Abigail woke up moaning. It was her head. The damned thing was pounding like a bass drum. Boom boom boom. Grimacing at the sunlight that struck her eyes when she opened them, she quickly closed them again and cursed herself for not closing the living room curtains before lying down to sleep on the couch. It was something she rarely forgot to do when she was up late nursing her mother through the occasional really bad night.

They were becoming more and more frequent of late, Abigail thought, and then frowned with confusion as her memory began to nudge her, gently reminding her that Mom no longer had bad nights, and she no longer had a home, let alone a living room. Though she still had a couch and curtains. They were packed away in storage back in Austin.

She, on the other hand, was visiting Jet in San Antonio. No, she had been flying with him to Venezuela, but had had to ride in the cargo section and—

“Oh, hell,” Abigail muttered and sat up abruptly, forcing her eyes open despite the pain the bright sunshine sent shooting through her skull.

Her gaze slid over a long stretch of sandy beach and crystal-blue water and for one moment she simply sat, stunned by the beauty of the scenery, but then she shifted her gaze to herself and her position. She was sitting on sand in the shade of the palm trees that lined the beach . . . and Tomasso Notte was asleep beside her.

He was still as naked as he’d been when she first found him, Abigail noted, absently slapping her arm and squishing a feasting mosquito as her eyes slid over Tomasso’s body with interest. She could see him much better now that she wasn’t trying to look him over by flashlight and . . . the man was just perfect. Too perfect. He was obviously a health buff. He probably spent half of every day at the gym to build up the muscles that bulged on his body.

The realization was a disheartening one. Someone who put so much time and effort into his body would not be impressed by someone as dumpy and out of shape as she was. Abigail was quite sure about that and the knowledge nearly broke her heart. After what had happened on the plane . . .

Abigail bit her lip, and struggled briefly with her body as it immediately responded to the memories now flooding her mind. His hands on her, his mouth on her, her cry as she reached her release . . . God, her nipples were getting erect just at the memory, and there was a sudden dampness between her legs too. What was the matter with her? She’d never reacted like this to a man, yet this one didn’t even have to touch her and she was a trembling mass of need.

Which might be a good thing, she thought suddenly. Certainly, she doubted he’d want to touch her again after getting a look at her in daylight and seeing what he hadn’t been able to see in the dark. So maybe fantasy and memory would be all she’d have.

Depressed by the thought, Abigail pushed herself to her feet. She immediately had to wave away a cloud of hungry mosquitoes that suddenly seemed to be swarming around her head. When that had little effect at dispersing the hungry bloodsuckers, she moved out of the shade, headed for the water.

Abigail was itchy from at least a half dozen mosquito bites she’d apparently received while she was sleeping and didn’t have any After Bite. She was hungry and thirsty and knew without question that they didn’t have any food or water. All they’d taken with them was the first aid kit, and that wasn’t likely to have much but gauze and antiseptic. This was the ocean. She couldn’t drink it, but she could splash it on herself and hope that soothed her itchy spots and fooled her body into thinking it wasn’t as dehydrated as it probably was.

She’d barely taken half a dozen steps on the unshaded sand before Abigail stopped abruptly and almost turned back. The sand had been heated by the beating sun and was unbearably hot underfoot. Her gaze slid to the sparkling blue water and rather than turn back, she burst into a run instead, rushing to the cool relief of the water.

A relieved moan slipped from her lips as the soothing water closed over her feet. Here the sand was much nicer, and the water felt good against her skin. Uncaring that her jeans were getting soaked, Abigail moved out into the water until it reached her knees, then bent to scoop up handfuls of the cool liquid and splashed it on her arms, her face, her throat, and even her chest above her neckline. It immediately dribbled down to soak her tank top, but Abigail didn’t care. She was hot and the water was refreshing, and she was wearing too damned many clothes. Jeans, a tank top, and a light blouse over it might be fine for a bus ride on an air-conditioned bus, and a cool evening in San Antonio, but it was definitely not appropriate for this hot, sandy beach in the Caribbean. It must be a hundred degrees or better here, she thought and wondered what time it was.

Pausing suddenly, Abigail straightened and raised a hand to shelter her eyes as she glanced to the sky to find the sun. It wasn’t quite directly overhead, but was a little to the side, either on its downward path, or still on its upward path. Abigail had no idea which it was. She didn’t know where they were or which direction was east or west at the moment. So by her best guess, it was either an hour or so before noon, or an hour or so after. She supposed she’d find out soon enough. The one sure thing in her life right then was that the sun would continue to move and the direction it moved in would tell her if it was late morning or early afternoon.

