Wild Orchids (24 page)

"Minelli back?" he demanded as he stood upright. At Lora's frightened nod and gesture toward the cockpit, his face tightened. He made his way quickly toward where the rumble of Minelli's voice could now be heard.

Lora's head swiveled toward the sound—who on earth could Minelli be talking to?—just as there was a deafening burst of gunfire from behind the curtain. Lora's mouth opened as Tunafish, eyes widening, jerked her down on the floor beside him. DiAngelo jumped in his sleep and Max jerked the curtain back to reveal Minelli emptying the magazine of his pistol into the radio set in the control panel.

There was an instant of electric silence. Then, as Minelli straightened and turned, balancing on the balls of his feet and hefting the gun, Max pointed his own weapon straight at the other man's belly and demanded, "Who did you call?"

Minelli shrugged. As he looked down at the pistol Max held, his eyes were wary. Lora could see the tension in his fingers as he gripped his own gun.

"You're going to tell me, one way or another. Better start talking."

Minelli seemed to hesitate, then said with an assumption of ease, "No harm telling you, I suppose. I called some friends to come and pick us up. Seeing as how your transportation service leaves something to be desired."

"You told them about the dope, I suppose." Max sounded almost bored. Lora might have believed he was—if it hadn't been for the tension evident in the hard muscles of his back through the white sweatstained t-shirt.

"Suppose all you want. I'm not saying anything else."

Max stared at him. Lora could almost feel the prickles rise on her own neck under the icy ferocity of that look.

"Oh, I think you'll—" Max began, lifting the pistol with a cold certainty that made Lora's nerves scream.

"Drop it. Maxwell!" The hoarse command came from the seat just in front of Lora and Tunafish. Both their faces registered shock as DiAngelo, whom they had totally forgotten, rose rather unsteadily to his feet. In his hand he held a pistol, which he had trained on Max. Max, after one arrested look over his shoulder, slowly lowered his gun and then, on DiAngelo's repeated command, dropped it.

"Kick it over here." Minelli resumed control, grinning widely from Max to his buddy. "Well, well, well. Maxwell,the shoe's on the other foot, now, isn't it? You should've been nice while you had the chance. Back up." Minelli's voice was brutal as he stepped forward, gun at the ready, forcing Max to move back to where Lora knelt and Tunafish lay.

Lora's heart thumped painfully in her chest as Max slowly obeyed. Minelli would kill all of them for what lay in that cargo bay, she had not the slightest doubt.

When Max stood beside where Lora and Tunafish were frozen in position, Minelli said to DiAngelo, "Check those two for guns."

Max sent a single, quick glance down at them. Lora could see a muscle jumping in his jaw. His hands hung loose at his sides, as if he was having to force them not to clench into fists. Then DiAngelo was beside her, his pale blue eyes cold as he reached down to grab her arm and haul her to her feet. Lora shivered and closed her eyes with revulsion as his hands ran over her, slowly and with obvious relish. She thought of herself worrying about him, and wished with more venom than she had known she was capable of that he had died in the crash. The feel of his hands on her made her want to vomit… But finally it was over, and he was stepping away from her and bending over Tunafish while she shuddered.

"Now, boss!" The yell was Tunafish's, and after that things happened with lightning swiftness.

DiAngelo cursed and fell to the floor, helped by a sudden sweep of Tunafish's splinted leg. Max dived at Minelli just as his attention was distracted for that split second by Tunafish's shout and DiAngelo's fall. The force of Max's body bore Minelli to the floor and sent the gun flying. While those two wrestled, Tunafish and DiAngelo were grappling for the gun that DiAngelo had dropped. Lora screamed, then screamed again in automatic reaction. None of the men paid her the least attention. But even as she screamed her eyes were on Minelli's gun. It had skittered across the cabin to come to rest under the rear pair of seats. She darted for it, scrabbling under the seats to get it. When her hand closed for it— gingerly!—she turned back to survey the fray. DiAngelo had the other pistol in his hands now, and Tunafish was forcing him to keep it pointed toward the ceiling. Max and Minelli had death grips on one another's throats.

"I've got a gun," she called clearly. She might as well not have spoken as the men continued their fight. Hesitating, she looked down at the ugly black weapon in her hand. What did she do now? She wasn't about to fire the damned thing— she'd undoubtedly hit either everyone or no one. Then she saw DiAngelo lift his foot and kick down hard into Tunafish's broken leg. Tunafish screamed, DiAngelo snatched at the pistol—and Lora pointed the hated gun skyward and, with a muttered prayer, pulled the trigger.

A deafening blast of gunfire brought all four men's eyes darting around as the noise made her wince and screw up her eyes. As they saw the gun in her hand—it kept spitting out bullets, and Lora realized that she still had her finger on the trigger—all four men, friends and foes alike, hit the dirt. Bullets tore through the metal fuselage over her head, and one whistled alarmingly close to her ear. She had forgotten about the possibility of ricochets…

"For God's sake, let up on the trigger, Lora!" As Max's voice called to her with almost comical dismay, Minelli was on his feet and running toward the hole. Max dived for his legs, but missed, cursing as he hit his shoulder on the metal frame of a seat.

Gun in hand, Lora watched Minelli disappear from sight. There was no way that she was going to purposely shoot anyone, even Minelli, despite Max's and Tunafish's frenzied shouts. Seconds later Max was at her side, relieving her of the weapon and turning it on DiAngelo, who quickly subsided. Then it was all over—for the moment. Lora felt her knees quiver, and looked surprised as they slowly buckled beneath her.

