The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (14 page)

It’d been four weeks since he’d sent his infrared photo of the Painted Hunting Dog to the local field office. Once thought extinct in the Ahaggar Mountain region of the Sahara, his finding had sent shock waves through the conservation community.
 

He had been tracking it for months without success and though his gut instinct had told him that the elusive creature was there, he hadn’t had the evidence he needed. He’d been patient, though, something that bushcraft and desert survival had taught him. Eventually, it had paid off.

At the plane, the crew was disembarking.

Easily a head taller than anyone else and standing behind the crowd, Quinn could see everyone. As Lou entered, she saw him immediately and altered course, all without breaking stride.

And she was alone.

• • • • •

“Hello, Quinn,” Lou said, smiling.

Her heart raced a little and she realized she was actually nervous. He was exactly like she remembered him. Olive-skinned, dark-haired, with deep-set eyes, he looked like he might be an exotic mix–maybe part Berber–though he’d never said. He wore long, nicely fit pants and his half-sleeve shirt seemed overstuffed–in a good way. His hair was a little longer, a little wilder, and she decided that suited him. With his arms crossed and the easy stance, he looked like an Olympic athlete, as well as a bit imposing.

“Your head should be covered,” he said.

She stopped smiling.

Same old Quinn. Not even a hello.

“You’re asking for trouble,” he said. “Wearing clothes like that and not covering your head.”

“Clothes like what?” she asked, immediately annoyed.

“Pants that aren’t long enough,” he said, looking down at her shins.

“Not
long
enough?” she said, looking down at herself.

She put her hands on her hips. The clothes she was wearing were already too hot. The last thing she needed was to wear more.

“Do you have something for your hair?” he said. “Like a scarf?”

She looked back up at him and exhaled.

“Look, it’s not like I’m a local or that I’ll
ever
look like one. This is already way more than I had planned to wear in weather like this.”

“Exactly,” he said.

Exactly?

“You’re not a local,” he continued. “And drawing attention to yourself is the last thing you want to do. Things have become a little
tense
since you were here.”

“I see,” she said, feeling her jaw tighten.

She’d read the brief on the plane. This part of Algeria had been a crossroads for centuries. Several violent elements traditionally intersected here and those now included terrorists. The rate of kidnappings of foreigners had recently surged.

He stood there looking down at her, waiting. The square jaw that seconds ago had been handsome now looked set.

“Do you have a scarf?” he asked.

She sighed, setting her camera bag and backpack on the floor.

“A bandana will have to do,” she muttered.

“Fine,” he said.

She dug around in one of the middle pockets for it.

“It’s for your own good,” he said, as she took it out. “Every man in here is watching you. A woman who looks like you needs to be
extra
careful.”

She hesitated.
A woman who looks like me.
She almost smiled.

“The scarf will help,” he continued.

She found the bandana and also the small canister of mace.

“What’s that?” asked Quinn.

“Mace,” she said, dropping it into a side-pocket of her pants. “I hear the situation in the area has become
tense
.”

“If you think that’s protection, you’re wrong.”

She ignored him and started to drape the bandana over her head.

“Not here,” he said quickly. “Do that in the restroom.”

“Okay, Quinn,” she said, putting it on. “Let’s get this straight now. I don’t take orders from you. I know this is Algeria.” She tied the corners of the bandana at the back of her neck, under her hair. “I saw plenty of women in Algiers who dressed more modern than this.”

She picked up her pack and slung it over both shoulders but took the opportunity to quickly scan the terminal.

“This isn’t Algiers,” he said, glancing around. He looked back at her, directly in the eyes. “And I’m not giving you orders. I’m trying to help.”

He’d softened his voice.

She nodded and picked up the camera bag, trying not to be aware of his dark eyes on her.

“It’s been a long trip,” she said, softening her tone as well. “Maybe we can just get going.”

“Where’s your partner?” he asked, looking over her head toward the plane.

“I don’t have one.”

He looked down at her.

