The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) (21 page)

It was a gentle kiss, innocent and almost heartbreakingly tentative...at first.

Then he angled his head slightly and settled his lips over hers, and she kissed him back—and for an instant, his head spun.

But her direction was clear, and he was only too happy to oblige—to sup at her lips, to explore their contours. And when he found her lips pliant and plush, just begging to be parted, desire ignited like a leaping flame, and he pressed in.

And savored.

And only just remembered in time that he shouldn’t go too far too fast—that he couldn’t simply plunge in, ravage, conquer, and seize.

Even if her untutored enticements made him feel like a chest-beating barbarian.

Yet her encouragement was plainly there, openly tendered, and that, in itself, made him feel unexpectedly humble—as if she and Fate had conspired to gift him with something indescribably precious.

Here, in the depths of the West African jungle, while held captive by violent men, and with their survival nowhere near assured...

Perhaps Fate hadn’t changed her spots all that much.

Katherine felt giddy. She wasn’t sure she was even breathing, but couldn’t spare any mind to care, not with her senses whirling and darting this way, then that, wanting to absorb, to experience and remember every tiny detail of this—their first kiss.

Not her first kiss, and certainly not his, but in that instant of feeling drawn into the exchange, all but drowning in the compulsion to go forward, she’d made her decision and knowingly taken that step—just as he had. In that moment, she’d sensed a tide, a pressure quite unlike anything she’d previously felt—as if this kiss was meant to be. As if she needed it. As if, for her—and for him, too—this kiss was a vital part of their way forward.

Ridiculous, some long-buried kernel of conservative caution informed her. How could she be so sure when she’d only met him mere days ago?

Yet she was.

Experience—not just since her mother had died and she’d been alone, but even before that—had taught her to trust her judgment. That the one thing in life she could rely on was herself and that inner knowing.

So she leaned into him, gave herself up to his hold, and slid her hands up the solid planes of his chest. She curved her palms over the heavy muscles of his shoulders, then reached farther to feather her fingers over his nape, then into the thick, tumbled locks of his dark hair.

The fall of the silky locks over the backs of her hands was a sensuous caress that made her shudder.

Want bloomed—a new flame within her.

She noted it—that burgeoning need—and sensed that he did, too.

To her surprise, she felt a small shudder rack him.

Then his lips firmed.

And without thought or hesitation, she met their demand, and the siren she’d never known lived inside her rejoiced.

But almost immediately, she sensed him pause—then, very clearly, he took control and eased them both back...

Until their lips parted.

Until, from under weighted lids, their gazes met and held.

Their breaths mingled, their breathing not as steady as it had been.

As her heart slowed, he murmured, “Enough.”
Not here.

She held his gaze. “For now.”
Later.

* * *

The cavalcade that marched into the compound late the next day was impressive in its way.

A long row of native bearers swung through the gates two by two, each pair supporting a bundle of long, roughly dressed timber beams on their shoulders. Others carried pallets on which rested all manner of other mining supplies, while Arsene and his men hefted heavy packs, no doubt weighed down with nails and the rolls of metal strips used to anchor the bracing.

Caleb stood with the other men in the shaft of afternoon sun flooding the mine’s entrance. They watched as the bearers halted and let the timber tumble from their shoulders to the ground. Under the direction of one of Arsene’s men, the pallets were set down in front of the supply hut.

“That’s an awful lot of everything,” Dixon said.

Fanshawe muttered, “Dubois is clearly taking no chances on any of those items running out again.”

At that moment, Dubois emerged from the barracks. He paused on the porch to survey the scene, then descended to speak with Arsene, who’d halted not far from the steps.

The guards who’d been idly patrolling the perimeter ambled up to stand by the fire pit—between the captives and the natives—as the latter approached Dubois and Arsene.

Dubois paid off the bearers, then the band—at least twenty strong—turned and, eyes forward, strode for the gates. Only as they stepped out of the compound did a few of the bearers cast furtive—unhappy, even worried—glances at the captives. But then they were gone, vanishing into the jungle, presumably marching back to some village.

