it straight, he’d have the papers. I’d’ve taken my fee and a little vacation in Cancún.”
“But this way, you have them. And no opportunity should go undeveloped.”
“You got it, sister. Jesus Christ!” Doug bolted up and scrambled to the fire. In automatic defense, Whitney curled up her legs, expecting anything from a slimy snake to a hideous spider. “Damn, woman, how much rice did you put in here?”
“I—” She broke off and stared as he grabbed at the pan. Rice was flowing over the sides like lava. “Just a couple handfuls,” she said as she bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“My ass.”
“Well, four.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as he dug for a plate. “Or five.”
“Four or five,” he muttered while scooping rice onto the plates. “How the hell did I end up in a cave in Madagascar with ‘I Love Lucy’?;?”
“I told you I couldn’t cook,” she reminded him as she studied the brownish, sticky mass on the plate. “I simply proved it.”
“In spades.” When he heard her muffled chuckle, he glanced over. She sat Indian style, her skirt and blouse filthy, the ribbon at the end of her braid dangling free. He remembered how she’d looked the first time he’d seen her, cool and sleek in a white fedora and lush furs. Why was it she looked every bit as appealing now? “You laugh,” he tossed back, shoving a plate at her. “You’re going to have to eat your share.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” With the fork she’d used for cooking, she poked into the rice. Bravely, he thought, she took the first bite. The flavor was nutty and not altogether unpleasant. With a shrug, Whitney ate more. Though she’d never been in the position of being a beggar, she’d heard they couldn’t be choosers. “Don’t be a baby, Douglas,” she told him. “If we can get our hands on some mushrooms and almonds, we’ll fix it your way next time.” With the enthusiasm of a child over a bowl of ice cream, she dug in. Without fully realizing it, Whitney had had her first experience with real hunger.
Eating at a slower pace, and with less enthusiasm, Doug watched her. He’d been hungry before, and figured he’d be hungry again. But she… Perhaps she was dining on rice off a tin plate, in a skirt that was streaked with grime, but class shone through. He found it fascinating, and intriguing enough to make it worthwhile discovering if it always would. The partnership, he mused, might be more interesting than he’d bargained for. For as long as it lasted.
“Douglas, what about the woman who gave Whitaker the map?”
“What about her?”
“Well, what happened to her?”
He swallowed a lump of rice. “Butrain.”
When she glanced up, he saw the fear come and go in her eyes and was glad. Better for both of them if she understood this was the big leagues. But her hands were steady when she reached for the coffee.
“I see. So you’re the only one alive who’s seen those papers.”
“That’s right, sugar.”
“He’ll want you dead, and me too.”
“That’s also right.”
“But I haven’t seen them.”
Casually, Doug dug for more rice. “If he gets his hands on you, you can’t tell him anything.”
She waited a minute, studying him. “You’re a first-class bastard, Doug.”
This time he grinned because he’d heard the light trace of respect. “I like first class, Whitney. I’m going to live there the rest of my life.”
Two hours later, he was cursing her again, though only to himself. They’d let the fire burn down to embers so that the light in the cave was dim and red. Somewhere, deeper, water dripped in a slow, musical plop. It reminded him of a pricey, innovative little bordello in New Orleans.
They were both exhausted, both aching from the demands of a very long, very arduous day. Doug stripped off his shoes with his only thought one of the pleasures of unconsciousness. He never doubted he’d sleep like a rock.
“You know how to work that thing?” he asked idly as he opened his own bag.
“I think I can handle a zipper, thanks.”
Then he made the mistake of glancing over—and not looking away again.
Without any show of self-consciousness, Whitney drew off her blouse. He remembered just how thin the material of her teddy had looked in the morning light. When she pulled off her skirt, his mouth watered.
No, she wasn’t self-conscious, she was nearly comatose with fatigue. It never occurred to her to make a play at modesty.