Hard Core (Onyx Group) (8 page)

The husband wasn’t breathing.

One of the tribesmen put out an arm to stop her when she
lunged at the man. “No,” he said. “He is gone.”

Alana fought against his arm. “I have to be sure.”

His arm lowered, but not without a stream of protests. Alana
ignored them and dropped to her knees beside the man. With a shaking hand, she
laid two fingers to his neck. When she found no pulse, she cried out in
frustration and tried again. She lifted his head into her lap and stared down
into his vacant eyes and knew she couldn’t save him. Pain knifed through her
chest as her tears mixed with the rain.

Around her, men heaved in unison in effort to remove the
tree from the boy who was still pinned. He sobbed for his father. The cries cut
through Alana’s heart as she ran a hand over the father’s eyes to close them.
Then she turned her attention to the boy and scooted sideways so she could hold
his head in her lap. Blood seeped down his face and his terrified eyes looked
up into hers with recognition that didn’t register through his panic.

“It’s okay,” she murmured and pressed a hand to the wound to
stem the flow. She looked over to see he was pinned from the chest down.
Refusing to think about the injuries he’d sustained, she focused on calming him
as the men tried to free him.

“We need more,” someone shouted as men grunted with effort.
The tree was too big, too heavy.

They needed a miracle.

“I have to help,” she told the boy and gently let him go.

He sobbed quietly now, but nodded.

She rose to her feet and braced a shoulder against the tree.
Bark scraped her bare shoulder as she ignored the disapproving looks she
received. On their count, she put every ounce of strength she had into moving
the tree. She cried out with the effort, every muscle in her body tight with
strain.

The tree rocked, but didn’t move.

“God, please,” she cried when they relaxed for another
round.

They tried three more times. Each time the tree moved. Not
enough to pull the boy free. Alana wanted to cry from the physical strain, in
frustration, but instead she used the emotion and dug deep for strength.

Rain made the trunk slippery, their hands scraped raw, but
no one complained or gave an inch. After fifteen minutes Alana was exhausted,
but determined not to quit.

Again they tried, to no avail.

The boy’s mother sobbed hysterically behind them, the men
grunting with effort.

“Again!” she shouted in unison with them and put all she had
into saving the boy’s life.

She pushed, cried out in pain and exertion, when suddenly
the tree rocked, rolled, and with a unified grunt went over, as if the hand of
God had reached down from heaven and moved it Himself.

Surprised as much as relieved, Alana stumbled and looked up.
Her eyes met Cristian’s icy blue gaze. He stood half-naked and soaking wet at
the base of the tree, hands braced, muscles straining, granite lines of
exertion on his chiseled face. Not a flicker of emotion as he met her eyes.
Nothing but a cold, hard stare.

Something deep and primal rose inside her and heated her
blood. He had come back. Mercenary or not, he’d helped save this boy.

“Hurry.” He shouted to be heard over the murmur of voices
and the storm. “It won’t hold long.”

Shaken out of her reverie, Alana jumped into action. “Hold
it!” she yelled, dropping down so she could reach for the boy. Grunts and
groans followed her down as the men held the tree in place and prevented it
from rolling back over.

She spoke to the boy. “Can you move your legs?”

He nodded.

“How about your arms, can you move both of them?”

Another nod.

“Are you ready? I’m going to pull you out at the same time
you push toward me. Can you do that?”

“
Si
.” He sobbed.

“Now, Alana.” Cristian. Urgent.

“Yes, okay.” She grasped the boy beneath the armpits.
“Ready.
Go. Push!
”

Together they pulled him free. He screamed in pain as he
tore free. She fell backward with him in tow. Reacting quickly, she snatched
him up and scooted back. “Okay, we’re clear.”

On Cristian’s command they eased the tree back into
position, but Alana didn’t move fast enough. One of the limbs came down on top
of her. She shielded the boy from more harm and took the brunt of it as it
scraped down her back.

But it wasn’t there long. The weight lifted and rain hit
her. With the boy cradled in her arms she got out of the way, stepping over
branches and debris until she was free to run toward the church.

Her father waited anxiously when she got there. He held the
door open and ushered her inside. Alana ran straight to the back room and
carefully laid the boy on the table. His sobs filled the room and she put a
hand on his shoulder to console him.

