again. She’d continue to keep pace with Lord, she promised herself as sweat dribbled down her back. He had the envelope. But while she’d hike with him, sweat with him, pant with him, there was absolutely no reason she had to speak to him.
No one, absolutely no one, told her to get her ass in gear and got away with it.
It might take days, even weeks, but she’d get him for it. There was one basic business rule she’d learned from her father. Revenge, chilled a bit, was much more palatable.
North. Doug looked around at the rugged, steep hills that surrounded them. The terrain was a monotony of high grass that fanned in the breeze and rough red scars where erosion had won. And rock, endless, unforgiving rock. Farther up were a few sparse, spindly trees, but he wasn’t looking for shade. From his vantage point there was nothing else, no huts, no houses, no fields. No people. For now, it was exactly what he wanted.
The night before while Whitney had slept, he’d studied the map of Madagascar he’d ripped from the stolen library book. He couldn’t stand to mar a book of any kind, because books had given his imagination an outlet as a child, and kept him company through lonely nights as a man. But it had been necessary in this case. The ragged piece of paper fit nicely in his pocket while the book stayed in his pack. It was only there for backup. In his mind’s eye, Doug separated the terrain into the three parallel belts he’d studied. The western lowlands didn’t matter. As he strode up a rocky, rough path he hoped they’d detoured as far west as they’d have to. They’d stick to the highlands, avoid the riverbanks and open areas as long as they could. Dimitri was closer than he’d anticipated. Doug didn’t want to guess wrong again.
The heat was already oppressive, but their water supply should last until morning. He’d worry about replenishing it when he had to. He wished he could be certain just how far north they should travel before they dared swing east to the coast and easier ground.
Dimitri might be waiting in Tamatave, soaking up wine and sunshine, dining on the fresh local fish. Logically, that should be their first stop, so logically they had to avoid it. For the time being.
Doug didn’t mind playing a game of wits, the bigger the odds the better. The sweeter the pot, as he’d once told Whitney. But Dimitri… Dimitri was a different story.
He hitched at the straps of his backpack until the weight settled more comfortably on his shoulders. And there wasn’t only himself to think of this time. One of the reasons he’d avoided partnerships for so long was because he preferred having one body to worry about. His own. He shot a look across at Whitney, who’d been cooly silent since they’d left the train tracks and headed toward the highlands.
Damn woman, he thought for lack of anything better. If she thought the cold-shoulder routine was going to shake him up, she was dead wrong. It might make some of her fancy patent-leather jerks beg for a word of forgiveness, but as far as he was concerned, she was a hell of a lot more attractive when her mouth was shut anyway.
Imagine complaining because he’d gotten her off the train in one piece. Maybe she had a few bruises, but she was still breathing. Her problem was, he decided, she wanted everything all nice and pretty, like that high-class apartment of hers… or the tiny little piece of silk she was wearing under that skirt.
Doug shook away that particular thought in a hurry and concentrated on picking his way over the rocks.
He’d like to keep to the hills for a while—two days, maybe three. There was plenty of cover, and the going was rough. Rough enough, he was certain, to slow Remo and some of Dimitri’s other trained hounds down. They were more accustomed to tramping down back alleys and into sleazy motel rooms than over rocks and hills. Those used to being hunted acclimated with more ease.
Pausing on a crest, he drew out the field glasses and took a long, slow sweep. Below and slightly west, he spotted a small settlement. The cluster of tiny red houses and wide barns bordered a patchwork of fields. Rice paddies, he decided, because of their moist emerald green color. He saw no power lines and was grateful. The farther away