was out of the question. He dropped the knife into his thigh pocket and waited, resigned to using his bare hands.
The door creaked open, slowly, apprehensively.
A boot and a shoulder edged through the aperture. A pair of eyes rounded the corner, forcing him to react before the interloper spotted him. With a lunge, Gus clamped a hand over the individual’s face, hauled him inside, and spun him around.
CHAPTER 7
Lucy’s muffled cry came just in time to keep Gus from suffocating her.
“Lucy!” His hoarse, spontaneous use of her name made him even angrier. Jesus! He whirled her around, put his nose to hers, and ground out, in Spanish, “Don’t you ever sneak up on me like that!”
He could feel her heart hammering against his chest as fast as his own heart was racing. She shoved him with two hands, securing her freedom. “Why the hell did you sneak out without me?” she demanded.
“Because two of us would’ve been heard. We’ll be lucky now if we’re not caught,” he answered furiously.
“Oh, yeah? So much for teamwork,” she hissed.
“You were finally sleeping. What was I supposed to do, wake you up?”
“Of course.”
Damn her, she was right. They were professionals first.
“Where’d Buitre go?” she added, peering around.
“I don’t know. He headed up the trail alone with a rifle and a lantern.”
“Did you find anything?”
“A map and a dagger,” he confirmed, patting his thigh. “Come on. We need to leave.” They’d stayed too long already. “I’ll go first. When it’s clear I’ll give a whistle.” Without thinking, he planted a distracted kiss on her lips. “Sorry,” he muttered as her eyes widened in surprise.
With a self-directed grimace, he let himself out, slipping from the building into a distinctly brighter environment. The jungle quivered with birdsong and monkeys leaping through the branches. He crossed the compound casually, heading toward a clump of trees where the men were known to relieve themselves.
The coast looked clear. Giving a low whistle, he ducked behind a bush and watched as Lucy stepped from Buitre’s hooch. At the same moment, a rebel rounded the long lean-to under which the soldiers slept. Shit! It was David. He spotted Lucy at the same time that she spied him. To her credit, she didn’t stiffen or flee. Setting her shoulders, she bore right down on him.
When caught red-handed, go offensive. Lucy had acted on her father’s advice more than once over the course of her career, and it had always paid off.
“Where is Buitre?” she demanded, stalking up to David while gesturing with annoyance at the empty hooch. “The Turkish woman has a fever, and I need the aspirin he took from my backpack. Where is it now?”
The suspicion that had creased David’s brow eased. “Your goods belong to the people now. I’m sure your aspirin was handed over to one of our doctors, who will distribute it equitably,” he said quietly.
“Equitably?” She propped her hands on her hips and sent him a dubious smile. “You mean everyone gets the same treatment?”
“Yes,” he insisted. “We are all equals. No one person should have more than another.”
“What about the hostages,” she inquired sweetly. “Do they get aspirin, or are they not considered people?”
He opened his mouth to defend his ideals, realized she had found a flaw in them, and closed it.
Didn’t think so. “So, there’s no aspirin here.”
“No,” he said with a shrug.
“No medication of any kind.”
“Sorry.”
She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “All right, never mind.” With that, she marched straight for the bungalow, hoping Gus had witnessed the encounter. Maybe it would erase any lingering doubts he still had about her.
Lucy Donovan could handle even the slipperiest situations.
“Hurry up,” Lucy urged. “Show it to me,” she added, casting a glance behind them as they slipped into the forest on a potty break. They weren’t being followed. Both the rebels and the UN team were still finishing their breakfast. Gus and Lucy had a minute to themselves.
“Ten more yards,” he answered, holding her tightly as they scrambled down the steep, wet slope. At last he pulled her behind a tree, withdrew a folded square of paper from his pocket, and handed it to her. While Lucy opened it, he fished the sat phone from his boot.
She eyed the crude ink drawing with puzzlement. “These must be the names of the camps,” she determined, noting the words written over four X’s. “Ki-kirr-zikiz,” she pronounced slowly. “Do you think that’s an Incan word?”
“Doubt it,” said Gus. As he powered up the sat phone and waited, his look of