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  Jake. Coming for her like the Texas lawman he was.

  She could see him now, looking around, flashing the beam into the trees and undergrowth. Finally, he noticed the rocky trail below her.

  "I've been waiting for you.” Her voice broke. She didn't care.

  He looked up, his smile welcome in the bright light of the flashlight. “Well, are you coming down, or do I have to come up there?"

  This was her man all right. Not the reception she'd dreamed up, but she'd take it. “That will be hard to do, owing to the fact that I'm twisted in here like I was hit by one of your Texas cyclones!"

  He laughed, not harsh, just under his breath. “Did you make a clean landing?"

  His way with words lacked sympathy. She wouldn't ask for any.

  "I'm not sure.” She lifted her legs to test their fitness. “My hip's bruised pretty good."

  He was already working his way up to her. Seeing him getting closer was equivalent to her favorite blanket on a freezing night.

  Jake was directly below her, reaching up to tug on her pants leg to take the knife she'd slipped into her pocket.

  "I'll cut the satchel free and come on up.” He touched her foot. “I'm still amazed you didn't take a nosedive in the dirt with that sinker you're wearing."

  He was going to cut the satchel off! “Don't drop it!” She panicked at the thought of losing the water.

  "I won't drop it.” He quickly pulled the lines to him and knotted them into one dangling line, holding the tote. “I'll send it down before we work our way out of here."

  She held back the barrage of questions that tingled on her tongue and watched him work, until she couldn't stand it. “Do you still have the compass?"

  "Yep.” She dropped down a few feet, and he pulled her back. “Are you doing all right?"

  She nodded her head.

  Jessica was dying to complain about her bruised hip but clamped her lips over a cry of pain. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, listening to the clink of harness rings and hooks. He worked quickly, bringing draglines together and pulling her chute free of the rocky outcrop.

  He patted her head and then set to work using the lines to secure her to his back. It was time to ask questions.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Ask me later."

  The man was crazy, taking the hill like a Commando, and doing it fast.

  She clung to him with one desire in her heart. Live!

  Her scream trailed off behind them, ending immediately on contact with the ground.

  "No screaming!” Jake rolled with her, quickly clamping his hand over her mouth. “If any of Azizi's goon's are within ten miles of here, you just sent them an invitation to cut our throats."

  "You haven't heard me scream yet!” The landing had been rough, and she felt dopey, bellowing like a child. She wasn't afraid of anything, except looking foolish in front of Jake.

  "Let's go, and, damn it, be quiet."

  "I'll be quiet, but I don't see anyway of getting up.” She rocked her hips. “How soon do you plan to release me, sir?"

  "Knock off the phony southern belle crap.” He took his time moving and talked quietly as he dragged her chute to him and began pulling it into a pile. “What's wrong?"

  No use being noble. “My hip. I think it's only a deep bruise."

  He knelt by her side, unceremoniously examining her for injuries. She groaned when he pressed his fingers into the flesh of her left buttock.

  "Is it bad?"

  "Bad enough.” She stood up and promptly fell to her knees. She crawled to the parachute and curled into its folds. “Give me a minute."

  Jake stood looking around, hands on his hips. “You'll need more than a minute."

  He walked away a few yards, and that action worried her. “I'll get up.” She struggled to stand on her feet. “I'm ready."

  He turned around and shook his head. “You're ready to fold like a paper umbrella.” His quick stride saved her a fall. “I'll make you a tent for the rest of the night."

  "But we need to get going. Our target won't stay put forever, and he'll kill the ambassador before dragging him around."

  "You're not going anywhere on the leg.” Lifting her up in one arm and grabbing the chute, he carried her to the cover of several low growing trees. “I'll have you fixed up in a couple minutes."

  Jessica couldn't deny she welcomed the attention. The bruise on her hip burned like fire, and the nasty scratches all over her body delivered a fierce sting.

  Her attempts to aid him in gathering grass to make a bed were limited to getting in his way. She hated the frustration of being moved aside.

