Off Limits
Lindsay McKenna
U.S. Marine Corporal Jim McKenzie knew a hundred ghastly ways to kill, a thousand ugly techniques to survive the perils stalking war-torn Vietnam. And these bloody talents had plunged his tortured conscience into unspeakable horror…Then into that darkness fell a tempting ray of hope. Congressman's daughter Alexandra Vance, her helicopter shot down over McKenzie's particular purgatory, was in mortal danger, and only his damnable talents could help her. Yet to save her, McKenzie would have to destroy himself.. . .MOMENTS OF GLORYVietnam, 1965: A moment in history, a moment in time. But for three Marines and the women they love, these fleeting MOMENTS OF GLORY add up to a lifetime of love!
U.S. Marine Corporal Jim McKenzie knew a hundred ghastly ways to kill, a thousand ugly techniques to survive the perils stalking war-torn Vietnam. And these bloody talents had plunged his tortured conscience into unspeakable horror....
Then into that darkness fell a tempting ray of hope. Congressman’s daughter Alexandra Vance, her helicopter shot down over McKenzie’s particular purgatory, was in mortal danger, and only his damnable talents could help her. Yet to save her, McKenzie would have to destroy himself....
Previously published.
Off Limits
Lindsay McKenna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
Cover (#u476347a9-7ef3-5c4e-bd30-3ceb27555aac)
Back Cover Text (#u54ccaef2-84c5-5f5c-ac40-7e72b2c75217)
Title Page (#ub2869ec0-7419-534b-ba05-02a846fd0b57)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_77f087ba-dfa0-536a-8aeb-43848f1bb490)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_837609af-01d5-5496-b771-5eedbe46dc4c)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_63a8e134-7fd8-5529-b73e-ae6bc8ab54c6)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_0898d0f6-4113-582a-bebd-881282697e17)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6a1d0530-f280-52ce-a4c9-60afaa36a899)
South Vietnam, April, 1965
“We’re hit! We’re hit! Prepare for emergency landing!”
Alexandra Vance gasped as the pilot yelled the warning. The marine helicopter suddenly shuddered, a hail of bullets slamming through the aircraft’s thin skin and peppering the cabin. She gripped the nylon seat as the aircraft jerked upward. Its engine shrieked and groaned, the blades flailing awkwardly, like wings on a wounded bird. The crew chief gave a startled cry, gripped his chest, then crumpled to the deck. The smell of hot oil stung Alex’s nostrils as the door gunner began returning fire, and the pounding chut, chut, chut of the machine gun reverberated through Alex’s body like pummeling fists. Black, oily smoke spewed up in front of the cockpit’s shattered Plexiglas windshield. Directly above where Alex sat, the pilot and copilot worked feverishly to keep the helicopter airborne over the enemy jungle.
Like the crew, Alex wore a helmet, the wire jack plugged into the intercommunications system. Curses, screams and groans filled her ears as the world seemed to shatter around her.
Oh, God! Alex cried out involuntarily as bullets smashed through the cockpit again, striking behind and around her. The gunner screamed and was catapulted backward. Alex threw her hands up to protect her face from flying debris. She was being wrenched from side to side as the aircraft bucked and lurched drunkenly. One of the pilots slumped forward, struck by a bullet. Without warning, fire and shrapnel exploded through the cockpit.
A hot, stinging sensation seared Alex’s shoulder, and she was slapped against the bulkhead by gravity as the helicopter wrenched downward. Heat scorched her, and she gagged and choked on the nauseating smoke filling the cockpit. Then the aircraft nosed over, its engine still shrieking like a wounded person.
Everything began to reel off in single frames, as if Alex were viewing a movie—only it was a movie in which she was the main participant. The seat belt held her captive as the Sikorsky helicopter brushed along the tops of the triple-canopy jungle. The trees acted as a last-moment cushion to the crippled aircraft, so instead of nosing down and grinding with savage, killing impact into the red earth of Vietnam, the helicopter caught in the trees as its airspeed bled off.
The helicopter was on fire, with smoke funneling out of the cockpit and escaping through the open rear door near Alex. There was a great screech as it listed unexpectedly, its tail flipping into the air as it settled on its starboard side, finally halting.
Alex hung suspended upside down in the cabin, the nylon seat belt nearly strangling her. Frantically, she looked around. No one else moved. Her heart denied that her companions might be dead. Alex clawed wildly at the metal clip. Her gaze locked on the machine gunner’s window—her only escape route. Brush, leaves and limbs had collected in the usual exit area during the helicopter’s long, downward slide. The window was partially blocked by the vegetation.
Fire and smoke, too, continued to pour into the cabin as Alex struggled with shaking fingers to release the safety harness. Suddenly the belt gave way, and she fell hard against the aircraft wall below her. Panicking, she flailed blindly around to check the crewmen who lay unmoving at her feet. Anxiously, Alex tried to find pulses on their necks, but her desperate fingers felt nothing. Coughing and choking violently, she tried to make her way forward to the cockpit to see if the pilots were still alive and needed help escaping, only to be driven back by the flames and intense heat.
Her eyes blinded with tears as she groped her way through the dense, thick smoke, Alex fell onto wobbly knees. Which way was the window? She couldn’t see a thing. Heat scorched her skin. Die! She was going to die!
On bloodied hands and knees Alex crawled toward the rear, trying to find the exit. There! Her hand met the leaf-and-branch barricade. She lunged through the window. A scream caught in her throat as she threw herself from the burning helicopter, thinking the ground must be nearby. But she fell a good twenty feet, before slamming onto the damp, leaf-strewn floor of the jungle.
Panting to regain her breath, Alex groaned and rolled onto her back. Tears ran down her smudged cheeks as she struggled to move. Directly above her, the helicopter burned furiously, a huge column of black smoke drifting lazily into the clear blue sky. She had to get away from the inferno as soon as possible. Rolling onto her hands and knees, Alex crawled shakily away from the aircraft, moving through the thick foliage. Branches swatted at her, stinging her face and bare arms. Her breath coming in huge, ragged gulps, she moved jerkily, without thought. A powerful numbness took over, and she felt oddly detached, as if she were having a bad nightmare.
Alex had crawled nearly two hundred yards from the initial crash site when she heard voices. She pressed a bloodied hand against her parted lips and froze. Shaking badly now, in the aftermath of an adrenaline rush, she sat back on her heels on the jungle floor. Vietnamese. They were Vietnamese voices. Relief swept through her. Rescue! She was going to be rescued by the friendly forces of the ARVN!
She tried to rise, but her knees collapsed under her and she fell to the ground. Dirt and damp leaves stuck to her face and short brown hair. Struggling, she tried again to rise. Agony spread from her left shoulder like an out-of-control wave of fire into her neck, down her arm and into her chest. The savage pain caught at her breath, and Alex groaned softly, unable to move. She crumpled slowly into a fetal position. For the first time, she examined her shoulder.
Thirty minutes earlier, when they’d left the marine base at Marble Mountain, Major Gib Ramsey had insisted that Alex climb into a dull green, single-piece flight suit, pulling it on over her buttercup yellow blouse and jeans. Now, staring uncomprehendingly at her shoulder for long moments, Alex finally realized the dark stain spreading across the olive green cotton on her left shoulder was blood. Lifting her right hand, she touched the area lightly. It was not the blood of the brave marines who had just died, but her own.
Alex released a little breath of air. Sweat trickled off her face and soaked into the coarse flight-suit fabric. Wounded. I’m wounded. God...
The Vietnamese voices grew louder, more excited. Alex lay, unable to move, frozen into immobility by the realization that she had been hit and was bleeding heavily. Her mind refused to work, except in stops and starts. The pain grew in volume while she focused disjointedly on her shoulder wound. As a fourth-year nursing student, she should know what to do. Think! Think, Alex. What do you do for a bullet wound? Squeezing her eyes shut to prepare herself for the pain, Alex pressed her hand against her shoulder. Direct pressure on a heavily bleeding injury would stop the flow. Blackness began to dim her vision, and she quickly released the wound, unable to staunch the bleeding under the wave of unrelenting pain.
With a little cry, she struggled into a sitting position, well hidden by the profusion of plants on the jungle floor around her. Dazed, going into shock, Alex stared at her left shoulder. Had she been hit by metal fragments from the explosion, perhaps? Shrapnel? Feeling light-headed, she fell back and rolled onto her right side as numbness spread down her left arm, rendering it useless.
The Vietnamese were all around her. Alex tried to gather her thoughts but couldn’t. At one point she saw a young Vietnamese man, armed with a rifle and dressed in black pajamas, pass within feet of her. She thought he was ARVN and tried to cry out, but nothing came out of her constricted throat and dry mouth. He passed by without realizing her presence. Helplessly Alex lay there, barely conscious. She knew she wasn’t dead, and finally, after half an hour, her mind cleared momentarily and she realized she was in deep shock.
