The Mercenary Page 4

  “It’s a long way from here to la Fortuna. We’ll get clothes.”

  But she couldn’t hope to replace the things that had been lost in her suitcase. Not now, not when she’d used the remainder of her meager savings on them. She sighed and furtively dashed away the tears.

  She could find another reason for Franco to stop his madness, and she, herself, would begin again. Once she had her career back.

  It was that reason she needed to remember. That reason she needed to focus upon. Tyler wasn’t letting anything as minor as a plane crash get in the way of his plans. Neither would she.

  “Here.” He tossed a white bundle toward her and it landed on her lap. It was a T-shirt.

  “I don’t want to wear your shirt. I want to wear my own shirt.”

  “And people in hell want ice water. Your clothes are gone, princess.”

  “I am not likely to forget.” The soft fabric crumpled in her fist. “Your clothes are wet, too.”

  “So?”

  So, naturally, Mr. Macho could stand the discomfort, whereas she, Miss Princess, couldn’t. “Turn around.”

  His lips twisted. “On a boat the size of a minute? Come on, M. After all—” his voice dropped hatefully “—we are supposed to be married.”

  As he watched her expression go from unbearably sad to angry, Tyler wondered if he’d hit a new low. All he knew was he was glad when Marisa’s eyes went from liquid sadness to hot fury. If she was spitting mad, it was a lot easier to remember that he couldn’t afford to trust her for a second.

  If her expression was any indication, it was probably safer for him not to turn his back on her right now. Or he might find himself with a leather-shod foot being planted square in the center of it.

  Her lips tightened and she lifted one slender hand to the top gold button on her suit. She flicked it free. And the next. The limp fabric sagged, displaying a narrow wedge of gold-toned curves and a glimpse of shining ivory fabric.

  She wore a delicate gold chain. The cross at the base of it was minuscule. Her fingers touched the third button. Her eyes snapped with anger. He almost expected her to do it. To unfasten that third button.

  Then she huffed. “Pig.”

  He didn’t disagree with her.

  She pivoted on her knees, facing away from him. She yanked off the jacket of her suit and swiftly tugged his T-shirt over her head. It caught on what remained of the knot at the back of her head, preventing her from sticking her head through. She muttered under her breath and pulled the shirt off once again to tear the pins out of her hair.

  It slowly uncoiled, helped along by the breeze created by the boat as it skimmed the water, and sprang free into a riot of waves. She yanked the shirt over her head and flipped her hair loose.

  Then she turned around to face him, her finely shaped features set into defiant lines. “I hope you’re satisfied.” Her accent was more pronounced.

  “I’m not even close to being satisfied, M. But when I am, you won’t have any doubts about it.”

  Three

  Could a person go insane from being cooped in a boat that provided, possibly, eight by three feet of space? Most of which was taken up by a very long-legged, very annoying man?

  Marisa thought that she very likely could. It seemed they’d been on the boat for hours, but she knew her sense of time was skewed. At least the T-shirt he’d given her was dry. She wished she could say the same about her slacks, socks and shoes.

  Fortunately she was wearing relatively flat leather walking shoes. Unfortunately she didn’t dare remove them lest they shrink as they dried, making her unable to wear them at all.

  She pulled her fingers through her hair. It was unforgivably tangled now, thanks to being whipped into a mess by the breeze. She sat in the front of the boat facing Tyler. She caught her hair in her hand and held it down. “Do you—” She stopped to clear her throat. She would not be intimidated by a man, she reminded herself. “Do you really think it was El Jefe who shot at us?”

  His hooded eyes studied her. “You tell me.”

  She bristled. “I’ve had enough of your implying I had something to do with this.”

  “I did more than imply it, M.”

  She swallowed. “You really do have quite an opinion of me.”

  He didn’t bother to deny it.

  “How can you even be sure the plane was shot? Maybe there was something else wrong with it.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  Unease rippled through her and she turned to look over her shoulder in the direction they were traveling. The river was still narrow, highly congested in some places with boulders and reed, causing him to slow down to a crawl in order to maneuver the boat.

