Tall, Dark and Deadly Page 13

  Involved? Alex savored the word. Sure, he and Dana were involved—in their life-and-death flight across the rain forest. But the word had other connotations. There was, after all, such a thing as sexual involvement.

  Alex slowed down as he thought about that. It conjured up a memory of the kiss they’d shared. He’d kissed a hell of a lot of women, yet that one kiss with Dana had been different. It had been compelling and sensual and filled with promise. For a moment, he let the memory wash over him. The taste of her. Her tongue against his. The feeling of her. Her breasts against him. The sharp edge of desire he felt was more than physical. He wanted to know her, truly know her.

  Maybe he was so damned intrigued because he had no idea where he stood with her. He knew that in some way she appealed to his reckless infatuation with the unknown, that old pull toward what he couldn’t possess. But there was more to Dana. More to why he wanted her.

  And she was doing her damnedest to keep him at a distance. He wanted more than a view of her walking away from him, even though he couldn’t deny the sight was interesting, swaying hips, slim straight back, bright golden hair. On the uneven footing of a slippery and wet path, she bounced along beautifully.

  “What’s the matter, can’t you keep up?” she asked over her shoulder.

  His smile was wicked but his answer was serious. “I like the view from back here.”

  With that she slowed down and walked beside him, not letting the conversation drift to the personal. “How far to the border?” she asked.

  “Four, five days.”

  “And then we fly into Kenya?”

  Alex nodded. “There’s an abandoned mission across the border in Zaire. My connection will meet us there at the arranged time. If we’re not there on day one, he’ll come back the next day and the next...”

  “Indefinitely?”

  “I wish, but no. Eventually, he’ll figure we were victims of the rain forest.”

  “But we won’t be, will we?” she asked. “Not with the help of our friends, the Mgembe.”

  “Dana, don’t be too sure that they’re our friends.”

  “Of course, they are. You saw how they behaved with me. And listen to them now, singing and clapping—”

  “You said yourself, that’s to keep away wild animals.”

  Laughter drifted to them from the procession ahead.

  “Hear that? They’re happy people, and they treat their friends kindly.”

  “But they eat their enemies.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They aren’t cannibals.” She stopped dead and looked at him. “Are they?”

  “Let’s stay friendly and we won’t have to find out,” Alex answered equivocally.

  She started walking again as the Pygmies ran along ahead, continuing their spirited singing and clapping, and the whole jungle seemed to respond. Birds squawked and monkeys squealed. Insects buzzed. And Alex began to whistle.

  Dana sighed in satisfaction. “Despite everything, I wouldn’t have missed this part of the adventure. But,” she added, “I’ll be glad when we get to the plane. I guess the pilot expects to see Louis at the rendezvous.”

  Alex nodded.

  “I still can’t believe he’s dead—or that I’m accused of his murder.”

  Alex groaned inwardly. Beautiful. Kissable. And persistent. Now it sounded as if she wanted to resurrect the whole Bertrand murder. That he wasn’t going to do. “We need to concentrate on staying alive, Dana, not discussing the dead.”

  “Louis was your friend, or so you said.”

  “He was. But talking about his murder isn’t going to bring him back.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Conserve your breath. We’ve got a long way to go.” He took her hand and pulled her along. “And we’re about to lose our guides.”

  The Mgembe had crested a gentle rise and disappeared. Dana dropped Alex’s hand and took off at a trot.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, hurrying after her.

  Just when Dana thought she couldn’t take one more step—but kept going rather than let him see how tired she was—she heard women’s voices singing. The Pygmy camp was just ahead.

  They followed the men up to a cleared oval area surrounded by huts that looked to Dana like tropical igloos shingled with green leaves. As they entered the camp, the smoke from a wood fire curled around them, and the scent of roasting meat invaded their senses. The villagers had gathered for dinner, but they moved away at the sight of the intruders—and Dana heard the word muzungu repeated again and again.