Chapter XIV

"You all right?" Max hunkered down beside her, keeping a wary eye on DiAngelo while at the same time managing to spare her a glance of concern. His hand just touched her arm—and there it was, the jolt of electricity. Lora shivered. With all that had happened, she had almost forgotten the physical chemistry that ignited between them at the slightest touch. Or hoped that, now that she was no longer precisely his captive, it was a thing of the past. Stockholm Syndrome should no longer apply…

Max felt her shiver and looked down at her, frowning. Lora met his eyes with a dazed look in her own. All her life, she had dreamed of a man who could make her bones turn to mush just by touching her. It was, she supposed, the ultimate female fantasy. But not this man! Please, not this man!

"Lora!"

Something in her expression must have alarmed him, because his hand moved up to her face and he lightly touched her cheek with his fingers. And there it was again, that frisson of pure animal attraction. Lora stared up into those eyes that were blacker than the night, at the harshly carved features and tough masculine mouth, and despaired.

"Boss! Look out!"

Tunafish's warning shout made Max jerk to attention. The pistol snapped up as his eyes sought DiAngelo, who had taken advantage of that moment of inattention to bolt for the hole. It was already too late. DiAngelo was at the hole, and there was no way that Max could stop him—except shoot. He raised the gun, aiming.

"Max, no!" Lora cried, horrified, and Max hesitated for that crucial split second. Then it was too late.

DiAngelo was gone. Max stared at a panorama of jungle that was all that was visible in the space where DiAngelo had just stood, his expression as unreadable as stone. Then, slowly, he turned his eyes back to Lora as he lowered the gun. The look he gave her was unfathomable. The black eyes were as impenetrable as the jungle itself.

"Cripes, boss, you let him get away!"

Lora was vaguely aware of Tunafish shaking his head in disgust as she stared back at Max. He returned her look for a long moment, unspeaking, then got abruptly to his feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked almost formally, his eyes hooded as he looked down at her where she knelt at his feet.

Lora was taken aback at the cold remoteness of his expression. He was looking at her as if she were a stranger, and one that he didn't particularly want to get to know. She stared into those unreadable eyes, and slowly nodded.

"I'm fine. It was just—the excitement, I think." At her words, something flared briefly in his eyes. They burned down into hers for a second, and then he turned abruptly away.

"You shoulda shot him." Tunafish was still bemoaning DiAngelo's escape as Max dropped to his knees beside him. "He and that bastard Minelli will be up to God knows what out there. One thing's sure, they'll be comin' after us. And the dope, and the money."

"I know it." Max laid what looked like gentle hands on the broken leg. DiAngelo's kick had knocked loose the makeshift splint. "We'll have to mount guard over the plane. I don't want them getting their hands on that stuff. It's our ticket out of here. Now, shut up for a minute, will you? The boards from those crates will do a lot better job than branches for your leg. I'll be right back." He laid a hand on Tunafish's shoulder, stood up, crossed to the hole, and jumped through it, all without sparing Lora so much as a glance.

She stared after him, then looked at Tunafish. Tunafish shrugged his ignorance of Max's behavior. Lora was still frowning as she crawled across to Tunafish's side.   

When Max returned, he asked Lora to watch for DiAngelo and Minelli. She stood at the hole looking out over the teeming jungle, secretly thankful not to have to help. She liked Tunafish and she hated to see him in pain. And he was in pain. She heard him groan, and swear, and groan again as Max did what had to be done. When it was over at last, and Tunafish lay sweating profusely, propped up against the curving wall, Lora turned to look at them again. To her surprise, Max pulled a silver flask out of his pocket and offered it to his friend. Tunafish accepted it gratefully, uncapping the lid and taking a long swallow. He then offered it in turn to Lora and Max, both of whom refused, before settling back with a happier expression.

"That sure hit the spot. Where'd you get it?"

"Clemente had it on him."

Tunafish didn't reply, but took another quick swallow from the flask. There was a brief silence, then Tunafish said slowly, "Those guys Minelli radioed—mob?"

Max shrugged. "Probably. The arrangements were that a boat would be waiting for them off Puerto Barrios in the Gulf of Honduras. My guess is that he made contact with whoever is on that boat."

"Mob," said Tunafish gloomily. "They'll have an army up here after this stuff. From what you said, it must be worth coming after."

There was another brief silence. "I imagine Ortega will be along, too. He'll want his property back. And the feds. They must have known, or guessed, what we were carrying. Seems like they were after us, after all, back there at that airport."

Tunafish grimaced. "Think they'll find us?"

Max looked grim. "Eventually. It might take them a while. Ortega knew the route we were taking, and knowing him I would guess that this plane is equipped with a homing device. He wouldn't let that much dope out of his care without some sort of insurance that it would turn up where it was supposed to. I imagine Minelli told whoever he was talking to where we took off from and where we intended to land, and how much flying time we had before we crashed. So they should have a pretty fair idea of the general area we're in. And I sent that damned mayday, so the feds will be hot on our trail. Ortega and the feds have a head start—they were probably monitoring us on radar when we went down—but for the kind of haul we're talking about here, I imagine the mob will do a pretty good job of playing catch up. In fact, they're probably all three hot on each other's tails right now. So it's just a matter of who gets here first: Minelli's pals, Ortega, or the feds."