Out of the Night (3 page)

Now her head felt too heavy to hold up, so she let it fall back against the seat. It took every bit of her willpower to look to the side where Mac's face wavered unsteadily.

"Wha… ?" Her mouth refused to ask the question her mind had no trouble screaming.
What did you do to me
?

Then there was only darkness.

Long hours later, Mac guided the plane across the tiny airfield in the northern Amazon of South America. The facility to which he and his passenger were headed was the headquarters for a zoological research project studying the indigenous wildlife of the area. The project was being conducted by one of the larger stateside universities, though Mac didn't know which one specifically. It didn't matter. The whole thing was a front for the U.S. military, giving them an excuse to have a covert presence in the Amazon. The sizable fee paid to key members of the Brazilian government ensured that the "university researchers" were left alone, and everyone seemed to like it that way.

Mac wasn't sure what type of research was really being done at the remote location. That information was classified, and he was no longer "in the know." Still, there was no reason to believe that Weber's and Burton's deaths were anything more than they appeared—the result of a wild animal attack. Except, of course, that it seemed unusually convenient that Burton should die now of all times, and Mac wasn't the only one to think so. As soon as someone at the research facility had contacted Admiral Winslow with news of the deaths, the admiral had phoned Mac and the two had immediately begun making plans. It was imperative that Mac see the body of Lance Burton for himself. It was the only way they could be sure the man was truly dead.

Shutting down the plane's engines, Mac glanced at his client, amazed and grateful that she'd stayed unconscious for so long. He'd known the moment he saw her that she wouldn't make the trip without a little help—she was just that kind—so he'd slipped a couple of pain pills into her tequila. He knew the white coloring of the Styrofoam cup would mask any particles of the pills that hadn't fully dissolved. He needed to get to that research compound.

Still, he was a little surprised at how long she'd been asleep. He'd been shooting for "relaxed," not total unconsciousness. For the fourth time he checked her pulse, worried that he'd grossly underestimated the effects of two pain pills administered with alcohol. Just because they had little effect on him when he took them for the pain in his leg, didn't mean they would affect her the same way. Once again, he found her pulse was strong and steady; she'd live.

He couldn't put off waking her any longer; it was time to face the music. Pulling a tissue from the nearest dispenser, he wiped away the drool at the corner of her mouth, trying to give back some of the dignity he'd stolen. She was a mousy little thing, he thought, glancing at the Coke-bottle glasses sitting askew on her nose.

His eyes fell to the steady rise and fall of her chest, and he felt his body tighten at the memory of his hand brushing against the full treasure hidden beneath her oversized shirt. Touching her had been an accident, but not one he could bring himself to regret, although he was surprised that his body reacted so quickly. She wasn't exactly his type.

Leaving his chair, he walked to the galley and took a bottle of water from the fridge. He moistened a small towel and then returned to his charge. She hadn't moved.

Come on, Mac
, he thought.
Stop stalling
. Heaving a sigh, he leaned over and jostled her arm. "Ms. Weber? Lanie? It's time to wake up." There was no response. He tried again, shaking her harder, but still nothing. Reluctantly, he laid the cool, damp cloth across her forehead and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as her eyes snapped open.

She looked at him, blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision. Then she looked around the cockpit, and when her gaze returned to his, he saw that while her eyes were still dilated, she seemed more alert.

"I'm sorry, I must have dozed off." She pushed herself up to sit straighter in the seat. A hand strayed to her head to massage her temples. "Just give me a second, and then we can leave."

Mac ignored the quick stab of guilt. "We're already there. You slept through the entire flight."

"We're in Brasilia?"

"No. Taribu."

"Already?" She raised her arm, and he saw her try to focus on the watch face. "I don't understand." She glanced around, as if the answer to the mystery lay somewhere nearby. "I knew I was tired, but…" She broke off as she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

He didn't like the greenish cast to her complexion. "Are you okay?"

"I don't feel very good," she mumbled.

"Not much of a drinker?"

She started to shake her head but stopped suddenly, as if the motion made things worse. "Not on an empty stomach and thirty-six hours of no sleep. Or maybe I'm coming down with something."

Mac inwardly cringed, thinking about the six-hour drive through the jungle that lay ahead of them.

"Rest here while I get our stuff together." He walked back to the plane's small galley and scrounged through the pantry until he found crackers and a plastic bag. Going back to the cockpit, he held them out to her.

"I thought you might want these."

When he spoke, one eyelid lifted slightly so she could see what he offered. She raised a hand to take both from him. "Thanks."

Trying to ignore how weak she sounded, Mac looked out the cockpit window. They'd flown all night and the sun wasn't even a promise on the horizon. In another couple of hours, though, it would be high in me sky and hot as hell.

