From Thailand with Love Read online

  Defeated, I sink to the floor and join Winter in leaning my back against the wall where the gold coin boxes were stashed. Two seconds later, the flashlight begins to flicker again.

  “How long have we been in here?” I ask.

  Winter shrugs. “A few hours?” She shows me her bare wrist. “I don’t have my watch. It was impossible to wear with the scuba-diving gloves.”

  “Yeah, same here.”

  The flickering of the headlamp grows more hectic.

  “Death by starvation, trapped in a Thai temple,” Winter says grimly. “That’s not the way I figured I’d go.”

  “You think of your death often?”

  “No, only when I accept stupid jobs, in the stupid jungle, going after stupid lost cities, and oh-so-casually find myself stuck in a stupid treasure chamber,” she snaps back.

  On that cheerful note, the flashlight blinks one last time and then goes dark.

  Thirteen

  Winter

  I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep. Even without the adrenaline flooding through my body—like a trapped animal who keeps ready to attack the hunter—the silence alone is too great to allow any rest. Sometimes, I’ve lain awake at night and thought the quiet oppressive, but it was nothing compared to the perfect stillness of this place. It’s as if I could touch the darkness surrounding us.

  Everywhere else in the world a sound or motion, no matter how imperceptible, deadens the sharp edge of absolute silence. But here, there is none.

  We’re buried in the bowels of a lost temple no one knows about, in a city of legend most don’t believe even exists. Outside, the jungle is teeming with life and creatures. The monkeys jumping vines, the exotic birds cooing, the wind rustling through the leaves, but not a sound of it reaches us down here. We’re separated by a long tunnel and five feet of rock even from the chamber with the statue of Buddha on his deathbed, and the dead make no sounds. In our living tomb, we’re cut off from every echo of the world—as if already in the grave.

  I shiver.

  “Logan,” I whisper. “Would you hold me?”

  “Afraid of the dark?” he says.

  Why does he have to be such a jerk about everything? “Forget I asked.”

  A few seconds later, two strong arms drag me to the side. There’s some adjusting of limbs, and suddenly I’m engulfed in blissful warmth. Logan has pulled me against his chest and wraps himself around me like a blanket.

  Human touch—such a simple thing, but one that can make all the difference in the world.

  I let myself relax in Logan’s embrace and I’m surprised at how cozy it feels.

  “Who are you thinking of?” Logan asks.

  I don’t hesitate. “My sister. I can’t believe I’m going to die without having told her I forgive her. You?”

  “For one, I’m not resigned to our demise being such a foregone conclusion.” He squeezes his arms around me a little tighter. “And two, there aren’t many people for me to think about. I don’t have any siblings, and my parents both died a few years back—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, you’re a bit of a lone wolf?”

  “I guess Archie is the closest thing I have to a family now.”

  “Are you worried Smith will hurt him?”

  Logan goes a little rigid behind me. “I don’t know… Crazy as Smith is, he didn’t seem to want to add a murder charge to his crimes.”

  “You mean besides our murders?”

  “We’re not going to die,” Logan whispers in my ear. His warm breath brushes down my neck, making me feel the most alive I’ve ever been. Funny, since I’m basically lying in a glorified grave.

  “You really think a rescue team will get to us in time?”

  “Yes,” he says.

  I choose to believe his lie, and my body lets go of its tension. I shift positions, resting my head back on Logan’s shoulder and letting myself go limp in his arms.

  I’m already starting to doze off when Logan’s hand pats my chest.

  What is he doing?

  And what gave him the impression he can grope me like that? This might be my last night on Earth, but I sure hope he doesn’t expect me to put out just because of that.

  Oh crap, why did I ask him to hug me? Did I give him the wrong idea? Now what do I do?

  My first reaction is to swat his hand away and go back to sitting in my corner, but my body refuses to do my brain’s bidding. And what if this really turned out to be my last night in this world? Would spending it having sex with a gorgeous man really the worst way to go? Certainly better than sitting alone in the cold.