  The small outboard droned on steadily, and though it was a comforting sound after the nightmare on the plane, it still sounded frightfully small in the vast silence around them. She sighed and turned toward him again. “Do you even know where we are?”

  “I have a good idea.”

  Not that he would share the knowledge with her, she figured. Her head was throbbing and she scooted down more comfortably, stretching out her legs. She was careful to stay well away from him, however.

  He leaned over, holding out a canteen. “Here. There’s aspirin in the first-aid kit.”

  She hesitated, not sure she liked the way he seemed to read her mind. But common sense overruled, and she took the canteen, then found the packet of aspirin and swallowed them down. The water was cool and blessedly sweet and she wanted to guzzle it right down, but managed to refrain. She replaced the cap and handed it back to him. “Thank you.”

  His fingers brushed hers as he took the container and she sat back, rubbing her hand down her thigh.

  “Trying to wipe away the germs?” He pulled off the lid and lifted the canteen to his mouth, drinking right where she had done.

  Wipe away the tingling charge from his touch was more like it. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was,” she answered coldly. She shut her eyes. Crashing was exhausting work.

  Eventually she felt him moving about in the minimal space in which there was to move. The motor was humming softly but they were doing little more than drifting in the congested water. She could hear him shifting the cargo, but kept her eyes resolutely shut.

  When she heard a muttered oath cut short, however, she couldn’t help but look to see what he was doing. He was sitting there, uncommonly still, head bowed, arms braced. Then he lifted his head, and she hastily closed her eyes again. The last thing she wanted him to do was find her studying him. Goodness only knew what he’d make of that.

  Eventually the aspirin must have done the trick, for Marisa dozed off a little, and awoke only when she became aware of the sunlight, vivid and bright, on her face. She sat up, her muscles moving stiffly. While she’d slept, Tyler had secured the cargo beneath an odd sort of net. The river had widened, and they were fairly flying along the surface.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the inescapably wild beauty of the landscape. Looking past Tyler, her gaze clung to the sight. This was the land of her birth. God, it had been so very long. She knew they had to be miles and miles away from the little mountainous piece of land her family had farmed for generations. But that didn’t stop her from feeling a tug deep inside her.

  “How long will it take for us to get there? To la Fortuna?” Maybe she wouldn’t be going home, but if there was any chance at all that she could make sure that Franco did, she had to take it.

  “Long enough.” He was eyeing the river closely. “A week or so, on the outside. Assuming I’ve figured our location accurately enough.”

  She nodded. A week. She could handle that if she had to.

  “Aren’t you going to pitch a fit?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Should I?”

  “Most women would.”

  She objected to that, but knew there was little point in saying so. He was just like Gerald. He would think whatever he chose to, regardless of the circumstances. It wouldn’t matter whether h
e was miles away from the truth, or he—

  “Hold on.” Tyler’s command was terse and it effectively jerked her out of her memories. “We’re coming up on some rough water.”

  She whirled around to see the rapids were nearly upon them. “Rough?” She nearly choked. The water churned white and vicious among the rocks. “Why can’t we—” She broke off the rest of the question. They couldn’t go on land and carry the boat around the rapids because the banks on either side went nearly straight up. “I don’t like traveling with you!” She curled her fingers around the hard, rubbery handles incorporated into the boat’s design.

  Tyler had already pulled in the outboard and was using the oar to help guide the suddenly rocking and plunging boat. Her heart rate escalated so fast that she felt dizzy with it. The roar of the water filled the air and she wondered why she hadn’t been aware of it sooner. “What do I do?”

  “Unless you want one really rough swim, stay in the boat.”

  She looked back at him, only to find his eyes lit with an unholy gleam. “You’re enjoying this!”

  His teeth flashed. “Gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it?”

