As Lost as I Get (13 page)

“No answer. I’m going to call Christiane.”

While she was caught up in that, Ana tried to flag down a cab to take them to the clinic. The back of her neck prickled, and she looked up to see a pair of men watching them.

Chapter Fourteen

Lee wanted to do an inventory of their supplies before it got dark, so they stopped in the middle of the afternoon to regroup. The ground was getting drier with each hour that passed as they climbed higher. With the tarp stretched out under a tree, they sat down and emptied their packs. Zoe had perked up, either from her short nap or just from putting distance between her and the men who wanted to kill her.

The situation wasn’t dire. They had food enough for several days, more if they were careful, and water wasn’t a problem in a place where it rained at least once every day. Lee redistributed their supplies so they each had everything one person would need, and also put the extra in his own pack to save Zoe some of the weight.

“Now,” she said. “You need to let me see your arm.” He wanted to protest that it was just a little cut and he was fine, but the look on her face told him it would be easier in the long run just to give in. She pointed at his shirt, now torn and mud-spattered. “Off with that.”

She didn’t mean it in a sexual context, and he knew she didn’t, but as he pulled his shirt over his head, it was hard not to think of the last time he’d done this in front of her. From the flush that rose in her cheeks, she must have been thinking the same thing. She bent her head over her supplies, taking more care arranging them than he suspected was strictly necessary. He tried to will her to look at him, wanting to see if there was heat in her eyes.

“This might sting,” she said, reaching for his arm with an antiseptic wipe in one hand. Her fingers curled around his bicep below the cut, and were warm through her gloves. “The men at the ranch—why would an ENC colonel be with them, do you think?”

The antiseptic stung like hell; she wasn’t kidding. It distracted him from baser thoughts. “What?”

“A colonel I knew from Inírida. Santiago Vargas. He was with them.”

Lee tried to make sense of that while she cleaned his arm. No one that high-ranking would be undercover. “The guy you had lunch with? You’re sure it was him?”

Zoe nodded, intent on her work, ripping open a suture kit. He grimaced in anticipation. “I’m sure,” she said. “He’s been around the clinic a lot. Helped us with some supplies.”

“Did he see you, at the ranch?” A theory was forming in his mind, and if he was right . . .

“Yeah, I think so. I saw them when they marched in. I think he smiled at me.” She shifted gears. “I need to do these stitches. You’re lucky this wasn’t even worse.”

“Zoe, I need you to describe the man who was leading the group. Was it this Vargas?”

She picked up the suturing needle. “No. He was pale and nearly blond. I thought at first he might have been white, but his features were all wrong.”

“Albino?”

“No, just very pale. Mixed, like me.”

“That’s not the leader,” Lee said. “I know who he is. He’s with one of the cartels, one of the AC’s backers. Their leader is a man who goes by Arcangel. No one outside of a few trusted men has ever seen his face, but he was with that group, I’m sure of it. And you’ve seen him. You and Ana.”

“What about the villagers?”

“They won’t talk, and Arcangel knows it. You, on the other hand . . .”

“I can identify him.” The sutures tugged as she placed them, and he grimaced. She laughed at him, which did him a world of good. “Big baby. If you’re lucky, I might have a lollipop here if you’re a good boy.”

He raised his eyebrows and resisted making the obvious comment. She grinned and ducked her head. It was easier to sit still if he wasn’t actually watching the needle going into his skin, so he looked away. “Did you see anything else?”

“No . . . Is there a chance that Vargas is undercover?”

There were Colombians gathering intel, but would they take it that far? “Maybe, but that doesn’t sound like their style, not a long-term mission. They generally assassinate rather than infiltrate.”
Think it through
. Arcangel did most of his leading from behind a computer screen, only going out into the field when it was unavoidable. He’d set up a complex system of lieutenants and underlings, so that each group knew of only one, maybe two levels above them. Leading an anti-government army from inside the government’s army? It wasn’t impossible, but it would take balls. “Zoe. What if he’s Arcangel?”

She paused, gauze in her hands. “He can’t be. He’s a soldier. How would he manage it? Besides, he wasn’t the leader, he was marching with the rest of them.”