  And since when do we think Logan is gorgeous? a little voice asks in my head.

  Oh, please, we’ve always thought that. Only he made it an easy trait to ignore by behaving like Satan. But since he’s started to act kind of nice, it has become harder to overlook.

  He pats me again, missing my breasts by a mile. Should I give him pointers? Is this his idea of foreplay? Should I—

  “Is this your camera?” Logan interrupts my train of thought.

  Gosh, he’s bad at foreplay. “Mm-hmm?”

  “Does it have any battery left?”

  “Yeah, almost full, why?”

  “I’ve been thinking about something Smith said before locking us in here.”

  Smith?!

  I guess hot, last-night-on-earth sex wasn’t on his mind after all.

  “What?” I ask.

  “He said we’d be rescued sooner or later, unless we ran out of oxygen first. That’s got me thinking… We’ve been stuck for hours, but the air hasn’t grown hot or stale.”

  I take a deep breath. “No, it hasn’t,” I agree. “This room isn’t that big—we would have noticed the lack of oxygen by now.”

  “Exactly. Which means fresh air has to come in from somewhere. It makes sense, otherwise, we should’ve been stifled or poisoned when we first came in. But the air felt totally normal—no toxins or anything from sitting still and stale over centuries. That big stone door looked air-tight, so the inlet must be somewhere else.” He squeezes my wrist in excitement. “And if the air can come in, maybe we can squeeze out from the same place. We only need to find the spot.”

  “We’ve searched everywhere already.”

  “So? Maybe we missed something. It’s worth giving it another go. Can we use the flash of your camera to light the way?”

  “Mmm, the flash is really battery-consuming… maybe the screen backlight is enough?” I fumble with the camera’s buttons to switch it on.

  When it does, I turn and find Logan smiling down at me.

  He gives me a strong, squeezing hug and kisses the side of my head. “If we get out of here alive, I swear I’m never going to complain about you taking my picture ever again.”

  I mock scold him with a deep frown, and we both get up.

  For an hour or more, we go on feeling about the chamber, looking not for secret buttons this time, but for a crack where the air might be getting in. We start standing, then end up on our hands and knees to cover the lower section of the walls. Logan scrutinizes every square inch of space while I hold the camera screen at eye level.

  I’m beginning to despair when Logan suddenly says, “Feel here.”

  I lower my Reflex to the floor. “Where?”

  “Put your hand over mine. Do you feel anything?”

  A tendril of electricity shoots up my arm from where our skin is touching, but I bet “a current shock” is not what Logan means me to feel.

  “I think there’s air coming up,” he continues. “Listen.”

  Logan rises and stamps his foot down, and a flame of hope shoots up in my heart when it rings hollow. We’re in the far corner of the chamber, which explains why we hadn’t noticed the echoing sound during our former exhaustive examination.

  “Can you make the screen any brighter?” Logan asks.

  I compl
y with his request; I was keeping it on low to save power, but if there’s a way out that’s no longer necessary. Even at maximum brightness, though, the screen’s light is not the best as we scrutinize the spot like two angry hawks. There’s nothing here.

  I’m losing hope again when I see it: a crease in the solid rock floor. And… yes! It’s covered in so much dust, it’s barely recognizable, but I still spot it: a stone ring! Could it be the handle to a secret escape door?

  Logan must spot it at the same time as me, because he gasps.

  We look at each other, saying no words. We’re too excited; or, at least, I am. My heart is beating too wildly with hope to allow me to speak.

  “I need Smith’s knife,” Logan says, and scrambles back to where our little mound of provisions is lying abandoned.

  He comes back with the knife and scratches around the ring with it. Finally, he manages to work it under and lifts the stone hoop away—gently, for fear of breaking the hook. Being made of stone, it hasn’t rusted in all the centuries it has lain there, as would have been the case had it been made of iron. Logan pushes the ring up until it’s standing upright. Then he thrusts his hands into it and tugs with all his force… but nothing budges.