“Dixon!” Arsene called from across the compound.

Caleb and the other men looked and saw Dubois retreating into the barracks.

Arsene beckoned. “Bring the men and store these supplies.”

As Caleb followed Dixon across the compound, he whispered to Hillsythe, walking alongside him, “No doubt Dubois wants us to see that he’s brought in more than enough to keep us going.”

Hillsythe nodded. “And therefore there’s no excuse for us not simply getting on with mining the second pipe. With Dubois, there’s always a message.”

They reached the packs and the pallets. The jumbled timber lay nearby.

After a word with Arsene, Dixon set one group of men under Fanshawe and Hopkins to stack the timbers in an organized way between the gates and the men’s hut. Then Dixon and the others hefted the packs and the heavier packages off the pallets and carried them into the supply hut.

While he unpacked bundles of long nails and stacked them on one of a row of crude shelves, Caleb studied his surroundings; he’d been inside the hut only once, to fetch a lantern, and hadn’t had a chance to assess what possibilities the hut and its contents might offer.

Although Arsene watched them unburden the pallets, he didn’t bother venturing into the stifling atmosphere of the hut. Through the open door, Caleb could see him and his men loosely gathered in the shade cast by the barracks, keeping nothing more than a vague eye on the hut and the men inside.

On the other side of the hut, Jed Mathers and several others were unwrapping and stacking picks and shovels. Jed paused to study a short-handled shovel. “Be damned if this isn’t brand new.” Raising his head, he looked at Dixon. “Weren’t the others—the ones we already have—secondhand? Like from some store that resells things after others are finished with them?”

Jed glanced at the shovel, then held it out to Dixon. “Here. Take a look.”

Frowning, Dixon reached out and took the shovel.

Jed released it, then turned to survey the small mountain of new tools—including pickaxes, shovels, and numerous pry bars of various sorts. “This
all
looks brand new. Must’ve cost Dubois and the backers a pretty penny an’ all.”

Dixon, frowning even more deeply, turned the shovel over, then looked along the shaft—and swore.

“What?” Hillsythe asked.

Dixon studied the shaft for a moment more, then he raised his gaze and looked at Hillsythe, then at Caleb and Phillipe. “I’d noticed the army stamp on most of the tools before, but they were used, so I assumed they’d come from some mining store’s secondhand stock, and in a place like Freetown, the fort would be the principal source of used tools. But these bear the army stamp”—Dixon held up the shovel, then handed it to Phillipe, who was closest—“and as Jed said, they’re brand new. And there’s no reason I can think of for Fort Thornton to have ordered any huge number of such tools, only to send them out as surplus. That makes no sense. Major Winton would never make such a mistake—not when things have to be brought by ship all the way out here.”

“Wait—Winton.” Caleb frowned. After a moment, he said, “Major Winton’s the commissar at the fort, isn’t he?”

Dixon nodded.

“My soon-to-be sister-in-law,” Caleb said, “heard that the supplies came from someone named Winter, but she was gagged and had a canvas sack over her head at the time.”

“You think she misheard Winter for Winton?” Hillsythe look struck, then he glanced at Dixon.

Whose frown was now black. “
Not
Major Winton.” Dixon’s tone was adamant. “The major is old school, and a more solid man you won’t find.” Dixon paused, then drew breath and went on, “
However
, the major has a nephew—one William Winton. A spineless wonder, if ever I saw one. He’s greedy, and I can readily see him being two-faced. But more to the point, he’s the major’s assistant.” Dixon looked around at their faces. “William Winton is the assistant commissar at the fort.”

Hillsythe sat on a stack of boxes. “So we have Winton in the fort and Muldoon in the navy office.”

“And someone in the governor’s office who we’ve yet to identify.” Caleb had been keeping an eye on Arsene and the guards. “We need to keep unpacking. Let’s table this for later.”

The others all glanced through the doorway, then with grunts returned to their labors.