Abigail started to lower her hand, but stilled as the sunlight glared off something on her wrist. Her watch, she realized with self-disgust. She’d forgotten she was wearing one . . . probably because she didn’t usually wear it. It had been a graduation gift from her mother, meant to be used at medical school. Abigail had found wearing it depressing after dropping out of school. Besides, there simply hadn’t been much need for one. She’d been stuck in her mother’s apartment with clocks at every turn and nowhere to go but doctor’s appointments.

Grimacing, she turned her wrist to see the face and noted that it was still working, and that, if it was right, it was a bit after one in the afternoon.

Sighing, Abigail let her hand drop and scanned the water briefly, only to stiffen as she spotted a boat coming around the point on her right. Excitement rising in her, she waved happily despite knowing they probably couldn’t see her yet. Then she began to jump up and down excitedly as she waved, and added shouting to her repertoire to get their attention. She’d only let out one shout when she was suddenly grabbed from behind, dragged off her feet and carried quickly backward into the trees.

“Tomasso!” Abigail shrieked with dismay as he slowed once they were deep in the woods and out of sight of the beach. “What are you doing? We need help.”

“That could be Jake and Sully,” he answered grimly, setting her down on her feet. Keeping a hand on her so she couldn’t run, he then tilted his head to peer around the palm tree and back the way they’d come.

“Jake and Sully?” she asked with confusion.

“My kidnappers,” he explained. “I heard them say each other’s names once or twice when I woke up.”

“Oh,” she murmured and frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her that his kidnappers might come looking for them, but she supposed it made sense. They probably knew the coordinates of where they’d jumped out of the plane. All they had to do was get a boat and search in that area for them. Still . . .

“But what if it isn’t your kidnappers?” she pointed out. “We have no water, or food. Hell, you don’t even have clothes. We need help, Tomasso.”

“Sì,” he agreed bleakly, but shook his head. “If the boat had a lot of people then we could have flagged them down. But there were only two men on the boat. It raises the possibility that it is them.”

“Two men? You could tell that?” Abigail asked dubiously. She’d barely been able to see the boat let alone anyone on it, yet he was claiming he could and had counted two men?

Something about her tone drew his gaze to her face and Tomasso frowned at what he saw. Drawing himself up, he said with dignity, “I have very good eyesight.”

Abigail bit her lip and glanced away, stifling a sudden urge to laugh. It wasn’t what he’d said that had roused her humor, it was his demeanor. It was hard to manage dignity when you were buck-ass naked, and his attitude just seemed ridiculous in her eyes.

“What?” Tomasso asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Abigail said quickly, glanced to him and then just as swiftly glanced away. She then cleared her throat, waved back toward him, her hand at waist level and said, “Maybe you should do something about that.”

A moment of silence passed and then he shrugged and said, “I apologize, but there is little I can do about my erection. Your presence has that effect on me.”

“Erection?” Abigail squawked and whirled to take a look at what she’d been politely avoiding letting her eyes land on. Her eyes found—yes, indeedy, it was an erection. “Holy cripes!” she muttered, and then raised her gaze to his and gasped, “You’ve got an erection!”

“I am aware of that,” he said stiffly.

“Yeah, but—I mean, you’re saying I’m the cause of it?” she asked, sure she’d misunderstood.

“Is there anyone else here?” he asked, his tone just as dry.

“Noooo . . .” Abigail drew the word out as she glanced around to be sure there wasn’t some young Bo Derek type sauntering around with her boobs hanging out. Not finding anyone, let alone a beautiful buxom blonde, she turned back to him with bewilderment and said, “But it’s like daylight and everything. You can see what I really look like and stuff.” Shaking her head, she added firmly, “That boner cannot be for me.”

Tomasso didn’t argue the point. He didn’t soothe her insecurities and assure her that he found her attractive. He simply closed the small gap between them, caught her by the waist, lifted her into the air and kissed her. It was no hello-nice-to-see-you kiss. It was a full-on carnal ravaging that said, “This-erection-is-definitely-all-for-you-and-I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-use-it.”

Abigail had to hand it to the guy; he was a hell of a kisser. Three seconds after his mouth claimed hers she was a trembling, panting, clinging mass, moaning into his mouth and ready to rip her own clothes off.

