Captive of Fate by Lindsay McKenna Page B

three thousand feet to go.” He studied the thinning fog. “And maybe, if we’re lucky, this fog will keep clearing as we get closer to the village.”
    She felt tears gathering in her eyes, a wave of humiliation sweeping across her. Why did she back herself into a corner with him every time? Five miles in her leather shoes? Alanna sighed, taking a grip on her briefcase, and walked carefully around the jeep. Without even a backward glance, he started off toward the mountain trail, and she silently followed, pushing to keep up with his long, fluid strides.
    The jungle was forbidding, closing in on all sides as they walked beneath its canopy. Alanna heard him calling out to the porters, giving them words of encouragement as first he and then she passed them at a faster pace. She couldn’t imagine carrying a thirty-pound crate on her shoulders for five miles in any circumstances. At one point, she caught up with him. Or did he slow down for her? She was gasping for air and vaguely remembered that the village was seventy-five hundred feet above sea level. Oxygen became sparse at that altitude. Her throat felt on fire, and she gulped down more air.
    “Why are you carrying that pack?” she asked.
    “Because it’s a mobile home. It has everything I need to survive out here for seven days.”
    She eyed the canteen on the web belt around his waist. “Please,” she whispered, “I need a drink of water.”
    “Did you bring any?” he asked coolly, catching her startled look.
    “Why—of course not. I thought…I thought you would share.”
    “Did you bother to inform me of your actions before you initiated them?” he demanded, slowing.
    “I didn’t have to!” she defended hotly, her voice becoming hoarse.
    “It’s called chain of command, lady. Something political people seem to ignore constantly. You reduce everything to trading so-called favors when, in essence, you’re blackmailing.”
    “Damn jarhead,” she hissed, jerking to a stop.
    He turned, grinning. “Now where did you pick up that kind of language? I didn’t think civilians knew any of the technical terms for a Marine.”
    “Technical term?” Alanna gasped. “That’s an outright insult.”
    “If you had called me an Army dogface, then I might have gotten angry,” he returned blandly. He reached down in his web belt, loosening the canteen and slowly unscrewing the cap before handing it to her. “Only drink a little,” he warned. “At this altitude and with another four miles to go, you don’t want it sloshing around in your stomach.”
    Her mouth felt as if it were full of cotton balls, and she eagerly reached for the canteen, putting it to her lips and swallowing a huge gulp. With a cry, she spit it out. “This is horrible,” she wailed.
    He gave her an impatient look. “Halizone has been put in it for your protection. If those tablets weren’t dropped in there, you’d probably get dysentery. Now take a swallow and let’s get going. And don’t waste any more of my water.”
    She grudgingly took a small sip, wrinkling her nose in utter distaste over the foul-tasting water. Matt, however, seemed hardly to notice the taste when he took a drink of it himself. Turning, he began to walk, only this time at an obviously slower pace for her benefit. Alanna cast a mournful look down at her pants. They were muddied up to her knees. Her feet were cold, and her toes felt numb as she forced herself to keep pace beside him. The jungle looked forbidding and threatening right now, and she felt anything but brave. In a way, she was thankful for his presence, even if it was an irritating one.
    “What school did you graduate from?” he asked conversationally.
    Alanna peered up at him, taken off guard by his friendly tone. For a moment she considered ignoring him but decided it was an unwise move. She might need to drink more water, and she wouldn’t put it past him to refuse her if he felt so inclined. “Radcliffe.”
    “Did you major in political