Heart of Fire (13 page)

Quick as a flash Jillian slipped away from him, giving him a wink over her shoulder as she stepped into the camp clearing. Behind her, she heard his groan of frustration. It was just what he deserved. She hadn't evaded Dutra just to put herself in Ben's hands, skillful though they were; he needed to learn not to take advantage of a damsel in distress.

After eating, she retired early to her tent, deciding that Ben still looked a bit put out and it would be best to avoid him. Inside, she unrolled the foam pad, which was only about an inch thick but surprisingly comfortable. The nylon tents were small; high enough to sit up in, four and a half feet wide. The sleep pads were thirty inches wide, so that left two feet on the side for personal gear. The open end of the tent could be closed by a heavy-duty, two-sided plastic zipper. To secure it, she took a roll of electrician's tape from her pack, cut off a three-inch strip, and placed it across the zipper right below the head. That way no one on the outside could unzip it; it made a cheap and effective security device. With sturdy nylon between her and the jungle, and electrician's tape between her and Ben Lewis, she felt fairly safe.

She carefully plotted the coordinates that she would give Ben the next morning, then packed everything away and undressed. From experience she knew enough to get comfortable, and that meant stripping down to her underwear, which consisted of cotton underpants and a cotton tank shirt. She didn't carry bras on expeditions.

She switched off the flashlight; faint light from the fire filtered through the nylon, so it wasn't completely dark. She reached into her pack and got the pistol, putting it close by her head. She could hear Ben retiring to his tent, which he had positioned right next to hers, and the low murmur of voices from those who remained around the fire. If they were smart, they would try to get as much sleep as they could, because tomorrow would be grueling. Taking her own advice, she stretched out and promptly went to sleep.

Rick stared resentfully at the two tents set up right next to each other. "She's told him about the treasure," he muttered to Kates. "He's going to try to cut in on us."

Kates had had the same thought, but Lewis hadn't said anything to indicate that he thought there was anything in the jungle other than ruins. He wouldn't have worried about it if Lewis hadn't turned out to be completely different from the man Kates had thought he was hiring. The Lewis who had taken charge of the expedition was a far cry from the careless booze hound he had seemed at first.

"We'll have to watch him," Kates finally said. That was about all they could do right now. After they found the treasure, though… that would be a different situation.

"I never thought Jillian would take up with
him
," Rick mused with a bitter undertone. "Trust her to do whatever will screw me up the most. She was a pain in the ass from the day she was born."

Kates gave the other man a long, considering look. Rick Sherwood wasn't distinguished by his intelligence. Kates rather looked forward to the time when Dutra would shut that whining mouth forever.

"I doubt she spared you a thought when she became involved with Lewis," he replied. No, more than likely this was just another of her maneuvers. Jillian was nothing like her half brother, she was both shrewd and closemouthed, and she might sense that Kates had his own agenda. Getting in tight with Lewis might be a form of self-protection, a way of lining up a bodyguard, so to speak. Like Rick, he never would have suspected it, given the animosity between the two of them when they first met, but she wouldn't be the first woman to take an opportunity when she saw it. Evidently she was smarter than they were, in seeing Lewis's true character before they did, and taking advantage of it.

Lewis would be a problem. He was tough and wily and already watched Dutra like a hawk. As far as Kates could tell, he was never unarmed. They'd need an ambush to take him out.

There had been nothing but problems from the minute they left Manaus. Rather than the expert on the interior he had claimed to be, Dutra had turned out to be a murderous thug who had sometimes gone upriver to hide out from the law. The river he had gone up, however, wasn't the one they were on. His skills in the jungle were mediocre at best. Kates only hoped Dutra was skilled enough to get them back out when they found the treasure, because Lewis wouldn't be making the return trip.

Even though she had known what the day would be like, Jillian couldn't believe how rough it was. The pack on her back was so heavy that by the time they stopped at noon she felt as if she could barely lift her feet. The straps pulled at her shoulders, and her thighs were burning. Trekking through a jungle wasn't easy even without a pack, and with one it approached torture. It even took extra effort to inhale the heavy, wet air. She had to look out for roots that might trip her, avoid trailing vines that might sting, and carry a heavy stick to ward off any creatures that their passage disturbed.

Ben and the two Tukanos, Pepe and Eulogio, seemed tireless, although Ben was drenched with sweat while the Indians remained dry. Jillian felt proud that she fared at least as well as the porters, and better than Dutra. Rick and Kates, as she had expected, had the hardest time of all, for they had been utterly unprepared for the sheer physical effort of it. Ben wasn't setting a very fast pace on the first day, but even so, they were gasping for breath in that deep, hoarse manner of complete exhaustion. When Ben called a halt, they sat down right where they stood, without even removing their packs.

Jillian shrugged out of her pack and set it down. "Drink some water," she said, taking in Rick's pallor. "And take a salt tablet."

Neither of them moved. "Drink some water," she said insistently.

Rick opened one eye to glare at her. "Who put you in charge?" he demanded nastily. "Bossy bitch."

