Out of Control (41 page)
Please God, don’t let Kenny be dead. Let him be lost. Let him be detained. Let him have followed those men so far that he wouldn’t make it back until morning.
She would be okay here alone until then. Even though night was falling—that blanket of darkness that completely terrified her—she would be okay.
She would get through it. She could do this. She’d go to sleep. And when she awoke in the morning, Ken would have returned.
Savannah lay back, aware that there was a rather large hole in the blind right above her. Kenny had told her not to leave for any reason, but surely he hadn’t considered the fact that she’d have to go to the bathroom.
Not that she’d found a bathroom in the jungle.
Still, she’d gone several dozen yards away, and then come right back. But she’d been unable to repair the blind—at least not the way Ken had managed to do it.
She closed her eyes, sending him a telepathic message. “Wherever you are, stay safe. I’m okay. Don’t get into any trouble trying to get back here to me.”
Crackle, crunch.
Savannah sat bolt upright. Ken.
But outside the blind, nothing moved.
The light was fading fast. Wasn’t this the time of day when animals emerged from their hiding places to get food and water? She’d watched endless episodes of National Geographic as a kid, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember the types of animals that lived in the Indonesian jungle.
But . . . wasn’t this where Bengal tigers came from? Relatively speaking, Indonesia was pretty close to Bengal, wasn’t it?
It was certainly closer than New York.
Crunch, crack.
There was definitely something in the brush right outside of the blind. One large plant in particular moved slightly.
Savannah pulled the Uzi closer with one hand, while reaching for one of the sacks of dynamite with the other, her eyes never leaving the tiger’s hiding place.
She drew a plastic-wrapped stick of dynamite from the bag, and threw it at the brush in question through the hole she’d made. But it caught on the top of the blind, and tumbled silently and impotently to the ground.
Shoot.
But a tiger didn’t come leaping out at her, eager to make her his dinner. So she reached for another stick of dynamite and, this time reaching her hand out so that she was clear of the hole, she threw it—hard—and hit her target plant dead on.
A big, colorful bird flew up, squawking its displeasure.
A bird, not a tiger.
Weak with relief, Savannah sat back, alternating her prayers to keep Ken safe with a plea to keep all tigers—Bengal or other—far from this corner of the jungle.
And again, just like yesterday, night fell. Bang. Pitch darkness.
Savannah had been about to leave the blind to reclaim the sticks of dynamite, but there was no way she could find them now when she couldn’t even find her own hands in front of her face.
Oh, shoot. Throwing the dynamite had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it seemed outrageously stupid.
The good news was if she couldn’t see them in the darkness, no one else could see them, either.
But she’d have to wake up, right at the very first light, and find them.
Jones met Molly about an eighth of the way down the trail as the sun was about to set.
It was definitely weird. He’d dressed up in his best clothes and had shaved again. Twice in one day. It was a new record for him.
“You’re early,” he said.
“I know.”
She was wearing a sarong—a full-length dress that wrapped under her arms, leaving her shoulders bare and him dying to unwrap her. Her hair was down, and even without makeup on, she looked like a million bucks.
He’d been afraid that she wouldn’t show after this afternoon. He’d been coming to get her, to carry her back to his camp if necessary.
She kissed him hello. It was warm and sweet and over far too soon, but he loved it. It was a girlfriend kiss—possessive, familiar and filled with promise. It had been a long time since anyone had kissed him like that.
“You look very nice,” she said.
“So do you.”
“Thank you. Are we going to stand here all night?” she asked, with one of those killer smiles. “Or are you going to take me back to your place and read to me?”
As he took her hand and led her back toward his camp, he saw that she was carrying the book he’d given her. “If that’s really what you want, sure.”
Molly laughed. But then she stopped laughing. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Tonight’s all yours. You want it, we do it.”
The corners of her mouth started to move upward. “Oh, really? Whatever I want?”
He took the book from her hand, carrying it for her, loving that smile. “Yup.”
“You’ll cook pancakes for me—naked?”
He glanced at her. “I told you, I’m a lousy cook.”
“But you’re very good at being naked.”
Jones had to laugh. “So are you.”
“Yes, I am, thank you for noticing.”
They’d reached the door to his Quonset hut and he pushed it open, letting Molly go in first.
“Good heavens,” she breathed.
He’d filled the room with hundreds of candles from a crate that he’d added to his cargo a few months ago by mistake. It had taken him an hour to set them out and light them all, but it was worth it now, seeing the look on Molly’s face.
He’d covered his table with a piece of lacy cloth—also from a shipment that he’d never been able to unload. He’d set it with plastic plates—the best he could do.
He closed the door behind her then crossed to his tape player and turned it on, wasting precious battery time. He couldn’t think of a better use for it, though.
He set her book down next to the tape player. “May I have this dance?”
“This is incredible.” Her expression was everything he could have wanted as he took her into his arms. He wasn’t a very good dancer, but his only tape was Greatest Country Hits of 1993, and most of them were slow songs. All he had to do was hold her and sway. “You did all this for me?” she asked.
“I figured that since I couldn’t cook, if I invited you up here for dinner, I’d better make it memorable in other ways.”
