Dangerous Desires (17 page)

She blew out a breath and nodded. He was right. Hell, he was always right. Damn the man. She dropped back to follow as they moved cautiously forward, the stream picking up again as it gave in to the inevitable, the sound of the rushing river filtering through the thick undergrowth.

And then suddenly, there it was. The Rio Negro, its raging waters swollen by the rains. The smaller river tumbled over a fall of rocks, one last cliff separating the tributary from its parent. Below them, the waters eddied as the two rivers joined, the clear stream dissipating into the mud-blackened Rio Negro.

“I see it,” Madeline whispered, pitching her voice low to be heard beneath the roar of this newest set of falls. “The outpost. It’s down there.”

To the right of the converging rivers a silt-covered bank extended from the foot of the cliff, and on its farthest edge, a ramshackle building stood, its weathered walls so overgrown with moss and vines it almost disappeared into the surrounding vegetation.

“Okay,” Drake said, studying the outpost through his field glasses, “our first order of business is to get down there without alerting anyone inside. Which means we have to find a way to traverse this cliff.”

“I’m not going over the waterfall,” she insisted, shooting her gaze over to the tumbling water. “Once is most definitely enough.”

“No.” His lips quirked at the corners. “I’m thinking we’ll try the terra-firma route this time. But we need to make sure they can’t see or hear us making our descent. So we should make our way upriver a little ways, and then look for a way down.”

She nodded, and followed as he led the way back into the undergrowth. They worked their way northwest until the outpost was safely out of sight. Then, working on a diagonal, they began to move downward. The slope was littered with rocks and scree, and covered with thick black mud. Each step was an effort, either to avoid sliding on the rocks, or slipping in the mud.

At first there were tufts of some kind of coarse grass, and she used them as vegetative stepping-stones. But about halfway down the grass disappeared, and there was nothing but rocks and mud. Using a stick to balance herself, Madeline kept her eyes trained on the ground
immediately in front of her feet, concentrating on every step she took.

About three-quarters of the way down, she slipped, falling forward, landing on her knees in the muck.

“You okay?” Drake asked, making his way back up the slope to where she’d fallen.

“I’m fine,” she hissed, hopping to her feet, her pants plastered with the wet sticky mud. “Couldn’t be better.”

Frowning, he studied her face, no doubt to reassure himself that she wasn’t going to lose it, and then, with a nod, headed back down again.

She stood her ground for a moment, cursing Drake, herself, and the world in general, and then resumed her trek downward, this time using the bigger rocks to brace herself against further unwanted tumbles. In what seemed like hours, but was far more likely to have been minutes, she reached the bottom and sighed with relief.

“So what next?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“We do a little recon.”

The idea of trudging through more of the black sucking mud held little appeal, but the idea of being left on her own was equally repellent, so she followed as he led the way into the reeds and rushes that bordered the river.

In truth, she wasn’t sure whether she felt more like laughing or crying. Or, quite frankly, running as fast as she could in the opposite direction, but then she’d already chosen that course with disastrous results. No, the facts were simple—she needed Drake and his somewhat unusual skill set to survive this journey. Once she was back on familiar ground, all bets were off.

Up ahead, the weathered gray wood of the outpost shone through the mottled greens of the undergrowth.

“Wait here,” Drake said, coming to a stop in front of her. “I’m going to check out the window and see if there’s anyone inside.”

Madeline nodded, fingering her bag as Drake pulled his gun and moved forward using the river plants for cover. She squatted behind a rock to wait, letting her gaze sweep over the surrounding area for signs of life. Just beyond her a small turtle basked in the sun on a rock, and two bottle-green dragonflies hovered over a small lily of some kind.

Suddenly the grass parted, and Drake was dropping down beside her.

“What did you see?” she asked.

“There’s definitely someone inside. A man. Indeterminable age. Hispanic. Could be local. It’s hard to tell. There’s no sign of a weapon, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one somewhere. It’s just not in plain sight. At the moment, he’s got his back to the door. So if I move quickly, I can intercept him from the front before he has a chance to do anything. Shouldn’t be a problem to neutralize him.”

