Emerald Fire, page 3
The only unusual thing about Brionny Stuart was that she had a damnable ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d managed it at the Florinda and she was managing it now, in the middle of the jungle, lolling around as if she were in a backyard swimming-pool where there was nothing evil lurking in the shadows.
Slade fought back the desire to spin around and check out the jungle behind him. There was no need to do it, not after he’d already done it a dozen times in the past couple of hours, ever since a Mali-Mali arrow had gone zinging into a tree just ahead of him. After enough years in places like this you knew when something was meant to kill you and when it was meant to warn. The arrow had been a message, but he wasn’t sure how to read it. Was he being told to go back, or was he being warned away from something that lay ahead? He had to know, before he could send any of his people into possible danger, and so he’d gone on, not knowing exactly what he was looking for but certainly not expecting to find this.
Ahead, in the pool, the woman finally surfaced, just enough so her head and neck stuck up from the water. What in hell was she doing here? There was nobody cleared for this area but his surveying crew and a couple of archaeologists—bad news in itself, considering what they were after. It was touchy enough bringing a crew and equipment into the jungle. Letting a pair of dried-up scientists look for and maybe walk off with a sacred stone would only make matters worse.
Dammit, but this place was getting as crowded as Central Park on a summer Sunday. A construction crew. A pair of weasely mummies from some museum. And now whatever party of tourists the woman was with— God, what a mess.
Slade put his hands on his hips, glared at Brionny Stuart, and let her have the full force of his anger.
‘Get out of that water,’ he snarled.
Brionny’s mouth firmed. ‘You can’t frighten me,’ she said, wishing the words would make it so. Her heart was hammering so hard she was afraid it was going to explode.
He laughed in a way that made her blood go cold. ‘Want to bet?’
‘I’m not alone,’ she said quickly.
‘I agree. Your bath tub’s probably teeming with life. Piranhas. Leeches. Water-snakes.’
‘It isn’t,’ Brionny said quickly. Too quickly. He was trying to scare her, and she was helping him do it. ‘I checked,’ she said, with more assurance than she felt. ‘Anyway, I didn’t mean that. I meant that I didn’t come down here by myself.’
Slade made an elaborate show of looking around. ‘No?’
‘No. My guides—’
‘Come on, Miss Stuart, stop the bull. There’s no one here but you and me. Now, get your tail out of there. Fast.’
‘I’m not alone, I tell you. If you so much as take a step closer, I’ll scream.’
‘You’ll…’ He shot her a look that was part incredulity, part disgust. ‘By God, lady, you have one hell of an inflated opinion of yourself. What do you think’s going on here?’
‘I know what’s going on,’ Brionny said, mentally measuring the distance from where she crouched to the bank where her pistol lay hidden among the reeds. ‘You’ve been following me, and—’ His bark of laughter cut her short. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You. You’re what’s funny. You think I’ve followed you for the past—what’s it been since that night? Ten days? Two weeks? Do I look like some love-smitten boy?’
‘You expect me to believe it’s just coincidence that’s made you turn up here?’
Slade glowered darkly and folded his arms over his chest. ‘One of life’s lousiest lessons is that fate is not necessarily kind. Do us both a favor, OK? Get out of that pool before I come in and get you.’
Brionny looked toward the bank again. If he’d let her get to her clothing, that would put the pistol within arm’s length.
‘I’m counting to three, lady. One. Two. Th—’
‘Let me get my clothes,’ she said, nodding toward the adorned shrub.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Turn your back first.’
He glared at her, his face expressionless, then shrugged. ‘Two minutes,’ he said impassively.
He turned away, his long legs planted firmly apart. Brionny hesitated, then paddled furiously for the bank. Water cascaded from her body as she rose and stepped on shore.
‘Ninety seconds and counting.’
The bra. Where was the bra?
‘Eighty seconds.’