"You should listen to her." Ben's tone was hard. "She knows a hell of a lot more about what she's doing than you do. If you want to feel better, you'll do as she says, because I'll leave you here if you aren't ready to go when the rest of us are."

Kates didn't join the argument, and after a minute he reached for his water. Jillian also saw him take a salt tablet. But the expression on his face when he looked at Ben wasn't pleasant, and she realized he probably hadn't liked the idea of being left behind, since he had financed the expedition. When she considered it, she had to admit that Ben had more gall than any two normal people put together.

Sullenly Rick followed Kates's lead and soon began to feel better, well enough, at any rate, to eat a fair amount when Pepe had the food ready.

When they began preparing to start out again, Rick walked over to Jillian's pack. "I think I'll carry yours and let you carry mine," he said, still in that nasty tone. "I don't think you'll be so perky then. I doubt you'll last an hour. You couldn't have kept up if you'd been carrying your fair share of weight."

She couldn't think of anything she had done to trigger such outright hostility, and she turned away to hide the hurt she couldn't keep from her eyes. It was silly, because she knew Rick and knew better than to expect any kind of regard from him, but he was her brother, and she couldn't write him out of her life. That day might come, but it hadn't arrived yet, and she was surprised to find herself vulnerable to his attacks.

She didn't like the idea of Rick having her pack, since her pistol was in it, but she wouldn't fight him over it. It wasn't that important.

"Don't touch her pack," Ben said, stepping in once again. He didn't care about anything Rick Sherwood might say or think. "You stupid jerk, she's carrying just as much weight as you are, and maybe more. On second thought, you can pick both packs up, so you can compare the weight, but then you'll very gently put hers down and keep your fucking mouth shut from now on."

Rick stood over her pack, glaring at him.

"Pick it up!" Ben snapped.

Slowly Rick leaned over and hefted the pack. A surprised expression crossed his face and he darted a quick look at Jillian. Then his mouth twisted into a sneer again and he started to dump the pack on the ground.

"
Hold it
!" Ben rapped out the words. "I said
gently
." He stood with his feet squarely planted, his head lowered just a little. His hands hung loose at his sides, but he looked like a man who was coiled to act.

His fury was plain in his eyes, but Rick gently lowered the pack as he had been ordered. Without another word he moved to his own pack.

"I agree with Lewis," Kates said in a hard, low voice as he grabbed Rick and pulled him off to the side. "Keep your fucking mouth shut. I don't care if you hate your sister's guts. If you keep it up, she's going to start thinking that she doesn't have to put up with us, that there's no reason why she and Lewis can't go on alone. Do whatever you have to do to get on her good side, and I mean it."

Rick's expression was both sullen and furious, but for once he took the advice given him: he kept his mouth shut.

Jillian picked up her pack and silently slipped her arms through the straps, then buckled the one across her chest to anchor it. Ben came over to her. "All right?" he asked.

She wasn't certain how he meant the question. Was he asking if she was upset about Rick or if she was handling the pace okay? It didn't matter, she decided, because the answer was the same either way. "All right."

He moved around, making certain everyone was loaded up and nothing was left behind. He had changed since they left the boats; he was as wary and alert as a wild animal, his narrowed eyes sweeping from one side of the trail to the other, missing nothing. His tone was brisk and commanding, and now she had no trouble believing that he was the best guide in the Amazon. Even his appearance had changed: his pant legs were tucked into his boots, which came up to midcalf, and his shirt was neatly tucked into his pants. He wore the pistol openly now, in a holster strapped to his lean hip, for all the world like an Old West gunfighter. A machete with a two-foot blade hung in a scabbard from his belt, and he carried the pump shotgun slung over his left shoulder. All of that armament could have had something to do with the way Rick had backed down.

"Everyone ready," Ben called. "All right, let's go."

He led, using his machete to clear the way when necessary. Pepe and Eulogio followed with a litter, and Jillian fell in behind them. Directly behind her were Jorge and Floriano with another litter. Vicente and Martim were teamed, then Joaquim and Dutra. Rick and Kates brought up the rear, struggling to keep the pace.

The rest had allowed Jillian to recoup her strength, but by the time two hours had passed she was feeling the strain more with each step. The straps of the pack dug into her shoulder muscles, and the discomfort quickly became real pain. She tried shifting the straps around, but that also shifted the weight of the pack and made it difficult to carry. She began hooking her thumbs under the straps to move the pressure points, because otherwise she didn't know how she was going to be able to bear it for several more hours. For tomorrow, she promised herself, she would make some kind of padding to protect her shoulders.

Her legs, though aching, were holding up. She was accustomed to running five miles a day at home, and she regularly lifted weights, but nothing got you accustomed to packing a load except packing a load. The days spent on the boat without exercise hadn't helped, either. She knew that things would be better by the third day; it was just a matter of enduring until then.

Behind her, Jorge said softly, "The straps are causing pain, senhora?"

She looked over her shoulder with a smile. "Yes, they are. I'll pad them tomorrow."

