Be Careful What You Wish For(33)

“I guess I can understand that,” she said softly. “The world probably is better off without him. Did you ever consider going to the police with the entire story? I mean, before you decided to kill them yourself.”
He gave a quick bark of laughter.
“No, that was never an option,” he said softly. “Not with the CIA involved. They don’t like any kind of publicity, and they’ll do whatever it takes to keep information on their little mistakes from coming out.
They preferred to let me handle things, and when I finally found a way out of prison, they were more than happy to assist in my disappearance. They owed me, you see.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said. She rolled over toward him, running one finger along the bridge of his nose. In the moonlight he was little more than a stark profile beside her, cool and almost untouchable.
She let her finger trail down the smooth curve of his throat, then trace along his chest until she reached his stomach. She laid her hand flat, watching his chest rise and fall, and wondered how she had ever met up with this strange and terrifying man. She knew then, right there in the moonlight, that he was worthy of her love. She was glad Edgar was dead. He’d deserved what Sean had done, no questions asked. She just wished he’d been able to get to him sooner, that he hadn’t wasted five years of his life in jail.
“I love you,” she said suddenly, realizing it was true. He froze, a profound stillness coming over him. Even his breathing seemed to stop, and then his hand came up over hers and clenched it tight.
He started to reply, but was cut off abruptly as a booming explosion tore through the night.
He rolled over her suddenly, one hand covering her mouth. He pushed her head down into the sand, his body covering and protecting hers. A second explosion ripped through the darkness, and then silence drifted back over them.
“I’m going to let you look up,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t say anything and don’t move, or they might find us.”
She nodded her head, and he shifted his weight. She rolled over and looked out across the water. A mass of fire lit up the night where their boat had been moored.
“Skip and Jose were on there,” she whispered numbly. “We have to get help!”
“They’re dead,” Sean said softly. “There’s no way they could have survived that. We’re supposed to be dead, too.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Why else would someone blow up the boat?” he asked. “They wanted to kill us, Sandra. The good news is that they probably think they succeeded. We just have to keep it that way.”



Chapter Eleven
Sandra trudged through the underbrush doggedly, ignoring the insects buzzing around her painfully exposed flesh.
She felt like a boiled lobster.
The hot sun tore into her pale skin ruthlessly, and she cursed the skimpy bikini she’d worn for their midnight swim. Still, she struggled forward, refusing to complain. Whining wouldn’t do either of them any good.
The night had seemed endless. Sean had insisted that they remain still and out of sight until morning, and even then they’d spent a few more hours hiding. He’d gone out looking around a few times and had spotted two men watching the remains of the boat. They’d left a few hours later, climbing into a jeep and driving off down the sandy beach.
She’d thought they should stay and wait for help. After all, there couldn’t be that many midnight explosions on the island. Someone was sure to notice eventually. Sean nixed that idea immediately, telling her it was too dangerous. Whoever rescued them would probably talk about it to someone else, and then the attackers would learn they were still alive.
So here they were, trudging through the jungle in the direction Sean insisted would lead them to a village.
She had no idea what they would do when they arrived. After all, it couldn’t be too often that white tourists in bathing suits appeared out of the jungle asking for a phone, but he seemed to know what he was doing. She certainly had no clue, so she was content to let him lead her.
Surprisingly, they reached the village after only an hour of walking.
She’d expected them to go right in, but he’d installed her in the bushes and went by himself. Ten minutes later he was back wearing a loose pair of cotton pants held up with a rope and a faded, button-up shirt.
When he handed her a ratty T-shirt and oversized jeans, she’d never been so happy to see anything in her life.
“Where did you get these?” she asked.
“I traded my watch for them,” he said. “The farmer said he’d give us a ride into a town with a phone, too.”
“Won’t he tell people about us?” she asked.