Jump Zone: Cleo Falls (7 page)

Nope. She could count all day, but there was no way in hell she was going deeper.

She bent over and splashed herself, hung her head low enough to soak her hair but not touch her scalp.

Using tentative movements, she shuffled backward. At the edge, with only her feet in the water, she felt brave enough to crouch. She dug under the pebbles and scooped out handfuls of mud, rubbing it over her goose-fleshed skin, one limb at a time, using it to slough off the grime and sweat.

Her skin felt alive and tingly, her wound stopped throbbing, and she felt overall much better but for the curious ache in her belly, an uncharacteristic yearning for the touch of a male body.

Cleopatra Rush
, she whispered to her rippling reflection,
has dying made you addled?

She looked downstream but there was still no sign of Libra, so she stood on the riverbank and faced the wind to let the autumn breeze dry her skin.

Go with the wind, her father would often say. In other words, go with the way of things, not against as she often did, bucking trends, ignoring rules.

Go with the wind.

What if she were honest with him, told him she needed to get to Gomeda? Would he take her? Would he be sympathetic to her cause and maybe even help rescue Jag?

Don’t trust outsiders!

No, she couldn’t risk telling him why she was going—she’d keep that to herself—but it would certainly save time if she had someone along who knew the way. And it solved the problem with the Trading Post. She couldn’t be seen there… but he could! She could send him in with a list of supplies, a new harness, a few blades, just to begin. And her father would never find out she’d crossed the Cut.

Cleo began to dress while she deliberated the pros and cons, just as she’d been taught to do about any important decision regarding tribe matters.

She still didn’t know much about him and certainly didn’t want to make any hasty judgements. But she didn’t feel threatened by him, a big plus in the pro column. Perhaps she should let him stay one more day, if only to get a better handle on him. She could test him to see if he proved trustworthy. If he passed, she’d approach the topic of tagging along.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

She had a plan.

She was so lost in thought that her normally acute senses didn’t flicker, didn’t register any alarm over the man who stood a few dozen feet away, in the deep shadows of the forest, watching.

Nine

“T
revayne?” Achan Cade’s voice whisper-hissed in his inner ear, making him stand straighter. Never mind that he didn’t address him by his title. It was Mr. Cade’s privilege.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have we heard from the boy yet?”

“No voice communications yet, sir.”

Trevayne tapped the com-plant nodule behind his ear, adjusting the volume so he wouldn’t miss a syllable of his commander-in-chief’s words. The man was deceptively soft-spoken.

“Why not?”

“If he’s made contact with his subject, he may not be free to speak.” Trevayne ran his hand over his bristled head and kept his tone firm but patient. His boss knew damn well the risks in using any form of open-channel communication in the Taiga. The boy was told to use his satcom device judiciously and put the mission completion above all else. They could not afford to draw attention. Being stuck on a roasting spit and devoured by the dirty tribal bastards was
not acceptable
. Besides, he didn’t want the pansy-ass boy to think he could whine to his unit about the conditions twenty-four-seven.

“Location?” Cade grilled.

“The last time he activated his com, his positioning signal indicated he was still in the drop zone.”

“Could he be dead?” The old man’s icy tone could have triggered a glacial age. That was why he respected the old man; Cade never let his personal feelings get in the way of a mission.

“No, sir. His vital readings at dawn yesterday showed a slight increase in heart rate, blood pressure, and adrenal surges. All normal for an operative recruit.”

Higher than normal, actually, but Trevayne chalked that up to fear. That’s what you got when you sent a pussy to do a man’s job.

“I want to know the moment he checks in.”

“Of course, sir. You’ll be informed as soon as I hear. Did you manage to get further intel that could aid in bringing her in?”

“Nothing you don’t already know. One source is dry, the other uncooperative. But we’re working on it. Don’t fail me, Trevayne.”

“Failure is unacceptable, sir.”

Colonel Leon Trevayne of the seventh division, Ameradan Army, Gomedan Guard unit, tapped the com-plant volume back down and loosened the breastplate of his dragon-skin armor. The lightweight body protector looked nothing like the regular army-issue equipment, but Cade’s private security force, Achan’s Elite, had access to the most innovative gear. Easily camouflaged by a loose-fitting flannel shirt, he blended in effortlessly with the other sightseers around the Cut. And that was important, not so much to him, but to the old man.

Achan Cade, CEO of DynaCade, the most powerful independently owned company in Amerada, also held the esteemed title of Minister of the Energy Collective, the controlling arm of the Restoration Party. The good people of Gomeda believed their city a democracy, but those in the know were fully aware that Achan Cade pulled every string and controlled the politicians and citizens like puppets. That said, he couldn’t afford to incite a high-alert situation by breaching the United World Council’s inane preservation treaty. The more those soft-bellied liberals in the UWC got involved, the more difficult their mission. Therefore, it was critical that this mission be kept low key and off of everyone’s radar. Exactly why Trevayne was sent in to run the last-minute operation. Nobody screwed up when he was in charge. Failure was
not acceptable.

