Arresting Developments
Getting to the engine compartment wasn’t as difficult as he’d anticipated, since the access panels had been peeled back like the top of the plane. Since the plane was upside down, he ducked down and looked for anything obvious. Most of the engine was intact. Only a few parts had been ripped away or crushed on impact. Everything looked normal.
Except for the electrical tape.
What the...? There were two long pieces of tape, or rather, one long piece that had been burned in two. He pulled out his cell phone and took some pictures, then zoomed the screen. Wait, no, that couldn’t be. He shoved the phone in its holder.
Bracing himself on a twisted piece of metal, he followed the piece of tape. One end was attached to the edge of the engine compartment. The other was wrapped around a bundle of wires—a crucial bundle that provided power to instrument panels, including the transponder and the engine. Someone had pulled those wires free of their normal harness and used the tape to hold them in place. Which pretty much guaranteed that during flight, with the heat and vibration from the engine, the tape would fail. The wires would have dropped down onto the hot manifold. If the heat seared through their protective coating, that would have caused a catastrophic failure. Judging by the burn spots on the wires, that’s exactly what had happened.
Since electrical tape wasn’t standard equipment in any engine compartment, especially a brand-new plane, he could only reach one logical conclusion.
Someone had tried to kill him.
* * *
AMBER CROUCHED BEHIND a large fern that protected her from the sharp ends of a massive saw palmetto, totally mesmerized by the way the sun slanted off the golden skin of the impressive male specimen thirty feet away. She didn’t know why he’d taken off his shirt, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. The way his muscles rippled beneath his skin as he walked was fascinating, and an amusing contrast to his dark blue dress pants and expensive-looking but thoroughly ruined dress shoes. Since his footprints were the only ones she’d found after she’d reached the plane crash site, he must be the pilot. And the lack of bodies in and around the plane reassured her that no one else had been onboard. No one had died.
But based on how he was limping, she wasn’t sure that would hold true for long.
His right leg seemed to be the one that he was favoring. From the rips in his pants, she assumed he’d been hurt during the crash and wasn’t just suffering from some kind of disability. Unfortunately, the smears of mud on his back and chest meant that he may have washed himself in one of the brackish pools of water near the plane. If he’d done the same to his injuries, he might have introduced some nasty bacteria into his system. People who got lost in the Glades tended to succumb to exposure or infection just as often as other causes. If he didn’t get medical attention soon, he might become one of those statistics.
So far he was heading in the right direction, toward Mystic Glades. As long as he continued that way, he’d reach town before nightfall. Her former townspeople might not exactly welcome strangers, but they would never turn away someone in need. Whoever was running The Moon these days would have some kind of medicine or potion to treat him. Or maybe Freddie would drive him to the nearest hospital in her ancient Cadillac, assuming the thing was still running. Either way, the pilot would get the help he needed. There was no reason for Amber to let him see her. All she had to do was keep following him, and somehow steer him if he went off course.
* * *
SOMEONE WAS FOLLOWING HIM.
Normally, Dex would have called out to whoever was hiding in the bushes, padding after him in the mud, keeping a good thirty or forty feet back, from what he could figure. But that was before he’d realized someone was trying to kill him. Knowing that had changed his perspective a hundred-eighty degrees.
He couldn’t imagine his nemesis—whoever that might be—calculating the exact location where he might be when the wires in his Cessna burned through. There were too many variables for that. But it hadn’t exactly been a secret at the office that he was flying to Naples, and that he was going to then drive up to Mystic Glades. Maybe whoever wanted him six feet under had planted someone near Mystic Glades to finish him off if their plan failed and he didn’t crash. Or, in this case, if he did crash and the impact didn’t kill him.
A faint crackling noise sounded behind him, like a twig breaking in half. He pretended not to notice and kept going. He needed to wait until he was near a larger clump of trees instead of just the small groupings he was passing now as he slogged through the marshy grasses. Then he’d catch his pursuer.
