Page 40 of Final Approach

Nikki slept while I slept, but when I woke to relieve a very reluctant Madman from his post, my friend joined me in silence at the outside edge of our circle, facing the direction of the plane.

His presence was a comfort, even though we’d barely said two words. Instead, we stared out into the glimmering landscape as the sun broke the horizon. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop running. Had I accidentally ingested some of that cocaine last night?

No, the racing thoughts and anxiety in my gut were too familiar, and had nothing to do with the current circumstances. I checked the time; 11:17 am Brasilia, so 9:17 am here. I needed to take my pill.

“I’m going to check on Ambrose,” I murmured, and rose to my feet. A tired twitch of Nikki’s lips was my only response. The gold in his gaze had dimmed behind the broken lenses and the adrenaline crash and lack of sleep showed in the faint lines on his handsome face.

We survived our first night, I wanted to reassure him. We can make it through another day.

But I couldn’t break the silence. Instead, I squeezed his shoulder when I walked past. We could talk later.

I stepped over the collection of rations in the pile by the fire and pulled my pill pack from my bag. Shaking one small tablet into my palm, I swallowed it dry and stowed the box into my pocket for safekeeping.

Two left. If rescue didn’t come today. I’d skip my dose tomorrow. I needed to keep my head on straight if we were going to stay alive.

Unlike last night. Guilt churned in my gut, burning my insides with its sting.

We should have died. I would have, if it wasn’t for Ambrose’s quick thinking. I had cursed myself the entire walk back to camp on Nikki’s back.

The jaguar’s appearance had frozen me in place. We’d survived the unthinkable, only to almost have my skull crushed because I’d become a frightened damsel, the encounter too close to a lifetime ago. The thick, ropy scar on my thigh pulsed today with the nightmare dredged up from the bowels of my brain.

I did my best to ignore it.

Ambrose loathed me—he’d made that clear enough—but he’d thrown himself into danger to protect me. Whatever his words, his actions spoke volumes. It was my turn to take care of him.

Grabbing one of Nikki’s protein bars and a small bottle of water, I strode back to his position on the other side of the fire. Bodies were stirring, and we’d need to set a game plan for the day. Rations, shelter from the sun, a medical check.

The guilt in my belly grew to an uncomfortable bloat. Danny’s leg wound also needed tending to. I’d almost forgotten. Ambrose, then Danny. Then, a plan.

My savior lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in a shallow cadence, a muscled forearm drawn over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. Nikki had given him a spare black undershirt from his bag before sleep, to protect and cover the tourniquet. The suave businessman looked comical in the tight sporty cotton, but the ridges from the bandages underneath were enough to stifle my smile.

The lower half of his chest was marred with fresh red bruising when I’d tended to his wounds. He’d already been hurt, and now—now he needed real medical attention, not just survival first aid.

Kneeling beside our patient, I gently prodded his ribs with my fingers to gauge their damage. Not broken—possibly cracked, but it was impossible to tell without stripping off his shirt for a better look. If I could even tell at all. I’d never seen the effects of a cracked rib under skin.

A hot hand snapped out to grip mine.

Guiltily, I looked up, meeting warm chestnut eyes squinting at me in the sunlight. I tried to wrench my hand free, but he squeezed it tighter.

“Sorry,” I mumbled sheepishly, my cheeks heating the more he stared. “I was worried about you and—I shouldn’t have touched you without asking.” I bit my lip, captured within his scrutinizing stare and soft skin. “How are you feeling?”

A dark, unimpressed eyebrow raised in response. The liquid honey of his eyes didn’t hold the malice of yesterday. Instead, the hair on the back of my neck raised under the intensity of his assessment. Did he regret saving my life?

Of course he did. I was single-handedly ruining his.

“Like shit,” he finally replied, then released my hand and our eye contact all at once, confirming my suspicions. My heart twinged when his lips molded into a pained grimace. “Can you help me up?”

Wordlessly, I shifted behind him and carefully lifted him under the armpits to sitting. Once he’d maneuvered into a semi-comfortable position, I handed him the water and breakfast.

“We’ll be divvying up rations later, but drink the whole thing for now. I’ll get you another ibuprofen.” Before I could stand, his hand was on mine again, stopping me in my tracks.

My gaze snapped up to his. Guarded, it trapped me with its sincerity. “Thank you.” He gestured to his torso with his free hand. “For this.”

The shame now set my stomach on fire. For the open chest wound and scarring I’ll have for the rest of my life, you mean.

Dipping my head, I blew out the trapped breath in my chest. “I’m the one who owes you a thank you.” I gently shrugged off his hold and stood. “Otherwise, I’d be dead. When we get out of here, we can consider ourselves even. Okay?”

A deep groove appeared between his manicured eyebrows, and he broke the confusing eye contact. Instead of responding, he unscrewed the cap of the water and took a long drink. Apparently, niceties and health checks were over.