by Amy McKinley
“Antibiotics. Keep your voice down.” The color leached from her face, and her gaze darted around. “I swear I didn’t give you anything else. But I had to give you that.” She vaguely waved in the direction of his head. “You’re injured, I guess from landing in the tree. We cut you down from it.”
A tree? That sounded familiar. “‘We’ who?”
“Hannah.” Again, her eyes flashed with irritation. “How do you know her?”
A face swam through his mind’s eye, and a memory tugged at him, just out of grasp. I do know her. Although for the life of him, he couldn’t place her. “The blonde—Hannah. Where is she?” He ignored her question, needing answers.
“Oh, she left.” With one hand, she shoved at a few small strands that’d broken free of her hair tie, pushing them away from her face. “I’m… She made me promise to take care of you, get you well. If I did, you’d help me get out of here safely. Since you’d deserted me before, I hoped she knew you better than I supposedly did.” She stressed the last words.
Interesting. The tension on the gun he held relaxed further, and he notched it all the way down. Whatever they really were to each other, she had stakes in his recovery. That eased his mind a great deal. If she was indeed his wife, she seemed to wish him no ill intent—he hoped. For now, he’d move forward with that theory in mind, despite her prickly attitude.
“So, are you going to?” Mari asked quietly as she shifted from one foot to the other.
Chris spared her a brief glance. “Going to what?”
“Get us safely out of here?”
“Seems that way.” His distraction with why he was here bled into his half-hearted answer.
With a huff, she stepped away, and his hand fell from her shoulder to encircle her wrist. “I’m getting water.” Twisting her wrist free of his hold, she leaned down and grabbed a canteen on the ground. After unscrewing the cap, she tilted it up and took a long drink before passing it to him.
Taking it, he sat up, swaying slightly in the hammock. Sucking in a few breaths, he willed the nausea away. He drank greedily, realizing he must be dehydrated. With regret, he lowered the empty canteen. She took it from him, and he raised a hand to his head, running his fingers over a bandage. “You did this?”
She nodded. A war seemed to ensue in her gaze and across her features until she dropped the attitude and again stepped close. Soft, feathery touches along his face transfixed him, and he stared at her lips. She leaned down and brushed them across his forehead, and something inside him stilled. What the fuck? Maybe she really was his wife.
“You’re still a bit feverish. Do you want any more water?” Her hand dropped to his shoulder, and she pinched her brows, her concern seemingly overriding her agitation.
“In a minute.” The loud grumble of his stomach echoed between them, and she laughed quietly.
“There’s some jerky in your pack. Just a second.” Unzipping one of the three packs that hung inside their fort, she pulled out the dried meat. She handed him a piece. “Let’s see if you can keep this down first before you have any more.”
Grateful for their small truce, he sampled the air and caught a faint rancid scent. “That’s what that stench is, huh?”
She grimaced. “Yeah, you threw up all over yourself, twice. I can rinse out your clothes in the river, but you’re too big for me to get them all off. You’ll have to help me.”
She was a tiny thing, and he could see how hard it would be for her to lift him to peel off his shirt or pants. At least it explained why he wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks.
Chewing on the salty dried meat, he relaxed back, taking in more of their surroundings. There was netting above him. Part of it was moved to the side, probably so she could check on him, which could have been what she was doing when he woke. The faint smell was getting to him, and his stomach churned angrily. He really wanted to keep the beef down. “Yeah, it’s probably a good idea to rinse out these clothes.”
“It was really just your shirt that was doused. The rain washed most of it away. At least, until you got sick again here, but it wasn’t too bad the second time.”
“Great at attracting bugs, I’m sure.” He eased himself up with the sides of the hammock and grasped the back of his T-shirt from over his head. With a yank, he pulled it off and swallowed several times, working hard to push the tidal wave of nausea down from his sudden movement.