Never mind the bra. She grabbed her T-shirt, tugged it over her head with shaking hands. Her shorts clung to her wet underpants, then snagged as she zipped them up.
‘Fifty seconds. By the time I turn around, you’d better be—’
He heard the click of the safety as she released it. Son of a bitch, he thought wearily, and raised his eyes to the sky.
‘Turn around, Mr McClintoch.’
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you’re making one hell of a mistake.’
‘I said, turn around.’
He did, slowly, his hands lifted. Well, he thought, despite what had happened in the hotel room, she was right. She knew how to use the gun. She was standing erect, holding it in a no-nonsense, two-handed grip. Her hair was plastered to her head, her feet were bare, she wore no make-up at all that he could see. Except for the sweet, lush outline of her breasts beneath the damp T-shirt and the long, curved line of her hips and thighs, she looked like a fourteen-year-old—a fourteen-year-old with a gun she wasn’t afraid to use.
‘Take it easy,’ he said quietly.
She looked at the gleaming machete that hung from his belt. ‘Drop that machete, Mr McClintoch, and then start walking this way.’
‘Sure.’ The machete fell to the ground. ‘Just do me a favor. Put the safety back on, will you?’
Brionny waved him towards the foot trail that led back to camp. ‘I said, start walking.’
‘Sure,’ he said again, and as he did he shot a horrified look over her shoulder and yelled, ‘Look out!’
Even as she spun around, Brionny knew she’d been had. But the realization came a second too late. Slade was on her instantly, moving with the speed and grace of a big cat. They fell to the ground together, rolling over and over, his hand clasping her wrist, forcing the pistol up and away.
‘Let go of me, you bastard,’ she panted.
‘Let go of the gun,’ he said.
‘No! No, I—’
His hand closed over hers. The shot was an explosion of sound, echoing and re-echoing across the little clearing. The macaws screamed and rose up with a whir of wings, and then there was silence. Slade was lying across her, one hand still clasping her wrist, the other clutching the gun.
‘Now you’ve done it,’ he said softly.
Brionny’s pulse began to gallop. ‘Yes, I have. They’ll hear that, in camp; they’ll come after me—’
He rolled off her and got to his feet. ‘Get your shoes on.’
She stared at him while her heart slowed its gallop. ‘What?’
‘Come on, Stuart. We haven’t got all day.’
She did as he’d ordered, her eyes still on his. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To your camp.’ She watched as he checked the safety catch, then tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. ‘How far is it?’
‘You mean you’re not… You won’t—?’
He shot her an amused look as he retrieved the machete. ‘I know this is going to come as a disappointment, sweetheart, but I’ve no designs on your body—delightful though it may be.’
She flushed. ‘Then why did you follow me? Why did you sneak up on me? Why—?’
‘Where are you camped?’
‘Up the trail. But—’
She stumbled as he put his hand into the middle of her back and pushed her forward.
‘Do you think you can manage to talk and walk at the same time?’
‘I can even manage it without you poking at me,’ Brionny snapped, twisting away from his prodding hand. ‘How about telling me what’s going on, McClintoch?’
‘Ah, how quickly we forget our manners. A little while ago I was “Mister” McClintoch.’
‘Dammit, McClintoch—’
‘Do you know El Kaia Gorge?’ Brionny nodded. ‘Well, I’m with the construction crew that’s surveying on the other side of it.’
‘You mean you work for the company that’s going to build that road?’ Her face registered distaste. ‘I might have known.’
Slade’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s the problem, Stuart? Do people who put in an honest day’s labor offend your delicate sensibilities?’
What offended her sensibilities was the thought of a road through the jungle, but there was no reason in the world to explain herself to this man.
‘If you work on the far side of the gorge,’ Brionny said coolly, ‘then what were you doing crossing it?’
‘Sorry, lady. If you folks had a “Keep Out” sign posted, I didn’t see it.’ His smile thinned. ‘All I saw was an arrow, shot into a tree on the trail ahead of me.’