  “It means foreigner,” she told Alex, “but I think intruder would be more like it,” she added as the villagers dropped back, staring silently. Many of the women and children turned and ran while the men looked away, trembling. She could hardly blame them. They’d probably seen few white people before.

  And now here they were confronted by a tall, muscular but very disheveled Frenchman with a hairy face and a very blond female with slim pale legs, as sweaty as the man. The Mgembe didn’t seem to be affected by the sticky heat; there wasn’t a drop of perspiration on their copper-colored skin.

  The silence was broken when Moke spoke to the tribe. Dana had no idea what he was saying, but her tape recorder caught it all. His words must have been comforting because the Mgembe began to return, tentatively at first, and then, as he reassured them, closer.

  Finally, small hands reached out, curly heads bobbled at shoulder level, friendly faces became creased by huge smiles, and laughter rang out. Her ivory carving was examined over and over again as voices babbled excitedly around her.

  Moke brought forward a small, shy woman. “Loku,” he said, pointing to her.

  Dana repeated the name and was rewarded by a slight smile from the woman.

  “Dana,” Moke went on, pointing at her.

  Dana smiled with delight and shot a look of triumph at Alex. She was communicating with the Mgembe, on a primitive level.

  “I think Loku is his wife,” she said softly to Alex. “Pygmies are monogamous. At least that’s what I’ve read.”

  Loku gingerly moved closer and studied Dana’s blistered hands, now free of bandages.

  “Is she going to heal you?” Alex asked.

  “I think so. I caught the word dawa, which means medicine or herbs. Of course, it also means casting spells. I could be in trouble.”

  “You’re doing great,” he complimented. “Just stay cool.”

  She tried. A dozen children were now crouched in a semicircle around her, watching every move.

  Loku slipped away and then reappeared with an earthen pot. She showed the smelly mixture inside to Dana. “Dawa,” she said, pointing to Dana’s hands. Without hesitation, Dana held them out and let Loku rub in the soothing ointment.

  “Do you think it’ll work?” Alex asked warily.

  Dana nodded. She knew instinctively that her hands would be healed.

  “What next?” she mouthed at him.

  Alex shrugged. “You’re the attraction. Go with it.”

  Dana allowed herself to be led to what she presumed was a place of honor at the center of the gathering, where she sat on a pile of leaves.

  “This is the meeting place where they have meals and get together for important occasions,” she told Alex. “I think it’s called the baraza.”

  To Dana’s surprise, Moke recognized her pronunciation and smiled broadly. “Baraza,” he repeated, “baraza.” Other tribesmen said the word with him.

  The women gathered around Dana, piling huge quantities of food in front of her.

  “Look at all this,” she said to Alex.

  “I’m looking. And I’m starving.”

  “Come and sit down. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  “Let’s see what happens.” He took his place on the leaves beside her. But he couldn’t wait for a reaction and immediately began eating, spurred on by the laughter of the Mgembe, who had begun to come forward again.

  While they laughed at Alex, they gathered around D
ana, peering intently into her eyes.

  “I’m not crazy about being stared at,” she told him.

  “Eat and ignore it,” he advised.

  Hungry enough to take his advice, she tried a few tentative bites of the roasted meat. Even though the Mgembe watched every move, Dana began to relax. After all, they had every right to be curious.

  Moke named each dish as she tasted. The roasted meat was called sondu.

  “It’s one of a variety of forest antelope,” Alex told her. “Which is probably my last bit of knowledge for the night.”

  Another kind of antelope, sindulu, was cooked in a stew of mushrooms and leaves. And there was a dish that reminded Dana of spinach, and a drink that they gave up trying to identify by name.

  “Too many vowels in that word,” Alex said. “But whatever it is, it tastes great. I guess fermented sap of some kind.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Taste it,” Alex prodded. “You’re adventurous.”

  Finally, she did. “I taste berries, nuts, herbs...”

  “Fermented sap,” he said definitely.

