“You’re a human being! Barely, granted, but still a human being.”
“Sticks and stones—”
“Oh, damn you and your jokes!” she cried. “These are children.”
His face hardened. It was no wonder to her that she had mistaken him for a mercenary. He seemed untouchable. His callousness was unbreachable.
“Lady, I’ve seen hundreds of kids blown to bits. Stomachs swelled up like balloons from starvation. Covered in sores and crawling with lice and flies. Screaming in terror when their parents were beheaded in front of them. Tragic, yes. Sickening, yes. Nations of them, lady. So don’t expect me to fall on my knees in anguish over nine.”
She released him and recoiled as though his heartlessness was a hideous, contagious disease. “You’re a horrible man.”
“Right. We finally agree on something. I’m not spiritually equipped to take care of nine kids, even under the best of circumstances.”
She straightened her shoulders determinedly. Loathsome as he was, he was her only hope. She didn’t have time to go back into the capital city and search for a replacement. “Consider this just another job. I’ll pay you whatever I would pay a professional soldier.”
He shook his head adamantly. “It wouldn’t be as much as I’ll make off the film I’m taking home.”
“Three more days won’t matter. Your film will be just as valuable on Friday as it is today.”
“But I won’t be risking my ass in the meantime. I value my hide almost as much as I do my film. I’ve risked it too long in this stinking jungle. I have a sixth sense that tells me when to move on.” He locked gazes with her. “Now, I don’t know who you are, or what the hell you’re doing in a place like this, but it doesn’t involve me. Got that? I hope you get the kids out, but you’ll do it without me.”
He turned abruptly and took no more than a few steps before he was swallowed by the jungle. Kerry’s shoulders drooped with dejection.
She slowly retraced her steps to the truck. Spotting the pistol still lying on the ground, she shuddered. He might not be a mercenary, but he was just as cold and unfeeling. He was unhumanly jaded and didn’t possess an iota of compassion. To turn his back on children! How could he? How could anyone?
She stared at the pistol, wondering if she could force him at gunpoint to help her. The idea was ridiculous, of course, and she dismissed it as soon as it was formulated. She could just see herself toting little Lisa in one hand and the .357 Magnum in the other.
He would probably murder them all in their sleep anyway before they were halfway to their destination or if a better offer presented itself along the way.
Angrily, she whirled around. Her gaze accidentally fell on the bags lying in the bed of the truck. Cameras, she thought scornfully. How could she have mistaken them for weapons and ammunition? They were the tools of his trade, all right, but they were of no use to her.
How low did a man have to stoop before he could place a roll of film above the life of a parentless child? A wretch of a man. A cold-hearted, selfish man, who would rather print pictures of other people than be touched by them personally. A man to whom a roll of film—
Film. Film. Film.
Kerry’s heart skidded to a halt. Her eyes rounded with sudden inspiration as she stared at the canvas bags. Before allowing herself time to consider the grave consequences of what she was about to do, she bounded into the bed of the pickup and unzipped the first bag.
Linc felt like hell.
Every time a macaw exercised his vocal talents, the noise went through his head like a spear. His stomach was in turmoil and with the least bit of encouragement would ignominiously empty itself. His teeth had grown fur overnight. He had a crick in his neck. God, even his hair hurt.
Wondering how that was possible, he explored it tentatively and discovered that it wasn’t his hair giving him such misery, but an unaccounted-for goose egg on his cranium.
B
ut the worst of all his pains was the big one in the butt...by the name of Bishop. Something Bishop. Carol? Carolyn? Damn, he couldn’t remember. All he knew was that at the moment he’d like to be carving her name on a tombstone after having strangled her with his bare hands.
The little bitch had made him miss that airplane!
Every time he thought about it, he ground his teeth. And because he couldn’t cope with his own stupid culpability at the moment, he directed his anger toward the woman.
Damn conniving female. What the hell was she doing in Monterico to begin with? She was nothing but a meddlesome do-gooder. Nine orphans. How the hell did she think she could secretly transport nine orphans five miles, much less fifty, then catch a plane that was supposed to rendezvous...
Hell. It sounded like a bad movie script. Unworkable. Implausible. Impossible.
And she had gambled on him risking his neck, not to mention the fortune he stood to make on the photographs he’d taken, to help her. What a laugh! He hadn’t stayed alive by being Mr. Nice Guy.
Ask anyone who knew him, and they’d tell you that Linc O’Neal looked out for number one. He was liked. He was respected. He took his turn when it came to buying drinks. But don’t depend on him in a pinch, because in a pinch, it was his ass he was concerned about and not the next guy’s. He pledged allegiance to himself and himself alone.