Later, as Dixon, Caleb, Phillipe, and Hillsythe followed the other men back to the mine, and Fanshawe and Hopkins joined them, they returned to the subject of William Winton and the fact that their tools and all mining supplies appeared to be coming directly from the fort’s commissariat. Dixon explained that Winton had to have ordered extra supplies specifically to support the mine. “Which means he’s pulling the wool over his uncle’s eyes, and as the major got him the post—it’s one a civilian can hold—this is going to fall hard on the major.”

“What a way to repay someone for doing you a good deed,” Phillipe murmured.

Snorts of agreement came from all around.

They reached the mine and went inside, but halted in the area just inside the entrance. They all looked at each other, then Dixon said, “With the first deposit on its last legs and our stockpile of ore running down, too, we don’t dare delay completing the shoring up of the second tunnel so we can start mining the second pipe—and with all that timber, there’s no viable excuse to do so, anyway.”

His expression grave, Hillsythe nodded. “But once the second tunnel is open, now we have all those tools and all the mining supplies we could ever need, Dubois will expect production to increase.”

Dixon paused, clearly calculating, then said, “We can increase by a small amount, but until I properly assess how far the second pipe reaches, we’d be unwise to mine without restraint.”

Caleb met Hillsythe’s gaze. “It looks like we need to start being inventive sooner rather than later.”

* * *

After all the captives had gathered for the evening meal and had shared the latest news, Caleb and Katherine went for a stroll around the compound. The evening perambulation was an exercise Dixon and Harriet had pioneered, and one Annie and Jed also frequently indulged in, seizing the quiet moments in the cooler evening air to share insights, reactions, and feelings, and above all else, to bolster each other’s spirits.

Tonight, all three couples had grasped their chance, leaving the rest of the company about the fire pit. Each couple struck their own course, ambling arm in arm between the huts, avoiding the occasional perimeter guards, and pausing here and there as inclination took them.

Dixon’s discovery of the source of the supplies had been touched on only briefly about the fire pit. Caleb elaborated, explaining that they now believed that “Winter” had really been “Winton,” referring to the younger man of that name known to be second-in-charge in the fort’s commissariat.

After digesting that, Katherine asked, “Given the large amount of mining supplies Dubois has brought in, what are the implications for us stretching the mining out long enough for the rescue force to reach us?”

Caleb grimaced. “We still can’t tell.” Through the shadows, he met her gaze. “As you heard, we’ve little choice but to make a good show of working the mine at increased efficiency, with all the men working for the next three days.” That consensus had been discussed and adopted before they’d left the group. “Unfortunately, the first deposit is almost mined out, and increasing output even by only a small amount—which we have to do in response to having more men working and for longer hours—will run down the stockpile to almost nothing.”

He glanced ahead. “However, by the end of those three days, we’ll have the first level of the second tunnel fully open. We’ve done the exploratory work, and the entrance and first stretch are already shored up. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll have men mining the second pipe—and the first call on the results will be to replenish the stockpile. And by then, Dixon should be able to give us a firm answer as to what we face.”

They continued strolling. Leaning on his arm, Katherine looked ahead. “I haven’t been in to see the new tunnel yet—where does it start?”

“The opening is about ten yards down the first tunnel, on the right. The second tunnel runs at roughly ninety degrees to the first—more or less parallel to the ridge line.”

“So the entrance to the second tunnel lies before the section where they’re mining the first deposit?”

“Yes. At the moment, the second tunnel is not that long—not even fifteen yards. Once we have it fully open, it’ll be more than forty yards, and Dixon will assess how much of the second deposit we can mine from that run. He’s already sure we’ll need to extend the tunnel on a lower level to reach all of the deposit, but as the second deposit is richer in diamonds, both in quantity and in size, it’s possible we might not need that lower level—not before September.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “Best-case scenario is that even with all the men working longer hours, even with us increasing the output from the mine, the mining from the first level of the second tunnel will nevertheless last long enough—until the seventh of September, at least.”

“So we’ll know in three days.”

“Yes.” He lowered his voice. “And if we don’t get our best-case scenario, then we’ll decide when and how to slow things down. Dubois didn’t bring in more lamp oil, so running down the oil remains a possibility.”