Heart of Fire (22 page)

She fell silent then, saving her breath. Ben pushed her ahead of him at almost a run. Jillian shut her mind down and let her body take over. She didn't want to think, because if she did she would think about Rick and she couldn't afford the weakness of crying right now. There would be time for tears later on, when they were safe, when the cocoon of shock had worn off and could no longer keep the grief at bay. All she had to do right now was keep placing one foot in front of the other as fast as she could, without the usual caution of looking both overhead and underfoot before taking a step.

Finally Ben slowed her down with a hand on her arm, and moved in front of her now that the danger of a bullet coming at them from behind had passed. "We can take it easier now," he murmured, keeping his voice down even though he hadn't been able to detect any sign of pursuit "Pace ourselves. We have a long way to go."

A very long way, she thought. Around a thousand miles, give or take a hundred or two. The thought of it was daunting; they had traveled that far to get there, but they would be returning under very different circumstances, without the support of a substantial party. Ben had some-how managed to get a backpack, but he couldn't possibly have enough supplies in there to last them all the way back. They would have to hunt for their food, and any gunshot could guide Kates and Dutra right to them. She had a heartening thought: Jorge and the others outnumbered Kates and Dutra; they might overpower them. She and Ben might not be pursued at all. But they wouldn't know, and couldn't afford to assume that they weren't.

She had gone to bed the night before thinking that she had never been happier. Now she was numb from shock. Her brother had been shot dead right in front of her, and she and Ben were running for their lives. The irony of it made her want to scream, but she didn't dare do that, either. She could do nothing but keep walking, for only by surviving could she hope to see Dutra brought to justice.

"We have to make it past the ledge today," Ben said.

She remembered the ledge, and her mind recoiled from it. "We can't cover that much distance! It's over a day's walk, remember? It was almost noon of the second day, after we got off the ledge, before we found the tunnel."

"We also set a very easy pace and took a lot of breaks because of your shoulder. It's about one day's normal walk, and we're going to do it faster than that. If they beat us there, we're caught. Once we're past the ledge, there's no bottleneck where they'll be able to find us."

"It took us several hours to walk the ledge," she pointed out. "We'll be on that thing in the dark!"

"I know," he said grimly.

Her protest hadn't been in argument, only to state the difficulty of the task he had set for them. Once it was said, she put it out of her mind and concentrated only on doing it. They had to get past the ledge, so they would. No matter what pace he set, she would keep up.

He paused briefly after about an hour and they each took a small drink of water. Neither of them had eaten, of course, but food could wait. Ben studied her face with sharp eyes; she was wan, but he could see the determination there. She would make it.

The morning had been one nightmare after another, and the headlong dash through the jungle to the ledge was yet another. She marveled at how different the horrors could be and still be nightmares. Rick. The horrible fear for Ben. The tunnel, and the panic. And now this endurance race, when she was hungry and tired and dazed from everything that had happened. The textures and forms of the nightmares were very different, but they were all the stuff of bad dreams.

After a couple more hours they stopped for water again and ate some canned fruit. "We'll take the time to eat tomorrow," Ben promised.

"I know," she said, getting to her feet, ready to push on. "I'm okay."

His big hand touched her hair in a brief caress, and then they began walking again.

They kept walking through the daily rainstorm, though the wetness made them cold and miserable. They had a lot of time to make up, and even so, it was almost sunset when they reached the long ledge that had taken Martim's life and almost stolen Rick, too. She had saved her brother's life, only to lose him a week later. She tried not to think about it.

They paused for a moment, staring at it. "Remember," Ben said. "Stay close to the wall."

"We'll have to use the flashlight in a little while," she said. "Anyone coming up behind us will be able to see it."

"That's a chance we'll have to take. I came down that damn tunnel in the dark, but we can't walk this ledge like that." He had stashed a flashlight in the pack he'd hidden away, but he hadn't had the pack with him when he'd been barreling down the tunnel. All of the flashlights had heavy-duty batteries, but there was no telling how long they would last. They would use only one on the ledge holding the other as a reserve.

She walked. She had been walking since dawn, and it was sunset now. The darkness began to intensify, but she didn't let herself flag. She turned on the flashlight, hoping they had put enough turns between them and the beginning of the trail so that anyone following them wouldn't see the telltale beam.

Her legs were trembling with fatigue. The small can of fruit hadn't been much fuel. "Do you have a candy bar?" she asked over her shoulder.

"No, but I have some cooked rice that I saved."

"Can you get to it?"