Mari nibbled her lip, with her gaze locked on his chest, and her brow creased with worry lines. He looked down and noticed the marbled bruises she stared at. Grabbing the shirt without touching him, she shoved one of the branches aside and hurried out. Interesting. Dropping the netting back around him, he cut off a few insects that tried to gain access. He’d go to the river later, if he could stand by then. Dizziness circled through his head, and he eased to a reclining position once again on the hammock, where he continued to evaluate his situation.
Mari was a contradiction: she was agitated, snarky, seemingly mistrusting, possibly jealous in one moment, and then would do a complete one-eighty into care and concern over his health.
Whatever their story was, he’d go along with it for the time being.
Chapter 8
Chris
A rhythmic thumping stirred Chris from a light doze, and he pried his eyes open to be greeted by the fading, colorful rays of late afternoon. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he slowly navigated out of the hammock and went in the direction of the noise. Parting some of the leaves to let in the fading daylight, he found the reason he was awakened.
Mari tossed a knife twice in a catch-and-release before she let it sail through the air, lodging it into the tree trunk with a satisfying thunk. She let two more fly before walking over and pulling them out, only to repeat the process again.
Damn, she’s proficient at throwing knives. We have that in common.
She continued to throw with a steady, repetitive motion, and he wondered if it eased her mind about the situation she’d found herself in—it would comfort him. Whatever the case, he liked watching her, and extra practice never hurt, especially since they were in such a dangerous jungle.
A few more rounds, and she re-sheathed all three blades. Night was descending quickly. He parted the branches further, where he’d seen her do it earlier, and stepped out, wearing only his pants.
“Nice job.” Chris’s voice was quiet, but she startled and whipped around, her hand hovering over one of the sheathed knives.
Mari eased her hand back, her shoulders relaxed, and she flashed him a tentative smile. “Thanks. It’s getting dark out.” The sky was full of clouds, and she swatted at mosquitos. “I think it’s going to rain again.”
“Seems like it, but it’ll be good to get more drinking water.” He cataloged her every move, still trying to figure her out. Why is she so skittish with me, if she’s my wife?
“It’s good to finally see you up. Maybe we can head out on the river tonight?”
The thought of being away from solid ground, riding moving water, had his stomach cramping painfully. Still very weak, his body swayed. He needed a little more time to recover. “Maybe not tonight.”
She took a few short steps and stood in front of him. She brushed her hand along his forehead in a light caress. “Okay. At least the rain will do your fever some good, too—maybe it’ll help to break it.” Heavy drops began to fall. It wasn’t much, but enough to warn of what could come.
Rising on her toes, she laid her hand fully on his forehead and checked to make sure his temperature hadn’t increased, which sent a volley of goosebumps along his exposed skin. He wasn’t too worried because it was low grade and not terribly alarming, all things considered. What intrigued him was his own reaction to her.
“There aren’t any more antibiotic shots. I used all three of them on you when you were unconscious.”
None remained if they needed them, which could prove to be dangerous. “I’m fine.” With care, he turned back inside their tree canopy as he clasp
ed his hand around hers. The pounding in his head was relentless. He wasn’t fine, but there was no point in causing her stress. What he needed was the return of his memory and more sleep. Grogginess still clung to him, and the ground undulated beneath his feet.
She’d washed his shirt and hung it on one of the branches inside. He lifted one section of the mosquito net, and with her hand still in his, pulled her under with him. The sense of loss with his past shook him more than he could admit. “Lie down with me for a while.” The circles under Mari’s eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. She needed to sleep, too—and he’d use that to his advantage as a way to keep tabs on her while he was unconscious. If she moved, he’d wake. As his wife, his request shouldn’t be abnormal, and it would give him sensory information.
She tugged on his hand. “Oh, no. I’ll lie down on my own hammock. There’s not enough room.”
“Humor me, please.” Without meaning to, he swayed, and she reached out to try to steady him. She nibbled on her lower lip, and concern etched across her features just before she gave him a slight nod.
