Line of Fire (12 page)

Tex pushed forward relentlessly. The day was overcast, which held down the temperatures, but the humidity was stifling. At times she felt like she was swimming rather than walking.

Late in the afternoon it rained. Raindrops pelted the tens of thousands of leaves around them, creating a deafening barrage of sound.

Tex, of course, took advantage of the din to go all the faster. She actually had to break into a jog to keep up with the blistering pace he set.

A stitch started in her side and stabbed her beneath her left ribs. She just gritted her teeth and kept going. How, she didn’t know. But somehow she kept putting one foot in front of the other.

She slammed into Tex from behind when he abruptly stopped. The ground dropped away in front of him. Another sound became audible. Water flowing.

She moved up beside him and looked down at a good-size stream. It flowed nearly parallel to their course, almost due north. Tex nodded slowly beside her and she saw a grim smile touch his mouth. Uh-oh. She’d lay odds he was thinking up something she wasn’t going to like.

“Let’s go for a river walk,” he murmured.

When she thought of river walks, she thought of romantic strolls down artistically lit pathways that meandered beside a river. Oh, no. Tex meant
in
the river. Above her knees in icy water.

The water was cold enough to make her bite back a squeal when she stepped in. Tex wouldn’t let her take off her shoes, either. Something about cutting her feet and getting an infection from the water. She prayed her Versace shoes wouldn’t disintegrate when submerged like this.

“Hey, Romeo,” she called lowly. “An important dating tip. Most girls like to walk beside rivers, not in them.”

He grinned back at her. “Thanks, Juliet. But I mostly stick to balcony scenes when I wax romantic.”

She rolled her eyes and splashed forward. The first dozen steps or so were all right. And then “river walking” became unbelievably hard work. She had her choice of lifting her feet high out of the water for each step, which wiped out her thigh muscles, or of dragging her feet forward against the buffeting weight of the water, which was equally exhausting in its own right.

She alternated between the two methods, stumbling along the uneven bottom of the stream, the swirling water doing its best to throw her off balance.

The first time she fell down, the abrupt dunking in frigid water stole her breath away. She staggered to her feet, her clothes heavy and soaked. Shivering and miserable, she somehow managed to slog onward.

By the fourth or fifth time she stumbled to her knees, she was so cold and so soaked she no longer cared if she fell down or not. At least it was a bath of sorts. Maybe her borrowed pants would smell a little better now.

How long they walked in that blasted stream, she had no idea. An hour, maybe. It felt like a week.

She was so relieved she nearly cried when Tex finally climbed out on the far side of the water and plopped down on a low, grassy bank. “That,” she said through chattering teeth, “was almost more fun than should be legal.”

He nodded tersely. “In case they’re using tracking dogs, that’ll slow them down by several hours while they try to pick up our scent again.”

“Hopefully, my scent’s improved after that impromptu bath,” she commented.

Another short nod. She supposed she should be consoled by the fact that the past hour seemed to have taken some of the starch out of him, too.

“Get a good drink now,” he admonished. “This may be our last shot at water for another day or so.”

In another day or so, they might be dead. She pushed the thought out of her head. She was just scared and exhausted.

Tex flipped over on his belly and hung his head out over the edge of the stream. Using his hand to scoop up the water, he took a long drink.

She watched, fascinated at the movement of the muscles and tendons in his neck as he drank. The sheer power of the man was overwhelming.

She mimicked his actions. If anyone had told her three days ago that she’d be lying on her belly in a jungle, lapping up water from a river like a dog while kidnappers chased her, she’d have thought it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard.

Her stomach ached from drinking so much cold water so fast. She sat upright and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Tex was craning around awkwardly, apparently patting himself down.

“Give me your leg,” Tex ordered abruptly.

“Excuse me?”

He reached over and grabbed her foot, yanking her whole leg toward him. He pushed her pant leg up.

“Yup. Thought so.”

She looked down at a dark brown smudge on her calf. “What’s that?”

His one word answer sent chills of horror rippling up her spine. “Leech.”

“Get it off!” she exclaimed.

