Once in a Lifetime

by Ginna Gray

  "Hide, Chelsea. Hide," Abigail whispered, and the dog darted out of sight into the shadows.

  This time the American was alone. He sauntered down the steps with a cocky grin. "Ivor and Vladimir were worried that you might try to escape, so I volunteered to stand guard. Not that I think you could get free." Sprawling out in a threadbare upholstered chair, he propped his feet on a trunk. He glanced at Abigail and fixed David with a goading look. "I just thought it best to keep Ivor away from Miss Stewart. For now."

  Behind the post, David's hands balled into fists. Rage boiled inside him. He had an almost overpowering urge to go for the guy's throat, but he restrained himself—barely— and met the taunting look with a hard stare that revealed nothing.

  "In the meantime, while we're waiting for Sergio, I'm going to grab a little snooze." Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back against the tattered cushion and closed his eyes.

  David forced himself to wait. He marked time as he flexed his hands and searched the basement for something to use as a weapon. One minute. Two. Three.

  At the end of the fourth he sprang. Like an uncoiling spring he bounded to his feet. The guard awoke with a start, but before he could move, David snatched up a broken ax handle and smashed it down on the man's head. With a groan, he collapsed and slid from the chair into a limp heap on the floor.

  "Oh, David, you did it! You got him!" Abigail crowed as he lifted the man's gun and hurried over to cut her loose.

  He pressed a swift kiss on her lips. "Don't get too excited yet, sweetheart. We've still got to get by those gorillas upstairs." The man on the floor moaned, and David cursed. "But first it looks like we're going to have to tie and gag our friend here. I don't suppose you'd have any cord in that purse of yours? The ropes they used on us aren't long enough, now that I've cut them."

  Abigail dug through her purse and pulled out a silk scarf. "Will this do?"

  "As a gag, but I still need something to bind his hands."

  A quick search of the basement turned up nothing usable. When the man began to stir, David picked up the ax handle to deal him another blow.

  "Wait! I've got an idea. Pull him over to that post. Hurry, before he wakes up." David complied while Abigail rummaged through her purse again. When she pulled out a small tube and held it up, he scowled.

  "What's that?"

  "Krazy Glue. It bonds anything together instantly. Here, help me sit him up so that he's straddling the post."

  David was skeptical, but he did as she asked. He expected her to glue the man's clothing to the post or the floor, but Abigail looped the unconscious man's arms around the post, squeezed a squiggle of glue onto each of his palms and slapped them together.

  "There. He won't be going anywhere anytime soon." Standing, Abigail dropped the tube back into her purse and dusted off her palms in an age-old gesture of triumph.

  David stared at the unconscious man, looked at Abigail's audacious grin and shook his head. This was the meek little female who had stowed away on his boat just a few days ago? The same one who had called him a hooligan?

  Slowly his grin grew to match hers. "Sweetheart, you're some kind of woman. And I take back everything I ever said about that purse of yours. About the mutt, too."

  He gave her a hard kiss, and With his hand still cupping her nape, he looked into her eyes. "We're going to have to deal with those two goons up there, too, you know. I'm too big to get through that window. Are you up to it?"

  Abigail lifted her chin. "Lead on, McDuff."

  "That's my girl."

  With Chelsea once more riding in Abigail's purse, they crept up the stairs, David in the lead, the gun held ready at his shoulder. On the landing he looked at Abigail and mouthed, "Ready?'' She drew a deep breath and gave a determined nod, and David eased the door open a crack.

  The two men were sitting at the kitchen table, eating. One had his back to them. The other, the brute named Ivor, sat facing in their direction but he was too busy shoveling food into his face to notice anything amiss.

  David squeezed Abigail's hand and flung the door open so hard it crashed against the wall. The two at the table jumped up, toppling their chairs as David stepped into the kitchen.

  "Freeze! Or I'll blow your heads off!"

  He stood crouched, the gun held straight out in front of him in a two-fisted grip. "Now, put your guns on the table— slow and easy. Good. Good. Now step back against the wall. And keep those hands up! Abbey, get the guns and bring them here."

  Abigail did as he instructed, though she picked the automatics up by the grips with two fingers. David stuffed them both into the waistband of his jeans.

