptacle in an attempt to move it away from the wall. It didn't budge. She was held in place tightly, with little more than an inch in which to move.

  She'd never been claustrophobic, she assured herself, even as the oxygen seemed jammed in her lungs. There was no reason for the sensation to occur now. Of course, it was easy not to he claustrophobic when you had freedom of movement. When your limbs weren't restricted and when your face wasn't caught snugly between two equally unyielding objects.

  It was due to her inner struggle that she didn't hear the first sound. But she definitely heard the second.

  "Annie? It's Jones."

  She had to swallow a couple times to moisten her dry throat before answering. "I'm back here."

  He must have already been making his way toward her, because moments later he was flattened against the wall, gazing in at her. And from the look on his face, he was none too pleased to see the muzzle of her gun staring back at him.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  "Dammit, that thing better not he loaded," Jones muttered savagely.

  "It wouldn't do me much good if it wasn't."

  "It doesn't look like it's doing you much good now."

  He had a point, Ana acknowledged. "The safety's off. But I don't think I can get out on my own. It was pretty tight going in, and there were two guys here not too long ago checking for us in the garbage bin."

  His expression changed. "Police?"

  "Military."

  Jones disappeared from view, and moments later she felt the receptacle move a few inches, allowing her some much-needed space. When she reached for her bag, she cracked her head smartly against the wall. Stumbling out into the alley, she raised her free hand to rub the bump already forming, while Jones reached toward her, and plucked the gun from her other hand.

  "Hey!"

  "I'll hang on to that for you."

  "I was hanging on to it just fine by myself."

  "Call me paranoid, but I've got a thing about letting people behind me with a gun."

  Ana recalled the scar on his back, his stark admission. It was my partner. But even knowing the motivation for his high-handed behavior didn't lessen her reaction to it. "How about if I stay in front, then?"

  "How about if I'm the only one armed? I feel safer that way."

  "You Tarzan, me Jane," she muttered.

  "What?"

  It wasn't worth repeating because she had every intention of getting her gun back. Soon. And because she finally spotted the bundle he held in his hand. "For me? Gee, Jones, you shouldn't have."

  "I'm sure the owner of these will think the same thing."

  Her gaze flashed to his. "You stole them?"

  "No, I waltzed into Saks Fifth Avenue

  and picked something off the rack."

  He was, she noted, becoming something of a smart-ass himself. "There's no need to be snippy about it." She thought she heard him snort as she reached for the clothes. "After my proximity to rats and garbage, I'm a bit anxious to slip into something a little more comfortable. Not to mention something in one piece."

  She waited, the bundle clutched to her chest but he made no move to leave. "I'd like to change."

  "Yeah. Make it snappy."

  Her brows raised. "Some privacy?"

  She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Aren't you the same one who was willing to try out that topless beach?"

  "Get over on the other side of the garbage bin, Jones! And don't put those goggles on, either."

  "They're not X-ray," he reminded her, but he moved away with a studied reluctance.

  She wasted no time in exchanging the dress, which now sported a pungent ripe odor, for a loose-fitting dark tunic top and some matching baggy drawstring trousers. The socks and boots that completed her stolen ensemble were too large, but she was glad enough to be rid of those blasted sandals that it didn't bother her.

  "Here."

  His approach had been silent, and, she noted, he hadn't waited for her to give him the okay. He handed her a bottle of water, which she looked at in amazement. "So you did go shopping."

  "That's one word for it. Figured there were a few things we were going to need. I got sandwiches, too, but we'll leave them for later."

  Twisting off the cap of the bottle, she tipped it to her lips and drank greedily.

  "I scouted things out a bit. It looks like the local police force is charged with guarding the perimeter of the city now. From what you said, I'm guessing the military has taken over the search for us."

  She lowered the bottle. "I heard you order Pappy away from the island. How do we get off it?"

  "I've got a ship coming. All we have to do is make our way to it."