Just thinking about someone hiding out here like a coward to attack him was pissing him off. That and this awful heat. He wiped sweat from his brow, surprised to find his hand wet enough to shake off droplets. When had it gotten this hot? Yeah, it was probably around noon, but still, the cooling marsh breezes had been comfortable an hour ago when he’d started on this trek. Now it was as if someone had turned the sun up twenty degrees and was trying to cook him.
His shirt. That had to be it. Without his shirt to protect him from the sun, he was baking out here. Maybe he should sit in the shade for a few minutes and cool off. No, not with someone following him. He had to take care of that problem first. Then he’d sit and cool off.
A group of trees about thirty feet ahead looked like the perfect place to catch his follower unaware. The trees suddenly wavered and shifted. What the...? He stopped, wiped more sweat from his brow and shook his head. He blinked a few times until the trees stopped dancing around. The heat. It had to be the heat. He idly leaned down and rubbed the growing ache in his right leg, then wobbled forward.
He reached the trees and ducked behind the largest one and then crouched down to wait. He pulled out his cell phone, ready to snap a picture when his pursuer came into view, figuring that if he lost this upcoming battle at least there’d be a picture of his attacker for police to find later. It would be a small victory to hold on to as he breathed his last breath. For some reason, that seemed funny—in addition to being pathetic—and he almost laughed out loud, just barely keeping it together, reminding himself he couldn’t risk alerting his prey.
His prey? Right. When had he ever been a hunter? This time he couldn’t contain his laughter. He clamped his hand over his mouth but changed his mind when he started to lose his balance. He grabbed a low-hanging branch on the tree beside him and kept his phone in his right hand, poised to snap his all-important picture.
Good grief, it was hotter than Hades. His friend Jake was a fool to want to live here.
Half-dried mud crunched like sand beneath someone’s feet. Dex leaped out from behind the tree, snapping pictures.
No one was there.
He shifted and heard the crunching sound again. He looked down, wiggled his toes in his shoes. Crunch. Wiggle. Crunch. Wait. Was that him making that noise?
A shadow shifted beside him. He whirled around, snapping pictures as he fell to the ground. The shadow became a beautiful woman standing over him, her face mirroring concern. As she reached out a delicate-looking hand, he snapped another picture, then let his hands fall to his sides. All his strength had strangely drained away.
Her blessedly cool hand touched his brow. It felt so good he pushed his head against her palm.
“You’re burning up,” she said.
He blinked until he could focus on her face. His breath caught. “Canoe Girl! I waved at you.” He frowned and waggled his finger. “You didn’t wave back.”
“I...must not have seen you. Sorry.”
“No worries. I’m Dex. But you can just call me Dex.”
“O...kay. Dex. Let’s take a look at that leg of yours.”
He grinned up at her. “Honey, you can look at anything you want.”
She rolled her eyes and moved to his right leg. He lifted his head to watch, but it felt so heavy he dropped it back down.
“Ouch.” He rubbed his head, wondering why it suddenly hurt.
Cool air rushed against his heated skin as she pulled his pant leg up.
“Hey, Canoe Girl. What’s your name?”
“Canoe Girl works.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m guessing you didn’t have these red lines going up and down your calf before the crash.”
“Nope.” He dropped his phone and used both hands to lift his heavy head to look at her. “I’m guessing that’s a bad thing?”
She nodded. “Could be. If not treated right away.” She looked past him. “No one in Mystic Glades knows how to treat something like this, unless things have changed.”
“Unless things have changed? You don’t live there, Canoe Girl?”
“Um, no.” She pushed his pant leg down.
“But you’re familiar with it. You used to live there?”
She shot him a look. He should have known what that look meant, but her face went out of focus and he closed his eyes.
“Do you have any medicine in your plane?” she asked.
“Nope. Fresh out. Where do you live, beautiful?”
“That must be one bad fever.” She brushed her hands on her shorts and stood. “We’ve got to get you to Mystic Glades. Someone there will take you to the hospital. Come on.” She held her hand out to him.
