TRAPPED (9 page)

“Mia,” he repeated. “Did you know her parents?”

She shook her head. “No. Mia has a few pictures of them. They seemed like a happy family. She has lost a lot. But she’s very, very brave.”

It seemed sort of an odd way to describe a child. “She’s not afraid of snakes?” he asked.

She smiled. “I’m not sure about that. Look, the rain has stopped. We need to get going.”

Secrets. Half-truths. Elle was a master at them.

She shut people out.

Because a heart could only take so much, especially a damaged one, he turned and started walking.

Chapter Nine

By four in the afternoon, Elle felt as if she didn’t have the strength or the energy to put one foot in front of the other. But she kept moving, knowing that Brody had to be as weary. When it was impossible to go around foliage, he’d had the extra burden of using Mrs. Hardy’s knife to saw through dense palms and other plant life. It was painstakingly slow and she grew agitated, knowing that nightfall was edging closer every minute.

The heat was sweltering and her clothes were sticking to her. She could smell herself and it wasn’t pretty. It was some disgusting combination of sweat and the bug repellant that she’d reapplied after the rain stopped. Her hair felt heavy and even though she tried to push it away from her face, pieces clung to her neck.

Her shoulders and arms ached because, after the snake incident, she taken to swinging her sturdy walking stick in front of her every time there was a patch of long grass or undergrowth to walk through. Unfortunately, that had meant a lot of swinging.

She had a raging headache. Probably because she was dehydrated and probably because she was still whirling from Brody’s statement that he’d talked to both her mother and stepfather.

She’d called her mother a month after she was in Peru. Hadn’t told her where she was living. Her mother hadn’t mentioned that she’d spoken to Brody. Hadn’t mentioned that a fiancé she didn’t know about had called.

She would have been surprised if her mother had been chatty with Brody. Catherine Rivers wasn’t going to talk about something that had happened all those years ago. Talking about it would make it real, and that was something that she was never going to admit.

Same for Earl Rivers, the man who had been her stepfather for three years.

She hadn’t really thought it through that Brody might attempt to contact her family. The idea that he’d spoken to her mother was hard to get her head around, and the idea that he’d had to lower himself to have a conversation with Earl Rivers was so distasteful that she had to swallow hard to keep her empty stomach from jumping.

“We’ll need to make camp soon,” Brody said. “The sun will set shortly after five.”

She was grateful for the interruption. Thinking about Rivers wasn’t going to help her headache go away.

“If I stop walking, there is a distinct possibility that I may never start again,” Elle said.

She felt compelled to say something because it was the first thing Brody had said to her since they resumed walking after the rain. She’d been shaken when he mentioned talking to her mother and stepfather. Then when he abruptly switched the topic to Mia, she’d been so startled that she blurted out information. Not that it was difficult to talk about the little girl who had become so important to her over the past year. Mia was a delight. Beautiful. Funny. Polite. Brave, as she’d said.

Thank goodness for the last trait. If not for Mia’s bravery, Elle might never have realized the truth about T. K. Jamas. And once Elle had discovered the truth, nothing would have stopped her from testifying against Jamas, not even when the man had threatened to kill both her and Mia.

With Father Taquero’s help, she’d safely hidden Mia away. Nobody was going to find her until Elle could get her out of the country.

And while intellectually she knew that Brody was absolutely no threat to Mia, when he’d started asking questions, Elle shut down. Mia’s safety was too important. She couldn’t let something slip to Brody that might compromise her little girl’s safety. Elle knew all too well what it was like to be young and vulnerable and to be in the care of adults that were careless about a child’s safety. She knew all too well that sometimes a child’s pleas for protection could go ignored.

But she needed to not dwell on that right now. Every bit of her energy had to be focused on putting one foot in front of the other before her legs cramped up from overuse and lack of water.

A half hour later, she saw a possibility. “Brody, what about this?” she said, pointing to a small rise. There were a couple palm trees close together that might work for tying up the parachute-turned-hammock. Also a couple small plants, but otherwise the little hill was clear of foliage.

