Up Close and Dangerous by Linda Howard

bolts through his brain, but by carefully cutting his eyes to the left he could keep her within his field of vision. She was picking up something and looking at it, but he couldn’t tell what the something was.
    “This kind of half-worked,” she said, coming back to his side and squatting down. In her hand was a zipped clear plastic bag, in the bottom of which was what looked like slush. “I tried to melt some snow for us to drink by leaving the bag on a rock. It’s definitely mushy and runny, so I guess with more time in the sun we’d have real water, but this will have to do for now because you need some fluids in you.” She looked around. “You wouldn’t have a drinking straw handy, would you? Or a spoon?”
    He was a little amused by the question. “Afraid not.”
    He watched her brow furrow and her lips purse as she looked around, as if she could conjure up either item with sheer force of will. Now that he was aware of her ingenuity, he could almost hear the wheels turning as she searched for a solution to the dilemma of the moment. Then her brow cleared and she said “Ah ha!” in a tone of satisfaction.
    “Ah ha, what?” he asked, his curiosity tickled, as she straightened and stepped out of his sight.
    “You have a can of spray deodorant. I know because I went through all your stuff.”
    “And?” He didn’t care that she’d gone through his bag; under the circumstances,
not
going through his stuff would have been stupid—and stupid was one thing she definitely wasn’t. She’d needed to know what resources she had at hand.
    “And that can has a cap on it.”
    Ah ha, indeed. The spray can cap was essentially the same as the cap on a thermos bottle, just smaller. He should have made the connection himself.
    He heard the familiar sound of a plastic cap being removed from a spray can. “The taste might be a little weird,” she said. “I’ll wash the cap out with snow, that should help some in case you’ve hit the nozzle and sprayed some deodorant on the inside of the cap. Is there anything in deodorant that wouldn’t be good to have in your water?”
    “Probably everything,” he said casually. “Did you bring any hair spray?” Hair spray was probably less toxic than deodorant. Deodorant had some sort of aluminum in its chemical makeup, didn’t it? He didn’t know what was normally in hair spray, other than alcohol, but alcohol had to be better than aluminum.
    “Nope,” she said from behind him. She sounded a little absent, as if she was concentrating on something other than conversation. “I was going rafting, remember? What would be the point of hair spray? Hmm. I guess I could rig up a funnel and pour this into the mouthwash bottle, if you don’t want to take a chance with the deodorant cap.”
    “Just wipe it out with snow; it should be okay.” Now that she’d mentioned water, he was abruptly aware of how thirsty he was, and he didn’t want to wait while she searched for something she could fold into a funnel. He’d take his chances with deodorant residue.
    “Okay, then.”
    He listened to her crunch around for a minute, then he heard the crisp rustle of plastic. A few seconds later she squatted beside him, the blue cap in her left hand.
    “Don’t try to sit up,” she instructed. “If you pass out and fall over, you might make me drop the water.” As she spoke she eased her right arm under his neck, the position cradling the side of his face against her breasts. He could feel the firm resilience, smell the warm, faintly sweet scent of a woman’s skin, and the sudden urge to turn his head and bury his face against her was so fierce that only a sudden stab of pain deflected him.
    “Be careful,” she murmured, holding the cup to his lips. “It’s just a couple of swallows, so try not to spill even a drop.”
    As soon as he took a sip she moved the cup away. The partially melted snow had a sharp mineral taste, mingled with that of plastic, and was so cold that it almost