own. “Take it-quickly!”
And Sam was already tugging the leaf-wrapped bundle out of the pot…kneeling to open it, spilling its contents helter-skelter on the ground. She snatched up the narrow oblong that held the knife and ran to the terminal stump, unwinding leaf wrappings as she went. Her heart felt on fire, her chest ready to burst, as she began to saw furiously at the rope that fastened the pulley to the stump.
As she sawed she was dimly aware that behind her Tony, Cory and the Lundquists had reached the comparative safety of the trees. Blinking away the sweat that was pouring into her eyes, all but blinding her, she risked a glance to check on the terrorist’s progress. Then she wished she hadn’t.
He’d reached the halfway point; she could see his face now, grinning, his eyes glittering with anticipation. She felt a jolt under her ribs as she realized she recognized him. It was the “spokesman,” the leader of the band that had brought them from the village hospital; the one who had looked at Cory with such hatred. She knew they could expect no mercy from him. Fortunately, at the moment he was too busy holding on to the rope to fire the weapon slung across his chest, but Sam knew the moment he stepped onto solid ground they were all dead.
Her muscles burned like fire, but she kept sawing. How much longer could she keep it up, before her arms turned to so much dead wood?
Just when she was beginning to think even her will wouldn’t be enough, Tony was suddenly there at her side. “Take over!” she gasped, and almost wept in relief when she felt his hands push hers aside and close around the handle of the knife.
Then she was looking around frantically, looking for something to use for a weapon-a rock, a log-anything. The terrorist was only a couple of yards from the bank, close enough for her to smell his sweat, close enough to see the cruelty in his eyes. Maybe, she thought, before he has a chance to get his feet under him, I can knock him out… push him over the side…
But…just then, there was a triumphant grunt from Tony, and a dry, slithering, scraping sound. And a heavy clank as the pulley hit the ground. A look of blank astonishment came over the terrorist’s face…and then he disappeared.
Chapter 12
Sam didn’t wait around to see what had happened to al-Rami’s man. After a moment of shocked stillness, amid shouts of fury and a renewed clatter of gunfire from the two terrorists left on the opposite bank, she and Tony ran like hell for the trees.
Once the sheltering foliage had closed around them, she dropped back to let Tony take the lead, since only he knew where, in that tangle of jungle, he’d left the others.
“Cory-” she panted as she ran, gasping for breath, her terror returning in a chilling rush “-how is he? Is he okay? He’s alive, isn’t he?”
“Was when I left him.” Tony’s reply was clipped and grim.
Icy fingers squeezed her heart…squeezed the breath from her lungs. “How bad was he hit? How many-”
“Just the one, far as I could see. In his leg. But it was bleeding pretty bad…”
“Oh, God.”
Then…she saw him, cradled in a nest of mossy roots with his back propped against a tree, and he seemed to be awake and conscious, jerkily tugging at some sort of strap tied around his thigh. His head came up when he heard them coming, like a deer alert to approaching danger. Then his eyes arrowed straight into hers and lit with a fearsome gladness…relief and love so naked and profound it pierced her soul. To her it felt like a shaft of sunlight breaking through thick black clouds. It was light and warmth, and joy and hope, and she wanted to bask in it like a cat in October sun.
So, of course, perversely, she left Tony to see to Cory, and with her heart still thumping painfully and adrenaline ebbing, angled unsteadily to where Hal Lundquist sat with his wife’s head in his lap.
“How’s she doing?” she asked softly as she dropped to one trembling knee beside them.
Before Hal could reply, Esther’s eyes opened and her lips twitched briefly in a pale imitation of her usual cheery smile. “Oh, hello, dear.” Her voice was feeble and gasping. “A little better, I think. I must have fainted…bad time for it, I know. Sorry to be such a bother.”
Hal’s head moved in an almost imperceptible shake. “I think it’s her heart,” he murmured, and his expression was bleak as he gazed down at his wife’s face and gently stroked her hair. Her eyes were closed again, and she looked almost serene now…and alarmingly fragile.
“Her heart?” Sam was shocked; the woman had seemed so robust-so…indomitable. “But why? She’s so…”
Again the movement of Hal Lundquist’s head was slight, as he continued to gaze down at his wife and caress her forehead. “She wouldn’t have told anyone if she had. But I’m not too surprised by this. She has a family history.”
“Well, we’re going to get her to a hospital,” Sam promised grimly as she pushed herself to her feet. “As soon as we can. Do you think you can carry her, or shall we make a litter?”
For the first time Hal’s pale blue eyes, fogged now with sadness, lifted to hers. He seemed dazed, almost as if he was surprised by the question. “I’ll carry her. No need for a litter-unless…perhaps for your friend? He seemed to be bleeding rather badly.”
Something hitched painfully under Sam’s ribs as she turned with a murmured, “Right…” and made her way through the foliage to where Tony crouched beside a pale and sweaty-looking Cory.
“How’s he doin’?” she asked as she lowered herself to the wet, mossy turf, hoping bright and cheery would hide the fear that was once again robbing her of breath.
“How’s he doing? I’ll tell you how he’s doing-look what he did!” Tony held up his camera, minus its neck strap. “Damn guy made a tourniquet outa my camera strap.” He was trying his best to look and sound outraged, but his grin kept leaking through.
“Is it working?” Sam shifted her eyes to Cory, careful to avoid looking at his blood-soaked pantleg.
His eyes held hers as he replied in a voice that was airless with pain, “Slowed it down some.”
She turned back to Tony. “Got any more of those straps?”
“Right here.” He was already reaching for the equipment bags.
And to Cory again, “I’m gonna need your shirt.”
He nodded, gritted his teeth and began to tug at his shirt with bloody hands. Appalled, she slapped his hands away. “Here, I’ll get it-raise up your arms.” And as she pulled the T-shirt out of his waistband her fingers grazed his belly. His skin felt clammy and cold. Shaken, she was careful not to touch him again. Though the desire…the need to touch him was so overwhelming she trembled with it.
Quickly, she folded the damp T-shirt into a thick pad. When she placed it over the seeping hole in his thigh, he jerked and breath hissed between his teeth. Sam threw him a mocking look. “Don’t be a baby, Pearse. Can’t have you bleeding to death.”
“You sure about that?” His voice was breathy with what might have been laughter. “Kinda had me wondering out there, when I was swingin’ in the wind. Thought maybe you were tryin’ to dump me in the river.”
Furious suddenly, and fighting tears, she shot back between clenched teeth, “I told you, I was trying-”
“Sam.” He touched her arm, leaving it blood-smeared. “That was a joke. I know what you were trying to do.” His eyes seemed bottomless as they clung to hers. A smile flickered briefly, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Thank you.”
She wanted to say “You’re welcome,” say it flippantly, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. But even after clearing her throat the words wouldn’t come. And by that time Tony was there with another camera strap-a nice wide one, brightly woven in some sort of Native American pattern-and she made herself busy getting it knotted around Cory’s thigh and the pressure pad in just the right place, and she hoped no one would notice that her hands were shaking.
