“You just follow my lead,” Doug told her in undertones. “And when I say go, you grab the knapsack and run toward the doors.”
Whitney glanced down the length of the train. There were women, children, old people jammed into seats. Not the place for a showdown, she decided. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll run.”
The train slowed for the next stop, brakes squeaking, engine puffing. Doug waited until the crowd of incoming and outgoing passengers was at its thickest. “Sorry old man,” he murmured to the baby, then gave his soft butt a hard pinch. On cue, the baby set up a yowling scream that had the concerned mother hopping up in alarm. Doug rose as well and set about causing as much confusion as possible in the crowded center aisle.
Sensing the game, Whitney stood and jostled the man at her right hard enough to dislodge the packages in his arms and send them scattering on the floor. Grapefruit bounced and squashed.
When the train began to move again, there were six people between Doug and where Remo sat, crowding the aisle and arguing among themselves in Malagasy. In a gesture of apology, Doug raised his arms and upended a net bag of vegetables. The baby sent up long, continuous howls. Deciding it was the best he could do, Doug slipped a hand down and gripped Whitney’s wrist. “Now.”
Together, they streaked toward the doors. Doug glanced up long enough to see Remo spring from his seat and begin to fight his way through the still-arguing group blocking the aisle. He caught a glimpse of another man wearing a panama tossing a newspaper aside and jumping up before he, too, was encircled by the crowd. Doug only had a second to wonder where he’d seen the face before.
“Now what?” Whitney demanded as she watched the ground begin to rush by beneath them.
“Now, we get off.” Without hesitating, Doug jumped, dragging her with him. He wrapped himself around her, tucking as they hit the ground so that they rolled together in a tangled heap. By the time they’d stopped, the train was yards away and picking up speed.
“Goddamn it!” Whitney exploded from on top of him. “We could’ve broken our necks.”
“Yeah.” Winded, he lay there. His hands had worked up under her skirt to her thighs, but he barely noticed. “But we didn’t.”
Unappeased, she glowered down at him. “Well, aren’t we lucky. Now what do we do?” she demanded, blowing loose hair out of her eyes. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, miles from where we’re supposed to be and with no transportation to get there.”
“You’ve got your feet,” Doug tossed back at her.
“So do they,” she said between her teeth. “And they’ll be off at the next stop and doubling back for us. They’ve got guns and we’ve got mangoes and a folding tent.”
“So the sooner we stop arguing and get going the better.” Unceremoniously, he pushed her from him and stood up. “I never told you it’d be a picnic.”
“You never mentioned tossing me off a moving train either.”
“Just get your ass in gear, sweetheart.”
Rubbing a bruised hip, she rose until she stood toe to toe with him. “You’re crude, arrogant, and very dislikable.”
“Oh, excuse me.” He swept her a mock bow. “Would you mind stepping this way so we can avoid getting a bullet in the brain, duchess?”
She stormed away and dragged up the backpack that had been knocked out of her hands on impact. “Which way?”
Doug slipped his own pack over his shoulders. “North.”
C H A P T E R
5
Whitney had always been fond of mountains. She could look back with pleasure on a two-week skiing vacation in the Swiss Alps. In the mornings, she’d ridden to the top of the slopes, admiring the view from a tram. The swishing rush of the ride down had always delighted her. A great deal could be said about a cozy après-ski with hot buttered rum and a crackling fire.
Once she’d enjoyed a lazy weekend in a villa in Greece, high on a rocky slope overlooking the Aegean. She’d appreciated the height, the view, and the quality of nature and antiquity—from the comfort of a terra-cotta balcony.
However, Whitney had never been big on mountain climbing—sweaty, leg-cramping mountain climbing. Nature wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when it worked its way under the tender balls of your feet and dug in.
North, he’d said. Grimly she kept pace with him, up tough, rocky slopes and down