Free Eye of the Beholder by Ingrid Weaver

he had to be a soldier first and a man second.
    The engine coughed. Rafe gave it more gas, but instead of lurching forward, the jeep nosed into a puddle and shuddered to a halt. The engine died.
    “What happened?” Glenna asked. “Are we there already?”
    “We stalled. Stay put, I’ll see what’s wrong.”
    Rafe got out and did a quick scan of their surroundings. The growth that flanked the track they’d been following was too thick to discern any distance, but it would also shield them from the view of possible pursuers. If someone was following them, Rafe would probably hear them long before he’d see them. He listened for a moment, but all he heard was the rustle of leaves overhead, the hum of insects and the usual chirps and calls of wildlife.
    He turned his attention to the jeep. There were innumerable things that could have caused it to behave as if it were running out of gas. There could be a clogged fuel line, a malfunctioning pump, an incorrectly adjusted carburetor. But he might as well check the most obvious first. He broke a branch from one of the trees beside the track, stripped off the leaves and inserted it into the gas tank. When hehe stick, apart from a quarter-inch section at the very tip, it was bone-dry.
    He tossed the stick aside and rubbed his face. Of all the vehicles he could have chosen, it turned out that he’d taken one with a faulty fuel gauge. The tank must have been almost empty to begin with.
    “Rafe, what is it?” Glenna asked.
    “Murphy at work,” he muttered.
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means we’re out of gas.”
    She climbed from the jeep and hobbled around the hood to his side, holding her pants up with one hand. “What do we do now?”
    Good question. They were still at least eight miles from the extraction point. Glenna was in no condition to walk any distance. And he was in no shape to carry her far. But as long as they could stay alive and undetected for another few days…and her ankle healed sufficiently to bear her weight so that they could move closer to the rendezvous…and his wound didn’t fester badly enough to kill him before that…then they still had a chance of getting out of this. Sure. Situation normal, all fouled up.
    “Rafe?”
    He turned back to the jeep and took out his gun. “Now we improvise.”

    The scene around her could have come from a travel brochure. Sunlight filtered through the canopies of towering trees in a dozen shades of green. Lush swaths of ferns and moss carpeted the ground. Birds she couldn’t name sang and swooped through the glade in startling flashes of color.
    But Glenna wasn’t looking at the scenery. She sank down at the base of a palm tree and looked at the crumpled skirt in her hands.
    When she’d bought this suit, the salesclerk had said it would be versatile. The neutral color could be worn with almost anything. The simple cut of the raw silk could be dressed up or dressed down. Glenna had a closet full of similar outfits in her Manhattan apartment, along with shoes to match.
    She liked shoes. She’d never been able to pass by a shoe store without looking in the window, and if there was a sale, well, she seldom came out empty-handed. She was especially fond of heels, even though with her height she didn’t need the extra inches. The ivory pair she usually wore with this suit had been one of her favorites.
    She moved her gaze to the dull brown leather that encased her feet. The guard’s boots were practical, she reminded herself. How they looked wasn’t an issue.
    She returned her attention to her skirt. It was smeared with dust and streaks of mascara from being used as a washcloth, a result of her vain attempt to repair her appearance. Once again, she thought of what a stupid thing that was to worry about. Gripping the skirt firmly, she ripped the back seam apart, then tore a strip from the bottom of the hem. She wove the piece of raw silk through the belt loops of her borrowed pants, pulled it tight around