  She laughed. “You’re not going keep me from drinking it—because it’s good.”

  “Then drink up. You might even get a little buzz before the evening’s out. Then who knows what might happen?” He smiled suggestively.

  “Alex, we’re guests here.”

  “These people are pretty happy. I expect lovemaking is high on their agenda.”

  She gave him a poke in the rib, observed by a few of the Mgembe, who went into more gales of laughter.

  “I bet that familiar wifely gesture on your part will result in something very interesting,” he commented.

  “I hate to ask, Alex, but what do you mean?” she said suspiciously. “I don’t like the gleam in your eye.”

  “It’s time for bed. We’re both tired, and I suspect they’ve picked out a special hut for us.”

  “I suspect,” she said sweetly, “there’s a bachelor’s hut for unmarried men.”

  “You wouldn’t encourage that, would you, Dana, not after our being together for all this time? I can’t sleep without you beside me.”

  “Sure you can. Anyone can get used to anything.”

  “You’re all heart,” he complained. “Uh, here come our hosts. I think the decision about who sleeps where is theirs.”

  * * *

  THERE WERE THOSE who came to Africa in search of a simpler way of life. The sun shone every day, food grew on trees and vines for the taking, the rivers and jungles were breathtakingly beautiful. In many ways it was an Eden.

  Yet even in paradise, money counted. No one knew that better than I. And there never seemed to be enough. Hard work was not its own reward, contrary to popular belief. Most of us only earned enough to get by, to struggle on, beyond reach of what we really wanted.

  But sometimes in a wild stroke of luck, fate intervened and dangled a fortune in front of your eyes. And nothing else mattered but claiming that fortune. Not lying or stealing. Or murder.

  Chapter Eight

  He woke up wanting her. Which was no surprise to Alex because he’d also gone to bed wanting her. He turned over. She was curled up beside him in the hut where they’d spent the night at Moke’s insistence. Dana hadn’t wanted to hurt the man’s feelings, and the outcome was fine with Alex. Except it was also very frustrating.

  He looked away, avoiding the early morning trace of sunlight that caressed her face. It wouldn’t be a good idea to get caught up in that, especially with the constant aching need inside of him. Thoughts of her were taking up too much of his mental time. The tension between them needed resolution, and for him there was only one way to achieve that. But Dana had other ideas.

  Somehow he’d have to change her mind. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

  A scratching noise woke him, and Alex was immediately on guard. But it was only Dana pulling at the branches that formed the hut.

  “What the hell are you doing, trying to destroy the place?” he asked, crawling out of the tiny hut.

  “I’m trying to figure out how they do this. It seems simple enough. They bend the saplings into a dome and make a lattice framework. The whole thing is covered with leaves. Mongongo leaves,” she spoke into her tape recorder. “But it’s more intricate than it looks. They’re layered like tiles.”

  “Mongongo leaves? You’re really into this,” he observed.

  “I might as well learn all I can while we’re here.”

  Alex shrugged. “Learn fast. We aren’t going to be around that long. Did you talk to Moke last night about leading us across the border?”

  “Nope.”

  “Dana,” he warned, “we need to get out of here—”

  “I’ll ask,” she promised. “Go have breakfast while I finish up here.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “I already did.”

  “I must have been more tired than I thought if you were up and about before me.”

  “The macho man overslept,” she teased.

  He let that one go, not about to tell her of his early morning frustrations. “The macho man is stiff and sore from sleeping on the ground, and he, too, is looking forward to a hotel bed. What’s for breakfast?”

  “Honey.” Her voice was guileless, but he saw the devilish grin.

  “And?”

  “That’s it. Honey. Oh, and parts of the hive, the dead bees, some larvae. You’ll love it.”

  “Can’t wait,” he teased back. “It sounds worthy of a four-star Parisian restaurant.”

