She hated him in that moment. He had to be good at everything. She’d fallen from the canopy in the rain forest, managed to right herself and still got hurt. His hands moved over her, examining her quickly and efficiently for damage.

“We just landed in the middle of enemy territory,” he reminded. “Don’t make a sound.”

She realized she was moaning softly and forced herself to go quiet, although she couldn’t stop the tears tracking down her face. She winced when his fingers moved over her left wrist.

“How bad,” he mouthed.

She looked up at his grim face and tried to look brave when she really wanted to curl into a ball and sob. The pads of his fingers brushed gently at her tears, making her heart ache.

“A sprain, I think. The rest of me, just the shock, jamming everything as I landed. I was lucky.” She remembered to whisper the words, using a thread of sound that his acute hearing could easily pick up.

Her body was tuning itself once again to the rhythm of the rain forest. She heard the rustling in the underbrush and knew it was a man, not an animal, brushing against leaves quite close to them. Too close. She smelled sweat and fear and rot. Her eyes met Conner’s. There it was again, that implacable, ruthless, dangerous look that meant she was safe. He put his finger to his lips and indicated for her to move back into the cover of the brush. She used her toes and elbows to slide on her belly, easing her way over the thick carpet of decayed leaves until the broader, thick leaves of the bushes provided a screen for her.

All the while she scooted back, Conner held his ground, shielding her with his body. He made it difficult to despise him totally when he continually put himself in danger to protect her. And she wanted—needed—to despise him. She had to stay alert to keep from falling under his spell. Out in the forest where a higher law prevailed, life seemed very black and white.

Only when she was safely under cover did Conner begin to move. The gun was always ready, his gaze restlessly examining every inch of their surroundings, missing nothing. He slowly drew back into the brush to lie beside her. With infinite patience he pushed the gun into her hands, settling her finger on the trigger and cautioning her again to silence. His hand, almost in slow motion, went to the small daggerlike pieces of metal in the loops of his belt. He palmed two of them without a sound.