Love Under Fire

by Frances Housden

  “I see it!” Jo yelled, quivering with excitement. While they’d done a good job of signposting their final destination, neither of them had taken into account the size of her jacket in comparison to the huge bush-covered cliffs.

  Joining him beside the wheel, she looked round his bulk to see the charts. “Are we safe to anchor there? No reefs or shoals?” She hoped Rowan was more capable than her at reading the data on the screen. Computerized charts, GPS and sonar arrays which sketched a side-on view of the seabed, above a patchwork of colors mapping out the bottom, were all beyond her ken.

  “Everything looks fairly good. Although…” He caught her chin with a finger and thumb turning her head then pointing her in the right direction. “Look at those breaks in the bush where the yellow clay shows through, there could be some recent slips that aren’t marked on the chart. I think I’ll anchor out aways. It makes no difference. We’ll have to launch the RIB, Rigid Inflatable Boat, tender anyway.”

  She had no fear of running aground. Rowan worked at bringing them in with the same kind of competence he handled his car…handled her. Another bolt of heat flashed through her. It wasn’t easy to put her hormones to rest when the man who rattled them stood by her side.

  Time to put the brakes on her imagination before she got carried away with her own importance in the scheme of things.

  Rowan slowed the boat to five knots, then gradually put her astern until she stopped. The movement of the waves felt more noticeable now that they weren’t cutting through them.

  “We’re at ten meters here. The wind is quite light and from offshore. I’ll let out thirty extra meters of chain and we should be okay.” She watched him do everything from where he stood with just the chain counter and a push of a button. The anchors hit the water with a gentle splash as the noise of chain running through the winches broke the comparative silence on board without the big diesels vibrating through the hull.

  The sun shone. Both sea and sky were unbelievable shades of blue. Glowing on the steep slope, fifty different hues of green bush flowed down to the water’s edge. The weather should hold.

  With its bow turned into the wind, the boat drifted away from the shore until the anchors ploughed into the seabed. Far from towns and pollution, crystal clear water surrounded them and she could count every link in the silver chains. Somehow it felt like a homily of the past they shared. Coming out to this beautiful place made the connections easier to see.

  He touched her elbow. “How about a swim?”

  “You must be joking—it may look beautiful but that water is cold.” She pretended to shiver. “No, thanks. I’ll hold your towel, though.”

  Ten minutes later he dove off the boarding platform, punching a hole in the water with barely a splash. When she looked at him stripped of almost all his clothes, she barely noticed his scars. Last night she’d explored every inch of his sexy body. A person tended not to notice what they were familiar with. Now it seemed as much a part of him as his green-gold eyes.

  Watching him roll, turn and dive as lithe as a seal, Jo knew she could explain, but not condone the impulse, which had set the accident in motion. Never again, she vowed. She would rather she died than Rowan.

  He lasted five minutes in the cold water. Out of sight one second, the next he emerged from the blue depths and hoisted himself on board.

  The bottle-green briefs he wore clung to his hips, outlining his masculine shape. Water dripped from his body, turning the toffee streaks almost as dark as hers. His wet skin gleamed in the sunshine, the drops on his lashes sparkling like diamonds.

  Towel in hand, she rushed over as he shook himself like a dog, spraying her T-shirt with water. One squeal followed another. The towel landed on the deck unused while he proceeded to wipe off the excess moisture on the front of her T-shirt and jeans.

  “Cut it out! You’re soaking me.”

  She pushed at his chest and he leaned against her palms and bit her earlobe. “More,” he growled. “Touch me all over.”

  “Fool,” she whispered halfheartedly as his mouth slid along the side of her neck and her knees turned as liquid as the puddle they were standing in. “I hope you’re remembering I’m on duty.”

