A Candle in the Dark (15 page)

Behind her, another crash resounded through the brush, along with a bitten-off “Damn!” Ana paused and looked over her shoulder.

D’Alessandro shoved his hair out of his face with the back of his arm. He looked up hopefully. “Ready to stop?”

Ana frowned. “No.”

“Listen, Duchess,” he breathed. “It’s time to stop. You’re driving too hard—”

“We can’t afford to stop,” she said sharply. “What if Ramon’s behind us? What if someone’s after us?”

He shrugged. “They’ll find us if they want to.”

“And kill us,” she said, turning around. “No thank you.”

“Ramon ran off last night,” he reminded her solemnly. “They’ve got a head start. If they haven’t found us by now, they’re not looking.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t give a damn what you believe. I need a rest.”

“You’ll have one, as soon as we reach Gatún.” Ana tried to keep the desperation from her voice. She clamped her lips together tightly. Not here. Not yet. She could quietly fall apart in Gatún, when everyone was asleep—

Crash!

Ana jumped, spinning around, an angry insult dying on her lips when she saw the reason for this crash. D’Alessandro was on his knees, desperately grabbing at Jiméne, whose limp body was falling, tumbling through the underbrush, over the steep embankment toward the hungry, gurgling river.

The sound of his fall startled the alligators sunning themselves on the far shore, and Ana watched in horror as, one by one, they looked up while Jiméne rolled closer and closer.

His dim yellow coat flashed through the vines. Ana grabbed her skirts, nearly falling as she raced back along the makeshift trail. D’Alessandro was already on his feet, crashing and sliding down the slippery, plant-covered cliff, grabbing on to fallen trees for purchase, stumbling over vines.

He looked back just as Ana reached the edge. “Stay there!” he commanded.

She ignored him and stepped over the edge.

Her booted feet skidded on the trailing vegetation, and Ana went sliding. Roots, rocks, and sharp-edged branches clawed at her skin and dress. She flailed out, desperately reaching for something, anything to halt her downward spiral, but she was moving too fast. She couldn’t stop.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ana heard D’Alessandro’s shouts, but she couldn’t understand the words. They didn’t matter. It was all over, she was falling to her death. How did it feel to be eaten by an alligator—

“Aaagh!” She thudded to a stop, knocking the breath from her lungs. Ana lay there for a moment, coughing and choking, before she realized that she was lying in some kind of foul black mud, with her hand dangling in the water.

The river
. She yanked her hand back and pushed herself away so quickly her head spun. Oh God, the river. Jiméne.

“Ana, dammit, come here!” D’Alessandro’s voice was strained and urgent. “Now!”

Dimly she heard the sound of splashing. Ana forced herself to rise. The corset cut into her skin, dizziness made the world tilt in a strange kaleidoscope of color. She tried desperately to focus.

The splashing she heard was D’Alessandro. He was waist-deep in the river, grasping on to creepers that trailed in the water, desperately trying to keep his hold on Jiméne, whose head was barely above water, kept there only by D’Alessandro’s arm. But not for much longer. Vines tangled around Jiméne’s legs, holding him captive, pulling at him even as D’Alessandro worked to yank him ashore.

“My God,” she breathed, panic and fear forcing her legs to move, forcing her forward even as the world threatened to turn upside down before her. Soon the alligators would see them. Already she saw them massing on the opposite shore. “Wait!” She pushed past an overturned ceiba tree, fighting to keep her footing on the slippery mud. “I’m coming!”

“Come faster, dammit!” D’Alessandro struggled to keep his hold on Jiméne. The cords in his wrist stood out as he grabbed on to an exposed snag for balance and tried to move backward.

Ana stumbled over a viney orchid and caught herself before she fell, trampling the pristine white flower into the mud beneath her feet. Her hair fell into her face, blinding her, and she pushed it aside, fighting to keep her skirts from tangling in the undergrowth.

“Ana!”

“I—am—here!” She was there in seconds, though it seemed like years, plunging through the trees, reaching D’Alessandro the very moment he called her name. Her head spun, her breath felt pulled from her lungs. D’Alessandro tried to move around. The veins at his temples stood out at the effort it took to drag Jiméne around with him. The arm that clutched the snag was so taut it looked like it might break.