  "Okay, you two, move it." He waved the barrel of the gun he was holding toward the basement door and stepped aside to let them pass.

  Abigail backed toward the door to the outside. "What are you going to do with them?"

  "Lock them in the basement, which is a lot less than they were going to do to us."

  Something flashed in Ivor's eyes that sent alarm streaking through David an instant before Abigail shrieked. He whirled, .and found himself facing the business end of a Russian-made 9 mm Makarov PM.

  "Don't move, Mr. Blaine." The man with the gun had caught Abigail from behind in a choke hold, and his brawny forearm was pressed across her windpipe.

  "Sergio, I presume," David said with a wry grimace.

  "Correct." Chelsea was going crazy, barking and growling and trying to get at the man, but he ignored her as though she were no more than a bothersome gnat.

  "Now, drop the gun."

  David hesitated, and Sergio tightened his hold on Abbey's neck. She made a choking sound, and Chelsea's barks grew hysterical. "Do it, Blaine. Now!"

  Looking into her frightened eyes, David gritted his teeth and did as he was told. As Ivor grabbed the guns from his waistband David saw Abigail slip her hand inside her purse. He tensed, and Abigail didn't disappoint him.

  In a flash she whipped out a small canister and sprayed it over her shoulder, straight into Sergio's face.

  The man screamed. The Makarov clattered against the floor. Abigail made a dive for the stove and snatched up an iron skillet. The other two Russians scrambled for their guns, but before they could get them, David shoved the table into Ivor's groin, then whirled around and drove his shoulder into Vladimir's middle.

  Both men recovered quickly, and a free-for-all ensued. David ducked, butted, gouged, kicked and threw punches, while Abigail waded through the melee swinging the skillet with both hands. Chelsea jumped from her perch in Abigail's purse and raced around the kitchen barking and biting ankles. Sergio lay on the floor writing in agony and screaming something obscene in Russian.

  Abigail got lucky with one of her wild swings and conked Vladimir in the head. The skillet gave a satisfying boing, and the Russian went down like a poleaxed steer.

  David doubled Ivor over with a two-handed blow to his midsection and finished him off with a downward chop on the back of his thick neck.

  "C'mon, Legs, let's get out of here!" Whirling, he grabbed Abigail's hand, scooped up Chelsea on the run and they bolted out the door like rabbits out of a chute.

  Heedless of the possible hazards, they tore down the dark road going flat out, arms and legs pumping. David's long stride ate up the ground, and he towed Abigail along with him, her sandaled feet touching earth just now and then. Mercifully the road was downhill all the way to the stand of trees where Pepe's truck was hidden.

  They were almost there when behind them they heard the sound of an engine starting. "Uh-oh, here they come," David gasped.

  Abigail moaned.

  When they reached the truck, David tossed Abigail into the cab like a sack of grain and raced around and slid under the wheel before she had time to recover. By some miracle, the old rattletrap started on the first try. The engine roared and tires spun as David stomped on the gas. They shot forward, bumped out onto the road, made a fishtailing turn back in the direction of town and took off as though they we
re rocket powered. Abigail had no idea the old truck could even go that fast. She doubted that Pepe did either.

  Seconds later a pair of headlights appeared behind them, bearing down fast.

  "Hold on, sweetheart," David yelled over the roar of the engine as the truck slewed around a turn.

  The admonition was wasted on Abigail. She held on for dear life, clutching the armrest with one hand and the edge of the seat with the other. Every time they hit a bump or chug hole, she bounced up and hit her head on the roof.

  The headlights of the sedan were getting closer. Abigail gripped the seat tighter and wondered if they were about to be run off the mountain road.

  She heard a distant "crack," and David swore.

  "Get down, Abbey! They're shooting!"

  "What!" In a reflexive action, Abigail darted a look over her shoulder through the rear window, just in time to see a streak of fire spit out of the sedan window. Something thunked against the truck, and she screamed and made a dive for the floor. Bullets struck the old truck in rapid succession, like a string of dull firecrackers going off. With each metallic thunk Abigail jumped and squeaked.