“Hush!” he murmured sharply.

“Well, do something!” she murmured back urgently.

“Best way to get ‘em off is with a little salt, but we don’t have any. I could cut it off, but I don’t need you bleeding all over the place and we’ve got no bandages. A cut like that would infect for sure.”

She shuddered. “I don’t care what you do. Just get it off of me.”

He pulled out the cigarette lighter. “Let’s see if a little persuasion by fire works. This may get uncomfortable,” he warned.

“Just do it,” she gritted out between her clenched teeth.

He flicked the lighter and held the flame against the leech’s back. The heat burned her skin before the creature finally curled backward, releasing its hold on her. Tex grabbed the squishy thing between his fingers and flung it back into the stream.

“Let’s have a look at the rest of you.”

Kimberly blinked, shocked by his suggestion. Tex Monroe’s eyes caressing every part of her body? The very thought pushed her body temperature into the feverish range. “I beg your pardon?”

“Strip. You fell in the water a number of times. You could have more leeches anywhere.”

She shuddered from head to foot, her skin suddenly tingling with a thousand creatures crawling and sliming across her skin. She tore off her ragged sweater and cloying pants. “Oh, God,” she said thickly. “Get them off of me!”

Tex inspected her closely, running his hands through her hair, and even checking her armpits. He was quick and impersonal about it, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

He found two more leeches, both on her lower legs. He successfully burned them both off, although the combination of the bite and the burn left ugly red welts on her skin.

She suddenly wanted a hot shower and a good hard scrub more than just about anything in the world. Her skin felt literally alive with creeping creatures, their tiny, sharp feet pricking her flesh. The horror of it nearly did her in.

When Tex finished inspecting her clothes and declared them free of vermin, she reluctantly shrugged back into the soggy, heavy garments. Their clammy wetness did nothing to alleviate the awful sensations racing across her skin.

Tex interrupted her waking nightmare. “Since you’re already wet, and we happen to be near water, we probably ought to go ahead and camouflage ourselves.”

“You mean, the mud-and-grass routine?” she asked in dismay.

“Yup.”

How much worse could this day get? Her need to break down and sob grew nearly overwhelming. She couldn’t go on. She didn’t have it in her to deal with one more trial.

Tex glanced up at her, his gaze keen. After a long moment he spoke, his voice low-key, like he’d speak to a skittish horse. “You’re doing good, Princess. Real good.”

His simple words were soothing balm upon her soul. With a single remark he’d calmed her frayed nerves enough for her to go on. She took several deep, cleansing breaths.

She could do this. Tex wouldn’t ask all this of her if he didn’t think she could do it. An abrupt need to live up to his expectations spurred her to her feet.

She sighed, steeling herself for another horror. He was only asking her to get dirty. That was all. No eating termites, no more slimy, sucking creatures attached to her flesh. She could make like a pig in swill.

She followed him as he walked along the riverbank for a dozen yards until he found what he wanted. A deposit of gray-green clay. She watched in disgust as he reached down and scooped up two generous handfuls of the goop and smeared them on his face.

He looked up at her and grinned. “I always did want to make mud pies with a princess. Come on in and join the fun.”

She squatted beside him. “Do I have to do the hair, too?”

“Yup. The whole deal. Head to foot. Easiest way is to just lie down and roll in it.”

She scowled at him. “If you make one crack about mud wrestling with me, I’ll…I’ll kick your shins!”

His smile flashed white out of the wet mud covering his face. “Thanks for the warning. I’d hate to see the damage you could do to my poor, innocent shins.”

Gingerly she stretched out on her back. The clay squished beneath her, making sick, sucking noises. She rolled to the side. Her hair felt heavy and wet.

Eeww.

She rolled all the way over, her eyes screwed shut. The mud was wet and cold and indescribably slimy. She wriggled around in it and then pulled herself free of the muck. She pushed up on to her hands and knees. Her sweater sagged away from her stomach, coated in the heavy mud.

The poor sweater was done for. This was the last indignity the fine angora would tolerate. But one ruined sweater was the least of her problems.

