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“Yeah. Jaguars. Though no self-respecting cat is going to show itself to us if it can help it. Even if it did, you seem to have left your rifle back at the place where Mutt and Jeff captured you.”
She looked up.
“Skinny and Stubby.”
“Whatever.”
“And why would I want a gun?”
“It would be hard to drape a live cat around your shoulders.”
The expression on her face said he’d lost his mind. Maybe so. Hadn’t he just told himself that he wasn’t here to sit in judgment on her?
“Okay,” he said briskly. “Stay put. I’m gonna shinny up that tree and see if I can find us a Motel 6.”
She nodded, and for a couple of seconds, all the weariness in the world showed in her eyes. Then she flashed a quick smile.
“As long as it has flush toilets and room service.”
Despite himself, he laughed.
* * *
The place he found was a clearing on a patch of slightly elevated ground.
It lacked toilets and room service, but Alessandra was still ready to call it paradise.
Tall palms stood in a tight cluster, their fronds waving in a breeze just strong enough to discourage mosquitoes and other flying creatures.
Superman grabbed a heavy-looking stick and smacked it against the trunk of the biggest tree. Two small dark things flew out of the top branches and flapped away.
“Bats,” he said.
Bats were okay. There were endless varieties in the rainforest. The only ones that made her shudder were the ones that lived on blood—the vampires—but other kinds, and there were many, she could deal with.
Superman kicked aside a small pile of dead leaves. A centipede made a dash for freedom,
She couldn’t deal with centipedes. Or millipedes. Things with more legs than any creature could possibly need, but she saw the look Supe sent her when the thing scuttled into the surrounding jungle, and she didn’t so much as stir.
She suspected that shuddering would only assure him that she was dislikable, and if there wasn’t such a word, there should be because for all the care he’d taken to get her away from her captors, what emanated from him to her was dislike.
He shrugged off his vicious-looking automatic rifle, leaned it against one of the palms, and did the same with the machete. Then he dumped his pack, squatted down, opened it and took out a cellphone. No. Not a cellphone.
“What is that?” she asked.
He hit a button and held up his free hand. The request—the command—for silence was clear.
“Chay,” he said crisply. “Yes. Subject acquired. No, no problems so far. Good. Out.”
Okay. She knew what the object was. A satellite phone, but just to be sure, she decided to ask.
“Is that a satellite phone?”
“Correct.” He hit a button, then tucked the satphone inside the pack again.
“And who were you talking to?”
“Base.”