Nothing in her affluent Virginia background, growing up with Hiram Vance, her famous congressman father, had prepared her for this. Alex had reluctantly agreed to visit her father, who was touring bases and military positions all over Vietnam on a fact-finding mission. He’d said it was safe. Safe! Why had she allowed her father to browbeat her into coming? Their relationship was tenuous at best. Alex knew that deep in her heart she wanted her father to like her—love her—as much as he did her brothers, so she had come, against her better instincts. Hoping to heal the widening rift with her father, she had rationalized that flying to Vietnam to tour the bases with him would work as a peace offering to help mend their differences.
Still lying on the jungle floor, Alex began to shake uncontrollably, her arms and legs taking on a life of their own. It was shock, Alex knew, the continuous surge of adrenaline through her bloodstream causing the reaction. Suddenly, a huge explosion rent the air, sending a thundering clap of sound booming through the jungle like the pounding of a hundred ear-splitting kettledrums. The echo was a physical force, pummeling Alex as wave after wave rolled past her. Wincing, she realized that the marine helicopter had just blown up.
Over the next hour, clarity returned slowly to Alex’s mind. On its heels came a wall of chaotic and panicky emotions. Finally tears came, leaking down her muddy cheeks. She cried for the marine crew. They were all dead. At Marble Mountain, they’d treated her like a star because of her popular father’s influence and power. The door gunner, a red-haired boy of eighteen, had shyly asked for her signature on a sweat-stained piece of paper pulled from one of the pockets of his flight suit. He’d told her excitedly that he collected autographs.
At first, Alex had protested, saying she wasn’t famous, just an unknown person in the shadow of her larger-than-life father. But the door gunner, Private First Class Ken Cassle, had gently insisted. Squeezing her eyes shut at the memory, Alex sobbed. The cry jerked through her like a convulsion, and pain flared hotly in her left shoulder to remind her of the wound. Still, she knew, her heart bore an even larger, invisible, wound for those four marines.
As if her brain was stuck on that time frame, Alex couldn’t shake the memories of the past hour’s conversations and the images from before she’d left the marine air base. Captain Bob Cunningham, the helicopter pilot, was married—the father of two young children. He’d proudly showed Alex their pictures when she’d asked about them. He’d patted the pocket near his heart where he kept them, saying that the photos were his good-luck charm, that they were going to get him home safely to his family. And his copilot, Lieutenant Jeffrey Whitmore, had just gotten married. His wife was expecting their first child. Now none of that crew would be going home alive. Alex sobbed quietly, unable to stop the deluge of loss she felt for them and their families.
By the second hour since the crash, the bleeding in her shoulder had stopped, and Alex drew in a shaky breath of relief. She focused her limited senses on her surroundings. The sunlight, what little there was, had slanted in a more westerly direction. They’d started the flight to the firebase at noon. Alex looked down at the watch on her dirty, bloodied wrist. It was now 2:30 p.m. She sat up and tried to assimilate and understand her own dilemma. Light-headed, she knew she’d lost more blood than she should have. As a nursing student in Washington, D.C., she had seen blood from time to time, but never like this. She tried to study her left shoulder with impartiality. The flight suit was soaked with blood in a large, uneven circle that surrounded her upper arm, encompassed her left breast and reached halfway across her chest.
The wound didn’t bleed when she moved, but Alex wasn’t about to look under the loose-fitting flight suit to find out why. More important things had to be addressed. Thirsty, her mouth dry, Alex began to look around for a water source but saw none. The jungle teemed with singing birds. The fire that had engulfed the helicopter earlier had completely died out. Only a few trails of ever-thinning black smoke stained the sky. Everything, it seemed to Alex, was returning to normal.
Her heart gave a giant thud at a noise to her left. A Vietnamese, his face intent, held an ugly-looking weapon against his chest, as if prepared to fire it. Alex snapped her mouth shut and tensed. This man wasn’t ARVN, or at least he wasn’t in the uniform they wore at Marble Mountain. Instead, he wore a black cotton shirt and baggy black pants. Somewhere in Alex’s spinning senses, she recalled part of her egress briefing given by Major Ramsey. He had said that men who wore such an outfit were VC, the enemy. Alex remained frozen. Would he spot her? And if he did, would he kill her?
The soldier halted and slowly looked around, his dark brown eyes intelligent, his head cocked, as if to listen for some out-of-place sound among the normal jungle noises. His hands tightened on the stock of the AK-47 he carried. Slowly, he looked down at the leaf-strewn floor.
Alex’s eyes went wide. If she moved, she would disturb the top layer of leaves, signaling the enemy. He was only ten feet away. Sweat popped out on her upper lip. All that protected her from his prying eyes were the huge, graceful green leaves and ferns that hung like an umbrella around her head and shoulders. A panicked cry started deep in her throat. She clamped her mouth shut, in that moment understanding what a helpless rabbit must feel like as a fox stalked it. Would he hear the thudding of her heart? She could hear it booming in her ears.
The VC quietly moved on. Alex was amazed at the way the man made no sound at all. Her heart pounding unrelentingly in her breast, she realized that she had to get away from the crash site. She licked her dry lips, which were caked with blood. If she left the vicinity of the helicopter, the marines who might rescue her wouldn’t be able to locate her. Yet, if she stayed, Alex knew with certainty that the VC would find and capture her.
Which way was Firebase Lily, her original destination? Her father was waiting for her there. She was no good with directions. Her two older brothers, Case and Buck, always derided her inability to recognize north, south, east and west. With a trembling hand, Alex shoved her hair from her eyes. Which way was the sun? The triple canopy of the jungle so diffused the light that she had no real idea. Never had Alex felt so helpless, so angry at her own incompetence—or so alone.
Her father had wanted her to join the military as an officer once she got her nursing degree. Her two brothers were already in the Marine Corps. But Alex’s talents, if she could even call them that, were aligned with being of service in other ways. Her father had openly scoffed at her nursing aims, berating her with the Vance family’s hundred-year tradition in the military.
Well, Alex thought dully, I don’t want any part of it. I’m not a killer. I don’t even like war. And yet, as she sat there, Alex knew she was in a war. If Case or Buck had been shot down like this, what would they do? Her confident older brothers probably would have dressed their wounds, gotten up and headed for Firebase Lily.
With grim determination, Alex struggled to her knees. Dizziness assailed her. She tried to ignore the thought of how much blood she’d lost. Focusing on a nearby tree, a rubber tree, she saw sunlight high up on the gnarled, twisted trunk. It took several minutes to figure out an easterly direction, for her mind kept shorting out. Firebase Lily lay directly east of Marble Mountain, some thirty miles inland and near the border with Laos, according to Major Ramsey. He’d shown her the flight route on a map pinned to the wall of the headquarters tent.
Her father had always derided her lack of assertiveness. Why couldn’t she be more like Case and Buck: aggressive, extroverted and confident? Alex considered herself a plain brown mouse—just the opposite of her brothers. She compressed her full lips. In her twenty-two years of life, nothing had prepared her for this sort of situation. Still, didn’t plain brown mice survive even the largest, most aggressive of cats? She could get out of this situation if she used her common sense.
Alex slowly rose to her feet, swayed unsteadily, then anchored herself until her head cleared. She tucked her left arm against her body, cradling the elbow with the palm of her right hand. Only her mother would have any faith in her ability to survive. Alex loved her quiet, introspective mother fiercely. No matter how overbearing her father became, Susan Vance always seemed able to gently and quietly maneuver around him to get whatever she needed for the family. Alex felt another kind of pain that equaled that in her aching shoulder. What would her mother do when she found out Alex was missing and presumed dead in the Vietnam jungle? Her mother’s health was fragile. Somehow, Alex had to hurry and find the marine base so she wouldn’t worry.
Standing against a tree, Alex took stock of many things, among them the art of camouflage and of walking silently. VC stalked the area on quiet, bare feet. Alex knew she’d have to walk just as quietly. She didn’t dare crash through the brush like a bull elephant, broadcasting her whereabouts. For long minutes, Alex thought about her plan. When she finally took the first step in her white tennis shoes, she tried to imagine herself as a shadow, slipping between the damp, water-beaded leaves of the jungle foliage.
Near the end of the first hour, dizziness halted Alex. She stood hunched over beneath some large banana leaves, pressing her hand tightly against her left arm. Gasping for breath, she tried to soften the sound of the air escaping from her mouth. Once, she spotted a VC, and quietly eased to her knees. She crouched in a huddled position next to the thick, entwined root system of a large rubber tree, and the VC passed without discovering her.
Shakily, she wiped the sweat from her eyes. She looked down at her right hand. It was covered with blood and mud. Walking had caused her wound to bleed a little more.
Just as Alex straightened to resume her journey, a man’s large hand clamped against her mouth. A scream lurched in her throat, and she was jerked backward off her feet and slammed to the jungle floor. Blackness rimmed her vision and she felt him straddle her.
Black dots danced in front of her eyes. He gripped her by the throat. Again, Alex tried to scream. Her eyes grew wide as she saw him raise his hand. A long, savage-looking knife blade hovered inches above her face—aimed directly at her. She threw her hands up to protect herself, then fainted.
