Stranded (27 page)

Jake poked his head out of the sleeping corridor. “Eve, now that we’ve found the axe, do you want to check on the bamboo with me tomorrow?” The thought of tramping all alone over the island squeezed the juice out of his brain. Last time he’d been gone that long, he spent the whole time thinking of Ginny, missing her until it drove him crazy. The memories were sweet, but only in small doses. Three solid days would take him over the edge.

Eve hesitated before turning from the hearth fire, but Crystal whipped right around. “I want to go!”

Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Works for me, Pumpkin. We’ll be gone two nights, if that’s all right with your aunt.”

“Please, Aunty?”

Betty rose from her chair at the hearth to face Jake. “I wouldn’t sleep a wink.” Already she was wringing her hands.

“But I’ll be with Jake. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’d be going through that croc land and around the swamp,” Betty croaked. “Right, Jake?”

“Right.” No way Betty would relent after his and Eve’s croc story from the typhoon. “Tell you what, Pumpkin, next time I go to the volcano top, I’ll take you with me. Since we’re all out of marshmallows, we’ll roast a snake or two up there to gnaw on.”

Snakes—the little ones—had become Crystal’s favorite treat. From the glower on her face, though, not enough of a treat to replace a three day trip with him. Truth to tell, he was disappointed too.

“Take Eve with you if she’ll go,” Betty said. “Crystal and I will be fine.”

He looked back at Eve. “You up for it?” Funny how they’d all changed. Eight months ago he’d never have thought city-girl Eve capable of roughing it. Now she was all smiles at the prospect.

Her voice percolated enthusiasm. “I’ve been wanting to check out the bamboo.”

“Good, then I’ll get you up early with me.” He ducked back into the sleeping corridor. Guess he had changed too. Eight months ago he’d have died rather than ask Eve along. But once her drive to attend that court date got out of her system, she’d proven herself a real trooper. Much more cooperative. Likeable, even.

His eagerness to leave woke him several times before enough light peeked through the portals to warrant rising. He roused Eve, and they slipped out quietly to avoid waking Crystal. He wouldn’t put it past the child to sneak after them.

Eve chuckled at the idea. “And risk Betty’s wrath? I don’t think so.”

Good point. Winning her aunt’s trust was proving a tough challenge for the poor kid.

He strapped the katana sword onto his back, and Eve fastened a bayonet onto her side. Last night, she had finished everyone’s moccasins made from the deer hide. They weren’t bad, considering she hadn’t known how to cure the hide, but the the two shirts made from the leopard skin were as stiff as armored vests. She wore hers over her ragged T-shirt, but he was waiting until his stitches healed. And no matter how much she protested, he was going to wear his inside out with the soft fur next to his skin.

He took off at a trot, Eve easily keeping pace with him. She was only inches shorter than he, compared to Ginny, who was a foot shorter and needed him to slow down for them to walk together. Walking or running, Eve’s long legs were a match for his. She’d demonstrated that well enough during their exercise sessions. Only after he’d won their last few foot races was he ready to declare himself fully recovered.

In no time at all, even with stopping to pick fruit, they arrived at the beach where Betty and Crystal had landed. Where he’d swum out to rescue Eve. He paused to gaze at the tossing ocean. Now that he knew how far away the tip of the island was, he marveled that the current hadn’t swept the two of them out to sea.

God’s intervention? Or just the way things had worked out? If he hadn’t rescued Eve, she wouldn’t have been there to sew up his wounds from the leopard. He’d have bled to death. Crystal and Betty would have been left alone and defenseless on the island. Gratitude at how the events had lined up swelled his heart.

But if God were going to intervene, why not do it before Captain Emilio killed all the passengers? He clenched his teeth. None of this needed to have happened. He should have been back home with Ginny, spending their last days together.

Beside him, Eve raised her voice above the caws of gulls soaring overhead. “This is where you swam out to rescue me, right?” She squeezed her right hand in her left and looked down. “I was stupid to be angry at you for pulling me ashore by my hair instead of appreciating the fact that you’d saved my life.” She quirked a weak smile out of one side of her mouth. “I guess sometimes the trivial right in front of our eyes blocks the significance of the big picture behind it.”

“You were pretty traumatized after a day in the ocean.”

Her face grew sober. “I was. I’ve never been so scared in my life.” A shiver imbedded her next breath. “The ocean was endless. Nothing in sight above the water, everything to dread below the water. It was like a glimpse of eternity. A glimpse of—” She stopped.

