Hush (18 page)

“It must hurt like hell. We have to clean it. You know how dangerous it is to have an open wound in this environment.” She was already patting her pockets. This new development had wiped her brain clean and she couldn't remember where she'd so carefully and methodically placed each item in which pocket. “I know I brought—”

“I don't need anything. We don't have time to stop.”

“God,” she muttered, waving her free hand to move the tiny gnats away from her mouth as she talked. “Undo
your shirt. Let me see what we're dealing with here.” She shoved aside a branch covered in waxlike lime green orchids. “A
wipe
for a bullet wound?” she asked herself out loud, trying to think. What was the best way to treat the wound, and what did she have on her to do it with? “Do you have any idea how surreal this all is? Don't answer that. Of course you do. I've never seen a guy with more scars than you.”

Zak kept her moving. “It'll have to wait. Gotta keep moving.”

She pulled away. “Don't be a selfish ass! If you won't think about yourself dropping dead out here, at least think about what will happen to me if you pass out and I'm here all alone.”

She glared back when he gave her a belligerent look. “We'll treat that as best we can and
then
we'll continue. Don't look at me in that tone of voice, Stark. I mean it. Stand still, shut up, and unbutton your shirt.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

She gave him a hard look and stood her ground. “
Do
it.”

Zak unbuttoned his shirt with his right hand. Rivulets of blood had trickled down his left arm and fingers, then dried into a crusty brown she'd mistaken for mud.

She sucked in a slow breath as he pushed the sides open so she could see where he'd been shot. Dried blood stained his shoulder and chest. A bullet wound bled, she knew that. But God, seeing all that crimson on his muscled, healthy body, just inches away from his heart, made her stomach twist in a tight knot.

He started to shift away from her. She gave him the evil eye as she patted her pants pockets. “Stay.”

She found what she was looking for and removed the pack of gauze bandages. Ripping the packet open with her teeth, she dug around in her pockets until she found a ziplock bag containing Band-Aids and a small tube of the waterless antiseptic gel that had become so popular during the swine flu scare. Easily juggling the items, she selected a couple of gauze pads, put the bag back into the hidden pocket, and started to assemble a dressing for the wound.

There was no red on the back of his shirt, which probably meant the bullet was still in there, just under the ball of his shoulder. And while he was now wielding the long machete with grace and power, it was in his right hand because the bullet wound impinged on his dominant side. Ambidextrous? She wouldn't doubt it.

“We can walk while you're doing that,” he pointed out.

“Fine.” She gave in, too busy to argue. “Walk slowly and don't swing that arm until I figure this out.”

Zak's lips twitched as he cast a look sideways, watching Acadia make some sort of dressing while walking, sweating, and avoiding hanging vines that could be snakes. She was a remarkable woman.

“We'll be okay,” he told her. “Trust me.”

“I do,” she said absently, not looking up from her task. Which made her just as certifiable as he was.

Acadia Gray was a resourceful woman to have around—a good thing, since Zak knew she'd need every
ounce of her ingenuity in the coming hours. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, focused on staying, well,
focused
. But his mind was going a million miles a minute trying to figure out what would happen to Acadia should he pass out. Nothing good. He hadn't needed her to point out the obvious. If he passed out—fuckit, if he
died
—she'd be screwed.

She'd be stranded, alone. In a jungle this big, the chances of being rescued were slim to zero. Had Gideon managed to elude the guerrillas, or were they hot on his ass as well? Piñero hadn't mentioned a second group of searchers when she'd passed by.

Not breaking stride, Acadia doused the pad in the antiseptic gel and passed it back to him. “Clean it as best you can. Tell me when you're done.”

“It can wait.”

“Don't be a baby. It's better than nothing. You could get an infection and die. I don't want to be out here alone.”

Zak's low laugh sounded a little pained to his own ears. “Since you put it that way …” While he walked and cleansed the wound, he saw that Acadia was spreading more gel on the thick pad she was making. The blood flow wasn't stopping, but it was slowing. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. He stuffed the bloody pad into his back pocket and took a look at his shoulder.

