Part 11 (1/2)

Abruptly he released her and stepped back, the anger gone from his eyes. ”And do they have a name for a woman like you?”

”Probably not what you're thinking, O'Shea.”

”And what am I thinking?”

”Something insulting, I'm sure.”

He turned away. ”You're wrong. Unless you know I'm thinking about Peregrine Sinclair and how you happened to turn up the day after he abandoned me in the jungle.”

”What?”

The motions of his body were tight and hard, but he made no move toward her. ”Did he hire you, Mac? Did he send you to delay me, or to drive me out of my mind?”

A whole array of unconnected facts clicked together in Mac's mind. Good grief. He didn't really thinka”how could hea”how paranoid could anyonea”But she had the photograph. She admitted knowing who Perry was. He didn't accept her time-travel story, didn't trust her, had provoked her again and again in ways that hadn't made sense untila She didn't laugh. ”You thinka”you think that I, that Perry left you here and I had something to do with it?”

”Did you?” he asked.

Good grief. She didn't even know the source of the quarrel between Great-great-grandfather Perry and Liam O'Shea. And now Liam thought she might be involved in what could turn out to be something far more fatal than mere abandonment. Suddenly she was glad that she'd omitted to provide him with her last name.

”d.a.m.n you,” he said softly while she floundered for words. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and the harsh twist of his own lips relaxed. ”I ought toa””

A crack of violent sound slammed through the heavy air, echoing like thunder. Mac flinched, and Liam hurled himself toward her, knocking her to the ground and rolling with her to s.h.i.+eld her body.

When they came to a stop he released her immediately but continued to crouch over her, scanning the jungle.

”What was that?” she said, catching the breath knocked from her lungs.

He uttered an expletive that almost made her blush. ”Gunfire. Guerrillas. I told you there's unrest all through this country.”

”Who's fighting whom?”

He was completely focused on the jungle, wary and absorbed. ”Get back to camp.”

”But ifa””

”Go!” he shouted, rounding on her. ”Get the h.e.l.l back and stay there!”

”Where are you going?”

”To find out how likely we are to be caught in the middle.” He grabbed her arm and began to drag her. ”Get going.”

”My boots!” She pulled free, s.n.a.t.c.hed up her boots, and jammed her muddy, sockless feet into them. ”I really don't think you should do whatever you're going to do.”

He flashed her a wholly unexpected grin. ”I don't need any mothering, Mac.”

Before she could argue further, he started down the path at a run. Mac knotted her bootlaces with frantic fingers and pursued him at a jog, her mind circling one thought.

Was Liam O'Shea about to die? Maybe this was how it happened, Liam caught in the middle of a skirmish between warring Guatemalan factionsa a stray bulleta He could have dragged himself, dying, into the ruins where she'd found his bonesa She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand to lose him like this, no matter what the consequences of changing the course of history.

She redoubled her pace, keeping the top of Liam's fair head just barely in view. Leaves and vines caught at her arms as if to hold her back.

But her body had taken over completely, propelling her past the camp and beyond, on Liam's heels, along a trail that was barely wide enough for a deer. When Liam subsided into a cautious stalk, she did the same, keeping a layer of foliage between them.

Voices. Raised voicesa”a shout in Spanish. Ahead of her, at the edge of an opening in the undergrowth, Liam ducked behind a ma.s.sive tree trunk and went very still. Not completely suicidal, thank G.o.d. She grabbed onto a sapling, knees not quite steady. Just don't do anything, O'Shea. Be sensiblea He chose that moment to stand. Mac caught a glimpse of figures in the clearing beyond, the glint of light on metal. Guns. Liam started forward, plainly bent on revealing himself. Mac dove through the vegetation and made a grab for his s.h.i.+rt.

”Don't be an idiot!” she whispered.

He gave her an incredulous glance and pushed her, none too gently, down to the muddy earth. ”You little foola””

But they weren't given time to trade further epithets. Someone shouted a challenge. Footfalls sloshed over soggy ground. Liam pulled his pistol just as a gunshot cracked and a bullet spat through the leaves overhead. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a handful of Mac's s.h.i.+rt collar with his free hand and deposited her bodily behind him.

”Amigos!” he called out. ”Soy Liam O'Sheaa””

The muzzle of an ugly-looking rifle pushed into view, followed by a man whose face was half covered by a filthy bandanna. He barked a terse question, which Liam answered in even Spanish. The man hesitated, nodded, and called over his shoulder to unseen companions.

”It's all right,” Liam said. ”They're not concerned with us, but stay down.”

Thank G.o.d. She started to get up; simultaneously a second and third gunshot sounded, so close that Mac was nearly deafened by them. The stranger swung around and darted away. Someone cried out. Liam stood with legs set wide apart, pistol raised, as if he believed himself completely immune to flying bullets.

Mac didn't know what made her move then, what hunch bypa.s.sed her rational mind. She flung out her arms, wrapped them around Liam's booted leg, and yanked with all her strength. He toppled like a felled tree, twisting wildly for balance, and hit the ground hard. The portion of the tree trunk directly behind where his chest had been exploded in a shower of bark.

Mac dropped beside him. He wasn't moving. An inconvenient rock had been right in the path of his skull, and blood trickled from his hairline.

”Liam!” He didn't respond. She pushed, heaved, and rolled his unresisting body beneath the broad leaves of a fern and crouched over him, waiting, sick with dread.

There was a cras.h.i.+ng in the foliage beyond her sight, and staccato shouts, gradually receding; another gunshot, this one much farther away. The men and whoever they were fighting had taken their battle elsewhere.

She bent to Liam's still face, cradling it between her hands. His blood still beat steadily under his jawa”he couldn't be too badly injured. Unless he'd hit his head hard enough to suffer a concussion.

She pulled her s.h.i.+rttail from the waistband of her pants and used her teeth to tear a strip from it, pressing it against the cut on Liam's scalp and securing it in place with another strip.

”Wake up, O'Shea!” She slapped his taut cheek lightlya”the same side of his face she'd slugged before. ”Come on. You think I'm going to let you do this?”

He made a sound that might have been a groan.

”That's right. You going to go down without a fight, Lucky Liam? You worked your way up out of poverty and got rich just to die in some sticky jungle? Huh?”

His lids twitched. His left hand flexed almost imperceptibly. She reached for it and laced her fingers through his, squeezing hard. ”You're the most arrogant son of a b.i.t.c.h I've ever met, but I took a h.e.l.l of a risk to save your life. You owe me, O'Shea, and I'm going to collect, one way or another.”

”Seorita?”

She looked up, expecting a guerrilla or a rifle aimed at her heart. But it was Fernando, his expression anxious and his attention fixed on Liam.

”Thank G.o.d you're here, Fernando. He's been injured. Uh, el tienea”We need to get him back to camp. Campo. Can you help me?” She pantomimed lifting Liam. ”Ayudeme?”

Fernando crouched beside her, touching the blood on Liam's forehead. ”Vamos, seorita.”

Even without a common language they understood each other. Mac positioned herself at Liam's feet to help lift him and caught a glimpse of sunlight on metal, dancing at the corner of her gaze.

Not a rifle. Not a weapon at all, but something silvery bright against the foliage, caught on a branch by a metal chain. She reached out and snagged the chain, lifting it free.