“Of God?”

“Yes.” She shook her head, her eyes casting back and forth across the sand. “He’s so completely unfathomable. He’s just . . . out there. You don’t know what in life is going to strike you. You don’t know where there’s safety. You’re always at risk.”

His head spun. Wasn’t that what he’d been feeling? Struck by God, no rhyme or reason? He filtered through his stock answers for her, but came up empty.

“Anyway”—Eve huffed a snort of self-conscious laughter—“my hair survived quite well.” She touched his arm, a swift gesture that flitted away without settling. “Silly to bring it up
,
but, well, thank you for holding on and not letting go. I’m glad it served as a towrope.”

He glanced at her hair. The sun had bleached its deep honey color into a kaleidoscope of blonde highlights. Ginny’s hair had done that, too, brightening under the summer sun to a shiny copper orange. Her hair was curly in fine wisps that framed her face. Eve’s was a thick curtain that hung behind her ears and partway down her back.

He blinked away the comparison. “You’re welcome.” What do you say to someone whose life you saved?
Make it count now that you know how precious life is
?

That wasn’t what he heard God saying to him. More like Jake Chalmers’ life hadn’t counted in the first place.

Could the trip have started out any better? It was all Eve could do not to shout her joy. Finally, that ridiculous incident about her hair had been dealt with! Would apologies for her other offenses bring the same relief? Jake would have to hold her hand just to keep her from floating away. Maybe on this little excursion she could reverse all her past wrongs with him. Three days—oh what a sweet journey lay ahead!

“Croc land,” Jake announced as they crossed from beach to bog.
As if she wouldn’t remember the spot.

They trudged single file, their moccasins making soft sucking sounds with each lift of a foot. Although they were at the far edge of the swamp, only a stone’s throw from the ocean, the trees effectively cocooned them in damp heat and a stench of rotting vegetation. A welcome committee of mosquitoes escorted them the entire way. She swatted them at every
step. “I hope these guys aren’t carrying malaria. I’ve got more bites than I’ve got hairs on my head.”

Jake peered over his shoulder and grinned. “It’s the gals who bite.”

She rolled her eyes. Correction was not conducive to the good time she planned with Jake. “I don’t care about the gender; I care about the disease.”

“They’d have to bite an infected person to be carriers. I think we’re safe.”

“Then how about if we go into the swamp to see the tree stumps you found?” 

“You mean the mahogany? You like being eaten alive?”

They emerged from the jungle into blazing light reflected off white sand—a warning that their feet, even with moccasins on, would pay the price of a noonday sun that ate shadows for lunch. Within minutes, their clothes were soaked with a second coat of sweat.

Jake stooped and brushed aside the sand at his feet until he reached the cooler layer underneath. “Mosquito repellent.” He smeared handfuls over every inch of his sweaty, exposed skin. Eve followed suit.

At a rise of land that disappeared into the swamp, Jake dropped the axe to retrieve on their return and scanned the landscape. “There’s a lot of new vegetation here since I found the stumps. Ten to one it’s covered them up, but they’re not far.” He pointed at the tree line. “You can see the young mahoganies from here.”

She stepped up onto the grassy strip to follow him into the bog. Ahead of her, dozens of slender trees ten to twenty feet high rose from the muddy water at the swamp’s edge. Beyond them, larger trees, ferns, and moss-covered logs layered the swamp like a moldy onion seen from the inside out. The odor of rotten eggs clogged her nostrils.

“Hang in there,” Jake called back. “A few more minutes and the smell will be so overwhelming your brain will shut it off.”

Eve snorted. Only a man would find that comforting.

The rise of land ended where a thick, gnarled tree with knobby roots clasped the bank. The tree leaned out over brown water so glass-smooth, it reflected the tree in perfect detail. Without hesitation, Jake climbed into the branches. “Okay, I can see the stumps.”

Eve hoisted herself onto the lowest branch opposite his. On either side of the tree, the young mahoganies increased in size until they stopped abruptly at a series of stumps. Their tops were flat, obviously cut. Some were rotten, some bore shoots of flourishing offspring. Both indicated years had passed since they’d been harvested.

“Look!” Jake lowered his voice. “A deer, over there. We’re downwind, so it doesn’t smell us.”

Eve spotted the creature on the other side of the bog. She crouched lower on the branch. “It’s a doe,” she whispered. “She’s lovely! I wonder if she has a fawn nearby.”