“I think he broke something when we pulled him out.” She
reached for a pair of gloves. “I need to cut his pant leg off.”

Her father already had a pair of scissors. As he began
cutting the pant leg, Alana drew up a syringe and used it to calm the boy so
they could work. Once he was out, they went to work setting his leg. They could
put it in a cast, but in this environment it wouldn’t heal. They would have to
settle for a more primitive cast.

“We have more injuries coming in,” her father said a few minutes
later as he handed her a roll of bandages.

She didn’t look up. “Go. I can finish this.”

Her father handed her the rest of the supplies she’d need
and went out to help the others who’d been injured in the storm. It was going
to be a long night.

In the darkness Slade watched Alana work quickly and
efficiently to put her patient back together, much as she had him. The boy
trusted her, completely. The thought rocked him. Dangerous to put so much trust
in a person.

His eyes traveled over her profile, turned slightly away.
She genuinely cared about her work. He could see it written in the lines of her
face, in every muscle, as she moved quickly through the paces. There was no
pretense with this woman. She was who she claimed.

But why here? She obviously had talent, steady hands and a
cool head.

Running from something? Hiding. But what? Or whom?

Slade cursed beneath his breath. He didn’t want to know.
Didn’t care. He’d cared once; he wasn’t going to that dark place again.

But something drew his eyes back to the fiery-haired woman
bent over a child’s leg, skillfully setting it back in place. He felt like a
voyeur.

He couldn’t look away.

He shouldn’t have come back. Should have kept going, kept
his eye on the ball. Something had drawn him back, refusing to free him. He
hated it, would rip it out of his soul if he could, but he didn’t know what the
hell it was.

Yes, he did.

It was her.

A dangerous mistake. He knew it, but he couldn’t help it.
He’d been a mile away from camp by time the storm hit and he’d immediately
turned back. These people were the three little pigs and the storm the big bad
wolf. They lived in shoddy, thatched-roof homes that would never withstand
these kinds of torrential tropical rains. And judging by the devastation he’d
seen when he got here, he’d been right.

By morning he wouldn’t be surprised if they were burying the
dead.

Something twisted in Slade’s chest. He didn’t care. These
people meant nothing to him. Yet he’d come back to help them.

Her fault.

Maybe he needed to bed her. Maybe then he could have his
focus back. It had been a long time, he admitted that, but not long enough he’d
lost his objectivity. He should be halfway to Ross’s palace right now, not
standing outside an ancient church, bleeding, hurting, and watching a woman
through a window.

He’d torn his stitches when he hoisted that tree. And as
much as it galled him, he wanted Alana to heal him. Needed to feel her soothing
touch.

He cursed the weakness and turned from the window to stalk
through the night to her hut. He didn’t have the answers, wasn’t sure he wanted
them, but he knew one thing for sure. She had a hold on him and he needed to
shake free.

He could think of only one way to do that.

After he got his fill of her, he would leave.

And never come back.

* * * *

Exhausted, Alana walked into her hut, stripped out of her
wet clothes without the aid of a lantern, and left them on the floor. Stiff,
sore and plain worn out, she shuffled toward her bed. The storm had injured
many, demolished a couple houses, but taken only two.

She already shed tears for Madal and Cendela, wishing they
didn’t have to bury anyone, but grateful they weren’t burying more. The storm
had passed, leaving behind a warm, humid aftermath. It clung heavily to her
skin, making her long for the waterfall, but she was too tired to walk there.
All she wanted was her bed and to forget Cristian had come back and then
disappeared again.

He’d come back.

Confused, she rubbed her aching temples. Why did he come
back? But if he hadn’t…

No, not going there. The boy was safe, nothing else
mattered. He suffered a broken leg, but he was alive. She would never get the
chance to thank Cristian, doubted he’d even listen if she tried, but she would
never forget the sight of him standing in the rain, soaking wet and shirtless,
muscles bulging.

She swallowed hard and pushed her hormones down. They ran
rampant again. They always did when it came to him.

God, she was tired.

Alana fell into bed.

“You’ll bleed all over your sheets, Doc,” he murmured from
across the room in the darkness.

Alana jumped, hissing out a breath. His voice, so low and
husky, so masculine, slid over her and caused her belly to tighten.