“I told you last time, I don’t have a partner. Jim was only here because he was interested.”

Quinn actually smirked at that, which, for no reason she could put her finger on, was infuriating.

“Can we just go?” she said.

“Sure,” he said, not offering to help with the backpack or the bag.

“The Rover’s out front,” he said.

She had actually been looking forward to seeing him. Apparently the feeling hadn’t been mutual.

Still the same temper
, Quinn thought, as they bounced along the dirt road.

But what he’d said had been the truth. Lou Thornton was a beauty, even after a day of travel. She’d taken off the bandana, put her hair in a ponytail, rolled up her sleeves, and opened the top of her shirt a couple buttons as soon as they’d cleared the edge of town. In this part of the world, she wasn’t just pretty, she was striking. As they’d left Tamanrasset behind, he couldn’t help but look in the rearview mirror. No doubt being with him afforded some measure of protection from the usual male scrutiny but the looks in the village had been strange.

Kidnappers of various flavors abounded in Saharan Africa: any type of terrorist you could imagine, of course, but the most present threat to either of them would come from poachers. While the WWF was trying to preserve the Painted Hunting Dog, herders were trying to rid themselves of it even as poachers were trying to capitalize on its mottled, colorful, and valuable hide. He looked in the rearview mirror again.

“How far did you say it was?” she said, over the sound of the engine and tires coming through the open windows.

“Twenty miles as the crow flies,” he replied.

He let the Rover slow as a particularly large pit in the road became visible. As the front left wheel dipped into it and then out, the vehicle tilted and righted itself. He and Lou swayed in unison as he gripped the steering wheel and she held onto the handle above the passenger window.

Then the back left wheel did the same. She did a good job of rolling with the vehicle, paying attention to the road, and not getting unnecessarily jolted.

“What does that mean in terms of time?” she asked, watching the road.

“We should be there by the end of the day,” he replied.

He glanced away from the road to see her reaction.

As she swayed back into position, he couldn’t help but notice the seat belt pressing between her breasts, highlighting them. He forced himself to look away.

When the vehicle was moving slowly, as it was now, he could smell her perfume. Like any natural tracker, his sense of smell was excellent. It had given him that extra advantage on more than one occasion and he’d always been glad for it–except for now. The smell of her was everywhere. It immediately put him into tracking mode, as though he were a predator and she was–

“So what happened to Jim?” he asked, to distract himself.

She took several seconds before answering.

“He didn’t particularly like the field,” she said.

Quinn gunned the engine a bit as the dirt road flattened out. The wind helped to clear his head.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said.

In fact, it was a gross understatement. He hadn’t seemed accustomed to the field at all but the way he’d hovered around Lou had made it very clear why he was there.

In his peripheral vision, he saw her look at him.

“He seemed a little green,” he said. “Unlike you.”

“I was hired specifically for the fieldwork.”

He already knew that she’d been with the WWF for about five years, since leaving school. She looked like she might be thirty–such that the end of school probably meant a master’s degree in her mid-twenties. He stole a quick look at her as dirt and small rocks pinged against the underside of the SUV. Fieldwork suited her. She was most definitely physically fit.

“Stay hydrated,” he said, returning his attention to the road. “The low humidity makes it seem cooler than it is.”

She must have already been thirsty because she immediately reached for her water.

“The thirst will creep up on you,” he said.

“I remember.”

No doubt she did. Jim had tried to compete with Quinn. Even now, it almost made him shake his head. Green and on Quinn’s turf, Jim had tried to compete. It’d be laughable except for how close he’d come to dying. Heat stroke, plain and simple. It was a killer. They’d evacuated him in the nick of time. The whole expedition had been a loss. They hadn’t even come close to a Painted Hunting Dog.

As she took a drink from the wide-mouthed plastic bottle, the SUV rocked. It lurched left as one of the front tires found a rut and quickly aligned with the middle of it. Water poured down her chin and then the front of her throat. It quickly splashed onto her breasts and the outline of her bra became apparent under the thin blue material.

