Chapter Twelve

It was around noon when Marianne left the office to step into the heat of day. The cool air-conditioned air of the building replaced with the sticky, tropical heat of the day bore down on Marianne's shoulder, almost instantly forming a trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades. Shielding her eyes, she moved to the railing, to see a brand-new Chevy pickup slowly backing towards the supply shed. She saw Silas and Briggs checking a clipboard, a man in uniform standing beside them and pointing to the paper with a pen, his back drenched in sweat. His uniform read "Masrani Global", drenched thoroughly with sweat all down his back. Owen, she assumed, was preparing lunch for the animals, which were down in the observation area again.

The raptors. Marianne couldn't shake them from her mind. After spending two years with Alan being obsessed with their very history, she'd grown to adore the thought of Velociraptors, much less the actual animal itself. Putting a hand on the steamy railing, she began taking the stairs down quickly, until her boots hit the earth in a cloud of dust. She walked casually around the corner to the observation area, where she found Barry, stroking the reptile-like skin of the animal whom Marianne remembered somewhat as Delta. She came up to the fence and instantly the animals bristled, snorting loudly and making hissing noises. Barry came around and smiled at her.

"Hi Barry," she said with a smile, eyes ever locked on the animals. Barry dropped his hand from Delta and approached her. Draping his fingers through the fence, he leaned against it, looking down at her gently. She understood this man, from what she could decipher, to be a gentle intellect, with experience and passion. But, Marianne couldn't shake the caution and concern in his eyes.

"Afternoon," he gave her a light grin, "What brings you down here?"

She shrugged, "Nothing. I heard Owen was doing a lunch thing and the girls were in containment so I decided to drop by." She scratched the back of her neck nervously-she'd just been down here this morning during skin check, but she couldn't help it. Her insides burned for a chance to study these animals, to see if they were all Alan had promised-if not more, now that they somewhat were capable of human interaction. Barry, not sensing her embarrassment and childlike curiosity, shifted his feet.

"Owen went into the resort to get Sophie," he retorted, "They're going swimming." He said this as if he regretted it, or as if it were a common occurrence. She suddenly felt like a moron for asking. Her brows rose in surprise. "Swimming?"

He nodded, then tossed his hands into the air. 'Don't ask me. You going to lunch?" He asked her, taking a few steps back from the fence, only to turn around slowly to face Charlie, who was directly in front of where Marianne was standing, in her containment unit. Her frantic and piercing eyes didn't leave Marianne, her mouth partially open, hissing and on the verge of what Marianne hoped wasn't a scream. She nodded to answer Barry's question.

More like going to kill myself in suicide runs, she told herself, "Yeah. I'll be gone about an hour. Owen has some papers that need his signature before going into the lab, so if he gets back before me, can you have him sign them?" She fished her ID and then her keys out of her pocket, circling them around her finger. Her legs wobbled slightly at the thought of more runs, but she knew she had to do them. In this heat it would be miserable, but manageable. She'd just have to tough it out.

Barry nodded, grinning at her and giving her a playful salute. "Will do. Have a good lunch."

Her stomach rumbled at the thought, "Yep. You too."

He laughed, "Ha. Don't I wish. See ya later."

Barry then returned to his work, Marianne coming around to walk briskly towards her car. Sliding into the driver's seat, she headed towards the spot where she'd marked the tree, and parked her car slightly in the downed grass of the ditch, where she assumed she'd parked yesterday. Quickly changing, she laced her shoes tight and stretched out her arms and legs, puffing out a breathe. Then, exhaling a puff, she bolted towards the marked tree, sweat already forming on her brow.

. . .

"You didn't ask her?"

After their conversation that morning during med rounds, Owen Grady got the feeling that Marianne hadn't been all too impressed with his demeanor, much less his opinion. The disgruntled look on his niece's face told him he'd been right from the get-go: this young lady was

trying, and failing, to hook him up with his new field assistant. He rolled his eyes and gave a firm nod, then reached an arm out to part a fern from their path within the jungle foliage.

'No, I didn't. I was busy." Liar.

He didn't want to tell her they hadn't exactly hit it off, from what he could tell. He liked to think of himself as cavalier with the ladies, but he could tell Marianne wasn't having any of his stunts, nor his charm. Which was fine, since she wasn't exactly his type. He wasn't looking anyway, at least not right now-especially after Claire's stunt the night before. Sophie scrambled over a fallen log to catch up to him, and he slowed his stride.

"Don't lie," she said condescendingly, "You didn't ask her because you don't like her that much."

"Sophie. It's not that I don't-"

"-she's not pretty enough for you, is she?"

The statement hit him smack dab between the eyes, causing the raptor specialist to pull up suddenly. His eyes locked on his niece, who was stepping ahead of him around foliage and vines and leaves, not a care in the world. She didn't seem to notice she'd just wounded his pride, much less offended his character. Then again, she was eight years old. She probably didn't realize a lot of things.

