Wolf (6 page)

At least Sylvie thought that must have been the signal. They gathered up their empty plates and slid out of the booth. Cavanaugh strolled to the fridge, took the other case of beer and headed up top to pass them out to the other men. Hawk gathered up a roll of charts from the couch that she hadn’t noticed, and returned with them.

Stacking her empty plate with his, Mac passed it off to Beau and then used his meaty forearm to wipe the table down before he spread the charts. Uncertain whether he actually expected her to look at them or not, Sylvie tried not to be too obvious about glancing at them. He pointed to a speck on the uppermost map. “We’re going to drop you here.”

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It took a moment for it to sink that he was talking to her and several moments before it dawned on her that he was telling her they were going to let her go. She was afraid to ask if he meant dead or alive.

“Never been there myself, but if it’s on the map it must be a reasonable sized place. We’ll have to drop up on the coast a few miles from it, but you can follow the beach easily enough. You speak any Spanish?”

Sylvie swallowed several times against the lump that had formed in her throat.

“Not … not much.”

He frowned. “That could be a problem, but it’s a coastal village. They probably have somebody there that could speak a little English. If not, they’ll figure out pretty quickly that you’re American and take you to somebody that can.

“The cover story is that you were on a boat taken by pirates and managed to get away. That’s close enough to the truth you should be able to carry it off and it’ll explain your presence there without any paperwork.”

Sylvie wasn’t certain she really believed they were just going to let her go, but relief swelled inside of her anyway, and hope strong enough to make her eyes and nose sting with tears. “You’re going to let me go?” she asked, searching for confirmation in his expression that he wasn’t just saying it to keep her calm until they could dispose of her. She couldn’t really interpret the emotions that flashed in his eyes, though, and she lifted her head to examine the other men’s faces, blinking her blurring eyes to see them more clearly.

“Hell, baby,” Hawk said gruffly. “Mac told you we weren’t going to hurt you.

His word’s gold. You can bank on it.”

Sylvie swallowed a little convulsively. She didn’t remember Mac telling her any such thing. She remembered Hawk telling her they wouldn’t hurt her. Was his word as good as gold, too? Or did it depend on what Mac ordered him to do?

They all looked uncomfortable, but she didn’t know if that was because they were lying to her and really didn’t intend to leave a witness or if it was discomfort because of her emotionalism or maybe both.

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Sylvie supposed it was due to the fact that he’d busted the door to the main cabin down that Mac sent her to rest in one of the small guest cabins. She didn’t know, but it did make her feel better to have a door between her and the men even though it also had more of the sense of a prison cell.

He hadn’t told her when they expected to reach the coast—she wasn’t even certain of what country they were dropping her in since she hadn’t been able to really study the map. She did know it wasn’t the U.S., and that it was South America and the plan was to drop her a few miles from the little town. That unnerved her, particularly when she knew they planned to go in at night, but she had too much else to worry about to dwell on that particular aspect.

Mac caught her arm, stopping her as she entered the tiny cabin, and she sent him a wary look. He seemed to struggle for words for a moment. “I know you’re scared. You don’t know me and you’ve got no reason to trust me—any of us—but we don’t make war on women and children. No one here is going to hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt you and I won’t allow anybody else to. You got that?”

Sylvie swallowed convulsively and nodded.

He lifted a hand and settled it along her cheek. “Good girl! Try to get some rest.

I’ll have somebody right outside if you need anything. Alright?”

Sylvie nodded again. “Thank you,” she said a little unsteadily.

He smiled faintly, looked like he was considering saying more, and finally dismissed it. “You’re going to be ok, Sylvie—my word on it.”

She curled up on the bunk when he’d left, listening to men moving around the boat, their low voiced conversations. The shock that had engulfed her from the time they’d taken over the boat gave way to a sense of unreality, almost like a dream where the sense of an unknown threat was woven in and out of a bizarre drama that didn’t really make any sense. She found that she didn’t want to think about what she was going to face if and when they did actually let her go. The images that did flicker through her mind weren’t comforting.

After a while, she found herself drifting toward sleep in spite of the tension that still coiled through her, in spite of the questions and fears that kept tumbling through her mind. For a time, she would drop toward unconsciousness only to be jerked from it by some sound that alarmed her—a heavy tread above her head, a short spurt of laughter from a male throat.

It flickered through her mind to wonder what Carl must have thought when he’d arrived at the rendezvous and found her gone. He was probably cursing her for being so unreliable, pissed off that he and the people they’d taken to Cuba for help were stranded.

