From Thailand with Love Page 8

  I hear the word sorry, but somehow I only get madder. “But of course you hate pictures. Have it your way, but don’t come to me when you need a cover for your book.”

  “What book?”

  “The one you’re going to write once we find the lost city, of course.”

  He looks like he wants to be mad, but a smile sneaks onto his face anyway. “You’re so sure we’re going to find it?”

  “Not a doubt in my mind.”

  “I still don’t like having my picture taken.”

  “Then I’ll be sneakier next time.”

  As I turn to walk away, he says, “I never said I was writing a book.”

  “No, but you will,” I say. Then, I add in a mutter, “Tara did.”

  Logan stalks after me. “What did you just say?”

  I stop and turn to face him again. “Nothing.”

  He’s wearing a strangely satisfied expression as he regards me, all hands-on-the-hips smug. “I should tell Tucker you only need half an hour on the internet this week, considering you had time to waste researching my ex.”

  My jaw drops with outrage. And I hate him for connecting the dots so quickly, busting me for using the precious satellite connection to research Tara. “You’re the most insufferable man I’ve ever met.”

  Satan flashes me a cocky grin I haven’t seen before, and says, “I’d say I’m intriguing, considering you went to all that trouble to find out about my ex.” He gives me a mock military salute, adding, “Have a nice bath,” and goes back to studying his map.

  Fuming, I march toward the river where Tucker and Archie and our armed escort are waiting for me. When I get there, Tucker is already in the water, while Archie is showing off his sculpted physique on a flat rock while he undresses. The man can sure work a pair of board shorts.

  I join him on the rock and start shedding all my clothes except for the bikini I’m wearing underneath in curt, angry motions. Mentally, I’m reliving my exchange with Logan.

  What a pompous prick!

  I can’t believe the nerve of that man.

  “I’d say I’m intriguing…”

  Intriguing, my ass.

  Unbelievably annoying, maybe. Impossible, full of himself, overconfident… those are adjectives I would use. Not intriguing.

  “Hey, Snowflake,” Archie cuts into my mental rant. “From the way you’re huffing and puffing, I can only guess you’ve just come from an encounter with Logan.”

  “Ah! I don’t understand how you can be friends with him. He’s evil.”

  Archie smiles, unconcerned. “I’ve already told him, and now I’m going to tell you, too. You guys should get over yourselves and just do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Seal the deal, get some, bone each other… Call it as you may, but please get a move on.”

  I stare at him, shocked. “Are you out of your mind? Every time I talk to him, I can’t go five minutes before I want to kill him.”

  Archie winks at me. “It’s the sexual tension, honey. Trust me, just get it out of your system and you’ll feel better.”

  I glare at him. “How come you’re not volunteering to blow off steam together anymore?” I ask.

  I preferred when he was hitting on me every five minutes rather than pushing his annoying best friend on me.

  “It’s clear I’m not your cup of tea, Snowflake,” Archie says, taking a step back toward the edge of the flat boulder. “And hate sex can be amazing.”

  I twirl a finger next to my temple. “You está loco.”

  “I’ve got one hundred dollars here that say you’ll bang him before we get out of this jungle.” Archie turns and runs the remaining length of the rock, screaming as he races and then jumps.

  Splash!

  I run and jump after him. “And I have two hundred dollars that say I wooooon’t!”

  Eight

  Winter

  Mid-morning, the next day, a commotion in the camp makes me miss the perfect shot of a mama monkey jumping from a tree branch to another with her baby macaque fastened underneath her belly.

  Annoyed, I walk back the few paces out of the rainforest and into the tent enclosure to check what’s going on.

  At once I spot Tucker and Somchai dragging a moaning Archie between them. He seems to have trouble walking on his own. Also, with each step, a subdued cry escapes his lips.

  I run to them. “What happened?”

  Tucker looks at me. “A bird flew into the drone and knocked it out of the air. It got stuck in a tree, and Archie climbed up to retrieve it.”