She sighed and pushed to her feet. Using her hands, she smeared more of the gunk on her face. “How do I look?” she asked, wincing.

He grinned reluctantly. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Not especially.”

He scrubbed some mud into his hair like it was shampoo. From under his hands he commented, “I bet you’ve paid good money at a fancy spa to have somebody else do this to you.”

“You’re right.” She laughed ruefully. “And you can bet I’ll never do it again, either.”

“Let’s just get you out of here in one piece so you can reconsider that in a few years.”

She nodded while he grabbed a couple handfuls of mud and hit the spots she’d missed—the back of her neck and around her ears. The sensation of mud smearing on those sensitive places was almost more gross than she could stand. But somehow she survived the operation.

Rolling around in the grass was much easier. The only problem with that was bits of it had a tendency to poke her once they were embedded in her covering of mud. “How do I look?” she asked.

“All breaded and ready to fry,” Tex laughed.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Fits of shuddering disgust plagued her for the next hour or so. Her hair dried into long, hard spikes that were almost more than she could bear. They actually rattled when she turned her head fast. The mud formed a rough crust on her skin, and her flesh felt like it was shrinking and cracking all over her body.

She was thoroughly sick of the never-ending ocean of green around them. Even the sky was nothing more than a curtain of green leaves in the canopy of the jungle, a hundred and fifty feet overhead.

And just when she thought she couldn’t get any more miserable, Tex announced they were going to keep moving after dark. She staggered along behind him, so fatigued she could hardly see straight. Time slowed to a stop and her whole existence consisted of the next minute.

And then it narrowed down to the next step.

When she was sure she’d reached the end of her rope, somehow she found a few more steps in her rubbery legs. And a few more. And a few more after that.

It was, simply put, torture.

When Tex finally halted, almost twenty-four hours into their forced march, she no longer cared that she was caked in mud, hungry, thirsty, or running for her life. She only wanted to stop and never move again.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Tex said quietly. “Let’s get some rest.”

She nodded wearily. She noticed vaguely that he was looking up into the trees.

He walked over to the base of a big tree wrapped in vines and gestured to her. “After you,” he murmured.

“Aren’t you going to build us a shelter or find us something to crawl under?” she asked in confusion.

“Tonight we climb a tree,” he said casually.

“We do
what?
” The idea refused to compute in her numb brain.

“Think in three dimensions for a minute. Everyone who’s chasing us in thinking in two dimensions. They expect us to run around the jungle floor. So, we’re heading up there. It’ll be safer.” He pointed up into the trees.

Her mushy brain saw the logic, but her mushier legs thought it was a lousy idea. She’d reached the point where she had no mental or physical reserves left to cope with anything new he threw at her. “Tex, I’ve never climbed a tree in my life. How am I supposed to do this?” she asked helplessly.

“Just put your hands and feet where I tell you to. I’m coming right behind you, so if you slip, I’ll be there to catch you.”

That was small comfort as he talked her so far up the tree she couldn’t even see the ground anymore. If she fell from this height, kidnappers would be the least of her problems.

Finally he murmured from behind her, “See that pair of branches just to your left?”

“The big ones that run side by side?” she replied.

“Yup. Straddle the nearest one, facing away from the tree trunk.”

She did as he directed.

Nimbly he scrambled onto the branch beside hers and leaned back against the tree trunk. He pulled a couple pieces of rope out of a pants’ pocket. “Now we’re going to tie ourselves to the tree so we can get some sleep without falling out of the damn thing.”

She sat still while he lashed her torso snugly to the tree and did the same for himself.

He smiled jauntily at her. “It’s not the comforts of home, darlin’, but do your best to get some rest. We’ve got about six hours of darkness left, and we won’t move any more tonight.”

Six hours. Of stillness. Of unconsciousness.

Heaven. Who cared if she was tied in a tree fifty feet above the ground? Her head landed on Tex’s solid shoulder.

She slept extremely soundly. And that’s why it took her several minutes to register that there was something warm and heavy in her lap as dawn broke the following morning.