  "Damn! They hit a tire!" David shouted as the truck careened out of control. They spun around and skidded off the road, and for a terrifying moment Abigail was certain they were going to turn over. David fought the steering wheel, and somehow managed to bring them to a halt. Before the truck had come to a complete stop, he grabbed Abigail's arm and hauled her out. "C'mon! Run!" he shouted, and made a dash for the woods as the sedan screeched to a halt behind them.

  The Russians poured out of the car, firing. All around them bullets thudded into the earth and kicked up dirt. As they entered the mountain forest, a chip of wood flew off a tree to Abigail's left.

  Among the trees Abigail couldn't see a thing, but David didn't slow the pace. His long strides and frantic speed made no concessions to the uneven ground beneath their feet or to the darkness that could have hidden obstacles in the path, not to mention any number of unpleasant things, such as snakes and predators. Abigail didn't complain because she could hear their pursuers thrashing after them.

  Suddenly David stopped, and she slammed into his back. "Here. Crawl under there," he murmured, pushing her down among a clump of waist-high fern.

  Abigail scrambled deep into the fronds until she came up against a tree, and David wriggled in right behind her. They lay side by side on their bellies, his arm around her shoulders, and listened as the others thrashed through the underbrush. "Don't move, no matter how close they come," David whispered in her ear. "and for God's sake, kept that dog quiet."

  Abigail gave Chelsea a command, and for good measure, she clamped her hand around the dog's snout.

  The rustling noises came closer. Abigail's heart beat so hard it almost suffocated her. Two men stopped to listen, then they conferred in low voices. Abigail didn't move. She didn't so much as blink. The thick fronds and the darkness gave them no visibility, but from the sounds Abigail was certain if she stretched out her hand she would touch them.

  A rustle sounded among the ferns. Abigail caught her breath, remembering the snake they had encountered in these woods two days before. Something brushed against her bare arm—something slithery and cold. She bit down hard on her tongue to hold in a silent scream and shuddered from head to toe.

  The men moved on, and still they waited. Abigail wanted desperately to stand up and get out of the dense fern, away from the creepy crawly things that lived on the dark forest floor. She was so tense, every muscle in her body quivered. They waited for what seemed like forever after all sound of the men had died away.

  Finally David gave her arm a squeeze and murmured, "C'mon. I think we can chance it now."

  Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Abigail scrambled out of the clump of fern and stood up. Shuddering, she brushed at her clothes and her hair and rubbed her forearms. It was then she noticed that David wasn't with her.

  She started to call out to him just as he emerged from the ferns and stood up. "What took you so—"

  He flinched as she took his arm, and Abigail sucked in her breath as her fingers encountered something wet and sticky.

  "David! Oh, my stars! You've been shot!"

  Chapter Twelve

  "Take it easy, sweetheart. It's nothing serious."

  "Nothing serious! How can you say that? You've been shot! Oh, God, there's blood all over your arm!"

  "C'mon, Legs, calm down. If I were badly hurt, would I be standing here arguing with you? Hell, no. I'd be passed out or dead by now."

  Abigail sucked in her breath. Instead of calming her, his words made her more frantic. "Oh, my stars! You lay on that filthy ground, bleeding all that time. You're still bleeding!" She began to paw through her purse. "God alone knows what kind of germs you picked up. If you don't expire from loss of blood you'll probably die from an infection. And did you say a word to me about it? Oh, no. Not one. Just lay there like a stump. Of all the stupid, macho things to do."

  "Hey, c'mon, Abbey. Gimme a break, here. For one thing, I didn't have a chance to tell you. And even if I had, what would've been the point? You would only have worried, and there was nothing you could've done about it."

  "I have a first-aid kit in my purse. I could have at least stopped the bleeding," she shot back, "which I'm going to do right now."

  She pulled something from her purse, and before David realized what she was about, a small beam of light pierced the darkness.

  "Holy—" He snatched the penlight out of her hand, covering the bulb end with his palm, and snapped it off. "Dammit, Abbey! Why don't you just send up a flare so Sergio and his buddies can find us?"

  "It's just a penlight, for heaven's sake."

  "In this darkness any kind of light can be spotted easily."

