“They’re safe.”
While this terse conversation was taking place, he was dragging her through the dark, dense foliage. “Get in the
re.” He moved aside a vine as heavy and thick as a velvet drape and impatiently motioned her in.
“But the children!”
“I told you, they’re safe.” When it became obvious that she was going to argue, he spread his hand wide over the top of her head and shoved her down. Her knees buckled beneath her and landed jarringly on the fertile undergrowth. Before she had time to regain her balance, he gave her shoulder a push. She fell over onto her side and rolled into the leafy lair. He scrambled in after her and dropped the natural curtain behind them.
He fit his body against hers like a second skin to maximize the room in their hiding place. “Now lie still and stay quiet,” he whispered directly into her ear. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
Kerry would have protested had his arm not increased its pressure against her midriff. It was a reflexive motion Kerry understood, since she heard the sounds only seconds after Linc had. Someone was thrashing his way through the jungle, muttering to himself in vernacular Spanish as he came nearer.
His booted feet came dangerously close to where they lay, so close that the downward slash of his machete stirred the plants screening them in the darkness. Kerry sucked her breath in and held it. Linc, whose warm breath had been fanning her neck, did the same. They didn’t move so much as an eyelash.
The soldier went past them, but they didn’t relax. Through the jungle floor, they could still feel the vibration of his footsteps. And as they had expected, he retraced the path he had taken and came near them again, stopping only inches from where they lay behind the vine.
Kerry heard the sound of his slipping his machete into its leather scabbard, then the scratch of a match being struck. The pungent aroma of marijuana smoke filtered down to them. The soldier had decided to take a break from the arduous job of killing and looting.
Linc pressed his face into the nape of Kerry’s neck, and they lay motionless and soundless. She thought of a hundred hazards that could reveal them. An untimely cough. A sneeze. A snake.
She shivered, only partially because her shirt was clinging to her wetly. The shudder was one of stark terror. What if they were discovered? And what about the children? Were they really safe, or had Linc just told her that to get her to cooperate in these self-preserving measures?
No, he wouldn’t do that. But he might. He had told her once that he looked out for himself above anybody.
Thankfully, the soldier didn’t smoke for long. He must have pinched out the cigarette because the sickly sweet fragrance faded away. They heard the rustling of his clothes as he repocketed the joint, then the soft, rhythmic clank of his water canteen bouncing against his hip as he moved away.
Linc waited a full five minutes from the time they last heard his shuffling tread before the pressure of his arm around Kerry relaxed and he lifted his head. For several moments neither did anything but breathe deeply, gratefully refilling their deprived lungs with air.
“What was he saying?” Linc whispered when he felt it was safe to do so.
“He was complaining that his sergeant sent him out on that scouting mission.”
“Anything about us?”
“No.”
“Good. I guess they don’t know we’re here. Are you all right?”
She was scared half to death, but she answered, “Fine. The children?”
“They’re safe. I think.”
She craned her head around to look at him. “What do you mean you think?”
“Shh. Relax. They were safely hidden when I came looking for you.” Over her shoulder she studied his shadowed face. “I swear it,” he said, offended by her suspicion.
Kerry was ashamed of her momentary lack of trust. Linc O’Neal was a scoundrel, but he wouldn’t sacrifice children to save his own hide. Even he wasn’t that unscrupulous. “What happened?”
Speaking in whispers that were barely louder than a deep breath, Linc related what had happened. “I heard their trucks approaching while I was taking that last look around. I figured that if we had thought the deserted house would serve as a good camp, then soldiers would, too. I ran back, found you gone, and hustled the children into the root cellar beneath the kitchen.”
“I didn’t know there was one.”
“I hope the soldiers don’t either,” he said grimly. “I put Joe in charge and threatened him with castration-by-machete if he left the cellar before I came to get them. He argued with me, of course, and wanted to go searching for you.”
“I shouldn’t have left.”
“A little late to be thinking of that, Miss Bishop.” His low volume didn’t soften the stern reprimand.