by Ginna Gray
Abigail cleared her throat and shifted on the bench. "I... uh... I thought you were trying to quit."
"I am. Where are my cigarettes?"
"Ha-have you ever given any thought to just, uh... stopping? You know... cold turkey?"
David's eyes narrowed. "What have you done with my cigarettes, Legs?"
A shiver rippled through her at the soft demand, but she hid her trepidation behind false bravery. "Well, I didn't throw them overboard," she snapped. "Though for your sake I should have."
"Don't do me any favors, okay? Now where the hell are my cigarettes?"
Abigail drew a deep breath and screwed up her courage.
"I hid them."
"You what?" His eyes bulged, and his jaw dropped. Then, like a thundercloud, his face darkened. His lips tightened into a white line, and a muscle twitched in his cheek.
"You hid my cigarettes?" he asked slowly, softly. And then, exploding, he shouted, "You hid my cigarettes? Dammit, woman, do you have a death wish?"
Roused from her sleep, Chelsea looked down over the edge of the bridge and growled.
"No. But apparently you do. Good grief. If you had any sense you'd know that at the very least you should cut down." Abigail gripped the hairbrush with both hands, unaware of the bristles stabbing into her palm.
"Woman, I'm going to ask you one more time. Where are my cigarettes?"
Abigail tipped her chin up. "I won't tell you. If you must have the noxious weeds, you'll just have to find them yourself."
Fury, astonishment, disbelief, frustration, then back to fury—David's expression ran the gamut. If ever a man looked ready to fly apart, he did. Everything about him, his rigid stance, the glitter in his eyes, the fists opening and closing at his sides, screamed of rage barely held in check.
Abigail knew that he wanted to throttle her. Still, she managed to ignore her quaking insides and meet his glare without flinching.
Normally she would not have dared to tweak a grizzly's nose, but there was something about David that stirred in her a strange recklessness that overrode her normal caution.
The tense, silent confrontation went on for a full minute with neither budging. She was beginning to wonder how much longer she could keep up the defiant front when David muttered something under his breath, which she had no doubt was obscene, and stormed below deck.
The horrible banging and slamming that ensued reached such proportions that Abigail could not stand it. Scooping up Chelsea, she scrambled down from the bridge and hurried below. She arrived just as David pulled one of the stashed bundles from behind the small TV in the forward cabin.
"What's this," he demanded, dangling the plastic bag between his thumb and forefinger.
"As you can see, it's your disgusting cigarettes."
Abigail's mouth compressed as she took in the mess he'd made of the cabin. All her work, ruined.
"There are only four in here."
"Well, my stars. You don't think I'm stupid enough to hide them all in the same place, do you?"
"You mean you've stashed bags like this all over the place?"
Her reply was a smug look that brought a growl from David. Chelsea answered it with one of her own.
"Aw, shut up you miserable little dust mop, or I'll throw you overboard again."
Abigail gasped and clutched her pet closer, but David was too busy tipping up the mattress and pillows and searching through the wardrobe to notice.
After five minutes, when his efforts failed to turn up another cache, he was so desperate for a smoke, he gave up and lit one of the precious four he had. After a long, blissful drag he exhaled slowly, shot Abigail a murderous glare and stomped past her. "Damned interfering, pain-in-the-butt women. Nothing but trouble, the lot of them. Always sticking their noses in..."
He disappeared up the steps, and Abigail didn't catch the end of the muttered tirade, nor did she care. Fuming, she was already straightening the bed and snatching up the books and other articles he'd tossed aside in his search.
For the next hour they stayed away from each other. David worked on the engine, banging and cursing with what
Abigail felt was unnecessary force and frequency. She occupied herself retidying below deck.
No sooner had she finished, than he reappeared and told her to get ready to swim ashore. "I can't fix the engine without a new part. Which means we're going to have to walk back to San Cristobal."
"Walk back? But that's miles."
"You got a better idea how we can get there?"
"Well... no. But why do I have to go? Can't I just wait here for you?"