The doe approached the bank cautiously. She studied the water, took a step, stopped. Studied, took another step, stopped. Finally she reached the water’s edge. Her front hoof sank into the mud, and she shrank back onto her haunches. 

Eve held her breath.

The deer’s ears twitched. She looked around, straightened, took another step forward. The hoof sank alongside the first one. She gazed out over the brown water. At last she lowered her head and drank.

The water opened with a sudden upsurge. A huge crocodile lunged forward and grabbed the doe’s head in its jaws. In a blink, the croc and deer were gone. The water swirled once, twice, then smoothed into its former glaze.

“Oh!” Eve leaped up in horror. Her foot slipped, and she fell. Her ribs thudded against the branch and bounced off. She grabbed the limb and held on for dear life. In her mind’s eye, she saw the croc leave the drowned deer and head for her legs dangling inches above the water.

She jerked her knees to her chest and looked down. The mirror-smooth reflection showed her eyes wide, her chest heaving. The water was only feet away. She couldn’t stop looking. Her folded legs trembled. The joints of her fingers pinched.

Below her, the surface of the water broke. Flowed smoothly off a bumpy, gray wedge. It rose and lengthened into a snout. Two knobs at the wider end opened into filmy slits. The eyes gazed up at her.

The wedge swam away, made a U-turn, and submerged. She screamed as a trail of ripples headed straight toward her.

Jake launched himself through the tree and snatched up Eve’s right hand. With a mighty tug, he jerked her onto the branch with him. At the same time, the water split open and a gray missile propelled itself upward. Gaping jaws snapped at Eve’s feet. Water spattered them as the croc’s head slapped back into the swamp.

The tree lurched under the impact of their weight on the lower branch. Inch by inch, then faster, it tipped lower over the water. Half its roots slipped lose from the muddy bank and rose with equal speed skyward. “Jump!” Jake shouted. He gripped Eve’s hand tighter and hauled her after him in a flying leap. They landed flat on their faces halfway up the bank.

“Run!” he screamed. Eve needed no urging. Grabbing hold of reeds and tree roots, they scrabbled up the bank. From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of gray scales punch out of the water onto the bank below them. “Croc!” he bellowed.

At the top of the embankment they scrambled to their feet and bolted for the beach. The question was not if the croc would chase them, but how far before it caught up with them.

“Split up,” he yelled at the beach. Whichever person the croc followed, the other could swing back, grab the axe, and strike. He had his sword, and Eve, a bayonet, but they couldn’t risk stopping to face the croc and end up thrown off their feet before they got their weapons out. A foot or leg severed by powerful jaws was not a price he wanted to pay.

Eve veered to the right, so he swung left. He turned his head as he ran to catch a glimpse of the beast. It wasn’t following him.

He halted in a swift about-face and yanked the sword from his back. The croc wasn’t pursuing Eve either.

Chuffing air from his heaving chest, sword held at the ready, he crept back to the rise of land. He spotted the animal, immobile, halfway down the strip. The beast was huge. If there’d been elephants on the island, the croc could have eaten them for breakfast and still been hungry for dinner.

Jake backed away. No attacking this baby. It was hard to swallow his spit, just looking at the monster.

When the croc finally returned to the swamp, Jake retrieved the axe and trotted to where Eve sat waiting for him at a safe distance. The track of tears on her face cautioned him against exclaiming over the reptile’s size. She didn’t need to know. “You okay?”

She stood and rubbed her arms, hunching her shoulders into a slow shrug. “All I can think of is how glad I am you didn’t bring Crystal.”

A wave of nausea swept over him. Crystal would never have outrun the beast. His knees almost collapsed, and he took a step to steady himself. “Yes, thank You, God.” He couldn’t have saved her. And he’d never have forgiven himself. Never.

Eve walked over to him and wrapped shaking arms around him. His surprise lasted a second, then he closed his eyes and put his arms around her. He needed the comfort as much as she did.

What was she doing? Startled by her boldness, Eve stepped away from the solace of Jake’s arms. Good grief, she had hugged Jake. She blinked. And he had hugged her back! A shiver of excitement radiated up her chest to her throat. So what if the catalyst was mutual terror! It took all the restraint she could summon to not slip her hand into his as they commenced walking.

Near the end of the beach, they passed the spot where Jake had towed her in from the sea, and where, farther back at the tree line, they had camped in exhaustion their first day on the island. Jake neither stopped nor commented. His pace was short of a jog, his expression one of determination. Clearly they were on this journey to inspect bamboo, and she needed to keep her mind on that. She quelled a huff.