  Damp cotton knit delineated her breasts in waves of yellow-and-white stripes. Rowan ducked suddenly, leaving her with a view of the sodden curls. Her fingers forked through the wet strands and held on tight as his strong teeth latched on to her tender nipple, T-shirt and all. A moan of protest ripped out of her throat as he lifted his mouth away from her, taking her pleasure with him. Next moment, her T-shirt disappeared, landing at their feet, soaking up the puddle. Her bra swiftly followed.

  “You can’t…be on duty…if you’re naked,” he mumbled against her lips while his hands worked her zip.

  His skin felt as cool as hers was aflame, yet she reveled in the difference where it touched hers. “You’re right. Kiss me.”

  “Uh-uh. Not before I’ve shaved.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Later tonight.”

  “What am I supposed to do until then?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.” Before she realized what was happening, his arm slipped behind her knees then he knelt and laid her on the towel. One second later his briefs were gone and he moved over her, blotting out the sun.

  “And this is?”

  “Something.”

  “Well, I’ve got my stuff. What are you taking?”

  Rowan scrunched his eyes slightly and went through the list of his gear in order of importance. “I’ve got water, flashlight, machete, rope, camera and light sticks.”

  “Light sticks?”

  “Yeah. I found them in a locker along with some diving paraphernalia when I was searching for the rope.”

  “I meant, what are they for?”

  “Finding our way back in the dark. They’re low power but the glow should be enough to guide us in case we have to get out of there in a hurry.”

  He put his pack on the deck beside hers, which looked almost empty. “You haven’t got much there. No more than would fill your pockets,” he said, then taking a gander at her tight jeans, decided, maybe not. “What are you taking?”

  “My gun and a couple of pairs of cuffs.”

  “I see, only essentials. What about water, or do you expect to share mine?”

  Her teeth looked very white as her lips curled up at the corners, emphasizing her fabulous cheekbones and the sparkle in her eyes. “What’s up? Worried about swapping spit?”

  No doubt in his mind, Jo was referring to the swapping they’d done last night. He looked at her mouth, noting she’d painted her lips bright coral, a small feminine affectation that pleased him, considering her long-sleeved sweatshirt was a dull green meant to blend into the bush.

  “I’ve got a bottle of H2Go in the fridge. I want to put it in my pack at the last minute so it’ll keep cold.”

  “The last minute just arrived. Go get it while I launch the RIB.” By the time he reached the deck outside the pilothouse, she was pushing the bottled water in her pack. “Right, Jo. I’ll swing it over the side with the derrick and you catch the line before she hits the water.”

  The climb ahead of them wouldn’t be easy, and his pinned thighbone had been aching ever since he’d made love to Jo on the deck. Whoever said sexual arousal masks pain knew a thing or two. Served him right for being so bloody organized he’d slipped protection into the little inside pocket of his swim briefs. And thank God, it only held one. They’d had to go back to the comfort of the cabin for the second round.

  Even then he’d had to hold his lust in check. Lust?

  So he was fooling himself, who better? The little voice at the back of his mind kept reminding him, he’d maybe only one more night with Jo. The danger wasn’t over, he knew that, but he’d tempered foolish disregard of the truth by pretending it was him who’d walk away.

  If all went well on their little jaunt, they’d end up with photos identifying their suspect
s. After that, it was her task to link those weirdos to the notes. He hadn’t mentioned it to Jo, hadn’t wanted to dampen her enthusiasm, but film filled with shots of goats’ heads and masks wasn’t going to further her case.

  If that happened he could see his plans for the night hours foiled by hours of tracking satanists through the bush.

  The RIB bumped against the hull. “You got the line, Jo?”

  “Affirmative.”

  The tender hit the water and he leaned over the rail to check if she was coping with the line. He’d had one cold swim today and another one wasn’t high on his to-do list, although the earlier one had served its purpose.

  Jo was tying the line off on the rail. She twisted her head, glancing up at him with her eyes full of mischief. “You checking up on me? I said, affirmative. In case you didn’t know that’s cop speak for yes.”

  At the top of the slope Rowan put away the machete, then wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his glove. Jo was about a minute behind him, almost on all fours, her fingers grappling one root while her toes found leverage on another.

