Dangerous Pursuit (The Protectors) (18 page)

“How long?”

“Thirteen months.”

“Where were you before Brazil?”

“Alaska.”

“One frontier after another.”

“You could say that.” He pulled his hat low to conceal the expression in his eyes.

“Tell me about Emma. Did you start your world traveling after or before your divorce?” Though she couldn’t see his face well, the slight tensing of his body told Samantha she was treading into dangerous territory. But having spent over a week in the jungle, she was a lot braver.

“After.”

“Is she the reason?”

He pushed up the brim of his hat and sent her a sharp look that would have left most people speechless. But in the past week they had been through a lot—more than many people went through in a lifetime together.

“Are you running away from something or someone?” she persisted, determined to get inside of this man she knew little about as far as his past history went. She knew a lot about his character.

“Why do people assume just because I reject their way of life that I’m running away?”

“You avoid the subject of Emma. You avoid the subject of yourself. Why?”

“The subject matter isn’t suitable for an autobiography. A reader wouldn’t get past the second page.”

“This reader would.”

Sitting up, he stared at the river again, lacing his fingers together until his knuckles whitened. “I suppose if I don’t tell you the gory details I won’t have a moment’s peace.” There was more resignation than anger in his voice.

“A mystery has always intrigued me. That’s why I love reading mysteries.”

“And if I take the mystery out of my life?”

She would still be intrigued, Samantha suddenly realized. But she remained quiet, not daring to reveal that bit of information.

He sighed. “I assumed Emma would understand my need to do something else with my life other than work for a large oil company, making a lot of money. I assumed wrong. Emma was accustomed to a certain life-style, and she wanted it to remain that way. I’ve learned you can’t change people just because you want it.”

“You changed.”

“In order to survive. Emma is a closed chapter.”

“Not to be reread?”

“A waste of a person’s time.”

“A good book is meant to be savored many times.”

“I wouldn’t argue that with you. But with us the story was over before the final page. I was just too busy to see it. I was only a meal ticket to Emma.” Brock paused, then said, “Tell me about this brother of yours.”

“You are so good at changing the subject when it gets too hot.”

“What does your brother do when he isn’t getting himself into trouble?”

Chuckling, she shook her head. She wasn’t going to get anything else out of him, and she strongly suspected that, if he hadn’t wanted her to know it in the first place, she would never have learned what she had.

“Whatever there is to do that interests my little brother,” she finally answered. “Much like you. In fact, you two would probably get along well. Kindred souls.”

“Has he been in Brazil long?”

“Two years. He lives in Rio. I’m not sure why he’s in the Amazon.”

“To find the lost city of gold?”

“Anything is possible with Mark. A challenge is everything to him. He attacks life with zeal, making sure nothing ties him down.”

“Never worrying about the future? Roth IRAs? Retirement?”

Her back stiffened, and she glared at him. “Those are genuine concerns for many people.”

“I’ve learned plans have a way of changing no matter how carefully you construct them. I had everything planned, my career, my marriage. The only thing that I didn’t figure in was that I would change. Ultimately, people aren’t really in control. God is.”

“I may like things organized, but I’m not inflexible.”

Brock laughed. “No, you’re not, at least not after this past week. The jungle has a way of changing that."

“Shock therapy can do wonders for a person,” Samantha replied with a smile slanting at him.

Suddenly Brock was on his feet and waving his arms. Samantha looked toward the river to see a riverboat coming toward them, and she jumped up and began waving her arms too. They shouted as they ran down the bank toward the water.

“They don’t look like they’re stopping to pick up passengers,” Samantha said, inhaling deeply to slow her labored breathing.

“They won’t stop, only slow down. We’ll have to swim out to them.” Already in the water, Brock paused and turned back to her. “We only have a few minutes to make the connection or they’ll go on by.”

Samantha’s eyes were round as she stared at the water between her and the steamer. When the boat passed the place where they were, it wouldn’t be more than a hundred feet away from the shore, but to a non-swimmer it seemed like a mile.

