But...snakes.
“Um, Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow your knife?”
No answer. Maybe he didn’t trust her with a dangerous weapon. Then he unsnapped the leather holster at his hip and pulled out the wicked-looking knife, flipped it, caught it by the blade and extended the handle toward her.
She swallowed and took it. “Thank you.” Only then did she realize what needed doing actually required two free hands. After dithering a moment, she stuck the handle of the knife between her teeth, thoroughly checked the ground for anything slithering nearby and then got on with it.
When she approached him, he handed her the water bottle without a word and she returned his knife and rinsed her hands, and they headed back to the makeshift path he’d been cutting for them. A wave of exhaustion overcame her when she thought about continuing on. Her back stung. She was hot, and sticky, and her feet burned where the heels chafed, and— “Listen to yourself, you whiny baby! At least you’re alive.”
Clay was waiting for her, watching her with a wary expression. She realized she’d spoken out loud. Great, now he’d think she was bonkers. She knew she tended to talk to herself a lot. Most of the time, it didn’t matter.
“You good to go?” He was waiting for her, so she smiled and nodded, and trudged on.
She lost all sense of time as the day wore on. She thought about being home in San Juan, how glad her parents would be to see her again. About Jorge, and Bernard, and Patricia. She missed them. And she fingered her Mary medal as she prayed to her Abuelita. She couldn’t wait to see Mama and Papa. Finally, twilight settled over the tall trees. Clay hadn’t said a word. Even when he occasionally handed her the water bottle. “By tomorrow I’ll have a cool shower and clean clothes.” One foot in front of the other. “And I’m going to brush my teeth twice, and wash my hair three times and buy a new—”
Clay spun and clamped a hand over her mouth.
* * *
CLAY HELD A finger in front of his lips. He’d heard voices at three o’clock, speaking in what he thought must be Guarani, a native language of Paraguay. That, by itself, didn’t mean much. Over 80 percent of Paraguayans spoke Guarani. And he’d only been able to catch a few words. But one of them had been a Spanish word thrown in: Americano.
They were going to have to double back. He hoped not very far or they risked missing the helo. Then he recognized what else he heard in the distance. The roar of rushing water. They were closer to the Rio Bermejo than he’d thought. Thanks to Gabby’s fortitude, they’d made good time. Even if she had talked for most of the afternoon. He didn’t think she was even aware she’d been talking out loud. And the crazy thing was, he hadn’t minded. He’d liked listening to her voice, liked hearing about her close-knit family.
Mentally going over the map he’d studied on the plane ride down, he guesstimated the distance to the river. If they could travel by water tonight—depending on the current—they could make up the time they’d lose doubling back. He just really hadn’t wanted to travel at night. Lighting their way might as well shine a big bull’s-eye on their position.
But before he could worry about that, they had to avoid detection by the men who’d been asking about the Americanos. Slowly, he lifted his hand off Gabby’s mouth, slid his Sig from its shoulder holster and signaled to Gabby to stay put while he investigated the possible unfriendly’s position.
Careful to step light and move slow, Clay inched up to the edge of the clearing. He took up position behind a tree, pulled out his binoculars and spied a farmer in his wide-brimmed hat leading an ox away from the creek. No sign of anyone else. He scanned the meadow, but daylight was fading fast. Then, on the edge of his vision he caught a shadow. Two shadows. He lifted the binoculars again. They were armed. And they were headed this way.
When he returned to Gabby she was standing exactly where he’d left her, still, and as frightened as a deer in headlights. But she wasn’t panicking. And she’d obeyed his order. Which he hadn’t been sure he could count on.
Knowing how sound could carry, he spoke low in her ear. “We’re turning around. Follow the path I cleared, move quickly, but try to step softly. All right?”
Her breathing was shallow, but she nodded and did as he asked. Clay followed behind her trying to cover their tracks as best he could. He hadn’t disturbed the vegetation at the edge of the meadow. With any luck, the hunters wouldn’t find their trail.
They’d traveled only ten minutes before darkness swallowed the forest and he was forced to click on his pin light. He covered the top and shone it only on the jungle floor, but he still felt like he might as well have gift wrapped their position to the kidnappers. His gut clenched as he heard leaves rustling behind them.
He clicked off the light, grabbed Gabby and pulled her off the path. Hand over her mouth again, he held her still and waited.
Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. A pygmy owl hooted.
The rustling drew closer. The kidnappers were practically on top of them, the shafts of light from their flashlights barely missing them. Gabby tensed and tightened her arms around his waist. He didn’t know when they’d put their arms around each other, but he lowered his head close to hers and stroked her hair. He still held his Sig in the other hand down by his side, slowed his breathing and prepared to spin and shoot.
The bandits walked right past them. The sounds of their crunching footsteps faded.
Clay became aware of her breathing, her soft breasts pressed against his chest. She lifted her face and her lips brushed his with a quick intake of breath.
He didn’t move, letting his mouth hover over hers. She let out the softest moan. She was so small, petite, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders, but her body was full and lush, her stomach cushioning his growing hard-on.
His blood pounding, his pulse racing, he wanted to take her trembling lips with his so badly.
Don’t do it.
He dropped his hands and stepped back. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep, clearing breath. His mission was hostage rescue. That should be his only thought. Getting Gabby out of Paraguay safe and sound. Not how he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her. And certainly not how he wished he could cup her breasts in his palms, slide his hand—
Right, Bellamy. Get your head in the game. She was his responsibility.
He had to get control of himself and figure out what their next move would be. But, now that the immediate danger had passed, all he could think about was how she’d felt in his arms, how her quiet little moan had made his body come alive.
“Are they— Are they gone?” she whispered.
Snapping back to the here and now, he focused on the sounds of the jungle around them. “Long gone. We’re safe for now.” He holstered the Sig while he ran through various scenarios in his head. Night had shrouded the jungle in darkness. He had his night vision goggles, but Gabby would be left trailing after him essentially blind. And he couldn’t risk lighting their way again. No choice now. “We’ll hunker down here for the night, and then make our way to the extraction point at first light.”
That decided, he slid out his knife, slipped the goggles down over his eyes and cut several large, smooth palm fronds to build a makeshift cover. Chances were it’d be misting, if not outright raining before dawn.
He whispered for Gabby to join him under the leafy umbrella, but she didn’t move. “You checked for snakes?”
He smiled as he flipped the goggles onto the top of his head. “All clear.”
With a brief flash of white teeth, she sat beside him and he retrieved his MRE from