She looked around at all the candles. Looked at the flowers he’d put by his bed. Looked at the floor space he’d cleared so that they could dance. Looked at the mosquito netting he’d rigged over his bed, figuring the candles would draw bugs.
“This is because of what happened this afternoon, isn’t it?” she asked.
Jones laughed. “What? No.”
“You feel guilty,” she said. “You’re trying to make it up to me.”
“I don’t feel guilty about anything,” he told her. “I don’t do guilt.”
She wouldn’t let it drop. She gestured grandly at the candles and flowers. “So all this is because . . . ?”
“Because I wanted to . . . make love to you by candlelight.”
Molly’s eyes softened and she relaxed a little more into his arms, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. Christ, it felt good.
“Thank you,” she said, “for not using that other word.”
He’d been about to. “I’m trying to make this romantic,” he admitted.
“It is,” she said. “Very much so. But . . . Why?”
Jones didn’t know how to answer that without sounding like a complete fool.
“You got me,” she continued. “I’m hooked. I couldn’t stay away from you if I tried. You don’t need to romance me.”
He didn’t dare tell her that he wanted her to remember this, to remember him after she left for Africa. “I want to.”
She seemed satisfied with that answer. “You are the sweetest man on this earth.”
“Yeah, you are so wrong about that.”
“I beg to differ.” She kissed him, pulling him with her, toward his bed.
She was wrong and he was right, but now was not the time to argue.
“Savannah.”
Silence. Oh, please God, let her still be here. Ken spoke a little louder, a little more urgently. “Savannah.”
Still nothing. He took a major risk and lit a match, blowing what little night vision he had and exposing their location to who or whatever might be out there in the darkness, simply because he couldn’t wait another minute. Because, face it, he was scared shitless that she’d given up on him and struck out on her own.
But there she was.
Safe and sound, still inside his blind. Curled up, her eyes tightly shut, fast asleep.
He’d honestly expected to find her hyperventilating and frantic, maybe even in tears. But somehow she’d managed to make herself fall asleep.
He should have known Savannah would do anything to keep from crying. Except, as the flame from the match burned his fingers and he quickly doused it, he could have sworn there were streaks of clean on her face that could have meant only one thing.
He’d finally managed to make her cry.
Of course, maybe it didn’t count since he hadn’t been here to see.
Sightlessly and soundlessly, he joined her in the blind, making sure he completely patched the hole he’d made to get inside.
He found her in the darkness by touch, his hand connecting with the smooth silk of her thigh, aware that she’d done as he’d asked and made his pants into shorts.
She stirred. “Kenny?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you all right?”
“Are you?” She sat up suddenly and managed to clock him right in the nose with, Jesus, it must have been her elbow.
“Ow! Christ! I was before you did that.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” She touched his face more gently this time, as if she were visually impaired. It felt just a little too good, and he couldn’t keep himself from putting his arms around her and hauling her up against him. And, what do you know? She didn’t push him away.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “I tried to get back by sunset, but—”
“It’s okay.” Instead of smacking him intentionally this time, which he probably deserved, she held onto him tightly. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
He laughed at that, enjoying the fact that if she held him any tighter, she’d be sitting on his lap. “Of course I’m safe. Those guys were amateurs.”
“I was afraid—” Her voice broke, and she struggled to regain control.
“You know, Savannah, if you cry, I won’t tell anyone,” Ken said quietly. “I promise.”
“I was afraid I wouldn’t get another chance to apologize to you,” her voice was very small, “for being dishonest about who I was and why I was in San Diego. For letting things get out of control that night at your house. For wanting you so much that I completely ignored my normally good judgement.”
Well, shit, when she put it like that . . .
“Please forgive me,” she whispered. “I’m afraid something terrible’s going to happen and . . . And I don’t want to die with you still mad at me.”
He had to laugh. “Savannah, come on, I’m not going to let you die.”
“Please.” She touched his face again. “Can’t you forgive me?”
“Yes,” he said, thankful that it was impossible to see her gazing at him imploringly. God knows what he’d promise her if he could see her eyes. “All right? I forgive you.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that?”
Christ. “Yes, really.” He could forgive her. He just wasn’t ever going to forget. “Do you need me to prove it by signing my name to something in blood?”
“I know you think this is really funny,” she said tightly. “But I really thought that you were dead, and that I was going to get eaten by a tiger.”
“Jesus, you saw a tiger?”
“No, it was only a bird. But I thought it was a tiger. I was scared to death.”
She was serious, and Ken, in a burst of true genius, recognized that now would probably not be a good time for him to laugh.
“Look, I promise I won’t leave you again,” he said instead, managing to sound very serious, too. “Okay?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was silence then. She didn’t say anything more, she just breathed. And clung to him as if despite his promise, she was never going to let him go. Just in case.
He was very aware of the fact that she was soft and warm in his arms. Her head was against his shoulder, her hair tickling his neck, and he knew exactly where her mouth was, even though he couldn’t see her. It wouldn’t take much effort on his part to lower his head and kiss her and see how far his saying he forgave her would get him, but it just felt too pathetic. He’d be taking advantage of her.
Over the past few days he’d intended to look for the opportunity to do just that—to use her the way she’d used him. But now that his chance was here, he couldn’t do it. His body was more than ready, but his soul just wasn’t willing.
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