  She returned to studying the leaves and the pattern they formed. Alex stood for a long time in the open doorway of the hut, looking at her. She’d given up on doing anything with her hair and pulled it back in a careless ponytail. Tendrils escaped haphazardly and curled around her face. There were dirt and grass stains on her clothes and scratches from briars and fallen limbs on her legs. She seemed oblivious to them all.

  He was thinking again about how much he wanted her when she turned and saw him staring. “I thought you were going to eat,” she said.

  “I am. But I wanted to ask—how are your...hands?” That was the first thing that came, not very convincingly, into his head.

  “Amazingly better. Loku put some more ointment on this morning. If we had more time, imagine what we could learn about natural medicine, Alex.”

  “But we don’t have more time,” he said gruffly. As he went out, he turned and called over his shoulder, “Talk to Moke this morning, Dana. And I mean it.”

  * * *

  DANA PLUNGED into the water with the women and children from the tribe. She could hear the voices of the men bathing around a bend in the river and chuckled to think of Alex cavorting with his miniature friends.

  As the women laughed and talked and the children squealed with delight, Dana pulled off her shorts and shirt, scrubbed them vigorously and wrung them out. Still wearing her bra and panties and without feeling any inhibitions around the naked bathers, she moved closer to the bank. There she hung her clothes out to dry on the overhanging branches.

  That’s when she noticed that the women were watching her, giggling as she stood waist deep in the water. They began to gather around, talking rapidly to one another. She had no idea what they were saying, but it seemed to involve her lingerie, especially her bra. Then it came to her. They never covered their breasts. Joyfully, she joined in their laughter.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she unhooked the bra and handed it to Loku, who examined it minutely.

  “Aas!” Loku said as she passed it around the circle. The women studied it, put it on like a bonnet, tied it around their necks, not ever getting it quite right.

  Dana let them have their fun. Still laughing with them, she dived underwater, swam to the center of the stream and surfaced, feeling clean and refreshed. When she looked back, someone had hung her bra on the branch beside her clothes.

  The Pygmies’ humor was full of life. She was envious of that unin
hibited happiness and jealous of their unselfconscious freedom.

  After a long swim she waded to shallower water and scooped up a handful of sand, which she used to scrub her skin. Then she ducked again, washing it away. The water flowed across her shoulders and breasts, down along her hips and thighs. It was wonderfully warm and sensuous and made her think of a man’s hands caressing her body.

  “Dammit,” she said aloud. It made her think of Alex! If she closed her eyes and moved her hands up her body, she could imagine that he was touching her.

  She let her body relax and flow with the water, drifting, caressing herself. Eyes closed, she floated along, downstream, until she realized that she was drifting into a fantasy and stood up quickly, shaking the water from her hair and body, ridding herself of Alex’s image.

  Dana struggled into her clothes, which in the jungle humidity weren’t that much damper than usual. Then she followed the women, who’d formed into an irregular line and begun the trek back to camp.

  As if it was planned, they converged on the men around the first turn. Alex had apparently washed his clothes, too, and put them on wet; he was bare-chested, carrying his shirt. His hair was clean and shining and his chest glistened. With his fledgling beard and mustache, he looked even more handsome—and more mysterious.

  He strolled toward them, took Dana’s hand and pulled her off the path, letting the others go on ahead. As soon as they disappeared around the first bend, he asked, “Have you talked to Moke?”

  “Alex, I’ve been bathing with the women. You were with the men.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to make myself understood. You can. Now, what about our plans for getting to the border?”

  “I told you. I was bathing—”

  “Earlier. Before you left the camp. Did you ask?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “In other words, no?”

  She stopped and faced him. “You don’t understand. We’re guests. I can’t order them to lead us to the mission. If you knew more about the way the tribe works—”

  “I don’t want a lecture on Pygmy customs, Dana.”

  “Maybe you need one,” she retorted. “They don’t have tribal chiefs. They do everything with a kind of committee mentality, and they don’t take kindly to strangers coming in and giving orders. Of course, I’ll ask, but when the time is right.” She started down the path, but he grabbed her upper arm and held her.