On Thin Ice (8 page)

“Of course not,” she said. He had to give her credit – she was terrified of the idea of being left alone, but she didn’t say a word. “You can’t leave a teenage boy out alone in the wilderness.”

“He’s older than your friend Carlos.”

“Don’t!” She shuddered, casting an uneasy glance toward the water. The body had sunk beneath the surface, and she wouldn’t have had a good look at the damage the forty-five caliber bullet had done. She put her face back down on her knees. “Go ahead,” she said weakly. “I’ll be right here.”

He couldn’t afford to show her any mercy. He started back, surveying the cliff he was more than likely going to have to scale, then paused, spun around and hauled her to her feet. She looked up at him, her big eyes wide and unnervingly calm in her pale face. Without a word he hauled her toward the underbrush, and for a moment she began to fight him. He caught her flailing arms in one hard grip, pulling her back against him as he dragged her further into the undergrowth. He released her, and she went sprawling on the ground.

“Stay put,” he said in a flat voice. “If you even know the meaning of the term. I’ll come back for you, but if you make the stupid mistake of following me again I’ll let you die.”

It took him a moment to recognize the look of panic that faded into surprise and then into nothing at all, and he managed a mirthless laugh. “No, sweetheart, I’m not going to rape you. I’ve got more important things on my mind right now. Mainly staying alive. You’re a choice piece of ass but I value my skin a little more highly than a quick fuck in the undergrowth. Now stay put or I might change my mind.” He wouldn’t, of course. He’d been in too many war zones, seen the horrors of rape at close hand, and it disgusted him. But nothing else seemed to scare her into obeying him, and he wasn’t beyond fighting dirty.

He turned his back on her before he could change his mind. It wouldn’t take much to convince himself he had to kiss her to scare her into not moving, had to feel those hard nipples against his hands, push his body against her. He was cold and wet and bad-tempered and he was getting a hard-on anyway, which annoyed him as much as her big innocent eyes. He hated women who screamed and cried, yet for some reason Beth Pennington’s measured calm drove him crazy.

A moment later he was gone, the jungle closing around him, as the sun set behind the jagged peaks of the Andes.

Beth shivered. He was bluffing, she knew it. He wasn’t going to rape her, even if she’d felt a moment’s panic when he’d started dragging her into the bushes. It had been a knee-jerk reaction on her part, and she should have known better. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to believe, but one thing was absolutely certain. He cared more about staying alive than having sex with someone like her.

It wasn’t as if she thought she was a dog. She was tall, average weight, a pretty enough face. But she had a touch-me-not quality that scared men off, and she’d never done anything to change that. She wasn’t interested in having a lover or a husband. She’d tried sex, given it a fair shot, and she hadn’t liked it. She could see no reason to change her mind.

She didn’t want or need a man. She’d perfected her calm demeanor, the one that no one could get past, and for the last few years no one had even tried. MacGowan had made it clear he valued money, but she was pretty sure he valued freedom more. He’d settle for payment for services rendered, despite his threats to the contrary.

She was cold. Her clothes were wet and clammy, and she considered stripping them off on the remote chance that they might dry, then thought better of it. She had no idea how long it would take MacGowan to get back down to the lake, but she wasn’t going to risk it. Besides, she was already feeling vulnerable enough fully dressed.

She lay down on the damp earth, wrapping one arm around her body, tucking the other beneath her head to cushion it. He was coming back to get her, and he would see her safely back to the city.

Nothing else was worth considering.

Barringer always sat at the same table in the company dining room, but nowadays he sat alone. His friends, the men he’d started with, had either retired or died, and he disapproved of the new bunch, with their foul language and flashy behavior. He held with an old-fashioned view of covert work, one that had served him well. The more boring, self-effacing you could be, the better you did your job.

And the women! It appalled him, to listen to their cursing and their brazen behavior. Women had a place in the world of espionage, but it was on their back. They could lure a man in, but it was up to their male counterparts to handle the complicated stuff. Not that women couldn’t kill – he knew that far too well. But in general he didn’t trust them. Part of the reason why he never married.

