Enemy Mine

by Kay Hooper

  “How do you know he is?”

  “I don’t,” Kane replied promptly. “But I think we’d better assume he is. We’re in the middle of nowhere with no reason to draw gunfire, unless you consider a hidden cache of antiquities. So what else could he be after? And since our cagey friend back in Panama obviously decided to hedge his bets by sending two of us after the cache, it’s probably safe to assume we’ll run into trouble somewhere along the line.”

  “Trouble that a team would stand a better chance of surviving than either of us alone?” she asked dryly.

  “Stands to reason.”

  “And when we find the cache—assuming we do—and get it back to Panama—assuming we do? And assuming that our friend Tomas holds up his end of the bargain and gives us what he promises? Who gets the chalice, Kane?”

  He ran a thumb along his jaw, half frowning and half smiling. “We draw straws? Flip a coin? Arm wrestle? Split the thing down the middle? I’m open to suggestions, Ty.”

  “I’ve told you not to call me that,” she said, more or less automatically.

  He looked vague. “Did you? I don’t remember.”

  Tyler gave him one of the looks reserved especially for him, a combination of intense suspicion and total mistrust; Kane was, she knew, about as vague as a defense computer. And about as likely to raise the flag of surrender. He was up to something.

  “Well? Look, Ty, we can waste time and energy in racing each other to the cache, or we can team up until we get the stuff back to Panama. Then, when we’re on solid and relatively safe ground, we can decide about the chalice. Maybe we could even make like Solomon and call our respective bosses, asking which would prefer to hand the chalice over to the enemy rather than get only half.”

  Gloomily Tyler said, “They’d both say split it, you know they would. And neither of us could do that.”

  Kane was a little surprised that she knew that about him, but obscurely pleased as well. “We’ll come up with something.”

  Tyler studied his face, keeping her own expressionless. All things considered, she’d rather he was within sight until the chalice was found and carried safely out of Colombia; it was simply safer to know what Kane was doing whenever possible. And if there was danger to be faced, he was the next best thing to a loaded gun and a mean dog to have at her side.

  She smiled despite herself at the comparison, and saw Kane’s green eyes drop to her mouth. And that slight flicker of his gaze brought home to her vividly the danger of spending any amount of time at all with him. Risky as it was to count him a partner for the duration, it was nothing less than insanity to place them both in the peculiar intimacy of a situation where they would be forced to depend on each other, possibly for their very survival.

  Their past encounters had consisted of a series of brief meetings between fiercely competitive surges of independent action as they’d each fought to claim the coveted prize first. All told, they’d spent little time together—being mostly occupied with finding ways to trick each other—but even that had been taut with a tension that was far more intense than mere rivalry could have accounted for.

  She could, Tyler thought, barely keep him in line now; what would happen if they turned that corner? And how did she feel about the possibility?

  “Ty?”

  For a moment she couldn’t seem to breathe, but then her mind had neatly assigned Kane his proper place in her life. He was a rival. Usually an enemy. Sometimes a partner. Occasionally the strong arm that would prevent her careless dive off a cliff. Nothing more.

  Her breathing resumed, steady and even. “I don’t see a choice myself,” she said calmly. “It looks like we’re partners—for the duration.” She ignored her mind’s gentle siren song. Seduce an enemy and earn his loyalty.

  No. Not Kane. Seducing Kane for the wrong reasons would mean more than playing with fire; it would mean a blithe trek into a live volcano just to see what molten rock looked like.

  “Then we’ve agreed,” he said in a brisk tone. He glanced down at the broad watch on his wrist. “Nearly sunset. Our friendly gunman out there can’t get close without alerting us, so we’ll stay in here tonight and get an early start tomorrow. That okay with you?”

  “Fine.”

  “When did you lose your backpack?”

  If Tyler’s teeth gritted again, at least it was a silent indication of annoyance. “When I lost the rifle.”

  Kane didn’t seem disposed to make sarcastic comments on her ineptitude. Perhaps he was mellowing.

  “Well, my sleeping bag’s big enough for two.” He met her gaze, his own mild. “Unless you object?”