"Sure," he said with a disinterested shrug. "If you don't mind taking the chance on those two KGB guys coming back for a closer look and finding you, why should I care?"
***
David waded ashore and tossed the plastic garbage bag containing their dry clothes on the sand. He looked around just as Abigail found her footing and stood up. Groaning, he cursed under his breath.
He had tried to get her to strip down to her panties and bra for the swim to shore, but she had been shocked, and adamantly refused. He felt like telling her that her modesty would have been-better served if she'd taken his suggestion. The soaked shirt plastered to her body was a helluva lot more provocative than any bikini he'd ever seen, and his body reacted to the sight in the normal, if annoyingly zealous, manner.
Gritting his teeth, David turned away as she dragged the flotation ring with that ridiculous purse and even more ridiculous dog perched on top up onto the beach. He'd tried to get her to leave that satchel and the mutt behind, but at the mere suggestion she'd clutched the purse to her chest and looked at him as though he'd suggested something unspeakably heinous.
"Where I go, Chelsea goes," she'd informed him. "And I always carry my purse with me. I... I might need something from it."
No amount of arguing or reason had budged her. With the purse riding on a life buoy and Chelsea perched on top of it, she had hung on to the flotation ring and propelled herself and the mutt to shore by kicking her feet.
Damned stubborn female, he thought as Abigail came walking toward him with the clinging shirt molding every line and curve and sending water sheeting down over those gorgeous legs.
David snatched up the plastic bag and tore it open. "Here, put these on," he ordered, tossing dry clothes at her. "And make it snappy."
His rude manner caught her by surprise, and Abigail blinked at him. For some reason the hurt look in her eyes, which she quickly tried to hide, darkened David's mood.
"Well, get a move on if you're going with me," he snapped. Unhampered by modesty, he had stripped down to his skivvies for the swim ashore. Ignoring her, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband on his maroon briefs and pushed them downward.
Abigail made a choked sound and scurried for the bushes, her face flaming.
As soon as he was dressed, he set off through the forest without a word to her.
"Wait! Wait for me!"
He glanced back and saw Abigail scrambling after him, hopping and skipping as she struggled to roll up the legs on her jeans while on the run.
***
Three hours later, shoving aside a clump of brush, David looked back over his shoulder, sighed, and stopped once again to wait for Abigail to catch up.
She struggled along the narrow animal trail, swatting at bushes, trailing vines and insects, huffing and puffing like a steam engine, lugging that absurd purse and that pitiful excuse for a dog.
At least she was dry now, thank God, David thought, Watching her gird herself to leap over a small stream. It seemed to him that she'd spent most of the time since they'd met drenched to the skin. And driving him crazy.
He had to give her credit though; she was a game little thing. She'd complained some, mostly when he'd gotten too far ahead of her, but not as much as he had expected, even though the going had been rough in spots. He'd lost count of the number of times she'd stumbled and fallen. Once she'd even lost her footing and slid down the muddy bank of a
ravine on her backside.
Her attire didn't make it easier. Her shorts had been unsuitable for hiking through the woods, but it had to be awkward, tramping along in a pair of his jeans with over a foot of the legs rolled up and the bunched waist secured with a piece of rope. The shirt she wore, which fit him perfectly, flopped around her knees and caught on every twig and bramble. Neither of them had on hiking boots, but at least he was wearing sneakers, which were a helluva lot better for walking over rough terrain than those flimsy leather sandals of hers.
"David, can't we please rest for a little while?" Abigail moaned as she came trudging up the path behind him. He opened his mouth, but before he could reply, an enormous snake dropped out of a tree onto the path between them.
Abigail cut loose with an ear-piercing scream that could be heard clear to the next island, and covered the ten feet or so that separated them in one superhuman leap. Before David could react, she was astraddle him, purse, yapping dog and all, her legs clamped around his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck in a choke hold. She was shaking so hard, her bones were rattling like castanets.
"Snake! Snake! Oh, help, help! Do something!" she blubbered.
"Abbey... for God's... sake, let go!" He coughed and choked, clawing at her locked arms.