  “Let me try,” I say impatiently.

  Logan shakes his head but lets me have a go. Maybe if I come at it from a different angle… I pull on the damn thing for dear life, but nothing, it doesn’t give.

  The blasted thing is wedged right in the corner, so the walls make it impossible for both of us to pull at once.

  Logan tries and fails again. He swipes his forehead with his shirt sleeve and sinks back in a crouch, thinking. He grabs the knife again and begins scratching all around the crack where we felt the air coming up.

  Next, he takes his shirt off and runs it through the ring, tying it in place with a tight knot.

  And I know this is a life and death situation, but damn! The professor is ripped. Not that I didn’t know, of course, but the monkey incident was so long ago I thought I’d forgotten how magnificent Logan looks naked. But now, staring at his strong back and chest, both covered in a light sheen of perspiration, I can’t help my mouth watering a little.

  Logan sets his feet firmly on the floor, one in front of the other in a wide stance, then ropes the shirt around his forearm and pulls, offering me an even more detailed view of all the muscles ripping his torso.

  “I need your help,” he says in a strained voice. “Get in front of me and pull with all you’ve got.”

  Oh, right, that might be more useful than standing here ogling!

  I do as he says, molding my body to his. We’re once again back to chest, and all this proximity is making me hot, and… I need to focus! Let’s get out of the grave first, and then I can reflect on why Logan is suddenly pushing all my lust buttons. I grab the shirt with both hands and pull, pull, pull until my hands hurt and the fabric of the shirt starts to rip in my grip.

  “Keep going,” Logan encourages me. “It’s giving!” he gasps.

  Suddenly, there’s a grating sound, then a rush of air, and then we’re on the floor. I land on top of Logan as the heavy flagstone slides away to reveal a dark opening.

  “We did it!” I yell, and turn to smile at Logan.

  Only now I’m awkwardly straddling him while my hands are firmly placed on his bare pecs, and is it just me or is he looking at me funny? I quickly climb off him, pick myself up, and inhale a long breath.

  Logan does the same, and we both stare at the spot where the stone was, which now reveals the first step of a stone stair.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “Let’s gather our things,” Logan says. “We don’t know what might await us down there.”

  We quickly collect our belongings, dividing them evenly between our two backpacks. And, to my dismay, Logan puts his shirt back on… only to find it hangs around his chest in tatters, leaving me a clear view of his six-pack.

  Small victories.

  Logan shakes his head and ties a few strands together.

  “Are you going for the fifties-housewife look?” I tease.

  “Right now, any look is better than corpse-in-a-chamber, wouldn’t you agree?” he says, and smiles at me.

  A real, megawatt smile. One that transforms his entire face, brightens it even in the semi-darkness, and—oh gosh! I seriously need to rein in the lust.

  Or scratch the itch! the evil little voice in my head suggests.

  Yeah, right. As if.

  I internally shake my head to the possibility and look at the hole in the floor. “So we just follow the stairs?”

  “Of course,” Logan says, and picks up the camera-turned-flashlight. “I’ll go first.”

  “Careful where you put your feet,” I say. “I don’t want you to fall down and break your neck.”

  Logan’s answering grin is wolfish. “Wow, worried about my safety now? I’m touched.” He puts a mocking hand over his heart.

  “Annoying as you are.” I scowl. “I’d still rather not be left down here alone.”

  “Yeah,” Logan says, his predatory grin shifting into something softer. “You’re growing on me, too. Let’s go?”

  I didn’t say he was growing on me—Oh, wait. I’m growing on him? Was he serious?

  I don’t have time to dwell on the answer, as Logan is already descending the first step of the stone stairs.

  I follow him and, by the time we’ve reached the bottom, I’ve counted thirty steps.

  “Decision time,” Logan says, stopping.

