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  “Gottcha, boy.” Her whispered comment quickly washed away in a fresh wave of rain. Off in the distance she heard dogs barking. Armondez’s kennel of guard dogs.

  How far now? Couldn’t be much farther. Inner turmoil threatened her sensibility. Her reasoning. Stop. Look. The form refined in her rain-blurred vision, and she breathed deeply, quietly. A few yards off the trail, a man leaned against a tree, his tall frame well disguised by rain-heavy branches drooping low over him.

  Great. Letting him know she was behind him could be tricky. She leaned over to pick up a hefty rock, hurled it at the tree he leaned against, and then quickly dropped to her knees. The rock smacked into the tree with a dull whump, narrowly missing his head. He didn’t have the decency to so much as turn around, only bunched his shoulders.

  “Goddamn it, Donavon.” His voice was low, but traveled well.

  How the hell did he know she’d thrown it at him? Animal. Pure animal. She remembered his desertion as an act of contempt and got to her feet, moving closer to him.

  “Shut up, Gun. You’re pissed off because I’m good enough to find your sorry ass.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her, but continued to gaze off in the distance. “I should have taken you out, wiseass. I heard you coming all the way from the road.” A note of humor crept into his voice. “Sounded like a hippo busting down brush.”

  Ali made herself as small as possible and crossed the clearing to where he was. Gun resumed his vigilant watch. She followed his gaze while berating him through clenched teeth.

  “Stop with the bossy shit.” She hated that he grinned at her rant, hating more that she had to keep her rant to a whisper. “You drugged me!”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Only way to shut you up.” He didn’t flinch at her punch to his shoulder.

  “You’re glowering at me! You bastard. You have no right to be pissed off at me.”

  She stepped in front of him and stared down the narrow clearing toward Armondez’s home. She could barely distinguish it through the mist and rain-laden tree limbs, but there it was. Looking damn small in the distance.

  Gun grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the tree brace he apparently claimed as his.

  “Fuck off, Donavon. Get your worthless ass back to Bogotá.”

  He looked so cold and unfeeling at that moment. Ali considered backing down. But, hell, no. He was just another agent, and he earned his paycheck bullying people. She wouldn’t be bullied.

  “Not likely, you son-of-a-bitch. I’m here to keep your worthless ass in one piece.” She yanked her arm free of his grasp. “Don’t manhandle me again.”

  He sneered over his laugh, wiping rain from his face with his sleeve. “Really tough, Donavon. Every man wants a tough broad backing him up.” He clenched his teeth and got in her face. “Now, beat it.”

  She exhaled hard and pulled her Walther PPK from the holster. “Beat this, Gun.”

  * * * *

  “Damn it, Donavon.” Gun looked at the deadly weapon in her hand. “What the hell you going to do? Shoot me?” She gazed at him as if he were a tick that needed squashing. “See, that’s why I left your ass.”

  She made one of those superior woman’s faces at him. “That’s Agent Donavon to you, Gun, and you just proved you need a keeper.” Shrugging dramatically, she pointed the muzzle of the pistol at the ground and took over his propping place against the tree. Her hair looked like a sheepskin rug, tangles of brown curls and dripping waves that got in her face and made her cranky, but not too cranky to give him orders. “Quit being a prick and get on lookout.”

  The cutting comment he was about to make froze on his lips. He heard a sound that didn’t belong, a clinking noise. Maybe a chain hanging from a gun belt. What the hell is it? His blood seemed to rush to the top of his damned head, and his ears thundered. Hell. Breathe, you bastard. Listen.

  Donavon had heard it, too, hunkering down at the base of the tree, her blue gaze sweeping the perimeter of the area and her PPK in her fist. Off to the side, the tall grass quivered without a sound. Something or someone pushed their way through.

  Gun moved to shield Donavon, taking the .38 from his belt. His blood cooled and ran back to his toes. A goat. A stinking black-and-white goat looking for breakfast.

  “Shoo, you little bastard. Get out of here.” Gun waved his arms, hissing under his breath at the animal, but the beast merely stared at him, in no hurry to leave. “Get the fuck out of here.” After crapping a pile, the goat took off, bleating as if it had been insulted.

