Fatal Intent

by Ryshia Kennie

  Ten minutes later, with the snake well behind them, Garrett stopped and glanced back at the group. Now that there was nothing to divert Ian’s attention, she could see that the panic had taken over again.

  “Ian.” He wouldn’t look at her. He plodded. His face was pale, his breath coming in small gasps, but at least the hysteria was gone.

  “Ian, take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay. Don’t think about Malcolm,” Garrett said softly.

  “I’ll be okay, I think,” he said, but his words were stilted.

  She squeezed his hand and held on. He’d been there for her through much of her life, his family living next door to hers. Her love of insects had fed his, and as children they had been inseparable. They had collected and studied insect specimens together, crawling through the imagined wilderness of their neighborhood, and ended up going to the same university for their undergraduate study in entomology. Ian’s knowledge of beetles was unsurpassed. But more important, like Sid, he was a loyal friend. If it meant holding his hand through the rest of the Borneo jungle, she’d do it.

  She marveled at where life had brought her. That she was finally here in the Borneo rain forest, and failed mission or not, she was leading the expedition. But now she was in way over her head, with a group of men who looked to her for answers. How had that happened? She knew how it happened. She knew herself better than most people, at least she liked to think so. She was focused, accepted who she was and what she wanted. And it was that and determination that had brought her here.

  She had planned this trip carefully. The entire study would be completed in a series of day trips. For the last two weeks, every night had been spent in a nearby village as they followed the course of the Rajang River by boat and on foot. It was an expedition tailored to city-bred scientists. Physically it had been relatively easy, until now. She would never have brought Ian for anything more arduous. He wouldn’t survive. His hysteria could get them all killed. She gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t let it.

  Chapter Five

  “Where do we go from here?” the slight man asked the woman. “Do you think that way?” He pointed.

  “Don’t be utterly ridiculous,” another man said as he emerged from the brush and into the small clearing. His Australian accent was full of disdain. “We go that way.” He pointed.

  “I believe you’re right,” the woman said.

  Aidan watched, surprised as the group turned and as a unit moved east, towing the carcass behind them, branches cracking in the wake of their heavy, city-mired steps.

  For the love of Mike! They were making more noise than a pipe band.

  “Stop!” His command was involuntary but he couldn’t stand it. They were inordinately incompetent and it was apparent that they needed help. From what he had seen so far they were innocents abroad.

  They hadn’t heard him. But who could hear anything over the noise their heavy boots and the stretcher were making? The forest was oddly silent. He didn’t like it. Some of what watched and waited knew far more than this idiotic group, and some of what watched and waited might be hungry. Smart and cunning, and waiting for an opportunity—an opportunity like this.

  The woman stopped and seemed to look right at him before turning her attention to the stretcher. “We’ve got to get a move on. We’ve got to get to Rumah Muleng by dark.”

  The village—unbelievable, they were nowhere near there. They’d never get to the village before dark, not the way they were going. They were too far away, unless they had a boat. He took another look at the group and shook his head. He glanced at the stretcher and again wondered what had happened to their guide.

  Aidan moved vines back, exposing his face. They only had to look in his direction.

  He was so close he could have reached out and touched her. She was delicate, out of place here in the midst of this wilderness. Her skin, even beneath the sweat and exertion-stained flush, was fair. She wasn’t built to be here, she was too slight to survive, too weak, too . . .

  She glanced up. A frown immediately seared her face.

  “Who the hell are you?” she snarled.

  He bit back a smile. She should have screamed. She hadn’t. All tiny limbs and fragile beauty, and yet she attacked first.

  He let his gaze rove over the group, refusing to be corralled by her attack.

  One of the men looked panicked, the others seriously stressed. He shifted his spear to his other hand and waited, taking the warrior advantage of time and observation. The silent often learned much about their enemy.

  “Put that down.” She gestured to his spear.

  His fingers loosened for a millisecond before gripping the spear tighter. Was she out of her mind? Green, innocent, and totally forest-illiterate, but she was feisty.

  Feisty? She was seething, hot, absolutely pissed—about what, he wasn’t sure. Her anger didn’t make much sense. Nothing about this afternoon made much sense.

  “I won’t be threatened. Put it down.”

  Her voice was rock hard, although he could hear the soft dulcet tones that would be pleasant at another time. What was he thinking? He didn’t know her. He stared silently back at her. Unfortunately, silence was not something she understood.

  “Speak English?” she asked in the slow precise diction that one saves for small children and the very elderly.

  He fought to unclench his teeth while still controlling the anger that was etching into what remained of his zen. He wanted to shake each one of them and send them on the next Otter out of here. “He’s dead,” he stated the obvious as he strode forward.

  “You’re swift. Can you help us?” The last part was softened slightly as she issued the request.

  “Why?” he retorted.

  “Why?” She drew herself up, tried to make herself taller, like the lizards that puffed to twice their body size. “Where did you come from?”

  Silently, he pointed in the direction of his longhouse.

  “You’re from a village?” Her voice took on a hopeful tone.