  Okay, she'd help him drape the chute over the low branches.

  "Stop it, Fontana."

  "Okay."

  He folded the excess material inside and under the limbs, preparing a pretty decent place to rest. Still, she hesitated, unsure of him now. This was no place to have a brawl.

  "Come on. Get in out of the cold."

  The time had come to show her gracious side.

  "After you, Claypool."

  "What?"

  "Want me to spell it out, come in with me."

  He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at her in a calm, accessing manner. “What's up?"

  She hated appearing less than job worthy, but she hobbled to where he stood. “You're from Texas. Figure it out."

  Too sore to pretend at being tough, Jessica shivered and looked longingly at the flimsy bungalow he'd made.

  He lifted the flap of the entrance. “Go ahead. I'll stand guard until full daylight."

  She caught his shirttail and playfully tried to pull him inside the shelter. “I don't bite."

  "Yes, but you're hot, good-looking, and one hell of a kisser.” He yanked the flap down. “That's why I'm staying out here."

  Chapter Eleven

  At daylight, Jake walked back to the stream he'd found earlier, bathing in the cold water while small primates observed from the trees. One even had the balls to throw a handful of rotten fruit down at him. A few minutes later, they took off, obviously bored watching him wash his dirty hide.

  Every scratch and cut on his body burned like wasp stings, not to mention how hollow his empty stomach felt. Damn, he could sure use a cup of hot coffee right now.

  He dried with his shirt, combing his hair with his fingers. At the moment, he wasn't concerned with his looks. He was worried. Downed in a wild country with no provisions. Fontana's leg would be another slow down.

  He'd checked on her several times, nearly coming unglued with the way her hands found all his vital parts. He'd carefully turned her onto her uninjured hip and crawled out of the tent.

  He had leaned against one of the trees holding the contraption up and tried to sleep. It had been useless while insects crawled up his nose and in his ears. Not to be outdone, the primates were having a gang war.

  Plus, he'd heard thunder in the mountain range. They didn't need mud to contend with, not with cutthroats searching nearby for them. He'd heard the sounds, human sounds, the clinking of metals, laughter, and gunfire. It had to be drug dealers or Azizi's men.

  He quickly tied his shoelaces, grabbing his damp shirt, and hurried back to their temporary shelter.

  Worry rippled through him, quickening his stride to a fast trot. He was in a world of hurt. They probably wouldn't reach the diplomat in time to save his life, but he was not about to leave his partner behind. Yep, a world of hurt.

  He exhaled with relief. The lean-to was as he'd left it, and she was probably still fast asleep inside. He began to breathe easier. Throwing the flap aside, he looked in the hooch.

  Damn it!

  She was gone.

  That's what the worst of his worried feeling had been. Where in the hell was she? He was consumed with technicolor images of her being dragged off by savages in headhunting shit!

  Headhunters!!! Fool. He pitied the fool trying to cart her off. Then why was he running?

  He wanted to shout o
ut her name, but a sixth sense warned him to be quiet. He'd been right to be concerned. Baritone voices carried to him on the light breeze from less than a mile away through the dry forest.

  The plane? They'd seen the fireball last night and figured out their location. So soon? That meant their instruments had been off all along, and they would probably have ran out of fuel before they landed.

  He looked in all directions, listening intently for any sound she might make. Glancing back at the tent, he noticed the satchel and her boots tossed up against it. She was out there barefoot!

  He checked his weapon and walked back to where he had heard the voices. Luckily the trail was clear. He moved cautiously, every nerve stretched to the point of snapping.

  A new sound alerted him to Fontana's whereabouts. She was running, the soft thudding sound of her running, fast and agile. Was it Fontana? It damn well better be her.

  He waited for her to get closer. He set himself to snatch her off the trail, tensing his aching muscles to the limit. He wondered if his blood vessels were popping with stress. There she was, her face set in sharp lines of exertion, the wide-eyed look of determination as she pumped her arms and legs for speed.

