Читать книгу Lovers' Reunion - Anne Marie Winston - Страница 8

Prologue

Had he heard voices?

Slowly, Marco Esposito opened his eyes, dreading the sight of the dappled shades of the jungle surrounding him. God, if he got out of here alive, he’d never wear green again.

He held his breath, straining to hear above the warbling, whistling clamor of the creatures in the canopy above his head. Must’ve been wishful thinking. Or hallucinating.

His tongue felt thick and swollen. It took effort to unstick it from the roof of his mouth. He was dying for a drink, but he’d finished the last of the water late yesterday. Kind of ironic, since he was soaked from head to toe by the steamy humidity in the air.

Something was crawling over his hand. He fought back a shudder and hoped it wasn’t one of the brilliantly colored little tree frogs whose poison would finish him off a lot faster than the blood he’d already lost, considerable as he thought it was.

He knew better than to move, and not just because of threatening creatures. The pain was bearable as long as he lay completely still. He wanted to check his watch, but even the movement of his arm sent hot daggers of fire lancing up his right leg, so he didn’t. He squinted up through the leafy veil of the rain forest that soared in a tangled jumble of vines, thick tree trunks and leaves overhead.

Daylight. Unless he’d been dozing a lot longer than he thought, this was the second day, then. Relief swamped him. By day the jaguar he so feared would be lying low, waiting for night, when its sharp predator’s vision was unparalleled in the close, black regions of the terrain through which it passed.

He’d kept the flashlight on last night, shining it at random spots around him until the battery weakened and finally died. If he wasn’t found today, the jaguar would find him tonight.

By rolling his eyes to the left, he could just see the humped outline of what had been a small plane, wingless and shattered among the ferns. The pilot was still inside, dead since the moment of impact. The other body lay on the ground beside the plane. He’d covered it as best he could with a heavy tarp, broken open a couple of capsules of ammonia and prayed that any passing predators would be too afraid of the strange scents to come too close for a while.

Grief tightened his chest. Stu had been a good researcher, a trusted friend and damn good on expeditions like this. He’d died less than an hour after Marco had pulled him from the plane.

Marco hoped he’d get the chance to talk to Stu’s family one day, give them the final few words his colleague had sent to those he was leaving. Dammit! Stu had a wife, two kids, one of whom was still in high school. Life really sucked sometimes.

Family. His own family was going to be devastated if he didn’t make it out of this green hell. He hadn’t been home more than a handful of times in fifteen years. But in his heart, they were always close. His mom, dad, grandparents, four sisters... At least he wouldn’t be leaving a wife or kids to mourn him, to try to get along on their own.

And just like that, she was with him.

Sophie. He’d tried to forget her, to keep her out of his head for nearly six years now.

He hadn’t succeeded.

He could see her clearly: soft bouncy curls, laughing dark eyes, those full, pouty lips he’d so loved to kiss. He’d had no business kissing her, but his willpower hadn’t been up to the task of holding her at bay after the first time he’d tasted her. They’d had only one time together but still he could call up the images, the scents, tastes and touches as if it had been yesterday. And the raw, naked longing that had sprung from nowhere had spooked him.

His only defense had been to stay away. Away from Chicago, away from his own home, away from the girl next door who’d said she loved him.

But she’d been too young to love anybody. He’d told himself that more times than he could count.

Sweet Sophie. Would she miss him if he died? Did she even think of him anymore? She surely was married by now, with a family of her own.

And that might be his biggest regret. He’d never thought he was a family man. But the thought of dying, of leaving nothing of himself behind to carry on his name, his blood, his life....

He hadn’t let himself think of a family in years. It was funny, though, that he’d never been able to envision children of his own unless they were being held in Sophie’s soft arms. She was the only woman who’d ever even tempted him to think “family.”

“Ho-o-o!”

The voice was close. It had to be, to carry so clearly through the sodden, sound-swallowing vegetation.

“Hello! I’m here!” He made the mistake of turning his head, and the movement jarred his body just enough to arouse the beast gnawing on his leg. He gritted his teeth; a guttural sound rose from his throat, and every muscle in his big body went rigid.

“Marco! Keep talking! We’re coming.”

He recognized the voice an instant before a head topped with flaming copper hair appeared from around one of the immense tree trunks. Rescue! Relief, excitement, panic that had been held at bay, all surged forth.

As soon as Jared Adamson saw him, he broke into a jog. “Here,” he called over his shoulder. “Esposito’s over here. The plane’s over here, too.” Jared leaned over him, shining a horribly bright light in his eyes, and Marco knew he was checking his pupils. “Hey, buddy. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Wanna bet?” He was shocked to hear how hoarse and weak he sounded, but he tried to smile.

Jared dropped to his knees beside him, his face grim as he ripped an enormous backpack off his shoulders and began pawing through it. “What the hell happened? This wasn’t in the plan.”

Marco wanted to say something flippant, but suddenly he was on the verge of tears and he swallowed several times before he could trust his voice. Over his friend’s broad shoulder, he saw several other rescuers moving toward the plane, unrolling body bags and transport stretchers.

“Engine failure. The pilot couldn’t do a thing.” He was able to speak again. “The others are dead. My leg...is bad.”

Jared nodded, his hazel eyes sober. “I can see that. How did Stu manage to get out of the plane?”

“I pulled him out. He died after that.”

Jared gave a low whistle. “You pulled him out? With this leg?” He shook his head. “Only you could manage a feat like that,” he muttered as he bent to examine the injury. “You bandage this yourself?” he asked as he put one hand behind Marco’s head and held a metal cup of water to his lips.

Pain threatened again, and he gritted his teeth. When it passed, he drained the cup before he answered. “Had to. Losing a lot of blood.”

Jared grimaced, and his face contorted for an instant as he fiddled with gauze and antiseptic. “You did a good job.” He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I’m going to have to stabilize your leg before I move you. Brace yourself, bud. This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

His friend’s eyes met Marco’s, and Jared went silent for a moment, looking away, struggling for composure. Finally he said, “It looks ugly. I wouldn’t be surprised if the doctors want to amputate.”

Marco froze. Deep inside, he’d known it was bad. He just hadn’t let himself think about the mangled flesh and bits of bone he’d dragged together and bandaged the day before. “Save it,” he whispered. His whole life was centered around the reputation he’d built exploring, researching and documenting geological environs. He’d suffocate in a sedentary job, a single location. “Please tell them to save it if there’s any chance....”

“Will do.” His friend’s big hand came down over his and squeezed once. “I’m going to have to touch your leg now.”

“S’okay—” His voice rose to a scream as pain’s teeth bit deep, and then the world spun in a red cyclone of agony that sucked consciousness from him.