He did, and passed the pouch up to her. She plunged her hand into it, got a handful of rice, and squeezed it into a ball. She gave the pouch back to him. "Thanks." She began munching on the ball of cold rice. It wasn't very tasty, but it was food, and her body could use the carbs.

Behind her, Ben did the same thing. There wasn't much to be said for cold gooey rice, except that it stuck together really well, which made it easy to eat.

Her flashlight beam caught the gleam of yellow eyes and she froze, her scalp prickling.

"Easy," Ben murmured, drawing the pistol and clicking it off safety. "It's a coati. They're not particularly dangerous, but they do have nice long claws. Let's not crowd him."

She played the flashlight over the long-snouted animal with a banded tail like a raccoon's. "I thought they lived in trees."

"Usually. I don't know what this guy is doing by himself. C'mon, scat." He picked up a stone and threw it at the coati. It recoiled, but remained solidly in the middle of the ledge.

He threw another stone, striking it on the paw. "Scat!"

The coati remained, confused by the bright light shining in its eyes. Ben sighed and picked up a larger rock. "I don't want to have to hurt you, little guy, but you're moving one way or the other."

The third rock struck it on the haunch, and the coati made a high-pitched noise of pain and startlement. Swiftly it scrambled over the side of the ledge, out of sight. They heard the branches of a bush rustling, telling them that the cliff below wasn't completely vertical at this point.

Relieved, they hurried on. She wondered what they would do if they met a jaguar on the trail, or an ocelot. Who gave way then?

The ledge seemed unending. The day had been full of things she refused to think about, and here was another. She didn't let herself anticipate the end or try to guess how long they had been on it. All she had to do was keep walking, and when the time came, the ledge would end and the day would be over.

Ben's presence behind her was as solid as a brick wall. She kept walking. She knew they had spent hours on the ledge when they crossed it the first time, but they had also sat out a storm and been delayed by Martim's death and Rick's accident as well as by her own injury. Her shoulder barely gave a twinge now and then, having healed in the week that had passed. She was stronger, and they were moving faster. It wouldn't take much longer.

Her thoughts were so turned inward that she didn't even notice when the ledge ended and the jungle spread around them once more.

Ben halted her automatic strides, sliding his big hand under her hair and gently massaging the nape of her neck. "We did it," he said gently. "It's going to be okay. I'll find a place where we can sleep for the night."

How did you get the pack and all of these supplies?" Jillian asked in confusion, indicating the tent that Ben was swiftly and efficiently erecting.

"The tent and pack were Martim's," Ben said. "I sneaked most of this stuff out of camp not long after we got there. It seemed like a smart precaution to take, and damn if it wasn't. If nothing had happened, we wouldn't have needed it. I had it stashed in the rocks outside the tunnel entrance, because I knew if everything started popping, I sure as hell didn't want a pack slowing me down when I was coming through that tunnel."

The small tent seemed like heaven to her, a safe place where she could stretch out and relax for the first time that day. She had been dreading sleeping out in the open, and when she realized that Ben had managed to get one of the tents she had been almost giddy with relief.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I don't want to risk a fire, but there's stuff here that doesn't need cooking."

"No, I'm not hungry at all now." The rice ball, and anxiety, had taken care of her appetite. She had been thirsty, but the first thing they had done on stopping had been to drink water.

She held the flashlight for him while he finished setting up the tent. He had found a shallow overhang to provide a bit of shelter, and now he cut fronds and vines to drape over the tent, further camouflaging their position.

"After you," he said, indicating the tent, and gratefully she crawled in; he followed, and zipped the flap, closing out the jungle.

"Get settled, sweetheart. We can't afford to keep the flashlight on any longer than we have to."

Wearily she removed her boots and socks and stretched out on the thin foam pad, moving over to make as much room as possible for Ben. He shoved the pack into the far corner, placed the pistol close at hand, then removed his own boots and socks. He clicked the flashlight off, and darkness consumed them, darkness so complete it had a certain solidity to it. Ben lay down beside her, his big body hot and comforting.

Now that she had relaxed, all the things she had refused to let herself think about during the day came rushing over the barricades. Rick was dead.

"He told me to run," she murmured. "I wasn't blind to Rick's shortcomings; we were never close. Most of the time I think he actually hated me. But when he saw Dutra with the pistol and realized what was happening, his last words were for me to run."

"When you kept him from going off the ledge, it got his attention, made him think," Ben replied, his deep voice quiet. "He wasn't as much of a shit-ass after that."

"No," she said, remembering the short conversations they'd had. "He wasn't." After a minute of silence she said, "He stole one of my dolls once, when I was little. He destroyed it, hacked it to pieces. I was nosing around in his room one day and found it. I don't know why, but I never said anything."