“Great,” she said, wiping her chin.

He made sure to look at the road but he no longer saw it. His hands automatically turned the wheel, avoiding the largest holes, taking the ones that couldn’t be avoided slowly. Instead of the road, his head was filled with what he’d just seen. It was going to be a long drive.

• • • • •

Lou admired the muscles of Quinn’s arms as he worked the steering wheel. He wasn’t much for chitchat, which was fine with her. She wasn’t particularly good at it. She’d been hired to do fieldwork because she preferred it. The simple world of animals was straightforward and understandable. There were no egos or lies, no pretending. Few people that she’d ever met had managed to behave as well as an animal. Over time, she’d learned to get to know people as little as possible and enjoy the illusion of their integrity. Quinn, however, intrigued her. She’d learned next to nothing about him on that disastrous first trip.

“How long have you been in Algeria?” she said as she opened the camera bag.

“Three years,” he said. “I came for the WWF but I stayed for the Sahara.”

“The Sahara?”

The most forbidding and desolate desert in the world?

“You’ll see,” he said, smiling.

It was the first time he’d smiled since she’d arrived. Despite his age, maybe early thirties, his smile was boyish. She remembered being pleasantly surprised when they’d met, a time and place that now seemed like another world.

She took out her camera and turned it on. The GPS unit was already logging their route. She’d chosen to ignore Quinn’s grimace of disapproval when she’d attached it to the windshield. He was a low-tech guy. He didn’t necessarily believe what a gadget said but he did believe a topographic map and compass.

Ahead, the road was already gone. In the distance, a jagged set of red, rocky peaks shot upward against the pale blue of the sky. They were headed for the Ahaggar Mountains, where he’d reported the sighting of the Painted Hunting Dog. She remembered reading the report and the excitement of seeing his infrared photo of the animal–and also the thought of seeing Quinn again.

He was guiding the Rover around a low, shrub-like tree and avoiding rocks at the same time.

“How long have you been tracking the Hunting Dog?” she asked.

“About two months,” he said as he downshifted.

Two months in the desert? Wow. That’s dedication.

Quinn Caldwell was a name she’d heard in certain circles for some time. “Master tracker” they called him. As they bumped and lurched along, she took a sidelong look at him. He was so unlike other in-country trackers she’d met. First, he was American, like her. How he’d settled into life in the Sahara she couldn’t quite imagine but he seemed in his element. She’d discovered that on the first trip. Second, he was handsome–very handsome. Men like that didn’t do jobs like this. Invariably, in-country guides were stringy, average-sized, bearded, and older–as though it were a requirement for the job. They also talked incessantly. Most of them weren’t loners by choice.

But two months of tracking an animal? Then knowing it well enough to set up cameras in likely locations? It was more than a job to Quinn. At least she understood what that was like. He must have sensed her looking at him because he quickly glanced at her. Only then did she realize she’d been staring. She looked away.

The afternoon sun was behind them as they headed north and east. The terrain was steeper and rockier as they chased the shadow of the Land Rover over the uneven ground. Out the passenger window, the peaks loomed larger and the landscape had changed into something that more resembled the surface of Mars than a sea of shifting sand.

She used the widest angle possible on the zoom lens and snapped off a few shots.

Suddenly the SUV tipped forward.

“Hold on!” she heard Quinn say as she grabbed for the handle over her window. But as the vehicle tilted left she missed it.

Her right hand immediately went to the dash to keep herself from hitting it as Quinn threw his arm in front of her. After several seconds, the vehicle came to a stop, pointing down into a cobbled streambed. As Lou caught her breath, she realized Quinn had his arm across her chest and that his hand was on her breast. He must have realized as well and quickly let her go. The seat belt tightened as she fell against it and her hand finally found the handle on the pillar next to her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She pushed herself back into her seat.

“Yeah,” she said as her face flushed hot.

“I thought you were watching the road.”

Lou realized her heart was racing and she put a hand over it as she leaned away from the tilt of the vehicle.