He frowned, not at all pleased. “Do I have to get up? It’s kind of comfy down here. It would be even more comfy if you lay down with me.”
“No, thanks. We need to get moving. Come on.” She grasped his hand.
He sighed heavily and tugged his hand out of hers. “I’ll do it by myself. You’re a tiny little thing. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He rolled over and forced himself up on his knees. A pair of surprisingly strong arms grabbed him around his waist and helped him stand. He staggered and she pulled his right arm around her shoulders, keeping her other arm around his waist.
Impressed, he smiled down at her and patted the top of her head. “You’re stronger than you look, little one.”
“And you don’t smell anywhere near as good as you look. So let’s get this over with.”
He let out a crack of laughter. “Now that’s one I’ve never heard before. My apologies. I think it’s eau de jet fuel mixed with eau de swamp water.”
She didn’t respond. All in all, his little rescuer didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor. Too bad. Making a woman smile, seeing joy light up her eyes, was one of his greatest pleasures. Especially when they were making love.
The infernal heat seemed worse now. And the growing stiffness in his leg was making walking more and more of a chore. Even with Canoe Girl’s help, his steps were growing slower and slower. He stumbled and grabbed a tree for support.
“You can do it,” she urged, pulling him back from the tree.
“Actually, I’m not sure that I can. How much farther do we have to go?”
“A hundred yards, give or take.”
He squinted at the wavering shapes in front of him then gave her an admonishing look. “You’re teasing me. I don’t see any buildings. It must be farther than that to Mystic Glades.”
“It’s a hundred yards to my canoe. Make it there and I can take you the rest of the way to town.”
A wave of dizziness had him grabbing another tree. “I don’t...think I can...make it that far.”
“Sure you can. What are you, six-two? You’re a big, strong guy. Just put one foot in front of the other. Close your eyes if it makes it easier.”
He took a shaky step. “I don’t suppose you have a four-wheeler hidden behind a tree somewhere closer than the canoe?”
“I’m fresh out of four-wheelers today.”
“Bummer. I would have liked to ride a four-wheeler, especially with a pretty girl. Everything’s better with a pretty girl.” He winked and tried to grin, but the effort required more energy than he had left. “So...tired.” He fell to his knees and surrendered to the darkness.
Chapter Three
Amber groaned and sank to her knees beside the handsome stranger with the corny yet kind of endearing sense of humor. Eau de jet fuel? If she hadn’t been so worried about his fever she might have laughed at that. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.
Now that he was unconscious, how was she supposed to help him? Even though her canoe was a short jog away, it might as well have been miles. There was no way she could drag him that far. And even though he certainly wasn’t packing any extra pounds, all those scrumptious-looking muscles had to amount to a lot of weight.
She pressed her hand to his forehead again and grimaced. He was like a furnace. If she didn’t get his fever down soon he might have a seizure. And those red lines on his leg meant he had blood poisoning. That was probably what was causing the fever. That kind of infection could easily kill him no matter how big and strong he was.
She pulled his phone out of her pocket. When he’d dropped it earlier, she’d picked it up, planning on erasing the pictures he’d taken of her before returning the phone to him. But right now she just wanted to see if she could call for help, even though odds were high there wasn’t any reception out here. When she’d made the swamp her home, she’d had a cell phone but had quickly learned that it was useless in about 99 percent of the Glades. She did know a few spots that got reliable reception, but they were much deeper into the swamp, too far away to be of use right now.
She pressed the main button and it asked her for her password. Shoot. She should have asked him for the code while he was delirious with fever and still conscious. He might have told her without a second thought. The service bars showed No Service anyway, so there was really no point. Making a call had been a long shot.
She shoved it into her pocket.
So, what now? Getting him to the canoe would take hours, assuming she could roll him there, which was the only way she could think of moving him. But she didn’t think he had hours, not with that kind of fever. She had to bring it down. But how? Medicine, even if she could bring herself to try to doctor someone again, would take too long to make—and that was only if she could find the right plants. What she really needed was a bag of ice, something not exactly around every corner out here.