“Kill him, do you mean?” she whispered, with a frown. “What if he’s not a danger?”

“Obviously, I intend to find out before taking any drastic action. The point is that I can get to him before he can get to me. Which means that either way, we’re good to go. So you stay here, and I’ll see what I can accomplish.”

“But what if something happens to you?” She hated that she had to ask the question, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying. You’re probably right and he’s got no connection with any of this.”

Or she was wrong and Drake was walking into some kind of trap. She opened her mouth to argue, but instead settled for “be careful.” His smile indicated that for him this kind of thing was a walk in the park. Routine procedure. She grimaced and waited for him to disappear into the brush, then moved forward so that she could see in the window.

The man inside was sitting at a table, looking at his laptop. A pot-bellied stove sat in the corner, something bubbling in a pan on the top, an old-fashioned percolator directly behind it. Madeline’s mouth watered. It had been hours since they’d had anything to eat, and that had only been cold puma. Not exactly the breakfast of champions.

If the man turned out to be friendly, maybe he’d ask them to share his meal. And if he wasn’t inclined, well, she had the feeling Drake would find a way to convince him. As if on cue, Drake appeared in the doorway.

“Don’t move,” he said. The man at the table tensed, his fingers tightening into a fist and then releasing. “Turn around slowly.”

The man turned, one hand still on the table. His face was congenial enough, his brown eyes guiless. He looked to be somewhere between thirty and forty-five. His hair was long, and in need of a good wash. His clothes were serviceable, his shoes caked with the black mud that was everywhere.

“Not exactly a friendly greeting,” the stranger said.

“A man out here can’t be too careful.” Drake shrugged, not sounding the slightest bit apologetic.

“True enough,” the other man nodded. “But that goes both ways. Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I’m a botanist. I’ve been cataloging plants in the area.” He nodded out the door at the waving vegetation. “Lost my supplies in the rain. River surged and swamped my camp.”

“It can get dicey out here,” the man agreed. “Who do you work for?”

“University of California.”

“American?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, still holding the gun. “I guess it shows.”

“I’ve been around, recognized the accent.” The man lifted his hands. “Why don’t you let me get you a cup of coffee?” He nodded toward the pot on the stove, and Madeline’s stomach rumbled so loudly she was certain they’d be able to hear it. “Assuming you’re willing to put down the gun.”

“Why don’t you tell me who you are first?” Drake asked.

“Jacques Ormond. You might say I’m a distributor of sorts. I collect animal specimens. There’s quite a market for them. Especially zoos.” He nodded toward a couple of cages stacked against one wall.

Drake eyed the man warily, but lowered the gun. Madeline felt a niggle of concern. Something was off. He’d said his name was Jacques. French pronunciation. But his accent wasn’t French and Drake had been right, his features were definitely Hispanic.

“This your place?” Drake asked, walking over to lean against the table.

“Yeah, at least for the time being,” the man said. “This outpost is basically here to serve whoever needs it. And
for the moment, I guess that’s me.” He stepped over to the stove, his back to Drake as he poured a cup of coffee. “How long you been out here?” He turned to hand the cup to Drake.

“Only a couple of weeks. It’s my first time out. I’m working with a team, but we split up in Buenaventura. Figured it would be easier to cover more territory if we worked on our own.”

“So you’re alone?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You?”

“Prefer it that way.” The man smiled, and again Madeline felt a tug of uneasiness. He crossed back to the stove and reached up to grab another cup, then turned to pour more coffee. “I’ve been out here a month or so.”

“Catch much?” Drake asked, his eyes shooting toward the door. At least he had finally remembered she was out here.

“I beg your pardon?” the man asked, half turning back from the stove.

“Animals?”

“Ah, sorry, wasn’t following your drift. Couple of monkeys and a toucan. I’ve been stalking a leopard, but so far no luck.”

Madeline shifted a little so that she could better see the room, her foot dislodging a small pile of stones propped against the edge of the house in the process. Holding her breath, she waited to be certain that no one had heard, and then glanced back down at the ground, to be certain she wouldn’t do it again.