‘Such poor aim,’ she said sweetly. ‘What a pity.’
‘It wasn’t poor aim at all,’ he said, giving her another little shove. ‘It was deliberate. The arrow was a warning.’
‘Well, of course it was. Somebody was telling you they don’t like the idea of that road, McClintoch. Surely you can—’
‘It was a Mali-Mali arrow.’ He flashed her a cool smile. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of them.’
‘I’ve heard of them.’ Certainly she’d heard of them. Hadn’t she just helped Professor Ingram make off with their fabled treasure?
‘Then you also know they’re not a tribe to fool with. They’re tough and dangerous.’
‘Don’t be silly. They’re just secretive and—’
‘They’re also headhunters—or didn’t your guide bother mentioning that?’
‘They used to be headhunters,’ Brionny said, giving him a pitying look. ‘There’s no proof at all that they still—’
‘Listen, I’m not going to get into a debate here, Stuart. The point is they’re angry about something.’
‘Of course they are. Your road. Why else would they shoot at you?’
Slade grabbed her arm. ‘Be quiet!’
‘Why? Because I’m saying something you don’t want to—’
She gasped as he clamped his hand over her mouth and drew her back against him.
‘Look,’ he said, his lips against her ear.
Brionny looked. She saw the campsite just ahead, and Professor Ingram still sitting at the foot of the tree, his notebook in his lap.
‘So?’ she said, around Slade’s fingers, her voice automatically dropping to the same whispery level as his. ‘I don’t see—’
‘I don’t either. Where are the other tourists?’
‘What tourists? There’s just the professor and me.’
‘The professor and…’ He groaned. ‘No. You can’t be.’
‘Can’t be what?’
‘Are you saying you’re the archaeologists searching for the Eye of God?’
Brionny went very still. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Don’t answer a question with a question,’ he said irritably. A woman. And an old man, he thought, staring at the professor’s white hair. ‘Didn’t you people at least have the brains to hire native porters and guides?’
‘We’re not fools, McClintoch. We have seven men who—’
Who weren’t there any more, she thought, staring at the campsite. Where was everybody? When she’d left the cook had been preparing lunch, while the other men talked softly among themselves.
‘Stay here.’
Slade’s voice was low and taut with command. Brionny opened her mouth, prepared to tell him she didn’t take orders, but then she thought better of it. Something was wrong. Very wrong. No sign of the guides, no sounds, no movement…
The hair rose on the back of her neck. Professor Ingram hadn’t stirred in all the time they’d been watching him.
She watched as Slade circled the little camp, then carefully made his way into it. He squatted down beside the professor. After a minute he rose to his feet and turned to her, but by then she understood.
‘He’s dead, isn’t he? she said, her voice quavering a little.
‘Yes,’ Slade said bluntly. ‘From the looks of him, I’d say he had a heart attack.’
Brionny let out her breath. ‘Then, it wasn’t—he wasn’t—’
‘No. Your professor died a natural death.’
She nodded. It all added up. The way Ingram had looked the past months, the bouts of weakness he wouldn’t admit to…
She swayed unsteadily. Instantly Slade was beside her, his hands clasping her shoulders.
‘You’re not going to be sick on me,’ he said sharply.
Brionny swallowed and looked up at him. ‘I know it’s beyond you to understand,’ she said shakily, ‘but some of us have human emotions. I can’t help it if I—’
‘Yes. You can help it.’ His hands tightened on her, and now she saw something in his eyes she could not quite identify. ‘Look around you, Stuart. The professor’s dead from natural causes. But nothing else is natural here. Your Indians are gone. Your stuff’s been rifled.’
‘Rifled?’ she said, staring at him.
‘Rifled,’ he said flatly. ‘Take a look.’
He was right. Her backpack lay open on the ground, the contents strewn around it. The professor’s pack had received the same treatment, and their storage boxes had been torn apart.
‘But—but who would do such a thing? And why?’
