To Touch Poison (12 page)

She changed buses at the next stop, didn’t spot her tail, and inhaled a full breath for the first time since she’d jumped off the jitney.
Have you lost them, Kaimi, or are they smart enough to stay hidden?
Weaving through the public market with purpose, Kaimi surreptitiously stuffed items from her duffle into every trash receptacle she found. When she was down to the clothes on her back and what was left of her cash, she purchased some long pants, a handful of t-shirts, a locally crafted woven tunic, and a shoulder bag made from native jute. She changed in a nearby restroom, and then sauntered through more aisles, browsing for a second outfit, hat, and a pair of flip-flops. Stopping in the next public restroom, she switched out her boots for the flip-flops, changed her top, and made a final stop to select a lightweight travel hammock before she left the market. She’d need someplace to sleep in the rainforest, and the native tribes didn’t always have an extra hammock. One blessing: the boots added enough weight to her bag that it had become an excellent weapon.

Kaimi tucked her hair under the hat, and made her way to the docks. She grinned at her reflection in a shop window, giving herself a mental pat on the back. Covert operative she wasn’t, but damn if she hadn’t managed to lose her tail.

The river taxi let her off about a mile from the village where she’d left her boat. After changing into her boots, she hiked through the jungle, keeping an eye out for any of the purple-leafed plants. No telling where they might be growing, and she definitely wanted to bring some with her if she could get out of Brazil on government or military transport. She hoped Jayme succeeded in finagling that.

It had been a blessing that she’d spotted her tail before she started up the Rio Negro. It was a miracle she’d been able to shake the guy with just the basic paramilitary training under her belt. But she hadn’t forgotten the axiom they’d drilled into her, and it was on instant replay in her head: Spotting someone once is an accident, twice a coincidence, three times an enemy action. If she saw anything suspicious from here on out, she’d consider it enemy action and simply disappear in the jungle. Which was more or less her plan anyway.

By the time she reached the boat she’d docked on her way downriver, the sun had crested, so she kept her hat on. She secured her pant legs snugly in the tops of her boots to keep any and all insects out, worked the boat free from the copse where she’d hidden it, and took off.

Three hours of heightened awareness and screaming muscles later, Kaimi tied her boat in a small inlet about a half-mile from the campsite. Traveling downriver hadn’t been so bad, but upriver had definitely been a killer. She’d paddled for most of the trip, not wanting the motor to mask the sounds around her. Seemed safer.

Weaving her way through the dense foliage was hard physical work and drained what was left of her strength. She’d need to rest before she headed into the jungle. Plus, she’d sucked down all her water on the trek upriver. Talk to Fion, or avoid her and leave a note? If Eamon was around, she’d definitely leave a note.

Using an oversized banana plant for cover, Kaimi peered into the lab window. Fion was bent over her microscope, her fingers tapping an impatient tattoo on the worktable’s metal surface. Her face was drawn into tight lines, and the shadows under her eyes were tinged with blue.

Kaimi eased onto the campsite’s perimeter path and made her way to the building housing their living quarters. She couldn’t avoid going inside to replenish her supplies, and she needed to know if Eamon had been airlifted or not. Would she have both of them following her into the jungle, or just Fion? She inched her way through the scrub, flattened her body against the building, and then chanced a look into his room. Empty. Her room and Fion’s were also empty. There was a chair pulled out at the kitchen table, but no one was in sight. Last place for her to check was the living room.

She back-stepped into the brush, scaring a pair of scarlet macaw from the jungle canopy. Their calls announced her presence, loudly, and she immediately hunkered under some heavy foliage. Gorgeous though the parrots were, she could have done without their raucous warning system. Still, if anyone had been in the camp’s living quarters, they’d have come to the window to check the surroundings for an intruder. No one did.