He ate the same thing every day, a chicken salad sandwich on white bread. He supposed it was boring, but he liked order and he liked routine. His job was unsettling enough, never predictable, never ordinary. It was little wonder he wanted the rest of his life to be calm.

Sully’s initial report wasn’t promising. MacGowan had killed a number of his captors in his escape, and they were out for blood. The poor fools had finally realized they could continue to collect the money whether MacGowan was alive or dead, and right now they wanted dead.

He had complete faith in an old campaigner like Sully, though, and he’d given him a blank check. For enough money the Guiding Light would help him recapture MacGowan and kill the other escapees. If MacGowan died in the firefight then Sully could cover it up, and Isobel Lambert would believe he was alive and well and heading for England to kill whoever was in charge. She wouldn’t just sit back and let that happen, and Killian would be there with her.

No, things were moving along as well as could be expected. In another week Killian might very well be within his reach. And then he’d be dead, and Barringer could retire in peace.

But he would miss the chicken salad sandwiches.

CHAPTER SIX

When she woke it was full dark, and she was filled with panic. She could hear nothing past the muffled roar of the waterfall, and she sat up, immediately alert.

It was much cooler up here at higher elevations. Back in the tiny village of Talaca the nights had been hot and steamy, and she would lie in her tiny nun’s cell in her underwear and pray for a stray breeze. She could hear the wind in the trees overhead, and the night was chilly. Her clothes were still damp and clammy, clinging to her skin, and she shivered.

She heard the rustle of bushes and froze. She’d been a fool to fall asleep – she should have kept going, following the water. It could flow in no other direction but downhill, where towns and cities lay. If MacGowan was as good as he said he was he’d be more than capable of catching up with her if he wanted to. Even if he didn’t want to, she was better off taking her chances than staying there like a sitting duck, waiting.

It was too late now, she thought irritably. If she got caught it was her own damned fault for being so trusting. Trusting MacGowan would come back, trusting that things would work out for the best. Hadn’t she learned first-hand that life wasn’t particularly fair? She might die on this mountainside because of her stupid belief that helping people was her responsibility and her calling.

The night birds were silent now, and she wondered what kind of four-legged predators roamed around here. She already had enough trouble with the two-legged kind. Would she prefer to be raped and slaughtered by someone like Carlos, or torn to pieces by a jackal or puma or whatever prowled the mountainside? Neither option seemed particularly delightful. Someone, something was getting closer, and she looked around her for a weapon, but there was nothing. Should she try to run, or stay where she was, hoping whatever it was would miss her?

A shadow loomed out of the darkness, suddenly, and she screamed, then slapped her hands over her mouth when she recognized MacGowan. There was a faint sliver of moonlight, enough to illuminate his gaunt figure, and she could see the trace of an ironic smile.

“Good thing the Guiding Light are looking miles away, or you would have brought them straight to us, princess,” he growled. “You wanna try not to scream so much?”

“That was the first time I screamed,” she shot back, indignant. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she wanted to shriek in total panic, and each time she swallowed it. “Did you find Dylan?”

“Unfortunately.”

Beth’s heart sank. “Damn,” she said softly, getting to her feet. Her legs were cramped, and she stumbled a bit before she righted herself, but MacGowan didn’t make any effort to help her. “He was so young.”

“Still is,” MacGowan said in a disgruntled voice. “Hey, brat, show yourself. Our little nun thinks I killed you.”

The lanky teenager appeared out of the heavy foliage, a sullen expression on his face. “I can take care of myself,” he muttered.

“Yeah, right. That’s why you were still trussed up like a Christmas goose when I found you,” MacGowan drawled.

“I thought the others had killed him, not you,” Beth snapped. “And I told you, I’m not a nun. I’m not even Catholic.”

“Close enough, Sister Beth,” he said. He was deliberately taunting her, and she knew she shouldn’t rise to the provocation, but she couldn’t help it. She bit back her retort. “And I’ve already lost one meal ticket – I’m not about to let go of another.”

“Such nobility of spirit,” Beth said under her breath.

“You betcha, lady,” he shot back. “I’ve been stuck in a hellhole for almost three years – I want the good life when I get back to civilization.”