Absently, she reached up and touched her shoulder. Warm
blood seeped onto her fingers. How did he know she was bleeding? She’d
forgotten.

“It’s just a scratch,” she said, distracted by the images
that filled her head. Images of a half-naked Cristian helping save that boy’s
life.

“I should look at it.”

“You’re not a doctor.” And she wasn’t in any position to be
close to him. Her nerves were frayed, her emotions running high. The last thing
she needed was for him to touch her.

“Expert opinion?”

“Of course. Besides, you’re the one who needs tending. You
ripped your stitches, didn’t you?” There would be repercussions from his heroic
act, though he’d never admit it.

She didn’t expect him to answer, knew he wouldn’t. Weary,
she pulled the blanket off the bed, wrapped it around her like a toga, then
reached for the lantern. He wouldn’t let her stitch the wound again, but she
could put a bandage on it to hold it together as it healed.

She found the lantern and lit it, illuminating the room in
soft glow. Cristian stood in the corner, shoulders braced against the wall. Her
breath caught. He seemed larger than life in the small space, his presence as
intimidating as his build.

Something dark and forbidden shone in his eyes. Muscles
tightened low in her belly. She swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. He’d come
back. But why?

She wasn’t aware she’d spoken the thought aloud until his
expression hardened. He straightened, pushed off the wall.

“Hell if I know,” he said, low, angry. “Put a Band-Aid on
that scratch, Doc.” With that he was gone, walking once again out of her life.

Alana dropped down on her bed, breathing hard. He was wrong.
He knew exactly what he wanted and she wanted it too. Oh, God, how she wanted
it. She didn’t want to be alone tonight.

But she would be.

She turned out the lantern and slid into bed and closed her
eyes. Yes, alone was her life. And very soon she would be more alone than she’d
ever wanted to be.

* * * *

Slade slung a rifle over his shoulder and strapped a knife
to his ankle, mouth set in a grim line. Leaving was the best thing to do. He’d
chanted it inside his head all the way here.

Not even the pain in his side dulled the image of Alana’s
naked silhouette, or his reaction to her clothes hitting the floor inches from
where he’d stood. Just knowing she slept nude set his blood on fire. Mental
images filled in the rest.

Forget her.

He had a job to finish.

With jerky movements, he uncovered the rest of his gear from
where he’d buried it days ago. He always kept a backup stash. Just in case a
job went wrong. It didn’t happen often. This one had. In more ways than one.

He didn’t need the money. Hell, didn’t want it. Especially
now. It wasn’t worth being tied up in knots. He’d never wanted like this
before, never
needed
like this. He didn’t want things, sure as hell
didn’t need anything. He acquired numerous houses because he needed more than
one home base for security reasons. Or so he told himself. Needing a place he
felt secure in had nothing to do with it.

Bugs circled his head, some went in for a bite. Ignoring
them, he finished with his gear and covered his tracks. Daylight descended,
bringing unbearable heat and humidity. Slade ignored that too.

Focused now, he left the hiding place and crept through the
jungle toward his target. This time he would not fail.

* * * *

Alana came awake slowly, lifting heavy eyelids after a
restless night. She felt more tired now than when she’d gone to bed. Something
had awakened her, but not a nightmare. She frowned and stared at the wall, her
thoughts cloudy. There were no tears staining her cheeks. So what…

A hand clamped over her mouth. Terror raced through her as a
body covered hers and pinned her to the bed.

She turned wide eyes to a man she had seen many times during
her stay on the island. Ross’s man. She knew him by the scar that cut across
his forehead.

He smiled down at her without warmth. “Ah,
senorita
,”
he drawled. “You are awake.”

She bucked beneath his weight. Fear snaked down her spine.
Ross had honored their agreement thus far. Why would he send for her now? And
why under the cover of darkness? He made no secret about how he felt and what
he wanted.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Her captor dragged her to her feet. His
gaze raked over her naked body, but she didn’t care. If he touched her, Ross
would kill him. He’d also made his intentions clear to his staff.

“Let me go,” she ordered, tugging against his grip.

“Sorry,
senorita
, you’re coming with me.” He reached
for her and she fought, but he struck her, his fist snapping her head sideways.
Pain exploded in her cheek. She stumbled back onto the bed, tasting blood.

