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“You can’t see to drive in this,” she said, still in that helpless, numb tone of voice, so unlike her usual cheerful matter-of-fact manner. A frown drew his brows together, but he couldn’t stop to cradle her in his arms and reassure her that everything was going to be all right. He wasn’t too sure of that himself; all hell had broken loose, reminding him how much he disliked being shot at—and now Jane was a target as well. He hated this whole set-up so much that a certain deadly look had come into his eyes, the look that had become legend in the jungles and rice paddies of Southeast Asia.
“I can see well enough to get us out of here.”
He put two wires together, and the engine coughed and turned over, but didn’t start. Swearing under his breath, he tried it again, and the second time the engine caught. He put the old truck in gear and let up on the clutch. They lurched into motion with the old vehicle groaning and protesting. The rain on the windshield was so heavy that the feeble wipers were almost useless, but Grant seemed to know where he was going.
Looking around, Jane saw a surprisingly large number of buildings through the rain, and several streets seemed to branch away from the one they were on. The village was a prosperous one, with most of the trappings of civilization, and it looked somehow incongruous existing so close to the jungle.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“South, honey. To Limon, or at least as far as this crate will carry us down the road.”
CHAPTER NINE
LIMON. THE NAME SOUNDED like heaven, and as she clung to the tattered seat of the old truck, the city seemed just as far away. Her dark eyes were wide and vulnerable as she stared at the streaming windshield, trying to see the road. Grant gave her a quick look, all he could safely spare when driving took so much of his attention. Keeping his voice calm, he said, “Jane, scoot as far into the corner as you can. Get your head away from the back window. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She obeyed, shrinking into the corner. The old truck had a small window in back and smaller windows on each side, leaving deep pockets of protection in the corners. A broken spring dug into the back of her leg, making her shift her weight. The upholstery on this side of the seat was almost n
onexistent, consisting mostly of miscellaneous pieces of cloth covering some of the springs. Grant was sitting on a grimy patch of burlap. Looking down, she saw a large hole in the floorboard beside the door.
“This thing has character,” she commented, regaining a small portion of her composure.
“Yeah, all of it bad.” The truck skewed sideways on a sea of mud, and Grant gave all his attention to steering the thing in a straight line again.
“How can you tell where we’re going?”
“I can’t. I’m guessing.” A devilish grin twisted his lips, a sign of the adrenaline that was racing through his system. It was a physical high, an acute sensitivity brought on by pitting his wits and his skills against the enemy. If it hadn’t been for the danger to Jane, he might even have enjoyed this game of cat and mouse. He risked another quick glance at her, relaxing a little as he saw that she was calmer now, gathering herself together and mastering her fear. The fear was still there, but she was in control.
“You’d better be a good guesser,” she gasped as the truck lurched sickeningly to the side. “If you drive us off a cliff, I swear I’ll never forgive you!”
He grinned again and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He leaned forward over the wheel. “Can you get these packs off? They’re in the way. And keep down!”
She slithered across the seat and unbuckled the backpacks, pulling them away from him so he could lean back. How could she have forgotten her pack? Stricken that she’d been so utterly reckless with it, she drew the buckles through the belt loops of her pants and fastened the straps.
He wasn’t paying any attention to her now, but was frowning at the dash. He rapped at a gauge with his knuckle. “Damn it!”
Jane groaned. “Don’t tell me. We’re almost out of gas!”
“I don’t know. The damned gauge doesn’t work. We could have a full tank, or it could quit on us at any time.”
She looked around. The rain wasn’t as torrential as it had been, though it was still heavy. The forest pressed closely on both sides of the road, and the village was out of sight behind them. The road wasn’t paved, and the truck kept jouncing over the uneven surface, forcing her to cling to the seat to stay in it—but it was a road and the truck was still running along it. Even if it quit that minute, they were still better off than they had been only a short while before. At least they weren’t being shot at now. With any luck Turego would think they were still afoot and continue searching close by, at least for a while. Every moment was precious now, putting distance between them and their pursuers.
Half an hour later the rain stopped, and the temperature immediately began to climb. Jane rolled down the window on her side of the truck, searching for any coolness she could find. “Does this thing have a radio?” she asked.
He snorted. “What do you want to listen to, the top forty? No, it doesn’t have a radio.”
“There’s no need to get snippy,” she sniffed.
Grant wondered if he’d ever been accused of being “snippy” before. He’d been called a lot of things, but never that; Jane had a unique way of looking at things. If they had met up with a jaguar, she probably would have called it a “nice kitty”! The familiar urge rose in him, making him want to either throttle her or make love to her. His somber expression lightened as he considered which would give him the most pleasure.
The truck brushed against a bush that was encroaching on the narrow road. Jane ducked barely in time to avoid being slapped in the face by the branches that sprang through the open window, showering them with the raindrops that had been clinging to the leaves.
“Roll that window up,” he ordered, concern making his voice sharp. Jane obeyed and sat back in the corner again. Already she could feel perspiration beading on her face, and she wiped her sleeve across her forehead. Her hand touched her hair, and she pushed the heavy mass away from her face, appalled at the tangled ringlets she found. What she wouldn’t give for a bath! A real bath, with hot water and soap and shampoo, not a rinsing in a rocky stream. And clean clothes! She thought of the hairbrush in her pack, but she didn’t have the energy to reach for it right now.
Well, there was no sense in wasting her time wishing for something she couldn’t have. There were more important issues at hand. “Did you get any food?”
“In my pack.”
She grabbed the pack and opened it, pulling out a towel-wrapped bundle of bread and cheese. That was all there was, but she wasn’t in the mood to quibble about the limited menu. Food was food. Right now, even field rations would have been good.