“Three years?” She didn’t bother to hide the shock in her voice. “I didn’t realize . . .”

“And I don’t need your bleeding heart fixating on me. Money will soothe my wounded soul just fine. And if you feel like throwing in a mercy fuck on the side I’d be grateful.”

“Dude, that’s no way to get a chick,” Dylan scoffed.

MacGowan glanced at him, amused. “Really? You can give me pointers while we head down the mountain. Based on your vast experience, no doubt.”

“Hey, I’ve had lots of pussy in my life.” He cast an uneasy glance at Beth. “Excuse me, Sister Beth.”

“I’m not a nun,” she said through gritted teeth as they started, single file, down the winding trail.

“Sure she is,” MacGowan said. “Pay no attention to her. I want to hear how an infant like you gets pussy.”

“I’m sixteen!” he protested. “And I live in Hollywood. I’ve been getting laid since I was twelve.”

“Great,” MacGowan muttered. “What cougar got to you?”

“None of your business. And I like my chicks young, just a year or two older than I am. Even Sister Beth is too old.”

She felt ridiculously offended. “I’m not . . .” she began, but his words drowned her out.

“Your mistake. Sister Beth feels like a prime piece of ass to me, and I’m a connoisseur in these things.”

“Would you mind not discussing me like I’m a side of beef?”

They both ignored her as they continued down the path, and she had to hurry to keep up with them.

“You haven’t been laid in three years,” Dylan scoffed. “A heifer would look like a prime piece to you.”

Enough was enough. “Are you calling me a cow?” Beth demanded in a dangerous voice.

MacGowan glanced back at her, and in the fitful moonlight she could see the shadow of a smile in his dark face. “A very young cow,” he said, amused. “Calm down, Sister Beth. He’s too young to appreciate your mature charms.”

“I’m thirty-one years old,” she snapped. “And I’m not a goddamned nun.”

He laughed out loud then. “You get kidnapped by rebels, threatened by a psychopath, fall off a cliff and face death around every corner and the only thing that can make you swear is being called a nun? You should have said you weren’t a goddamned cow.”

“Go to hell,” she muttered.

“Better,” he said judiciously. “But I’m looking forward to you telling me to go fuck myself.”

“Consider it said,” she snapped.

“Oh, no. I need to hear the words from your innocent lips.”

She tightened her innocent lips, glaring at him.

“You two already got a thing going on?” Dylan inquired. “’Coz I’ve been up in the mountains away from females for more than six weeks myself, and if you don’t mind I just might tap that.”

Beth couldn’t even begin to respond to that one. MacGowan did it for her.

“Just a suggestion, brat, but if you’re wanting to seduce a woman, you’re better off not calling her a cow and suggesting she’s too old.”

“Well, hell, she’s probably in need of a little physical comfort and escape just like we are. Women have needs too, you know.”

“Do they really?” MacGowan said in an innocent voice. “I think Sister Beth will do without your attentions. She looks like a virgin to me.”

It was the last straw. “I am not!”

He glanced back at her. “Close to it, I bet. You probably slept with someone, didn’t like it, and decided not to try again.”

“You’re not even close,” she said. It had been two men and a total of three encounters before she’d given sex up for good. “And I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Then why do you keep answering?” He stopped again. “Dylan, I think we’d better keep Sister Beth between us. She’s smaller than the two of us, more vulnerable, unless she’s got a black belt I don’t know about, and she’d be safer between us. Besides, this way you get to look at her ass, and trust me, it’s a very fine ass for a woman her age.”

“I’m thirty-one!” she protested again, then gave up. He was right about one thing – she shouldn’t keep rising to the bait. “And I’m fine where I am.” Dylan had stepped aside, but she refused to move.

“And I don’t give a damn what you think,” he said, grabbing her upper arm in his strong grip and pulling her behind him. She was going to be a mass of bruises by the time she reached the city. Carlos and company had already inflicted a fair amount of damage, and MacGowan was finishing the job. “Just follow me and don’t wiggle your ass too much. The boy is young and impressionable.”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.” She enunciated the words very carefully.