Heart of Fire Read online

  They lingered in the noonday heat, reveling in the exquisite intimacy. All of their previous heated lovemaking had only prepared them for this, for the slow ecstasy that caught them in its grip and wouldn’t let go. Her senses were almost painfully heightened. Every brush against her skin made her moan with delight; he lazily licked her nipples and her wild, strained cry sent birds fluttering skyward in alarm. Time meant nothing. She wanted this moment never to end.

  But it did. It had to; it was too intense to be sustained for long. Afterward he lay beside her, relaxed and drowsy, his hand rubbing absently on her stomach as if, she thought wryly, she were an alligator to be soothed into sleep.

  She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to ask why. She was afraid she would cry if she did. Emotion swelled in her chest until it was difficult to breathe. She loved him so much.

  She thought perhaps they dozed, one of those periods of deep unconsciousness from which she awoke feeling as if no time had passed, though she knew it had. The sun had slipped from its zenith, the burning rays angling to reach beneath the roof. Ben stirred and stretched, then rolled to his knees and pulled up his pants.

  She expected one of his provoking, smart-ass remarks, or at least a certain smugness, but his expression, though relaxed now, was still somber. He lifted her to her feet with that effortless strength of his and held her locked in his arms for a long minute, his cheek resting on top of her head. Then he kissed her, hard, and said, “Let’s get you dressed before someone comes by.”

  “We haven’t seen anyone since we passed that shack, and we haven’t seen another boat all day.”

  Now that familiar grin showed itself again. “I thought you had a streak of exhibitionism in you, prancing around the way you did in front of the Yanomami.”

  She burst into laughter. “That was your idea.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you’d keep your undershirt on.”

  “It needed washing, too.”

  She dressed while they bantered back and forth, and then they decided they were hungry. She made a quick fish stew, simply stirring together the canned ingredients and bringing the mixture to a boil. Their appetites were easily satisfied these days, for they had become accustomed to a sparse, plain diet. Probably a full restaurant meal would have made them both sick. Their stomachs would have to be reaccustomed to civilization, too.

  Ben started the engine and backed the boat away from the bank, then carefully turned it around and began idling out of the cove into the river channel. He saw another boat coming downriver and pushed the throttle out of gear so it could pass by ahead of them.

  Jillian stared at the oncoming boat, shading her eyes with her hands. “That boat’s built just like ours,” she said. “It looks like our other boat.” She narrowed her eyes and focused on the boat pilot, noting the massive shoulders and too-little head. “Dutra!” she gasped, in mingled horror and disbelief.

  Ben shoved the throttle all the way forward and the boat surged in response, the motor roaring. At the same time Dutra must have realized whom he was overtaking, for he too pushed the throttle to full power.

  “Get down,” Ben said automatically. “And slide my pistol up here to me.” Damn it, he was almost never without that pistol within reach whenever he was on the river, but this was one of those rare times. Violently he wished for a rifle.

  Dutra fired, but he was too far away for accuracy and the bullet zinged overhead.

  Jillian got Ben’s pistol and crawled on her hands and knees, staying well below the sides of the boat, out of sight, until she could reach up and place it in his outstretched hand. “Get back. He’ll shoot at me, since I’m the only one he can see.”

  “Then you get down too, idiot,” she snapped, tugging at his pants.

  The boats were surging toward each other at an angle, at full power. Ben spun the wheel sharply to the right, hoping to save a few precious seconds, if only they didn’t run aground on one of the numerous snags. The movement slung Jillian off balance, and she rolled into the boxes of supplies. Dutra fired again, and this time the bullet splintered the wood railing.

  Ben lifted the pistol and fired, but Dutra dodged to the side. Ben shot once more, swiftly adjusting his aim. It would be pure luck if he hit anything, with both the target and his shooting platform bouncing across the water like broncos, but he could keep Dutra down.

  Jillian struggled to her knees. Two bullets pierced the wooden side of the boat, and she hurled herself flat on the deck.

  Ben returned fire, the shots cracking on the water. The stench of gunpowder drifted to her nostrils.

  They swung into the river channel only twenty yards ahead of Dutra. Ben went down on one knee and turned to face the stern, which was open except for the toilet facility taking up roughly the same amount of space as a phone booth. Dutra was directly behind them, the other boat so close that it was inside their propeller wash, and gaining on them in the smoother water. Ben fired and hit the wheel, but Dutra had ducked again.

  Ben looked forward just in time to swerve around a big log; Dutra, following in the propeller wash, had an easier time of it as the wash pushed the log away from him. He pulled even closer.

  Ben swore violently. He couldn’t steer the boat at top speed and at the same time trade gunfire with Dutra behind them. He had to get the son of a bitch before a lucky shot hit him in the middle of the back, and Jillian was left to face Dutra alone.

  “Jillian, you’ll have to steer the boat! Can you do it?”

  She didn’t hesitate, but crawled forward. “Be careful!” she yelled over the roar of the motor.

  “You be careful! Stay down as much as possible, and to the side so you aren’t in his direct sights.”

  She did as he said, crouching to the side with one hand on the wheel, her head lifted just enough to peer over the bow. Ben swiftly crawled to the stern of the boat, staying behind the cover of the toilet housing.

  A shot made him go flat on his belly, and he felt the boat shudder beneath him. He rose to his knees and fired three quick shots. Dutra screamed and fell to the side, but instinct told Ben it hadn’t been a solid hit. He’d just grazed him. He waited, nerves stretching, and was ready a few seconds later when Dutra popped back up, his arm outstretched and steady, pistol muzzle flashing. Ben fired simultaneously. Dutra screamed again, holding his shoulder, and slumped to the side.

  The boat shuddered wildly, and the motor’s rhythm caught. The son of a bitch had been shooting at their motor instead of at them! The other boat kept coming, throttle locked forward, wheel secured so it didn’t veer.

  “Hold on!” Ben roared, lunging toward the bow. “He’s going to ram us!”

  Jillian cast a frantic look over her shoulder, feeling the wheel trying to tear out of her grip as the motor coughed and locked with metal grinding against metal. Desperately she pulled on the wheel with all her might, trying to turn out of Dutra’s path. Sluggishly the boat swung to the side, without power, and almost immediately the other boat slammed into them. She was sent sprawling across the deck, her head crashing hard into the side. She saw Ben grab a roof pole at the last second, and that was all that saved him from going overboard.

  She had turned the boat enough that it wasn’t a head-on collision. The other boat plowed into them from the right rear, violently swinging them around. The stern of Dutra’s craft swung forward, the motor still churning, still driving. Wood splintered; the bow of the other boat and the stern of their boat ground together, collapsing the structures, combining the two watercraft like two clumps of clay jammed together. The force shattered the wheel and throttle of the second boat, and the engine died.

  The sudden silence was so complete, so nerve-racking, that it was only then she realized how loud the crash had been. Dazed, she tried to stand up, but everything was swimming around her and she sagged to her knees.

  All of the supplies had been scattered over the deck. Ben had dropped the pistol on impact, but luckily it hadn’t gone overboard. He snatched it up, whirling towa