All of the doors had keypad locks. Using one of the Huna techniques her parents had taught her, Kaimi pictured herself invisible, moved out of hiding, and followed the path to the kitchen door. Within seconds she’d entered the code and slipped inside. She stashed a fresh canteen of water, her new lightweight travel hammock, energy bars, toilet paper, and a three-inch trowel into a backpack, and then rolled her jute bag into a tight cylinder and fastened it to the top of the pack. It would do for the two to three days she’d be in the jungle. Then she pulled pen and paper from the catch-all drawer, and scribbled a note to Fion. No reason to actually talk to the woman if she didn’t have to. She’d leave a trail that could be followed, but hopefully not without a fair amount of time-consuming work. Since Fion was ferociously quick-minded, Kaimi figured she had approximately thirty minutes before the English spy-slash-scientist would be dogging her footprints.

“You’re back.” Fion’s voice faltered. “And packed to leave.”

Kaimi clamped down on an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, I just got in.” It was easy to push some panic into her expression. “Was Eamon airlifted?”

Fion nodded. “To Rio. His handler insisted, and it was more to do with the MS than his head wound. Where are you going? Surely not into the forest wearing those clothes?”

Kaimi dipped her chin so her hair swung forward and shielded her face, then headed for her bedroom. There was no choice now but to change into her military-issued clothes. They’d be better in the jungle, but…she shuddered…even the thought of going back in her room made her sick. She wouldn’t look at anything. Just snatch the clothing, and then change in the bathroom.

The doorknob was cool to her touch.
On one, Kaimi. Three. Two.
She shoved the door open, kept her gaze trained on her footlocker, grabbed the clothes she needed, and was out the door before she sucked in a breath. The trembling stopped by the time she’d changed and stuffed her native outfit into the backpack. She’d need it on a commercial flight back to the States. Incognito and military were mutually exclusive.

Another preparatory countdown and Kaimi sauntered into the kitchen, greeting Fion with a tight smile. “I might be gone a few days. Foraging. I want to replace those specimens I found before…the incident. And I want—need—some time alone in the rainforest. Maybe I’ll stop in and visit one of the nomadic tribes if I spot anyone I recognize.”

“Uh-huh. No cast?” Fion pointed to Kaimi’s wrist.

“Turned out to be just a bad sprain. I’m on naprocin to keep the swelling down, and I need to keep it wrapped for a week or so, but I’m fine physically. Just need to get away.” Was her tone melancholy enough to sound depressed, but not
too
depressed? A note would have been so much better, and easier. Another humongous sigh threated to escape, but Kaimi tamped it down. And then had to bite her lip to stop a giggle. Aborted sighs
hurt
when they were trapped in your chest. And her acting skills were sub-par at best.

Fion skirted around the kitchen table and grabbed a carafe of water from the refrigerator. “Fred didn’t check in yesterday. You probably shouldn’t be away from camp until you make a report.” A trace of reprimand shot through her words. “You look like hell. Eamon won’t be back for a few days, so why don’t you lie low? Give it a day or two?”

Ay, there’s the rub
. Kaimi kept Hamlet’s famous words to herself, but they were fitting. If suicide was good enough for a perpetually gloomy Shakespearian character, why not for her? “I…can’t. It’s not you, not personal, I just can’t be around
anyone
right now, and the only thing that will help is being out there with my plants. Don’t make it harder for me than it already is, Fion.”

Clearly miffed, Fion stepped back, raised both arms in a classic gesture of surrender, and stomped toward the door. “Go, then. Not my funeral.”

Kaimi shouldered her backpack, then turned to face the empty room.
But it is mine.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FRED MET JAYME’S FLIGHT, AND
fell in behind him within a few feet of the end of the runway. “Keep walking. Don’t slow down, don’t turn around. I’ve got your back.”

The words were snapped out with military precision, but it hadn’t taken more than a glimpse of the man tailing him to pique Jayme’s curiosity. The guy fit Kaimi’s description of Fred perfectly, right down to the skewed cleft in his chin. Knowledge was power, but making this guy’s identity didn’t stop the rush of panic-driven adrenaline. He didn’t trust Fred, but they needed his help to get Kaimi safely out of the Amazon.

He’d traveled light, with only the duffle slung over his shoulder, so no need to stop at baggage claim. But he could fake it, wait for nonexistent luggage in a room full of people until he’d gotten some answers from Fred. Questions drummed in his head. Had something bad happened to Kaimi? She was the only connection between him and Fred. He stepped on the escalator heading downstairs. Oh, yeah. He’d demand some answers before he left the relative security of the warm bodies swarming the ground floor.