  He undid the rope from his belt and tied it round the rough bark of a totara. The tree was sturdy enough to take both their weight on the way down. He heard Jo puffing behind him as he tugged on the knot to test it. Turning around he hunkered down and held a hand out to her, twisting the rope round the other.

  They gripped each other, wrist to wrist, both grunting from exertion as he hauled her the last few feet.

  She flung herself onto the ground face down. “Whose bright idea was this?”

  “Dare I say, yours?” Rowan peeled off his gloves, clumped them together in his fist and tapped them on her behind. “But you don’t hear me complaining. And whose brilliant idea was it to go back for the gloves?”

  He’d remembered just before they’d taken off and he’d gone back to get them from the locker where the rope had been stashed.

  Struggling up on to her knees, she moaned, “So, I forgot. And you didn’t. That only counts as half a brownie point. Though, I’ll give you one more if you pull me to my feet.”

  When she finally stood beside him, Rowan pulled her in close to his chest and they just stood, hugging each other. Finally she sighed and lifted her chin so her mouth hovered just below his. “How’s the leg holding out?”

  His hands tightened on her momentarily. He couldn’t help it. “Great. Couldn’t be better,” he lied.

  Jo pinched him just above the waist.

  “Ow!” he yelped. “What was that in aid of?”

  “I’m just showing what you get if you don’t tell the truth. There’s no need to act all macho with me. The slope nearly killed me and it must have put a lot of pressure on your quads. If you want to sit down a little while and get your breath back it’s okay by me.”

  She couldn’t kid a kidder. He knew her game. Her breasts grazed his chest every time she squeezed out a gust of air and her pulse beat hard and fast under his palm. “No problems here, peaches. I’m ready to go whenever you are. In about an hour the sun will be dipping down behind the trees and, look over there, the moon’s coming up! Hopefully we’ll be in position before they arrive.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Do a few stretches, they’ll make you feel better.” Releasing her, he got down on one knee and wiped his machete on a clump of grass. At least their descent would be easier.

  As he came up again, he watched Jo take his advice, and it worked better than he’d imagined, especially from his viewpoint.

  A smile creased his face as he slid the blade into the sheath on his belt, then took a light stick out of his pack. Cracking the contents, he hooked it over the rope close to the knot. By daylight its candlepower didn’t amount to much, but come nightfall it would be enough to light them home.

  They found themselves a good spot to lie in wait, hidden by a tree fern still young enough for its fronds to sweep the ground. It was like looking through Mother Nature’s veil, but once it was truly dark, instead of this thick green gloom, they should be able to pull it aside and get a good view of the circle.

  Jo curled her toes inside her boots to keep her circulation going, hoping she wouldn’t cramp up by lying so long in one position. She refused to even consider there might be bugs around. No way. Once her mind went down that track she’d start to fidget. She could just picture herself, racing around the circle, flapping at her shirt where a creepy crawly had taken up residence, right in the middle of some fiendish ceremony.

  Now that would be funny. Funnier than a lot of the other scenarios she’d imagined happening tonight.

  The whole place still spooked her, though. A breeze she’d thought nonexistent, danced through the trees on ghostly tiptoes. Branches whispered and clacked, and every little noise, characteristic of the bush or not, made the back of her neck prickle. It would be worse once night finally fell. Sounds seemed to magnify when you were blind to their source.

  Her biggest problem, real or illusory, once she’d shoved her other fears to the back of her mind, was that she was left with the awareness of the heat emanating from Rowan’s body. He lay alongside her, touching, burning, at shoulder, elbow and hip. They’d blamed the madness that came over them on their last visit to the circle on a mix of heightened senses spiced with vivid imagination. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  If someone could can the air pervading the place, they could make a fortune selling it as an aphrodisiac. She felt it creeping stealthily toward them, seeping out of the ring of trees on long green fingers that teased and prodded. Her breasts grew tight and heavy and she ached to be touched.