What the hell? Corporal Jim McKenzie grunted as he quickly released and got off the woman. As he slid the Ka-bar knife into its leather sheath, his surprise turned to instant concern. He’d heard the American helicopter crash hours earlier. He was a recon marine, accustomed to being behind enemy lines, and against his better judgment, he’d hobbled out of his hiding place on a makeshift crutch to look for survivors. Now he glanced around quickly, his hearing sharpened for any VC in the area. He knew all too well that they owned this piece of real estate, lock, stock and barrel. His left leg was encased in a primitive, makeshift splint, and he bit back a groan of pain as he gripped the woman by the collar of her flight suit and pulled her deep into the nearby banana grove. There it was dark and protected, and they would be sheltered by the long leaves that hung nearly to the jungle floor. No VC eyes would find them here.
McKenzie squinted against the gloom as he assessed the unconscious woman. Who was she? The flight suit she wore had patches identifying a Marine Air Group squadron, but not her rank. She was small and fine-boned, reminding him of the sparrows that lived around his parents’ Missouri cabin. Tansy McKenzie, his mother, fed the little birds hen scratch and just a bit of cracked corn during the winter, and she always had a slew of them waiting around for their next handout.
Jim’s gaze moved to her bloodied shoulder. Wounded. She’s wounded. Stymied as to why she would be in a marine helicopter in the first place, he pulled the flight suit away from her left shoulder. Her yellow blouse was rusty with blood. Was she a spook, maybe—someone from the CIA? Despite her nasty wound, his gaze moved back to her face. The short brown hair lay like a sleek cap across her skull. Her eyebrows were slightly arched, her lashes a thick sable color against her pale skin. Maybe it was her heart-shaped face that gripped him, or maybe it was the memory of the tiny sparrows. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties, her nose small, like the rest of her. Briefly her slack lips captured his attention. The vulnerability of her full mouth sent a spasm of yearning through him, but Jim ignored its tug. Their lives were at stake, and if they were going to get out of this area alive, he had to give his full concentration to survival tactics.
He gave her right shoulder a small shake.
“Hey!” he rasped near her ear, not wanting his voice to carry. “Hey! Wake up, gal!” He shook a little harder.
Alex moaned softly. A voice, a man’s ragged, low voice, thrummed urgently through her dazed senses. She felt his grip tighten on her right shoulder without hurting her. Her lashes fluttered as she forced her eyes open to bare slits. Alex inhaled sharply. Instantly, he clamped his hand across her mouth.
“Don’t scream,” he warned her.
Seconds stopped, hung and froze as Alex’s eyes widened. The man who crouched over her was dressed in dark green utilities. His face was oval, with a strong chin and nose, but it was his piercing dark blue eyes that frightened her the most. His mouth was thinned, the rest of his face carved with sweaty, muddy streaks and lined with tension. He was tall and rawboned, and the utility cap he wore low on his dark brown hair made him seem to blend into the foliage that surrounded them.
Then Alex saw his blue eyes thaw, grow wide with concern and lose their intent, predatory look. She felt his hand loosen slightly from her mouth, and she could smell his sweat.
“Don’t go screamin’ on me, gal,” he murmured. “I’m an American recon marine. You hear?”
His voice had a Southern drawl to it. And as Alex moved in and out of semiconsciousness, relief flowed sharply through her.
“Okay?” Jim rasped, leaning very close to her, his hand still across her mouth. She had the most beautiful mourning-dove gray eyes he’d ever seen. The pupils were huge and black, and he knew she was in deep shock. When she barely nodded, he eased his hand from her mouth. Her lower lip trembled and he saw tears gathering in her heart-stealing eyes.
Jim placed his finger against his lips in a silent request for her not to cry out or sob aloud. It was a tribute to her courage as she fought her initial reaction and lay quietly as he hunkered over her. Jim placed his hand on her left upper arm, where the material was soaked with blood. He looked around, listening carefully. VC were thick in this neck of the woods, and the odds were stacked against him getting safely back to his tunnel.
Struggling not to cry, Alex closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth several times just to allow the relief to register. He was an American marine, she realized thankfully. The man above her appeared confident, and she knew instinctively that she was now safe. Safe. His fingers around her upper arm seemed reassuring as he probed the jungle with his narrowed gaze. Amazed at the sudden change in him, Alex took in the grim line of his mouth, his slitted eyes and the way his harsh features tightened with frightening intensity. Alex understood the necessity of his concentration. For the last two hours, she’d been doing the same thing.
And then, when the American shifted his attention back to her, his eyes became warmer once more and, this time, filled with curiosity. He leaned very close to her ear, and again Alex felt a sense of security in his presence.
“My name’s Jim McKenzie, gal. I’m a recon marine. What’s your name?”
A croak came out. She swallowed. “...Alex...Alex Vance.”
He nodded. “Hell of a way to meet, Alex Vance. Now, I don’t want you to talk anymore. Not yet. We’re in heavy VC country, you understand?”
She nodded once.
“Good,” Jim rasped. As he prepared to go on, he inhaled the subtle fragrance of her perfume, and the scent dizzied him, reminding him of a gentler, saner time in his life. He fought to ignore the sensations the fragrance evoked. “I’m gonna truss up that shoulder of yours so we can get outta this place in one piece,” he told her. “Whatever happens, don’t yell, don’t scream. Understand?”
Again, Alex nodded.
She saw him smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes—it was just a faint twist of his lips. As he rose from his crouched position, Alex saw pain reflected in his face and eyes. And then, as he straightened up, Alex realized in shock that his left leg, from the ankle to his knee, was in a makeshift splint. Four roughly carved sticks of wood encased his lower leg, wrapped tightly into place with vine. What was a recon? What was he doing out here alone? Alex stopped herself from asking. She saw him dig into an olive green pouch he carried on a webbed cartridge belt around his waist. He drew out a dressing, and as quietly as possible, stripped the brown waxen paper from around it.
Jim returned his attention to Alex, who lay watching him with huge gray eyes. He had to give her credit—she had common sense. She was doing exactly as he asked. Her eyes grew cloudy with pain as he gently pulled the flight suit aside and moved the fabric of her bloody blouse to expose the wound. Leaning down, he whispered against her ear, “Now, this is gonna hurt like hell. I gotta place this compress against your wound and make a sling for your arm.” He reached across her, sought and found a small twig. “Here,” he said, “put this between your teeth. Whatever you do, Alex, don’t scream, or the VC will find us.”
A fine tremble worked through Alex as she clenched the stick between her teeth. She saw the apology in his lean, hard face. Shutting her eyes tightly, Alex tried to prepare herself for the dressing to be placed over her wound.
It was impossible. As gentle as Jim tried to be, pain reared up through her, and Alex grunted. She bit down hard on the wood, the taste of it almost spicy in her mouth. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth. Her back arched and her heels pushed into the soft soil, her nostrils flared wide. Agony sliced through her shoulder like scalpels. Fighting back a scream that begged to be released, Alex dug the fingers of her right hand deeply into the damp leaves and soil. All her focus was on the wood between her teeth.
“Good, good,” Jim praised raggedly. He saw sweat pop out across her furrowed brow, and saw her nostrils dilate. “I’m done. Relax....” Gently removing the piece of wood from between her teeth, he smiled as she barely opened her eyes. “The worst’s over, gal. Just hang loose and I’ll get you trussed up like a Christmas goose to give that arm of yours some support.”
The pain was nearly unbearable, but through the nightmare minutes that followed, Alex was struck by how humane the marine was with her. He was tall and rangy, and as her vision cleared, Alex got a better look at him. A couple of weeks’ growth of beard shadowed his craggy features. His fingers were long and large-knuckled, and despite their size he was incredibly gentle while he made a sling of vines for her arm. But there was a coiled tension about him, as if he could explode in any direction. His alertness reminded her of a jungle cat’s, and he seemed attuned to the most minor change of sound and activity around them. Occasionally he would freeze, listen, then continue to work on her arm. They exchanged no more words—only looks—but he could communicate powerfully with those cobalt eyes. Alex was amazed, as if some unexplained telepathy existed between them. She saw his eyes change to a light blue color as he knotted off the last of the vine behind her neck.
He helped her sit up. Dizziness assailed her, and she started to fall sideways. If not for the quick intervention of his arm around her shoulders, Alex would have fallen. Everything was happening so quickly, so efficiently. She wanted to ask him so many questions. Why was his leg in that primitive cast? Nothing was making sense except that he seemed to know exactly how to help her. The sling had eased the pain in her shoulder a great deal. Alex slumped wearily against the marine, her face pressed into the folds of his damp green shirt.
Giving her a quick squeeze of reassurance, Jim eased Alex upright. The look in her dazed gray eyes told him she wasn’t doing well at all. Her face was waxen and perspiring, indicating she’d suffered heavy loss of blood from her wound.
