freshwater, and
maybe, definitely, bathe. Her hair was stiff with salt and sand.
The savory smell of the reconstituted stew drew her to the pot. It looked as good as it smelled,
activating her salivary glands and making her stomach rumble. Tory couldn’t wait. For all she knew,
Marc would be gone for hours. She picked up one of the forks and stabbed it into a piece of the meat.
She made herself stop eating when she realized she’d finished half the stew while crouching down beside
the little propane stove. She hadn’t even bothered to ladle it onto a plate. Obviously, adventure was
turning her into a savage.
There wasn’t much to do other than fold the top thermal blanket. After that was done, Tory laid it with
perfect precision on the end of the “bed.” She didn’t want to think of lying there with Marc Savin for
who-knew-how-many hours, wearing nothing but his shirt. She settled herself against the cool rock to
wait for him. Glancing at the time, she saw without surprise that her watch had stopped.
Ruined due to
the long swim.
When she heard something on the other side of the rock wall she froze, then quickly scooted on her
bottom into the back where the shadows were deeper.
Fool. The first thing she should have done when she woke was find some kind of weapon in that black
bag of his. There was another scraping sound from the other side of the rock. Her eyes darted to the
pack sitting uselessly next to the water bottle five feet away.
Someone was out there, and the smell of food would bring them right to her. Her hands started to sweat
as she heard the sound of a heavy tread dragging across the sand-strewn rocks out of sight. There was a
pause, then the footsteps came closer.
Tory inched against the wall toward Marc’s black pack. It was probably full of all sorts of violent things.
It didn’t matter that she would have no idea how to use whatever she found. Hopefully, it was something
big and dangerous looking. Keeping her eyes firmly fixed into the light, she reached out, her fingers
touching the thin plastic skin of the pack. Holding her breath, she felt for the catch and flipped open the
top. The metal ring clinked against stone. Her blood froze as the footsteps beyond her vision paused and
then kept coming.
She felt something soft and pushed it impatiently aside as her hand rummaged again.
Her fingers
encountered something hard this time. Hard and cold and mercifully heavy.
She knew it was some sort of gun. But since she had no idea where to even begin to fire it, she figured it
would make a better club. Almost suffocating on her own fear, she forced herself to take nice deep
breaths as she hefted the weight in her left hand and raised it over her head.
“I hope to hell you know what to do with that thing.” Marc Savin’s words cut into her terror and her arm
dropped. “Usually you shoot with it, but I suppose an exception can be made in your case.” He looked
like a modern-day pirate in his dark pants and shirt, his black hair loose and skimming his broad
shoulders. He also looked annoyingly clean and alert, while she felt rumpled, out of sorts and limp as the
surge of adrenaline left her system.
Tory glanced down at the nasty-looking gun still clutched in her hand. She was holding it by the barrel.
She jerked her hand away, dropping the weapon, and rose to her feet. “You scared me to death! Why
didn’t you call out or something?”
Marc poured what was left of the stew onto his plate. “I thought you’d still be sleeping.” He sat down
and dug into his meal. “Put the Uzi away and find the coffeepot.” She gaped at him and he added,
“Please.”
Digging out the battered pot, she filled it from the water bottle and turned up the flame on the stove. He
told her where to find the coffee, then leaned his elbows on his knees.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her.
“Better than I should,” Tory admitted, pouring the ground coffee into the
maybe, definitely, bathe. Her hair was stiff with salt and sand.
The savory smell of the reconstituted stew drew her to the pot. It looked as good as it smelled,
activating her salivary glands and making her stomach rumble. Tory couldn’t wait. For all she knew,
Marc would be gone for hours. She picked up one of the forks and stabbed it into a piece of the meat.
She made herself stop eating when she realized she’d finished half the stew while crouching down beside
the little propane stove. She hadn’t even bothered to ladle it onto a plate. Obviously, adventure was
turning her into a savage.
There wasn’t much to do other than fold the top thermal blanket. After that was done, Tory laid it with
perfect precision on the end of the “bed.” She didn’t want to think of lying there with Marc Savin for
who-knew-how-many hours, wearing nothing but his shirt. She settled herself against the cool rock to
wait for him. Glancing at the time, she saw without surprise that her watch had stopped.
Ruined due to
the long swim.
When she heard something on the other side of the rock wall she froze, then quickly scooted on her
bottom into the back where the shadows were deeper.
Fool. The first thing she should have done when she woke was find some kind of weapon in that black
bag of his. There was another scraping sound from the other side of the rock. Her eyes darted to the
pack sitting uselessly next to the water bottle five feet away.
Someone was out there, and the smell of food would bring them right to her. Her hands started to sweat
as she heard the sound of a heavy tread dragging across the sand-strewn rocks out of sight. There was a
pause, then the footsteps came closer.
Tory inched against the wall toward Marc’s black pack. It was probably full of all sorts of violent things.
It didn’t matter that she would have no idea how to use whatever she found. Hopefully, it was something
big and dangerous looking. Keeping her eyes firmly fixed into the light, she reached out, her fingers
touching the thin plastic skin of the pack. Holding her breath, she felt for the catch and flipped open the
top. The metal ring clinked against stone. Her blood froze as the footsteps beyond her vision paused and
then kept coming.
She felt something soft and pushed it impatiently aside as her hand rummaged again.
Her fingers
encountered something hard this time. Hard and cold and mercifully heavy.
She knew it was some sort of gun. But since she had no idea where to even begin to fire it, she figured it
would make a better club. Almost suffocating on her own fear, she forced herself to take nice deep
breaths as she hefted the weight in her left hand and raised it over her head.
“I hope to hell you know what to do with that thing.” Marc Savin’s words cut into her terror and her arm
dropped. “Usually you shoot with it, but I suppose an exception can be made in your case.” He looked
like a modern-day pirate in his dark pants and shirt, his black hair loose and skimming his broad
shoulders. He also looked annoyingly clean and alert, while she felt rumpled, out of sorts and limp as the
surge of adrenaline left her system.
Tory glanced down at the nasty-looking gun still clutched in her hand. She was holding it by the barrel.
She jerked her hand away, dropping the weapon, and rose to her feet. “You scared me to death! Why
didn’t you call out or something?”
Marc poured what was left of the stew onto his plate. “I thought you’d still be sleeping.” He sat down
and dug into his meal. “Put the Uzi away and find the coffeepot.” She gaped at him and he added,
“Please.”
Digging out the battered pot, she filled it from the water bottle and turned up the flame on the stove. He
told her where to find the coffee, then leaned his elbows on his knees.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her.
“Better than I should,” Tory admitted, pouring the ground coffee into the
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