Midnight Rainbow (16 page)

           
 
"I don't know." A smile wobbled on
her mouth. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He touched her hair,
hoping fervently that she never had to find the answer to his question. He
didn't want anything ever to dim the gaiety of her smile. Bending, he kissed
her roughly, thoroughly, then without a word blended into the forest in that
silent, unnerving way of his. Jane stared at the gun in her hand for a long
moment, then walked over to a fallen tree and carefully inspected it for animal
life before sitting down.

           
 
She couldn't relax. Her nerves were jumpy, and
though she didn't jerk around at every raucous bird call or chattering monkey,
or even the alarming rustles in the underbrush, her senses were acutely,
painfully attuned to the noises. She had become used to having Grant close by,
his mere presence making her feel protected. Without him, she felt vulnerable
and more alone than she had ever felt before. Fear ate at her, but it was fear
for Grant, not
herself
. She had walked into this with
her eyes open, accepting the danger as the price to be paid, but Grant was
involved solely because of her. If anything happened to him, she knew she
wouldn't be able to bear it, and she was afraid. How could he expect to walk
calmly into a small village and not be
noticed.
Everything about him drew attention, from his stature to his shaggy blond hair
and those wild, golden eyes. She
knew
how single-mindedly
Turego
would search for her, and
since Grant had been seen with her, his life was on the line now just as much
as hers. By now
Turego
must know that she had the
microfilm. He'd be
both furious
and desperate; furious
because she'd played him for a fool, and desperate because she could destroy
his government career. Jane twisted her fingers together, her dark eyes intent.
She thought of destroying the microfilm, to ensure that it would never fall
into the hands of
Turego
or any hostile group or
government—but she didn't know what was on it, only that it was supremely
important. She didn't want to destroy information that her own country might
need. Not only that, but she might need it as a negotiating tool. George had
taught her well, steeped her in his cautious, quicksilver tactics, the tactics
that had made him so shadowy that few people had known of his existence. If she
had her back to the wall, she would use every advantage she had, do whatever
she had to—but she hoped it wouldn't come to that kind of desperation. The best
scenario would be that Grant would be able to smuggle her out of the country.
Once she was safe in the States, she'd make contact and turn the microfilm over
to the people who should have it. Then she could concentrate on chasing Grant
until he realized that he couldn't live without her. The worst scenario she
could imagine would be for something to happen to Grant. Everything in her
shied away even from the thought.

           
 
He'd been hurt too much already. He was a
rough, hardened warrior, but he bore scars, invisible ones inside as well as
the ones that scored his body. He'd retired, trying to pull himself away, but
the wasteland mirrored in his eyes told her that he still lived partially in
the shadows, where sunlight and warmth couldn't penetrate.

           
 
A fierce protectiveness welled up inside her.
She was strong; she'd already lived through so much, overcome a childhood
horror that could have crippled her emotionally. She hadn't allowed that to
clip her wings, had learned instead to soar even higher, reveling in her
freedom. But she wasn't strong enough to survive a world without Grant. She had
to know that he was alive and
well,
or there would be
no more sunshine for her.
If anyone dared harm him…

           
 
Perspiration curled the hair at her temples
and trickled between her breasts. Sighing, she wondered how long she had been
waiting. She wiped her face and twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head
to relieve herself of its hot weight on the back of her neck. It was so hot!
The air was steamy, lying on her skin like a wet, warm blanket, making it
difficult to breathe. It had to rain soon; it was nearing the time of day when
the storms usually came.

           
 
She watched a line of ants for a time,
then
tried to amuse herself by counting the different types
of birds that flitted and chirped in the leafy terraces above her head. The
jungle teemed with life, and she'd come to learn that, with caution, it was
safe to walk through it—not that she wanted to try it without Grant. The
knowledge and the experience were his. But she was no longer certain that death
awaited her behind every bush. The animal life that flourished in the green
depths was generally shy, and skittered away from the approach of man. It was
true that the most dangerous animal in the jungle was man himself. Well over an
hour had passed, and a sense of unease was prickling her spine. She sat very
still, her green and black clothing mingling well with the surrounding foliage,
her senses alert. She saw nothing, heard nothing out of the ordinary, but the
prickling sensation along her spine increased. Jane sat still for a moment
longer,
then
gave in to the screaming of her
instincts. Danger was near, very near. Slowly she moved, taking care not to
rustle even a leaf, and crawled behind the shelter of the fallen tree's roots.
They were draped in vines and bushes that had sprung to life already, feeding
off the death of the great plant. The heaviness of the pistol she held reminded
her that Grant had had a reason for leaving it with her.

           
 
A flash of movement caught her attention, but
she turned only her eyes to study it. It was several long seconds before she
saw it again, a bit of tanned skin and a green shape that was not plant or
animal, but a cap. The man was moving slowly, cautiously, making little noise.
He carried a rifle, and he was headed in the general direction of the village.

           
 
Jane's heart thudded in her breast. Grant
could well meet him face to face, but Grant might be surprised, while this man,
this guerrilla, was expecting to find him. Jane didn't doubt that normally
Grant would be the victor, but if he were overtaken from behind he could be
shot before he had a chance to act. The distinctive beating of helicopter
blades assaulted the air, still distant, but signaling the intensified search.
Jane waited while the noise of the helicopter faded, hoping that its presence
had alerted Grant. Surely it had; he was far too wary not to be on guard. For
that, if nothing else, she was grateful for the presence of the helicopters.