“Exactly,” Lee said. “If you were a secret paramilitary leader trying to keep your identity a secret, would
you
go marching through the jungle at the head of your troops? No, you’d have someone else do it, if you had to be there at all.” He shook his head. “And he needed to be there, to make the deal with Garcia.”

“What deal?” Zoe finished with the sutures and examined her work.

Lee flexed his arm experimentally until Zoe stilled him with a hand. “The AC is raising money from the cartels and from men like Garcia, supposedly providing them protection from left-wing guerrillas.”

“This is crazy.”

“My God, no wonder he wants you dead,” Lee said. “You’re the only one outside his organization—maybe the only one at all—who could link his two identities.”

Zoe finished bandaging his arm and put away the supplies. “Oh no. I’m not the only one. Ana was with me. She took the helicopter back with our patients.”

“Did she see Vargas?”

“I—I don’t think so, but I told her he was there.” She pulled off her latex gloves and wadded up the last of the trash. “They were going to kill me, and I didn’t even understand what I knew. Lee, she’s in danger. What if they—they wouldn’t send someone after her, would they?”

That’s exactly what they would do, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it here. “She might be fine,” he lied. “Give the satellite phone a few more hours, and we’ll try it again. Maybe you can get in touch with her.”

She wasn’t happy with his answer, but she let it go. “Do you have a clean shirt to put on? The more we can keep your bandage clean and dry, the happier I’ll be. As damp and warm as it is, the bacteria must go crazy here.”

“Yeah.” He found one of his extra shirts and pulled it on, luxuriating in the feeling of dry clothing while he could. The afternoon rains should be starting any time now. “Better get going before the rain starts. Are you okay to go a few more hours before we camp?” He watched her take a swallow from her canteen and tried not to let his eyes linger on the way her throat moved.

“I’m better now,” she said. “The nap helped, thank you. Ready when you are.”

***

Weak sunlight filtered through the trees when the afternoon’s showers finally stopped. Zoe wasn’t as worried that she might smell bad. Between her dip in the river and walking through the day’s downpour, she was soaked to the bone. Even the insect repellent she’d applied was long gone. And now that the rain had stopped, mud was splashing everywhere. At least it wasn’t cold—then things would have been miserable. As it was, things were just unpleasant.

Had she ever been somewhere so remote? The only sounds she heard were natural ones. There was no traffic noise, no sounds of motorboats, no sounds of talking or laughing. Even the faint underlying hum of electricity was stilled—a sound that she never realized was there until it was gone. Which wasn’t to say it was quiet. During the rain, the noise of the water beating on the leaves had been deafening, and dripping still sounded all around her. Now that the rain had stopped, other noises were reappearing: birds calling, the buzz of innumerable exotic insects, and now and then, from far overhead, the chatter and scream of primates.

They crested a large mound as the sun was starting to dim. “This should be a good stopping place tonight,” Lee said. “There’s a stream just over there. Hand me your canteen and I’ll get some water if you want to start setting up camp.”

Camp. Most of the actual camping equipment she’d brought was still on the boat from Inírida. The trip to Puerta del Ángel wasn’t supposed to require any extended outdoor stays. Should she go into his pack? Hopefully he was better prepared than she was—although there were still a lot of unanswered questions.

He came back with droplets of water clinging to his face and hair. She let herself savor what she was seeing. His T-shirt clung to his skin, outlining every muscle, and her fingers itched with the remembered sensation of his skin. What a time to be thinking about sex. She was muddy and gross in the middle of the jungle, lost for all she knew, with dangerous men looking to kill her. Even so, she couldn’t stop thinking about that night. He’d thought of it too; she’d seen it in his eyes when she told him to take his shirt off. Belatedly, she realized he’d spoken to her. “Sorry?”

His smile would be the death of her. “I said, the water’s fine,” he repeated, “if you want to wash the mud off. It’s just through those trees. No one’s around, I checked.”

“Um, yeah okay.” She gestured around her. “I . . . don’t have much in the way of camping stuff. I wasn’t sure if I should go rooting through yours or not.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s fine. I can share.”

The image of sharing a sleeping bag with him flashed in her head.
Get a grip, Zoe.
She smiled at him weakly and ducked away.

