Very hard, he decided. It would be very hard.
He didn’t think she was trying to be suggestive, even with her mouth shaped like that. She was naturally sensual and expressive, unabashed in her pleasure. That was the way she’d been in bed too. Innocent, but so damned responsive.
“Why do you want to help me?” he asked.
“You, or Sarai?”
“Me.”
The night they’d shared hung between them like a heavy weight. She’d rejected his marriage offer, which was probably wise. But she’d also left without saying goodbye. “You lost your job.”
“You feel sorry for me?”
Her brows rose at his bold question. “No, Ian. Sorry is not what I feel for you.” She finished the cantaloupe, chewing thoughtfully. “I feel sorry for the trouble I cause. Not sorry for you. Not sorry for what we did.”
He willed his thundering heart to slow. “That can’t happen again.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Qué lástima.”
What a shame.
He was too wound up to laugh at her glib response. Too enthralled by the idea that she might want him as much as he wanted her. It seemed impossible. But maybe she felt what he felt, an all-consuming fire that ignited every time their eyes connected.
Tearing his gaze away, he tossed some bills on the table and rose to his feet. She followed him out to his rental car. He opened the passenger door for her, determined to stay aloof. He had to treat her like a colleague, not a woman he’d been obsessed with for four years. He couldn’t have intimate conversations with her or imagine his hands on her exquisite body.
The camp was about ten miles away, at the edge of a densely wooded area on the outskirts of town. Maria gave him directions. He drove down a series of dirt roads until they came to a bridge that had been washed away by a recent flood.
“We’ll have to walk from here,” she said.
“How far is it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”
He checked the map on his phone, which showed the train route but no station. “Where does the train stop?”
“It doesn’t,” she said. “It just slows down around the curve.”
His GPS app might give him an idea of the distance. Instead of fooling around with it, he shoved the phone into his pocket and gathered his backpack. He didn’t care how far it was. He was stiff from sitting so many hours on the plane and in the car.
They crossed the creek over a fallen log and continued for another mile. His injured thigh ached off and on, but it felt good to work the sore muscle. Soon the dirt road narrowed into a muddy footpath. Discarded clothing and random bits of trash littered the area. Anything that couldn’t be worn or easily carried was left behind.
“When will the train come?” he asked.
“Anytime, day or night. They vary the schedule to discourage freight-hoppers. I’ve heard that the trains go faster now, for the same reason.”
As they reached a clearing, a telltale puff of smoke appeared at the top of the trees and a rhythmic clacking rumbled over the ground. His breath caught in his throat. The train was already here.
He started running, though his wounded thigh ached in protest. There were makeshift shelters set up along the edge of the clearing, plywood shacks and lean-tos covered with tarp. Large groups of people had gathered by the tracks. Before he’d made it halfway across the clearing, the train was pushing through the trees, and passengers were scrambling aboard.
He couldn’t believe there were so many people climbing up at once. They raced along the tracks, dangerously close to the spinning wheels. Metal ladders offered a handhold and a way to the surface. Freight-hoppers piled onto the top of the railcars and sat at the precarious edge.
Ian stopped short of the tracks, gaping at the train’s immensity. It appeared much larger and faster at close range. He scanned the passengers for Sarai, but it was impossible to tell if she was among them. The only way to look for her was to climb aboard. He watched a boy jump on the ladder with an old man. They didn’t have any trouble. It was dangerous, but doable.
Even so, he hesitated to follow. These people were desperate, hungry, and out of options. He wasn’t. The poverty he’d grown up in was nothing like this. There was a difference between trailer-park poor and third-world poor, and he was looking at it.
He also didn’t want to put Maria’s life at risk. The last time he’d gone off the rails, an innocent woman had been killed. Sonia Barreras’s death weighed heavily on him. He couldn’t allow a civilian to get hurt on his watch, ever again.
Maria gripped his arm to gain his attention. “If you want to get on, we have to go now!”
He shook his head, but she wasn’t deterred. She released his arm and started jogging alongside the tracks. Before he could shout at her to stop, she grabbed the next ladder and swung up. Her slim legs dangled in space for one chilling moment. Then she ascended.
Fuck.
He rushed to catch up with her, his mind reeling. What other choice did he have? He couldn’t let her go alone, unprotected. His feet moved in step with the train, boots thudding along with his racing heart. As he leapt for the ladder, his wounded leg buckled and almost gave out on him. He smothered a cry of pain and regained his balance. He managed to avoid the crushing wheels, but it was a close thing. His hands found the rungs and he pulled himself up, arms shaking.
He made it. Just barely.