“Gal, as much as I wish I could, I can’t carry you,” Jim whispered. Without thinking, he reached out and pushed several strands of hair from her dirt-smudged cheek. “You gotta walk. Understand? We gotta get out of here.” He glanced up at the triple canopy overhead. “Before it gets dark.”
Alex nodded her understanding. Jim rose, his hands on her shoulders to steady her. With all her strength, Alex pushed upright onto her feet. If not for his lean, powerful body as a support, she would have crumpled. His arm went around her waist, and she sighed raggedly in relief.
Without a sound, Jim felt Alex lean against him, and he slowly turned her around. Pain shot up his leg. The bones had been set only recently, and he knew that if Alex couldn’t walk on her own, he’d have to leave her. When she weakly placed her right arm around his waist, her head against his shoulder, he smiled to himself. She wasn’t a quitter, and that made him want to save her all the more.
The slow, torturous walk began. Alex was aware of the marine limping badly on his left leg, the side she was on. As she struggled forward, black dots would dance in front of her eyes. When they did, she would grab at his waist for fear of fainting. Each time, his arm tightened around her and he stopped, waiting patiently. When Alex nodded that the faintness had passed, he slowly began their walk again. She lost track of time as darkness gradually fell over the jungle. No matter how bad she felt physically, Alex felt safe. Whoever this marine was, he was confident, and that gave her the courage to go on.
The jungle had darkened to near blackness when finally Alex felt Jim draw to a halt. His lips scant inches from her ear, he whispered, “We’re home, gal.”
Relief shattered through Alex, and she felt her knees buckling beneath her. The blackness that had been threatening to engulf her finally did, and Alex heard herself moan softly as she connected with the ground. It was the last thing she remembered.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b829b5e9-07a1-51ed-9eb2-0aae033b1a89)
Alex awoke slowly, moving through a constant barrier of pain radiating from her wound. She struggled to adjust her eyes to the gloom. At least her nose was working. Wherever she was lying had the dank, stale odor of earth. Slivers of moonlight tremored from some unknown source above her. Slowly she began to see outlines.
Jim McKenzie slept with his chin against his chest opposite her, propped against an earthen wall. Alex heard frogs and crickets in the distance. She appeared to be in a cave of some sort, the bare outline of walls rising around them. The ground under her was hard and unforgiving, but Alex realized that a blanket had been placed beneath her against the dampness. The flight suit she’d worn had been removed, as had her blouse. In its place, a thin blanket covered her. Carefully touching her dressed shoulder wound, Alex realized that her left bra strap had been cut away, but she still wore the remainder of the bra.
Her gaze returned to McKenzie. He was barefoot! Calluses covered the balls and heels of his feet. Her gaze drifted upward, and she drank in the sight of him in his rumpled olive uniform. Even in sleep, his hand rested over the butt of a sheathed knife fastened around his waist.
To the left of him she saw a few meager supplies, but couldn’t make out exactly what they were. When she moved slightly, the marine snapped awake. In the same motion, he jerked the long, lethal-looking knife from its sheath. Gasping, Alex froze.
Jim had gone instantly from a sitting position to a kneeling one, knife ready. Sleep was torn from him. When he realized it was Alex who had moved, his shoulders slumped in relief. The terror in her huge gray eyes made him quickly resheathe his Ka-bar knife. He moved over to her, crouching under the five-foot roof of the tunnel—too low for him to stand upright.
“How you doing?” he asked, his voice shaky with adrenaline.
Alex closed her eyes and touched her pounding heart. “Okay. You scared me to death when you jumped like that.”
Jim sat down, his right leg tucked beneath his body, his splinted leg stretched out before him. In the moonlight he could see the tension in Alex’s face. She was in obvious pain.
“Sorry,” he muttered, “it’s a habit.”
Relaxing as he lightly touched her left arm, Alex nodded. “That’s okay.” She licked her dry lips. “You’re Jim McKenzie.”
He nodded. “I didn’t think you’d remember. You were pretty out of it when I found you. We’re in a caved-in tunnel the enemy used to own.” He pointed upward. “There’s a small, concealed hole up there for air ventilation and light, but if we talk too loud, a passing VC might overhear us. Understand?”
“Y-yes.” Alex watched as he leaned over and retrieved a chipped wooden bowl that contained water and a small piece of cloth.
Jim squeezed out of the dark green cloth, a portion of the towel he’d once worn around his neck to wipe sweat from his eyes. During the last month the towel had gradually been torn into pieces, serving many utilitarian purposes.
“I feel a lot better now than I did when you first found me.” Alex met and held his warm gaze. “Thanks for saving my life.”
His mouth quirked into something resembling a smile. “I’m glad I decided to go and check out the crash. I sure didn’t expect to find a woman.”
Alex relaxed as he gently wiped her face and neck, the water feeling heavenly against her hot skin. “Believe me, I never expected to be in Vietnam, much less get shot down.” She lifted her right hand toward him. “I’m Alex Vance...Alexandra, but my friends call me Alex.”
The shadows were deep, and Jim could see the terror banked in her eyes. She was trying to be brave, and that touched him. He gripped her hand gently and squeezed it. “Alexandra’s a real purty name. You can call me Jim, McKenzie or Mac. Any of them suit.” Releasing her hand, he rinsed the cloth in the bowl of water and squeezed it out again. “What are you doin’ in Nam?”
Licking her chapped lips, Alex tried to smile but failed. “I was taking a helicopter from Marble Mountain to Firebase Lily when we got hit by enemy groundfire,” she said softly. She closed her eyes, her voice growing scratchy. “The other marines, they didn’t make it, Mr. McKenzie. They’re dead.”
He continued to bathe her face free of the crusty dirt and blood. “I’m no officer, just an enlisted recon marine. No need for any formality.” He sighed. “I’m sorry to hear about those men dyin’. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Alex tried to hold back tears. Her gaze clung to his harsh, tense features. Under any other circumstance, she would have thought Jim to be made of granite, his face not handsome at all. But the way he pursed his mouth, as if to hold back his own barrage of feelings, told her he was a man with a conscience, and that made her feel better.
“You’re a corporal in the marines?”
“Recon marines,” Jim corrected. He cradled her right arm as he began to cleanse it. She had any number of scratches that could eventually fester and become infected if he didn’t wash them clean. Picking up a small bar of soap, he scrubbed the dirt from her skin.
“I’m sorry...I don’t know what recons are.”
“You’re a civilian, then? I thought you might be in the service.”
“No, I would never be in the military, believe me.”
The emotion behind her statement caught him off guard. “Not many women join,” he agreed. “Let me tell you about recons. We’re the elite arm of the corps. We get dropped behind enemy lines in teams of six men to gather information from the VC. Then, if everything goes well, we’re picked up at a prearranged spot and returned behind our lines.”
“I’m not too up on the military,” Alex said. “I never knew recons existed.”
“That’s okay.” His mouth quirked again. “When I didn’t find any dog tags or identification on you, I thought you might be a spook.”
“Spook?”
“Yeah, you know—a CIA operative. A spy.”
Alex languished beneath his care. She managed a slight smile. “I’m twenty-two years old and a nursing student in Virginia. I graduate this coming September.”
“A nurse. That’s good,” he said, washing out the cloth. Dumping the dirty water into a small stream at the other side of the tunnel, Jim scooped up another bowl of fresh and brought it back to where she lay.
He wiped her throat and across her delicate collarbone. Once he’d dragged Alex into his tunnel and concealed the entrance with brush, Jim had done the best he could to tend her wound in the dark before catching some sleep himself. What he’d seen when he’d removed her blouse hadn’t been encouraging. “Then you realize you’ve got a piece of shrapnel sticking out of your left shoulder,” he said now. He saw her eyes widen. “I took off your flight suit and blouse—” he gestured toward the rear wall “—washed both of ’em out the best I could and hung them up on those sticks wedged into the wall over there. It’ll probably take a day or two for them to dry in this humidity, though.”
Jim hesitated fractionally before pulling the blanket away from her shoulder to check the wound. They were strangers, and yet he’d nearly undressed Alex in order to tend her injury. As young as she was, Jim knew she must feel awkward at the unexpected intimacy of their situation. But he had no choice. He drew the blanket down to her waist.
Alex was too sick and worried to be embarrassed, but still she felt shy about her partial state of nudity. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead right now,” she whispered, suddenly emotional.
“You’re a fighter, so my money’s on you to pull through,” Jim offered. When he saw her cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment, he murmured, “Sorry I had to undress you.” And then he managed a slight smile. “I don’t make a habit of undressing ladies without their permission.”
His quiet words dissolved Alex’s humiliation. “It wasn’t your fault.” Alex twisted her head enough to look at the compress over her wound. “You saw the shrapnel?”
“Yeah. It’s a pretty big dog-ugly piece.”
She grimaced at his colorful description. “Were you able to clean the wound out?” she asked as she lay back, exhausted.
“The best I could. You fainted as we reached the tunnel, so I took advantage of the situation. I used soap and water to clean it out before I dressed it.”
