Hunters. At least thirty. All armed with spears. Deadly-sharp spears.
He grappled for the gun at his thigh only to find it covered in mud. Cursing under his breath, he ducked behind a banana tree and swiped as much gunk from the weapon as he could, unsure if it would even fire. A handful he could take on his own, but not thirty. Not when they had Marley. He wiped the rainwater out of his eyes and listened as the group continued to chatter in that indecipherable language and moved through the trees away from him.
Scenarios, options, plans raced through his mind. He scrambled for his backpack, jerked it open and reached for his phone, then cursed again. His satellite phone couldn’t pick up a signal thanks to the thick canopy. He dropped the phone back into his bag. Knew he had only one choice.
“I don’t really need your help, and we both know it.”
The last words Marley had said to him swirled in his brain. She was wrong. She did need him. And he wasn’t about to let her down.
Groaning, Marley lifted her fingers toward her head and winced.
“Alasahe! Tu bet. Tu bet.”
A hand gripped her by the wrist and gently pushed her arm down. Something soft pillowed her body. Struggling to pull her eyelids apart, Marley squinted up toward the face—no, correction: faces—staring down at her, then blinked in confusion.
Long black hair, brown skin, streaks of red and white across their cheeks. Women, Marley realized as she took in the full sight. Naked breasts, short fabric skirts, more of the red and white paint along their skin.
Gritting her teeth, she tried to move. The women chirped the same words they’d spoken before but which made zero sense and pushed on her arms again, but Marley struggled against them. The room spun. She managed to sit up. Tearing her gaze away from the women, she looked around.
A thatched roof, dirt floor, walls made of wood and grass. And a handful of naked children, staring at her with the biggest, brownest eyes she’d ever seen.
She glanced out the open doorway and could just make out other huts, a large central fire pit, and several natives milling around dressed and decorated in the same way as the women beside her.
Definitely not Bruhia. When Gray had called, she’d heard cars and the hustle of a modern town in the background. She was in some kind of remote village. Though how she’d gotten here, she didn’t know.
She pushed to her feet. The room swayed, and she reached for her aching head then immediately sat back down on the pile of palm fronds and blankets she’d obviously been lying on. “Oh shit. That hurts.”
“Tu bet. Makala hasa mati.” One woman rushed over and reached for Marley’s hand again, pulling it away from the wound on her forehead. To another woman, she said, “Rusef. Nahala Rusef.”
The second woman motioned to another at her side, and the two rushed out of the hut. While the woman who was clearly in charge reached for a bowl on the ground at her side, the children continued to stand and stare as if Marley were from another planet.
Which, Marley realized, she might as well be. They were deep in the Amazon rainforest. She knew there were still several tribes that had limited contact with the outside world. The woman slathered some kind of ointment on the scrape on Marley’s forehead, and Marley winced and tried to pull away from the sting. Slowly, the pain receded and warmth spread through the wound, relaxing her muscles.
“What is that?” Marley asked.
The woman blinked at her. Marley pointed toward the bowl in her hand, then up at her head. “What is this? Medicine?”
“Kohala asafi.” The woman slathered more ointment on the edge of Marley’s forehead, then twisted and did the same to Marley’s leg.
Her pants were ripped open from thigh to ankle, the fabric hanging on each side of her leg. Marley watched as the woman smoothed the ointment over a large gash in her shin, not even remembering how she’d gotten it.
She’d been in the jungle. It had been raining. She’d stepped in mud and the ground had gone out from under her. Everything else was a blur. She couldn’t even remember what she and Jake had been talking about as they’d walked through the—
“Oh God.” Jake.
Her gaze snapped to the woman, rubbing more of the ointment into a smaller scratch on her bare foot. “I have a friend. A man. He was with me. He’s tall. Dark hair. Is he here?”
The woman stopped what she was doing and blinked at Marley. She didn’t understand a word Marley was saying. Marley glanced around the hut and spotted her backpack leaning against the wall.
“My bag.” Marley tried to get up, but the woman pushed her down. Marley pointed toward her pack. “I need my bag.”
The woman looked from Marley to the bag, then set her bowl down and pushed to her feet. Marley’s heart pounded while the woman grabbed her backpack and pulled it over within reach.
Her pack was caked with mud. She flipped the top open and dug around inside until she found her phone. Thanking her good sense to put her phone in a plastic bag, just in case, she pulled it out and waited while it powered on.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered. When the screen came to life, she opened her photo album and paged through until she found the shot she was looking for.
She’d taken it a few weeks ago. When the team had come back to the office after a training run in the mountains. She zoomed in on Jake in the middle of the group, sweaty and smiling from a day in the field, turned the phone, and held it up. “Have you seen him? Is he here?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. Cautiously, she took the phone from Marley and stared at it like it might just jump out and bite her. Heart beating hard, Marley pointed toward Jake’s face on the screen and said, “Is he here? I need to find him. We got separated.”
The woman shook her head. “Notuli.”
The two women who’d left earlier ducked back under the doorway and entered the hut. The first woman looked toward them and held up Marley’s phone, pointing to Jake. “Makari ala falusi.”