  With a visible effort, Archie raises his head, his face ashen. “And then I fell ass-first into a thorn bush.”

  “A thorn bush?” I ask, perplexed.

  “Jungle can be tricky,” Somchai explains. “Evil plants. But we saved plane.” He shows me the little flying robot in his other hand.

  Logan joins us, carrying one of the folding cots from inside a tent that he places under the tarp. “Lay him here.”

  They gently lower Archie on his stomach, causing further protests, and at once it’s clear his injuries are serious. The whole rear side of his trousers is stained with blood, the fabric is ripped in multiple places, and are those thorns still sticking out of his flesh?

  “You didn’t remove the thorns before moving him?” I accuse.

  “With what?” Tucker shrugs. “I was afraid I’d do more damage with my unclean hands, cause an infection or something.”

  “Well, you can do it now. I’ll go grab the first aid kit.”

  Kit is an understatement; the case I bring back is a portable mini-hospital loaded with everything from basic gauzes and disinfectant up to an out-and-out surgical starter set.

  I hold the heavy case in my hands and offer it to the men. “So, who’s going to do it?”

  “I will,” Tucker says, taking the case from me. “But I need assistance.”

  “I can help,” Logan offers.

  Tucker eyes him dubiously. Logan’s face has turned positively greenish.

  “Does the sight of blood make you queasy?” Tucker asks.

  “A little,” Logan admits.

  “Then you better get outta here. I don’t need my assistant to pass out on top of everything else.”

  Tucker turns to me raising his eyebrows questioningly.

  I could back off and ask one of the military guys to help fix Archie’s butt. I’m sure they wouldn’t have problems stomaching the work, but I also sense they wouldn’t be the gentlest, so I offer to help instead. “I can do it,” I say.

  Logan nods at me in a silent thank you, throws one last stare at his suffering best friend, and regretfully but necessarily walks away looking nauseous.

  Somchai lifts the heavy plane still in his hands as a way of apology, saying, “I’ll put this in supply tent. And I need feed the mule.”

  A small bow and he’s gone, too.

  Tucker opens the case and squirts a generous amount of sanitizing gel onto his hands and then passes the small plastic bottle to me. “Let’s make sure our hands are clean first.”

  I take the bottle from him and mimic his actions massaging the gel onto my palms, fingers, and the back of my hands.

  Once I’m finished, Tucker hands me a pair of blue surgical gloves. “Here, wear these.”

  Gloves on, we kneel next to the camp cot and stare at Archie’s backside, undecided on how to proceed.

  Tucker sighs. “Before I do anything, I need a clear visual. We have to remove your pants and underwear to do a decent job, buddy,” he informs the patient. “Might be best to cut them off you.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” I say.

  Archie groans. “I swear, Snowflake, in all the scenarios I’d imagined you ripping my clothes off, a medkit wasn’t involved.”

  “I bet not.” I grab a pair of surgical scissors out of the case, douse them with disinfectant, and, holding the first tendril of fabric from Archie’s pant
s between my fingers, I say, “Now, try to relax.”

  Logan

  Winter and Tucker spend close to two hours cleaning and bandaging Archie up. When, finally, there’s no more blood in sight and my friend’s backside is modestly covered with a white sheet, I go check on him.

  Tucker has already left to clean and sanitize the instruments they used, so I find only Archie and Winter under the tarp.

  “How are you, buddy?” I ask him.

  “I could use a drink,” he mumbles.

  Well, if he’s asking for alcohol, then everything is fine.

  “Let’s see what the doctor has to say,” I tell him. “So,” I turn to Winter. “How’s the patient doing? Can he have a drink?”

  “Yes.” She groans, getting up from her kneeling position next to the camp bed and stretching her legs. “If it’s water.”

  Archie moans in protest.

  “We gave him an antibiotic to prevent infection and paracetamol for the pain. Mixing alcohol and medications is never wise. You were pretty messed up, Golden Boy. Must’ve fallen on a thousand thorns.”