“Done,” he told her. Nope. Still bleeding. Sluggishly, a mere trickle compared to earlier, but enough. Damn it to hell.

She paused to hand him the prepared dressing. She'd attached the biggest Band-Aids across the back so he could stick it over the wound. Admiring her ingenuity and quick thinking, Zak pushed that half of his shirt aside.

Her eyes widened when she saw the blood gleaming wetly around the hole high on his shoulder. “Damn it, Zak.”

He slapped the dressing over the wound, pressed the sticky tapes down as best he could, then closed his shirt and buttoned it. “It looks worse than it feels.”

“Liar.”

Maybe. “Let's go.”

Acadia nodded, and Zak once more pushed off into the jungle, silently admitting that even if it was just a padded Band-Aid, having the bandage in place made him feel better.

He shouldn't have kissed her. The woman was some kind of subversive siren. Problem was, he wanted to kiss her again. Damn, he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her. Since that wasn't gonna happen anytime soon, he kept the image of her pale, jasmine-scented skin right at the forefront of his brain, where he could take it out and look at it whenever he wanted.

It was going to be a long hike. There was fuck-all he could do about the pain now throbbing and burning like a red-hot poker in his shoulder, so he thought instead of burying his mouth against the musky heat of her wet mound, of her hands fisted in his hair as her hips arched off the bed …

Shit. Just thinking about her from last night made him intensely aware of her beside him now. Very much alive. His job was to ensure she stayed that way.

The insects seemed louder around them, and much thicker. It took several minutes for Zak's brain to compute that it wasn't the abundant insect life of the jungle. As the foliage fuzzed around him, he realized that he was experiencing the not-unexpected onslaught of dizziness and weakness. Blood loss. Just fucking great.

He'd been shot more than an hour ago, and the rapid blood loss was causing him to see black spots in front of him as he pushed through the trees. The guerrillas were still ahead of them, far enough to give them a little breathing room. But he and Acadia had left the path that the guerrillas had cut to angle off toward the river. Zak knew it wasn't a case of
if
he lost consciousness. It was a case of
when.

Acadia fished another rubber band out of her magic pockets and coiled her hair up into a messy knot on top of her head. They'd found another trickle of water, drunk their fill, and followed it for several miles without a sign of Loida Piñero and her merry band of thugs.

And without, God damn it, another sign of the river.

Fuckit. Had he gone off course? He raised his shoulder to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, causing supernovas to flare in his vision. He angled his wrist to see his watch. Right course. Walking was just too damned slow.

The air was heavy, indicating rain any minute. Sluicing the sticky sweat and dried blood off his skin would feel great, but he needed to make some sort of shelter.
Not only from the deluge about to hit, but from the animals that would be coming out soon to hunt as the sun sank below the trees and night fell.

As much as he wanted to think about a naked Acadia doing energetic calisthenics while straddling him, Zak had other, more pressing, concerns. The guerrillas didn't seem to know that the brothers had split up, which he hoped meant Gideon was free and clear. A big relief.

But why did Piñero want either himself or Gideon alive at all? She'd gone off to make ransom demands and presumably had sent pictures to ZAG's corporate offices, and Buck, in Seattle. That was proof of life. Logic said that once all that had been done, she'd come back to the camp to kill them. So why one and not the other?

“Why are you scowling like that?” Acadia whispered. “How bad's the pain? Are we being followed again?”

He shook his head, then wished he hadn't as he had to catch himself on a handy tree trunk to keep from keeling over. “Just wondering why Guerrilla Bitch didn't insist we all be killed on sight.”

“Maybe she wants one of you as insurance?” She dug into her pocket and brought out the mints.

“Maybe.”

“You have no idea where we are, do you?” She offered the plastic container to Zak and, when he shook his head, helped herself to one and put the container carefully back in her pocket.