           
 
She had to find Grant before he came face to
face with one of the guerrillas and before they found her. This lone man
wouldn't be the only one searching for her.

           
 
She had learned a lot from Grant these past
few days, absorbing the silent manner in which he
walked,
his instinctive use of the best shelter available. She slid into the jungle,
moving slowly, keeping low, and always staying behind and to the side of the
silent stalker. Terror fluttered in her chest, almost choking her, but she
reminded herself that she had no choice.

           
 
A thorny vine caught her hair, jerking it
painfully, and tears sprang to her eyes as she bit her lip to stifle a
reflexive cry of pain. Trembling, she freed her hair from the vine. Oh, God,
where was Grant? Had he been caught already?

           
 
Her knees trembled so badly that she could no
longer walk at a crouch. She sank to her hands and knees and began crawling, as
Grant had taught her, keeping the thickest foliage between herself and the man,
awkwardly clutching the pistol in her hand as she moved.

           
 
Thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling the
approach of the daily rains. She both dreaded and prayed for the rain. It would
drown out all sound and reduce visibility to a few feet, increasing her chances
for escape—but it would also make it almost impossible for Grant to find her. A
faint crackle in the brush behind her alerted her, but she whirled a split
second too late. Before she could bring the pistol around, the man was upon
her, knocking the gun from her grip and twisting her arm up behind her, then
pushing her face into the ground. She gasped, her breath almost cut off by the
pressure of his knee on her back. The moist, decaying vegetation that littered
the forest floor was ground into her mouth. Twisting her head to one side, Jane
spat out the dirt. She tried to wrench her arm free; he cursed and twisted her
arm higher behind her back, wringing an involuntary cry of pain from her.
Someone shouted in the distance, and the man answered, but Jane's ears were
roaring and she couldn't understand what they said. Then he roughly searched
her, slapping his free hand over her body and making her face turn red with
fury. When he was satisfied that she carried no other weapons, he released her
arm and flipped her onto her back.

           
 
She started to surge to her feet, but he swung
his rifle around so close that the long, glinting barrel was only a few inches
from her face. She glanced at it,
then
lifted her eyes
to glare at her captor. Perhaps she could catch him off guard. "Who are
you?" she demanded in a good imitation of a furious, insulted woman, and
swatted the barrel away as if it were an insect. His flat, dark eyes briefly
registered surprise, then wariness. Jane scrambled to her feet and thrust her
face up close to his, letting him see her narrowed, angry eyes. Using all the
Spanish she knew, she proceeded to tell him what she thought of him. For good
measure she added all the ethnic invective she'd learned in college, silently
wondering at the meaning of everything she was calling the soldier, who looked
more stunned by the moment. She poked him repeatedly in the chest with her
finger, advancing toward him, and he actually fell back a few paces. Then the
other soldier, the one she'd spotted before, joined them, and the man pulled
himself together.

           
 
"Be quiet!" he shouted.

           
 
"I won't be quiet!" Jane shouted in
return, but the other soldier grabbed her arms and tied her wrists. Incensed,
Jane kicked out behind her, catching him on the shin with her boot. He gave a
startled cry of pain, then whirled her around and drew his fist back, but at
the last moment stayed his blow.
Turego
probably had
given orders that she wasn't to be
hurt,
at least
until he'd gotten the information he wanted from her.

           
 
Shaking her tangled hair away from her eyes,
Jane glared at her captors. "What do you want? Who are you?"

           
 
They ignored her, and pushed her roughly ahead
of them. With her arms tied behind her, her balance was off, and she stumbled
over a tangled vine. She couldn't catch herself, and pitched forward with a
small cry. Instinctively one of the soldiers grabbed for her. Trying to make it
look accidental, she flung out one of her legs and tangled it through his,
sending him crashing into a bush. She landed with a jolt on a knotted root,
which momentarily stunned her and made her ears ring. He came out of nowhere.
One moment he wasn't there; the next he was in the midst of them. Three quick
blows with the side of his hand to the first soldier's face and neck had the
man crumpling like a broken doll. The soldier who Jane had tripped yelled and
tried to swing his rifle around, but Grant lashed out with his boot, catching
the man on the chin. There was a sickening thud; the man's head jerked back,
and he went limp.

           
 
Grant wasn't even breathing hard, but his face
was set and coldly furious as he hauled Jane to her feet and roughly turned her
around. His knife sliced easily through the bonds around her wrists. "Why
didn't you stay where I left you?" he grated. "If I hadn't heard you
yelling—" She didn't want to think about that. "I did stay," she
protested. "Until those two almost walked over me. I was trying to hide,
and to find you before you ran straight into them!" He gave her an
impatient glance. "I would've handled them." He grabbed her wrist and
began dragging her after him. Jane started to defend herself,
then
sighed. Since he so obviously
had
handled them, what could she say? She concentrated instead on
keeping her feet under her and dodging the limbs and thorny vines that swung at
her.

           
 
"Where are we going?"

           
 
"Be quiet."

           
 
There was a loud crack, and Grant knocked her
to the ground, covering her with his body. Winded, at first Jane thought that
the thunder of the approaching storm had startled him; then her heart convulsed
in her chest as she realized what the noise had been. Someone was shooting at
them! The two soldiers hadn't been the only ones nearby. Her eyes widened to
dark pools; they were shooting at Grant, not at her! They would have orders to
take her alive. Panic tightened her throat, and she clutched at him.