Between her own babbling, Chelsea's incessant barking and the mindless terror that had her in its grip, she didn't hear a word he said. The more he tried to pry her loose, the more she tightened her hold.
Tiny dots were beginning to appear before David's eyes. Just when he was beginning to think she was going to choke Mm to death, Chelsea jumped to the ground, snarling and barking, and attacked the snake.
The next instant David was free. Bending over, he braced his hands on his thighs and sucked deep draughts of blessed air into his lungs while Abigail hopped around shrieking like a banshee. "Chelsea, stop that! Oh, David, do something!"
"Wh ...what?" he choked.
"Kill it! Kill it!"
"You want me to kill that snake? Jeez! Woman, are you nuts? That thing is eight feet long!"
"Well, do something!"
The reptile, which had been slithering away into the underbrush, changed directions and curled back toward its attacker.
Abigail let loose with another ear-piercing scream.
Cursing, David grabbed her hand, snatched up the snarling dog and ran.
By the tune they stopped, they had put a good half mile between themselves and the snake.
"PI... please. I ha... ha... ave to re... re... rest," Abigail gasped.
"All.. .right," David agreed, struggling to control his own labored breathing. "But only for... a few minutes."
Dropping to the ground, he leaned back against a tree and draped his wrist across his upraised knee. He watched in silent amusement as Abigail checked around the base of a small boulder, before gingerly settling onto it.
His gaze turned sour as it settled on Chelsea, who was still snarling in leftover fury.
Nutsy dog. Acted like she thought she was a German shepherd or something. That snake could've swallowed her whole.
Abigail pulled a package of cheese and crackers and a bag of raisins from her purse.
David shook his head. "God, you've got everything but the kitchen sink in that thing. It's a wonder you don't have a permanent list to one side from carrying it around."
"They're all useful items. It never hurts to be prepared, you know." She glanced up from peeling open the cellophane wrapper on the crackers and caught him eyeing the snack. "Would you like some?"
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."
The lie was hardly out of his mouth when his stomach growled. Without a word, Abigail dug another bag of raisins from her purse and handed it to him, along with half her crackers. Then she spoiled the gesture by adding, "Of course, if you had let me make sandwiches to bring along, as I had wanted to, we wouldn't have to make do with crackers and raisins. Neither of us had any lunch, after all."
"I'm in a hurry. I don't relish the thought of trying to find my way to San Cristobal in the dark. As it is, we have only an hour or so of daylight left to make it."
It was a bold-faced lie. He had an excellent sense of direction and the skills to find his way out of a maze in pitch-blackness. When he had hustled her off the Freewind, he'd had one thought in mind: clearing up this situation as fast as possible so he could get one Miss Abigail Stewart out of his life. Hopefully, before he did something foolish.
Chomping a cracker, David glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and a reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. She did look a sight. He hadn't given her time to braid her hair, so she had twisted it up and pinned it on top of her head to keep it dry during the swim. In the past couple of hours the thick coil had loosened and now it sat askew over one ear. Low branches and brambles had snagged long tendrils free, and they straggled around her face and shoulders. In those clothes, with leaves and debris clinging to her wild hair and her face streaked with mud, she was a comic sight.
So why, he wondered, did he still have this itch?
Blast the woman, she appealed to him! Though damned if he knew why. He tipped up the bag of raisins and chewed as though he were pulverizing rocks with his teeth.
Well.. .actually, she wasn't so bad. A bit repressed and starchy, maybe, but from what he'd gathered about that aunt of hers, that was understandable. And he had to admit, when she wasn't making him so mad he wanted to strangle her, he thought it was kind of cute the way she stood up to him, all huffy and indignant. Especially when he could see in her eyes that she was scared spitless.
And he had to admire the way she'd kept her head and eluded those two goons. She was soft and vulnerable, but there was an intelligent, gutsy lady beneath that prim and proper exterior.
His mouth twitched again as he recalled how flustered she'd gotten when she'd seen his purple underwear. Erin, his irrepressible, thoroughly maddening sister, had given him a whole box of racy skivvies for his birthday as a joke, X-rated briefs in every color and style, including flesh-colored mesh, a leopard-print jersey and a passion red, French silk G-string. Shoot, if she thought the purple knits were shocking, she'd faint dead away if she got a look at the ones he had on now.