"Were you scared of him?"

"No. He just seemed… not really part of the family. I was so close to Dad, and I know now that Rick wanted to be, but I was so like Dad in temperament and interests that poor Rick didn't have a chance. He got only the fringes of Dad's attention. No wonder he hated me."

"It wouldn't have made any difference if you'd never been born," Ben said. "People are what they are. He wouldn't have amounted to much under any circumstances."

"We'll never know now, will we?" she said sadly. After another short silence she spoke again. "Vicente is dead. He was the first one Dutra shot."

Ben swore, then sighed. Vicente had been a steady worker, a happy-go-lucky fellow always ready for a laugh. Even the strong warning Ben had given the men hadn't saved him.

Jillian began to tremble. Ben felt the slight movement and turned to her, taking her in his arms and holding her as she battled the shock of reaction. His vital animal heat was comforting, and she sought to get closer.

She felt him touch her hair, smooth it back from her face. Then his mouth covered hers, and she turned her face more fully toward him. She was quiescent, accepting both the kiss and the slow domination of it as his tongue penetrated her mouth. She began to breathe more deeply, a heavy languor stealing into her body. After all they had been through that day, she both wanted and needed him. A shock of recognition hit her: the sparring was at an end; it was time. He lifted his mouth and she sensed him leaning over her in the dark.

"I can't believe you've held me off this long," he said in a low, guttural voice. "Let me inside you, sweetheart. Now." There was no supplication in his tone, only primal male determination.

His hands were hard on her body as he removed her pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding them down her hips and legs, and off over her feet. He swept her panties down in the same movement, leaving her naked from the waist down, trembling. She felt his movements as he stripped out of his own clothes, and shut her eyes as if the act would freeze time, give her an opportunity to think.

He was moving too fast, unwavering in his intent, and she couldn't muster any protest or denial, couldn't think why she would want to. Why slow him down? She had that feeling again, that sense of… waiting, as if the time had been long approaching and had now arrived. There was an inevitability to it. She loved him, and for a while that day she'd thought she had lost him to death. All of the squabbling competition seemed unimportant right now. He had called her his woman, and she lay there in the darkness feeling the final acceptance of it.

He opened her legs and moved between them, mounting her. Jillian clutched his steely biceps, her nails digging into the skin. She felt him brace himself over her on one arm, while he reached down with his other hand and guided his penis to her. The first heated touch made her flinch, and he murmured, "Easy, sweetheart."

She tried to relax, but somehow it didn't seem like an option she had. There was no time to prepare herself, no foreplay, only the basic act itself. He pushed into her with slow, inexorable force, squeezing his thick penis in to the hilt. She writhed beneath him, feeling unbearably stretched, on the verge of pain, her soft sheath quivering as she tried to accustom herself to his girth.

"Shhh," he soothed, and only then did she realize she was making small whimpering noises. He stripped her shirt off and let his weight down on her, the crisp curls on his broad, hard chest rasping against her tender breasts. She locked her arms around his shoulders, clinging desperately.

He withdrew a little and slowly squeezed forward again, testing her tightness, shuddering with the pleasure of it. He was so aroused that he felt almost ready to climax right then, a startling realization for a man who was accustomed to drawing the sex act out for at least an hour. His testicles were drawn tight against his body, signaling how close he was to orgasm. It was going too fast; he didn't want it to end so quickly. At last he had her naked, her arms around him holding as if she never meant to let go, her taut, firmly muscled body welcoming him, and he never wanted it to end.

But the Lorelei of irresistible pleasure beckoned, and his body, so long denied, refused to be denied a moment longer. He began thrusting heavily, groaning as he pounded into her, feeling her sheath grow moist and supple as she clung to him. She wound her strong slim legs around his waist and he lost it. His climax slammed into him like a freight train. He hammered into her with the violent rush of semen from his body, groaning deep in his chest.

It was over. In the silence afterward, Jillian lay still beneath him, feeling dazed and a little battered from the force of his passion. He had been overwhelming, so dominant in his need that her mind reeled from it. He lay heavily on her for a time, his chest heaving like bellows and sweat dripping down his side. When he had rested, he began slowly to thrust again.

She moaned, softly, and he kissed her, his tongue probing deep. "It's all right," he said in a soothing whisper. She was slick from his climax, accepting him easily, her hips rising in an involuntary little movement to meet each inward stroke. He could take his time now; he was still hard, and knew he would come at least once more, maybe twice, but not for a while. He could savor every inch of her, the smooth satin of her skin, the hot wet silk of her sheath.