He was to arrange transport from the Cut to Gomeda for the operative and the prisoner. Simple. Too simple.

A Private fresh out of basic training could have run this mission, yet Cade chose him. Made his gears turn, his skin itch. He knew Cade was acting outside of protocol—nothing new there—but he suspected he didn’t know everything he should about this little jaunt up to the edge of wilderness.

A test of his loyalty?

He’d seen it happen to others, lesser men than himself. He witnessed firsthand what happened to those who fell on the wrong side of Cade’s temper. They were sent back to the ranks of the general army, back to patrolling Lower Amerada, back to bashing heads of Drifters and breaking up the occasional skirmish between the human slime that populated the outlands.

Wasn’t going to happen to him. No way was he giving up the unsanctioned pay packets Cade so generously issued. Or the perks.

So why play the zhanging boy? It was like throwing a pansy into a cactus garden. Libra, unproven and uncontrollable, was a big fat X in the equation, and Trevayne loathed unknowns. But he didn’t get to the top of Achan’s Elite because he was stupid. He had a Plan B, and as he rendezvoused with his men at the boat, he went over the details in his head. He knew how to deal with the pup and was prepared to subdue the enemy as soon as she was within his sights. He doubted he’d have any trouble taking down a mere girl. Even if she could chuck a spear.

Ten

“I
t’s starting to smell,” Libra said as they made their way back to camp. “I dragged it as far as I could beyond the clearing, but that thing weighs a metric zhang-ton.”

“I heard a few critters getting close during the night. Last thing we need is a wolverine or a pack of coyotes near camp.”

“We should think about moving.” He glanced down at the gash at the bottom of her pant leg before taking a decidedly longer time skimming up her body. “Though it would be better for you to stay put and let that leg heal.” When his eyes finally met hers, his tone became entirely seductive. “I could carry you.” Libra’s mouth curled into his signature half-smile so she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or cheeky. Or both.

He weakened her resolve, her fortitude, and she couldn’t risk being around him too long lest she forget about her primary objective and do something completely foolish, like fall for this outsider. For the next day and night, she’d have to give him reasons to leave the camp, to leave her alone. Which made no sense… How could she determine his motives, separate lies from truth, if she didn’t watch him, converse with him?

“I’ll show you how to make a travois.”

“A what?”

“A travois, a stretcher,” she explained. “Then I can stay put while you get the carcass farther away. And it’s going to have to go a good distance so the scavengers don’t bother us.”

“Can it wait until after breakfast?” His silver-blue gaze caught hers. “I’m starved.”

For the love of skunks, her knees wobbled and her head felt like the vortex that her kayak had been sucked into, spinning around and around with no way out. Logic melted into irrationality, sense became stupidity. She couldn’t think rationally with Libra around.

“Looks like we’ll need more firewood,” she blurted.

“I’ll see what I can find.”

Cleo tried to concentrate on other tasks for his to-do list while he ate a press-formed bar he called “Good, filling protein.” It looked like a particle board to her.

“How can you eat that?”

“What? It’s good. Want some?”

“I’d rather starve, thanks.”

“You will if you don’t eat soon.”

“I picked a wild gooseberry bush clean while you were getting the firewood,” she said. “Hey, if I made a few snares, could you set them? It would be nice to have some real food for supper.”

“Nutrifood
is
rea—”

Cleo’s palm shot up. “Don’t. Start.”

“If you wanted fresh meat so bad, why didn’t you roast the cat?”

Cleo made a face. “It’s a meat eater.”

“So?”

“So, meat eaters are
gross
.”

“You don’t eat polar grizzly?”

“Some do, but not this Taiga girl. I stick to the vegans. Duck, deer, moose—”

“And you plan on snaring a
moose
?”

“No!” Cleo laughed. “But that rabbit we saw earlier would be nice.”

“That’s
gross
.”

“Says the boy who’s never had a succulent rabbit stew.”

“Are you trying to make me gag?”

“Pah. Your gag reflexes must be dead if you can eat that dried-out stick,” Cleo said, wrinkling her nose. “Please, set me some snares and I’ll cook you a decent meal. And trust me when I tell you that I don’t offer to cook for just anyone.”

“We’ll see,” he said, unwilling to disguise his skepticism. “But first I need to get that cat moved before it gets too hot.”

While Cleo rested, she directed Libra on the construction of a travois using his sleep sack, two long, sturdy branches, and some polycord. She heard his grunts from deep in the bush as he maneuvred the stiff carcass into position.

He returned only to press the hilt of his knife into her palm. “I’m gone, darlin’. Try not to slaughter anything before I get back.”

Cleo stood and stretched, her belly satisfied from the berries and roots she nibbled with her juniper tea, and watched Libra bury his biodegradable Nutripack container from dinner. The sun fell below the horizon, and she moved closer to the fire for warmth as the air quickly cooled.

