Jillian Burns - Her Seal Protector

But this was Clay.

Plus...snakes.

“Well, I could use a rest.” He stopped and pulled out the bottle of water from his pants pocket and handed it to her.

He wasn’t even breathing hard, so she highly doubted he was tired, but he produced a flat, plastic canteen from another pocket, and took a small sip.

This was horrifying and ridiculous at the same time. In a minute she’d have to cross her legs. She might as well get the humiliation over with and admit her dilemma. “Um, I have to...”

He blinked at her. Then his eyes widened. “Oh! Yeah. Sure. Me, too.” His expression reverted to soldier-on-a-mission. “I’ll take the north, you take the south.” With a nod of his head he indicated to his right, then his left. She hadn’t seen him check a compass, so how could he possibly know which way was north?

Even as he disappeared into the vegetation to their right, she stood frozen. The crunching of leaves beneath his feet silenced. But even in the stillness, insects buzzed and birds called. Monkeys chattered. What if he was attacked by an animal or bit by a snake? What if he didn’t come back? Irrational fear seized her. No way could she tramp off into the dense jungle forest alone, no matter how badly she needed to—

“All done?”

Gabby snapped her head toward Clay. “I don’t think I can.”

His gaze drifted away and his jaw muscle ticked. The green face paint was wearing off in patches where he’d wiped at sweat. A shaft of sunlight hit his cheek as he stepped forward. “Sure you can.” He took her arm and propelled her a few feet into the undergrowth. “I’ll be right here. You go ahead, now.” Putting a thin tree between them, he spun on his boot heel and folded his arms, staring off into the distance.

But Clay’s close proximity caused a different dilemma. He might not be able to see her with his back turned, but he would still be able to hear her. Maybe the deafening sounds of nature would drown her out.

But...snakes.

“Um, Clay?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow your knife?”

No answer. Maybe he didn’t trust her with a dangerous weapon. Then he unsnapped the leather holster at his hip and pulled out the wicked-looking knife, flipped it, caught it by the blade and extended the handle toward her.

She swallowed and took it. “Thank you.” Only then did she realize what needed doing actually required two free hands. After dithering a moment, she stuck the handle of the knife between her teeth, thoroughly checked the ground for anything slithering nearby and then got on with it.

When she approached him, he handed her the water bottle without a word and she returned his knife and rinsed her hands, and they headed back to the makeshift path he’d been cutting for them. A wave of exhaustion overcame her when she thought about continuing on. Her back stung. She was hot, and sticky, and her feet burned where the heels chafed, and— “Listen to yourself, you whiny baby! At least you’re alive.”

Clay was waiting for her, watching her with a wary expression. She realized she’d spoken out loud. Great, now he’d think she was bonkers. She knew she tended to talk to herself a lot. Most of the time, it didn’t matter.

“You good to go?” He was waiting for her, so she smiled and nodded, and trudged on.

She lost all sense of time as the day wore on. She thought about being home in San Juan, how glad her parents would be to see her again. About Jorge, and Bernard, and Patricia. She missed them. And she fingered her Mary medal as she prayed to her Abuelita. She couldn’t wait to see Mama and Papa. Finally, twilight settled over the tall trees. Clay hadn’t said a word. Even when he occasionally handed her the water bottle. “By tomorrow I’ll have a cool shower and clean clothes.” One foot in front of the other. “And I’m going to brush my teeth twice, and wash my hair three times and buy a new—”

Clay spun and clamped a hand over her mouth.

* * *

CLAY HELD A finger in front of his lips. He’d heard voices at three o’clock, speaking in what he thought must be Guarani, a native language of Paraguay. That, by itself, didn’t mean much. Over 80 percent of Paraguayans spoke Guarani. And he’d only been able to catch a few words. But one of them had been a Spanish word thrown in: Americano.

They were going to have to double back. He hoped not very far or they risked missing the helo. Then he recognized what else he heard in the distance. The roar of rushing water. They were closer to the Rio Bermejo than he’d thought. Thanks to Gabby’s fortitude, they’d made good time. Even if she had talked for most of the afternoon. He didn’t think she was even aware she’d been talking out loud. And the crazy thing was, he hadn’t minded. He’d liked listening to her voice, liked hearing about her close-knit family.

Mentally going over the map he’d studied on the plane ride down, he guesstimated the distance to the river. If they could travel by water tonight—depending on the current—they could make up the time they’d lose doubling back. He just really hadn’t wanted to travel at night. Lighting their way might as well shine a big bull’s-eye on their position.

But before he could worry about that, they had to avoid detection by the men who’d been asking about the Americanos. Slowly, he lifted his hand off Gabby’s mouth, slid his Sig from its shoulder holster and signaled to Gabby to stay put while he investigated the possible unfriendly’s position.

Careful to step light and move slow, Clay inched up to the edge of the clearing. He took up position behind a tree, pulled out his binoculars and spied a farmer in his wide-brimmed hat leading an ox away from the creek. No sign of anyone else. He scanned the meadow, but daylight was fading fast. Then, on the edge of his vision he caught a shadow. Two shadows. He lifted the binoculars again. They were armed. And they were headed this way.

When he returned to Gabby she was standing exactly where he’d left her, still, and as frightened as a deer in headlights. But she wasn’t panicking. And she’d obeyed his order. Which he hadn’t been sure he could count on.

Knowing how sound could carry, he spoke low in her ear. “We’re turning around. Follow the path I cleared, move quickly, but try to step softly. All right?”

Her breathing was shallow, but she nodded and did as he asked. Clay followed behind her trying to cover their tracks as best he could. He hadn’t disturbed the vegetation at the edge of the meadow. With any luck, the hunters wouldn’t find their trail.

They’d traveled only ten minutes before darkness swallowed the forest and he was forced to click on his pin light. He covered the top and shone it only on the jungle floor, but he still felt like he might as well have gift wrapped their position to the kidnappers. His gut clenched as he heard leaves rustling behind them.

He clicked off the light, grabbed Gabby and pulled her off the path. Hand over her mouth again, he held her still and waited.

Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. A pygmy owl hooted.

The rustling drew closer. The kidnappers were practically on top of them, the shafts of light from their flashlights barely missing them. Gabby tensed and tightened her arms around his waist. He didn’t know when they’d put their arms around each other, but he lowered his head close to hers and stroked her hair. He still held his Sig in the other hand down by his side, slowed his breathing and prepared to spin and shoot.

The bandits walked right past them. The sounds of their crunching footsteps faded.

Clay became aware of her breathing, her soft breasts pressed against his chest. She lifted her face and her lips brushed his with a quick intake of breath.

He didn’t move, letting his mouth hover over hers. She let out the softest moan. She was so small, petite, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders, but her body was full and lush, her stomach cushioning his growing hard-on.