“Try to… grab him.” D’Alessandro pushed Jiméne forward. His limp body floated in the water, his dark hair like an inky stain around his head. His eyes were closed, and his face was so pale it looked nearly blue.

“Is he… ?”

“Just take him.” D’Alessandro’s words were bitten off, his breath rasped harshly from his throat.

Ana reached out, trying to grab Jiméne’s arm, but the current pulled it away again. She stumbled forward, into the river. The warm water lapped against her ankles, poured into the tight lacing of her boots. Behind D’Alessandro, she heard a splash of water, saw an alligator slide into the river.

She reached again. Jiméne’s hand floated only inches from her own. Looking up, she met D’Alessandro’s eyes, saw the desperation there that matched her own.

“Again,” he instructed tersely.

She reached, he pushed, and this time Jiméne’s fingers brushed her hand. Ana grasped on to him with all her strength. Her arms felt ready to burst from their sockets as she fought the river current and the vines.

“I—can’t—”

“Just hold him. I’m—letting go.”

He dropped his hold. Ana struggled to keep her grip on Jiméne.

“Hold on.”

D’Alessandro’s words filled her with resolve. He swayed in the current, and she saw how much strength it was taking him to stay upright as the river surged around his waist. He dipped his hand in the water, she saw the glimmer of the scalpel blade. At the sound of another splash, he twisted around, and Ana caught the fear in his eyes as he saw the approaching alligator.

“Christ.” He lunged forward, slicing the vines holding Jiméne and grappling with his limp body. D’Alessandro pushed, Ana pulled, and suddenly the current let go, and Ana fell backward, dragging Jiméne’s weight with her.

“Hurry.” D’Alessandro stumbled from the water, glancing back over his shoulder, and Ana followed his eyes. The river was swirling with alligators.

Desperately she clawed at Jiméne’s coat, trying to pull his legs free of the water. Then D’Alessandro was there, pocketing his scalpel before he yanked Jiméne by the arm, bending and swinging the man over his shoulder.

She followed him up the embankment, her wet skirts wrapping around her legs, her own breathing as labored as his. Behind her, she heard the slopping of the alligators. The sound gave her renewed strength.

When they reached the top, she stumbled, falling to her face in the brambles. Ana lay there, stiff with fear and exhaustion. The world was black in front of her, with little shooting sparks of stars. Her ribs ached, her hands and arms stung, and the river water seeped into her skin.

It was a moment before she heard D’Alessandro’s harsh breathing, a moment before she heard the thud of his body slumping to the ground and the second, sorter thump of Jiméne’s.

Ana rolled to her side, looking up into her partner’s face. His swarthy skin was almost yellow, he looked ready to collapse, and yet there was something in his dark eyes when he looked at her, a compassion she’d never seen before.

Despite all her promises, despite her efforts to keep control, Ana began to shake. Desperately she tried to hold it back, clenching her fists in the dirt, turning her face into the ground and biting her lip. Relentlessly she clamped the panic down, forced it away.

Then the rain started.

Cain pushed wet hair back from his face and stared out at the river. The rain fell in sheets, steaming as it hit the jungle floor, making the twilight sky seem darker than it was. He watched the ivory-colored herons as they fished in the river, their black crests and head plumes dancing in the rain. Egrets and green parrots flew among the leaves, oblivious to the wet, and the bright red flowers adorning a nearby wild banana tree seemed to open up and welcome it.

In the jungle, the rain stopped nothing. Except Ana, apparently. Christ, was he glad it had finally stopped her.

He turned, glancing over his shoulder at Ana, who huddled in the corner of their makeshift shelter, staring wide-eyed at Jiméne. Her fingers were clenched in tight white fists, her shoulders and neck were so stiff it looked as if they were made of stone. She was holding something in, something so powerful she was terrified it might break loose, and Cain wondered what it was.

He forced himself not to care, just as he’d forced himself not to care the night before, after the attack. He wondered if he would ever learn, or if Ana was going to beat him into the ground the way his mother had—

Ana, he knew, would never let him get close enough, he was beginning to realize that now. The woman had built a wall around herself so thick no one could break through it.

