been unique. Perhaps this wasn’t a hansom-cab ride through the park, but anyone with twenty dollars could have one of those. She was bouncing along a road in Madagascar in a jeep driven by a Merina native with a thief snoring lightly in the back. It was entirely more interesting than a sedate ride through Central Park.
For the most part, the scenery was monotonous. Red hills, almost treeless, wide valleys patched with fields. It had cooled now that the sun was hanging low, but the day’s baking left the road dusty. It plumed under the wheels and coated the just-washed jeep. There were mountains that rose up sharply, but again, pines were sparse. It was rock and earth. Though there was a sameness, it was the basic space that caught Whitney’s imagination.
Miles of it, she mused. Miles and miles with nothing to block the sky, nothing to impede the vision. She felt it would be possible to find here a sense of self that a city dweller would never understand.
From time to time in New York, she missed the sky. When the feeling came upon her, she would simply hop a plane and go wherever the spirit moved her, staying until her mood swung again. Her friends accepted it because they couldn’t do anything about it. Her family accepted it because they were still waiting for her to settle down.
Perhaps it was the aloneness, perhaps it was a full stomach and a clear head, but she felt a strange contentment. It would pass. Whitney knew herself too well to think otherwise. She hadn’t been fashioned for long periods of contentment, but rather for darting around the next corner to see what was waiting.
For now, though, she leaned back in the jeep and enjoyed the serenity. Shadows shifted, lengthened, thickened. Something small and fast dashed across the road just in front of the jeep. It was over the rocks and gone before Whitney could fully focus on it. The air began to take on that pearly hush that lasts only moments.
The sun set, spectacularly. She had to turn and kneel on her seat to watch the western sky explode with color. Part of her profession dealt with incorporating tints and hues into fabrics and paints. As she watched, she thought about doing a room in the colors of sunset. Crimsons, golds, deep jewel blues, and softening mauves. An interesting and intense combination. Her gaze lowered and rested on Doug as he slept. It would suit him, she decided. The flash of brilliance, the spark of power, the underlying intensity.
He wasn’t a man to take lightly, nor was he a man to trust. Still, she was beginning to think he was a man who could fascinate. Like a sunset, he could shift and change before your eyes, then vanish while you were still looking. The moment he’d taken that rifle in his hands, she’d seen he had a ruthlessness he could pull out and slip on at a moment’s notice. If and when he found it necessary, he’d be just as ruthless with her.
She needed more leverage.
Catching her tongue between her teeth, Whitney looked from him to the floor. The pack—and the envelope—sat at his feet. While she kept her eyes on his face for any signs of wakefulness, she leaned over. The pack was well out of reach. The jeep jostled as she rose up enough to bend over the seat from the waist. Doug continued to snore lightly. Her fingers gripped the strap of the pack. Gingerly, she began to lift it up.
There was a bang loud enough to make her gasp. Before she had time to fumble for a good hold, the jeep veered, sending her tumbling into the back.
Doug woke up with the air knocked out of him and Whitney sprawled over his chest. She smelled of wine and fruit. Yawning, he ran a hand down her hip. “Just can’t keep your hands off me.”
Blowing the hair out of her eyes she scowled at him. “I was watching the sunset out the back.”
“Uh-huh.” His hand closed over hers, still on the strap of his pack. “Sticky fingers, Whitney.” He clucked his tongue. “I’m disappointed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With a huff, she struggled up and called to Pierre. Though the spate of French went over his head, Doug needed no translation when the native kicked the front right tire.
“A flat. Figures.” Doug started to climb out, then glanced over his shoulder, located his pack, and took