  There was, Tyler decided, a middle ground strewn with land mines between assertive feminine independence and the coming decidedly chilly night. She swallowed her instinctive objection, determined to be rational about things. “Fine.”

  Kane seemed not to notice her struggle. He poured more coffee into his mug and handed it to her. “Have some. I haven’t eaten yet; how about you?”

  “Not since this morning.”

  He reached for his backpack and opened it, digging in and producing a wide array of packaged and canned foodstuffs. Tyler watched him retrieve his Swiss Army knife from his pocket, and when he looked quizzically at her, responded haughtily.

  “Caviar, of course.”

  Kane grinned, but opened the can and arranged crackers on a tin plate. “Ought to taste good with coffee,” he murmured.

  “You mean you don’t have champagne?” she demanded, offended.

  He reached into the backpack and produced a bottle.

  Tyler’s mouth fell open. “Damn. And I thought I had you.”

  “I like champagne,” he responded simply.

  Annoyed by her inclination to giggle, Tyler set her mug aside and watched him neatly open the champagne and pour the foaming liquid into two tin cups. (For some obscure reason she’d never had the nerve to question, Kane always carried a variety of plates, cups, and utensils rather than just enough for himself. As if he always expected a party, no matter how unlikely.) She accepted a cup from him, wondering if he would propose a toast. Being Kane, he did.

  “To our partnership.”

  She tapped her cup against his, a wry smile curving her lips. “Right. And let’s hope we don’t kill each other.”

  “I’ll buy that,” he murmured.

  Silence fell as they sipped champagne and munched caviar and crackers. Tyler avoided looking at him, asking herself fiercely why on earth she had agreed to this.

  If asked to name the ten people she trusted least, she would put Kane Pendleton’s name at the top of the list, underscored and in bold print. In fact, his name would probably occupy the first three places on that list. It was insane to agree to even a temporary partnership.

  She could grudgingly admit that the man had a basic core of integrity, some kind of private code of honor he adhered to, but she knew nothing much else about him. Oh, she knew he’d garnered survival training somewhere in his past, and that he was a sharpshooter with any handgun or rifle. That he was physically powerful and blessed with singular endurance. That he had a quick temper and quick humor. That he was smart, tough and ruthless when he had to be. That he loved antiquities even as she did, and possessed a certain rare, intuitive “feel” for them, even as she did.

  From their past encounters, she knew he was not cruel even to enemies, but did not hesitate to employ rough tactics if information was needed or if escape or survival depended on quick action. She knew he slept like an animal with every sense alert and that he was cool to the point of iciness under stress.

  But what did she really know about the man? He might well have sprung full-blown into life, there on the sands of Egypt, for she knew nothing of his background. She had no idea of where he lived or what he did between assignments.

  The silence was bothering her. In a casual tone, she said, “Tomas has a buyer for the cache, don’t you think?”

  Kane nodded. “I’d say so. As a matter of fact
, I think he’d lined up more than one buyer, and that he’s beginning to feel the pressure. He was jumpy as hell when I talked to him.”

  “Drugs,” Tyler offered.

  “No, I think his vice is gambling. I got the feeling he needed a lot of money very quickly. Maybe that’s why he sent the both of us after the cache; he figured one of us was bound to make it.”

  A silence fell again.

  Tyler glanced across the fire at him, studying him beneath her lashes. Her interest in Tomas was fleeting; she couldn’t keep her mind off Kane. There was in him, she thought, something just barely tame, a cloak of civilization hiding what lay beneath, and women always seemed to sense that; Kane drew women like a magnet drew ore. And he was attractive, possessing aside from his rough good looks a sexual aura that was almost a tactile thing. Her stomach tightened, and Tyler ordered her body to ignore that. Not that it did. He was the most physically compelling man she’d ever encountered, and in a world where various types of liberation sought to overhaul the male nature, she found his toughness of spirit and blatant sexuality more than a little attractive.

  Damn it.