“Is it still bleeding?”
Jim shook his head. “No, it’s swollen and bruised-looking, but there’s no more bleeding.”
Relief shattered through Alex. “Good. Is there any redness around the wound? Any red streaks?” she asked, thinking of infection or blood poisoning.
“None so far.” Jim glanced at his watch’s luminous dial. “You’ve been asleep all night. That’s good.” He gazed upward toward the source of meager light. “It’s almost dawn.”
Alex stayed quiet a long time, thinking. “How near is the closest marine firebase?” she asked finally.
Jim set the bowl and cloth aside. He wrapped his arm around his drawn-up knee while keeping his other leg extended. “About ten miles, if memory serves me correctly.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Alex said, her voice quavering. “I’ve got enough nursing knowledge under my belt to know that if I don’t get this piece of shrapnel removed fast, I’ll be in real trouble.”
McKenzie heard the fear in her voice. Even in the waning moonlight gradually being replaced by dawn, Alexandra Vance was beautiful. The way her full lips moved, the fear in her eyes, touched him as nothing else had since that horrifying incident—Jim savagely shut down his thoughts, not wanting to relive that tragic day. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Alex, we aren’t going anywhere. We can’t.”
Her eyes rounded. “Why not?” she demanded, her voice going off-key.
Jim pointed to his leg. “I busted up my left leg three weeks ago. My recon team was hattin’ out for our prearranged pickup point when the VC discovered our presence. We were runnin’ hard, and I told my lieutenant, Matt Breckenridge, that I’d hang to the rear to protect the group. I got pretty far behind, and I wasn’t watching where I was going as closely as I should’ve been.” He grimaced. “I fell into this underground tunnel. It knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I woke up five hours later in the bottom of this place, my leg busted up, and alone.”
“My God. Didn’t your friends come back to get you?”
Jim shrugged. “Normally, no marine leaves a buddy in the field, but I think the tunnel brush hid the hole after I’d fallen into it, and they couldn’t find me. With the VC hot on their heels, they couldn’t spend the time to look long for me, anyway.”
“That happened three weeks ago?” Alex gasped, her gaze flying to his poorly splinted leg.
“Yeah. Recons are taught to be self-sufficient. I regained consciousness, realized I was in this place—” he raised his arm to encompass the space “—and started thinking about survival. This is an old, caved-in tunnel the VC used years ago, probably in the fifties, when they were fighting the French. That stream eventually weakened the dirt walls and the tunnel caved in. The VC haven’t been in here for years, from what I can tell.”
Alex could see more now that dawn light was cascading through the hole in the roof. The tunnel was about ten feet across and thirty feet long. At one end, loose dirt was evidence of the cave-in. She looked up.
“That ventilation hole doubles as an emergency exit,” Jim offered. “Probably was a ladder there at one time, but they took it with them when they left. When you fainted, I lowered you down here as carefully as I could. I didn’t want to start that shoulder of yours bleeding again if I could help it.”
Alex met and held his exhausted blue gaze. The ceiling was about five feet high, and she began to understand and appreciate Jim’s strength and vigilance. “You splinted your leg yourself?”
“Yes. There were plenty of sticks lying around on the floor. I had my knife, so I made these splints.” Pride sounded in his voice.
With a shake of her head, Alex whispered, “Did you have any pain pills?”
He patted the webbed belt at his waist. “All recons carry a pretty good first-aid kit. I had some pain killers, and used a couple of them, but they made me too groggy. VC were all around the place. I had to keep a clear head.”
“But...how did you eat that first week or two?” He wouldn’t have been able to get far with a broken leg.
With a one-cornered grin, Jim said, “Well, now, I’m not sure you want to know.”
“I do.”
With a shrug, he said, “There were a number of banded kraits—poisonous snakes—that were makin’ this place their home. That and rats...”
“Oh, dear...” Alex’s stomach surged and nausea overwhelmed her. She shut her eyes, fighting the reaction.
“Sorry,” Jim apologized. “Now, this past week, I can get around with the crutch I made, and I’ve mostly been living off edible roots topside. I found a VC camp nearby and stole some rice from them. Recons are taught to grub off the land in order to survive.”
“Where are you from?” Alex asked, purposely changing the topic.
He grinned boyishly for the first time. “I’m from the Show Me state, Missouri.” Pointing to his bare feet, he added, “I come from hill folk, and my ma and pa still live in a little cabin in a place known as Raven Holler. Ma makes quilts, and Pa, well...he makes ends meet by making white mule.”
“White mule?”
Jim smiled fondly, thinking back to his family and the growing-up years he’d loved. “Ever heard of white lightnin’?”
“Corn liquor?”
“The same. Pa makes two-hundred proof in stills he’s got hidden around the hills. So far, he’s avoided the law. He sells all he can make. He’s kinda well known for his white mule.”
Alex smiled gently, seeing Jim’s features relax in that moment. There was a burning flicker of hope in his eyes and a kind of dreaminess, as if he were back in Missouri.
“I like your Southern accent,” she offered. His voice, the softness of his drawl, was in direct opposition to his rough-hewn features.
“And you’ve got a voice like a nightingale,” Jim returned.
Alex smiled, feeling heat nettle her cheeks. “I wish I could sing like one. Thanks, anyway.” For the first time since the crash, she felt hope thread through her. “I’ve never met anyone from Missouri.”
“Outsiders call our people hillbillies, but—” Jim looked significantly around the tunnel “—everything I ever learned from my pa has helped keep me alive these past three weeks. None of those people who made fun of us or our lack of book learnin’ would have survived this long.”
Alex hurt for Jim. “People can be cruel,” she whispered. Her father came to mind.
“What about your family?”
“I’m the only girl,” Alex offered.
“Don’t make it sound so bad.”
She grimaced. “I’ve got two older brothers in the marines. My father is—well, he’s a hawk,” she explained, using the term that had recently become common for referring to those in favor of the war. “He believes wholeheartedly in this conflict.”
McKenzie looked at her strangely. “And you? What do you believe about Nam?”
“You’ll probably laugh at me, Jim, but I think it’s all wrong. I don’t believe we should be sending more and more troops over here. It just means that many more men who will get killed.”
“Your pa’s a hawk and you’re a dove?”
“You might say that.” Alex was suddenly thirsty. “May I have some of that water, please?”
“Sure.” Jim reached down and placed his hands beneath her shoulders. “Let me help you sit up. You can’t be feeling very strong right now.”
Alex was grateful for his sensitivity. Biting back a groan, she sat up with his help. Jim took the handleless wooden cup, badly chipped around the rim, and filled it with water. Alex drank thirstily. After several more cups, she felt sated. She wanted to remain sitting upright, and Jim released her. He located a rucksack along the wall and opened it. Producing another well-worn wooden bowl, he scooped some rice from a pocket in the canvas bag.
“I think you ought to eat,” he said, offering her the bowl of rice. “It isn’t much, but it could be worse. You’ll have to use your fingers.”
With a nod, Alex traded the cup for the small wooden bowl. The rice was gummy and tasteless, and she didn’t feel like eating, but she knew she had to keep up her strength. Jim McKenzie’s skin shone in the gloom, and she realized she was sweating constantly, too. The humidity was high and unrelenting in the tunnel, the air stale. When she’d eaten, Jim gave her a clean cloth to wipe her fingers and mouth.
Looking around, Alex asked in a small voice, “There aren’t any more snakes, are there?”
“Not right now.” Jim glanced up at the entrance. “Sometimes they fall into the tunnel.” When he saw the terror in Alex’s face, he added quickly, “But that doesn’t happen often. The rats are gone, too.”
Shivering and not sure if it was from her wound or the thought of sharing the tunnel with such creatures, Alex said, “Somehow, we have to get to the firebase.”
“There’s no safer place than right here,” Jim warned her darkly. Sitting down, he untied the strong, slender vines that kept the splints in place around his leg. Each morning he checked the progress of his leg, reset the splints, which had a tendency to move on him, and retied them into place.
“But,” Alex whispered desperately, “I have to get medical help, Jim!”
Jim’s hands hovered over the knot he’d just tied in the vine. Grimly, he raised his head and met her large, luminous eyes. “We couldn’t make that ten miles in the shape we’re in, Alex.”
“But...I’ll die if I don’t get surgery to remove this piece of shrapnel. We’ve got to try!”
Terror deluged Jim, and he crawled back to the tunnel wall opposite Alex. Adrenaline poured through his bloodstream, and his heart started slamming against his rib cage, his breathing turning ragged. Her cry of desperation triggered the entire terrifying sequence, and suddenly he was helplessly snared in the grip of the nightmare.
Alex watched Jim in confusion. His eyes had turned dull, as if he were no longer hearing or seeing her. Sweat popped out on his face. His nostrils flared, and as Alex continued to watch, his chest began to rise and fall as if with exertion. She didn’t understand what was happening as he collapsed against the wall, caught in the throes of something beyond her comprehension. His eyes tightly shut, he brought his good knee up and buried his brow against it, wrapping both arms tightly around it. Minutes after his retreat into silence, he slowly began to relax.
