by Liz D. Marx
Yes, that’s how she felt. She felt at ease with him―comfortable―despite only having known him for twenty-four hours.
The thought of camping had never amused her, especially without proper lodgings, kitchen, bed or toilet! And for a moment she almost volunteered to carry on driving the whole night long just to find a motel but, for some reason, Mason’s words and presence had comforted her, making her even look forward to the adventure. Her confidence in him was completely irrational, and so unlike her.
After dinner, they cleaned the knives together and put out the small fire in silence. A strange feeling overwhelmed her―as if they had done that before, which was yet another item to be added to the list of irrational reactions toward him.
Chloe shook her head. Had she gone completely crazy?
This whole trip had been something out of a fantasy book, not to mention how dangerous it was for her to entrust her life in the hands of a complete stranger. Fair enough, he was a very worship-worthy man, one whom she would be glad to suddenly find herself stranded with on a tropical island, but a stranger nonetheless.
“Damn it!” She really needed to pee. The prospect of “spending a penny” on a dark bush seemed as appealing as eating hot lava right now, but she was really bursting to go.
She crouched in front of the tent’s closed zipper. The night in the forest had surprisingly been very noisy, with the sounds of crickets, bats and little night crawlers going about their business. She paused and listened for bigger animals, the ones that could eat her head off for dinner in one strike.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Chloe,” she chided herself and picked up the flashlight Mason had given her, took a deep breath, and opened the zipper.
No bears or lions jumped at her.
Good.
Stepping out of the small tent, Chloe checked her surroundings with the help of the flashlight, but she barely needed it―the moon shone brightly in the clear and starry sky. She spotted Mason sleeping on the dirt floor a few steps away, between her tent and the car, with just a sleeping bag for warmth. Apparently the open space and hard ground didn’t bother him.
The lake was just a few yards down the dirt path. There was plenty of sand where she could just crouch down and do her business, but she would die of embarrassment if Mason woke up to find her with her pants down. So she took the opposite direction of the welcoming water and went to find her “toilet” in the bushes.
After walking for a few minutes, she spotted an average-height shrub.
“This one will have to do.”
She placed the flashlight strategically on the ground in the direction of their campsite. It would definitely give her a few precious seconds to compose herself should her tour guide decided to show up unexpected.
Right, this is it. No biggie, loads of people do it. In the bushes. In the middle of nowhere. With animals around that can crawl up her legs.
“Stop it! You can do this, Chloe,” she reassured herself.
She perused the area one last time, then took a deep encouraging breath and quickly pulled down her yoga pants and underwear and squatted behind the shrub. Jeez, she never thought that peeing could be so stressful.
Movement by a nearby tree caught her attention. She froze in place, half crouched, half naked, and totally panicking. Then the adrenaline kicked in. She pulled her pants back up and was ready to run for her life when a young bobcat stepped into the moonlight.
It was small and cuddly, just twice the size of her hand.
Chloe exhaled in relief.
“You scared me, little kitty,” she said, taking a few cautious steps towards it. It was so incredibly cute!
The puss sniffed the air and stared at her for a little while, the way animals do while deciding if they like you or not, before something caught its attention and it vanished back into the dark woods. Disappointed, she looked around and tried to find out what caused the loss of her little kitten.
Standing in the shadows, a massive mountain lion watched her from just ten feet away.
Oh, crap.
Real panic struck, freezing Chloe’s muscles. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, she just stood there staring at the impossibly large cat. Something in the back of her mind tugged at her, probably screamed at her to run, but her legs would not obey. This was it. She saw herself on the six o’clock news as the first headline. “Naïve woman goes on an impossible quest and gets eaten by a mountain lion.”
“Don’t move.”
Mason’s command came from somewhere behind her.
Oh my Gosh!
Her heart started beating again.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” she whispered back.
She didn’t even shift her gaze to see where Mason was―the mountain lion looked like it was salivating for a beefy metropolitan-flavored meal.
Damn, she should have lost those extra kilos before coming over here. It wouldn’t have saved her, but the joke would be on the lion, which would end up with just skin and bones for supper. Ha, take that Mr. King of the Mountain.
Chloe saw Mason’s large figure slowly come into her line of sight.
He took one step at a time. His stance was low―knees bent, feet set apart―ready for an attack. Gradually, he positioned himself between her and the beast, which did not like the change of affairs one bit. It lowered its head and roared at Mason. Enormous teeth reflected the moonlight.
“What are you doing?” Chloe whimpered. “Are you insane?”
“Step back,” Mason commanded Chloe without breaking eye contact with the animal.
Following Mason’s order, Chloe started turning around to run for her life.
“Slowly.”
She stopped halfway and almost fell flat on the ground.
“Do it slowly,” Mason repeated in a low yet sharp tone.
The mountain lion was on to them and snarled again as it took a few menacing steps toward Mason.
Out of everything Chloe had imagined in those few seconds of life-and-death desperation, what happened next wouldn’t have even made it into the top five.