It was the least of her worries at the moment, though, and it was usurped fairly quickly by more immediate concerns.

Eventually, she drifted closer to oblivion, but it seemed she’d barely lost touch with reality when she was jerked back again. Her eyes grainy from lack of sleep, she
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blinked up at the unfamiliar ceiling above her, listening intently, and trying to decide what had woken her.

The boat had slowed, she realized as soon as it dawned on her that the sound of the engine wasn’t as loud. After straining for a few moments to see what else her hearing might tell her, she finally got up as quietly as she could and peered out of the small porthole the cabin boasted. Outside, it was brighter, but still dark enough that it took her a few moments to sort and identify the shadows. The thin ribbon of beach she could see in the distance finally identified the view as land mass and sea, although the black backdrop had seemed more like a bank of black clouds at first. A loud splash close by brought her focus from the land to the sea just beyond the porthole. Almost directly behind it was another loud splash, and then two more almost one upon the other.

Bodies.

Her heart skipped several beats before she saw movement and realized four men had gone overboard. She could see faint gleams of light among the shadows she finally identified as bodies cleaving through the water. Her gaze went immediately to the thin ribbon of beach that seemed so impossibly far away.

The boat began to pick up speed again almost the moment the men went into the water. Sylvie stayed where she was for several moments more, straining to see if the men had made it to the beach, but she’d completely lost sight of them in the darkness.

Settling on the bunk again, she tried to assure herself that they must not be as far from shore as it had seemed to her, but she couldn’t convince herself.

They must know what they were doing, she told herself.

She’d almost dozed off when the change in the sound of the engine alerted her that the boat was slowing again. She didn’t get up that time, instead listening keenly for the splashes she’d expected. Five this time.

Thirty minutes to an hour later, the boat slowed again, and again she heard the splashes that told her four more men had gone into the water.

She was wide-awake when someone tapped lightly on her door. Throwing the cover off, she got up and opened it.

Hawk looked her over keenly. “It’s time.”

Sylvie’s stomach instantly cramped with fear, but she merely nodded jerkily and followed him out, trying to convince herself he only meant that they were going to drop her off like they’d promised. In the back of her mind, though, the fear steadily grew that he’d meant something else entirely, something she didn’t want to think about.

She discovered when she reached the top deck that Mac and Beau were standing by the side of the boat. Cavanaugh was at the wheel. She could see he was doing something but she couldn’t tell what—not simply steering. It looked like he was tying something to the wheel.

“Ready?” Mac asked, drawing her attention to him.

After studying his face blankly for a moment, she scanned the water, searching for land. A nauseating wave of fear went through her when she saw how far away that little ribbon of sand was. “You mean … you don’t mean …? I have to swim? That far?”

My god! They might just as well shoot her. She’d never make it!

“You can make it. We’ll help you,” Hawk said reassuringly, as if he’d read her mind.

She blinked. All of the men were burdened already with canvas bags that she
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didn’t doubt were stuffed full of everything that wasn’t nailed down from the boat.

Cavanaugh joined them, picking up his own bag. “Now or never,” he muttered.

“The boat’s headed for open water and we’re getting further by the minute.”

Stepping up onto the low side of the boat, he launched himself toward the water.

“I can’t do this!” Sylvie said, panic threading her voice as Beau stepped up onto the wall and followed him. “I can barely swim!”

“You can,” Mac said bracingly.

Before she could object further, Mac grasped one arm, Hawk the other. They didn’t just help her up onto the side, however. They pitched her from the boat.

Sylvie sucked in a sharp breath to scream as she felt herself hurtling toward the ocean. She hit the water and went under before she could brace herself, swallowing what felt like a gallon of water. When she came up spluttering and coughing, she sloughed the water from her eyes and turned in a circle, trying to get her bearings.

“That way,” Mac growled at her, giving her a push in the right direction.

She hoped to god it was the right direction! She couldn’t see a sign of the beach now that she was in the water. She started swimming, however.

She swam until she thought her lungs would burst and stopped, struggling to tread water and catch her breath. Hawk and Mac, she realized, feeling a surge of panic despite her weariness, were several yards ahead of her.

Letting out a whimper of fear, she began swimming again.

Hawk paused, glanced around for her and came back. Pulling the strap of his bag from his shoulder, he thrust it at her. “Hold on to this. I’ll pull you.”

She clutched at it automatically as he shoved it at her, but the drag was more than she’d expected. She nearly lost it.

