Tom reached out toward her. With intense curiosity he touched the tears on her cheeks. He examined them — moist on his fingers. He sensed something was wrong. He wanted to help. But he did not know how…
With tear-bright eyes Randi gazed at the man crouched before her. Her hair unkempt, her face and neck streaked with sweat and dirt, her clothing torn, she looked wholly beautiful, soft with love and tenderness.
Gently she reached out and caressed him, letting her fingers glide silkenly over his parched lips and stubbly cheeks — exploring his face as if truly discovering it for the first time…
Tom sat still, letting the feeling of supple well-being, of growing excitement and want, swell in him. He responded in kind. With his hands he awkwardly stroked the face the neck, the shoulders of the woman before him.
And once again he reached out and took her, pressed her to him, burying his face in her hair.
For an instant Randi grew rigid in his crushing embrace. She clamped her teeth together and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
But Tom was not the controlled, considerate, civilized man. He was only — male. And he would not be denied. He strained against her.
Randi opened her eyes wide. Her feelings of guilt, injustice, of recrimination and frustration melted away. Reawakened emotions quickened within her and she found herself responding to Tom's absolute desire. She found herself wanting him as urgently as he wanted her.
Gently she pushed him away. Instinctively sensing that she did not rebuff him, he did not resist. With infinite tenderness she cupped his face in her hands and pulled it close to hers. She kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. Softly she disengaged herself and loosened the knots holding together her torn shirt. She let it slip down her shoulders, down her arms. She reached out and opened his flying suit, exposing his chest. With tender, sensuous hands she caressed him, entwining the tufted hair in her fingers.
Excited, aroused, Tom let all the new and impassioning sensations possess him. His hands eagerly moved on Randi's body, enraptured by the softness of her.
Again she pulled away. She opened the fastener on her own pants, and she slid Tom's suit down his eager body.
And presently they stood, silent, naked to each other among the stark ruin.
Urgently he reached for her — and they came together, sinking down on the discarded clothing on the ground.
His grip on her yielding body tightened with the ferocity of animal want. The smell of her fired him; he pressed his open mouth to her salty skin and thrust his body against hers.
Randi cried out in a soft, involuntary moan — a woman taken by, and giving herself to, a male who was — and was not — her husband.
They clung to each other. They moved with each other, sharing and fulfilling the need that was all-consuming in them, straining to be consummated in a union at once savage and raw, tender and loving.
The dulling shroud of doubts and guilts was ripped from her — and her clarion scream of release rang out and echoed among the brooding night ruins as if reluctant to die away…
They rested. Lying close in their retreat among the broken stones of long ago, languid arms and legs entwined, their bodies glistening with the sheen of afterlove.
Randi turned her eyes from her husband and gazed up into the starry night sky.
Her face was a study in love and loveliness. The serene, unequaled beauty of a woman fulfilled…
4
It was late when Colonel Jonathan Howell brought his car to a halt outside the Death Valley Ranger Headquarters, but the light was still on in Chief Ranger Stark's office. He had expected it. He strode toward the building. He was arriving unannounced — but he just couldn't sit on his ass back at Edwards while Paul and his men were running theirs ragged in the desert. He'd finished his work at the Base and driven up by himself. He'd made it in under three hours.
The door to Stark's office was open and Howell paused in the doorway before entering. At the big wall map, their backs to the door, stood Paul, Ward and the Chief Ranger.
“If we don't get them tomorrow,” Ward was saying, his voice tired and discouraged, “I don't see how they can survive.” He looked up at the map. “It's been a hundred and twenty degrees out there.”
Paul turned to Stark. “Chuck, can we reach the radio stations that serve this area?” he asked. He sounded determined, angry.
Stark nodded. “By phone.”
“At this hour?”
Again Stark nodded. “Most of them have late shows.”
“OK.” There was a stubborn finality in Paul's voice. “We'll request that tomorrow they broadcast an alert. Throughout the day.” Ward looked startled. “On my responsibility!” Paul said firmly.” And to hell with — routine! I want every camper, every hiker, every damned tourist looking for them!”
“Good evening, gentlemen!”
At the sound of Howell's arctic voice, the three men whirled on the door. Paul glared at the officer with concealed animosity. “Colonel Howell,” he said tightly. “We didn't expect you up here.”
Howell looked coldly at the junior officer. “I hope my presence won't cramp your style, Captain.”
He walked over to join the men at the map.
“We're planning tomorrow's search procedure,” Paul said stiffly.
“So I heard.” Howell confronted him angrily. “Didn't I tell you to keep Darby's condition confidential until I changed your orders?”
Paul looked stonily at his superior. He was obviously tired, under tremendous stress, and controlled himself only with difficulty. Dammit! Tom's life was at stake. And Randi's. And he had to wear a blasted blindfold looking for them! He made no reply.
“Well?” Howell snapped.
“Yes, sir.” Paul's voice grated in the room.
“Is that all you have to say?”
Paul felt the hot anger rising in him threatening to break down his control. “No, sir, it is not. But I'm somewhat under a handicap, facing a — a superior officer!”
Howell turned red. He snapped his head toward Ward. “That's all, Major,” he said with exaggerated calm. He turned to Stark. “May I have the use of your office, Stark?” he asked.
“Of course.”
The Chief Ranger and Ward left the room, closing the door behind them. Howell turned to face Paul squarely. For a moment the two men stood glaring at each other like fighting cocks getting ready for combat. When Howell spoke, his voice was glacial and ominously low.
“You may speak off the record,” he said, “if you have anything to say.”
Paul felt all the pent-up frustration well up in him. He could contain himself no longer. With his neck stuck out this far already, what the hell did another inch matter?
“I do,” he said heatedly. “This entire operation has been hamstrung from the start. Mismanaged. By you! And — dammit! — I want to know why.”
“I don't ever have to give you any reasons for my actions,”
Howell said coldly. “But I did. You know damned well why it's been necessary to—”
“Sure,” Paul interrupted bitterly. “For Tom's own good. Let him kill himself out there. For his own damned good!”
“Captain!”
But there was no stopping him. “And Randi, too,” he plowed on. “That ought to satisfy everybody.”
Howell obviously had great trouble keeping his temper. “So you want to make this thing into a circus. A Goddamned radio show!”
“Oh, hell! That's not where it's at and you damned well know it. We need help. And they can give it to us.”