She saw it all as if it were a slow-mo scene from a horror movie.
The feline growled, lowered its head again and advanced on Mason. Instead of going the other way, Mason decided not only to mirror the cougar’s actions, but to also raise the bet. He crouched even lower, in full attack mode, raised his upper lips to show his teeth and released a loud and incredibly inhuman roar.
The mountain lion stopped the imminent attack and did the unbelievable―it shrank back. And, after a couple of softer snarls, it retreated into the woods.
Chloe’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
“How did you do that?” she asked Mason in a whisper, almost too scared to talk.
He turned around sharply. His face was contorted in rage.
Chloe stepped back in shock.
“Holy shit!” Were his eyes glowing?
But her frightened cry woke Mason out of the strange trance he seemed to be in.
He closed his eyes and shook his head a couple of times. When he straightened himself up, his features were normal again.
“Are you OK?” His voice was huskier than usual.
Chloe nodded affirmatively, but deep inside she was still freaking out.
He strode toward her, and cupped the back of her neck with both hands, as if evaluating her state of mind, then his gaze travelled down her arms and body, as if looking for injuries.
She was suddenly brain dead. She closed her eyes and let Mason’s hands warm her.
“Chloe, look at me,” he murmured. His dark voice reverberated down her spine.
She complied.
“You must be more careful. I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t got here in time.”
She swallowed hard. “I didn’t know there were mountain lions around here.”
“There aren’t,” Mason replied, frowning, then looked in the direction where the large cat had disappeared. “They usually
stay away from this part of the national park. It’s too busy, full of cars and tourists.” He exhaled sharply then added, “Let’s get back.”
He took her hands in his, grabbed the flashlight from the ground and guided them back to the tent.
They returned in silence, but every little sound or shadow made Chloe jump. She was not looking forward to spending the rest of the night inside a small tent that offered no protection against wildlife.
Back at the campsite, Mason sat down by his sleeping bag and prepared to go back to sleep.
“Are you insane?” Chloe asked, dumbfounded.
“No, I’m tired.”
“You can’t sleep out here! What if the mountain lion comes back?”
“It won’t come back,” Mason replied, already stretched out.
“He’ll eat half of your body before you even wake up!” She was close to hysterics now.
“Chloe, it won’t…”
“Mason, please. I can’t sleep with the thought of you out here in the open,” Chloe pleaded.
He sat up. “The tent is too small for the two of us.”
Shoot, he was right. They would have to sleep on top of each other in order to fit in there. The thought of Mason’s large body pressing down on hers made Chloe’s cheeks burn, but not because the thought was unwelcome―quite the contrary.
Embarrassed, she looked away and saw his truck. The king-cab Ford F-150 looked spacious, sturdy and very, very safe.
“We can sleep in the truck,” she suggested. “The seats are very roomy.”
Mason regarded her through his long lashes, before his gaze turned dark and mischievous, making Chloe’s breath get stuck in her throat.
Was he thinking what she thought he was thinking?
Oh dear. She felt her cheeks burn as the blush she tried to hide before flared up again.
“Fine,” he answered with a shrug. Then he simply stood up with his sleeping bag in hand and strolled lazily to the truck.
The new arrangement turned out being quite comfortable. Chloe took the back seat, and Mason the passenger’s seat in front. He lowered the back of the seat to its limit, in a way that his head ended up being very close to hers.
“Are you comfortable?” he murmured. His voice came out somewhat throatier than usual.
“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed. “Are you?”
He didn’t reply.
Chloe chewed on the bizarre events of the night. It had been really close, but Mason had magically saved the day. Actually, her life.
She could have sworn his eyes had glowed, but now she wasn’t so sure. She had been on the verge of a heart attack, so it was very possible that her mind was seeing things. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had imagined Mason in a shining suit of armor too.
“Mason?”
“Hmm?”
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Scare the lion away.”
“Years of practice. I am from this part of the world, remember?”
Yeah, but that alone didn’t make him an expert. It was the same as saying that she could do the Riverdance just because her grandma was Irish.
“Did you grow up on a farm?”
“You could say that,” he replied vaguely, and Chloe took the hint and stopped with the questions. But after a few heartbeats he asked, “What about you? Where did you grow up?”
“In a small town in Minnesota.”
“No wonder you chose the furthest, darkest place to pee.”
Chloe opened her mouth to defend herself, but Mason lifted himself off the seat and flashed her the most sensual, impish half-smile she had ever seen. He was teasing her again. Her smart answer got caught in her mouth and her heart suddenly decided to do a drum solo, so all she could do was sigh.
A shining armor would suit him very well indeed.
“Good night, Chloe from Minnesota.”
“Good night, Mason from this part of the world.”
It took Chloe a while to fall asleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about her day with Mr. Grumpy-turned-Prince Charming. It seemed way too bizarre to be real, but instead of freaking out, Chloe felt strangely safe with Mason.