Hawk dragged her over onto her back and crooked an arm around her neck.

Between the drag of the bag she was holding and his pull, she thought she was going to black out. The waves, moreover, were high enough to wash over her face every few minutes in spite of his efforts to hold her head above water.

The struggle to catch a decent breath of air was sheer torture. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, and yet he swam steadily, seemingly tirelessly.

Minutes felt like hours. She had no idea how long he’d been struggling to pull both of them to the beach when he finally stopped to rest. When he did, Mac handed him his bag and began pulling her.

Sylvie fought panic all the way. She was so relieved when she finally felt her feet touch sand that she couldn’t contain the sob that rose in her throat.

“Shhh! You’re alright.”

She wasn’t certain which of them had commanded her to be quiet, but she gulped back the urge to give in to her emotions. She was so exhausted it took every ounce of strength she could muster to climb out of the water even after she’d finally been relieved of the bag she’d been carrying. She collapsed face down on the beach, fighting for breath, still struggling with the urge to burst into tears.

Mac and Hawk settled beside her, both breathing heavily, although neither one of them sounded as bad as she did—and they’d
lugged
her ass and the heavy canvas bags besides!

“We need to get going,” Mac said after a few minutes, impatience and anxiety in his voice.

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Realizing dimly that that was a command for her to get up, Sylvie struggled to push herself upright. Mac helped her to her feet and turned her. “Straight down this beach. It’s about five miles to the village, but you’ll likely meet up with some fishermen before you get there. We have to get going.”

Sylvie nodded. Relief at the discovery that they hadn’t lied to her, that they really meant to let her go, warred with sheer terror at being abandoned on a foreign shore.

“It’ll be light soon.”

Sylvie glanced at Hawk, but she didn’t know if he’d said it because he was worried about their escape or to reassure her. She merely nodded. Gathering her strength, she began walking along the beach.

“Just stay on the beach, Sylvie. You can’t get lost if you stick with the beach.”

Sylvie paused when Mac spoke, turning to look back at him and Hawk. Abruptly, it hit her that she was never going to see them again and that they were in far more danger than she was. On impulse, she rushed back and flung her arms around Mac’s neck. “Thank you! Take care of yourself.”

His gaze flickered over her face when she leaned away. Abruptly, he threaded his fingers in her hair, tilted his head and covered her mouth. Sensations exploded through her. An avalanche of heat inundated her. As brief as the kiss was, it rocked her world.

She swayed unsteadily when he released her as abruptly as he’d caught her to him for the kiss.

Dizzy, completely disoriented, she struggled to find her bearings. Hawk swept her into an embrace, however, that finished her descent into chaos. Fortunately, when he lifted his head, he caught her shoulders, pointed her in the right direction and gave her a little push to get her started.

She wanted to look back, but it took all of her focus to keep her wobbly knees from giving out on her. When she finally decided she could manage it without falling on her face, she discovered they’d disappeared.

Despair instantly swamped her that they’d vanished from her life as abruptly as they’d appeared. Fear for them replaced her fear
of
them and her fears for herself. She tried to tell herself that they were far better equipped to handle themselves and the jungle than anyone she knew. They were trained and battle hardened.

All she could think about, though, was that, for whatever reason, their country had abandoned them—No! Was hunting them like animals. She could go home. They couldn’t. In a few days, or possibly weeks, she would be back at home, comfortable, safe. They were going to be trying to survive in the jungle—or dead.

She couldn’t bear to think of that! They were so young, so strong. It was obscene to even consider that their lives could be extinguished, that young men with so much potential and so much to offer would simply cease to exist.

Little by little, her focus shifted from them to her more immediate concerns. She worked to put them from her mind and focus, trying to calculate how long she’d been walking and how much further she needed to go. The crash of the surf and the rustle of the jungle beyond the beach with the almost incessant breeze off of the water lulled her, and yet animal sounds from the jungle pierced those more soothing sounds often enough to keep her jumpy. Adrenaline rushed through her each time she heard the call or growl of some unknown beast and she would move a little faster until weariness overcame fear.

She’d begun to wonder if they’d lied to her after all and there was no village
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ahead of her when a man suddenly stepped from the jungle in front of her. Relief instantly surged through her.

“Help!” she called, hurrying toward him. “Can you help me? I need help.”

She’d caught his attention before alarm bells went off in her head. In the lightening of early morning dawn, though, it finally struck her that the man wasn’t dressed like a peasant or a fisherman. He was wearing worn fatigues and carrying a rifle over his shoulder.