“Abigail,” he muttered suddenly, tearing his mouth from hers and kissing a trail across her cheek.

“Yes?” she gasped, turning her head to give him better access.

“We cannot do this,” he groaned by her ear, just before sucking her lobe into his mouth.

“No,” she agreed on a moan as he nipped at the tender flesh.

“That boat could land. Our kidnappers could find us in flagrante delicto.”

“Delicto,” she mumbled. “You’re delicto. That means delicious, right?” she added before biting lightly at his shoulder.

Tomasso chuckled helplessly against her ear, then suddenly turned with her in his arms. “We will move further from shore. There will be less chance we will be found after we pass out.”

“Pass out?” She pulled back to peer down at him. “I know I fainted when you—I mean, when we . . .” Aware that she was blushing, she wrinkled her nose and waved away what she couldn’t say. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to faint again. It was probably the altitude or something. And you were just coming off those drugs they had you on.”

“It was not the altitude,” he assured her, glancing over her shoulder to watch where he was carrying her. “We will faint again.”

Abigail frowned. He wasn’t giving any explanation for why they might faint, but he sounded very sure they would.

She glanced toward the passing woods, her mind working. She’d never fainted before when messing around with someone, but she’d definitely lost consciousness with him on the plane. But they were no longer on the plane. They were basically in the jungle, where there were snakes and icky bugs that could bite them while they slept. Passing out here did not seem a good idea to her.

In fact, now that Abigail was able to think again, messing around with Tomasso didn’t seem that good an idea either. She still hardly knew the man, and yes, he said he was attracted to her, but heck, men were horny bastards, they could be turned on by a hot apple pie. It didn’t mean they wanted a relationship with it any more than his desire to bang her meant that he wanted a relationship with her. And despite what had happened on the plane, Abigail just wasn’t the sort to go around indiscriminately sleeping with gorgeous men just because they were naked in the woods and made her blood boil with just a kiss.

“Put me down,” she said suddenly, kicking her feet.

“Why?” Tomasso asked, stopping.

“Because I don’t want to do this,” Abigail said simply, pushing at his chest. “Put me down.”

Tomasso hesitated, but then eased her to the ground and stepped back. His expression was confused, though, and she couldn’t blame him. Her nipples were still erect, she probably had a wet spot between the legs of her jeans from the excitement he’d inspired, and she had definitely been responding to him like a woman who wanted to get laid.

Turning her head away to avoid his gaze, she admitted, “I’m attracted to you.”

“Sì.” It was a simple acknowledgment that he knew that, no ego or arrogance involved.

“But . . . I’m not the kind of girl who . . .” Abigail paused, feeling stupid. This was not the 1950s or something, and she didn’t want to be the gal shrieking, “I’m not that kind of girl!” with virginal horror. She was not a virgin. What she was, was a woman who had just lost her mother, was emotionally vulnerable, and afraid of getting hurt by this big beefcake when a prettier gal came along and he lost interest in her.

Well, at least part of her felt that way. That was her brain. The other part, a much lower one that was situated between her legs, was shrieking at her to enjoy him while she had the chance. Telling her this would be a really good memory for her to enjoy later. Assuring her that it would be worth all the heartache that would probably follow. Just go on and bounce on his pogo stick now, it begged.

That part of her was a much less dignified communicator than her brain.

“Okay.”

Abigail blinked and glanced up to see that Tomasso had turned and started back toward the beach.

“Okay?” she asked uncertainly, quickly following him.

“Sì.”

Abigail bit her lip, and then asked, “You’re not angry with me?”

“Sì and no,” he answered, continuing forward.

“What does that mean?” she asked with a frown. “Sì, you’re angry, and no, you’re not?”

Turning, he eyed her with mild amusement and said, “You women, you like to talk, sì?”

“I’m afraid so,” she admitted wryly.

He nodded. “Then I will tell you. It is sì because what I want most in the world is to strip every bit of clothing from you, lay you in the sand and lick every inch of your skin before sliding my aching pene into your body.”

“Jeez,” Abigail mumbled, fanning her face with one hand. The guy may not talk much, but when he did . . . Pene was Italian for penis, right? she wondered suddenly, and was quite sure that was the case.

“However, it is also no,” he continued. “Because I understand if things are moving quickly for you and you wish to take time. Fortunately, so long as we avoid my kidnappers we have that time, more than you can imagine. So I will be patient and wait until you are ready for me to pleasure you with my mouth and hands and body until you scream my name and the stars explode behind your eyes.”