Stunned, she stared up at him as he reached for her clothes
on the floor. With a scowl, he tossed them at her.

“As much as I’d like to indulge,” he said, “there is no
time.”

And Gavin Ross would kill you
. She dressed quickly,
feeling sick. As soon as she pulled on her second boot, she lunged for the
door.

The guard cursed as he pounded after her. She threw open the
door and flew over the threshold. He hit her from behind, tackled her to the
ground hard, knocking the breath out of her, and dragged her back inside the
hut. Dawn had barely broken. Everyone still slept after the night they’d had.

He flipped her onto her back, straddled her, and pulled back
his arm. The last thing she saw was his fist heading straight for her jaw.

* * * *

Slade cursed a blue streak as he walked into the small village,
ignoring the looks he received. They weren’t ones of hostility, but of respect
and gratitude. It made him damn uncomfortable. He helped move a damn tree. It
didn’t change anything.

“Cristian,” a man greeted him softly in English. “What are
you doing out of bed? Does Alana know you’re out and about?”

The name threw him off balance the same as when Alana spoke
it. Only this time it came from the thin, pale man who’d tended him in Alana’s
place. He had the same green-gray eyes as she did. Her father, he guessed,
since they were the only two Americans here except for him and Gavin.

“She knows.” Images of her beautiful, weary face and naked,
bruised and bleeding body, flashed through his head. She’d risked her life for
that boy and it ate at him. He’d come back to tell her what a fool she was.

Oh, hell. That wasn’t the reason he came back. She was. The
look in her eyes before he walked out last night haunted him. She wanted him.
And it wreaked havoc on his peace of mind. He had a job to do and she tripped
him up. He couldn’t have that. Couldn’t work like this.

He needed to forget her. Needed…
fuck
. What was this
woman doing to him? Nothing and no one had ever distracted him from a job
before.

“Can we talk?” the man asked as he fell into step beside
him.

“I’m not staying.”

“This isn’t about that. This is about my daughter.”

The absolute last thing Slade wanted to talk about. One look
at the man’s expression and Slade nodded his agreement before following him
into a nearby hut, identical to Alana’s. Except when he stepped inside, books
surrounded him. Shelves and shelves of them. It must have taken days to
transport all of them into the jungle. Even longer to put them together. How
had the books stayed intact in this wet environment?

“Sit, please.” The man gestured to one of the wooden chairs
in front of a tall bookshelf.

Slade sat and waited.

The man sat across from him, his movements slow as if they
caused him pain. “I feel I must intervene on behalf of my daughter,” he began,
giving Slade a hard look. The protective father. “She is just like her mother,
God rest her soul. Self-sacrificing and stubborn to a fault, both of them. I
fear my daughter has put us all in danger with her high moral ground.”

Slade remained silent. He knew where this was going.

“We are a peaceful people, Cristian. We don’t want any
trouble. Whatever you’re into, it makes no difference to us as long as you keep
Gavin Ross away from here.”

“Done.” A promise he could make.

The man nodded. “Now, about my daughter. I know of your
phobia for needles and I gather you are a private man, but where Alana is
concerned, I must protect her at all costs. She can be a determined woman when
she puts her mind to something. I cannot allow you to hurt her again.”

Slade did a double take and searched the man’s aged, pale
face. He didn’t think the man was as old as he looked, but looks could be
deceiving. “What did you say?” he asked, deathly quiet. He wasn’t his father.
He didn’t hurt women. The bruises on Alana’s body proved someone had mishandled
her.

Determination shone in the man’s eyes, though they both knew
he was no match for Slade. He respected the man’s devotion. A father should
protect his daughter. At all costs.

“No one blames you, Cristian, and we won’t condemn you for
any actions performed while in a state of delirium. But know this. Now that you
are coherent and healed, you will stay away from my daughter. I’ll take over
your care.”

A first for him. He’d never been warned away from anyone’s
daughter before. Then again, he’d never stayed in one place long enough to form
any kind of relationship, until Mariette. He wasn’t the kind of man women took
home to meet the parents.

This man accused him of putting those bruises on Alana. That
he was the one who hurt her. It twisted his gut.

“I don’t hurt women.”

The man’s eyes turned soft. “I’m sure you don’t normally.
It’s all right, Cristian, we forgive you.”