The snap of croc teeth inches below her toes and the scrape of its scales crushing vegetation as the beast hurtled after her faded with the challenge of entering unfamiliar territory. Although Jake had explored this side of the island twice, it was new to her. Fewer beaches skirted its perimeter, and the jungle encroached to the edge of the rocky precipices. They spent more time climbing in and out of crevices than they did pushing through jungle brush. But how could she complain when the ache in her calf and thigh muscles was more than compensated for by Jake’s strong fingers giving her a hand up?

By the time they reached the first bamboo plants, the sun was chasing clouds in the west. Jake peered at the tops of cane twice his height. “This is the smallest stand. They’ve shot up nicely, but their culms have no size yet. Probably won’t for years.”

She resisted the temptation to sink to the ground, remove her mocassins, and wiggle her weary toes. “How did you find bamboo way out here? Seems like a blindfolded man would have had as good a chance.”

“Actually, this was a shortcut.” Jake grinned. “Bamboo spreads by sending up new shoots from its roots. Once I found the first stand, it was merely a matter of scouting out others nearby. I suspect typhoons knock out the older cane each year. The stands I used for the outrigger sure got flattened anyway.”

The outrigger—ouch. Something else to apologize for. She mustered a deep breath. Asking forgiveness wasn’t as easy as she’d thought. “About that, I—” What? Was she wrong to take the outrigger? To spare the others by endangering only herself? Her apologies needed full integrity to be genuine. No confessing wrong-doing for something she wasn’t actually guilty of.

Jake raised his eyebrows, a prod to finish her sentence.

The leaves of the bamboo rustled in a breeze. Almost as if the gust swept through her, the answer whooshed from her heart: truth was, her only interest had been to fulfill her wishes. What anyone else wanted hadn’t mattered.

The answer hit her hard, like a cane to the back of her knees. She dropped with a thump to the ground. No matter how she coated her motive with good intentions, it still came down to looking out for what she—and only she—wanted.

Jake stooped at her side, his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? I’m afraid I exhausted you getting here.”

“Jake.” She choked out the words. “I’m sorry about taking the boat.” But it was more than that, wasn’t it? She had as good as stolen it. “I, I was selfish . . . it belonged to all of us.” She gulped in a breath, squeezing back moisture in her eyes. “All your hard work . . . I messed it up.”

For a moment that seemed to expand into eternity, he crouched unmoving at her side. His hand cupped her shoulder. The heavy odor of his sweat mingled with hers, overpowering the woody scent of the bamboo stand. Between her ears, the echo of her heartbeat pounded. In a flash, it struck home that her confession must have moved him deeply.
Jake, please. I want so badly to make a new start.
She closed her eyes. The wait was unbearable.

Finally, the weight of his hand withdrew from her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find him sitting squarely opposite her. His eyes fastened onto hers with such intensity her insides quaked at how he might answer her.

“The outrigger?” He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “We’ll just have to build a replacement. But I appreciate your apology.” His eyes bore deeper into hers. Clearly he wished to say more.

Did she want him to? She swallowed and lifted her chin in a tiny nod.

At her assent, the corners of his mouth tugged down and his voice deepened into raw emotion. “To tell the truth, it hurt that you didn’t trust me. Hurt that I couldn’t trust you.”

The depth of his pain slammed a second blow. The fact that he dared to share it, that this very private, totally self-controlled man had revealed his heart to her, stretched her anguish to its breaking point. She longed to reach out, to open her arms to him, to make things right between them.

But how? How, when she didn’t understand?

Her mind spun in bewilderment. Trust? What did trust have to do with her selfishness? She understood selfishness had repercussions—the courtroom handled their disastrous consequences all the time—but how was there any connection with trust? She stared numbly at Jake.

The fierceness of his gaze softened. “Tell you what.” He got to his feet. “We’re both tired. We’ll camp here tonight and get a good start tomorrow. You rest while I check out some banana plants nearby.”

She nodded. He was giving her alone time. A spasm pinched her stomach, leaped to her lungs, and rose to her throat. As soon as Jake’s footsteps faded, hot tears sloshed onto her cheeks. She dashed them away with her fingertips. What was it with this island? It kept showing her up as a different person than she knew herself to be. She’d always been so sure of herself, so confident her decisions were for the good of mankind.