  "But…" She stared at him through the darkness. "You said the ship should meet us on the north side of the island."

  "That's right." He took the bottle from her hand and raised it to his lips. "Which means we'll be heading straight through the jungle."

  * * *

  Jones watched from his hiding place and prayed Annie remembered the instructions he'd given her. He'd feel a helluva lot more comfortable if he was the one distracting the guard. But the man would be more suspicious of another man than he would he of a woman. At least, he was banking on that.

  Trepidation twisted viciously in his stomach. He didn't like sending her into certain danger. Not that she seemed to mind. She'd appeared only too eager to enact the plan. He'd actually stopped once as he'd been mapping strategy out loud, ready to scrap the whole thing and find another way, one that would have kept her a safe distance away from the action. But she wasn't having any of that.

  You're still trying to protect me!

  He shifted uneasily at the memory of her razor-sharp, whispered accusation. From the ferocity in her voice, she could have been accusing him of stomping kittens. And she was wrong, completely. At least mostly. He just preferred to do jobs himself, that was all. He'd always worked best alone. Bystanders had a habit of getting in the way, getting hurt. He just hadn't wanted to chance that happening with her.

  She'd been like a bulldog after that, he recalled. He'd been unable to shake her from her stubborn insistence on helping. That, coupled with the fact that his first plan had seemed the likeliest to succeed, had convinced him to give in. But he hadn't given her back her gun, as she'd insisted. He might be out of options, but he wasn't crazy.

  His hand tightened on the binoculars when she moved into his view. She'd donned the vividly colored head scarf he'd brought her, which would cover, at least for a time, that bright head of hair. He was hoping that would help her avoid identification for valuable moments. His stomach clutched as she staggered, cradling her arm to her chest and keening loudly. The guard stationed across the street from her straightened, reached for his weapon.

  Muscles tensing, Jones forced himself to remain motionless. So far things were working like a charm. She was sticking to the strategy. She hadn't ventured beyond the corner of the buildings to the street. She'd he visible only to the one guard, not to any stray militia officers who could he searching nearby.

  Dread pooled nastily at the base of his spine. The policeman was tersely ordering her to halt as he left his post to approach, but Annie was ignoring him, stumbling farther this way. Jones balanced on the balls of his feet, waiting for the guard to pass his hiding place.

  "S'il vous plaît m'aider. Je suis blessé."

  From the pain sounding in her voice, he would believe that she was hurt himself, if he didn't know better. He just hoped her statement didn't come true in a few more moments.

  "Arrêt. Comment vous appelez-vous?"

  Jones watched as Annie turned at the policeman's order, staggering back a few more steps as if in near faint. The man was no more than three feet from Jones, his weapon still drawn, an ominous threat.

  "Enlever le foulard."

  Annie
moved to obey the tersely worded order to take off her scarf, her hand going to her head. Jones picked that moment to spring. With two quick silent steps he was behind the man, one arm wrapped around his throat, jerking him off balance. "Get back," he ordered Annie, as the man's weapon tipped skyward. A moment later it clattered to the ground as the officer doubled over, sagging limply in Jones's grasp from the well-placed kick Annie had sent to the man's privates.

  Muttering a curse, Jones dragged the man's head back and delivered a punch that would put him out of his misery for a few minutes. Then he dragged him back to where Jones had waited earlier, out of sight of anyone happening by. "Don't even think about it," he advised grimly when he saw her bend over, reach for the policeman's weapon.

  Her small nose went in the air, and she raised her hands in surrender. "Fine. I was just trying to help."

  After dumping the unconscious body in a doorway, Jones crossed and picked up the weapon. "Did it ever occur to you to stop trying to help and just follow directions for once?" He emptied the automatic of its magazine and shoved it in his pack, before tossing the gun on top of the limp policeman.

  "I don't take orders well," she said, her voice sulky.