He looked back down at her and saw that she hadn't moved. "Look, I need to go across the way to get our rental Jeep and take care of the paperwork. Will you be okay here? By yourself?"

"As long as I'm not moving, I'm fine."

Yeah, great
, he thought, envisioning the dirt road they'd be bouncing along shortly.
Man up, Knight. You picked the song, now it's time to dance to the tune
.

"The head—uh, sorry—bathroom is right behind the cockpit, if you need it. I suggest you try to use it before we leave. We still have a long trip ahead of us."

He opened the hatch and stepped out. The stifling humidity instantly closed around him as he made his way across the darkened airfield to the main building ahead, nodding to the airfield workers he saw along the way.

Fifteen minutes later, he'd secured transportation and had their respective bags loaded. Ten more minutes, and he'd managed to get the librarian from the cockpit chair into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

"This might get a little rough."
Understatement of the year
. He debated on whether or not to tell her about the muddy, rutted trail they had to drive on, or the bug-infested rain forest through which they would travel.

No. Some things did not get better with anticipation. "Hang on."

He started the engine and, ignoring the sense of urgency gnawing at him, kept to a moderately slow pace as he drove, doing what he could to avoid the deepest ruts. Despite his best efforts, it wasn't long before she hollered at him to stop.

Jumping from the vehicle as soon as it was safe to do so, she ran a few feet into the woods, where Mac saw her bend over. Seconds later, her body convulsed and he knew she was throwing up. Heaving a sigh, he climbed out of the Jeep, pulled a clean rag from his gear, and used some of the water from his canteen to wet it. Then he crossed to where she was hunched over and, standing behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist and pressed his other hand against her forehead until she was finished. Then he handed her the wet cloth to wipe her face.

"Thank you," she said, sounding humiliated as they walked back to the Jeep.

"Don't worry about it. Here." He gave her the canteen to rinse out her mouth and take a drink.

When she was done, she wiped the mouth of the canteen off with her shirt and handed it back to him. He stood beside her until she was settled in her seat, then stowed the canteen in the back.

"You look better," he told her as he climbed behind the wheel and started the Jeep. "Some of the color is back in your face."

"I don't understand. I've never had just one shot of anything kick my butt so bad before." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "What was in that tequila anyway?"

He knew the second she put it all together. Her posture grew rigid as she stared at him accusingly.

"You did—you put something in the tequila. What? Damn it, what did you give me?"

"Pain pills, that's all. It shouldn't have done more than relax you."

"Based on what logic did you think that a couple of pain pills mixed with alcohol would only relax me? You're lucky it didn't kill me. No wonder I feel so lousy."

"You're a big woman; I figured you had the body weight to handle it." He glanced at her and found her gaping at him. "What?"

"You're not scoring any points here, pal."

He thought back to his last comment and sighed. "I
didn't mean that you were fat; I only meant you weren't petite."

She put a hand to her head as if it ached. "Maybe you shouldn't try to explain that part of it, okay? Diplomacy isn't your strong suit. Just tell me why you did it. I mean, we were already scheduled to leave, so why knock me out, unless…" He saw her look around and then back at him. "We
are
in Taribu, aren't we? Or did you take me someplace else?"

"No, we're in Taribu. And the reason I did it is because we didn't have time to wait for you to find the courage to make the flight, and I couldn't take the chance that you'd back out. So I drugged you. Sue me."

"Yeah? Well, I just might do that."

They drove in silence for another two hours before she had to stop by the side of the road again. This time, when they were both back in the Jeep, she sat up straighter in the seat, as if she felt better.

"I
am
sorry that I made you so sick," he finally offered.

She turned to study his face, and he hoped she saw the sincerity he felt. After a moment, she nodded. "I'll consider forgiving you if you can produce a mint or something."

He smiled, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a pack of gum. "How's this?"

Her eyes lit up as she took it from him. "It's a start. Thanks." She took a stick and handed the pack back to him. He took a piece for himself before putting it away, and they drove in silence as the sun rose and light began to filter through the canopy of tree limbs overhead.

"I hate flying."

Her comment seemed to come out of thin air and when Mac glanced at her, he thought she looked very vulnerable sitting there, her eyes looking unusually large behind the thick glasses and wisps of light brown hair escaping from the band designed to secure them, making a halo around her head. She gave him a slight smile. "I don't like your methods, but I have to admit that was one of the easiest flights I've ever taken." She faced forward again, watching the road in front of them. "Don't do it again."

"Okay."

After that, the road grew rougher, and it became too hard to shout over the rumble of the Jeep as it bounced along. Occasionally, the haunting cries of various birds and animals hidden within the jungle could be heard. Eventually, tired from being jostled about, they stopped to stretch their legs and Mac broke out the sandwiches he'd brought along. He was relieved to see that Lanie felt well enough to eat.