She reached forward. Chickened out. Withdrew her hands. Closed her hands into fists, then flexed her fingers, like a safecracker about to undertake the challenge of his career.
She reached for the pistol again. This time, before she could lose her nerve, she closed her hand around the butt of it and tugged. Again. Harder. It wouldn’t come free of his waistband.
She snatched her hand back and debated her alternatives. She had none. She had to get that pistol away from him, and get it without waking him up.
She stared at his web belt. Closing her eyes for a moment and wetting her dry lips, she gathered her rapidly scattering courage. Forcing down her nervousness, she touched the belt buckle. Using the tip of her index finger, she slid the small brass button forward to release the teeth clamping down into the webbing. Gradually the tension eased. She pressed harder. The teeth popped free. Metal clinked against metal softly.
The mercenary drew a deep breath. Let it out on a sigh. Kerry froze. She inched her hands forward again and, working slowly and carefully, pulled the end of the belt through the brass buckle.
There was no rejoicing. She met with another obstacle.
She touched the heavy metal button of his fatigue trousers. He made a snuffling sound and shifted his legs, drawing one knee up onto the seat. Which rearranged everything. Everything. And wedged the barrel of the gun in even tighter between his stomach and his waistband.
Kerry’s hands were sweating.
She dared not think of what he would do if he should wake up and discover her fiddling with the fly of his pants. If he thought she was trying to take his gun away, he’d shoot her with it. And if he thought... The other was too horrendous to contemplate.
She reached for the button again, and this time didn’t let the purring sound coming from his chest deter her. Her fingers were clumsy. It was no small task to work the button out of the reinforced hole in the stiff cloth, but at last she succeeded. She closed her fingers around the butt of the pistol again, but it still wouldn’t come free.
She swore in whispers.
Gnawing on her lower lip, she pinched the tab of his zipper between her thumb and index finger. She had to yank on it three times before it moved. She had intended to lower it only an inch or two, but when it finally cooperated, it unzipped all the way. Suddenly. Shockingly. She dropped the tab as though it had bitten her, then jerked the pistol free.
He snorted, shifted again, but didn’t wake up. She clutched the pistol to her chest as though it were the Holy Grail and she’d dedicated a lifetime to searching for it. Her whole body was damp with perspiration.
Finally, when she was certain that he had slept through her fumblings and that she wasn’t going to have to use the vicious weapon to protect herself, she dropped it onto the ground. It clattered against the machete. She shut the door of the truck quickly, as though covering up incriminating evidence. A bird protested the noise, then silence fell again.
She sat there in the darkness, thinking.
Maybe her mercenary wasn’t such a good choice after all, if he could be disarmed so easily.
Of course he was drunk, and where they were going, he wouldn’t have access to alcohol. He had warned off that other soldier with one threatening look. He was physically suited to the job she had in mind for him. She had been close enough to him tonight to know that. Those lean, hard muscles could only belong to a man of strength and stamina. She knew also that once he made up his mind to do something, he was determined. If he hadn’t bumped his head against the dashboard, she would probably still be fighting him off.
She wouldn’t think any more about him. Suffice it to say that she had done well; she had made a good choice.
With that in mind, Kerry settled into her own corner of the cab, rested her head in the open window and fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his gentle snores.
It seemed that she had barely closed her eyes when she was awakened by a litany of words she had only seen scrawled on the walls of public restrooms. There was movement beside her and scalding blasphemy.
The beast was coming awake.
Chapter 2
All the jungle animals were waking up. Rustling leaves marked the progress of reptiles and rodents. Birds chattered in the branches of the trees overhead. Small monkeys screeched as they swung from vine to vine in search of breakfast.
But even their shrill racket took second place to the vivid cursing inside the cab of the truck.
Kerry cowered against the driver’s door as she watched her mercenary come awake with about as much humor as a fairy-tale ogre. In fact he resembled an illustration she remembered from a childhood picture book with his hair sticking out at odd angles, his ferocious scowl, and his heavily shadowed jaw. Grunting and groaning, he leaned forward, unsteadily braced his elbows on his knees and held his head between his shaking hands.
After several moments, he moved his head around—it seemed to cause him agony—and looked at Kerry through bloodshot eyes. They had as many red streaks in them as the eastern sky. Without saying a word, he fumbled for the door handle, unlatched it and virtually rolled out of the truck.
When his feet struck the ground, lushly carpeted and spongy as it was, he let loose a string of blistering curses, products of a fertile imagination. That set off the noisy wildlife again. He clasped his head, and Kerry couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold it on or tear it off.
She opened the door on the driver’s side. Cautiously checking the ground for snakes first, she placed her sandaled foot in the deep undergrowth and stepped out of the truck. She considered picking up one of his weapons, either the machete or the gun, but decided that he was in no condition to do even the most defenseless animal any serious harm.
Gambling her safety on that decision, she crept around the hood of the truck and peered down the opposite side of it. He was braced against it with only his bottom touching. His feet were planted solidly in front of him, as though he had carefully put them there and didn’t dare move them for fear of falling off the planet. He was bent forward at the waist, still cushioning his head between his hands.
When he heard her tread in the soft undergrowth, which must have sounded like a marching army to his supersensitive ears, he swiveled his head around.