Both women shook their heads. The one on the right reached for Marley’s phone and turned it in her hands, studying every angle as if she’d never seen such a thing before—which, Marley realized, she hadn’t.
The first woman glanced back to Marley. “Notuli halem sahiko.”
Marley’s shoulders dropped. She didn’t understand what they were saying, but she could tell by their expressions they didn’t recognize Jake’s face. Which meant he wasn’t in the village. And considering she didn’t know where she was or how long she’d been here, that meant he could be anywhere.
A lump formed in her throat, and tears pricked her eyes. If she could go back to that conversation with him in the jungle, when she’d been so frustrated by her stupid emotions, she would. She’d go back and change her attitude, not get so defensive. Not take everything so damn personally.
“Shit.”
She pressed her fingers against her burning eyes and tried to push to her feet. She needed to go find him. Needed to make sure he was okay. Before she could stand, the first woman grasped her arm and eased her back down. “Notuli. Tu bet.”
Annoyed, Marley opened her eyes only to realize what the women were doing. The one who’d taken her phone dipped a rag into a bowl of water and began cleaning the mud from her face and arms. The other one reached for the edge of her tank and started to lift it up.
“Whoa. Wait. I don’t think—”
“Don’t worry,” a voice said from the doorway. “They’ll not hurt you. Only help.”
Marley’s gaze jerked toward the voice. An older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a wrinkled face stood in the doorway holding fresh clothes.
“Who—?” Marley was suddenly afraid she was hearing and seeing things from the knock she’d taken to the head. “You speak English?”
“Yes. Though it may be a little rusty.” The woman stepped into the room and set the clothing on the ground at Marley?
??s side while the others went about cleaning her with the rags and water. She was small, no more than five feet tall, Caucasian, not native, and she wore shorts and a loose, weathered pale-green T-shirt instead of the skirt and paint.
“Who are you?” Marley asked.
“Darla. Was Darla,” she corrected with a smile. “Now I’m known as Pakatito.”
Maybe she’d gotten hit harder than she thought. Marley pressed a hand to her aching forehead, having trouble keeping up. “I’m not following.”
“I’m an anthropologist,” Darla said. “I came here a long time ago and liked it so much, I decided to stay. The Puketi people are friendly once you get to know them. You’re lucky, though.” She nodded toward the women fawning over Marley. “They don’t usually take well to outsiders. They think you’re a princess.”
“A what?” Marley twisted away from the woman on her left who was still trying to pull her shirt up and off.
“There is an old myth in their culture about a woman born of the earth who rose from the mud to rule the rainforest. They think that’s you.”
“Do I look like Princess Leia or something?” Marley frowned at the woman reaching for her sleeve and pushed her hand away. “Stop that.”
The woman didn’t let go of Marley’s arm, but focused on her mouth. “Lay-ah.”
“What?” Oh, good God. Marley shook her head. “No, that’s not my name.” She tried to wriggle out of the woman’s grip. “And stop trying to take my clothes off.”
Darla laughed. “I forgot all about Princess Leia. Ah, I do miss movies. That Harrison Ford was such a stud.” To the women she said, “Pahali motalu. Asa kobeeli tan fu pa.”
The women let go of Marley and pushed to their feet.
Relief rushed through Marley, but before she could even sigh, both women grabbed her arms and hauled her up. “What the heck did you say to them?”
“I told them you didn’t need a sponge bath. They’re taking you to the river. They need to make you presentable for the celebration tonight.”
The women dragged her toward the door.
“Celebration?” Worry rippled down Marley’s spine. “What kind of celebration?”
Darla stepped aside. “The one welcoming you, of course. Do not fret. There will only be a few dozen suitors in attendance anxious to be chosen as your mate. The Puketi people value love and family over anything else.”
“My what?” Marley pulled back, but the women had grips of steel and dragged her along as if she were nothing but a child. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
Darla’s laughter echoed at her back. “This is going to be more fun than I’ve had in years.”
Marley disagreed as she hobbled through the village toward the water with the women. Native men dressed in loincloths with their faces painted turned as she walked by. And every single one held a spear as tall as her.
Suddenly Grayson McKnight, snakes, caimans, and paramilitary troops were the least of her worries. All she could think about was Jake.
“Dammit, Jake,” she mumbled. “If you’re still alive, you better come and rescue me.”
Because she’d lied when she said she didn’t need him. Right now she needed him more than she’d ever needed anyone else.
Ever.
Jake swiped the sweat out of his eyes and peered through the foliage with his binoculars. He’d found the natives’ village, a hundred yards in the distance down the embankment, but he hadn’t seen any sign of Marley yet.
Worst-case scenarios filled his head, but he pushed them aside. She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be dead. That wasn’t even an option. She had to be in one of those huts. He just had to figure out which.
He glanced up at the sky. The village sat in a small clearing near a river, just down the hill from where he’d stopped. The canopy was sparse here, enough so he could see the filter of sunlight from above. It had stopped raining about two hours ago, but it was still hot as hell. He guessed it had to be close to late afternoon now. Rubbing his hand over his face, he lifted the binoculars again and took another look.