  "But I have to see your wound to doctor it."

  "Forget that. Just slap a pressure bandage on it and let's get the hell out of here. Sergio and his pals haven't given up. You can bet on it."

  Abigail protested, but David bowed his neck obstinately and told her it was that or nothing. Feeling her way through the task, Abigail applied a thick gauze pad to the wound and anchored it with a wide strip of adhesive, fuming all the while about how quickly the loving man of the past twenty-four hours had reverted to the stubborn, bad-tempered beast she'd met four days before.

  "Where are we going?" she asked when they plunged deeper into the forest.

  "Back to the Freewind."

  "You can't be serious. At night? Over this mountain? We'll never find our way."

  "Don't worry. I'll find it. Besides, we have no choice, we've got to get off this island. At first light those goons are going to be on our trail."

  "But, David, you've lost a lot of blood, and—"

  "I can make it, Abbey. Don't worry."

  He might as well have told the stars to disappear. Abbey worried every step of the way. Despite David's claim, she knew he was feeling less than chipper. He forged on, but there was a telling drag to his steps, and his labored breathing betrayed the effort it cost him to keep moving. Though she couldn't see in the darkness, Abigail was certain he was pale.

  They hiked for hours, straight through the night. For all Abigail knew, they could have been going in a circle. She didn't know how anyone could tell north from south in the inky darkness. But then her sense of direction was shaky under the best of conditions. David, however, seemed confident they were headed the right way and that was good enough for her.

  Chelsea, who had gotten bored with the strange nighttime hike through the woods, curled up in the purse pocket and slept while the two adults trudged on.

  Much to Abigail's concern, David's stamina dwindled as the night wore on. Her anxiety tripled when, after several hours, he draped his arm over her shoulder and leaned on her for support.

  "David, we have to stop," she pleaded. "You can't go on like this."

  "I'm fine. Just a little woozy, is all. We'll be there soon, and I can rest t
hen."

  Soon turned out to be another hour. They stumbled onto the small beach just before dawn, exhausted and gasping, and collapsed on the sand. Only after they had rested a few minutes did a horrible thought occur to Abigail.

  "Oh my stars. How are we going to get to the boat? The skiff is in San Cristobal, and the life preservers are on the Freewind."

  "We'll swim."

  "Oh, sure. You know I can't swim that far, and your arm is so stiff you'd never make it, even supposing you had the strength. Which you don't."

  That earned her a dark look. "You know, for such a retiring female you're sure becoming mouthy all of a sudden."

  Abigail sniffed. "It's the company I've been keeping."

  David grunted, but she noticed he did not deny the charge.

  He looked around the beach and pointed to a big piece of driftwood. "We'll use that as a flotation device."

  With Chelsea, Abigail's purse and their clothes riding on top, they held on to the chunk of wood and paddled out across the starlit cove to where the Freewind lay anchored.

  They pulled themselves up on the deck and collapsed, winded and wrung out. With supreme indifference to their condition, Chelsea took her toy puppy from Abigail's purse, stepped daintily around the puddles of water forming around their prone bodies and disappeared below deck.

  "We made it," Abigail gasped. "Oh, David, we made it."

  "Damn right."

  Rolling onto her back, Abigail gave a tired laugh, then suddenly pumped her arms and legs straight up in the air and let out a victorious whoop. "Wahoo! By golly, we showed them! The good guys win again! That'll teach them to mess with us!"

  David made a face. "Don't get too cocky, Legs," he said dryly. "We won a skirmish, not the war. And we barely got out with our hides, don't forget."

  She rolled over, coming down half on top of him, and planted smacking kisses over his face and neck and chest. "But we won! And we'll do it again!"

  Grasping her shoulders, he held her away, and studied her face, a look of surprise dawning on his. "You're actually beginning to enjoy this, aren't you?"

  "Well... I wouldn't say 'enjoy' exactly, but... Oh, David! I feel so... so alive! I guess this brush with danger has made me appreciate life more, has made me realize that there is more to living than playing it safe. There are all kinds of things out there to experience—good and bad. And the bad just makes you appreciate the good that much more." She cocked her head to one side. "Am I making any sense?"