"Soph!" He hurried after her, disgruntled and less than satisfied with her ending statement, "Why would you say something like that?" He stepped over a tall log, then swung around to lift her over it. Mosquitoes buzzed around their ears, as did flies and other bugs. He was hoping they were coming to the earthy-pool soon, and that he hadn't missed it. It'd been awhile since he'd been to the mineral water pool-not since he'd taken Claire-so he was wondering if he'd missed it. Sophie didn't answer him. "Sophie." He reached for her arm.

She bucked forward, tripping over a log, but he lunged for her arm and wrapped a strong, rough hand around it. The girl stabilized, and she looked up to him. "She just doesn't seem like the type of girl you'd date." "Says who?" He quirked his brow, mustache slick with sweat. Actually, he was sweating all over, and he didn't remember it being that incredibly hot.

"Mom," she chirped.

In that moment, he deflated, shoulders shrugging forward. She continued walking, and changed the subject. "You sure you know where you're going?"
Owen didn't answer her.

Leave it to his sister to tell his niece about his type! It wasn't like she'd married a gem; a divorce lawyer of all men to choose from, who'd divorced her less than ten years into their marriage. But, his sister did know him pretty well-she'd called most of his dates out before he'd even taken them out the door to his Mustang. Come to think of it, his sister knew him pretty well: she'd known he'd love the navy, graduate on a C average, and end up alone at the age of thirty because he'd been "too good to settle down".

Well, at thirty-two, he was still single.

Not that the idea of marriage appalled him. Swerving slightly to the left and signaling Sophie to do so, he saw the stream up a head that he recognized. He didn't remember marking a tree with a tie, but maybe Claire had.

It was just that he'd never found a stable enough woman to settle down with. They either wanted to move far too fast for his blood or go so slow he'd die of old age. Yes; Owen wanted a stable, smart, steady woman with her head screwed on straight who was loyal and humble, but with fire and a passion for life. He liked women who got their hands dirty and who challenged him, who made him think about jumping the gun but be curious and weary enough to think twice about it; who would let her hair down at nights and not care what it looked like A girl who would work on his bike with him and not care about the oil and grease. Who wouldn't think twice about counting stars for a night out instead of living it up at a party. Who wouldn't be afraid to tell him anything.

Who would drink tequila with salt and a lemon and not think twice. Owen suddenly realized the kind of woman he was looking for was one in two million. No, make it five million.

The though made his heart pound and agonize. He'd never find her stuck on this island. Not that he cared, being on this island-it was paradise. He had a dream job in a dream location. He got paid way more than he needed, and worked with great guys. He didn't really need anything else in his life. The women on this island were either control Jezebel's or egotistical doctor's, or technology buffs. Not anything he was overly interested in.

He pulled up short when he saw the pool, canopied under jungle fronds and treetops. Animals didn't come to this pool since it was mineral water, and bugs didn't hang around too much. Sophie, overly excited, quickly slipped off her sneakers and tied her hair up into a crooked ponytail, then didn't hesitate to head for the shoreline. She barreled into the water as if she'd never seen water before in her life. Her bubbling laughter was youthful and innocent, and it brought back floods of memories from his childhood with his sister. He didn't waste time: he hobbled out of his boots, shrugged out of his vest, and tossed his knife holster ontop the pile of clothes accumulated in the foliage of the jungle floor. He untucked his shirt, messed his hair, and grinned at his niece, who was treading water extremely well. Something in his heart sank. He hadn't taught her how to swim.

Quickly shoving it aside, he gave her a fiercely playful look and crouched low on his haunches, as if he were an Olympic runner prepping for the gunshot. "Ok, you ready? It's gunna be a huge splash!" She nodded furiously, wet curls hanging and dripping in her face. She scooted back a few feet in the water and waited for him.

"Go, go!" She screeched loudly, her eyes sparkling.

He took off, pushed himself off the ground and went soaring for the water. This was perhaps the best date he'd ever had.

. . .

She couldn't do any more runs.

Falling against the driver's side door, dripping sweat, Marianne struggled to catch her breath. Her lungs, racked with exhaustion, quivered for air in her chest, her heart shaking as if it were plagued with an earthquake. Her knees throbbed, and the stitch in her side had returned with a vengeance. She looked down at herself, laid a hand over her stomach, and closed her eyes as her head dropped to the car.

Sitting in silence was like blissful peace. She listened to the sound of the jungle as nature around her took its course, as if laughing at her for her efforts. She cursed her genes and her lack of stamina, and took in the sounds of birds squawking in the trees. A howler monkey screeched somewhere in the distance. Inhaling a breathe, she smelled rain and jungle. She heard the flapping of wings, rustling of leaves against the breeze, and-

-laughter. Human laughter.