  She frowned, then couldn’t help the startled scream when the boat went into a nearly vertical plunge. One of Tyler’s black bags—the one that he was nearly rabid about keeping near him—started to slide out from the net and she made a grab for it. She barely caught it with her fingertips even as she fell forward when the boat leveled for an all-too-brief moment. Water poured over the side and her arm felt nearly yanked out at the shoulder from where she still held on with one hand.

  “What the hell are you doing? I told you to hold on!” Tyler’s fingers dragged her back by the shirt.

  “Then hold on to your own bloody bags! Ahh!” She shoved his precious black bag at him and was scrambling to get a good grip on the side of the boat once again. But it was too wet, too slippery, and the boat seemed to be free-falling again.

  Tyler’s fingers caught at Marisa’s shirt, but he wasn’t fast enough and like a rag doll tossed aside by a careless hand, she disappeared over the side of the inflatable. She screamed, her arms waving as the rough water dragged her under. Tyler cursed a blue streak, leaning over with the oar. “Grab it!”

  She was close enough for him to see the terror in her eyes, close enough for him to hear her coughing as water clogged her nose and mouth, but not close enough for him to pull in.

  He yelled at her again to grab the oar, could see that she was trying. But the boat was spinning one way and she the other. In the back of his mind was another boat, years ago that had capsized.

  In an instant, he made the decision and pulled the oar in. He wasn’t going to get to her. Not this way.

  He ran a practiced eye over the riverbank, picked a spot heavy with overhanging trees. Muscles straining against the power of the ferocious water, using the oar as a rudder, he started inching the boat toward the spot. Before he could get close enough to the boulder-strewn bank to batter the inflatable to pieces, he dropped the oar and grabbed one of the tree branches, nearly getting ripped out of the boat as he fought the momentum of the river.

  Hand over hand, legs wedged in the boat, he pulled through the churning water until he was past the worst of the rocks. With one hand wrapped around the thick branch, he grabbed the one duffel that he didn’t dare lose, and heaved it far up onto the bank, scrambling up after it.

  Free of its human anchor, the boat shot past the rocks, tearing off down the white, frothing water. He didn’t spare a moment worrying about it, but ran after Marisa, slipping and sliding over the sharply inclined riverbank. “I’m Alpha Force, for crissakes,” he muttered. “Not the flippin’ Coast Guard.”

  Come on, Marisa. Open your eyes.

  The voice seemed to come from a long way off. Marisa struggled against the weight in her chest. Maybe, despite her sins, God had invited her to heaven after all.

  You’re okay. Come on, baby, that’s it. Breathe.

  She coughed. Her lungs burned, her throat was on fire. She coughed again and felt her head being tilted as water dribbled past her lips.

  “Good girl.”

  It was Tyler, she realized weakly. Most assuredly not The Father. She started to speak, but couldn’t as she coughed up more water.

  “Shh. Take it easy. We’re not going anywhere just now.”

  She forced her eyelids up, looking at him through her water-spiked lashes. He was soaked to the skin, too. “No soy muerto.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Muerto. Not muerto. Definitely not muerto.” He smoothed her hair away from her face. “You’re not dead. You’re gonna be all right. Just rest.”

  Closing her eyes was a relief. The coughing spasms began to slow. Only then the shivers began. And she felt his presence leave for a moment, but then he was back and she recognized the crinkling sound of that silver blanket as he wrapped her in it and pulled her right onto his lap, holding her close there on the bank of that deceptively peaceful river.

  He was so warm. So solid.

  He made no annoying comments. No accusations that she’d brought the incident down upon herself through her own stupidity. He didn’t shift her around as if he couldn’t wait to get her away from him. He didn’t try to cop a feel.

  He didn’t do anything but hold her securely, until the shudders racking her body started to ease.

  Tears slid from the corners of her eyes.

  And even then, still, he held her.

  Eventually the world seemed to calm again. She felt the afternoon sun on her face. Heard the steady rush of the river, like wind through the leaves, and the chatter of the birds in the trees. The moment she moved, Tyler was settling her away from him, pushing himself to his feet and heading over to the boat that was tugging, innocent as a babe, against the mooring line.

