seen a photograph—and then the tantalising image vanished, wiped from her brain.
Where—and how—would she have seen a photograph of a beachcomber from Sant’Rosa?
He glanced at her and suddenly swore in a liquid language that sounded vaguely Italian before ordering, ‘Pull my shirt out of my trousers.’
‘What?’
He flashed her a feral grin. ‘Contain yourself. You’re showing far too much gleaming skin—far too obvious. Cover it with my shirt.’
‘But that leaves you exposed.’
‘I’m much darker than you, so I’m harder to see.’ The amusement was gone; this time it was an order. ‘Pull the shirt out from my waistband and haul it up over the arm furthest from you; I’ll tell you when to drag it over my head.’
‘Surely stopping—’
‘I’m not stopping,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t know who else might be around. Get the shirt off.’
Lauren gritted her teeth as her questing fingers skidded over sleek skin padded with muscle. Once his arm had been freed she waited, the material gathered in her hand.
‘There’s a straight length of road— OK, haul it over my head. Now!’
She jerked the soft, warm garment over his head in one smooth movement.
‘Get it off my other arm—now!’ he barked.
He made it easy for her, lithely shrugging free of the shirt. ‘Now cover yourself,’ he ordered in a tone that lifted every tiny hair on her body upright.
Silently she hauled it over her head, shivering as the material settled around her shoulders. The faint scent of his skin—vital, potent—almost banished the metallic taste of fear in her mouth.
Guy commanded, ‘Crouch down on the floor and stay there until I tell you to get out. Cover your face and your hands. If we stop, don’t move unless I tell you to. If we get stopped, don’t say anything—try not to breathe.’
The ice beneath her ribs expanding, she obeyed, folding herself into the foot well and praying that the maverick instinct to trust him hadn’t played her false. ‘Those men were aiming for the resort, weren’t they?’
He didn’t try to evade the truth. ‘That was the direction they were heading towards.’
‘Do you think there might be violence?’
When he didn’t answer immediately she said with sharp emphasis, ‘I’m not going to faint or scream or panic.’
The swift flash of his grin reassured her. ‘I believe you.’ But the momentary spark of humour dissolved into grimness as he swerved to avoid some small animal scurrying across the road.
Lauren braced herself, wincing as her elbow hit the floor.
He went on calmly, ‘What their leader—or leaders—plan, I have no idea. If they find the resort empty, they’ll probably take what they want, get drunk on the contents of the bar, then go back home.’
She nodded. ‘How long will it take us to get to the resort?’
‘We’re not going there,’ he said, changing gear.
‘WHAT?’ When he didn’t answer she demanded, ‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m taking you straight to the airport,’ he said above the snarl of the engine.
Lauren peered up at an angular jaw harshly outlined against the radiant moonlight. She pitched her voice louder. ‘But we have to warn them.’
‘They’ll have been warned. The jungle might look empty, but there are eyes everywhere, which is why you’re sitting on the floor now.’ He shot a swift glance at her shocked face. ‘Worrying about them isn’t going to achieve anything; I’m not going back to the resort.’
Appalled, she demanded, ‘But—what about the children?’
‘Leave it,’ he bit back, his voice coldly adamant. ‘The resort’s in direct contact with the police—the staff will have evacuated the tourists as soon as they got the word.’
‘And if it isn’t just a ragtag and bobtail group of cargo cultists who want European-style beds and television sets?’ she almost shouted. ‘If they’re armed and they mean mayhem, what then?’
He concentrated on steering at heart-shocking speed around a tight corner. ‘Once we’ve got you all out of the way, we’ll deal with whatever happens.’
Lauren huddled uncomfortably against the seat, wondering if people were crouching in ambush with rifles and machetes. She was, she realised, afraid, but not terrified; somehow Guy exuded an aura of such authority that she trusted him to get them out of whatever situation they were in.
Something he’d said clicked. She blurted, ‘You’re planning to stay and fight, aren’t you?’ When he didn’t answer she persisted, ‘Why? Are you Sant’Rosan?’
‘No,’ he said curtly, a total lack of compromise in his tone. ‘But I know the people and I’ve got a lot invested in Sant’Rosa— Get right down!’
Before she could react, he swore and thrust her forcefully beneath the dash as he applied the brakes. The vehicle slammed to a stop.
Crouched in a heap, her heart jumping so noisily she was sure it could be heard above the noise of the engine, Lauren heard rough, angry male voices. In spite of the thick heat, she shivered and tried to slow down the quick, shallow pants of her breathing.
Calmly Guy answered, his voice level and without fear. When someone laughed Lauren relaxed slightly, glancing up as Guy asked a question. Harsh yellow light—a spotlight?—traced the sweep of his cheekbones; she recalled the Slavic horsemen who had ridden into Europe over a millennium ago, and wondered just what his ancestry was.
Someone said something that made him frown and fire another question. He looked so confident and completely in charge of the situation that she was startled when she saw his lean fingers tighten on the steering wheel. His next remark produced much more laughter; he grinned and added a few words that brought a babble of comment.
Oh, how she wished she understood the language! Fluency in French and German amounted to nothing in this turbulent part of the world.
Although her body soon began to complain, she didn’t dare move a muscle, not even when the vehicle started and they drove off to a chorus of deep farewells.
‘All right,’ Guy said a few minutes later, ‘we’re out of sight. You can sit up, but keep your head down.’
Stiffly she uncurled, stretching her arms. ‘Who were they?’
‘A police patrol, but they warned that there are roving bands of possible looters in