  The dim glow of the screen illuminates a T-intersection, with narrow tunnels running off in both directions. Logan stands in the middle of the new passage, very still.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Trying to decide if we should go left or right?”

  I scrunch my face, perplexed. “How?”

  The way I see it, it’s just bare walls. With no sign whatsoever which direction will lead to safety and which to a horrible death trapped in the bowels of this temple.

  “I’m trying to gauge which way the draft is coming from.”

  “Any luck?”

  “No, it’s too faint. Wait!” He hands me the camera, then rummages in his backpack and pulls out a lighter.

  “We had a lighter this whole time?” I ask. I hadn’t noticed one upstairs. “Why didn’t you use it in the chamber?”

  “First, I was worried about burning up what oxygen we had, and then we used your camera, so…”

  Logan flicks the lighter to life. At once, the flame blows to the left.

  “That way,” Logan announces, pointing to the right. He pockets the lighter and takes the Reflex back. “We have to go against the draft. Air draws inwards, not outwards.”

  The words have barely left his mouth when the camera in his hands goes dark, the battery dead at last. Blackness surrounds us once again.

  “Use the lighter,” I say.

  Logan turns it back on, and in the flickering light, I see that he has looped my camera around his neck.

  “Let’s go,” he prompts me. But, as soon as he takes a step forward, he stops and blows out the flame. “I can’t walk with the lighter in my hands. The flame blows backward and burns my fingers.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We’ll have to grope our way forward and hope this blasted tunnel is short.” I’m about to protest when Logan, probably sensing my discomfort, adds, “Hold my hand.”

  One hand safely tucked into his, I feel along the wall with the other and walk along, trying the ground before me at every step.

  After about half an hour along the passage, it suddenly takes a sharp turn. We flick on the lighter again to make sure there aren’t any off-shoot passages, then head onward. After a while, there’s another turn, then another. Until I lose count and am utterly disoriented. I have no idea which direction we’re going, or how much time has passed since we lost the camera light, but I’m losing ho
pe we’ll ever get out of here alive. We’re buried in a stone maze that doesn’t lead anywhere. Hell, maybe we’re going in circles. Whoever built this place probably thought it’d be a fun joke to give us hope of escaping, only to trap us in a much worse nightmare.

  “Logan,” I say. “I need a break.”

  We stop and use the lighter to fish two protein bars out of the backpacks and eat them in the flickering light of the small flame.

  Not exactly my idea of a candlelit dinner, or breakfast, or whatever this is. I have no idea what time it is, or if it’s still today or already tomorrow. Day, night… I just don’t know. I need to get out of here or I might go crazy.

  “Ready to go on?” Logan asks, once we’ve drunk the last of our water.

  I nod.

  He offers me his hand once again and snuffs the lighter.

  We trudge on, nothing changing in our surroundings for what feels like hours. Until, over the rustling of our feet on the ground, I catch a sound. Very faint and very far off, but definitely a noise. A distant murmuring of…

  “Logan,” I say, pulling on his hand to make him stop. “Do you hear it?”

  We pause, holding our breath and straining our ears.

  “I do.”

  “What is it?”

  “Sounds like running water.” I hear the smile in Logan’s answer. “Let’s go, we can’t be too far off.”

  Summoning the last of our energy, we grope our way along the rocky walls, the sound becoming more and more audible. We go on and on until we can distinctly make out the unmistakable swirl of rushing water.

  “You think it’s an underground river?” I ask.

  “It must be,” Logan says. “I swear I can smell the water—Aaah…”

  Splash!

  A sudden tug on my hand makes me tumble forward, and I follow Logan down, sinking headfirst into the river below. Even in the initial moment of surprise, I manage not to let go of Logan’s hand. I quickly recover from the shock of the fall and start kicking my feet to keep my head above water toward where Logan is pulling me.

  He must find some kind of hold, because all of a sudden we stop floating with the current, and his hand keeps me anchored in place.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.