His thoughts on the task ahead, Abe gave little consequence to the passengers. Compassion could not help them now and would not aid him with the task ahead. He’d learnt at an early age that giving into his emotions didn’t get the job done. Joining the military at sixteen after being kicked out of the house by a drunken stepfather on the day of his mother’s funeral, he’d never looked back. Working his way through the ranks, he’d proven his worth, and after a series of exams and with some help from a benefactor, he’d joined the SAS. He smiled wryly to himself. Hell-bent on proving his capabilities, he’d volunteered for every dangerous assignment which came his way and in time had earned him the rank of colonel. Years spent undercover on special missions had made him hard, he admitted that, but deep inside he wanted what other men had, a home, a wife, and a family.
However, growing up in the way he had, he found it hard to trust, and the one time he’d given into his yearnings he been let down—big time. Now never for him, the loving arms of a wife and the comforts of home and hearth.
He’d done well, he acknowledged without conceit. Leaving the military, he’d set up his own business. Surrounding himself with a team of elite operatives, he’d undertaken any task which he felt was worthy, at a price of course, although always above the law and never in opposition to the country of his birth. Now a rich man, he could afford to sit back on his laurels—but to what end? With no one to go home to, what was the point of retiring? Today’s mission was run-of-the-mill in terms of expertise, but one he was able to do alone, so he released his team to a few days of well-earned respite. The crashing of the aircraft was an evil deed, the lives of the crew and passengers obviously inconsequential, but the only way he could help them now was to first recover the discs and, second, bring the evil doers to justice. Resolute, his thoughts now returning to the mission at hand, he surged onward, the jungle closing around him.
* * * *
Checking his compass, Abraham confirmed he was nearing the coordinates. Aircraft fragments had been scattered for miles, and the nearer he got to ground zero, the more prolific were the remains. He seriously doubted, considering the scale of the debris, that there were any survivors, and it was questionable as to whether the discs he was commissioned to retrieve would be intact. Rubbing the back of his neck, he rotated his shoulders. He was beginning to feel fatigued. The pace he had set was testing even his stamina.
Unscrewing the cap of his flask, Abe took a gulp of water, grimacing at its tepidness. Absently swatting a fly on his arm, he rescrewed the cap and, after placing it in a pocket on his belt, opened the map. Chewing on a piece of beef jerky, he collected a couple of moss-covered stones and weighed the map down on a fallen tree trunk. Poring over it, he checked and double-checked his compass against the coordinates. Another hour then he would rest for the night. He should reach the plane by ten tomorrow.
* * * *
Eleanor watched apprehensively as the dark began closing in. This was night two, so where was the rescue party? She’d woken as the sun was full in the sky, momentarily disoriented until it all came rushing back, filling her mind with horror and her eyes with tears. She hadn’t done much in the preceding hours. Certain that rescue was imminent, she’d just leafed through a magazine whilst nervously keeping a watchful eye on the undergrowth, afraid of marching army ants and leaping spiders. Biting her lip, she anxiously thought of what the coming night would bring. The previous evening, she’d been too tired and too traumatized to give the approaching darkness a thought and had just flaked out where she’d sat, but tonight, however, it was a different matter. The jungle would have wild animals, that was a certainty! She wondered half-fearfully what kind existed in the Amazon. Tigers? No, that was India. Lions, then? And insects. She shuddered. There were sure to be lots of insects, some which only came out at night, and snakes—
oh God!
Jumping up, she scanned the surrounding area, squinting into every leafy bush and keeping a keen eye out for even the smallest movement. Seeing nothing sinister, she tried to relax a little. Returning to the shelter, she lay back among the magazines to gaze blankly at the blanket above her head. The attempt to relax didn’t work, and moments later, still feeling worried and restless, she sat up again, knowing that she’d have to do something.
Downing the last of the now-cold coffee, hoping the caffeine would give her courage, she tried to come up with a plan that would get her through the night. Needing water, she wished that she was more practical and that she had taken time to search the plane thoroughly the first time. But it was too late to lament her uselessness now, and she would have to either put up with being thirsty or find some backbone and go back in the plane, but she shuddered. She really was afraid. The dead men were still in there and covered in all manner of insects. Her stomach heaved again.
Oh, why couldn’t she have been more courageous?
Making a decision, and after a stern talking-to, she gathered her courage such as it was and scrambled out from under the shelter. Cautiously, each tiny step feeling like a marathon, she made her way over to the plane. Keeping her eyes averted from the bodies, she rummaged in the stewardess’s kitchen and found an intact bottle of water among the spilt and melted ones. Finding a packet of sandwiches and a blanket had her feeling cock-a-hoop. This survival stuff was a cinch!
Busy fishing about in the cabinets, she was beginning to think she was on a roll when, elated, she recovered a first aid kit and a small torch. Carefully carrying her precious finds in her arms, she went back to the shelter where she busied herself spraying more insect repellent around and covering the surrounding area until the bottle was empty. After scrambling inelegantly under the makeshift canvas, she drank some of the water and, feeling ravenous, greedily ate both the sandwiches, only thinking afterward that she should have perhaps saved some for the next day. Shrugging, she dismissed the niggling concern. She was sure rescue would turn up by morning. Turning on the torch, she hauled a few more magazines around her and pulled the weapon to hand.
* * * *
Dawn came, and Abraham was up before sunlight, all traces of camp eradicated. Adjusting his pack, he rechecked his coordinates and route marched out of the clearing. Moving though the rain forest, silent and purposeful, he became one with the surroundings, his training in survival and stealth coming to the fore.