“Jeez,” Abigail muttered again, using both hands now to fan her face. The guy was—walking away again. Clucking her tongue, she hurried after him to ask, “You’re willing to wait for me?”

“Sì.”

Apparently the more verbal guy had gone back into hiding, Abigail thought with irritation. She had kind of been hoping for some sort of proclamation. Like, that she was gorgeous and brilliant and sexy and worth waiting for or something. It seemed he wasn’t going to try to sweet-talk his way into her pants though. Which was just a crying shame because really it wouldn’t have taken much sweet talk at all, Abigail thought, and then rolled her eyes at herself. She was the one who had put the brakes on their having sex. He was just adhering to her wishes. Now she wanted to jump him?

Yes, she did, Abigail admitted if only to herself. She also found herself staring at his ass as he walked and wanting to grab and squeeze it like his cheeks were melons. What on earth was the matter with her?

“The boat is gone.”

Abigail dragged her mind out of his pants, well, his metaphorical pants since he wasn’t wearing any, and shifted her attention to the coastline. They were standing at the edge of the trees with a perfect view of the ocean, and he was right. No boat. She glanced to him again, her gaze shifting to his bare bottom as he bent to grab something off the ground.

“Now what do we do?” she asked, a little distracted.

“Now I check your wound,” he announced, straightening and turning to catch her hand. He led her back the way they’d come, but this time taking her deeper into the trees.

Probably in case the boat came back around again, Abigail thought as she followed him docilely. She then frowned and raised her free hand to her head to search for the wound he spoke of. For one moment she had no idea what he was talking about, but when she felt the cloth around her head she recalled hitting it on the cargo door as they’d left the plane. In fact, that was the last thing Abigail remembered before waking up here.

“How did we get here?” she asked curiously as they walked. “Did the parachute bring us to this shore?”

“No. The parachute landed us in the ocean. We swam all night,” he answered.

She translated that in her head to mean he had swum and dragged her with him since she hadn’t been conscious to swim herself. She also gathered it meant they’d landed really far out, although he hadn’t wasted the words to actually say that. Now she wondered how far out they’d landed and how far he’d had to drag her unconscious body to get here. It couldn’t have been easy swimming while dragging her.

He’d saved her life, she realized. And bandaged her up, she added, feeling the cloth around her head again. It felt like gauze, which reminded her of the first aid kit she’d been holding when they’d left the plane. She doubted she’d managed to hold on to it after she’d lost consciousness, so supposed he must have taken it from her. It was a wonder he’d been able to swim at all while dragging everything with him, she thought guiltily. She hadn’t really been much help in this escape. Although, to be fair, she hadn’t wanted to escape this way, leaving Jet alone with the kidnappers.

“Here is good.” Coming to an abrupt halt, Tomasso turned to face her and gestured to the ground.

Abigail translated that to a suggestion to sit and did so only to find herself staring at his junk now swinging in front of her face.

“Really, Tomasso, we need to find you something to wear,” she muttered almost wearily, averting her eyes. His erection had wilted in the past few moments, but wasn’t completely gone. It was still magnificent and distracting.

“Here,” he said abruptly, and held out what he’d picked up earlier.

The first aid kit, Abigail realized as she took the red packet. He’d been picking it up when she’d asked “Now what do we do?” She just hadn’t seen it because she was distracted by his bare bottom as he bent over. He really had a nice one, Abigail thought. And a nice chest, and nice arms, and legs and—

She gave her head a shake, which not only ended her inner recital of his pretty body parts, but dislodged her eyes from his bottom as he disappeared into the jungle again. He did seem to walk away a lot, Abigail thought now. The good news was that he always came back . . . so far.

Tomasso wasn’t gone long this time; five, maybe ten minutes. Abigail stared at him blankly when he returned, her gaze caught by the splash of green over his groin. He’d fashioned a sort of loincloth out of leaves, weaving the stems together with some kind of vine that ran around his waist. But the man obviously had no clue just how big his junk was, the leaves didn’t quite cover the tip.

“Better?” he asked as he approached.

“You need bigger leaves,” she said dryly. Her words made him pause and frown down at himself. She doubted he could see the problem from above though, so she wasn’t surprised when he said, “Is fine.”

“Right,” she muttered and simply resigned herself to continuing to avert her gaze . . . at least when he was looking. She took too much pleasure in looking at him to do it all the time. She wouldn’t want him to notice her devouring him with her eyes though, so she’d just have to peek when he wasn’t aware she was.