  “Felt more like a million,” Archie complains.

  Winter raises her arms above her head and stretches some more while she keeps giving me the patient’s prognosis. “Some were still inside, stuck in deep, but I think we got them all out.”

  “So he’s going to be fine?”

  “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Archie objects.

  Winter ignores the remark. “He should be. But some wounds were deep; we had to stitch a few.”

  “We? You know how to give stitches?”

  She turns to me with her usual contempt. “Yes, I did a few when Tucker’s hands started to cramp. And don’t look so surprised. I visit the most remote places on Earth often enough to know basic medical training could make the difference between life and death.”

  Why does this woman have to take everything I say as a personal offense?

  “I was merely trying to say I was impressed with your medical skills, Miss Knowles. No need to take everything so personally.”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t if everything you’ve ever said to me hadn’t been—”

  “Kids,” Archie interrupts us with a coarse voice. “I’d like to rest; can you go argue someplace else?”

  She crouches near the front of the bed and caresses Archie’s hair back in such a tender gesture, my chest clenches.

  It’s not jealousy, but a more complex emotion. A tangle I can’t describe. Seeing her being so attentive with my best friend makes me cherish and resent her at the same time.

  “Yeah, you’d better sleep now, Golden Boy,” she says, still caressing his hair. “And don’t try anything stupid when you wake up.”

  “You mean something dumber than climbing above a thorn bush?”

  “Yup, like trying to get up or walk on your own. You’re on bed rest for a few days, all right?”

  “Yes, Mom,” he replies.

  And a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding leaves my lungs. Nothing in this interaction reeks of sensuality. It’s affectionate, but not sexual.

  Winter stands up again, and I jerk my chin toward the other side of the camp.

  We head that way and, in the shade of my tent, I ask, “You really think he’ll be okay?”

  “If he takes it easy, yeah, he should be.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more prudent to send him home?”

  “Unless you can fly a helicopter out here to pick him up, I don’t see how. Walking is out of the question, as is sitting on the back of a mule. And even if he somehow were to reach the village without tearing all his wounds open, the Jeeps’ backseats don’t have enough room for him to lie down comfortably.”

  “No, you’re right. I’m just worried. Archie isn’t the best at not being able to do things on his own.”

  “You’ll have to make him accept our help. The stitches should be solid, but it won’t take much for them to burst if he tries something stupid.”

  “Okay, I’ll make sure someone always stands discreetly by his side, at least for the next few days.”

  “Are you stopping the search in the meantime?”

  “No, I can’t afford to stall, not even for a day. Archie took enough aerial surveys to find a way around the rock wall. Tomorrow morning, I’m setting out with Somchai and Dr. Boonjan at first light. We’re close now. With a bit of luck, we could reach Area X by nightfall. Tucker will stay behind and take care of Archie.”

  “Good.” Winter nods. “’Cause I’m coming with you.” She says it with such finality, I know there’s no point in arguing. “I want to be there when you find the city.”

  Nine

  Winter

  The trek the next day is hard. With the first stretch of jungle inland already cleared of vines and undergrowth, Logan is setting a punishing pace. I swear he’s doing it to provoke me. To force me to ask for a break or for him to slow down, most likely to tell me that if I can’t keep up, I’m welcome to go back to the camp and wait there.

  Fat chance!

  If today’s the day we finally reach the gold city, I won’t be left behind. I’ll be damned before I miss capturing the moment. Finding a legendary lost civilization in the jungle won’t be career-making only for Logan. We’ll be the first humans to set foot in the forgotten place in over a millennium. My pictures will be the only photos of the treasure city. The news of the discovery is bound to blast through every information network in the world: newspapers, magazines, newscasts, websites… My shots will appear everywhere. I’m going to be famous.

  Right! You’re not shaking me off, Satan.

