Off Limits. Lindsay McKenna

Alex’s eyes widened. The man who crouched over her was dressed in dark green utilities. His face was oval, with a strong chin and nose, but it was his piercing dark blue eyes that frightened her the most. His mouth was thinned, the rest of his face carved with sweaty, muddy streaks and lined with tension. He was tall and rawboned, and the utility cap he wore low on his dark brown hair made him seem to blend into the foliage that surrounded them.

      Then Alex saw his blue eyes thaw, grow wide with concern and lose their intent, predatory look. She felt his hand loosen slightly from her mouth, and she could smell his sweat.

      “Don’t go screamin’ on me, gal,” he murmured. “I’m an American recon marine. You hear?”

      His voice had a Southern drawl to it. And as Alex moved in and out of semiconsciousness, relief flowed sharply through her.

      “Okay?” Jim rasped, leaning very close to her, his hand still across her mouth. She had the most beautiful mourning-dove gray eyes he’d ever seen. The pupils were huge and black, and he knew she was in deep shock. When she barely nodded, he eased his hand from her mouth. Her lower lip trembled and he saw tears gathering in her heart-stealing eyes.

      Jim placed his finger against his lips in a silent request for her not to cry out or sob aloud. It was a tribute to her courage as she fought her initial reaction and lay quietly as he hunkered over her. Jim placed his hand on her left upper arm, where the material was soaked with blood. He looked around, listening carefully. VC were thick in this neck of the woods, and the odds were stacked against him getting safely back to his tunnel.

      Struggling not to cry, Alex closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth several times just to allow the relief to register. He was an American marine, she realized thankfully. The man above her appeared confident, and she knew instinctively that she was now safe. Safe. His fingers around her upper arm seemed reassuring as he probed the jungle with his narrowed gaze. Amazed at the sudden change in him, Alex took in the grim line of his mouth, his slitted eyes and the way his harsh features tightened with frightening intensity. Alex understood the necessity of his concentration. For the last two hours, she’d been doing the same thing.

      And then, when the American shifted his attention back to her, his eyes became warmer once more and, this time, filled with curiosity. He leaned very close to her ear, and again Alex felt a sense of security in his presence.

      “My name’s Jim McKenzie, gal. I’m a recon marine. What’s your name?”

      A croak came out. She swallowed. “...Alex...Alex Vance.”

      He nodded. “Hell of a way to meet, Alex Vance. Now, I don’t want you to talk anymore. Not yet. We’re in heavy VC country, you understand?”

      She nodded once.

      “Good,” Jim rasped. As he prepared to go on, he inhaled the subtle fragrance of her perfume, and the scent dizzied him, reminding him of a gentler, saner time in his life. He fought to ignore the sensations the fragrance evoked. “I’m gonna truss up that shoulder of yours so we can get outta this place in one piece,” he told her. “Whatever happens, don’t yell, don’t scream. Understand?”

      Again, Alex nodded.

      She saw him smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes—it was just a faint twist of his lips. As he rose from his crouched position, Alex saw pain reflected in his face and eyes. And then, as he straightened up, Alex realized in shock that his left leg, from the ankle to his knee, was in a makeshift splint. Four roughly carved sticks of wood encased his lower leg, wrapped tightly into place with vine. What was a recon? What was he doing out here alone? Alex stopped herself from asking. She saw him dig into an olive green pouch he carried on a webbed cartridge belt around his waist. He drew out a dressing, and as quietly as possible, stripped the brown waxen paper from around it.

      Jim returned his attention to Alex, who lay watching him with huge gray eyes. He had to give her credit—she had common sense. She was doing exactly as he asked. Her eyes grew cloudy with pain as he gently pulled the flight suit aside and moved the fabric of her bloody blouse to expose the wound. Leaning down, he whispered against her ear, “Now, this is gonna hurt like hell. I gotta place this compress against your wound and make a sling for your arm.” He reached across her, sought and found a small twig. “Here,” he said, “put this between your teeth. Whatever you do, Alex, don’t scream, or the VC will find us.”

      A fine tremble worked through Alex as she clenched the stick between her teeth. She saw the apology in his lean, hard face. Shutting her eyes tightly, Alex tried to prepare herself for the dressing to be placed over her wound.

      It was impossible. As gentle as Jim tried to be, pain reared up through her, and Alex grunted. She bit down hard on the wood, the taste of it almost spicy in her mouth. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth. Her back arched and her heels pushed into the soft soil, her nostrils flared wide. Agony sliced through her shoulder like scalpels. Fighting back a scream that begged to be released, Alex dug the fingers of her right hand deeply into the damp leaves and soil. All her focus was on the wood between her teeth.

      “Good, good,” Jim praised raggedly. He saw sweat pop out across her furrowed brow, and saw her nostrils dilate. “I’m done. Relax....” Gently removing the piece of wood from between her teeth, he smiled as she barely opened her eyes. “The worst’s over, gal. Just hang loose and I’ll get you trussed up like a Christmas goose to give that arm of yours some support.”

      The pain was nearly unbearable, but through the nightmare minutes that followed, Alex was struck by how humane the marine was with her. He was tall and rangy, and as her vision cleared, Alex got a better look at him. A couple of weeks’ growth of beard shadowed his craggy features. His fingers were long and large-knuckled, and despite their size he was incredibly gentle while he made a sling of vines for her arm. But there was a coiled tension about him, as if he could explode in any direction. His alertness reminded her of a jungle cat’s, and he seemed attuned to the most minor change of sound and activity around them. Occasionally he would freeze, listen, then continue to work on her arm. They exchanged no more words—only looks—but he could communicate powerfully with those cobalt eyes. Alex was amazed, as if some unexplained telepathy existed between them. She saw his eyes change to a light blue color as he knotted off the last of the vine behind her neck.

      He helped her sit up. Dizziness assailed her, and she started to fall sideways. If not for the quick intervention of his arm around her shoulders, Alex would have fallen. Everything was happening so quickly, so efficiently. She wanted to ask him so many questions. Why was his leg in that primitive cast? Nothing was making sense except that he seemed to know exactly how to help her. The sling had eased the pain in her shoulder a great deal. Alex slumped wearily against the marine, her face pressed into the folds of his damp green shirt.

      Giving her a quick squeeze of reassurance, Jim eased Alex upright. The look in her dazed gray eyes told him she wasn’t doing well at all. Her face was waxen and perspiring, indicating she’d suffered heavy loss of blood from her wound.

      “Gal, as much as I wish I could, I can’t carry you,” Jim whispered. Without thinking, he reached out and pushed several strands of hair from her dirt-smudged cheek. “You gotta walk. Understand? We gotta get out of here.” He glanced up at the triple canopy overhead. “Before it gets dark.”

      Alex nodded her understanding. Jim rose, his hands on her shoulders to steady her. With all her strength, Alex pushed upright onto her feet. If not for his lean, powerful body as a support, she would have crumpled. His arm went around her waist, and she sighed raggedly in relief.

      Without a sound, Jim felt Alex lean against him, and he slowly turned her around. Pain shot up his leg. The bones had been set only recently, and he knew that if Alex couldn’t walk on her own, he’d have to leave her. When she weakly placed her right arm around his waist, her head against his shoulder, he smiled to himself. She wasn’t a quitter, and that made him want to save her all the more.

      The slow, torturous walk began. Alex was aware of the marine limping badly on his left leg, the side she was on. As she struggled forward, black dots would dance in front of her eyes. When they did, she would