Jayme spun in an abrupt turn when he stepped off the escalator, headed toward a far corner of baggage claim, making sure he was in a direct line to the outside doors in case he had to run for it. The taxi queue was clearly visible through the airport’s picture windows, and if things went south he’d grab the first cab he spotted.

A beefy hand clamped on his shoulder. “I have a car out front. And you didn’t check any baggage, so don’t waste my time with amateur theatrics.”

Anger shot through Jayme. He jerked free and spun to face Fred. “Hands off, Fred. And you lead the way.”

Fred’s eyes dilated, and then he grinned. “Apparently Xola spoke out of turn. We’re on the same team, Grady. Navy sedan. Right outside the door.”

Jayme hesitated. “I’m not key here. Shouldn’t you be covering Kaimi?”

Fred crowded Jayme’s personal space, the grin replaced with a snarl. “Done. She’s safe. You’re not. Get the fuck in the car.”

The scent of Juicy Fruit gum blasted through the space between them as Fred hustled Jayme outside and into the waiting vehicle. The rugged, cold-eyed agent and the cloying, fruity fragrance of the gum sent Jayme’s stomach into a slow roil. He’d traveled with the South American weather in mind, and Washington’s November wind bit through his lightweight jacket. Jayme shivered, fumbled with the zipper, and finally tugged it to his chin.

The driver circled the sedan at a fast clip, and then swung the rear car door open seconds before Fred’s hand landed on Jayme’s upper back with a firm push. Living up to the old adage about temper and red hair, anger flashed through Jayme. “I said hands
off
, Fred.”

Fred climbed in next to him and yanked the door shut with a single fluid motion. “When you stepped off the plane you became my property, Grady.” He rapped on the glass separating them from the driver, and before the car had cleared the airport perimeter Fred lifted a mobile device from the console and tapped in a number. “Asset acquired.”

A jolt of surprise slammed into Jayme. Asset? “I’m actually property of the CIA.”

“That was yesterday.” Fred dropped the device into its holder. “Today I’m allowing them to borrow you on an as-needed basis. It’s a joint effort of Army Intelligence and the CIA.” His grin was feral.

Jayme’s anger faded, and the beauty of the situation cleared his mind. “You’ve made it easy. You were on the top of my to-do list.”

A rumble sounded in Fred’s throat. “Talk.”

“Kaimi is staging Xola’s death, faking a successful euthanasia attempt followed by cremation. Fion Connor and Eamon Grady…” Jayme paused. Did he need to explain their relationship?

“Got it.” Fred nodded.

“They’re in the process, or have already set up plans to sell Kaimi’s formula to the highest bidder. She overheard a conversation, so didn’t get the details. Eamon,” Jayme choked on his rage, “attacked Kaimi. She fought. Injured him.”

“He’s been air-lifted to Rio, and is under surveillance. It’s in G2’s ballpark now. Go on.” Fred’s words hammered the air with staccato precision.

“I left most of my cash with her. If you don’t extract her, she plans to buy a flight out of Manaus once Xola’s death has been established, but we need your help to bury all traces of Xola Muerte. We’re requesting the Army equivalent of witness protection.
I’m
requesting that you get her the hell out of Brazil safely.” Tension squeezed Jayme’s chest. Should he have
demanded
the Army rescue Kaimi? No. His political power was nonexistent, so requesting was the best first step. If they didn’t act, he’d do a hell of a lot more than demand. The cache plan was barely a decent backup, and obnoxious as Fred was, Jayme was damn happy to set things in motion for Kaimi’s rescue

Fred glanced at his watch. “My team should be picking her up within the next hour.”

“That’s not possible.” Jayme’s voice held a trace of hope.
Breathe, Jayme boy. In. Out. Get your damn lungs working.
“She’s deep in the rainforest.”

“We know her location, Grady. Always have. Let’s focus on you.” Fred heaved a labored sigh. “Thanks to your unfortunate weakness for digging up the truth, you’re mine now. I have you on permanent loan to the CIA, but that can change if you don’t learn to follow orders.”