  Seeing the animal worried Gun. Where there were farm animals, there were farmers. Concern and doubt took over where there had been confidence and a cockiness he had worked hard to maintain. He thought about the cold, impersonal note he had left for Donavon, trying to explain what he was doing.

  He couldn’t explain to her that he figured this was his time to be whacked. And he wouldn’t take the chance on being the reason she was killed. As he had written it, he could almost hear her soft, accented voice screaming his name in vain. He knew everything she would yell at the empty room. Of course she was trained and more than competent. She knew her job. But she didn’t know he cared too much to risk seeing her be cut up like a melon.

  And yet, here they were. His duty was to cut Armondez down, not to be worried about his partner. Partner, his ass. She was his lover, and her body wasn’t built to take bullets or slashes from a machete. Damn it, why wouldn’t she listen to him?

  “Donavon.” He spoke softly, leaning easily against her. “You’re driving me nuts, lady. And, being a pain in my ass.”

  And now, she had something new on her mind. “Gun. He’s on the veranda.” Her lips were compressed and eyes narrowed. “Our target is visible.” All business, she touched her lips and pointed toward Armondez’s place.

  Gun had already seen him. Armondez was on the veranda, looking over his kingdom. Like an apparition barely visible through a shroud of mist, the slim, dark man paced slowly across the covered patio. He paused to drink from a white cup. The scene was almost pleasant, but that would soon end.

  Jamming the .38 back into the waist of his Levi’s, Gun pulled the cover from the rifle and steadied it against his shoulder. Breathe in. Squeeze slowly. Breathe in. Whop. No mistaking the droning sound of a bullet missing your head by inches. How could he have missed that son-of-a-bitch?

  Gun’s ear burned from the kiss of the slug that had gone astray before it smacked into the tree trunk. Roosting birds exploded from the upper branches and flew off screeching in fear. He yanked the pistol from his waistband and whirled to see the guard from Armondez’s place. Where did that son-of-a-bitch come from? The rain had muffled the guard’s movements. He had Donavon in his sights, a finger curled around the trigger of his semi-automatic rifle. For a second, the guy looked as shocked as he was.

  Misty silence quickly gave way to angry shouts from their attacker as he backed off a few steps, lifting the weapon to fire at Donavon. She faced her attacker and took aim on him, but her shot went wild when Gun threw himself over her and sucked in air as hot, deep pain screamed through his shoulder. Another one in the thigh. Oh, Jesus, not Donavon. He gripped the .38 to his chest and tried to sit up. She pushed him down and struggled to her knees, firing at the guard. Quiet again.

  “Donavon?” His voice sounded like a strangling man’s. He opened his eyes to find her standing over him, straddling him like a huntress protecting her territory.

  She had taken up the rifle and was going to finish the job. No hesitation, no second looks. She touched him and went back to the tree.

  He heard the shouts of men in the distance. “Donavon. Get out. You still have time. Beat it.”

  He wanted to gasp in pain, but he wouldn’t let her know how damned bad he hurt. Was she trying to be the perfect agent? “Fuck the mission. Get outta here.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m not going to make it. Not this time.”

  Ali heard Gun talking, and shook off his w
ords that meant he would simply die alone, here in this stinking jungle.

  “Donavon, if you have any brains at all, get the hell out of here. I don’t want your Goddamn help. Get out. Now!”

  “Forget it, Gun. We’re leaving together.”

  She mentally removed herself from the noise and shouting, completely involved with checking the magazine of the rifle. Primed and ready to work.

  Ali found Armondez in the riflescope. The overconfident man stood at the edge of the patio, no thought that he could be in grave danger. Apparently he felt secure in the belief that his guards would make short work of anyone trying to harm him, and paid little attention to distant gunfire. He drank from his white cup and stared in her direction. She shivered.

  Several of his henchmen walked around and waved their arms as if wanting him to wage a war. He moved a few steps away, and she followed him in her sights. By this time, the dogs were going crazy, wanting to sniff out the source of the noise in the jungle. Several more guards appeared on the patio and barely restrained the excited dogs.