A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. Or at least he couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t even want to try. Saviors—heroes—were for men like Jiméne. Men who wanted to fight relentless forces.

God knew, he’d had his fill of it.

Cain looked longingly at the wet burlap bags that held their supplies. They rested in the corner—right under a hole in the leafy canopy covering them. A steady stream of water flooded in, soaking everything inside.

It didn’t matter, as long as the bottles were intact. Cain’s fingers clenched, his mouth felt dry, and he fought the urge to grab one and twist it open. Even he knew better than to drink now. The Duchess was like a powder keg waiting to explode. The last thing he wanted was to ignite her.

He glanced over at her. She watched Jiméne with a growing desperation that matched his own. Castañeras was still feverish, and with every step Cain took, the knowledge that the man would die grew like a cancer inside of him.

He was losing again. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking violently now. He couldn’t control them or think clearly enough to make a decision about what to do next for Jiméne, and he told himself he didn’t care enough to try.

It was a lie and he knew it, but he was so tired of fighting. Tired of losing. There had been a time—not so long ago—when he thought, despite everything, he’d finally succeeded, finally made something of himself. But he hadn’t. Not really.

The memory dipped inside him, harsh and unyielding, and Cain closed his eyes and pushed it away. After John had died, the battle only began again, harder now, less easily fought, and he’d made the decision not to try anymore. There was nothing in life worth fighting the obstacles thrown in his path. Nothing worth having that hadn’t already been taken from him.

He glanced again at the burlap bag, and then again at the Duchess. Her skin and dress were streaked with mud, the hair she took such pride in was tangled and loose, falling in her face. He remembered that he still held her precious comb in his pocket. Licking his lips, feeling nervous for no reason that he could say, Cain pulled it out.

“I imagine you want this back,” he said.

She looked up at him, her golden eyes expressionless. “Thank you.” She took it, holding it in her hand and then staring at Jiméne as if she’d already forgotten about it. “Is he going to be all right?”

Castañeras again. Cain felt an insane surge of jealousy, and he banished it. He’d known for a long time that she preferred Castañeras to him, and he told himself he didn’t care. Hell, she was a whore, after all, and he was just tired and maudlin. Her affections didn’t matter to him. Castañeras could have her—and good riddance.

He looked over at his patient. Since the dunking in the river, Jiméne had been still, the restless tossing that had made carrying him so difficult was gone. Just after the rain began, Cain had forced a weak Fowler’s solution down Castañeras’s throat, hoping the arsenic powder would help fight the fever, and followed it with laudanum for the pain.

“If he’s not conscious by morning, I’ll have to bleed him.”

“Perhaps you should do it now.”

Her concern was touching. It was all Cain could do to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Don’t worry, Duchess, I won’t let him die.”

Her eyes met his in an unrelenting stare. “I’m not worried that you’d do it deliberately.”

He swallowed. Her words stabbed inside him, and Cain felt a sudden, overwhelming thirst. Instead, he summoned every ounce of his calm. “Is it all doctors you dislike, or just me?”

She looked taken aback, he noticed with satisfaction, and he thought he saw something like fear flit across her eyes—but only for a moment. Her fingers clenched the golden comb and she lifted her chin.

“I don’t dislike you any more or less than the others,” she answered brittlely, hurriedly glancing away.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re going to get.” She jerked around again to face him, and Cain saw the fury in her eyes, the rapid pulse in her throat. For a moment, she looked ready to say something else, and he steeled himself for her temper, but then she clenched her jaw tight and looked down at the comb in her hand. “My life is none of your business, D’Alessandro.”

“I’m not asking for a life history, goddammit. I’m asking why you dislike doctors.” He nearly winced at the raw sound of his voice.

“It… is… none… of… your… business.” She spat each word, as if it took all her effort to force them from her mouth.

When he looked at her, her eyes were focused on Jiméne, but he didn’t miss the slight trembling of her hands, nor the way her full lips were bloodless.

He swallowed, pretending her enmity didn’t reach down into his very bones, didn’t twist around that dark place already inside of him. Instead, he looked back out into the darkening jungle. The rain was a shadowed veil, he heard the spattering of drops on the leaves covering their shelter, heard the soft whispered rush of it falling through the trees.