“Sam! Come on!” Brock held out his hand for her.

Her legs felt rooted to the ground. She wanted to pick them up. She couldn’t. Brock hurried back, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the river.

“You’ve got to swim, dog paddle. I’ll be right next to you. Nothing is going to happen. We haven’t come this far to have it all end.”

Samantha listened to his soothing words as the water got deeper. Finally she could no longer walk but had to swim. And as before, she did what she had to do. All she thought about was the next stroke; all she focused on was the side of the steamer getting closer.

At the boat Samantha was the first one to grasp the rope flung over for them, and then Brock did. Two men on board hauled her up with Brock right behind her. Safe, she sank to the deck, drawing in deep gulps of air. Her heart finally slowed its frantic beating.

The shore where they had sat quickly disappeared from her view as the steamer went around a bend. Their short swim couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but to her it had seemed like a lifetime. Yet she had done it, and a sense of satisfaction in her accomplishment filled her.

“I’m going to see the captain,” Brock informed her, depositing their wet belongings next to her on the deck.

While Brock was gone, Samantha took a moment to look at the riverboat. It needed a coat of paint, but it appeared to be in good condition. There were two decks to the steamer, with cargo stowed on the lower one out in the open. A family of Brazilians was staring at her as though she were one of the legendary mermaids of the Amazon.

Did they work for Carlos? Did the two men that brought her on board work for Carlos? She hated the need to be suspicious of everyone she encountered. It wasn’t in her nature, but that, too, she found she had to change in order to survive.

When Brock had been gone for an unusual amount of time, Samantha began to worry. What if someone was holding him captive? Or what if someone had deposed of him and she were all alone now with the black book?

The book!
She had forgotten all about it. Quickly she rummaged through her canvas tote until she found her makeup bag. She checked it to see if the book was soaking wet like everything else. Thankfully the bag really was waterproof and the book was dry.

The sound of footsteps brought her head up, and she hurriedly stashed the book back in its hiding place. Brock and a stranger were approaching. She stood and hoped the stranger was the captain, not one of Carlos’s men.

“We’re in luck. The captain has a cabin for us.” Brock slipped his arm about her, pulling her close. Whispering into her ear while it appeared as if he were kissing her, he added, “I told him we wanted privacy.”

First the headhunters, now the captain, and soon the whole crew would think she was Brock’s woman—everyone but Brock, she realized, wishing he thought it too. Shocked by the direction her thoughts were going, she decided she must have a walking case of malaria. Surely her thoughts were the result of a high fever.

The cabin was actually a room that barely fit two people and a bunk made for one. But at least it was a roof over her head and the bed wouldn’t swing. The bunk even had a mattress that looked comfortable.

When the captain left, grinning from ear to ear, Brock said, “It isn’t the Queen Mary, but it’s home for the next few days.”

“Well, I suppose we can spend most of our time out on deck,” she said as she inspected the cramped quarters again.

“No, we can’t.”

“Why not? We can barely turn around in here without bumping into each other.”

“I told the captain your father was looking for us, that we’re running away to be married in Manaus.”

“And he bought that!”

“That and a large amount of money to keep quiet. The less we’re seen together the better. Most people along the river mind their own business, but it helps to give them a reason to.”

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Right. Carlos and Paul will be looking for a couple.”

After the wide open spaces of nature, Samantha feared she would get a good case of claustrophobia. What would they do with their time? Twiddle their thumbs?

“First, we should hang up any extra clothing that’s in our bags so it can dry.”

Again she scanned the
small
cabin. “Where?”

“I have some string we can use.”

That task occupied their time for ten minutes, which left over forty-eight hours to go. With the clothes on her body only slightly damp now, Samantha sat on the bunk, leaning back against the wall, and watched Brock check his gun.

“Is it ruined?”

“I hope not. We’re not back in Manaus yet.” He replaced it in his backpack.

“But no one else will know if it’s ruined, so if you need to use it, you can.”