He settled into the hammock before he pulled her in and tucked her along his side, despite how tense she was. Seconds passed, and in slow increments, she relaxed, trapped against him. Soon, her eyelids fluttered closed, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she drifted further into sleep gave him a modicum of comfort. As he lay next to her, his mind turned over what Mari had told him, that Hannah swore he wouldn’t leave her, or hurt her. How does Hannah figure into my situation, and why don’t I remember a life with Mari, even if it was an impulse relationship, which she’d hinted it was? With that in mind, am I an impulse type of guy? He didn’t think so.
Her reluctance to be too close to him hadn’t gone unnoticed. He knew Mari had some concerns. Why is that? What could have possibly happened between the two of us to make her that wary? Warning bells at this whole predicament—at his amnesia, and at being where he was, clanged through his mind. Something didn’t add up.
Lightning flashed, and moments later, thunder rumbled. Hunger gnawed at him as he listened to the patter of rain against the leaves. They had a decent supply of dried meats, MREs, nutrition bars, and the rain, which they needed to refill the canteens. That, at least, was good. He’d prefer they supplement their meals with some game, but as it stood right now, he wouldn’t be going very far. The dizziness and aversion to light would compromise his awareness of their surroundings and could possibly put them at greater risk. Instead of hunting, at least for the time being, he’d rest and recover as much as possible.
If he was able, he would build a Dakota fire when they were up. The underground fire would burn hot and emit very little smoke, keeping them well hidden from potential enemies. From what he could remember of this area—funny that he knew that, of all things—it was full of danger.
He was tired, so he closed his eyes, too. It would take some time to heal enough to move out. If they tried to leave right away, the dizziness and nausea from his head wound would hinder them too much. With a gun tucked into the holster on his waist, he let himself drift into sleep.
His body relaxed, and Chris hovered in peaceful slumber until the sky darkened to pitch black in his dreamscape and wind thrashed against his body. The whirl of helicopter blades overhead faded as he plummeted down.
He reached the designated altitude and deployed his parachute. It unfurled and caught air, jerking him to a slow descent in the inky sky. For a few moments, he floated in peace, with only the adrenaline of the mission as company. The peace didn’t last. Light strobed below, and the flash and pop of gunfire sent a swirl of alarm through his tense muscles.
Heat burned on the side of his head. He gritted his teeth, cataloging what had just happened as a flesh wound. He’d been shot, and sticky warmth leaked from the wound. It was a mere scratch, and he wasn’t terribly worried until his vision clouded.
Lethargy slowly leaked into his limbs and set a muted alarm that trilled through his head. What coated that bullet? He heard a gentle whirl approaching, and in a matter of seconds the parachute cords jerked. His projected descent seemed to shift. Even the wind’s direction subtly changed.
He thrashed, mumbling garbled words under his frantic breath as he clawed his way to the surface. The dream still held him, but it shifted slightly forward in time. Again, he hung upside down, the gentle tap of his dog tags rhythmically brushing against his cheek. Soft words swirled and danced around him while he swayed amidst tangled branches. Too weak to cut himself down, he searched for where the sound came from.
“Shhh. It’s just a dream.”
His eyes popped open at the whispered words, but his mind fought the present, questioning his safety. The soft body pressing against his side sent confused signals flashing through him. Friend or enemy? Wrapping his arms around her waist, his viselike grip bit into her softness, and he pulled her on top of him, immobilizing her in his embrace.
His biting grip loosened as the gentle touch of her fingers moved across one side of his head, and she repeated that he’d been dreaming. He toggled back and forth between wakefulness, the too-real dream, and the possibility that an enemy had captured him.
“Stop.”
The softly whispered command jerked him fully into the present and out of his foggy head. Her features swam into focus. The touch of her hand through his hair became a comfort, as well as her full lips, which were temptingly close.
“You were dreaming.” Wariness swam through her dark eyes, and confusion knitted her brows.