  "Honey, you don't take orders at all." He squatted to remove the radio clipped to the man's belt, transferring it to his waistband. Then he rose, gripped her elbow in his hand and pulled her down the street to peer around the corner of the building. "You were supposed to lead him past me, then get the hell out of the way."

  "What are you complaining about? I just made it easier for you to overpower him. Now even when he regains consciousness he isn't going to be moving too fast."

  Recalling the lethal power behind the kick she'd delivered, he almost winced. The man was going to have much more serious concerns than the two of them when he woke up. He waited for the lone taxi driving by to get a couple of blocks away before he said, "Let's go. Stay down."

  In a crouch they ran across the deserted street. The next nearest guards were stationed about a block on either side of them. All it would take was for one of them to look their way at this exact moment, or to have seen the incapacitated policeman leave his post, and they'd be dodging bullets once again. But the silence that greeted their maneuver was absolute. It was almost eerier than the gunfire he'd half feared.

  In front of them was a small park backed by thick vegetation. It was toward that vegetation that he headed now, releasing her to free his arms. Shrugging out of the pack he carried, he swung it around front and dug for a flashlight and the heavy, curved machete he'd stolen from the store he'd broken into. They came to a halt at the back of the park, their path blocked by the snarled vines and dense vegetation.

  "Here, hold this." He shoved the flashlight in her hands.

  "What are you going to … Jones!"

  The blade flashed in the darkness as he hacked away at the thicket, cutting a path for them to enter.

  "This has got to lead straight through into the forest."

  "That's the general idea."

  "You can't be planning for us to go in there at night!" Even as she protested, she kept the light shining unwaveringly on the area before them.

  "You have a better idea?"

  "Have you considered waiting until daylight?"

  "The object is to get a head start on the militia before they figure out. Where we've gone and come after us." He didn't bother to keep the sarcasm from his tone. He couldn't afford to get distracted by the thin thread of panic in her words. Now was a time to concentrate on what needed to be done. And that meant getting whatever head start they could on whoever would be coming after them.

  He'd slashed enough of the strangler vines and thick plants to allow them to enter a couple of feet. He plunged forward, stopped to hack some more. "I need the light. Get up here."

  "This is ridiculous." He reached back, grabbed her tunic and pulled her forward. She never missed a beat. "You can't expect to cut your way all the way through the forest."

  "Actually, I just plan to clear a few feet." He cast an eye up and down the street. It was still quiet. He wondered how long they had before someone came by and sounded the alarm. "Once I slice away the stranglers and vines we'll he able to enter the forest itself."

  "Yeah, right."

  There was a decided note of disbelief in her voice, one he couldn't blame her for. They were close enough to hear the night noises coming from the thicket of dense vegetation: the eerie cry of howler monkeys at the top of the canopy and the distinctive cough of a jaguar calling its mate. It wasn't especially tempting, to race into the primitive night scene, but what waited behind them was even less attractive. The Laconos government had already had their security breached once. They wouldn't be inclined toward leniency over this latest attempt.

  "C'mere."

  Annie obeyed reluctantly. "I still think we should talk about this."

  He went behind her to the entrance he'd made, and started scooping up the hacked undergrowth. Arranging it across intact vines, he did what he could to disguise the damage he'd done. Rejoining Ana, he began cutting with renewed effort. How long since they'd taken out that guard? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Tension knotted at the base of his skull. Instincts, well honed from years on the street, sprang to life. Time was running out.

  "This is ridiculous. It'll take us months to get through the forest at this rate."

  "No, it won't." Already the vegetation was thinning. "The outside is dense from strangler vines and lianes, but once we get through this, the forest floor itself can he traveled pretty easily."

  A gibbon's screech sounded from somewhere directly overhead. The sound had an undeniable effect on Annie, bringing her close enough to grab for the waistband of his pants. But it was the noise at his waist that sent a chill down her spine.

  The radio he'd taken off the guard spit static, then voices could he heard speaking urgent French. The guard they'd disabled had been discovered.