“Jim?” Alex’s voice was off-key. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Shakily, Jim released his bent leg and raised his head. He blinked his stinging eyes and tried to detach from the repulsive scene and its accompanying feelings. Alex’s voice was soft—a healing balm. He clung to it, not hearing all her words, but honing in on the reassuring sound. Gradually, the scene he fought to forget began to dissolve. Wiping his mouth shakily with the back of his hand, he straightened. Finally, he forced open his eyes. Alex was staring at him in puzzlement.
“Look,” he began in a rasp, “I can’t ever go back, do you understand?”
“Back?”
“Yeah. I—I can’t handle it anymore, Alex.”
Completely confused, Alex held on to her own disintegrating patience. “You’re not making sense, Jim. What are you talking about?”
He rubbed his sweaty face with trembling hands. “I joined the marines three years ago. Because of my hill background, they sent me to the recons for training and duty. I—I’ve been in Nam for almost two years—” He couldn’t say the words; they jammed in the back of his throat. The black feelings, the grief and the profound sadness finally released him enough to whisper, “Recons are taught to kill a hundred different ways. I did—kill. The enemy. Men. VC who wanted to kill me.” He raised his gaze to the earthen ceiling, his voice low and unsteady. “It always bothered me, even though they told me I was doing my duty. Killing bothered me.... Sure, it was the enemy and I knew it was often kill or be killed. But every time...every time, it got harder. I tried to remember the good that recons do, how we save hundreds, maybe thousands of other marines from dying with the information we retrieve from enemy sources, but I was hurtin’.
“This last recon patrol...it was hell. When I fell in this hole and busted up my leg, I knew it was all over. I thought I’d died. But then I woke up, and I knew I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t go to a marine firebase, recover and get sent back to the field.” He shut his eyes tightly. “I just couldn’t.”
Alex sat a long time digesting his emotional confession. Jim had been trained to kill in a professional sense. She stared down at her hands and then over at his, clenched tightly into fists against his thighs. A hundred different ways to kill. Her mouth grew dry and she hung her head. “Then,” she rasped, “you’re deserting?”
Jim nodded. “Right now, I’m MIA, missing in action. They can’t find my body, so they can’t tell my ma and pa I’m dead. No one knows of my decision. I—I wish I could let them know....” He looked at her grimly. “If I take you to that firebase, they’ll take me to Da Nang for recovery.”
“But, Jim, if you could just get me close to the base, I could make it there on my own,” Alex pleaded.
“You don’t understand,” he said heavily. “That firebase is ringed by VC. I couldn’t just drop you nearby. You’d probably step on a land mine or get shot by VC before you even got close to safety. Even if you made it that far, one of the marines is liable to shoot you for not knowing the right password. No, you’d get killed, Alex.”
Frustrated, Alex glared at him. “If I don’t get out of here, I’m dead, too! So what’s the difference?”
Jim winced at the anger in her voice. He couldn’t blame her. Shame flowed through him. She deserved better than him—a better chance at surviving. Why had she been thrown into his arms? All he’d wanted was to continue to survive without being detected—by VC or friendly forces. “Look,” he rasped, “I need time—”
“I don’t have time!” Alex cried softly. “In a week, I could be dead! Is that what you want? Are you willing to throw my life away so you can stay safe?”
Jim couldn’t bear the tears glimmering in Alex’s haunted eyes. Anger mixed with his grief. “No, dammit, I don’t want to let you die! But I can’t go back. I can’t!”
“Why not?”
Jim’s breath came hard and fast, the pain in his chest so great it felt like a heart attack. He could see the anger flashing in Alex’s eyes. Frustration showed in the set of her stubborn lips. “I can’t talk about it,” he whispered defensively.
“Can’t or won’t?” Alex hurled back hotly. She jerked the blanket aside, and the movement cost her dearly.
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m getting out of here, that’s what. Get me my blouse and that flight suit! I don’t care if they’re wet or not!”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. “You won’t be able to walk ten feet without falling on your nose.”
Alex struggled to her knees. Pain throbbed through her shoulder and down her left arm. “Hand me my clothes. I’ll be damned if I’m staying here with a deserter. I’m scared, McKenzie, but I’m not so scared I won’t try! I don’t know what Vietnam did to you, but I’m not paying for it!” She stretched out her hand. “Now give me my clothes!”
Glaring at her, Jim rasped, “You’re going nowhere. Sit down, Alex. Right now.”
Squaring off with him, Alex felt the pumping adrenaline suddenly leave her. She felt shaky, then began to tremble. Black dots danced in front of her eyes. She was going to faint if she didn’t lie down immediately.
“You yellow-bellied coward,” she cried hoarsely. “If I could, I’d leave you right now! Just as soon as I get strong enough, I’m getting out of here!” She fell back, the wall of the tunnel stopping her from completely collapsing. The jolt made her cry out, and she reached automatically for her wounded shoulder.
Instantly, Jim moved to her side. “Be still, Alex,” he whispered tautly, pulling her hand from her shoulder.
Jerking away, Alex glared up at him. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_03ea429c-9fea-5af0-b769-3b68a9ad371a)
Smarting beneath Alex’s attack, Jim made her as comfortable as possible. When she lay down, he covered her with the blanket, then crawled over to the other wall of the tunnel. She had closed her eyes, her lips set in an angry line, and was refusing to talk to him.
Jim knew he’d better eat, even though he didn’t feel like it. Glumly picking up the bowl, he dug into his rucksack for more of the poorly cooked rice. His stomach knotted. Only the sound of Alex’s labored breathing filled the tunnel. How could he tell her the gruesome truth? What would she think of him when she knew the horror of the crime he’d committed? The crime was so heinous, so mind-blowing, that he felt as if he were drowning in guilt and shame.
Jim chewed the rice without really tasting it, his gaze fastened on Alex. Her breathing had steadied and softened. When she opened her eyes much later, Jim scrambled inwardly to lessen the tension strung between them. Casting around, he said, “In our part of the country, we don’t have many television sets. My kinfolk—an uncle—had one, but he lived near town. I remember as a kid growin’ up listening to the radio all the time.” He forced a semblance of a smile, his voice low. “You remember the Lone Ranger?”
Alex turned her head and gazed at his shadowed features. There was something vulnerable and hurting about Jim McKenzie. But now his mouth, once a tortured, twisted line of some withheld pain known only to himself, had relaxed. He had a wonderful mouth, a kind mouth, and she had trouble imagining him killing anything, much less another human being. As he lifted his head to meet and hold her stare, Alex felt some of her anger dissolve. His large, intelligent eyes were not those of the killer he professed to be. She saw the faraway look in them and was lulled by his low voice. Wanting to make peace as she’d always tried to do in her own family, controlled by a father who ruled by anger, Alex responded. After all, Jim McKenzie had saved her life.
“Yes, I remember,” she said softly. “I used to sit in front of our radio just waiting for the next weekly serial to come on.”
Relief washed over Jim. He saw Alex struggle to be polite although anger still lurked in her eyes. “I can remember as a ten-year-old kid hardly being able to wait for the next Lone Ranger and Tonto story. I liked them, I liked what they did. They were always saving people who were in trouble.” The corners of Jim’s mouth lifted with the memory. “I used to make believe I was the Lone Ranger. I went out back, found a saplin’ and cut it down. That was Silver, my horse. When I wasn’t doing chores or huntin’ with Pa, I’d be galloping around the hills, pretending I was saving people in trouble.”
Alex shut her eyes. “I—I remember those times...the radio shows. That seems so long ago....”
“We were young ’uns.”
“I was eight years old.”
“Who was your favorite?”
Alex opened her eyes. “I always liked Tonto.”
“He never said much, but then, he was an injun.”
“I liked him because he saved the Lone Ranger when he got into trouble.”
“I guess we both wanted to help people,” Jim whispered. “Nurses definitely do that.” He frowned. “I thought recons helped, too, but, I was wrong....”
“There’s nothing wrong with helping others,” Alex said. “You said recons saved a lot of marine lives. I think that’s positive.”
Jim smiled faintly at Alex. “Maybe.” Her face held such serenity in that moment. She was pretty, and there was a wide streak of goodness in her, too. Desperate to get off the topic, Jim said, “You remind me of Molly Pritchard, a gal whose folks were our closest neighbors.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Molly was kind of like Tonto, always quiet and something of a shadow. She had five older brothers, so she was kind of pushed aside in favor of them. She had hair like yours, the color of rich, brown earth. The kids at school made fun of her.”
“Why?”
With a shrug, Jim said, “Molly was board-awful ugly. Not that it was her fault. She had buckteeth and she squinted all the time. A lot of city kids picked on her, but I used to stand up for her. Partly because she was hill folk like me. And partly...well, she was like a little brown mouse, so quiet and afraid. I always had a soft place in my heart for underdogs.... So, I kinda became her protector.”