“How bad is it?” Abigail asked when Tomasso settled to sit cross-legged in the sand in front of her and began to unravel the bandage from around her head.

“Not so bad,” he assured her. “Does it hurt?”

“Not at the moment,” Abigail admitted with some surprise, only now becoming aware of the fact, and then she added, “But it did when I woke up.”

His response was a grunt as he finished removing the bandages and dropped them to the sand. He then took her head in hand and tilted it down so he could better examine her wound.

Abigail waited patiently, her gaze dropping to the discarded bandages, but when she saw the blood on the cloth, her eyes widened with alarm. “It bled.”

“Sì. Why else the bandage?” Tomasso asked patiently, poking at the wound.

“Yes, but . . .” she began, then let the words die away. He was absolutely right. Why else would there be a need for bandages? She just hadn’t realized she’d actually bled and was a little startled to know she had. Sighing, she waited as he took the first aid kit from her and opened it. Abigail frowned though when she saw him retrieve an antiseptic ointment and open it.

“Is it bad?” she asked with concern as he smeared the cool gel on her forehead.

“No. This is the jungle.”

That was all he said. Fortunately it was enough. This was the jungle. Infection could set in easily in this moist heat. The ointment was a precaution. She remained silent and merely watched as he retrieved a large bandage from the pack and quickly opened it. Abigail found it somewhat reassuring that it was just a bandage this time, and not gauze he felt needed to be wrapped around her head. Surely that meant the wound was healing. Right?

She hoped so. But she also wished she had a mirror to check it out herself.

“Wait here. Rest.”

Pulled from her thoughts, Abigail glanced up with surprise at this latest order, but he was already disappearing into the woods again. Honestly, the man spent most of his time walking away from her, she thought and noted absently that his butt cheeks were the last part of him to disappear into the trees. He hadn’t covered them with leaves, she noted and was glad.

Rolling her eyes, Abigail glanced around briefly, and then looked down to where she sat. It was a nice sandy bit in the crook of the roots of a tree. A perfect bed, really, she decided. And realized she was tired. They couldn’t have been awake long, but she was already exhausted. It must be the heat, Abigail thought. Or perhaps just the emotional turmoil she’d been through since waking up. Whatever the case, the idea of lying down and resting for a minute was an attractive one despite her earlier worries about snakes and bugs. Abigail did perform a quick inspection of the area first though, just to be sure there wasn’t anything around that might bite her, but then she stretched out, shifted onto her side and closed her eyes. She would just rest for a little bit. Just until Tomasso returned, she assured herself. Then they would no doubt have to start walking in search of civilization. They needed a phone so she could check on Jet and so Tomasso could call . . . whoever.

Tomasso’s footsteps slowed as he broke out of the trees and stepped into the small clearing where Abigail waited. She was curled on her side under the tree where he’d left her, sleeping soundly.

His gaze slid over her pale skin and the exhausted shadows under her eyes. She’d remained unconscious for quite a while after they’d left the plane. She hadn’t woken through the swim to this island, or even as he’d carried her ashore and settled her next to him under the palm trees as dawn broke. But unconsciousness wasn’t the same as sleeping and she obviously needed rest.

Tomasso shifted his feet, and then set down the coconuts he’d gathered and straightened to peer at her as he considered the situation. They needed to find civilization and a phone. He needed to call in and let his family know he was all right and that Caracas was where they needed to look for the other missing immortals. He also needed to find out whether his brother had managed his escape successfully or not. Dante hadn’t wound up in a cage next to him again, which seemed to suggest he had, but Tomasso needed to know for sure.

However, all of that would apparently have to wait. Abigail had been wounded and was in dire need of rest. So rest she would have.

She also no doubt needed food and drink. He’d intended the coconuts to take care of that. She could drink the coconut water and eat the white fleshy fruit inside, but fish would probably be better. He just had to sort out a way to catch some. Maybe he could somehow fashion a spear, Tomasso thought as he turned to head toward the beach.

Abigail woke up with her nose twitching in interest. Something smelled delicious. Stifling a yawn, she sat up to glance around, but couldn’t see anything but trees. Curious, she got to her feet and moved around the tree she’d been sleeping by, and blinked as she spotted Tomasso on the beach at the edge of the jungle, turning something over a fire in the shade of a large palm tree.