Slade’s eyes bored into hers. ‘Someone who wanted something you and the professor had.’
‘Our supplies? But they’re still—’
‘The Eye of God.’
Brionny’s heart thumped. That was twice he’d mentioned the Eye. Was that what had brought him here? Had he come looking for the expedition that had gone after the emerald?
Her gaze skittered past Slade to where a dozen tin cans lay spilled across the ground. The tea canister that held the emerald lay undisturbed. It was a good place to hide the stone, Ingram had said. No one would think to look for it there.
‘Well?’ Slade’s voice was harsh. ‘Aren’t you going to check and see if whoever did this took your precious stone?’
Brionny looked into his eyes. They were the same color as the emerald and just as cold. Her heart thumped again but she spoke calmly.
‘How could they,’ she said, ‘when we never found it?’
Slade’s mouth narrowed. ‘You’re telling me the emerald wasn’t in this camp?’
She nodded. ‘That’s right. We looked for it, but we didn’t find it.’
‘Then why did your men take apart your stuff and then run off?’
Brionny shrugged. ‘The porters probably got scared when they realized what had happened to Professor Ingram. They’re very superstitious, you know. And they probably went through our stuff to see if there was anything worth taking before they—’
‘Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Doesn’t it worry you a little, Stuart?’
It did, but not half as much as finding herself alone in the jungle with a relic worth a fortune and a man with no scruples.
‘What worries me,’ Brionny said calmly, ‘is how I’m going to get back to Italpa without a guide.’
Slade gave her a long, searching look. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Getting out of here is our first priority. Pack up whatever you need and we’ll get moving.’
She turned away and picked up her backpack. The tin tea box. She had to get to it without Slade seeing her.
‘Do you know the way back to the river?’ she said as she moved slowly across the campsite, mindlessly picking things up, stuffing them into the pack, her eyes never leaving the tea box.
‘Heading for the Italpa would take too long. We’ll backtrack on my trail, then cross the rope bridge at the gorge. There’s a radio at the construction site; we’ll call for a ’copter to come and get you.’
Would he take her safely to the construction site? Yes, why not? So long as he thought she’d found nothing, he’d probably be eager to get her out of here so he could come back and set out on his own search.
‘Fine,’ Brionny said. She glanced over her shoulder. Slade had grabbed a shovel from the expedition’s equipment and was digging into the spongy soil. Quickly she reached for the tea box and dumped it into her pack. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘I’m ready.’
‘Grab something to dig with, then, and give me a hand.’ He looked up as she came toward him. ‘We’ve got to bury your professor before the animals find him.’
Brionny shuddered as she reached for a trowel. ‘Are you always this blunt, McClintoch?’
He grinned. ‘Not to worry, Stuart. A stroll through the jungle, a trot across the bridge, and you’ll have seen the last of me.’
Four hours later, Brionny came stumbling out of the dense trees panting, her clothing stained with sweat. Slade was standing a few feet away. Beyond him she glimpsed a gorge so deep and endless that it made her stomach rush into her throat.
‘My God,’ she whispered, ‘I didn’t think…’
She turned away, telling herself this was no time to give in to her fear of heights, reminding herself that she had only to make it across the rope bridge and she’d not only never have to look at Slade McClintoch again, but she’d be on her way back to Italpa—wonderful, sophisticated Italpa—and then to New York, bearing the stone that would memorialize Edgar Ingram and put her feet firmly on the path of academic success.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Slade said in a flat, strained voice.
Brionny blinked. ‘Don’t believe what?’
He reached out, caught her by the wrist, and dragged her forward. She threw a desperate look toward the yawning chasm at her feet, then stumbled back, her eyes clamped shut.
‘Take a look.’
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I have acro— I’m afraid of—’
‘I know what acrophobia means, Stuart.’ His arms swept around her and he drew her back against him, lending her trembling body the hard support of his. ‘Open your eyes,’ he demanded.
