Captive of Fate by Lindsay McKenna Page A

want? If you can’t wait twelve hours more until this fog lifts, I’m not going to be responsible for you or my actions.”
    Alanna’s eyes widened at the softly spoken threat. He looked absolutely emotionless. His voice was as hard as tempered steel. A ribbon of fear jolted through her. What did he mean? Her throat ached with tension, but she forced the words out. “You’re not making sense. You have your orders, now carry them out.”
    He stood, a hawk ready to make the kill, and she sensed the anger which up until now had been hidden. She took two steps back, stunned by his implacable determination. His hand shot out quickly, and she gasped as his fingers closed in a viselike grip around her upper arm. He guided her to the door, throwing it open and placing her outside it.
    “You stay right there, Miss McIntire. I will be back in exactly five minutes, and then we’ll leave for San Dolega,” he snarled under his breath. “You want to play tough? We’ll play it your way.”
    She stood there trembling, huddled against the hut, trying to keep out of the rain. She wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next, but she tried to convince herself that she could handle it. She closed her eyes, trying to take a steadying breath. She would never understand the military or the minds that ran it! Damn them all!
    In exactly five minutes, Matt Breckenridge drove up in a military jeep. It had no protective covering over the top of it to keep the rain out. He was dressed in his poncho, his cap drawn down over his eyes so that she could not see his expression. Perhaps that was a blessing. In the rear was a huge pack with a small shovel attached to the back of it.
    “Get in,” he ordered tersely.
    She slid onto the wet, slippery seat, gripping the metal siding as he yanked the jeep into gear. The vehicle slewed through the mud as he ground through a series of loud, noisy gears. The base camp disappeared behind them and was replaced with a rutted excuse for a single-lane road which wound beneath the tall tops of the mahogany forest that dominated the landscape. Rain slashed unrelentingly against her face, and she held up her hands to protect her eyes, compressing her lips in anger over his inconsiderate behavior.
    It was a nightmarish ride. She had no idea how long they had driven; she was only aware of the continual bumping and jolting of the jeep as it roared through three inches of mud and the hardened ruts that had been created during the dry season. Her hips and thighs were bruised black and blue, and her back ached from the terrific strain placed upon it as the jeep leaped out of one rut and landed heavily in another. Fog swirled chokingly around them, and Alanna was grimly determined not to cry out. Not even once. She knew it would give him a measure of satisfaction. But he was going to get not one ounce of it from her.
    Finally, they halted at the end of the road. Alanna’s eyes widened as she saw at least two hundred crates of supplies stacked up before them and military and civilian men carrying them on their backs up a narrow mountain trail that seemed to disappear into the fog. Matt turned the key off, jammed it in his trouser pocket, and got out.
    “All right, Miss McIntire, I suggest you roust yourself out of the jeep and hit the deck. We’ve got some walking to do.”
    Alanna starred stupidly at the line of porters slowly struggling up the steep grade and then swung her gaze to Matt, who was shrugging into the pack. “But,” she stammered lamely, “you didn’t say we had to walk.”
    “You didn’t bother to ask before setting your plan into motion. I believe it was you who stressed the orders meant ‘right now,’” he growled. “If you are really interested in reaching San Dolega, you have to walk, because the orders did not specify that I had to carry you. At your pleasure, Miss McIntire, the road to San Dolega,” he added with a tight smile of triumph. “Come on, we’ve only got five miles and