out a series of worn cavities in the surface of the rocks where, over centuries, the aboriginal people had crushed grass seeds into paste for food.
He had also warned them that death lurked beneath the deceptively tranquil, lily-strewn water.
Her sense of unease grew. “Please, watch out for—”
“Crocodile!” Nigel shouted at the same moment.
In a blur of movement, an olive-colored torpedo surged out of the water, wolflike dagger teeth snapping shut around Nigel’s canteen with the force of a steel trap. She barely had time to glimpse a great dragon head with horned eyebrows and blazing yellow eyes, before the prehistoric creature sank back into the creek, its powerful serrated tail churning the water to foam.
For a horrified instant, she thought Nigel had been dragged in, as well, until she saw him swing himself into the tangled branches. His grip on the tree must have saved him. “Get away from there,” she screamed.
“What the flaming hell do you think I’m doing?” He pulled himself hand over hand back to shore, while she kept a wary eye on the water. The crocodile was nowhere to be seen, but she could sense its fearsome presence lurking in the depths.
Then Nigel was back on land, sheet-white and shaking, rubbing the back of his neck where the strap from the canteen had etched a furrow. The torn leather dangling from his neck told its own story. Angrily, he jerked the strap off and dashed it to the ground. “Blasted man-eater ought to be shot.”
He spun back in the direction of their camp where Blake had supplied them with a .303 rifle for protection. She grabbed Nigel’s arm, barely halting his progress. “You can’t shoot it. Crocodiles are a protected species.”
“Not if they attack humans,” he spat at her.
“It didn’t attack. You invaded its territory,” she said, as shaken by the near miss as he was. “If you injure it instead of killing it, you could make matters worse.”
His scathing look raked her. “Worse than nearly being dragged under and eaten alive?”
She refrained from repeating Blake’s lesson that crocodiles didn’t eat their prey alive. They rolled you over and over until you drowned, then stowed you in an underwater lair to be eaten once you’d softened sufficiently. The very thought made her sick. She had a feeling Nigel wouldn’t welcome the reminder right now. If he hadn’t had such a firm grip on the tree…
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly.
His stare remained wintry. “Are you?”
“Of course I am.”
“Because you care about me, or because you want to get your story?”
“No story is worth a life.”
“No? Then tell your boss what she can do with this assignment.”
She gestured impatiently. “You know why I can’t.”
“Because you need Karen to use her influence with her husband. Isn’t there another way to keep Lauren’s home open that doesn’t involve risking both our necks?”
“None that Karen was prepared to share with me,” Jo said, too shaken to hide her bitterness. Ever since the editor heard about Diamond Downs, she’d had a bee in her bonnet about setting a feature there. Jo would have been happy simply to interview the Logan family, but for some reason, Karen wouldn’t hear of it. “Too predictable for Scene Weekly. Our readers expect an inside story, a sense of being there,” she’d told Jo. That’s when she’d hatched the idea of having Jo live off the land for a month and report on the experience diary-style in each issue.
Nor was Karen above using Jo’s worry about Lauren to gain Jo’s cooperation. “This is the way the world works,” she’d said with a shrug. “You want me to do something for you, you do something for me.”
Karen’s husband, Ron, was the developer whose company wanted to develop the land where Lauren’s home, Hawthorn Lodge, stood. Jo had been Lauren’s surrogate big sister, watching her grow from a shy, introverted girl with a learning disability to the charming young woman she was now. Much of that progress was due to the sheltered environment Lauren shared with seven young people like herself and one understanding set of house parents. Karen knew as well as Jo that Lauren would be lost out in the world, even if Jo took her in. When the home had been extensively remodeled the previous year, Lauren had stopped speaking for over two months, until she adjusted to the changes. Jo hated to think how Lauren might respond if forced to move to a new location.
Nigel read the truth in Jo’s eyes. “You’re not giving up, are you, not even after what just happened?”
Jo wished she could give him the answer she knew he wanted, but she couldn’t. “It was as much our fault as the crocodile’s. We can learn from this and move on,” she said.
“That’s the first true thing you’ve said since we got here. We can learn from this and move on.”
Something in his voice made her blood chill. “I mean together.”
“No, you mean I can learn to do things your way by your rules, as usual.”
“You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“I’m stating facts. Nearly getting eaten makes you see things with crystal clarity. I wanted to do this because I care for you, Jo. I want you to feel the same way about me. But it won’t happen as long as every waking minute is taken up with staying alive.”
“What are you saying?”
“I want you to give this up.”
At the pleading note in his voice, she wavered. Maybe she didn’t have much sense, but giving up wasn’t on her agenda. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, meaning it.
“You can’t do this by yourself.”
“The Logans are there if I need help.”
“Meaning Blake Stirton, I suppose.”
“Meaning the Logan family. This has nothing to do with Blake.”
Nigel pushed his way toward their camp as if he had difficulty making his limbs obey him. Shock was probably setting in, but he wasn’t about to let her sympathize with him, she saw from his shuttered expression. “Nothing to do with Blake,” he sneered. “So I imagined the way you hung on to his every word?”
“Of course you didn’t. Our survival depends on listening to his advice,” she snapped, tired of defending herself. If Nigel had paid more attention to Blake’s briefing instead of being jealous of the other man, they might not be having this discussion now.
Nigel dragged a pack out of the tent. “Well, not anymore. You can go or stay as you choose. I’ve made my decision.”
He began to stuff clothes and possessions into the pack, making it clear he was serious. She hadn’t doubted it. Nigel always did what he said he’d do. She’d been frankly astonished when he’d volunteered to take part in this experiment. Spontaneous wasn’t in his vocabulary.
She had to