He drew it out, with slow, steady thrusts. He felt the tension grow in her, felt the subtle vibration of arousal as her slender body tightened and lifted to him.

"Ben," she said, just his name, but laden with desire.

It was as perfect as he had known it would be, and yet it was more. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity, the overwhelming need to brand her body with his, using the heat of ecstasy. No other woman had ever mattered as much, had ever fit him so tightly, been so wonderfully perfect. He'd never been this excited before, every inch of him alive, or so aware of every tiny sound and movement she made.

She began heaving under him, crying out in a soft, strained, mindless sound. He slid his hands beneath her to cup her buttocks and lift her up as he thrust more solidly into her. He felt the deep, delicate inner shivers around his penis as she convulsed in his arms.

He didn't stop.

The day had been an endless nightmare to Jillian. The night became endless too, but in a different way. He knew just how to wring another response from her, even when she thought it was impossible, when she wanted nothing so much as sleep. He whispered to her, lovemaking words, both sweet and raunchy. He lavished attention on her breasts, and between her thighs.

When they did finally sleep, he was still on top of her, still penetrating her. Several times during the night he grew hard within her and made love to her again. Or had he ever stopped? The darkness gave everything an aura of unreality, a drama conducted by feel alone.

She learned his body. She found that a firm touch on his nipples made him shiver with pleasure and that he loved having his back stroked. She cupped the soft, heavy weight of his testicles and he all but purred. He was a total sensualist, without a shy or modest gene in his body. And he learned her body, touching her in ways she had heard about but never before experienced, gentle as he led her into pleasure, then letting himself be as rough as he sensed she needed when her own desires rose beating in heavy rhythm.

The close, intimate darkness wrapped around them, allowing a lack of inhibition that would have embarrassed her had they been able to see. But the night was timeless, stretching on forever, their lovemaking guided solely by touch. He never left her alone for even one minute, holding her close, pushing away her sadness with the demands of his hard body. She felt infinitely secure and desired, cradled so close she could feel the strong pounding of his heart, the boundaries of the night set by his arms and steely thighs. His heavy weight pressed her down into the mat, and it was so wonderful she could have cried. Instead she forgot about the dawn.

She slept. They both did, finally. But she awoke and, without even opening her eyes, became aware of the light, very dim, creeping in through the thick canopy, edging past the layer of fronds he had used to camouflage the tent, seeping through the thin nylon to forever end this particular night. She lay very still, not wanting to face the day just yet. Ben lay sprawled on top of her, the weight of his torso eased a bit to the side so she could breathe, but he was still very heavy. His head was turned away from her, his chest moving in the slow, easy rhythm of sleep. Her thighs were open, his hips cradled between them. He had drawn one leg up, forcing her leg higher on his hip. He was soft now, but still nestled within her. The only time he had left her at all during the night, she thought, was to change position.

Monkeys chattered in the treetops. Ben woke; he didn't move, but she could tell because he swiftly grew erect within her, and a fine tension invaded his muscles.

Gently she stroked her hand up his back and curled her arm around his neck. Just as gently, he began thrusting. She kept her eyes closed, holding the dawn at bay for just a while longer.

Afterward he allowed only a few minutes of rest before saying, "We have to start moving. Kates probably stopped on the other side of the ledge last night, giving us a few hours, but we can't afford to waste time." He disengaged their bodies and sat up, running his hand through his hair. God, he'd have liked to stay here with her for a week or so, doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and making love.

Jillian opened her eyes and faced reality. Rick was dead, but she couldn't just stop. Life inexorably moved on, and she and Ben were still alive, and in danger. She would grieve for Rick, but only in a private place in her heart. So she pushed his memory into that private place and sat up, ready to go on.

Or maybe not so ready. She took immediate stock of the situation and said, "I need a bath."

He grinned as he lay back and began pulling on his underwear and pants. "I'd say we both do, but it'll have to wait."

"It can't wait very long," she muttered, wrinkling her nose in fastidious distaste as she too began dressing. "I'm sticking to myself. Why couldn't
you
have waited until we got back to Manaus where they have bathrooms and showers?"

He gave her a disbelieving look. "Are you kidding? I'd already waited so long I was having hallucinations. I'm allergic to abstinence; it causes all sorts of health problems." Then his expression turned serious and he cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Are you okay? I forgot about your shoulder last night."

"My shoulder's fine." She moved it to show him, and added wryly, "I have a few aches and pains, but not in my shoulder."