“What happened to Molly?” Alex was touched by Jim’s admission.
“We were in the third grade together and this teacher, Missus Olgilvie, used to walk up and down the rows with a three-foot-long ruler in her hands. Anyone not studying got whacked across the shoulders. She always picked on the boys, not the girls, but poor Molly lived in dire fear of Missus Olgilvie smacking her. Molly couldn’t see the blackboard, so the teacher kept moving her closer and closer to the front of the room. Finally, the teacher sent a note home to Molly’s parents to get her eyes checked.”
Jim smiled fondly in remembrance. “Little-brown-mouse Molly got her eyes checked at this fancy eye doctor’s office. I remember the day her folks loaded everyone in their beat-up old Ford pickup and went off to the city. That was a big deal, you know? Hill people are real poor, even today, and we just didn’t have that kind of money around. I remember Ma and Pa loaning Mr. Pritchard forty dollars of money they’d been saving, so that Molly could get this test and a pair of glasses.”
Jim tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “The Pritchards came home late that evening, close to dark. They stopped at our cabin on the way home. I remember coming out and standing by the door. Molly was in her finest dress, a cotton print with yeller buttercups all over it. Her brown hair was tied up in a yeller ribbon, too. My mouth dropped open as I walked out to the pickup where she sat with her brothers. There she was, proudly wearing those black horn-rimmed frames. I stood there for a long moment realizing just how pretty Molly Pritchard really was, ’cause she no longer had to squint her eyes to see. No, she had the most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen.”
Touched to the point of tears, Alex kept her gaze fixed on Jim’s softened features. “What happened after that?”
Jim chuckled. “Molly went back to school wearing those glasses as proudly as I wore my marine uniform when I first got out of boot camp. The glasses gave her confidence, real confidence, and she no longer was a shadow. When Molly walked, she strutted, her head held high for the first time. She no longer had to sit in the front row to see the blackboard, and her grades started coming up. She turned from an ugly ducklin’ into this purty young girl with huge green eyes. She wasn’t a shy, backward, little brown mouse anymore.”
“I can relate,” Alex whispered.
Jim nodded. “That’s the reason you remind me of Molly—you’re shy and quiet, but underneath, you’ve got real strength.”
“I don’t know about that. It’s funny to hear you describe Molly, though, because in my family, I’m called `mouse’ by my brothers and father.”
Frowning, Jim set the bowl of rice aside. “Your pa ought not to call you that.”
“My father praises aggression, athletic ability and confidence. My brothers have those qualities—I don’t.”
Jim snorted. “Yet, you just survived a helicopter crash in enemy territory when no one else did. Does that sound like a mouse?”
Alex smiled halfheartedly and closed her eyes. His warm tone made her feel more emotionally stable. “You said you were proud to wear the marine uniform. What made you join up, Jim?”
He shook his head wearily. “Lookin’ back on it, I must have been addled, but at the time, it felt like the right thing to do. My pa had been a marine during the big war, and all my life I’d been a weak, sickly child. I was tall and skinny, too.
“In school, when the city kids called me names, ganged up and pushed me around or wouldn’t let me play sports with them, I would daydream, pretending the school was Dodge City, full of desperadoes, and that I was the Lone Ranger. It helped me get through school, I guess. One day, when I was in the eighth grade, these military recruiters came to our school auditorium and gave us a talk about joining the military as a way toward better education. I remember seeing that marine sergeant in his dress blues, how his uniform stood out from the rest, and how proud he was. His back was ramrod straight, his shoulders squared, and you just knew that he was a far better man than any of the others sitting on the stage, waiting their turn to talk to us.
“I went home and told my pa that when I was old enough, I was gonna join the Marine Corps.” Jim’s voice lowered with feeling. “I remember tears came to his eyes. Tears! I’d never seen my pa cry. He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed me and held me so tight I couldn’t breathe. When he finally released me, he took me into their bedroom to an old wooden trunk. I knew of the cedar trunk, but I’d been given strict instructions never to open it. So, when Pa opened it, I was in awe.
“There, inside, was his dress blue Marine Corps uniform, carefully folded in mothballs to stop the moths from eatin’ holes into the fabric. I remember he took my hand and pressed it across all his ribbons and medals from World War II. His voice shook as he told me about each medal—the four purple hearts, the bronze star and the silver star. Pa was a genuine hero, and I’d never known it until that moment. When he’d finished telling me his story, he looked me straight in the eye and told me how proud he was of me wanting to be a marine like he’d been.”
Taking a deep, unsteady breath, Jim whispered, “At that moment, I didn’t want anything else in the world but to become a marine. I wanted Pa to always be proud of me that way. I worked real hard at school. I brought up my grades, and I tried to better myself. At graduation, Pa gave me a gift—his silver star medal. He told me to live up to it. When I joined the Marine Corps and put that uniform on for the first time, I felt like the Lone Ranger. I believed my drill instructors when they said marines were there to help the underdogs, to fight Communism and to free people. My folks came to Camp Lejune, North Carolina, for my graduation. They never traveled anywhere, but they came all the way from Missouri to see me. It was the proudest day of my life as I stood there at attention. My pa cried. He just threw his arms around me and cried.”
Tears stung Alex’s eyes. “Wh-what did you do, Jim?”
He shook his head. “Marines don’t cry. I just stood there, a head taller than him, feeling strong and good while I held him in my arms. I’d graduated at the head of my recon class, and I was given my private-first-class stripe right then and there. Pa was never prouder.”
Quiet reigned in the tunnel as Alex absorbed his story. In many ways Jim was like her: an outcast of sorts, someone who’d been viewed as a loser who didn’t measure up in society’s or, in her case, her family’s eyes. “At least,” Alex said, “you were noticed and praised for your efforts. I never was. My father named me after Alexander the Great. Can you believe that? He wanted three sons, not two sons and a daughter. Mom said he was really disappointed to find out I was a girl. He already had the name picked out, so they just put Alexandra on the birth certificate.”
Jim heard the pain in Alex’s voice. “Any family would be proud to have you as their daughter. You’ve survived when most wouldn’t.”
“My father’s probably raging and ranting right now that it’s just like me to cause him a problem. I’ve always been a problem to him. He wanted me to finish nursing school and join the navy and I told him no. I know he’s ashamed of me,” Alex admitted, “because I’ve never lived up to what he wanted me to be.”
“What did he want?”
“A tomboy, I guess. I liked dolls, playing house and learning to cook, but Father doesn’t value those things. He wanted me to excel in math and sciences, but I loved painting and ceramics instead.” Alex held Jim’s softened gaze with her own. “I’m the mouse, remember? Father could brag about Case and Buck because they were football heroes. Both my brothers went on to get naval academy appointments and then became marines. Father’s real proud of them.”
“Well,” Jim offered, “your pa is blind, then. You’re a purty gal with a lot of common sense. There aren’t many who would’ve kept their head after that crash, hiding and not getting captured. I’m proud of you, if that means anything.”
Alex felt heat suffuse her neck and cheeks under Jim’s praise. “I...thanks.”
“You’re shy. Worse than Molly Pritchard was at one time, I think,” he teased.
“Mice are always shy,” Alex muttered, refusing to look up at him.
With a smile, Jim added, “Well, in my book, any man would be proud to have you on his arm.”
There was such an incredible gentleness about him, and Alex forced herself to meet his hooded stare. “Listen,” she said urgently, “if I don’t get this shrapnel out of my shoulder, I’m not going to live. At least dig it out for me, Jim. I can’t do it on my own. If the foreign object isn’t removed, it will create infection and blood poisoning.” She looked around at the meager supplies positioned along the wall. “Can you do it? Will you?”
Jim’s stomach knotted. Alex was right: if he didn’t do something, she would worsen—could even die. And more than anything, he didn’t want that to happen. “I wish,” he rasped, “that none of this had happened, Alex. You don’t deserve to be in this situation, to be stuck with me.”
“It’s a little late for regrets, isn’t it?”
With a shake of his head, Jim slowly got to his hands and knees. “Yeah, it is. All I’ve got is my Ka-bar knife and a clean compress—plus soap and water.” He glanced over at her. “I’m all thumbs when it comes to delicate work.”
“I don’t believe that,” Alex said. She tried to sound confident and in charge. “Sterilize your knife the best you can. And get the compress, soap and water ready to use after you dig out the shrapnel.” Her heart was pounding, and she was scared—scared of the pain she couldn’t avoid. But there was no choice: if the shrapnel didn’t come out, she was as good as dead. And suddenly, Alex didn’t want to die. Surprised at the depth of her survival instinct, Alex found a startling determination flowing through her for the first time in her life. Maybe it was that backbone that Jim had talked about earlier. What did he see in her that she didn’t see in herself?
“Okay, gal, I’ll get the supplies together. You just lie there and try to relax.”
“Yeah...sure. I’m scared to death, Jim. I’m afraid of the pain—of maybe bleeding to death once you take out the shrapnel....”