Stomach rumbling, Abigail started forward, her gaze shifting to the sky beyond the trees. The sun was setting on the horizon and it was growing dark. She must have slept quite a while, she thought with a frown.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked as she stepped out onto the beach.

Tomasso glanced to her with surprise, and then smiled crookedly as if at an adorable puppy. All he said, however, was, “You needed rest.”

Abigail considered him briefly, noting that his five-o’clock shadow was more a seven-o’clock shadow now. But it was his smile that was making her suspicious, so she simply moved past him and walked down to the shore. The water was still. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze to stir it. It made the surface a serviceable mirror and Abigail stepped a few feet into the water, then peered down at her reflection and moaned. Her hair was standing up in every direction. That combined with her pale face made her look like a clown.

Muttering under her breath, Abigail shrugged out of her blouse, tugged off her jeans, and then pulled off her tank top. Leaving her clothes in a pile on the beach, she then strode determinedly into the water in just her underwear and bra. It was as good as a swimsuit, Abigail reassured herself as she went, and she was not returning to the fire looking like this.

The air had cooled while she slept, but the water was even cooler and Abigail shivered as she moved deeper into its embrace. That didn’t slow her down though. She had always loved swimming. Her mother had insisted she take lessons as a kid and she was good at it. The moment she was up to her waist in the tide, she dove under and kicked, coming up several feet further out.

Finding her feet again, Abigail turned then to look back to shore, her eyes widening when she saw that Tomasso had followed and was now waist-deep in the water. As she watched, he dove as well. A moment later he popped up in front of her.

“Never swim alone,” he admonished, but his gaze was not on her face. In fact his eyes seemed locked on her chest and she glanced down to see that her plain white bra was not much of a covering when wet, but had gone transparent. Her nipples were showing through, and they were growing erect, whether from the cold or his nearness, she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. They were still erect and on show.

Groaning with embarrassment, Abigail turned away and struck out in a strong swim away from shore, aware that Tomasso followed and then caught up and swam beside her. Apparently he was serious about her not swimming alone.

She didn’t swim far. Abigail was aware that she was out of shape and would tire easily, so stopped again after several feet to tread water. Tomasso immediately stopped as well and turned to face her just a little more than a foot away. Close enough she could have reached out and touched him, but not so close she felt uncomfortable.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Recalling the smell that had woken her, Abigail nodded and glanced back to shore. The smoke from the fire was barely visible from here. He’d kept it small, no doubt to prevent drawing attention in case Jake and Sully were still looking for him.

Thoughts of his kidnappers were quickly followed by thoughts of Jet, and Abigail frowned. Tomasso had dragged her off that plane, leaving Jet behind in the company of a couple of nefarious dudes. That was why she’d tried to break away from him at the last minute and had managed to hurt herself. Frowning, she turned back to Tomasso.

“What will they do to Jet?” she asked with concern.

“The plane?” he asked, confusion obvious on his expression.

“No. My friend, Jet. Jethro,” she added, using his proper name, and then explained, “He was the pilot of the plane we were on.”

A scowl claimed his lips and he growled, “That is the Jet you kept mumbling about in your sleep?”

Abigail’s eyebrows rose at this news. She’d been mumbling about Jet in her sleep? Actually, that was a bit reassuring. It meant she had been thinking about him, and didn’t have to feel guilty for not bringing him up until now. Of course, he probably should have been her first concern on waking the first time, but Abigail decided to blame that on her head wound. No doubt her thinking had been a little muddled. That excused her, right? Actually, it was probably even true, Abigail acknowledged. She wasn’t the sort to just forget about a friend who might be in trouble like that. Instead, she was a worrywart. In college she used to make friends call when they got home from visiting her place, just to be sure they made it all right. Not thinking and worrying about Jet until now definitely hadn’t been the norm for her.

“What is this Jet to you?”

Abigail blinked her thoughts away and glanced to Tomasso curiously. He was sounding kind of cranky. Like maybe he was jealous, which was just ridiculous of course. She wasn’t the sort men got jealous over. Besides, they’d already had this conversation on the plane. He’d asked then if Jet was her boyfriend and she’d said no, he was a friend. Of course, Tomasso had probably been a little fuzzyheaded from the drug they’d been giving him in that IV and maybe didn’t recall, so she excused him.

“He’s a friend. We grew up together,” she said patiently and explained, “He’s been my best friend forever. He’s like a brother or something. Jet is not my boyfriend.”