Wrinkling her brow, Marianne straightened. She looked down the ditch for any signs of human life, but found only the stillness which surrounded her. The hot air was thick and the sun shining greatly, but she was far too concerned with what she'd heard to care. Stepping into the

tall grass of the ditch, she made her way to the edge of the jungle and peered inside, leaning forward. Was she going insane?

It was highly possible. She felt dehydrated, as well as exhausted, so she wasn't leaving anything in the impossible category. Again, Marianne heard the laughter bubbling from within the branches and leaves, among the trees and bushes and darkness of the jungle. Her curiosity piqued, she wondered if she should go in there and investigate.

Could it be possible for jungle mirages? Like the one's in deserts?

Furrowing her brow, she huffed and put her hands on her hips, the laughter continually floating on the wind like a taunting, tempting delicacy. There were two sets, she realized, one sounding like male laughter and the other female, from what she could decipher. They couldn't be far into the jungle, because she heard them. Shaking her head, she trekked back up to the Camaro and reached inside for her cell. No messages, she still had twenty minutes left of break. Biting her lower lip, sweat pasting her curls to her face, she shrugged a shoulder and stuffed the phone into the pockets of her workout shorts. Stretching her neck, she grabbed the Beretta holster, checked the magazine, and then slung the KA-BAR strap over her shoulder lazily.

Ten minutes. If she didn't find anything in ten minutes, she'd make her way back and head back to the paddock.

Reaching the edge of the jungle, she passed the border, and cast a look back to the Camaro. It would be fine, she told herself-who was going to steal it? Stepping over a front and feeling the dewy leaf slide against her thigh, she entered the heated mugginess of the canopy.

The laughter was coming from the east, so she headed in that direction. Marianne moved quickly, but quietly, Beretta poised. She didn't want to encounter anything on this island she couldn't outwit or outgun, suddenly reminding herself the dinosaurs were all contained, and realizing it was her second day and she hadn't even seen any of them besides the raptor's. Rolling her eyes at herself, her running shoe sloshed in a dirty puddle on the floor, soaking her soak and the inside of her shoe. Ignoring it, she moved forward, dodging vines and moving ferns with her arms. The insects were amazing in here-when she wasn't focusing on her surroundings she was batting away bugs the size of houses.

Marianne walked for what she assumed was a half mile, until she stopped and saw a small clearing across a creek. Wrinkling her brow, she wondered if it were inhabited by monkeys, because she was focused on swinging vine, vacant, but in motion. She tipped her head to the side and moved towards it, tightening her grip on the Beretta. Her heart hammered with a mixture of uncertainty and excitement, blood pulsating through her ears like a generator fueling her on. Adrenaline had all but taken over, and Marianne stepped into the creek, the cool water soothing her ankles and the small cuts on her legs from the foliage.

Her blood felt three feet thick, her skin dotted with a sparkling sheet of perspiration. Sun tried to fight the canopy of tree leaves above her, but lost, and she suddenly missed its bright shine on her skin. Mosquitoes attacked her arms as if it were a war zone. She swatted them away as she came closer to the slowing vine. She froze when the laughter, so clear now, was only a few feet to her left.

Bursting in surprise, she hurried towards a patch of ferns and lowered herself into them, hoping there wasn't any wildlife around. It hadn't occurred to her these people may want left alone or were runaways, or other dangerous people. Her breathing shallowed and she moved aside the ferns with the barrel of the gun, inching forward on her haunches. Her legs burned and Marianne thought her clothes were going to melt off of her body. She wondered if by chance she could call Owen and ask him if this was a common thing.

She fished the phone from her pocket, unlocked it, and sent a quick text. She sent it, putting the phone back in her pocket. She couldn't see anything amidst the ferns and trees, only a dotting of teal-colored water. She'd only seen that type of pool once or twice, and she recognized the smell as mineral water. She swallowed, a trail burning down her throat.

Then, she heard a ding. It was a cell phone notification, and it was close.

Looking down as if it were in front of her, she froze. Marianne saw the illuminated screen of an iPhone. Her stomach flopped like a dead fish. More giggles, then male laughter, and then a male voice. Her entire body went still, and she closed her eyes, realizing her error. The splashes of water made it hard to decipher voices and what they were saying, but it was mixed in with laughter and an overall sign of people having fun. Marianne suddenly got the sinking feeling she'd been spying on someone she shouldn't have, and she lowered farther into the fronds if it were possible.

Oh God, she said, looking towards the canopy overhead, Please, please, please don't let this be Owen and a woman... Her fears were confirmed when she heard a splashing of water, and then drips falling to the floor. Her heart exploded and seized in her chest, and her legs wobbled out of concern.

"Hold on, Soph. Let me check this quick."