  Ali inhaled deeply and braced against the tree, her target standing still and smiling. Steadying the stock against her shoulder, she fired. Her finger still curled around the trigger when Armondez lurched backward. He didn’t fall, but dropped his cup to touch his shoulder. She didn’t hear the crash of the china hitting the wet flagstone, but she could see shards of glass flying around him. How could she have been so far off the mark? Stupid! The sights and range were set for Gun. Her hands moved smoothly and precisely as she worked the bolt-action lever to drop another shell into the chamber and adjust the range and sights. He didn’t have time to wonder what had hit him. Five...six. The second bullet found its mark, and Armondez pitched backward with a hole in his forehead.

  Seven... eight... The mission was complete...Nine...ten.

  The Anaconda was dead.

  Chapter 23

  Get to the pick-up zone. The words ripped through her brain with every heartbeat. Get to the pick-up zone. No, she had Gun to worry about first. Gun. So badly injured and so damned arrogant.

  She threw the rifle aside and knelt by Gun, lifting him up enough to look into his half-closed eyes. “Get yourself ready, Gun. We’re getting out of here.”

  His wounds looked plenty bad, torn flesh and lots of blood. No bandages. Her shirt would do. She moved with studied desperation, unknotting her cotton shirt and ripping a large section from the bottom. Tearing that in half, she made a thick pad for his leg wound, tying a strip around his thigh. She bit into her lower lip at the sight of his shoulder wound. A tree branch had blunted the force of the bullet before it tore through flesh. But not enough to keep it from blasting through muscle and leaving a free-bleeding open wound behind.

  “Gun, I’m going to move your arm out of the sleeve.”

  “Think so?” He clenched his teeth and nodded, letting her pull his arm partially free of the sleeve. Lifting his arm, she quickly fastened the cuff to a chest-high button.

  She heard the guards and their dogs. There wasn’t time to be neat. After considering the weight of the rifle and keeping Gun on his feet, she threw it into the tall grass, then knelt down to grip him around the waist. She strained and pulled him to his knees.

  “Put your arm over my shoulders.”

  “Hell, no,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I’ll follow you in a minute.”

  She shook her head. “Put that damned arm around my neck.”

  “Get the fuck away from me, Donavon.” He swayed as he laid profanity on her. “I don’t want to be responsible for you. Beat it, sister.”

  He shouted pretty good for a dying man. Ali wasn’t letting up on him. “Get up.” She deliberately tried to provoke him. “I’m saving your bacon. Get used to it.”

  No snide counter-remark. Gun was in serious pain. He didn’t resist much when she hugged his waist and hauled him to his feet. He was wobbly, his strength seeping through the lousy bandages. With his arm over her shoulder, she gripped his hand and steeled herself for a hard journey.

  “Let’s go home, cowboy.”

  He did his best, trying not to lean too heavily on her. She forced herself to pretend he wasn’t hurt and she cared nada about him. He was a fellow agent in need. That’s all.

  They’d gone a short distance when Gun stopped. “We can’t use the trail. It’s bound to be crawling with Armondez’s men. We have to cross that flooded field.” He glanced at her and gave her a weak grin. “That okay with you, ma’am?”

  She rejoiced that he could muster up a sense of humor at this point. “Sounds terrific. Let’s move.”

  Progress was slow, and she sweated every sound and form in the steaming undergrowth. The steady rain proved to be a blessing. Silencing their movement, and their scent, as well. Ali felt every bite and sting from the countless, tiny insects that flew around them. Drawn to the smell of blood and sweat, they honed in on them in merciless pursuit. If it stopped raining, the mosquitoes would suck them dry.

  Gun didn’t notice the swarm, but Ali did. She spent a few precious seconds to remove the rest of her shirt to drape around his shoulder. He attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

  On the move again, Ali became aware of the pungent scent of the rain-soaked jungle. Like the docks of Charleston, but a thousand times worse. The smell was concentrated moss stew, emitting an unforgettable odor. The smell sat at the back of her throat and would never leave her tongue.

  Finally on the narrow trail leading to the field, Ali struggled to keep her footing and hold Gun up straight. He moaned and pointed toward a tree. “I’m going to rest. You go ahead.”

