[Atlantean's Quest 01] The Arrival by Jordan Summers Read Free Book Online Page B

at the stream? Had she issued an unspoken invitation when she’d put on the erotic show? It had seemed so harmless at the time.
    She shook her head in denial. Surely not. The jungle was already making her crazy. Making her see and do things she wouldn’t normally do in her everyday life. Or at least making her think she had done them. Rachel rubbed her forehead.
    Was it possible to get jungle fever in a day? Rachel didn’t think so, and besides jungle fever didn’t explain her missing underwear.
    The smell of coffee brewing and bacon cooking permeated her senses, bringing her back from her reverie. Her stomach growled. There wasn’t much she could do about the dream man at this point. If he was real, he was probably long gone by now. She hoped.
    Rachel walked to the table where breakfast had been laid out. She grabbed a slice of bacon and popped it into her mouth, eating it while she took in the rest of the offerings.
    She spied a corn muffin, reached for it and took a big bite. It crumpled in her mouth, the sweet taste blending deliciously with the saltiness of the bacon. She found a mug and poured herself a cup of the black java and took a sip, testing the temperature. The bitter liquid washed the muffin down.
    “Ah, Starbucks eat your heart out.” She laughed at her own joke. It was amazing how being out in the middle of nowhere changed your perception of what tasted good.
    And changed your perception of reality.
    Professor Donald exited a tent with his khakis on. A young native man peered out through the flaps behind him, shoulders slumped, a hollow look upon his face. The Professor shoved some money into the man’s outstretched hand, his lip curled into a sneer. The native raced from the tent and straight into the jungle without looking back.
    Rachel glared at the ”talking walrus” and shook her head in disgust. The man was a parasite. The Professor just smiled, spreading his arms wide and patting his stomach as if nothing was amiss.
    She took her coffee and walked to the fire. Already the jungle’s temperature spiked near eighty and it wasn’t even six yet. Rachel sipped her coffee, watching the rest of the camp come to life.
    Men started moving belongings to the center circle and taking down the tents. Equipment was packed in heavy-duty crates and loaded, some into the plane and others onto strong native backs. Their busy movements reminded Rachel of an ant farm, coordinated, precise, and organized.
    “You have time to go down to the stream if you want, Dr. Evans,” Dr. Donald called out.
    Rachel shuddered.
    She didn’t know if she wanted to go back to the stream after what had occurred last night. It would be like returning to the scene of the crime, a painful reminder of her one wild hair that had gotten out of hand. A picture of her gun flashed in her mind.
    On second thought …
    She finished her coffee and headed in the direction of the stream. In the daylight the trail was much easier to traverse. Soft vegetation and century old trees all wrapped around each other trying to choke the life from one another in a fight for survival. She reached the water’s edge and looked around—the pistol was nowhere to be found.
    Rachel skirted the rim of the trees, pushing aside plants and shrubs, but still no gun. She was about to turn and head back up the trail when something caught her attention.
    She crouched and moved the lush grass aside. In the mud, as plain as day, was a smudged footprint. A very large, oversized man’s bare footprint. She stood and placed her own booted foot inside the impression.
    The print dwarfed her foot by at least eight inches.
    Chills rolled down her spine and up her arms, leaving goosebumps. She felt blood drain from her face as she gazed at the deceptively peaceful looking jungle. The giant shadowy figure from last night flashed through her mind.
    She glanced down at the print. Someone — or something— is out there…
    And now it has a gun.
    Rachel returned to the camp,