“So handy that you could eat right out the package,” she’d teased. “But what I’d like to know is how could you tell if you’re eating the food or the packaging?”

“How could you tell if you were eating a root or a mouthful of dirt?” he answered back.

“If you could set a snare properly—”

“If you could eat like a civilized human being.”

That last comment would have earned him a kick to the gut if Cleo had been paying attention, but she was busy scanning the dusky sky—almost identical conditions to those of two nights ago, when she crashed her kayak. Chin tilted to the heavens, she searched for any dark shapes or bright flashes, any signs of that—

“Can’t really use this, can I?” Libra said, interrupting her thoughts.

Nothing, not a sign. Did I imagine it?

She looked over to see him hold up the tattered and smelly remains of his sleep sack. After towing the alphacat over every bump and rock in the forest, its durability was sorely tested. It failed. He threw it into the fire and stepped back as sparks lit up the dusky evening air.

“You can take the air cushion and blanket,” Cleo said from the other side of the bonfire. “I’ll be okay on the ground.”

“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”

“I don’t need a feather pillow to get a good night’s sleep,” Cleo shrugged.

“Good, since I don’t even have one to offer you.”

“They’re overrated. Only good for pillow fighting.” She laughed at some half-formed memory of childhood. “I’ll just lay a few pine boughs down.”

“Be awfully prickly.” He was staring at her above the fire, his eyes glowing pale in the reflected flames, like twin moons in a misty night.

“Not if I cover them up with some moss.”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “What about bugs?”

“Yum. Midnight snack.”

“That’s disgusting. Tell me you’re joking.”

“Tell me that you didn’t swallow one single bug as you whizzed up here on your solar board, and I’ll call you a damn liar.”

Libra pitched his hands into his hair, defeated. “
You
have an answer for everything.”

“Yeah, it’s one of my more lovable qualities.”

“Do you have any others?”

“Nope, that about covers it. What you see is what you get.”

His gaze touched her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, before sliding lazily back to meet her eyes. “Surely your boyfriend finds something
alluring
about you?”

Alluring.
The husky way he drew it out sent a gorgeous little shiver from the backs of her knees to the top of her scalp.

“No boyfriend,” she replied, burying a hand in her hair.

“Really? A strong woman like you, who can take down a big cat with a little old knife in a single throw?” He shook his head with mock surprise. “You’d make someone a great husband.”

Cleo crossed her arms and cocked her hip. Squinting through the curtain of smoke that blew between them, she challenged him. “How does your girlfriend feel about your sexist attitude?”

“You’ll be surprised to learn that I don’t have one.”

“And yet… I’m not so surprised.”

“Ouch,” he winced.

“Just returning the compliment.”

“You misread me. Mine
was
a compliment. I’ve nothing but admiration for you.”

His unwavering stare trapped her like bluebottle fly in a garden spider’s web. Her temperature began to rise from the inside out.

“Ha.” She rubbed her palms on her upper arms, wondering how goose bumps could form on skin that felt afire.

“No, really. The Taiga obviously breeds you gals tough.”

“I suppose a city girl would have screamed until a big strapping man like you came along to save her?”

“Doubt a cat would stalk a city girl.” He surveyed her again, trailing his gaze down her body, sending waves of heat over her. “Not enough meat on their bones.”

She took a step back from the intensity of the fire, then laughed nervously at the absurdity of his comment. “And you want me to let you sleep on the ground? Your sensitive little city ass wouldn’t last a minute.”

Libra smiled. A full mouth one, not just a half. She had to lock her knees to keep the joints from folding.

“Really?”  He walked around the fire, his eyes not leaving hers, until there were only inches between them.

Cleo’s heart felt like it did when he touched her by the river earlier; livelier and a bit scared. “And what would you know about my ass?”

I know I’d like to run my hands over it, squeeze it, feel the muscles clench—

Cleo cleared her throat and swallowed. He was standing too close, and she couldn’t find one damn pithy reply in her vast repertoire of sarcastic comebacks. Nothing. She continued to look at him like a deer caught in the shine of a camp light. And the look on his face, the bemused smile, told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“What’s the matter? Swallow a bug?”

“The only bug around here, urbanite, is you.”

“You’re right. I am a city boy, used to creature comforts like soft beds. But I also was raised with manners,” he said. “You take the bed.”

“Absolutely not.” She could be stubborn all night if she had to.

“Fine. We’ll share.”

“I… uh…”
Oh for the love of quivering porcupines!
“I… uh…” She closed her mouth and swallowed, an embarrassing, audible gulp that made her eyes slam shut.

He leaned in close, so close she could feel his body heat. “Another bug?”

She inhaled sharply, catching his sent. Libra-saturated oxygen zipped through nasal passages, setting off tiny atomic explosions in her head and causing butterfly tingles to shoot back through her limbs.

“Fine.” Her mouth said the word before her mind could filter her response. “We’ll share.”