"Perhaps you would like to put your pack on our litter. We would not even notice the weight."

"Thank you for the offer," she replied, touched by his consideration. "But if I can't carry my portion, I don't deserve to be along."

"But you are a woman, senhora. You should not have to carry a man's burden."

"On this trip, yes, I should. I am really very strong; soon I won't even notice the weight."

"Very well. But if it becomes too much, we will carry it for you."

Hearing their voices, Ben looked over his shoulder at them. He swiftly skimmed Jillian with an expert eye, gauging her endurance. She had no doubt that he had heard enough to understand the gist of the conversation. Without saying anything, evidently satisfied, he returned his attention to the trail.

Perhaps it was consideration, though there was an equal possibility that it was sheer caution, but Ben called a halt for the day while there were at least two hours of light still remaining. Jillian unbuckled the chest strap and gingerly eased the pack off her shoulders, wincing at the protest of her muscles. She would gladly have dropped straight to the ground, but there was still work to do. An area had to be cleared for the tents, and she pulled on a pair of gloves before taking up a machete and hacking at the undergrowth.

"Keep an eye out for snakes," Ben called.

"Thanks for the warning," she muttered. "I will."

"The fer-de-lance likes to lie on the ground among fallen leaves and wait for its food to come tripping along."

Damn him. She stopped and gave the ground an extra-sharp perusal, then went back to hacking. She knew about snakes and had automatically looked before she began, but he had made her uneasy enough to look again. Not that that was a bad thing, she was forced to admit. She would rather suffer a little uneasiness than a snakebite. Though they carried antivenin, a bite from a fer-de-lance could mean a painful death, and the bushmaster was even deadlier.

When they had made a sufficient clearing, they quickly set up the camp with the tents in a circle around the campfire. Rick and Kates unfolded their lightweight chairs and sat down, their faces and posture telling of their utter exhaustion. Ben didn't prod them to help, as they were clearly beyond it.

Pepe began the meal, and everyone gathered around. Conversation was sketchy, as they were all tired from the exertion of the first day. As soon as they had eaten, Jillian once more retired to her tent. She had shown Ben on a map the location of the next landmark, and he had said it would take at least three days to reach it. Until then, she had no other calculations to make or recheck. All she had to do was rest, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

After securing the zipper with tape, she undressed and used moist disposable towels to clean up as best she could, paying special attention to her feet. A blister or fungal infection could make life miserable. She dusted her feet and boots with antifungal powder each morning, but every little irritation had to be treated immediately, before it became a major problem. Clean socks were as necessary as food. Thank God her boots were old and well broken in.

Feeling better, she pulled on clean underwear and, with a deep sigh, stretched out on the sleep pad.

"Jillian."

It was Ben. She sighed again, but this time not in relief. "What?"

"You need a rubdown." She heard him tugging at the zipper. "The damn zipper is stuck."

"No, it isn't. I have it jammed from in here."

"Well, unjam it."

"I'm okay. Forget about the rubdown."

"Open the zipper." His voice was quiet, but again there was that unmistakable tone of command.

She scowled in his direction, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "I'd rather be sore tomorrow than deal with your so-called rubdown," she said bluntly. "I'd have to be an idiot to let you in here."

Ben sighed. "No funny business, I promise. No wandering hands."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I gave you my word."

That wasn't much reason, but she found herself hesitating. A rubdown would be heaven; she was so sore now that every movement hurt. Tomorrow would be torture if she didn't do something about the muscle strain. Why should she endure pain when she didn't have to? Common sense was sometimes uncomfortable. If she denied herself the rubdown she could feel virtuous and long-suffering, but "suffering" was the key word. Being entirely practical, however, she couldn't find any sense in refusing.

"Well, all right," she muttered. "But if you make even one wrong move, I'll brain you with something." Wincing as she moved, she sat up and peeled the tape back, then slid the zipper down.

"You mean you brought your purse?" Ben crawled into the tent, making it suddenly seem child-size. He brought one of the lanterns and a bottle of liniment with him. One eyebrow climbed as he studied the strip of tape, and he grinned.

"It works," she pointed out.

"So it does. Okay, down on your stomach."

She obeyed, though stiffly. "I'm all right, really. I expected to be sore."

"No point in having pain when I can relieve at least part of it. By the way, I like the outfit."

She hadn't blushed in years, but suddenly she felt her face heating up. More was covered than would have been if she'd been wearing a bathing suit, but the fact that her panties and shirt were underwear made the moment far more intimate. Trust Ben to mention that. Trust him to be incapable of refraining from making suggestive remarks. She pressed her hot face into the pad, thinking that if she could have moved fast enough she would have belted him one just on general principle.

The pungent scent of liniment burned her nose when he opened the bottle. He poured a liberal amount into his palm and began massaging it into her legs. He started at her ankles and worked upward, rolling and prodding the tight muscles. She moaned with delight when he kneaded her calf muscles, then caught her breath on a sharp inhalation of pain when he moved up to her thighs.

"Easy," he murmured soothingly. "Relax and let me work the soreness out."