Natives hauled wood into the middle of the camp for what looked like a bonfire. Several warriors, complete with war paint and spears, milled around the central space. Naked children ran through the village. Women wearing only mid-thigh cotton skirts carried baskets and jugs.
His best bet would be to wait until dark. When they were all occupied with whatever ritual they had planned. Sneak into the huts one by one until he found her, then get them both the hell out. From the looks of those spears, he didn’t want to go marching into their village unannounced. And he wasn’t about to do anything to put Marley in more danger.
Plan made, he stuffed the binoculars back into his pack, threw it on his back, and inched away from the ridgeline. He’d wait until dark on the other side, where he had a better view of the huts, then he’d make his move.
His foot hit something solid as he was moving backward. He turned to look, then froze.
“Oh, shit.”
At least ten native males covered in war paint stood around him, pointing deadly sharp spears right at his heart.
“No, I really don’t need flowers in my hair.” Marley reached up to remove the wreath the elderly native woman had set on the top her head. “Sorry, but I’m just not a flowery kind of girl.”
The woman swatted at her hand. “Notuli. A fusak, Lay-ah.”
Marley jerked her hand back and frowned. “Jeez. Fine. I won’t touch it again.” She might not speak the Puketi language, but she was quickly learning that notuli meant no. She glared up at the women standing above her. “But for the record, my name is not Leia. It’s Marley.”
“Atuki mahatek, Lay-ah,” the woman painting red stripes on Marley’s right arm muttered.
“Ah, sutef, Lay-ah,” the elderly woman said in agreement.
Good lord. She was giving up. Marley sighed and focused on the far wall of the hut while the women continued to decorate her.
The second one, kneeling at Marley’s side, laughed and tapped Marley’s bare ankle, then went back to painting the geometric shapes on Marley’s arm. Marley’s gaze strayed to the decorated leather band strapped to the woman’s ankle. Several of the women in the village wore them. As did a number of men. But Marley had no idea what they were for or why some wore them and others didn’t.
Telling herself it really didn’t matter, she glanced down at the bracelets on her wrists, then to the leather skirt and wrap top which crossed over her breasts and tied behind her neck that the women had dressed her in. It might not be her style, but at least she wasn’t on full display. After she’d bathed in the river, she’d tried to get someone to bring her pack so she could grab her change of clothes, but they’d refused. Instead they’d covered her in a blanket, then brought her back to the hut where they’d been “working” on her ever since. For a while, she’d been a little worried they were going to make her parade around in nothing but the short skirt most of the women seemed to be wearing, but thankfully Darla had intervened and suggested something a little more appropriate for their new “princess.”
Princess. Yeah, there was a laugh. Marley had tried to correct them on that point several times, but no one had seemed to want to listen to her, so she’d finally shut up.
The old woman shifted her feet, and her saggy breasts flashed in Marley’s peripheral vision. Wincing, Marley closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look and sat still while they stuck more flowers in the wreath on her head. An image of Jake, smiling that obnoxious, sexy grin of his, flickered behind her eyelids.
He’d get quite a kick out of this if he could see her now. Where was he? She’d expected him to follow her. He’d come all the way to Colombia and refused to leave her even though she’d repeatedly tried to get him to go home. He wouldn’t just walk away if they got separated. So the fact he hadn’t already shown up meant either he hadn’t tracked
her yet or he couldn’t because he was injured.
Another knot of fear wedged its way inside her chest. She’d heard him calling her name when the landslide had taken her out, but she didn’t know if he’d been pulled down with it or if something worse had happened to him. She’d been lucky her injuries had been minor—bruises, scrapes, a knock on the head—but what if he’d broken his leg? What if a branch had speared him? What if he’d been buried in all that mud?
Voices echoed from outside, dragging Marley’s eyes open. The women around her turned toward the open door of the hut. One rose and rushed over to look. In an excited voice, she exclaimed, “Motani. Apukala tet.”
The women all let go of Marley and hurried for the door. Curious about what was going on, Marley pushed to her feet and followed, looking over their dark heads toward the group of warriors entering the village.
There were at least ten of them, all decked out in war paint and carrying nasty looking spears she did not want to be on the receiving end of. They moved in a pack. Several in the middle looked to be carrying something tied to a pole, which was perched on their shoulders. It had to be a hunting party. She’d noticed the bonfire they were building in the middle of the camp. They’d probably killed a boar or—her stomach rolled—she really hoped it wasn’t a giant snake.
The men at the front of the pack stopped near the branch of a giant tree on the far side of camp and yelled something to the men at the back. One hastily moved over and threw a rope over the thick branch, then tied it off. Bodies shifted. Marley squinted to see better. They unhooked something from the pole and tied it to the rope. Something she couldn’t quite see. Something that—
“Son of a bitch. Do not put me up there!”
Her pulse shot up. Eyes wide, she watched as one of the natives planted his feet in the dirt and pulled on the end of the rope. The warriors in the front moved back. Boots appeared over their heads, then familiar cargo pants, and finally Jake’s arms and shoulders and face as he dangled upside down from the rope.