His hold eased further as she continued to run her fingers through his hair. The gentleness of her touch brought him back, and he focused on what he’d done. “Shit, did I hurt you?”
After a moment, she shook her head. “No. But you had me worried. Your pupils were dilated, and you were mumbling something about a trap, and being drugged.”
The fog cleared a little more, and he zeroed in on the remnants of the panic that pinched her features. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The softness of her body pressing against the hardness of his continued to distract him, and the stirrings of desire spiked through his blood. All he could concentrate on was her, how she felt lying on top of him, and the sizzle of electricity everywhere their skin touched. Her mouth opened, and he grasped the back of her neck and pulled her close. I’m wondering…
Their breath intermingled, and she seemed to soften in his arms, even with the partial wall she kept up to shield him from the depth of her emotions. But this is my wife. Right? She would expect this—she would welcome his touch. At least he hoped she would.
His lips brushed hers in a slow caress. It felt as though flames leaped up his body as she molded to him. They went back and forth, his lips caressing and teasing hers to open further.
The soft little moan she made drove him wild. My wife. With reverence, he kissed her, fueling her desire and building it until she squirmed against him.
He groaned against the decadence of her mouth and the way she responded. Their kisses heated them both, until her body tensed and she pushed at his chest, breaking the connection. “Wait.”
He lifted the heavy weight of his hands on her neck and back. Releasing her, he gave her space to breathe. She turned her head back and met his gaze. In the early rays of dawn, heat flooded her cheeks. From anger or passion, he couldn’t tell.
“What are you doing?” Mari’s question wedged between them, her words breathy and low.
He lifted his body into a sitting position, and she scurried out of their hammock, putting distance between them. God, that woman can kiss. He fought the urge to reach for her and pull her close. He held himself still, watching her.
She fidgeted against his stare, and a sigh pushed past his lips. He understood. They barely knew each other—or at least that’s how it was for him. For her, it could be a bevy of reasons, most likely stemming from how she perceived that he’d abandoned her. The stress of their predicament had to be getting to her. It was getting to hi
m, too. He couldn’t remember a damn thing. But losing himself in her kisses and touchable body stole the worry and made it bearable.
“Look, I’m sorry for moving too fast. It’s clear there are unresolved issues between us.” He ran his hand over his face, avoiding the bandage on his forehead. “This whole situation is driving me crazy.”
Mari relaxed her shoulders and gave him a small smile as she lowered herself to sit in her own hammock. “I’m sure it is. Staying here for so long is making me jumpy. We need to get moving, as soon as you’re well enough.” Her gaze traveled down his shirtless body and the myriad bruises that covered him.
Fuck. He scrubbed his stubbled jaw. “I can’t for the life of me remember why I’m here. Where did you find me, again? In a tree?” He pushed himself up, and they sat across from each other, their hammocks lightly shifting from their movements.
“Yes, you were hanging upside down, maybe ten miles that way.” She pointed in the direction they’d come from. “I’m not sure, actually, because we traveled here by the river, and it was storming, so it could be twice as much.”
He knit his eyebrows together. “I remember something about water and the rotation of helicopter blades above, loud pops from a machine gun, and falling. But before being fired on, there was something else. I’m not sure what.”
“Is that what you were dreaming about?” She shook her head. “Your reactions are a little unpredictable when you’re sleeping.”
“Right. Maybe that was a mistake, and you should stay in your own hammock. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”
Her shoulders moved in a nonchalant shrug, and he once again admired her strength.
Speaking of strength… “Exactly how did you manage to cut me down and bring me here? And, with that in mind, how did you know I would be where I was?”
“Hey, no suspicion cast my way. I didn’t shoot you down. And if you’ll recall, you left me. I thought you were dead.” She huffed, pausing while she tempered her emotions. “I’m sure your memory will return, but for now? Just trust me. Remember Hannah?”