The falling stones had uncovered something blue. She reached down to pick it up, and was surprised to find a mud-splattered bandana.

Curious, she knelt, peering into the shadows underneath the pier and beam building. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the dark, but when it did, her heart leaped to her throat as her brain registered what her eyes were seeing. A man lay prostrate, his head turned to one side, his mouth lolling open, his eyes rolled back in his head. His hand was outflung as if in entreaty.

Madeline had the distinct feeling she was looking at the real Frenchman. Jacques Ormond. But regardless of whether she’d pegged his identity, his presence meant that Drake had most likely walked into a trap.

She popped back up in time to see the stranger grab a gun from the shelf beside the stove and swing around, leveling it on Drake. “Toss me your gun,” the man said as Drake grimaced, his muscles tightening.

Instinct surged, and Madeline reached into her bag, her fingers closing on the gun Drake had given her in the clearing. After wrapping the bandana around her left hand, she gripped the gun, and then smashed her fist through the window’s glass.

The man swung around, surprised. And Drake dove for his gun. But Madeline didn’t wait, firing instead through the hole, hitting the stranger dead-on, the bullet driving him backward into the shelves, boxes and cans going every which way.

Shaking now, she lowered the weapon, her eyes meeting Drake’s through the window as he went to check the body. Adrenaline still cresting, Madeline ran around the corner, up onto the porch and into the building. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” Drake said, eyes narrowed as he stared at the gun in her hand. “Nice shot.”

“There’s a dead man under the house,” she said by
way of explanation. “I think it might be the real Jacques. And then when I looked through the window again he was holding you at gunpoint. So I figured I’d catch him by surprise.”

“Well, you did that.” He nodded toward the body.

“I was afraid the guy was going to blow you away,” she said, her breath still coming in ragged gasps.

“I would have managed.”

“Now where have I heard that before?”

The corners of his lips twitched and she let out a slow breath, relief flooding through her, the power of the emotion surprising her. The idea of losing him was almost more than she could bear. After all, she needed him to stay alive so he could help her make her way out of here. He was her ticket to freedom. Without him…

She stopped, her gaze moving to his. And suddenly, with complete certainty, she knew that her relief stemmed from far more than self-preservation. She actually cared about the man. What that meant in the grand scheme of things, she had no idea. But there was no escaping the fact that in the moments before she’d fired, the only thing on her mind—the driving force behind her actions—was the urgent desire to make certain that Drake was okay.

Clearly, she’d lost her fucking mind.

S
o if the real Jacques Ormond is outside,” Drake said, as he rolled the dead man over, “who’s this?”

“I’ve no idea.” Madeline shook her head. “If he’s one of di Silva’s men, I’ve never seen him before. Does he have any kind of ID?”

“No,” Drake said. “The body’s clean.”

“Maybe there’s a backpack or something?”

“Yeah. It’s possible. But before we look, let’s get him out of here. If any of his friends arrive, I don’t want to tip our hand.”

“Dead bodies do tend to raise questions.” She nodded, shifting around to the dead man’s feet.

Again, he was impressed by her control. She’d just killed a man, and while he’d expect this kind of calm from Tyler or even Hannah, he’d have thought she’d have been more affected. Then again, this was
Madeline
—and she always seemed to surprise him.

He bent and grabbed the guy under his armpits. “All
right, let’s do it.” Together they lifted the body and started to move toward the door.

“Where are we going to put him?” Madeline asked. “Under the house with Jacques?”

“No. We’ll throw him in the river. Jacques, too, actually.”

“That seems a little callous.” She frowned at him. “I mean, maybe not for this guy. But Jacques deserves a little more respect.”

“I’m just trying to keep us alive,” Drake said as they moved out onto the jetty. “The current will carry the bodies downriver fast. And between the fish and the caimans they’ll be gone before they the hit the coast.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any crocs in these waters?”

“I said none in the upper altitudes. Down here they flourish. Except when people like Jacques Ormond poach them for the leather.”