Conner released the man slowly, his head turning away from her, back behind them, as if he’d heard something else. His body remained coiled tightly, ready for another attack. He carefully removed the automatic weapon and belt of ammunition and slung it around his own neck. All the while he stayed very low, his eyes on something she couldn’t see.

Isabeau strained to hear what had alerted Conner. Voices came. Faint. Two men some distance away. At first she couldn’t make out the words, but then she realized she was listening with her own ears, straining, forgetting the cat inside of her, the amazing, acute hearing. She took a breath and tried to summon the feline closer to the surface.

“We can’t go back empty-handed, Bradley,” one voice said. “She’ll bury us alive just to make a point. We need a body.”

“How are we going to find that Indian?” Bradley snapped. “He’s like a ghost in this forest.”

“The fire will drive him to the river and the others will be waiting,” the other voice said. “Come on. Just shoot and keep moving.”

“I hate this place,” Bradley complained.

Isabeau watched Conner. He wasn’t surprised. He’d known all along what the attackers were doing. Everything living in the rain forest would be on the move away from the flames and heading toward the river. The forest was wet this time of year and the fire would burn itself out rapidly. They’d be safe from flames along the swollen banks of the river. Of course this was a trap. That was the point. Cortez had sent an assassination squad after Adan to make a point, because he’d written letters about the attack on his village and the kidnapping.

Imelda was going to kill Artureo. That happy seventeen-year-old boy who had been her guide for so many weeks. He’d been a good companion, explaining things to her every step of the way, patient and caring, interested in her work documenting the fauna. He’d been a font of information, explaining the tribe’s uses for each plant. She couldn’t bear the thought that he’d be killed because Adan refused to traffic in Imelda’s drugs.

Her gaze went to Conner again—jumped to his face. That face etched with hard lines, with the four scars she’d put there. The tips of her fingers ached. He was a strong man. She could sense the danger in him, the wildness, as if his world really was reduced to kill or be killed. His code was different from hers, but maybe he was the only one who could stand up against someone like Imelda who had too much money and too much power.

Isabeau pushed herself to her feet and waited for him to tell her in which direction she should move. She wasn’t afraid because she was with him—and that scared her more than her situation did. Deep inside, where no one else could see, she craved him. The man who had used her to set up her father and who’d then walked away, leaving her crushed. Devastated. Broken into little pieces. She wanted to rake and claw at her own face, at her heart, at whichever part of her was so weak as to still look at him with wanting—no, more—needing.

Conner straightened, his eyes settling on hers, wholly yellow-green now, pupils dilated, fixed and focused, penetrating. Even the green was disappearing, leaving a burning gold. She shivered. She would never get over that look, more animal than man. Why had she never noticed how different he was? He mesmerized for a reason.

He moved and her breath caught in her throat, watching the flow of muscles under the shirt clinging to his roped skin. As he drew close to her she felt his body heat, scented the wild cat hidden beneath his skin. Her cat leapt and for a moment there was a burst of joy spreading through her. Isabeau quickly clamped down on the emotion, shocked at her own treacherous cat.

He moved into her space, towering over her, one hand sliding along the side of her face, his thumb tipping up her chin. “I don’t like the way you look at me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her mouth went dry. “You’ve already done that.”

“I won’t again.”

It hurt just to look at him. To remember. To still want him. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m not afraid of you, Conner.” But she was. Not physically. She didn’t believe he would harm her, but he had an unbreakable hold on her.

He gestured toward the dead body. “I told you to turn your face away. What did you think was going to happen when you asked for my help?”

“I knew exactly what to expect. There’re two more quite close to us and more in front of us. Do you know where Adan is?”

His expression hardened, his mouth set in implacable lines. “What the hell is up with you and Adan Carpio? He’s old enough to be your grandfather. He may not look it, but he is.”

Isabeau looked away from his piercing eyes. Accusing eyes. What exactly was he accusing her of? Having an affair with Adan? That was totally absurd. And what difference did it make anyway? He’d used her. He hadn’t fallen in love with her.

“Go to hell, Conner,” she snapped, and jerked her face from his hand before she was tempted to touch those four scars. Her fingertips ached.

Without warning the sound of gunshots rang out and bullets bit into the trees all around them. Conner flung her down, his body completely blanketing hers, the gun in his hands as he swiveled around to face behind them. Several large animals crashed through the trees to the left of them and above them. Leaves fell from the canopy as a migration of monkeys passed overhead.

It was hot. Steam rose along with smoke. She could hear the crackle of flames and the sounds of animals panicking. Swarms of insects passed over their heads, and leaves shriveled and blackened as the heat swept through the trees, turning the forest into an oven. Her cat fought for survival, suddenly frightened. She instinctively struggled, wanting to run with the other animals.