Four Relentless Days

Harm caught her arm. “Let me go in first.”

“Here.” T-Mac handed him the pistol he’d brought from his cabin. “You’ll need this.”

Harm grinned. “Are you sure you don’t want to make sure the snake is dead?”

T-Mac crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “No. I trust you to make it right.”

“I can take care of this,” Talia said. “We have the occasional snake enter the compound. Although not lately. The villagers see cobras on occasion. They like rats and chickens.”

“And the occasional baby?” Marly asked, a shiver shaking her body.

Talia grimaced. “They don’t usually eat the babies. But some children have been bitten on occasion.”

“Nice,” T-Mac said. “Nightmare, I’m telling you.” He turned to Diesel. “Why did we decide a safari in Kenya was a good idea?”

“You wanted to come as much as the rest of us,” Diesel reminded him. “At least you weren’t stuck in the jungle along the Congo for several nights, sleeping in snake-infested trees.”

“Enough talk about snakes.” T-Mac raised a hand. “Who’s for heading back to Djibouti and the friendly scorpions they have?”

“We’re not going back to Djibouti,” Harm said. “One snake is not a den of snakes.”

“How do you know?” T-Mac asked.

“Shut up, T-Mac.” Harm unlocked the safety on the handgun and stepped past Talia and through the door, switching on the light. “I’ll let you know if there are more when I come out.”

“If you come out alive,” T-Mac muttered behind him.

Cobra bites were deadly if left untreated. But there was treatment, Harm coached himself. Although he wasn’t horribly afraid of snakes like T-Mac, he had a healthy respect for them and the damage they could create with a single bite.

He edged his way into the sitting room, past an overturned end table and a twisted rug. Big Jake had been in a hurry to get out of the cabin. He couldn’t blame the man. He probably would have reacted the same way if he’d awakened to a snake in his bed, much less a deadly cobra.

He searched every nook and cranny in the sitting room before entering the bedroom. As soon as he did, he noticed the long, sleek body of a serpent draped across the bed, its tail hanging over the side. A dark spatter of blood spread across the white comforter and the mosquito netting draped from the ceiling. He rounded the foot of the bed to the other side to check the other end of the snake before he could let go of the breath he’d been holding.

“Dead?” Talia asked from the door.

Harm jumped. “You were supposed to wait outside.”

“You were taking a long time,” she responded. “I got worried.”

“I was making certain there wasn’t another snake in the building. They can hide in the strangest places.”

“You would know this because?” She arched her brows and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I grew up in a small town in Texas. We had our share of rat snakes, rattlers and copperheads. We’d find them in garages, barns and sheds. Sometimes they would make their way into the houses through an open door or window and curl up in the base of a flowerpot or shoebox.”

“Nice.” Talia studied the snake lying across the bed. “Looks like a spitting cobra. Big Jake’s lucky the snake didn’t spit in his eye—its spit can blind a person.”

“Don’t tell T-Mac. He’ll have one more reason to be afraid of snakes, as if being bitten isn’t enough.”

Talia chuckled. “It’s hard to imagine any of you SEALS afraid of anything.”

“As a kid, T-Mac was traumatized by a snake. I think his mother made him hold one once. He’s been terrified ever since.”

“But you must have been in places with snakes before.”

Harm continued his search of the room, dropping to his knees to check under the bed. He was careful, now that he was aware that cobras could spit. “Being a SEAL challenges every one of your fears, but thankfully, they don’t stick you in a pit filled with snakes. I don’t think the cadre liked snakes any more than anyone else, or they would have used them, too.”

The space beneath the bed was free of snakes and surprisingly clean of dust.

“Do you keep all the cabins this clean?” Harm asked.

Talia laughed. “I’m worried about snakes and you’re looking at how clean this place is?”

“I’ve been in hotels that don’t clean as well as this. I don’t see a single dust bunny, even in the corners.”

“My staff keeps the entire compound clean. We pride ourselves in making it a beautiful place to stay for all visitors, not including deadly cobras.” Talia opened the closet and checked inside.

Harm slipped up beside her, ready to shoot anything that moved. “Well, they’ll have their work cut out for them, cleaning up snake parts.”

“I’ll probably handle it myself. I’ve had a hard enough time convincing them to stay after the paintings on the cabin doors. I had to scrub them off myself.”

Harm could picture her cleaning the paint off the doors. “We’ll help you get this place cleaned up.”

“No way.” She shook her head. “You are guests of mine. I won’t have you doing the dirty work.”

“We’re kind of used to dirty work. It’s what we do.” He nodded toward the pillows. “If you don’t mind sacrificing a pillowcase to the cause, I’ll start by removing the offender from the premises.”

“By all means.” She shook a pillow out of its case and held it out for Harm.

He lifted the snake off the bed, dropped it into the case and then took it from her.

“Be careful you don’t let the fangs touch you,” she said. “They still contain poison.”

Holding the bag away from his body, Harm checked all the closets, drawers and corners and then straightened. “I can take care of the cobra, just tell me where you want me to put him.”

Talia shook her head and held out her hand. “I’ll take him and put him in the freezer.”

He kept his hold on the bag. “Please tell me you aren’t cooking up cobra for dinner.”

She laughed. “No, but I know they need antivenin. They might be able to milk a dead snake for its venom, which they use to make antivenin.”

“You’re a woman after my own heart.” Harm followed her out of the cabin, careful not to touch her with the snake in the pillowcase. “Beautiful and practical.” If he was in the market for a wife, she’d be an amazing catch. But then, he wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Especially with a woman who had so completely believed in love.

Harm believed in lust, the natural, chemical reaction between a man and a woman. But love?

No. Absolutely not.

Oh, sure. Once upon a time he thought he had, but one Dear John letter cured him of that fallacy very quickly.