Free Beyond Sunrise by Candice Proctor Page B

discarded four different plans for her escape before she finally settled on the only course of action that promised any reasonable chance of success.
    They had long since veered away from the trail she had originally followed and onto a narrower path that snaked its way toward what she supposed must be the northern end of the island. At first, the path ran along the steep side of the volcano's slope, then plunged down into a jungle-filled glen that separated Mount Futapu from the craggy heights of the next, even higher volcanic peak. With every step she took, India was painfully conscious of the growing distance that separated her from the Barracuda and the safety it had come to represent. But if she were to have any chance of escaping this vile, machete-wielding madman, she would need to pick her moment very, very carefully.
    Her chance came at the base of the glen, where they ran across a small stream, gurgling clear and sweet between moss-covered, fern-draped banks. Jack Ryder knelt on a flat stone to cup his hands in the burn and splash water on his face, his worn cotton shirt pulling taut against the muscles of his chest as he shut his eyes and let the water run in glistening rivulets down his tanned cheeks and corded throat. But India hung back, her voice tight with an embarrassment that was only half feigned as she said, "I need a few moments to myself behind those rocks there."
    He glanced up at her, his dark brows drawing together as he regarded her thoughtfully. "You wouldn't be so stupid as to try to run off, now would you?"
    She let out a short, mirthless laugh. "How far would I be likely to get?"
    "Before who caught you? Me, or the cannibals?"
    Not even bothering to dignify that remark with a reply, India moved toward the pile of massive, moss-covered basalt boulders that effectively hid the trail that led back to the bay from his sight.
    "I don't care which rock you choose," he called after her, "as long as I can still see the top of your pith helmet when you squat."
    "You, sir, are disgusting."
    "No. Just very untrusting."
    Ducking quickly behind the rocks, India cast a frantic glance around for some sort of prop, and found it in the form of a stout length of bamboo. Driving it deep into the soft, spongy earth, she began, very carefully, to remove her pith helmet.
    "Don't take too long, you hear?" Jack Ryder called.
    "I... I fear I am rather unwell," she replied shakily. "Do have patience, Mr. Ryder."
    She heard him mutter something in response, but she didn't think he really expected her to run away from him. He wasn't even looking toward the rocks when she slipped away, leaving her pith helmet swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Chapter Nine
    The way India figured it, she had at best five minutes before he discovered she was gone. Every nerve in her body was screaming for her to run, but she forced herself to concentrate on moving as quietly as she could until she had put some distance between them. The dank, steaming jungle closed around her, dark and dense, swallowing sound and light. She threw one quick, apprehensive glance over her shoulder, and broke into a run.
    On and on she ran, her knapsack banging awkwardly against her hip, her feet sliding on the muddy path, her world a blur of varying hues of vivid green that swirled in a hooting, rustling rush around her. She had always considered herself a strong, fit woman, but as the path angled sharply upward, weaving between tropical beeches and mountain pandanus and swaying vines, her breath began to come in ragged, agonized gasps. And still she pressed on, her lungs bursting, her face hot with sweat, loose strands of hair slipping from her prim chignon to plaster against her wet neck.
    She had no illusions about her ability to outrun him. Her skirt might be split, but it still didn't give her the freedom of movement a man would enjoy. And after what she had seen both yesterday and this morning, she had no doubts about the condition of this particular