  She chalked up the sense of loss to shock.

  He tossed that duffel of his—the one she’d ended up going overboard because of—under the net in the boat, then uncapped the canteen and threw back his head, his strong brown throat working as he drank deeply.

  He finished, and looked at her, holding the canteen aloft.

  She made a face.

  “Didn’t think so,” he deadpanned.

  Then he came back for her and helped her into the boat once more before pushing off into the river that seemed as quiet as if it had never tried to suck her into its depths.

  Marisa started to tremble again and she huddled deeper in the silver blanket. “I don’t understand.” Her teeth were chattering. “Why d-d-didn’t you leave me?”

  “Don’t get too excited,” he muttered, slicking his own wet hair back with one hand. “I expect you to prove useful before too long.”

  She was so exhausted, she couldn’t even take offense. She laid her head back against the duffel bag behind her. “If we manage to live l-l-long enough to g-get to la Fortuna.”

  The fact that he didn’t respond to that was of no comfort whatsoever. He just started up the outboard again, and the boat picked up speed.

  Though he’d feel better if they put as much distance between them and the crash site as possible, Tyler knew that Marisa had pretty much reached the end of her rope.

  He could actually see the shivers racking her body. She needed dry clothes, food and a solid piece of land under her feet.

  If he were alone, he’d have kept onward. But he wasn’t alone. And for all he knew, their current, less-than-optimal situation was her fault, anyway. It was only a stroke of luck that the inflatable had gotten wedged between two sharp rocks not far from where he’d finally reached Marisa. The cargo net had even kept most of their gear from being swept down the river.

  Marisa had been pretty wedged, too. Her hair had been caught in a tangle of fallen trees. He wasn’t sure if she’d caught the nearly submerged branches deliberately in an effort to save herself, or if her hair had done the job. In either case, she’d been face-down and blue when he’d finally gotten her untangled and dragged her from the water. But he
had found her and he had gotten her breathing again.

  He studied the shoreline but it was nearly an hour before he found something to his liking. Marisa was still huddled there, but he knew she wasn’t asleep. He carefully directed the boat into the heavily sheltered inlet, finally cutting the motor altogether. He had to push aside overgrown vines and fronds to make room for the small inflatable, and when they were through, he made sure they fell back into place. As a blind, it was a pretty effective one, and once he pulled the boat onto shore, nobody from the river would be able to see them.

  “Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.” Marisa sat up and shrugged off the emergency blanket. Her voice was husky, as if her throat was still raw from the water she’d exhaled.

  “Yeah,” Tyler agreed. He forced his gaze away from her and slid over the side of the boat to finish pushing it up on the shore. Marisa clambered over the side before he could assist her. He saw her take a few steadying steps, then eye the bushes.

  “Don’t go far, and watch out for snakes.”

  She looked like she might be embarrassed, but managed to cover it pretty well as she ducked beneath a heavy tree branch and disappeared into the thick growth.

  Tyler raked his hands through his hair and grabbed the duffel containing his clothes and tossed it up on the ground. First thing he needed to do was get her some dry clothes, because watching her walk around in a T-shirt made transparent in its soaked state was going to kill him.

  He had cleared a space on the bank when she returned. Telling himself he wouldn’t, he still looked at her. He could have told her not to bother plucking self-consciously at the shirt the way she was. When he’d pulled her out of the water, he’d seen about as much as there was to see without her being nude. Which was maybe what he should think now. Because there was nothing at all erotic about holding in your arms a woman who looked half-dead.

  “There are some dry clothes there for you. And insect repellent. Use it.” He knew his voice sounded rough and annoyed. He lifted his chin toward the line he’d stretched between two branches. “Spread out your wet stuff. If we’re lucky, they’ll be dry by morning.” Stained beyond belief by the mud they’d both picked up in the river, but hopefully dry enough to wear again.