“Piñero's headed back to camp—we saw their path an
hour ago, and it clearly indicated they'd gone back.” Zak was having trouble getting his tongue to shape the words. Fuck. “We're heading to the river; I've been watching the sun when I can see it and the GPS puts us on target. We'll find someone to sell us a boat, and we'll head back to civilization. You'll be in a cold shower in Caracas this time tomorrow.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Zakary Stark, but you said that an hour ago, and an hour before that.” She sighed. “I think we should stop at a gas station and ask directions.”

He stopped, and she bumped into his side, jarring his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, but put out a hand to pull her closer.

“Oh, God. What now?”

He used his forearm to haul her flush against his body, the long knife fisted behind her head. “I want another kiss to keep me going.”

She tilted her face up, and when Zak touched his mouth to hers he felt her smile shimmer its way deep into his chest. He just wanted a small kiss, something to keep his energy level from taking a nosedive. But she tasted of wintergreen mint and wide-eyed promises, and suddenly he was starving.

No. Bad idea. He needed his blood pressure to level off, not for blood to pump even faster in his veins. He let her go. “I'm not worried,” he told her. “We have food and water, and the predators sleep during the day.” Most of them, anyway.

“The people who kidnapped us are predators, and I
bet they aren't going to take a little siesta because the sun is shining.”

“Point taken. Keep walking anyway. There are several small settlements along the river. Someone will be willing to take us to the closest town.”

“How will we pay them?”

“We'll barter my watch if necessary.”

“I have twenty dollars in my boot.”

Zak huffed out a laugh. “Of course you do. Actually”—he fished in his breast pocket and took out her chain and St. Christopher medallion—“we also have this.”

Her eyes lit up as he let the long silver chain pour into her outstretched palm. “You got it back for me. Thank you, Zak.” Her smoky eyes glowed. “My dad gave it to me wh—We used to plan exotic vacations. None of which we ever took,” she admitted, “but the planning was fun. This was the last gift he gave me before he got sick. I—” Her features softened, her gaze turning suddenly a little misty as she put the chain over her head, then tucked the St. Christopher medallion inside her T-shirt. “Thanks.”

“Both your parents died? How old were you?

“Thirteen for my mom. Complications from surgery. My father died three months ago.”

“Rough.”

“Yeah. It was.”

That was it? He was surprised she wasn't milking the story for all it was worth. Zak kept Acadia in front and a little to the left of him, keeping himself between her and
anyone who might be following them. There was nothing to put between her and whatever animals they might encounter, however.

The jungle was filled with predators, both four- and two-legged.

So far, so good.

He could tell by the slump of her shoulders that she had already been pushed past her physical endurance, yet she hadn't complained once, nor had she asked to stop so she could rest.

Zak instantly felt a wash of disloyalty and regret, coupled with a surge of anger at once again being placed in a no-fucking-win position.

It had been his job as Jen's husband to love and protect her, and he'd failed miserably on both counts. They'd lived together for a couple of years. Marriage had been a given. But Zak had realized long before the wedding that he'd made a terrible mistake. At first he'd accepted a hundred percent of the blame for the failure of his marriage right from the start.

Marrying Jennifer had been the path of least resistance. He, Gid, and Buck had been so busy building the company there was little time for anything else. And he regretted that deeply after her death.

During the six years of their marriage she'd been bored, restless. Impossible to appease. She'd started going on trips alone. She'd gotten the job at CNN. Their lives separated, the gap widening more every day.

He'd suddenly noticed, and realized that if he didn't
put some work into it, the marriage was going to fall apart. But by then it was too late.

Gideon and Buck believed that Jennifer had been the love of his life; unfortunately, that hadn't been the case—not that Zak believed such a perfect union existed. No, Jennifer hadn't been the love of his life. But he had owed her his loyalty, and he had owed her his respect and devotion in public. The promises had been implicit in their vows. For better or worse. She'd been his responsibility. And no matter what she'd done, he'd failed her on every count.