  “Yes.” Somehow it satisfied him to give her only guttural answers, to see the annoyance on her face. And the longhouse, well, it was a village of sorts. At least it was a community and the closest available before nightfall.

  “I see. Doctors?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Not for him.” She glanced at the pallet. “Him.” She pointed at the slight man who swayed just behind her. “He needs valium. A sedative. It’s been too much for him.”

  The men were silent. Apparently, these men were eunuchs of some sort. They would let anyone lead, he realized, as long as they didn’t have to take responsibility for themselves.

  “Is there a doctor?” she persisted.

  He nodded. Her aggression only made resistance and one-word answers that much more pleasurable. Oh, he wouldn’t leave them in the jungle. They were a threat to themselves and the inhabitants of the jungle, crashing around the way they were, but he sure wasn’t going to make their rescue easy. What would her reaction be when she met the doctor?

  “Let’s go.” She waved a hand as she directed the men around her. “Show us the way.” She focused her next dictate on Aidan. “I need to get them to safety. Whoever did this to him”—she gestured to the corpse—“might still be out there.”

  Aidan glanced at them. The men stood behind her waiting. One actually glared at him, but not one of them said anything.

  That confirmed it. These weren’t men. They were useless. The only one with a set of balls in this group was a woman. Interesting.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “He washed up on the riverbank, mate,” the Aussie sniped.

  “Dead,” the effeminate one choked.

  “Shot,” a third replied.

  He nodded and turned away. This was a criminal investigation. He considered the possibilities before ditching the idea of getting more involved than he already was. Mark could handle it.

  “What?” she broke into his thoughts, the edge still
in her voice. “Are you going to help us or what?” She frowned, hands on hips. “Can you help us get out of here and to a village? We can make Rumah Muleng if we can get a boat or plane.”

  “Not today.”

  “Why not?”

  He’d had enough. Here in the jungle conversation was not an art, only a means of communication, brief, efficient, with long periods of silence. He would not be talked to death. He started to walk. He knew they’d follow. What other choice did they have?

  “Wait.” There was an edge of panic in her voice.

  He kept walking.

  Behind him they crashed and thumped as they followed.

  “Sid, can’t you see the stretcher’s coming undone?” Her busy footsteps moved away from him, back to her group. He didn’t glance back, but from the scurrying and lack of male voices she’d obviously decided to go back and fix the makeshift stretcher herself.

  “Okay, let’s get going before we lose him.” The command carried loud and clear and he held back a shiver of pleasure and walked faster.

  There were many things he wished to demand of them. Why the body was headless, for one. Why they were in his jungle. He would ask them none of those things, not yet.

  “Hey.”

  She was beside him, brushing up against him. “Talk to me.”

  He pushed her away with a shrug of his shoulders and walked faster. Gorgeous or not, she was out of place. This was his home.

  She followed him.

  He kept walking.

  He led.

  She followed.

  She grabbed his arm.

  He shook her off and motioned with his spear. The gesture should have been enough to set her on her heels. It had stayed the deadliest of jungle inhabitants. It did not stay her.

  She swung in front of him. He had to stop or push her aside.

  “Follow me or stay here.” She had forced the words from him.

  “Why should I follow you? You haven’t told me where you’re going. How we can get out of here once we’re at your village?” She glared at him. “What’s the name of this village?”

  He didn’t meet her look.

  “It’s not a village, is it?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “We’re tired. Ian’s hysterical. Malcolm, well, what’s left of him . . .” She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes awash with tears that shimmered on eyelashes that swept long and dark against her fair skin. Skin that he wanted to reach out and touch. He clenched his free hand. She blinked heavily and looked beyond him.

  “Look, you. I don’t know who you are or where you’re going. Why should we follow you?”

  She was so close he could touch her.

  “Why?” She pushed her forefinger at his chest. He captured it and met her gaze, and he was caught. He was drowning in hot blue eyes, dreaming of sun-washed summer days, and longing to claim her lips and never let them go.

  “Let me go.”

  He grunted. This time his response wasn’t a ploy. He truly couldn’t say anything.

  “Let me go.” She enunciated the words slowly and yanked her finger.

  He surfaced, groggy. This never happened, not here, not anywhere. His life was planned, organized, and his love life . . . He swallowed. His love life lately had been sadly abysmal. Maybe that was his problem, he was woman-starved and now he had literally stumbled over one.

  “Sorry,” he muttered and immediately knew he had lost his edge.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To my longhouse. There’s food, shelter from the night.”

  “Your longhouse?”

  “Muleng is too far.” He glanced at the sun.

  “We wouldn’t make it before dark,” she finished.

  He nodded.

  She frowned, considering her options and obviously realizing she had none. She met his gaze and he wished she wouldn’t. He looked away.

  “Okay, great,” she amended. “Thanks.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her. She was trying to be gracious but really what choice did she have? The alternative was finding her own way out of the jungle. She knew that. She might have an edge but it was perfectly obvious that the woman was intelligent and a born leader. She led this group with an ease no one questioned and a femininity that remained unshaken despite her authority—like the women of his tribe. Mentally he shook himself and moved his thoughts forward to home, comfort, and safety. A peace and comfort he was about to destroy, at least for himself. For the rest of the tribe this would only be excitement in an otherwise mundane day.

