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“Prime real estate, I’ll bet.”
Chay laughed. “At least there aren’t any headhunters in Central America. Good luck, dude. Over and out.”
* * *
The stream was shallow and heavily shaded, just as Chay had promised.
It was also swift flowing, with an uneven, rocky bottom.
Tanner cut tree limbs into makeshift walking sticks that helped him and Alessandra get down the slippery bank without difficulty. Once the two of them were in the stream, the sticks were also a handy tool to use probing the bottom for safe footing.
The water wasn’t really cold, but it felt that way by comparison to the air.
At first, the chill was soothing to Alessandra’s battered feet. To Tanner’s injured leg, too. But after a while, the temperature as well as the difficulty of feeling their way along the uneven bottom became wearing.
Tanner knew he could deal with it. Yeah, his leg hurt like hell, but years of harsh SEAL and STUD training made this the equivalent of a walk in the park.
Well, almost.
Even hurting, he knew he could keep going for hours.
His concern was for Alessandra.
He could hear her splashing along behind him. Occasionally, she said “oof” or “dammit,” but whenever he offered to take a break she said no, she was fine, she didn’t need one. He knew that she did and that he’d have to make the decision to stop, at least for a while.
When he figured they were maybe an hour from the point at which Chay had told him the stream would widen—and crocs might appear—he turned to face Alessandra.
She was panting. Her face, except for her cheeks, was chalky.
“Okay,” he said cheerfully. “Time for a five-minute break.”
“I don’t—”
“I do.”
She looked at him. Then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said, and he could hear the exhaustion in her voice.
He walked the couple of steps back to her and reached for her hand.
“You’re doing fine,” he said softly. “Just fine.”
She flashed a smile.
Just looking at her made his throat tighten. She’d pulled her hair back from her face and secured it with a piece of paracord. The T he’d given her was now torn and stained. She’d rolled the scrubs to the tops of her thighs, but even he, who knew nothing about women’s fashion, knew that short shorts weren’t supposed to be cut like flour sacks.
She was, in other words, a mess.
A gorgeous mess.
Part of it was basic. The lovely face. The to-die-for body.
The truth was, lots of women met that kind of description. What put her in a category all her own wasn’t what you saw. It was the woman herself, the unique qualities that made her who she was.
She was a rarity in the world he knew. In the world most people knew.
“Tanner? Why are you looking at me like that?”