  “Not a chance. Keep moving.” She knew he was tired and getting weaker. His warm blood ran through her T-shirt and under her breast. Insects attacked them both in force now.

  A small amount of luck stumbled across them on the narrow, muddy trail. A nice stick for Gun to use as a crutch. “Here you go.” Ali put the stick in his hand and he tested his weight on it, stumbling when it broke in half.

  He kept the longer piece, using it to probe the low branches as they moved ahead. He pointed to something in a small clearing. “Donavon. There’s our ride if you can catch her.”

  She figured out what Gun meant when the horse nickered. It was the horse that had nearly run her down earlier on the trail. “I’ll try.” Ali walked slowly toward the animal, glad it was a filly and not a mean-assed stallion. Making a kissing sound, she held her hand out, palm up. “Nice girl, pretty baby.” Damn it. The mare eyed Ali with suspicion, jerking her head up and down in agitation. “Come on, pretty girl. Please.”

  The pleading in Ali’s voice caught the mare’s ear, and she walked slowly to her. Gripping the animal’s bridle in desperation, Ali walked her to where Gun leaned on his broken crutch.

  Wanting Gun to be able to ride out of this hell, Ali squeezed his fingers around the bridle and then struggled to boost his weight up onto the mare’s back. “Hang on, partner.” She wanted to cry as Gun leaned over the mare’s back and looked pale as ash.

  Now she could run, and she did, leading the filly and covering some serious ground. How much time had passed? Her watch had stopped, and she couldn’t see Gun’s. No matter. They wouldn’t take time to look.

  Ali stifled a scream when the mare whinnied and reared. A fat, slick snake wriggled across the trail and buried itself in the muddy water beside the path. Water! Oh, no. The flooded part of the trail loomed up and grinned at her. “God, help me,” she prayed aloud.

  Her voice of reason spoke calmly in her ear. Nothing to fear. Pretend you’re back home in Charleston. You played in the water all the time there. Saw alligators and cottonmouth. It’s no different here.

  Like hell. These were the toys of Armondez and would eat them alive. On the other hand, dogs and rabid men are coming after you. She guessed the voices were a mile or so behind them. Turning to look at Gun, she really had no choice. Fresh blood ran down the horse’s flank. Gun was dying.

 
Gritting her teeth, she stepped into the putrid-smelling water that hit above her ankles, trying to keep her eyes on the tree line across the frightening span of water. Gun slipped low on the mare’s back, and Ali fought desperately to hold him in place.

  The filly didn’t like the situation and bolted away from Ali, throwing her rider. Stopping the scream in her throat, Ali ran to where Gun had fallen and lay face-down in the murky water. When she pulled him up, he coughed, and blood pumped with renewed force from his shoulder. “Gun, stop bleeding, damn it.” What did it matter if she cried now? He couldn’t see the tears of anguish dripping down her cheeks.

  She looked up in time to see something that looked like a huge rat swimming toward them. She instinctively smacked the surface of the water, and the huge rodent turned away to avoid the spray.

  What would she do now? “Gun.” She bent her knees and hauled him up against her legs. “Get up. We’re almost there. You want those Army kids to see you goofing off?”

  “Mfffuk no.” His muffled, garbled reply was encouraging, and she leaned down to get him on his feet.

  “Lean on me, Gun. I don’t mind.”

  Biting fish and frogs the size of dinner plates were nothing compared to the feel of things squashing under her boots. Ali held on to Gun with all her strength and tried to move soundlessly. No need waking up the long-ass snakes.

  Her eyes widened and focused on the fat form that undulated along the surface of the shallow water, then sank out of sight. She hesitated, but was given new reason to forge ahead when a dog yapped not too far off in the distance. The guards were getting closer; the dogs were showing them where to look.

  She remembered Gun’s words about this place while they were still in safe, warm, homey St. Louis. Right now, she was in hell. Oh, how right he had been. But she couldn’t choose the location of her missions.

  A thunderous splashing behind her announced they had company on their tail. Daring a glance over her shoulder, the source of the noise could be seen galloping along the shoreline. The mare ran from the yapping dog, churning up the water. Maybe that would throw the guards off their trail.