“If you point a gun at a person, you’d better be prepared to use it.”

“Have you ever had to?”

“No, but then I’ve never had to run for my life.”

“You said you like a challenge.”

“Did I? Well, I think I’ve had my quota for the next five years.”

Suddenly the boat stopped. Samantha tensed. “Why are we stopping?”

Brock looked out the porthole above her head. “I don’t know. We’re in the middle of the river.” He moved closer to the window and opened it to get a better view. “There’s a boat approaching us.”

“Carlos?”

“I can’t tell. I’m going out to see.”

Samantha gripped Brock’s arm as he was straightening.

“Don’t leave the cabin. Don’t leave me.”

He cupped her face. “I have to know, Samantha. I won’t be gone long. Lock the door behind me.”

“A lock won’t stop Carlos.” She balled her trembling hands.

“But it might make you feel better.”

She locked the door behind him and began to pace. Two steps one way, then two steps back. It didn’t make her feel better. It seemed as if she spent her time either running or waiting, and neither was very good for her nerves.

By the time Brock returned to the cabin, Samantha’s clothes were completely dry and her nerves were frayed. She had visualized all kinds of horrible things that had happened to him while he was gone. Her imagination was just too vivid for this kind of waiting. And she could shake the thought she would be the reason Brock was killed.

When she unlocked the door to let him in, she threw her arms about him and hugged him tightly. “Is it Carlos or his men?”

“No, it’s the Brazilian authorities, inspecting boats for turtles.”

“Turtles! And you believe it?” Aghast at his naiveté, she pulled back. Maybe his malaria fever had done more damage than she had thought.

A deep chuckle rumbled in Brock’s chest. “Yes, because they do. Turtles are an endangered species protected by the government, along with some other animals. It’s just that the people along the river don’t agree with the law, so the government patrols the river and searches boats occasionally.”

“What took you so long?”

“Clothes and dinner.” Brock held up a bundle he was carrying, then opened the door to retrieve the food he had gotten. “When we leave the steamer in Manaus, I want us to be disguised as locals as best we can. I have a turban for you to put around that hair of yours. It should help some.”

“What’s for dinner?” Samantha asked, more interested in the food, its tantalizing aroma wafting through the cabin.

“Fish.”

“Just so long as it’s not another nut.”

As Samantha enjoyed the dinner, she shared stories of her and Mark growing up in New Orleans. Brock even talked about his family in Texas. For a short time if she could ignore the sound of the steamer making its way on the river and the fact they were in a tiny cabin, she could imagine they were out on a date like any other normal couple. She came up short at that thought. She was too relaxed and her guard was completely down, which was extremely dangerous around Brock and his masculine appeal.

When they finished their dinner, Brock placed the food tray outside the cabin door. As he turned back into the room, Samantha moved over on the bunk to allow him enough space to sit next to her. He paused, indecision in his expression.

“I won’t bite.” She patted the bunk, one part of her astonished at her brazen behavior.

“To discuss business?”

“Hardly. To discuss us.” She had heard about vampire bats in the Amazon. Had she been bitten by one and not realized it? Was she turning into something entirely different now that the sun was going down?

He remained standing. “If I come over to the bunk, it won’t be to waste our time talking.”

She laughed, a light musical sound. “Sir, no gentleman would take advantage of a damsel in distress.”

In one step he was next to the bunk. “I’m no gentleman, Samantha Prince.”

“In spite of your protest, yes you are, Brock Slader. I’m alive because of you.”

Eyeing her, he sat on the bunk. “We’re no good for each other.”

“I know. As different as day and night.” She turned to face him.

“I’m a security risk.” He wound his arms about her and drew her close.

“An unemployed wanderer.” She combed her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in its rich texture.

“With no retirement plan.” He bent forward, his mouth an inch from hers.

“Forget retirement. That’s over thirty years away. It’s now that I’m concerned about.” Samantha brushed her lips across his, once, then twice, the roughness of his beard in stark contrast to the gentleness of his hands as they rubbed up and down her spine.