  Chapter Six

  “What’s your name?” she demanded.

  He ignored her. He usually wasn’t that rude. But it was a tactic like any other. Make them more uncomfortable, make them squirm and involuntary information might be forthcoming.

  “Hey!”

  Her footsteps were rushed as she hurried to match his stride. The makeshift stretcher rustled and scraped through the underbrush. To his jungle-sensitive ears, the noise was an intrusion, an aberration, and all he wanted to do was strike back.

  “My name is irrelevant.”

  “Irrelevant,” she repeated.

  A faint aroma of something flowered and sweet drifted around him as she shouldered beside him. There was nothing delicate about her as she pushed her way to the forefront. She was forceful and aggressive in a masculine way. Yet everything about her was delicate, despite her efforts to the contrary. He knew she forced her edge, knew the effort it required. It was evident in the tenseness that surrounded her as strongly as the scent of flowers. She was feminine to her core and warrior to her soul. She was trouble.

  “Aren’t we the educated savage?”

  “Don’t make assumptions.”

  “Assumptions? Well, I’m sorry. I just wanted your name in exchange for my own. The civilized thing to do.”

  “Hmmph,” he shot through gritted teeth.

  “Well, that was profound, Mr. Irrelevant.”

  He pushed past her, the back-and-forth play-lead-follow becoming a game between them. He was power walking, stretching his own ability to break distance. He could hear her behind him and knew it was futile to push ahead of her. She was determined to talk to him and she’d do whatever it took to keep up. Apparently his name, his identity, had just become of utmost importance to her. He wouldn’t give it to her. Exchanging names was dangerous. It implied a relationship.

  There would be no relationship with these people. He would drop them at the longhouse and that was it. Mark would see them to Muleng as soon as possible, deal with the body, and then get them to Kuching and that would be it. Mark would love the challenge. He had been complaining that there was no crime in the jungle. That he’d like to practice his criminal investigation skills. Aidan sighed.

  His time in the rain forest was exactly the opposite, to escape crime and interrogations, to relax, to find peace. He pushed a hissing breath through his teeth. There would be no peace until he got rid of this group. But it was already apparent they couldn’t keep his quick pace. They were weak, the men especially, obviously city bred with no fortitude.

  “Could you slow down, please?” She touched his arm gently. Just a willow wisp of touch, but again her scent was overwhelming and seductive.

  “There’s not much time before dark,” he replied.

  “C’mon, guys, pick it up,” she bellowed.

  Her full, naturally red lips issued the order with the confidence of any mud-ugly drill sergeant. She was a dichotomy—that was for sure. A dichotomy he wanted no part of. He’d get them to the longhouse. Get Mark on the reporting and burial and slide back out to the jungle. His time here was limited; besides the brief flight he had planned tonight, the one he’d have to cancel, he didn’t have much time left here. He wasn’t going to waste any more time than necessary on this group.

  “Hey,” she shouted again, and the underbrush crackled and he knew she was running.

  “Now what?” He remained intent on the trail ahead.

 
“Could you just step it back a bit? Ian’s having a hard time and I don’t think our stretcher is going to hold together.”

  Her perfume was making him pay attention to things he had no right to notice. How she curved in all the right places, softly, subtly, nothing overblown, nothing too much or too little. How she’d fit perfectly beneath his arm, how . . .

  “How much longer?” she murmured, her voice for him alone, and that was almost more seduction than he could bear, especially with that damn perfume. Tantalizing, soft, sexy wafts with every breath. Why the hell was she wearing perfume?

  “You’re wearing perfume,” he gritted. Idiot, why had he said that?

  “Perfume? Don’t be utterly ridiculous!”

  Damn, could this get any worse? That alluring scent was natural and all her. He ached to pick up the pace and peel away from her, but without running that was impossible.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, desperate and curious.

  “We’re collecting insects for research.”

  “Entomologists.”

  “Yes.” She glanced at him with surprise and then looked at her watch. She shook her wrist. “It stopped.”

  “Four,” he bit out.

  “Pardon?” She glanced up at him.

  “It’s four o’clock.”

  “Oh. That late.” She bit her lip. “We’re really not going to make Muleng or the plane.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “It’s too late, isn’t it?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t really believed it the first time he had told her.

  He nodded. It wasn’t just a plane she wasn’t going to make, but he’d wait. This was a potential crime and an investigation that would begin long before they left the jungle. But there was no point adding fire to an already volatile situation. He breathed lightly, that didn’t help. The perfume, her scent, was more intimate than any caress. She was too close. He was too ready. For the second time in his life, he almost dropped his spear.

  The spear was valuable to him. His father had given it to him, the man who had raised him. Long after his mother had left her tribal lover, the man had still been a father to Aidan. Akan was the only father he had ever known. The only father he really wanted to know. His biological father had been only that, a brief forgotten interlude in his mother’s life.