  Like a spider, he reached out to snag her as she tried to plow on by his hiding place. She fought like a tiger when he clamped his hand over her mouth and held her tight. He wanted to yell when she elbowed him in his cracked ribs.

  "Fontana! Stop it.” Keeping his voice down to a gravely whisper was tough while she tried to inflict damage on him. He shook her roughly. “It's me. Be quiet!"

  He loosened his grip, but she still eyed him with fear.

  "I saw them.” She leaned over to drag air into her lungs. “Six guys. All carrying assault rifles and machetes."

  Jake took her hand. “Come on. We have to get out of here."

  "I was wrong on the distance. Wrong about everything.” It sounded like she was crying. “I'm sorry, Jake. Sorry."

  He pulled her along with him and tired to be nice when his gut told him to hurry. Cause they're going to kill you if you don't.

  "Fontana. It wasn't anything you did. We'll talk about it later.” He pulled her harder. “Okay?"

  "Okay.” Her voice was a wheeze, and he felt like horse dung for roughing her around. But, it couldn't be helped.

  She gripped his fingers, running beside him with a noticeable limp. There was no slowing down until they reached their poverty-stricken campsite.

  "Fontana.” He grabbed up her boots. “Put these on, and I'll get the rest of our stuff."

  She pulled on the boots, sans socks, and knotted the laces. Her hair was wet. She'd been swimming!

  He grimaced and grabbed the chute, rolling it into a manageable bundle. Picking up the satchel, he took one last hurried look around the area.

  "Nudging her arm, he spoke softly. “You'd better take a drink before we move out."

  "I can wait.” She secured her weapon in the waist clip on her pants. “I'm ready."

  He headed out in the general direction they had been going but moved away from the path. Maybe that would give them a little hedge against being discovered right away.

  His hair bristled on his head. Behind them, the armed men didn't bother covering their presence. They were heavily armed, firing their weapons, probably trying to frighten them into joining in the gunplay.

  Armed only with Glocks, the fight would be short and painful for him and his partner. Fighting back would have to wait.

  They alternately ran and walked through tangled vines and reeds that towered over their heads, slogging through the mud as they crossed the rippling stream. Jake covered their tracks with dry leaves and broken limbs, constantly steering Jessica away from the trail.

  He looked up through the treetops, trying to judge how long they had been moving. If he ever got another paycheck, the first thing he would buy was a damned watch.

  Fontana stumbled, hitting the dirt before he could catch her. No complaining from her. She got to her feet and fell into step with him. He put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

  "Have that drink now. You need water."

  She didn't refuse but only sipped from the bottle before offering it to him. He did the same, wetting his throat but not slaking his raging thirst.

  He pretended to take a big swig and gave it back to her, relieved to see her throat moving as she swallowed a good mouthful.

  She squatted to re-knot her laces, looking up at him with a self-deprecating smile. “I'm tired of tripping on these."

  "You know I'll have to cut those off of you."

  "So?"

  "So, I can't make them longer if you want to knot them again."

  "I don't plan to be in this hole that long."

  "Well, now that you put it that way."

  She moved ahead, leaning down to walk under the branches, stopping to fasten a leafy limb onto her shirttail.

  Moving quietly, he caught up with her and laughed softly. “Don't tell me. Campfire Girls?"

  He was glad she didn't want to trade verbal punches, and he was ashamed of taunting her, if only that much. They would stop to rest at sun set. Damn, it couldn't be soon enough.

  Jake could tell by the shadows and sun's position they had traveled a good distance away from the plane. He held his breath. It hadn't been fast or far enough.

  "Son-of-a-bitch,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

  "I hear them.” Fontana's hand was on her weapon. She pointed to her left ear and then held up four fingers.

  He got it. Four damned thugs bent on murder.

  Not a word passed between them as he led her back into the water and moved silently down stream. The footing wasn't too bad, not much moss covered the stones. Plus, it was cool and only ankle deep.

