Page 20 of Wired Ghost

“Hanky panky. That’s a new one.”

“You mean an old one. Popularized in a rock-and-roll song back in the Fifties, but it’s really much older than that.” They made their way over to a much smaller pool that lapped against the wall. Sophie shrieked as he pretended to push her in. Laughing, he caught her in a parody of how she’d rescued him earlier. “Nah, I can’t have you getting your clothes all wet. We need to strip properly and make sure our stuff stays dry.” He found a notch in the wall and shoved the torch in carefully. “I’ll prep the other torch too. Wouldn’t want anything to go out while we’re bathing.”

Sophie eyed the spring, which seemed to be filling from some underground source; its surface shifted and bubbled. “This does seem separate from the main pond. A different water source, maybe.” She tested the pool with a hand, and gave a little gasp. “It’s warm! Quite warm, like real bathwater. Maybe it’s got a geothermal heat source from the volcano.”

“Finally! Something good from Madame Pele.” Jake had taken the jar of oil out of his cargo pocket. He peeled up the plastic lid and swizzled the torch they’d used before in the oil, and then put the lid back on, setting the container carefully aside. “The oil’s already halfway gone, dammit all.” He wedged the unlit torch into a crack in the wall beside the burning one. “In case the first one goes out while unattended.”

Jake then stripped off his shirt and draped it over a rock. Standing on one leg, he balanced to pull off his boots and socks one at a time, then draped them to dry over the rocks.

Sophie should have been undressing, but she was too distracted.

His body.

She cursed under her breath as she watched him. Every movement was graceful for such a big man, even when he was injured. How had she forgotten how magnificent his body was? She’d been too busy nursing her grievances to remember it—and what he could do with his fingers. And his tongue. And . . .

Jake emptied his pockets, arranging the lighter and other items in a neat row on a rock beneath the torches. He unbuckled his belt, dropped his pants and boxers, and turned to face her stark naked. His brows rose. “Why are you still dressed?”

“Um. I was taking in the view.” Sophie’s mouth was dry.

“Oh. Well.” Jake stalked toward her like a lion headed for a steak. “Allow me to assist with your clothes. I think I can even help you get properly cleaned up in our handy geothermal hot tub.”

“Okay,” Sophie said faintly.

Sophie surrendered to the process, enjoying how he took off every stitch of her clothes with evident pleasure in spite of their state, murmuring endearments that melted her even more than the warmth of the spring. They slid into the geothermal waters at the same time, sighing with relief to feel the heated water on their bruised and abused bodies. After swimming and floating, they scrubbed each other with handfuls of pebbles and a bit of coconut husk Sophie had saved. They cleaned away the filth of hardship and struggle, reveling in mineral-rich waters that softened their skin.

And finally, when they were squeaky-clean, they made love.

Being with Jake was all Sophie had missed, longed for, and needed in the more than two years they’d been apart.

Chapter Fourteen

Raveaux

Raveaux pushedthrough the heavy growth of ferns, following after the Guardsman who’d helped him into the sheltering trees. Ohale stood next to the bole of a tall ohia; the native tree’s gray, papery bark reminded him of the white birches in France.

“We’re going to work our way back to the compound,” Ohale said. “The lieutenant wants us to take it slow in case of an ambush.”

“Copy that.” Raveaux fell in behind the chief as he followed the National Guardsmen. The men spread out, moving forward alertly, with no chatter.

Silence was a relief to Raveaux, and he had his wish: the forest was filled with the sweet, piercing birdsong of the rare native Hawaiian birds. He pushed his helmet back to hang from its strap so that he could hear them better. These are the kinds of things he noticed, the risks he took, that he would never have before Lucie and Gita were taken from him.

Waist high ferns and fallen branches slowed their approach, until suddenly the lieutenant signaled that he’d found a path, and they were to use it. The going had been so slow and noisy through the raw jungle, that Wong must have decided the speed they’d gain was worth the risk of detection. They soon reached a cleared space with a fence that marked the edge of the compound they’d been able to glimpse from the air. The Guardsmen hunkered down, surveying the area, but there was no sign of movement.

The gate, a homemade affair of woven barbed wire, stood ajar. Around the big metal central shed were scattered signs of a hasty departure: an overturned bucket, a plastic bin left open, a jug of water fallen on its side.

“The suspects are probably gone,” the lieutenant said, his voice still audible, even with Raveaux’s helmet not all the way on. Raveaux flipped it back up and tightened the strap, the better to hear the comm link.

He hung back with the chief next to a fallen log outside the gate. The guardsmen moved forward, their weapons ready, to search the compound.

As he crouched there, Raveaux noticed signs of disturbance in the dead leaves and heavy moss covering the ground. He traced the impression of a boot:size nine American, with a lug sole.Sophie wore that size. “I think Sophie and Jake were here, checking out the camp as we are,” he told the chief. He pointed out the evidence.

Ohale nodded. “Makes sense.”

The commanding officer gave the all clear. The two of them hurried up into the camp. Raveaux was eager to look for any trace of Sophie and Jake in the main building or the huts, which appeared to be crude sleeping areas.

There was no sign of either of them anywhere. The ground outside the main building was disturbed, a maze of crisscrossing boot marks in the muddy soil, but there was no way to tell who had made the marks, or why.

Raveaux discovered the latrine, a foul-smelling shed with a bucket half-filled with feces, close behind one of the huts. A large hole in the ground, screened by ferns, drew him to investigate. An eye-watering stench rose from it—this foul trench was likely their refuse dump.

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