The stream was as close as promised. It probably vanished altogether during the dry season, but with the rains and late-season runoff from the mountains, it made a pleasant little trickle. She pulled her shirt over her head and swirled it in the water to wash off some of the mud. Her jeans would have to wait. She used her shirt as an impromptu sponge, trailing water over her face and arms, washing away the dirt. Then she did her best to wring out the shirt before putting it back on. In this humidity, it would be wet for ages, but there was nothing for it. It promised to be a damp and muddy few days until they managed to get back to town.

By the time she was finished, Lee had the tarp strung between two trees with another tarp beneath it, making a rough tent. It wasn’t the bug-proof enclosure she would have hoped for, but at least they would stay relatively dry if it rained overnight. The space was awfully small though, especially for two people.

“Sorry we can’t risk a fire.” He crouched beside his pack. The way he swallowed and looked away made her conscious of her own wet T-shirt. Well, at least she wouldn’t suffer alone. “Still,” he went on, “I can offer you a hot dinner, as long as you don’t mind if it comes from a pouch.”

“Anything. I’m starving.”

“One spaghetti dinner, coming right up.” He handed her a box with some fruit snacks and assorted utensils, and an empty space where the entree had been. “Pull up a log.” She perched on a fallen log while he put the meal pouch in a larger pouch, added some water, closed it, and sat it propped up on a rock, then repeated the process for himself.

“I thought you guys had to eat these things cold.” She took a drink from her canteen.

“Modern science is an amazing thing. On a good day, MREs almost taste like food.” He pulled open one of the pouches, wincing at the wisp of steam that came out. “Careful, it’s hot. You’ll need to kind of squish the pouch around a little, to make sure it’s evenly heated.”

Zoe laughed. “Wow. I’m not sure you could have made that sound more appetizing if you tried.”

“Well.” He tilted his head to glance at her before opening the second pouch. “If I had my way, I’d be wining and dining you somewhere with a tablecloth at the very least.”

“Really,” Zoe said. “Like a date?” She opened the utensil pouch and pulled out the plastic fork. “So would I be going out with Lee, the nice guy who’s saved my life a couple of times, or Will, the guy who interferes with my patients?”

“Is that why you started avoiding me?” He brought his own meal over and sat next to her. “No, you were avoiding me before that. Zoe . . . what happened? That night. You ran out like I did something wrong.” He didn’t mean the night Timo got shot.

“You didn’t. It was just an early morning the next day, and I was in the middle of a cholera outbreak, or had you forgotten?” Did they have to talk about this
now
?

“Zoe . . .”

He’d saved her life a second time, but the way he lived his terrified her. How could she explain that being around him made her feel safe, but also reminded her that there was so much in the world that was unsafe? Part of her wanted to hide in his arms forever, and she couldn’t do that.

What she could do was change the subject. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask this, but what’s the plan for when we get back to Inírida? I mean, Santiago or Arcangel or whoever isn’t going to just stop looking for me.”

Lee focused on eating before answering, like he was stalling for time. She took advantage of the silence to eat as well—and he was right, the food wasn’t bad at all. Finally he said, “No, he won’t. We’ll need to neutralize the threat he poses. You could go public with what you know—that would increase the pressure on him, but until he gets caught, you wouldn’t be safe in Colombia. Maybe not even after, if his men were in a vengeful frame of mind.”

“Shit.” Zoe’s appetite vanished. She pushed the fork into the mess of pasta and sauce in the pouch and rubbed her forehead.

“What were you even doing out here?” he asked suddenly. “Why didn’t you just stay at the clinic?”

“I told you. We go on rounds up and down the river. It was my turn.” After she’d switched with Maria, anyway.

“Okay, but you were miles from the river.”

“I had a patient I needed to see. The one who got airlifted out? How was I supposed to know I was walking into the middle of a giant conspiracy?”

“It’s Colombia. There’s always a giant conspiracy,” Lee said.

“What were you doing out there anyway?”

“Following up on a giant conspiracy.” Lee gave her a grin, but it fell flat.

“Lucky for me.”

“You don’t know how lucky. Jesus, Zoe. This is twice now. What are you going to do when your luck runs out?”

She’d had a very similar conversation with her mother after she’d gotten home from Mexico. “What if” was no way for her to live her life, so she’d fought to recover and to get back to work. “You know, I have been in dangerous situations before. It’s part of the job.”