  They heard it at the same time, the screeching of primate's disturbed from their sleeping trees. Jake tugged her after him and climbed out of the stream.

  He made the walking motion with his fingers over his forearm, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. She got it. Back track.

  They moved like a couple of animals being stalked. Jake's blood simmered just below boiling because of the situation. There was no way he could take them out under the circumstances.

  Hunkering down low in the reedy grass and ever watchful of her, they moved away from the hunters. She didn't slow up or ask for favors.

  He wondered if she was afraid. Hell no. Her face was smooth as glass and not a sign of worry in her clear gaze.

  Jake pulled up for a second, attempting to get a better fix on the men. They'd stopped firing and weren't talking. That meant trouble.

  He whispered in her ear. “They're waiting for us to move."

  Nodding, Fontana flattened onto her belly. “We can crawl by them."

  "How far away do you think?"

  She held her hand up, flexing her fingers five times.

  Damn. That close?

  He touched her shoulder, making certain she heard him. “The satchel stays and the chute. Okay?"

  Her nod was barely visible in the deepening twilight. He opened the water bottle and tipped it to her lips. She drank deeply and then pushed it back to him. This time, he drank, his body screaming thanks for the moisture.

  When the bottle was empty, he weighted the satchel down with several rocks and drowned it in the stream. Fishing the compass from his pocket, he strained to see the needle. He wouldn't bother telling her the damned crystal was cracked into a million pieces and the needle gone.

  He crawled up to lie beside her, patting her rear, and then motioned for her to move forward. A nagging thought made him stop their forward motion.

  "Let's have a look at those coordinates again. Maybe we're a lot closer to Aziz's play pen than we thought."

  "In my left pocket.” She rolled onto her right side, and pointed to the largest of three pockets on her pants leg. “How much closer do you think?"

  He leaned close to her, reading her neatly written numbers while he talked. “Just a guess, but
those goon's wouldn't wander too far from their boss.” He scowled. “Hell, Azizi must have bought half of Nicaragua."

  Her whisper sounded soft and wistful for a tough chick. “I wonder if those purple berries are okay to eat?” Her gaze clung with greedy longing on a vine that twisted high above the trail.

  "We won't find out.” Pointing to the small map and numbers in her notebook, he leaned closer to her. “I sure screwed up on those numbers. With any luck at all, we can be at Aziz's place by mid-day tomorrow."

  She scratched at a bug bite on her stomach. “Wish I had some Bug-Aide."

  He moved her hand and gently scratched the spot. “Take it easy on that."

  She groaned under her breath, holding his hand tight to her belly. “Don't stop. It's driving me crazy."

  He grinned at her. “I know you mean the bite."

  Stop looking at her, fool. This is not the time. “I'm guessing we're near a road. Those hyenas probably parked their vehicle and hiked in."

  "Yeah.” She looked sage and sexy at the same time. “They're too well dressed to be jungle fighters."

  He stuck the notebook back in her pocket. “Let's go. They'll be back."

  Jake took the lead, relying on mossy tree trunks as a source of direction. It would be hours before the stars would be of any help.

  They had gone several miles, stopping only after hearing the sound of something like an ancient, slow moving contraption. It had to be a resident working, not a thug out killing for sport. “Did you hear that?"

  She strained to see through the darkness. “Sounds like a wagon."

  "Azizi wouldn't be riding in a wagon."

  "Farmers?” She sounded hopeful.

  "If we're lucky."

  Jake grabbed her hand and ran toward the sound, crossing the small stream again and charging through dense weeds. They kept running until they stood on the side of a narrow roadway.

  Jake stepped in front of her, keeping his hand on his weapon, waiting to see who came around that corner. Farmer or killer?

  The rumble of wheels and wooden slats reverberated through the forest, breaking the sleepy silence.

  Jake's stomach relaxed, and he breathed easier when the conveyance came into full view.