  Just as she prayed she could get out of their hiding place without ripping Rowan’s clothes off, giving their position away, his hand clasped her wrist. “Listen. Someone’s coming.”

  Three figures cloaked and hooded in white entered the clearing. “I thought they’d wear black,” she whispered.

  “Hush.” His hand let go her wrist, and his finger pointed in the air, level with their mouths.

  Jo’s nails dug into the leaf mulch they were lying in, realizing these could be the very people who had threatened her and Rocky. They’d made her puddle around in blood-soaked mud, and nearly trapped them in a burning house, not to mention forcing her to handle a roasted heart. After what they’d done, she would see they paid.

  She stifled a gasp as Rowan’s fingers bit into her arm. At ground level the rest of the man was invisible, but the skirt of his white robe grazed the fronds hiding them, and set the green veil shivering. Her heart pounded in her throat at the near miss. And it wasn’t over. The figure reached for a branch, probably the one Rowan threw away to stop her completing the pentagram.

  Two others dodged in and out of the circle, as well, collecting wood until they’d built a small pyre inside the ring of stones.

  Each time they came near, she tensed. It wasn’t that she was afraid, simply wary of being discovered. Recovering from one close shave, she noticed a supplicant skirting the rim of the stones with a box in her hand. Fire lighters, Jo recognized the brand, Little Lucifers. Tension fractured a bubble of near hysterical laughter she almost choked holding in, then Rowan gripped the back of her neck, planting her mouth over his. He tasted warm and human and the brush of his moustache was infinitely more real than the play being enacted in front of them.

  Laughter no longer troubled her breathing by the time he let go. Instead she was glad of the darkness inside their hidden bower. Even the smell of leaf mold and rich humus, couldn’t diminish her emotions as she reached out to touch his cheek. Not for the first time, asking herself, how could she have been so blind to his attractions?

  More people began to join the gatherers. Some in white robes, some in gray. At one side, where the path they’d taken on their first visit ended, a few of the cult members moved in and out in an urgent, almost fussy manner, whispering to the apparent leader, then gliding away, robes skimming the ground.

  After her lurid experience with the bull c
alf, Jo’s mind pounced on the word sacrifice. Who, or what, were they preparing out there? Dear Lord, she prayed it would be animal, not human.

  A goat maybe…she could stand a goat.

  Dark as it was they couldn’t fail to notice the ceremonial knife. An athame. Rowan nudged her arm. She started to nod, realized it was redundant since he couldn’t see, and squeezed his hand instead.

  In much the same way Jo had used the stick, the knife cut a pentagram into the earth in a continuous line from stone to stone to stone. Jo figured this guy for high priest.

  Once it was done five hooded figures stationed themselves at the points, heads bowed, waiting. It didn’t take long to discover who they were waiting for as two women were brought in from behind the trees. They weren’t even fighting it. No struggling, nothing. Drugged…they had to be drugged or hypnotized. She’d gladly have swapped their composure for a bleating goat or a few blood-curdling yells.

  Damn. Why couldn’t it have been a goat?

  Flames licked at the seat of the pyre, though not enough to light the circle. Jo caught back a scream as they knelt at the penultimate point and the leader raised the knife high.

  Oh, God. They weren’t wasting any time. Jo’s hand swung behind to grasp the gun nestling against the small of her back. She had the bastard in her sights and the sound of Rowan’s camera in her ears as the knife sliced through the air when the high priest threw his head back as if in exultation. And as a result of this fervent movement his hood and hair tumbled free.

  Whoa! Jo did a quick reality check. Her hair.

  A woman! Even in the dark she could make that out.

  Gesticulating toward each corner in turn with the athame, she recited an incantation Jo couldn’t make head nor tail of. Latin spelled backwards, she’d say at a guess. She should have done more research and not let her inborn dread of the whole black-magic business put her off.

  The urge to make a gagging gesture to Rowan, tingled through the hands she’d wrapped around her Glock, as the hammy theatricals continued.