Brody studied the space and nodded. “Looks good to me.”

Good.
Well, not exactly. Off and on throughout the day, she’d thought about spending the night in the jungle, and the concept hadn’t improved with time or distance. The two nights that she’d slept in the plane were bad enough. She’d heard the howl of wild animals, and even the knowledge that the plane would be an effective deterrent had not made her feel much better.

Tonight, she and Brody would be vulnerable, and that scared the heck out of her. But she wasn’t going to admit that. She knew enough to avoid being near a water source. That would attract all kinds of animals. And they needed to be somewhere that offered some protection if it decided to rain again.

“Let’s gather wood on our way,” Brody said.

Definitely. She intended to keep the fire burning all night. That would also be a useful deterrent to unwanted visitors. She reached down to pick up a log and realized when her hand was just inches away that there was a hairy spider, three times the size of her thumbnail, staring at her.

She jumped back.

And she must have squealed because Brody whirled.

“It’s okay,” she said, holding up a shaking hand. “Spider. Big enough that it probably eats small children for breakfast.”

“One of those,” he said, nodding solemnly. He started walking again.

She held her breath as she walked by the log, as if that would somehow protect her. After that, she viewed each piece of wood critically before poking it with her stick. Then she pounded one end on the ground, to dislodge any stubborn bugs or spiders, before picking it up.

It took a while, but by the time they reached the top of the hill, she had an armload of wood that looked as if it would burn. Night was fast approaching and Brody quickly made his circle and stacked the wood for a fire. It caught with the first match. He carefully put the book of matches back in the small plastic bag and back in his shirt pocket.

She helped him unfold the parachute and string it between two trees. They tied it tight using the suspension lines. There was the section missing that Elle had cut out that first night, but that was at the very end. Brody would simply have to be careful or his feet would fall through.

“Get in,” Brody said, surprising her. “Test it.”

She supposed she could. She sat her rear down and swung her legs up, then lay back, one arm folded underneath her head. She raised her other hand and motioned with her finger. “Waiter, can you bring me another rum smoothie?”

Brody laughed, and it sounded so much like the old Brody laugh that she couldn’t help laughing along with him. It was contagious and pretty soon, the two of them were whooping it up like a bunch of hyenas.

It probably lasted less than a minute, but the absolute joy that flooded her system was a welcome relief from the strain of the past two days. “That felt good,” she admitted.

“It did.” He stared down at her, his gaze intense.

Was he remembering all the times they had laughed together? Like when they read the
New Yorker
magazine together and came across a joke that cracked them up. Or when they used to lie in bed for hours on his rare free day with a pile of DVDs of the latest comedies? Watching. Laughing. Making love in between.

She swung her feet over the side of the hammock, sat up, then stood quickly. “We should probably boil water. Before it’s totally dark.”

They used Mrs. Hardy’s small coffeepot. They’d collected three bottles’ worth from the stream, and that meant that they had to boil six batches. It was a tedious process because they had to wait for each batch to cool before they could pour it back into plastic bottles. There was very little to do besides stare at the fire.

“Tell me about your school,” Brody said after some time.

“We have about a hundred students, both boys and girls, all between the ages of ten and thirteen. Some from families that might be middle-class. Most from poor families and they receive assistance from the church. I teach English and they’re all eager to learn. These are children who realize that education is their way out of poverty, to have a better life.”

“Sounds like rewarding work. You’re making a difference in those kids’ lives.”

She felt warm and she didn’t think it was due to the fire. “I hope so.”

When the last batch was cooling, Brody pulled a tea bag out of his duffel bag and held it up for Elle to see. “Join me for a cup of tea?” he said, as if they’d just happened to meet each other at the corner bistro.

“Love to,” she said.

He dropped the tea bag into the glass pot and after a minute or so, poured the still-warm liquid into one of their plastic water bottles. They took turns sipping tea out of the bottle while they split their one breakfast bar and slowly chewed it and a handful of nuts. There was something so civilized about drinking tea that it was almost possible to forget that they were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wild, poisonous things.