Leaning over, Jim pressed his hand to her good shoulder. “Hush, gal, you’re gonna get through this just fine. I’ve got a good sense about it.”
With a whisper, Alex said, “I’m glad you do. I’m just so scared—”
“Don’t let the fear make you freeze, Alex, make it your friend. That’s what I always do.”
Alex tried to do as he counseled. She watched him light a small, oblong piece of metal, a magnesium tab. It flared to life, its white flame making the entire tunnel bright as daylight. A shiver of anticipation threaded through Alex as she watched Jim slowly and carefully pass the point of the evil-looking Ka-bar knife through the flame.
“If I remember my anatomy,” Alex said, her voice strained, “there’s an artery somewhere in the vicinity of the shrapnel. If it’s cut, I’ll bleed to death.”
Jim looked up sharply. “I’ll be careful.” His heart twinged. Alex was too brave, too good, to die—especially at his hands. He’d already killed—Again Jim slammed the door shut on the haunting memory. Still, his hand shook in remembrance, and he released a long, unsteady breath.
“Just think that I’m Tonto, and you’re the Lone Ranger come to help,” Alex joked weakly, feeling sweat form on her brow and run down her temple.
“Right now, I wish I could be a doctor,” Jim muttered. The knife point was sterilized. Jim picked up a small piece of wood. “Here, put this between your teeth like before.”
With a nod, Alex took the wood. Her heartbeat rose to a furious rate, and she tensed. As Jim carefully removed the bandage and dressing, Alex shut her eyes and bit down hard on the wood. Oh, God, it was going to hurt. She tried to think of another time—when she’d broken her arm trying to emulate her two brothers by jumping from the roof of the house to a nearby oak limb. They had derided her, called her a mouse, a coward, until finally, out of hurt and anger, she’d jumped. It hadn’t worked, and Alex had fallen twenty feet to the ground below.
Alex remembered screaming with the pain that had reared up her arm from the broken bone. Her mother had run out of the house to her rescue. Alex recalled sitting on the ground as a ten-year-old, holding her right arm, seeing her mother’s distraught features. Her two brothers had gathered around her, frantic and unable to help. More than anything, Alex remembered her mother wrapping her arm in a towel. Then, when Alex had tried to stand, she’d fainted from the pain. If only she would faint from the pain this time. If only...
* * *
Jim sat tensely in the aftermath of digging the shrapnel from Alex’s shoulder. She’d fainted seconds into the cruel procedure, and he was grateful for that. It had made his job easier. Still, there was no way he could shield his own raw emotions from the pain she’d endured so bravely. Looking at the fresh compress and bandage on her shoulder, Jim wondered if he’d done well enough. The wound looked nasty, red around the torn edges of her flesh. Gently, he touched Alex’s slack features. Easing the wrinkles from her brow, Jim absorbed her quiet beauty into his heart. Even her lips were colorless.
“Little brown mouse,” he murmured, and he continued to gently stroke her cap of sable hair as a mother might soothe a hurt and frightened child. Somehow he couldn’t seem to distance himself from Alex, or the problems he saw ahead. She hadn’t asked to be shot down, or to be here with him. The decision he’d made after—He shut his eyes and groaned. Well, at any rate, Alex was the innocent in this whole mess.
Jim knew his leg was healing, although he was in constant pain. But pain was something he’d learned to live with a long time ago. He looked down at Alex and knew his heart had no defenses against her. What could he do? He couldn’t allow her to die. He certainly couldn’t sentence her to the life he’d chosen to live. His hand rested on her blanketed right shoulder, and he shut his eyes. What was he going to do?
* * *
Alex groaned. The sound of her own voice pulled her out of her unconscious state. She felt a man’s hand on her hair, stroking it slowly, and the sensation eased her pain momentarily.
“Alex?”
It was Jim’s voice, low and next to her ear. She forced her eyes open to slits. He was leaning over her, his face shadowed, sweaty and tense. He placed his finger to her lips and she slowly realized she heard other noises...voices.
Jim gripped Alex’s hand and looked up toward the tunnel’s concealed opening. He recognized the voices as belonging to the VC who owned this territory. It was nearly dark, and they probably were aware of this abandoned tunnel. Alex had been unconscious, moaning off and on for an hour. He’d kept his hand over her mouth, fearing someone would hear them. Now, the VC were very close. Too close.
Sweat trickled down the sides of Alex’s temples. She felt Jim’s grip tighten on her hand. VC were nearby! Her already uneven heartbeat sped up with new terror. In Jim’s hand was the Ka-bar. The dull ache in her shoulder seemed nothing compared to the fear surging through her. She saw the shadow of a man above the concealed entrance. Her breath lodged in her throat. Jim turned, tense and ready to meet any VC coming down the camouflaged access.
How long Alex lay dripping in her own fearful sweat, her heart thundering in her breast, she didn’t know. The shadow disappeared. Gradually, the VC voices drifted off. Closing her eyes, Alex sank back against the hard ground. She felt Jim’s reassuring squeeze on her hand, as if to reward her for remaining utterly silent. Opening her eyes, Alex stared up into his tense, harsh features. The changes that took place in him never ceased to amaze her. One moment, Jim was a country boy with a soft, Missouri drawl telling stories about his growing-up years, the next he was a tiger, ready to strike and kill without any sign of remorse. The change was frightening, but it also made Alex feel protected. She knew Jim would fight to save her life if the VC came down that tunnel entrance.
The danger was past—for now. Jim sat down and gave Alex his undivided attention. He took two pain pills from his first-aid kit and held them up for her to see.
“Take these,” he rasped hoarsely, then slid his arms beneath her shoulders and lifted her upward.
Alex took the pills in her mouth. Grateful for the water, she swallowed them. As he laid her back down, she whispered, “Thank you....”
Awkwardly, Jim drew the blanket across her again. “How do you feel?”
“Like hell.”
“Your eyes look better.”
She nodded. “There’s not as much pain in my shoulder now.”
Jim held up the piece of twisted shrapnel. “If you were a marine, you’d get a purple heart for this.”
Alex stared up at the piece of metal that had been lodged in her shoulder. “No wonder I fainted.”
“Right after I started,” Jim said. “I’m glad. It saved you a lot of suffering.” He placed the shrapnel in her right hand. “A souvenir from the war.”
She shook her head slowly from side to side. “What an awful reminder.”
Jim couldn’t argue. “Most of the wounds our guys carry around aren’t the kind you can see, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“My pa carried a lot of invisible wounds. I recall him screaming and waking us up at night years after the war. Ma said they were just bad dreams. But after Pa had one, he’d be in a dark mood for at least a week. Now,” Jim admitted, “I understand why....”
Alex desperately wanted to know more about Jim, what had made him run, but the pills were already beginning to work. She began to feel light-headed, some of the pain receding from her shoulder. “My father was a navy pilot in World War II. I remember him telling me about some of his flights,” she began, her voice slurring. “I never heard him scream or have nightmares.”
“The air war’s clean in comparison to being a grunt on the ground,” Jim said. He wiped Alex’s forehead and cheeks with a damp cloth. She was beginning to sweat heavily, and that bothered him. “Pa was on the ground, at Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima and other islands. He never spoke to us of those times, but I remember seeing the haunted look in his eyes.” With a shake of his head, Jim added, “Don’t look too closely at mine. I’m afraid they’ve seen worse than Pa’s.”
There was such anguish in Jim’s eyes at that moment that Alex wanted to cry for him, for whatever terrible trauma he’d survived. “I—I’m sorry.”
He smiled gently and bathed her neck. “You have nothing to be sorry for, gal. You’re innocent.” He added painfully, “It’s always the innocent women and children who get caught in the crossfire of war....”
Alex wanted to pursue the utter sadness she saw in his eyes, but without warning, her eyelids closed and she felt a deep, spiraling sensation. On the edge of exhaustion and sleep, Alex dreamed of the Lone Ranger and Tonto riding together.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_a9c722ab-05f3-5aa9-a168-7a4380107cd8)
Morning came slowly and with a lot of inner pain for Jim. Off and on through the night he’d tended Alex because she’d grown feverish. Afraid the VC might still be near, he hadn’t dared to sleep. Instead, he’d lain on the ground next to her, his nearness seeming to quiet her. Sometimes he’d nodded off for half an hour or so before her restless sleep had jerked him awake again. Now, as the bare hint of light from dawn crawled into the darkened tunnel, Jim grew even more worried.
Alex was delirious, and when he lifted the compress to examine her wound, he saw how red and inflamed the flesh had become. Grimly, he bathed her face, neck and arms, trying to lower her temperature. She needed antibiotics, or she would die. And that couldn’t happen. His mind worked over his limited options. Each time he looked down at her vulnerable features, a little more of his resolve to remain a deserter was chipped away. Yes, he’d made a decision to live in peace, to stop contributing to the war effort. But that decision hadn’t included Alex. As he took in her glistening features, he could no longer deny his conscience: he had to get her help.
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