* * * *
The sun was at its zenith, and the heat was heavy, the humidly straining even Abraham’s resilience. The debris was more prevalent now, and he’d found the mangled, almost unrecognisable body of a young woman. The stewardess, Margaret Dennison, he presumed as she was wearing the uniform of the airline. His remit was that of obtaining the documents, not worrying about passengers. Burying the victims was not on his agenda, although in a moment of unexpected compassion, he’d removed her jewellery to give to her family and covered her body with stones. Finding a piece of distorted metal, he scratched her name and placed it at the head of the makeshift grave.
Eleanor came slowly awake. She hadn’t slept during the night, the sounds of the jungle too frightening. Screeching sounds that echoed eerily in the darkness and the rustling of the undergrowth that had her jumping at every sound. Now something had alerted her sixth sense. She gazed around, unable to see anything but convinced she was being watched.
Listening carefully, she tried to distinguish noises. There were all the usual sounds, the birds, the animals, and the soft swish of the trees as they whispered gently to each other, but nothing else.
Settling back, she tried to keep awake, but her eyes ached and the lids felt heavy, and finally her lashes fluttered closed.
* * * *
“Miss Vance, I presume?”
Eleanor jumped, her eyes snapping open and a startled cry falling from her soft lips.
Grabbing the weapon, she scrambled inelegantly to her feet.
“Who are you? And what do you want?” she cried huskily, fear drying her mouth.
Abraham gazed silently at the woman in front of him. Her stance was defensive, but in one swift move he could overpower her. She shook in fear, wobbling on ridiculous high heels, her bare legs long and shapely but grubby and scratched, and his all-seeing eyes detected a small insect bite on her thigh. She was slender, too slender, looking as if a slight breeze would knock her over, but she had surprisingly voluptuous breasts, he thought and grinned, enjoying the sight. Her small heart-shaped face was dirty and tear stained, her bottom lip was swollen, and she had a graze on her chin. Thick chestnut hair fell below her waist and, in better circumstances, would have had a healthy lustre, but at this moment it resembled a bird’s nest, a dirty tangle with leaves and twigs caught up in its waves.
Eleanor’s hold tightened on the weapon when the man continued to stare silently at her.
“I must warn you, I am an expert in martial arts, and if you dare to come near me, I’ll—well, I’ll knock your bloody block off.”
Reaching out, the man pulled the metal from her. Caught by surprise, she released it, and the unexpectedness of the action caused her to pitch forward, and only a hard arm closing around her stopped her from a nasty fall. The seconds spent in his arms made Eleanor feel unexpectedly safe and comforted, and smelling the intoxicating masculine scent of him, an aroma of musk and sweat, she felt overwhelmed. Suddenly feeling faint, she grasped his shirt, burying her face against his throat.
Savage used his analysing brain to assess her as he put her firmly away from him. Beautiful she may be, but spoilt, helpless, and ridiculous was what came to mind as he looked at her, a nuisance and a trial and for him—one hell of a complication.
Turning toward the wreckage, he immediately began taking in its condition. Ignoring the tearful woman trembling at his side, he concentrated on the job at hand. Experience had taught him that considering the fragile state she was in, pandering to her hysterics was the last thing she or he needed. His attention no longer on the woman, he calculated the plane’s damage, confirming that his initial gut instinct was correct. It was his professional opinion that an incendiary bomb had ripped the guts out of her, made to bring the craft down rather than blow it to smithereens.
The woman placed a tentative hand on his arm, and, tears swimming in her eyes, she tilted her face trustingly toward his. “Have you come to rescue me?” she asked in a tremulous little girl voice, her lips pouting seductively.
Barely by a flicker of his luxurious eyelashes did Abraham acknowledge her question, but continued with the appraisal of the aeroplane.
Unused to men ignoring her, Eleanor, realising the little girl persona held no influence with the man, ground her teeth in annoyance and, grabbing his arm and pulling at him, attempted to gain his attention.
“I demand an answer. If my company has sent you to rescue me, then, well, you must do what I want, and what I want is some bloody answers. So who are you? And what’s your purpose?”
Turning toward her, the man’s cold eyes stopped her in her tracks.
“Wh–what I mean…” She swallowed. “What I mean is, please tell me who you are? And when can I go home?
“Savage.”
“W–what?” Eleanor’s eyes grew round and wide, and she took a stumbling step back.
Flicking her an amused look, he sighed impatiently.
“My name’s Savage, and as to you going home, princess, that is yet to be decided. I’m not here to rescue you. I’m here for something else.”
“
What!
What can you possibly be here for? Surely rescuing me is far more important than whatever else you have in mind?”
Annoyed that he apparently felt no need to answer her, Eleanor watched mulishly as the man named Savage entered the cabin, his resounding “no” leaving her gawping after him.
Minutes later he was back, holding a plastic folder which he then tucked into the backpack.
“Stay,” Savage commanded, his voice brooking no nonsense as he spun on a heel and headed toward the trees.
“What does he think I am?” Eleanor muttered beneath her breath, watching as the jungle closed in around him. “Some puppy he can command at will? Well, I’m not, and I won’t!”
Tottering on the impossibly high heels in the direction he’d gone, she made to follow but tripped over a root poking out of the ground and went flying, falling flat on her face.
“
Ouch
!” she cried, choking on mud and spitting out leaves.
Grimacing in disgust and closing her mind to whatever else could possibly have been on the leaves, she scrambled to her feet and, taking another step in the direction Savage had gone, thought better of it and angrily returned to her camp, nursing her already-sore shoulder and praying that she hadn’t swallowed a bug.
* * * *
Time passed, and Eleanor grew even more apprehensive. Where was he? He’d said to wait, but did that mean he was coming back for her or—her breath stopped in her chest—had he left her?
Agitated, she jumped to her feet and began pacing, and with each step chanted a mantra over and over again.
“Please, God, let him come back. Please, God, don’t let him have left me here to die.”