Well, he had taken her to the national park, had helped her decipher the icons on the stone and had managed to prevent her from becoming lion’s supper with just a roar―a freaking roar! She had no idea how he had even heard anything from the campsite, but however he did it, she was thankful he had saved her life.
She shook her head. What had she gotten herself into?
And worse still, she didn’t get to pee.
Chapter Thirteen
Foster saw Pamela close her eyes after collapsing on the bed, and in a few moments her breathing took on a steady rhythm. He turned the light off and stayed put for a few more minutes, just to be sure. He turned around and placed one hand in front of her face without making contact. She didn’t react, still sound asleep.
Time to get to work.
He carefully got out of bed and glanced at the disarray of clothes and garments their lovemaking had left behind. They looked like a bundle of mess under the dim glow of the street lights.
Crouching low, he used his hands as his second pair of eyes to find what he was looking for. Lacy bra, panties, his socks, and then his fingers brushed over something harder and leathery.
Bingo.
Pamela’s purse.
Standing up, Foster threw a quick glance toward the bed and, after making sure his lady friend was still sound asleep, locked himself in the bathroom, handbag in tow.
According to the credit cards and documents in the wallet, her name really was Pamela Swan and she resided in Washington D.C. Searching further, Foster found a couple of receipts confirming the deposit of large sums of money into the same account he had traced back to Mason’s mysterious client―Pamela’s real boss. What was intriguing was that the receipts were stamped with the logo from The Smithsonian Institution. Foster remembered the report he had run for Mason, not even twenty-four hours before, about Chloe Doyle. She worked at the same organization, in the same city.
“Freakin’ell”, Foster cursed under his breath.
What if Chloe Doyle was working with Pamela? If that was true, Mason was probably driving to a precipice right now.
Foster needed more information, and fast, so he turned his focus to the other contents in the purse. After just a few seconds, he found what he was looking for.
Sliding Pamela’s cell phone open, he scanned her “recent calls” tab. The last ones had been to several different numbers, probably tracing Mason’s steps in Hot Springs. Then Foster opened the text messages. The last one had been received not even twenty minutes ago.
It was the photo of an old man in his 80s with text underneath: The real Randolph Hussey. Stay put. On our way.
Damn it.
Foster’s survival mode switched on. He had to get out of there before Pamela’s boss reached her. How the hell she managed to contact him and call for backup, he had no idea, but now was not the time to dwell on the past. They were probably tracking her through her phone’s GPS. The good news was that the last message had arrived while they were together, therefore Pamela couldn’t have seen it yet.
Putting all contents back in the purse, Foster unlocked the bathroom door and slowly opened it, so as not to wake her up.
He didn’t have time to react.
The gunshot resounded in the bathroom and a piercing pain shot up his left shoulder. Instantly his knees buckled, his muscles went haywire, his limbs convulsed out of control. Completely powerless, Foster collapsed on the floor.
The last thing he saw before blacking out was a bulky man aiming the Taser gun at him. Pamela was right behind the stranger. Pure coldness shaded her eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
“I think we missed the turnoff.”
Chloe’s voice brought Mason back from his daydreaming.
Damn it, she was right―he’d missed the exit to Norman.
L
ast night’s encounter with the mountain lion had really put Mason off. He didn’t sleep at all last night, and now concentrating on the road proved to be an even harder task. Chloe’s nearness wasn’t helping, either. All night long, his mind kept swaying toward her―every time he closed his eyes, images of her coming out of that lake wearing only a bathing suit haunted him to the point where he had completely forgotten about his plan. His petite tornado could be so stubborn and so adorable at the same time that it was driving him insane. Then morning had come and he’d missed the opportunity to get the stone and bail.
When they hit the road again, his thoughts redirected to the strange mountain lion. In order to scare the animal away, Mason had to bring forth his powers and connect his noo-hi to the animal’s spirit. That way he’d be able to control the cougar’s mind and cancel out any physical disadvantages―otherwise it would have been man against a four-legged beast, not the most evenly-matched fight he’d been in.
But as soon as Mason reached the cougar’s noo-hi, he felt there was already another noo-hi in the animal’s mind. He felt the familiar, yet long forgotten, pull of the link of essences he used to experience with his fellow tribesmen. And that was simply impossible.
When he was young, Mason used to spend hours practicing the art of fighting, which included physical and mental exercises. His master and father, the Shaman, used all means necessary to get the inexperienced boys to speak through each other’s noo-his.
“This skill can be the only advantage you may have in battle. If you can communicate with each other without words, your enemies will never know what your next move will be.”
His father’s words emerged from the depths of his mind. It had been a long, arduous process. To amuse themselves, the boys used to have small championships to test their abilities. The “battles of noo-his” were just for fun, but Mason soon mastered the technique and became the tribe’s ultimate champion.
Even though over a century had gone by, he instantly recognized the feeling of connecting with the essence of another human being when he touched the lion’s mind. Was that animal being controlled by a lost member of Mason’s Tula tribe?