Oh no. That smooth voice that reminded her of bourbon. Marianne would've swallowed thickly, but her throat seized up and closed, mouth drying as if she'd spent a week in the Badlands without water. Sure enough, Owen Grady stopped before her patch of ferns and stooped to dry his dripping hands on his vest. She watched his hands, finding herself attracted to them, wondering what their touch would be like, when suddenly he reached for the hem of his sopping shirt and began pulling it over his head.

Her breath hitched. He stopped mid-pull.

Closing her eyes, she cursed. Which surprised her. She never cursed.

Then, Owen stood to his full height and sure enough, he was staring at her. She looked up over her glasses at him, her sure her face was now as pale as a ghost or a glass of milk. All the courage she'd mustered up for this event evaporated, and she noticed he was smiling at her with a cocky, smirky half-smile. She gave him a weak lift of the corner of her lips, and he parted the fronts. She suddenly felt exposed in her exercise clothes, but she couldn't really do anything about it now, could she?

You stupid, stupid girl! Why did he have to look like that? "Well hello Marianne."

She lifted her brows as if she were surprised to see him, and he extended a hand to help her up. She took it, and he pulled her effortlessly to her feet. She brushed off her legs, Beretta still at hand, and she felt his hot stare on her weapon. She looked to it and then to him, nervousness taking hold of her confidence. She felt like a kid again, caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He gestured to it, "Were you gunna shoot me or something?"

"I heard voices," she countered quickly, not appreciating his stare. Marianne moved by him, then surveyed the area. The clearing was indeed a mineral pool, with downed foliage and rocks positioned around as if it were a pool area instead of a jungle. She instantly recognized Sophie scrambling out of the water, dripping wet with a huge grin, and she smiled at the little girl as she hurried up to her, wet and smelling terrifically of jungle, minerals, and...peaches.

"Marianne!" the girl exclaimed, "You came!"

Marianne put on a fake, slightly confused face, "I did?" she glanced at Owen, moving the gun behind her back with a hand and crouching to see the girl. He nodded quickly, hardly noticeable, as if to signal her to answer more confidently, "I mean, of course I came. What're you up to?"

"We were having a breath-holding contest!" Sophie giggled, water gathering in a puddle at her feet. She pointed to the water, "I was winning. I had thirty seconds!"
Marianne looked up at Owen, who was wringing out the hem of his shirt. She couldn't help but notice the wet material clinging to his firm, rippling muscle. It made her mouth dry like cotton. She looked back to the little girl. "That's great."

"How long can you hold your breath?" Her question hung like a wet towel in the air. Marianne got the sense that Owen wasn't comfortable with her presence, but then again, she didn't really care what he thought. She stood, shrugged, and moved towards the pile of clothes and took off her socks, then stooping to nestle the gun and knife-sling under Owen's vest. She guessed Sophie was used of knives since Owen carried one of his own.

"I'm not sure," She stuffed her sweaty socks into her shoes, "But I could beat my brother when I was a teenager." She smiled at Owen, who gave her a goofy grin, and she approached the water-side with Sophie, who was staring at it as if it were a pot of gold instead of a pool of water. Marianne then nudged the girl's arm, realizing how much she liked this kid already. "I bet I can beat you," She then looked over at Owen, "and your Uncle."

Sophie giggled and shook her head, beadlets of water slapping Marianne in the face and soothing the redness of her embarrassment, as well as the heat of her skin. "Nu uh. Uncle Owen was in the Navy. They have to be good at swimming, you know."

Marianne's brows rose. A Navy man? Figures. He looked the part. Could the attraction get any greater? "The Navy, huh? Well." She turned on her bare heels, then sauntered towards him and thrust a finger into his chest. He stared down at it for a moment and then drew his attention to her, and she plastered a smug look on her face. Narrowing her eyes at him, she couldn't help but giggle. "Then I dare you to beat me in a breath-holding challenge." Sophie inhaled sharply, excitedly, at this behind them. "You have no choice, being in the Navy and all."

He snorted. "Bad idea," he shook his head and put his arms up in surrender, "I'm afraid my skill is a bit advanced in that particular challenge. There's no match. I'm too amazing." By his tone, she could tell he was only kidding, but the flash in his eye told her he was up to challenge her, he wanted it. It startled her the playfulness in his voice, but she found she liked it when he raised his brows and smiled at her, thrusting a finger into her chest back, "I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings or anything, Marianne."

She gave him a look, and cocked her hip, placing her hand on it to give him an equally intimidating, and unafraid, look. With the other, Marianne pushed aside his finger, "Well, we'll see about that," she turned on her heel and moved past Sophie. Glancing over her shoulder, she winked at him, "After all, I'm full of surprises, remember?"

Then, she dived into the water, hoping to soothe the redness blossoming on her face.