  In the past she’d found her thoughts turning speculatively to him because of that. In another age he would have been a warrior, a conqueror, even a king if there had been kingdoms to be won; in this day and time he appeared on the surface to be just that slight degree out of step with the times. A throwback to a more dangerous age. And yet he never treated Tyler as if her sex made her weaker than he, as if she needed his protection.

  The man was an enigma.

  “Ready for bed?”

  She blinked and stared at him. “What? Oh—right.”

  “We should move out of here before dawn if we want to lose our trigger-happy friend,” he observed mildly. “So we’d better get some sleep.”

  “Uh-huh.” She shook off the uncharacteristic passivity, adding with spirit, “I hope you don’t snore.”

  “I don’t. How about you?”

  Tyler gave him a look, set her cup aside and went over to the sleeping bag. She sat down and hauled her boots off, muttering to herself, then wiggled into the bag and tried to get as far over to one side as possible. Conscious of his watching gaze, she kept her face expressionless and hoped the heat she felt suffusing her skin wasn’t visible to him. Turning her back to him, she resolutely closed her eyes, wishing she could have removed her bra; she hated sleeping in it. She listened to the faint sounds of Kane’s movements, stiffening when she felt him slide into the sleeping bag beside her. He was a big man, and even the double bag was cramped with both of them inside it.

  She felt a weakness in her limbs when his hard body brushed hers, her breath catching despite herself. Zipped into the bag, she felt trapped, helpless, and her own vulnerability shocked her as a wave of panic swept over her. How could she defend herself? She could barely move—

  A hard hand grasped her shoulder, turning her over onto her back, and Kane’s head blocked out the flickering firelight when his lips found hers unerringly. His kiss was rough, overpowering in its male demand, and Tyler pushed against his chest fiercely in a panicky rejection that was mental rather than physical. The banked heat inside her flared at the touch, and she almost moaned aloud in frustrated anger when she realized her mouth was opening to him, responding to him in the face of all reason and despite the cold mental panic. Her fingers curled, digging into his chest, and a dizzying wave of raw desire swept over her.

  Abruptly Kane broke the kiss and turned away from her. “All right,” he said dryly, “I’ve made my move. The attempted ravishment you were worried about. Now we can go to sleep. Good night, Ty.”

  Tyler nearly smothered trying to hide her ragged breathing, staring at him uncomprehendingly. And this time when her fingers curled, it required a supreme effort of will to keep herself from raking her nails down his back. Mentally calling him every violent thing she could think of, she turned her back to his. “Good night, Kane,” she managed evenly. She thought she heard a faint chuckle from him, and spent a good ten minutes silently plotting to get even. Soon.

  FAR BELOW THEM in the ravine, the watching man saw only a dim flicker of light at the cave entrance. He stood undecided for a moment, then shrugged to himself and moved silently away. Some distance down the ravine he found the woman’s backpack and rifle, and gathered them thoughtfully. He made camp out of sight and hearing of the cave, eating and then settling down to sleep. His powerful body relaxed totally in sleep, but like his quarry he slept like an animal with every sense alert.

  He didn’t stir until nearly dawn.

  TYLER HAD PECULIAR dreams. She was in a straitjacket and moved irritably to free herself, muttering in disgust at the feeling of confinement. The straps were cutting into her back and beneath her breasts, and her shoulders were chafed. She complained about the matter to her shadowy companion, whispering her grievance in annoyance. Then she felt one of the straps give and sighed in relief as the ones on her shoulders were smoothed away. Her arms were constricted for a moment as the elastic straps were worked free of them, and then there was an odd tickling feeling of something sliding away beneath her shirt, leaving her breasts free. Content, she murmured wordlessly and snuggled down in the warm pocket surrounding her, barely aware of something hard and warm at her side. The dream faded away.

  The delicious scent of coffee woke her, and Tyler stretched luxuriously before opening her eyes. The rough ceiling of a cave met her startled gaze, and it was several confused moments before she remembered where she was. And whom she was with. Sitting up abruptly, she remembered her dream. But it hadn’t entirely been a dream, she realized, because she was definitely—

  “Where the hell’s my bra?” she demanded, glaring across a cheerful fire at a man with quizzically raised brows.

