“Perry,” he said. “Was this what you wanted?”
Mac crossed the tent and knelt beside Liam. He looked stricken—tormented in a way that scared her, that drained him of his potency and life more surely than any injury.
“What is it? Liam, what’s wrong?”
“This is Perry’s watch,” he rasped. “The one I gave to him five years ago.” He opened the cover that protected the crystal.
The inscription inside was fine and small but readable. Faithful are the wounds of a friend.
Words of friendship. Words of trust, of gratitude. Words Liam had given to a man he’d considered a close and loyal companion.
A companion who’d abandoned him in the jungle, and then—
“Oh, God,” Mac said. “One of the guerrillas had it.”
“As payment, perhaps?” The shock was gone from Liam’s voice, and his eyes held only a blank acceptance—a silver shield erected between him and the rest of the world.
Mac didn’t have to ask him what he thought. She’d seen Perry’s letter, his guilt… and then a damning piece of evidence left on the scene of the crime.
“No,” she said aloud. “Maybe he lost it, or it was stolen.”
Liam stood and grabbed a bottle on the desk. The watch and its chain fell with a dull rattle and thump to the earthen floor.
Mac stared at the abandoned timepiece. “What happened between the two of you?”
He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank. Mac caught the whiff of potent liquor and shot to her feet.
“Hey, you shouldn’t mix alcohol with those pills—”
“No?” He drank again, long and deliberately. “Could it kill me?”
“Stop it!” She grabbed his arm and hung on, trying to pull the bottle out of his fingers. “Whatever you may think about your friend, I saved your life, and I’m not going to see my efforts go to waste!”
He laughed. There was a chilling indifference in the sound. “Like Perry’s did?”
He let go of the bottle. Mac glanced around the tent, trying to decide what she should do with it. Pour it out somewhere…
A large, warm hand drifted across her cheek, wiping all thought from her mind.
“You did save my life, Mac. And you brought me the watch.”
“I guess that… sort of proves I wasn’t working for Perry, doesn’t it?”
“It must prove something.” Callused fingers cupped her chin. His touch was turning her legs into something out of a Jell-O mold.
She met his gaze. The cold metal barrier had begun to give way, soften, become molten again. Was it possible to drown in liquid silver, or would you burn to death first?
“Uh… if those guerrillas are still around, maybe you should set up a guard or something—don’t you think?”
“I’m not worried.” His thumb hooked her lip, moved on. “You wouldn’t betray me, would you, Mac?”
Betray him? She couldn’t even move, not when his knuckles were making a survey of her jawline with such tenderness.
“We hardly know each other,” she said. “Don’t you have to know someone well to, um, betray them?”
His hand slipped to the nape of her neck. “We could know each other much better, darlin’.”
That crazy endearment again. “I was on my way out of here.”
“And you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”
“I did say—”
“When I was sleeping.” He caressed the short hairs behind her ear. “You were going to leave then. But you talked to me, didn’t you? And you touched me.”
Mac was certain any reply would come out as an undignified squeak. Or a moan.
“Admit it. You were touching me. When you thought I was asleep.”
“I was just making sure you were—”
“—and you want to touch me again.”
Her mouth went dry. “No.”
“There’s no need to fight it.”
“I’m not fighting anything.”
He chuckled, low and quiet. “You’re a fighter by nature, darlin’.”
Somehow or other she’d gotten very close to him. Somewhere along the line the liquor bottle had fallen from her hand. She could smell the spilled alcohol. Liam’s gaze was locked on hers, pulling her in, sucking her into a whirlpool of desire.
Panic shot through her. She jerked away. Liam tried to keep his hold and failed. She retreated and he followed, his boots sliding in newly-formed mud. As the back of Mac’s knees hit the cot, Liam lost his balance, careening forward.