paved road ended an hourlater, soon after theyâd started climbing steeply into the mountainous jungle, heading toward an ancient wat , a Buddhist temple, that Bart insisted probably dated from the thirteenth century and was well worth the extra time it would take to find it. The sun had long since passed its zenith, the short January day was drawing to a close, and they were lost. At least in Rachelâs opinion. Harrison Bartley, so far, hadnât admitted he no longer had any idea where they were.
Above them the jungle canopy met across the narrow road, a green, mysterious archway, shutting out the sun, confusing the senses. Closer to the ground, pressing almost to the sides of the Land Rover, the understory of the forest made a living barrier, a claustrophobic tunnel-like path, the stuff of nightmares. Rachelâs nightmares. For years sheâd wandered such a dream path, looking for a way home, trying to find her brothers and her parents, searching for the baby sheâd lostâ¦.
âHow much farther is it to the temple?â she asked in what she hoped was a perfectly ordinary voice. She looked down at her hands clenched into fists on her thighs and made herself relax, stretching her fingers. Sheâd been planning this trip for nearly a year. A few more hours, one way or another, would make no difference. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she tried not to look at the living wall of bamboo and vines, orchids and nettles that made up much of the nearby growth.
âWe should be there within the next few minutes.â Bart wasnât very good at hiding his emotions. His voice was edgy with uncertainty. Rachel picked up on it immediately.
âDo you have any idea at all where we are?â She halfturned on the seat to face him, realizing all at once just how young and very inexperienced he probably was. He didnât look directly at her but kept his eyes on the trailâit could hardly be termed a road any longer.
âNot since we made that last turn after crossing the river,â he admitted. âI havenât recognized anything from the map for the last half hour.â
âYou have a map?â
âOf sorts.â He shrugged. âA friend from the embassy gave it to me, but there is no telling how accurate it is.â
Rachel felt her hands curl back into fists. Her nails bit into her flesh and the small pain made her angry. Anger, sheâd learned long ago, was much easier to deal with than fear. Fear made you weak and prey to defeat. Anger made you strong, gave you the strength to keep on fighting. It was much better to be angry than afraid. And she was afraid, afraid of being lost once again in the uncharted jungles of Southeast Asia, the alien, hostile land where sheâd spent nearly a third of her life against her will.
âTurn around,â she said, and heard the harsh rasp of panic in her voice.
Bart took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot her a questioning look. âAre you okay?â
âIâm fine,â she said, but more quietly, with more control. âJust turn around.â
âIâm sure weâre going in the right direction.â To Rachelâs way of thinking, he didnât sound certain at all.
âI still think we should turn back. If we donât waste any time we can make Chiang Rai by dark.â
âChiang Rai?â Bart sounded annoyed. âWe donâtwant to backtrack all the way to Chiang Rai. We should be twelve, fifteen kilometers east of there by now. According to the map, this road eventually leads back to the main route.â
âBut you canât be sure of that. I donât want to spend the night in this truck. Please turn around.â
âI canât,â Bart pointed out. âThe roadâs too narrow. Look, the next clearing we come to weâll check our direction with the sun.â
âYou mean you donât have a compass?â Rachel didnât try to