  Kane gestured toward a small mound of folded material lying near the sleeping bag. “There. I took it off,” he explained casually. “You weren’t comfortable, and you wanted it off.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You told me in your sleep.”

  She stared at him, trying to remember. No, she didn’t think he’d removed her khaki shirt to get the bra off. Had he? She was wearing it now, buttoned correctly. Granted, it was short-sleeved. And it was entirely possible to remove a bra without first taking off a shirt, as long as the straps were elastic; she had done it often when she’d wanted the thing off but hadn’t been ready to change her outer clothing. But she certainly didn’t remember asking him for help. Had he—?

  “I didn’t see anything, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he murmured.

  Glaring at him, Tyler reached out and snagged her bra, then slid down a bit so that the material of the sleeping bag hid her chest from his steady, faintly amused gaze. Given a choice—and another companion—she would have gone braless, but she was full-busted and preferred to wear support when she was active. The trick, however, was getting her bra back on without removing her shirt or otherwise giving Kane an eyeful.

  Putting a bra on under a shirt was a bit more difficult than taking one off.

  She wasn’t overly modest, and her own behavior in Kane’s company bothered her; why didn’t she just turn her back to the man and wrestle the bra into place? Somehow she couldn’t respond to the awkward situation with simple directness.

  She had to remain sitting in order to get her bra back on, but the flap of the sleeping bag kept dropping to her waist. Finally, annoyed by the ridiculous picture she knew she was presenting, she gripped the material in her teeth and glared at Kane, daring him to say a word, while she managed to slip her arms from the sleeves of her shirt and get the bra on beneath it.

  He watched her quite steadily, but in silence, and if he was amused he hid it well.

  Decently attired at last, she scrambled from the bag and got to her feet, tucking her shirttail into the snug waistband of her jeans. Her long hair, having come free of its braid during the night—it always did—swung about her shoulders and persisted in falling f
orward over her face. Muttering, she pushed it back, only then noticing the comb Kane held out to her.

  For only an instant Tyler hovered between stubbornness and need, then sighed and accepted the offering, sinking back down onto the sleeping bag to begin the task of restoring some order to her unruly hair.

  Kane set the ceramic mug filled with coffee near her, then sipped coffee from his own tin cup while he watched her. Silence never bothered him, not even the prickly silence generally to be found in her company, and he enjoyed watching her tame her long, thick mass of red-gold hair. She was concentrating entirely on what she was doing, and Kane found his gaze dropping to her full breasts when her lifted arms drew the khaki material taut across them.

  He should have tossed the bra into the fire.

  chapter two

  THE SHOOTER WAS nowhere in sight, and no gunfire greeted their cautious exit from the cave. Kane suggested that they climb rather than descend just to be on the safe side, and much as she wanted to, Tyler couldn’t really disagree. The ravine below was narrow and appeared miles long, meaning that it was a dandy place from which to be ambushed, should their friend with the gun have that in mind. The cliff face above them, Kane pointed out, was climbable.

  Tyler stood outside the cave on the narrow ledge and gazed upward, controlling a shiver. Tearing her eyes from the fifty-foot expanse of jagged rock rising above her head, she watched Kane crouch on the ledge and dig a long nylon rope from his backpack. He had, as she’d expected, abandoned most of his equipment, settling on the backpack and sleeping bag, two canteens, and his rifle. Tyler carried one of the canteens, the strap slung bandolier-fashion across her chest; Kane had arranged the rest for himself to carry, but now he piled the gear on the narrow ledge.

  Kane slung the rope over one shoulder and across his chest, then stood gazing upward with narrowed, measuring eyes. Then he sat down on the ledge and, unperturbed by the sheer drop below him, began unlacing his boots. “I’ll go up first,” he told her, “and drop a line for you and the backpack. Tie the pack securely. Keep the rifle with you, and when you’re ready to come up, don’t use the rope to climb. Just hold on and I’ll pull you up slowly. All right?”