Wait. She might not have ice, but she had access to the next best thing. A spring. There were a handful of them scattered throughout the Glades, feeding ice-cold fresh water into the marsh from deep underground aquifers. And there were a few close by, one of them much closer than her canoe. It was worth a try. But how to get him there?
Her gaze dropped to his belt. Yes. That might work. She unbuckled it and worked it free, rolling him to pull it from underneath him. Then she strapped it around his chest below his arms and fastened it on the last hole. His chest was wide and muscular. It didn’t give her much play in the belt, but it gave her enough to be able to slip her hands beneath his back and grasp the belt. She was just short enough that this might work.
Bracing her legs wide apart, she heaved backward. He slid easier than she’d expected on the soft mud and she almost fell on her rear end. Through a series of trial and error she finally found the best angle and managed to get him moving at a decent clip. She pulled him around the group of trees toward the spring, which was only thirty feet behind her, hidden in another group of trees. The muscles in her arms burned and her back was aching by the time she’d gotten him just ten feet from their original location.
She had to stop and take deep breaths, letting her shaking muscles rest before she started up again. Any hope that she might be able to use this method to get him to the canoe died a quick death. It would be a miracle if she could just get him to the freshwater. Someone had died once because of her actions. She was determined not to let her inaction be the cause of this man’s death. Giving up wasn’t an option. She had to keep going.
Fifteen minutes later she finally had him beside the spring, next to a shallow spot where she could sit and hold him without him slipping in too far and drowning. She emptied his pockets of his wallet and keys, leaving them up on the bank. After shucking his shoes and her boots, along with her knife, she took a bracing breath, then slid into the spring.
She gasped and pressed her hands against her breasts, her teeth already chattering even though she was barely covered by the water as she sat down. Shivering violently, she grabbed the belt around Dex and tugged, hard.
He slipped easily over the soft side and she had to grab his head to keep it above water as his body rolled over. She caught his face against her chest, mortified when his hands came up around her and he pressed his face harder into the valley between her breasts. His eyes, however, were still closed, which was the only reason she didn’t slap him.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she reminded herself as she grabbed his shoulders and pushed up with her knees to flip him onto his back.
His body settled against hers in the V of her legs and she wrapped her hands under his armpits and around his chest, holding him tightly so he didn’t slide beneath the water. She lay back against the edge of the bank, her teeth chattering so hard they clicked against each other. But it didn’t take long for the incredible heat of his body to begin transferring to her.
He was still so alarmingly hot that she was actually sweating where his head rested against her breasts, in spite of the chill bumps on the rest of her skin. She cupped the cold water and dribbled it on his hair and his face, getting as much of him wet as possible. She continued putting cold water on his hair, his forehead, his neck, all while trying to monitor both of their temperatures. If she ended up with hypothermia, they’d both be in trouble.
She clung to him, freely plastering her body against his to warm herself while keeping him covered in the cold water. All the while she continued to rub the water into his scalp and on his skin.
When her hands and feet started going numb and she started feeling drowsy, she knew she had to get out of the spring. But he was still warm. Not as burning hot as before, thank goodness, but far too warm to be out of danger. She edged out of the water, pulling on the belt to tug him with her. She sat cross-legged on the bank, her skin covered with goose bumps. She managed to pull him half out of the water, keeping her hands locked under the belt to keep him from sliding back in. His rear end and legs were still in the water. Hopefully, that would be enough to continue bringing his fever down while she warmed up for a few minutes in the sun.
When the feeling had returned to her extremities and she was no longer shaking, she slid into the water with him, submerging all of him except his head and going through the same routine all over again.
She repeated the process for what had to be over an hour before he finally began to show real signs of improvement. Instead of the ruddy, red complexion that showed he was in the grips of the fever, the color drained away and he became more pale. When his skin pebbled with goose bumps, he moaned and tried to twist away from her.