Although the mosquitoes were doing their best to remind them that it was their jungle first. “We’re going to get eaten alive,” Elle said, swatting at one on her sleeve. She pulled the mosquito repellent out of her backpack. “Better put a little more of this on for the night.”

They both put it on the faces and necks.

“We should get some sleep,” he said.

She opened her backpack and pulled out the newspaper and the blanket. She found a spot between the fire and Brody’s hammock and put the papers on the ground.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going to sit on the papers and wrap myself up in the blanket. Then I’m going to sleep.”

He shook his head. “The hammock is for you.”

She pulled back in surprise. “No. You carried it all day. You should get the benefit of sleeping in it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I’m not going to take the hammock while you’re on the ground.”

“Why not?” she challenged, knowing it was a stupid thing to fight about, but she couldn’t help herself.

The fire gave off enough light that she could see him roll his eyes. “Take the hammock, Elle.”

She couldn’t let it go. “But what about you?”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about me. I was a Boy Scout. I know how to sleep on the ground.”

She shook her head. “It’s not a matter of being tough enough. There are poisonous creepy crawlers in the jungle. If there’s a way for you to sleep off the ground, you need to do it.”

“Creepy crawlers,” he repeated.

“Too numerous to mention,” she said. “The hammock was a good idea. It’s yours.”

“Nope.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” she asked sarcastically.

“Nope,” he repeated.

They were getting nowhere. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Then we’ll share it.”

He shook his head. “Hammocks aren’t exactly meant for two people, Elle,” he said.

“Well, we’re going to have to figure out a way to make it work. You get in first.”

He blew out a long breath, sat down in it and stretched out. “Okay. It should hold both of us. Get in.”

His tone was exasperated, not at all tender, yet it made it remember how he used to get in bed before she did on really cold nights and warm up the sheets because she absolutely hated to climb into a cold bed.
Time to get in, darling.
That’s what he would say.

She sat on the edge of the hammock and tried to lie down, her back to his back. However, the weight distribution was all wrong and the hammock would have turned over on itself and likely ripped off the trees if he hadn’t moved pretty quickly and somehow vaulted out of the hammock into a standing position.

“That’s not going to work,” he said, looking down at her.

She realized that if any animals were watching them, they were giving them quite a show.
Look, see, the human circus has come to town.

Feet to head wouldn’t work because of the missing section of parachute. The only position that would really work was him spooning her.

He must have come to the same realization. Or maybe he’d known it all along. “It’s not too late,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, throwing his earlier words back at him. She got out of the hammock and motioned for him to get back in.

He did.

Then like an Amazonian princess, with her chin held high, she got into her bed, her back to his front.

The only logical place for his right arm was under her head, and for his left, resting lightly on her hip.

She pretended that it didn’t even bother her that she could feel him everywhere. His thighs against her thighs. His chest against her back. His breath against her neck.

His groin against her rear.

The Amazonian princess wanted to squirm.

But she held herself rigidly still. Like royalty.

“Everything okay?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

“It’s fine. Just pull the blanket up and let’s get some sleep. Please.”

He did as instructed. The blanket came up to their necks, but he evidently didn’t want to leave their heads exposed. He hooked an arm around his bag and pulled it close. Then he opened it, pulled out his extra shirt, and carefully zipped his bag back up. He draped the shirt over their heads and part of their faces, leaving their mouths and noses free but relatively nothing else uncovered.

She’d thought she couldn’t possibly sleep. But within minutes, she felt the overpowering need for rest consume her body. And she let go.

And didn’t wake up until she heard the bone-chilling cry of an animal, or several animals, off in the distance. Angry, threatening sounds. She stiffened.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice close to her ear, his voice sleepy. “Sound carries at night. They aren’t that close.”

She realized that at some point in the night, instead of rigidly trying to keep a thin line of demarcation between the two of them, she’d slipped into his embrace. She waited for him to realize it, to stiffen, to pull away.

Instead, he tucked her in tighter.