“Hmm,” he muttered, not sounding much happier, and then he asked, “What kind of name is Jet?”

“His name is Jethro,” she explained, despite having said his proper name earlier. “But he always wanted to be a jet pilot, so I shortened his name to Jet when we were kids and it stuck.”

Tomasso merely grunted at that, but the slight sneer that had claimed his lips eased now and he frowned and asked, “So this Jet, your friend, was the pilot of the plane?”

“Yes.” Abigail glanced toward the sky as if he might fly over them right then, and sighed when she didn’t see his plane.

“So he works with the kidnappers?” Tomasso asked darkly.

“No!” Abigail shifted her attention back to Tomasso. “He was a fighter pilot for the navy, but finished his tour a couple weeks ago. A buddy of his who got out a month before him had a job with a cargo company and arranged an interview for Jet when he heard he’d finished his tour. Jet got the job. He only started a week ago, and this company is legit. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t get involved with transporting a kidnap victim.”

“Then why was I on his plane?” Tomasso asked simply.

Abigail frowned. “From what I overheard the guy saying when he was wrapping up your arm, you must have got loose and trashed their plane?”

Tomasso nodded slowly.

“Well, it seems they needed to find alternate transport and quickly. Jet was told it was an emergency trip. Had to be right away, that sort of thing.”

“Probably they were running low on the drug they were using to keep me under,” Tomasso said thoughtfully.

“That could be it. I don’t know for sure. All I know is that I’d just got into San Antonio and met up with Jet at a bar as planned. He was supposed to have a couple days off, but then he got a call from his boss about this flight. Jet said he was going to refuse, but then decided it could be fun. I could fly down with him and we could kick around Caracas for a couple days and then fly back.”

“Why were you in the cargo area and not the front of the plane?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

Abigail stiffened in the water at the suspicion in his eyes. The moment she stopped moving, she started to sink and immediately started treading water again, but it was an effort. She was tiring, Abigail realized, and turned to head back toward shore. Once she’d reached water shallow enough that she could stand, Abigail walked out of the surf and dropped to sit next to her pile of clothes.

“I was in the cargo area because the clients didn’t want me on the flight at all,” she said quietly when Tomasso dropped onto the sand beside her. “Jet had me hide in the cargo area so they wouldn’t know I was going despite their wishes.”

“You were a stowaway,” Tomasso murmured as if that was what he’d thought all along.

“Not really,” she argued. “Jet was the pilot and knew I was there.”

“But Jake and Sully did not,” he pointed out.

Abigail shrugged. Stowaway, shmowaway. She didn’t care. What she did care about was Jet and that he was okay. Picking up a shell half buried in the sand, she tossed it out into the water and asked, “What will they do to him?”

Tomasso was silent for a minute, and then shook his head. “He will probably be fine.”

It didn’t sound to her as if he really believed that and Abigail frowned and said, “He’s one of the good guys, Tomasso. I’d feel awful if anything happened to him because I left the plane with you.”

“I did not give you much choice,” Tomasso muttered, his gaze on the horizon. Shaking his head, he added, “I should have found out all the particulars before donning that parachute and taking you off the plane. I just assumed you were a stowaway and . . .” He shrugged, not bothering to finish.

Abigail’s mouth twisted unhappily. “You know what they say about assuming, right?”

“That it is foolish,” he said soberly.

“Yeah, that too,” she said wearily.

“Come,” Tomasso said abruptly, gathering her clothes for her and getting to his feet. Catching her hand, he then helped her up as he said, “The fish will be done. We will eat, then start walking.”

“At night?” she asked with alarm.

“It is better at night,” he assured her, starting up the beach. “No sun.”

Abigail considered that as they walked and supposed it was good to avoid the heat and sun of daylight. It would prevent their getting too dehydrated, which had to be good. And she had just woken up from sleeping, so should be good for walking. Still, Abigail didn’t think Tomasso had slept at all while she was down for the count. The man had caught fish and cooked it instead.

They probably wouldn’t walk far then, Abigail thought hopefully. An hour or two, and then they’d probably stop . . . Not that she didn’t want to walk all the way to civilization tonight. She did. The sooner they found a phone, the sooner she could find out what had happened to Jet. It was just that she hadn’t done anything physical in a long time and wasn’t sure she could manage much more than a couple hours of slogging through the sand. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t have to though. Tomasso would need sleep. An hour or so and he’d no doubt be ready to bed down.