"What are we going to do when we reach San Cristobal?" Abigail asked, breaking in on his amused thoughts.
"We'll head for Pepe's. From there I can call my cousin, Travis McCall. He's still with the FBI," he said, giving her a pointed look. "I'll get him to check out this Patrice Johnson woman you sat next to on the plane. One of Pepe's boys can get the part I need while you and I pay a visit to your hotel."
He thought she blanched a little at that, but he couldn't tell in the shadowy light.
"Do, uh—" She stopped and cleared her throat. "Do you think we'll find whatever it is those men were looking for?"
"Not really. They've had plenty of time to search your things. If it was there, they've found it by now." He shrugged. "But it's a place to start. Anyway, there's always the chance they overlooked something."
"And if we don't find anything? What then?"
"We'll pick up the part I need at Pepe's and borrow his skiff to get back to the cove. When I get my boat fixed, we'll go to my twin sisters' summer place over on Rincon Island while we're waiting on Travis to find out what he can."
''You have sisters?''
The question was asked with such artless astonishment that David took immediate offence.
"Yes, I have sisters," he returned in an affronted tone. "A mother and a father, too. What did you think? That I crawled out from under a rock somewhere?"
"No, of course not. It's just that...well...you seem like such a loner that I just never thought of you as having a family. That's all."
David wasn't mollified. He rolled to his feet in one smooth motion, his face set. "C'mon. We've wasted enough time."
"Wait a minute." Abigail dug two small sealed packets from the bowels of her purse and handed one to him. Frowning, he turned it over in his palm
as she unwrapped hers.
"What's this?"
"A moist towelette to wipe your hands with," she said, suiting actions to words.
"Aw, for... We're in the middle of the woods, Legs. Not at a church social." He stalked off down the narrow trail, disgust evident in every line of his body. "Heaven spare me from neurotic women!''
"I am not neurotic!" Abigail scrambled to her feet, scooped up Chelsea and hurried after him. "And for goodness' sake, will you please stop calling me by that ridiculous name!"
"Quit your bellyaching. I can think of worse things to call you."
"And you," she returned in her snippiest voice. "Like mannerless oaf. Or how about boorish brute? Ruffian? Hooligan?" Issuing deliberate insults was as foreign to her nature and upbringing as perfume was to a pig. Aunt Harriet would be appalled. But it felt good, Abigail discovered.
"Listen, Legs,if you..."
Like a couple of children, they squabbled every step of the way to San Cristobal. By the time they reached Pepe's Cantina, Abigail, had decided that she detested David Blaine. Just when they were finally having a halfway civil conversation, he had to go and spoil it. The clod.
They arrived under the cover of full darkness and slipped inside the cantina as inconspicuously as possible, considering that Abigail looked as though she'd been jerked through a knothole backward.
Standing in the shadows beside the door, she slanted a resentful look at David as he checked out the room. They had just trekked miles through a mountainous forest. Her hair was tangled and sticking out every which way, she had blisters on both feet, and mud and no telling what else between her toes. The clothes she was wearing, which at the best of times made her look like a clown-school reject, were stained and dirty, the shirt ripped. Her back ached, her legs ached, her feet ached—even her shoulders ached from toting her purse and Chelsea. And yet he looked no worse for wear than if he'd been out for a refreshing stroll. It wasn't fair.
"It looks safe. I don't see anyone but the regulars," the object of her ire murmured. "C'mon."
"Senor Blaine! Senorita Stewart!" Pepe's face registered profound shock and relief at the sight of them. Hearing him, Constanza came bustling out of the kitchen chattering away in excited Spanish as he rounded the bar and greeted David with a hearty clap on the back. "Dios mio, mi amigo, it is good to see you! Both of you! We heard about what happened. My cousin, Raphael, he was bringing his fishing boat in to the pier when the men, they grabbed the Senorita. He saw the whole thing."