  I can already picture National Geographic asking me to be a regular correspondent. I’ll set up a pop-up gallery in LA to display the best shots, and the exposition will become such a raging success, it’ll move to New York next, then London, Paris, Milan…

  As eager as I am to reach that level of international recognition, first comes the hard part. The camera equipment is heavy on my shoulders and it’s weighing me down. I shrug, readjusting my backpack to cut my aching trapeziuses a break, and trudge forward. Thank goodness Somchai and his mule are carrying the rest of the supplies: sleeping tents, water reserves, and Logan’s mysterious archeological tools.

  As the morning progresses, things get worse. Leaving at dawn, if not fun, at least spared us the worst of the heat. But now, three hours into our little stroll through the jungle, the temperature has become insane. Even if we’re not standing in direct sunlight, the humidity trapped beneath the canopy makes it hard to breathe. It feels like walking through solid air. The moisture clings to my clothes, mixing with sweat so that everything I’m wearing—down to the socks in my boots—is damp. Even though I’ve tied my hair back in twin French braids, small tendrils have escaped and stick to my forehead regardless of how many times I push them back. Not to mention I have to hike through this hell of a place wearing gloves and Kevlar leg warmers—the snake gaiters.

  I get the need for the gaiters, I really do, even if we haven’t spotted a single venomous snake since we’ve arrived, but I can’t stand the gloves anymore. I peel them off my hands and let my skin breathe some well-deserved air.

  Gosh, I really hope today is it. That there’s a shiny golden city waiting for us at the end of this hike. I wouldn’t want to start over tomorrow. Heck, I probably wouldn’t be able to even if I wanted; my legs would not carry me. Tramping through the deepest, darkest parts of the Thai jungle is not my idea of a good time.

  I’m so over the forced march that when, twenty minutes later, Somchai suddenly stops at the head of the column, I almost sag to my knees with relief. A wall of tangled vines and branches is blocking the road ahead. It appears we’ve reached the end of the cleared path. If we have to start hacking our way through, I can finally rest a little and let the boys play with their machetes.

  Smith and Carter, our militia escort, take the first shift and start hacking at the t
angle of vegetation, slicing through the thicket in short order.

  There’s only the five of us today. Dr. Boonjan wasn’t feeling well this morning, a stomach bug or something, and he remained at the base. Tucker had to stay back to care for Archie. And Montgomery is with them to guard the camp.

  Groaning, I strip off my backpack and lower it to the ground. I sit at the foot of an old gnarled tree, its tall, thick trunk soaring into the air until it joins the blanket of leaves far overhead, a merciful screen that lets only a few patches of sunlight filter down.

  Somchai, my guardian angel, offers me a water canteen before he goes back to attending the mule. The animal is getting restless after the abrupt break.

  Head tilted up, I gulp down the liquid in long, greedy sips.

  “Slow down,” a familiar voice says. “We don’t know how long the water has to last.”

  Arms crossed over his chest, Logan is observing me while leaning against a nearby tree.

  I glare at him, and he rewards me with a mockingly sweet smile. “Are you enjoying the jungle stroll?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

  Before replying, I study him. He can’t be faring much better than I am. The hair on his forehead and at the back of his neck is sticky with sweat, and his shirt has more damp patches than dry spots. And, damn me, the son of a bitch has never been more good-looking.

  Anyway, I’m too tired to argue with him right now. So I give him a tension-defusing answer.

  “I’ll be honest,” I say. “Crap as it was, I’m sorely missing the resort’s air conditioning.”

  Logan gapes, taken aback by my sincere, unchallenging reply. “Yeah.” He nods. “Every time I breathe I feel like I’m standing in a steam room.”

  We stare at each other, both surprised at how civil our exchange has turned. When the silence becomes awkward, Somchai mercifully breaks it by coming back to fetch his canteen.

  “More water, Miss Knowles?”

  And even though I could drink my weight in water right now, I refuse the offer. “No, we’d better save our reserves, we don’t know how long they have to last.”