  "We just ran out of time," he said grimly. "Hang on to me and keep the flashlight trained in front of us." He took her rare silence for agreement. As a siren sounded in the distance, he forged through the last of the vines he'd cut until they stumbled onto the forest floor.

  "Do you think they're desperate enough to search the jungle at night?" she asked, trying to keep the trepidation she felt from her voice.

  When something in him tried to soften at the sound, he deliberately hardened it. "We're desperate enough, aren't we? Now run!"

  For once she did exactly as he asked.

  * * *

  Dawn had come and gone, but it made little difference in the forest. The upper canopy blocked most of the sunlight, and what little did get through was blocked by the second or third canopy of smaller trees. Only the dimmest light would he available in full day, but Jones had had Annie snap off the flashlight, anyway. She supposed he wanted to conserve the batteries. He hadn't mentioned how long their trek across the island would take, and she hadn't yet summoned the courage to ask.

  Tossing down a pile of ferns he'd cut, he arranged them with his foot and ordered, "Sit."

  Her descent qualified more as total collapse than simple obedience but she was too exhausted to care. They'd rested at regular intervals but never for long. Her body had gone through stages, first of adrenaline-fueled energy, followed by a zombielike automatic pilot that had carried her this far. Now, however, she was afraid she'd entered another stage of bone-deep weariness that wouldn't allow her to rise again.

  Jones shoved his goggles back and squatted down beside her. He reached for his pack and unzipped it. A memory roused her enough to demand, "Give me my bag back. I can carry it."

  He spared her barely a glance. "You can hardly put one foot in front of the other. I'll keep carrying both of them. I don't suppose you have a permit for that gun you were carrying."

  "I have a permit." Not for this gun, exactly. And not in the name she was currently using, but she didn't think those facts were worth mentioning. From the look on his face
, he wouldn't agree.

  "Mind telling me why you thought you needed a gun?"

  She caught the wrapped sandwich he tossed her, already salivating. It was hard to be high-minded about his thievery earlier that night when it meant she was finally going to get fed. "No, I don't mind. If you don't mind answering a question for me."

  Oh, he minded. She bit into the sandwich with huge enjoyment, finding the expression on his face almost as pleasurable. He liked being in control and calling the shots. What he didn't like, judging from his countenance, was having the tables turned on him.

  "Okay, what's the question?" He bit into his own sandwich with a little more ferocity than could be blamed on mere hunger.

  "What's your real name?"

  An innocent enough question, she would have thought. Certainly not one that should have had him freezing, the sandwich raised halfway to his mouth. Then in the next instant he recovered, took another bite. "What makes you think it isn't Jones?"

  Until his answer it hadn't occurred to her that his last name could be as phony as hers. But the way he'd worded the question suddenly made her believe differently. "You have to have a first name," she pointed out logically. "No mother in her right mind would hold her newborn in her arms, look down lovingly and say, 'He's the picture of Grandpa Jones. That's what we'll call him.'" As a matter of fact, she couldn't quite imagine him as a newborn at all, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe he'd come into existence in the usual way.

  "I just go by Jones. Where'd you get the gun? You couldn't have gotten it through Customs."

  Studiously ignoring the question, she continued eating, ignoring his thunderous expression. The sandwich was unlike anything she'd ever eaten before. It actually consisted more of a thick tortilla than of bread, and the meat filling wasn't recognizable, either.

  "You said you'd answer my question if I answered yours."

  "I meant truthfully. Unless you want me to tell you that Santa brought me the gun last Christmas."

  "Christ," he muttered, chewing ferociously.

  "No, I doubt that's your name," she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. "You're not in the least godlike. How about if we start off easy. Just give me your first name." As silence stretched, with him avoiding her gaze, she felt a small measure of disappointment. Ridiculous, really, to let such a little thing mean so much. Especially in light of the fact that she was keeping so much from him.