“My way or the highway.” She remembered a colleague using the phrase to describe her. It fit. She’d rarely lost a court case in thirteen years as a federal prosecutor. Judge, jury, and sentence almost always confirmed her on what was right and wrong. So why place trust in anyone else?

At the crunch of fallen bamboo underfoot, she swiped the backs of her hands across her face to remove any trace of tears. Jake wended his way toward her, a cluster of bananas on his right shoulder. Her heart beat faster as he drew near.

Trust.

If it was that important to Jake, maybe a step forward would be to tell him she was a federal prosecutor. Tell him about the Romero case. About her being the target of the explosions.

An avalanche of fear rumbled from her brain to her heart to her toes. She gripped the banana Jake handed her. He had placed the responsibility for Ginny’s death on Captain Emilio’s shoulders. Surely she could trust him not to fault her too.

Jojo spat into the gutter. Aboard the transport ship, Eduardon hadn’t seemed much shorter than his shipmates, but now the crowded streets of Manila showed him up to be the runt he really was. Keeping him in sight required a tighter leash than Jojo liked. All it would take Eduardon was a casual glance over his shoulder, a quick turn at a street corner, and he couldn’t miss Jojo towering above the foot traffic. If the twerp got suspicious, Jojo would have to find someone else. But his gut told him Eduardon was the man, and if there was anything Jojo trusted, it was his gut.

Eduardon disappeared into an open doorway. Jojo lurked outside to the count of ten before thrusting his face next to the storefront’s dirty window. Inside, Eduardon sat on a barstool, his back to the street, his legs dangling far above the litter on the floor. The dark room held only a few customers, and the bartender was quick to sweep Eduardon’s coins off the counter and serve him. Jojo waited for the first drink to hit Eduardon’s gullet, then sauntered in.

He took a stool one away from Eduardon’s perch and ordered a whiskey. Eduardon glanced sideways at him but made no attempt at conversation. Of course not. They were both seamen, but Eduardon was an officer, Jojo a mere deckhand. Precisely why Jojo wanted him.

Three weeks together on the transport ship had quickly exposed Eduardon as Jojo’s man. The crew laid out the sour-faced officer as a second-rate navigator, ambitious without success, angry at the hand life had dealt him. His wife had run out on him years earlier, and his money slipped away as easily. The only jobs he got anymore were on antiquated ships with crude captains and low-life crews. Eduardon’s sneers made it clear he considered himself above them, though, in truth, Jojo saw, they intimidated him. A pilot and a proud coward—what could be more perfect?

Jojo waited until the man downed two more drinks and was squirming off the barstool to drop to the floor. “Hey, you
looking to score some cash?”

Eduardon
’s
face swiveled toward him
,
eyes narrowed above a barely checked sneer. “Like what?”

“You like cockfights?” Jojo knew it was Eduardon’s passion. 

Eduardon shrugged but followed Jojo out the door. Two hours and two bottles of whiskey later, after all the yelling and wild emotion of the cockfights had stirred some life into Eduardon, Jojo put the proposition to him. “You ever dream of sailing your own ship?”

“Pah. You think I earn that kind of money?”

“Forget the money.”

“Forget . . . ? What’re you talking about?”

“We start with a yacht. Take some rich foreigner’s that nobody’s gonna miss for a while. No measly barnacle bait, but a beauty—that’s what we want!”

Eduardon’s eyes shone in an alcoholic haze at the vision.

“Then we unload it, and we each start on our own boat.”

“Nah.” Eduardon pawed the illusion away. He hicupped. “Never get away with stealing it. Catch ya as soon as you hit the open sea.”

“Not if we hide on an island.”

“Islands’re full of snitches. Turn ya in, or highjack it for their own pocket money.”

Jojo clapped him on the back, careful not to jolt the pipsqueak off his feet. “Got the island already picked out. About as remote as you can get. No one on it, a small hidden cove on the north side. You can sail us straight there before anyone knows the boat’s gone.”

Eduardon twitched Jojo’s beefy hand off his shoulder. “So you need a navigator, that it? Who else?”

“A deckhand and a cook. Got them ready to go soon as I say. All we need is the boat.”

Eduardon’s answer was long in coming, but Jojo didn’t push him. Eduardon stared out at the ocean, dark beyond the harbor lights but filling the night with the incessant swash of its waves and the damp tang of seaweed and salt. “Okay. I got a cargo ship sailing out tomorrow. Be gone four weeks. You find that yacht, we’ve got a deal.”