She ruthlessly held on to him, determined to make sure his fever was gone before she’d let him out of the water. Unable to let him go for fear he’d drown, she pressed her cheek against the side of his face to see how hot he was. Still warmer than he should be, but so much better than before that it barely counted.
He suddenly jerked away from her and rolled over, pressing her down into the water. She just managed to grab a lungful of air before she went under. He followed her down, his body on top of hers, his eyes—a startling green—were open and staring at her in confusion as he held his breath and held her down.
His hands grabbed her waist and he pulled back, suddenly lifting her out of the water against his chest as he smoothly stepped up on the bank. She clung to his shoulders, amazed he was so strong after seeming so weak earlier. Water cascaded off both of them as he dropped to the ground with her still in his arms. Whether by design or accident—she wasn’t sure—he’d managed to position her so that she was straddling him. And from the widening of his eyes and the sudden movement of him beneath her, he wasn’t unaffected by the intimacy of their position.
“Let me go.” She smacked at his hands and shoved his chest.
He blinked, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Canoe Girl. I thought you were a dream.”
“More like a nightmare,” she grumbled. “Let me go.”
“I like you right where you are.”
So did she. And that was the problem. The spring had done a good job of washing away the stench of the bog he’d bathed in earlier. And up close like this, just inches from his face, she couldn’t deny just how devastatingly handsome he was. Add to that how long it had been since she’d even seen a good-looking man, much less done anything else, and it was almost impossible to resist the urge to wiggle against his growing erection beneath her.
Good grief. Maybe she was the one with the fever now. He was a stranger. An incredibly hot one, even when he wasn’t running a temperature, but still a stranger.
He frowned. “Why are you all wet?”
She choked at his unintended double entendre and coughed to cover her embarrassment.
“We’re, ah, both wet. From the spring.” She waved her hand toward the water behind them. “You had a fever and I put you in the cold water to bring it down. Now, if you’ll please—”
“If you insist.” He yanked her against his chest and brought his mouth down on hers.
She was so startled she didn’t immediately pull back. And by the time she thought to do so, he was kissing her senseless and her brain shut down. She slid her hands up his bare chest and around his neck, pressing herself against him as she opened her mouth for his searching tongue. He groaned and fell back against the bank, pulling her with him, deepening the kiss.
A sinfully long time later they broke apart, each of them gasping for breath.
He framed her face in his hands. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you.”
He laughed and they reached for each other again.
Kissing him was insane. Crazy. Stupid. And wonderful. She’d never, ever been kissed like this before. Every tug of his lips on hers, every swirl of his tongue inside her mouth sent an answering pull straight to her belly.
Stop. This isn’t just crazy, it’s wrong. He’s probably still delirious. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.
She whimpered, hating her conscience but knowing it was right. If the roles were reversed, she’d be appalled and feel that he’d taken advantage of her.
Shoving against his chest, she broke the kiss and sat back. “We have to stop. This isn’t—”
His eyes closed and he collapsed onto his back.
“—right,” she finished, then frowned. “Dex?” She shook him. “Dex?” When he didn’t respond, she scrambled off his lap and checked his breathing. He was breathing deeply, evenly. His pulse was strong. But he was definitely unconscious.
Alarmed, she pulled his right pant leg up again and drew a sharp breath. “Oh, no.” The red streaks were worse, much worse. And they extended well past his knee now.
She shook him. “Dex, wake up. Come on. Dex.”
He moaned, as if in pain, but his eyes stayed shut.
Amber sat back, chewing her bottom lip. There was only one thing she knew that might help him, a potion she could make by mixing mud and two specific plants together into a poultice to draw out the poison. But what if she remembered wrong? What if she did more harm than good?
He moaned again, his handsome face scrunching up in a grimace.
If she didn’t help him, he’d die. Of that she was sure. The poultice was his only hope.
Please help me remember how to mix it right.
She shoved to her feet, grabbed her knife from the pile of belongings on the bank and took off running.