Luchetti shot her a glare, and she opened her mouth to ask what she’d done that was so terrible. Then she remembered.
She was supposed to be dead.
Captain Luchetti entered the lush, overgrown vegetation and seemed to disappear. Jane blinked, tilted her head, squinted. Had she dreamed the entire incident? She’d give a year’s salary—not much, but all she had—if she could wake up on her own pillow, minus two bullet holes, with the sun shining in her face and one of the villagers calling her name.
Logically Jane realized she was in shock, with a roaring case of denial. Even so, she stared at the place where Luchetti had gone until his hand reached out and yanked her in after him.
“What are you doing?” he growled.
The jungle closed around her—the buzz of the insects, the trill of the birds, the smell of wet foliage turning to rot. The air was heavy with heat and the night. She tried to see his face, but she couldn’t.
Panic threatened, and Jane took a single step back. Who was this man really? He’d said he was Special Forces, but maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he meant to take her into the wilderness and dump her where no one would ever find her.
Luchetti still held Jane’s arm, and when she inched farther away, his grip tightened. “We don’t have much time, Doctor. I’d prefer not to leave a trail of dead people, but I will if I have to.”
“Wh-what?” Her voice shook and she cursed the weakness.
She was an adult, a respected member of the medical community and the daughter of a senator. She would not be afraid. Or at least she wouldn’t show it.
His sigh dripped with impatience. “If they come after you, I’ll kill them.”
Plain. Simple. To the point. She didn’t have to see his face or look into his eyes to know he was telling the truth.
This man might be more dangerous than the ones he was protecting her from. Captain Luchetti could break her neck with his hands. Shoot first and ask questions later. Mow down the village, bury the bodies and have the government cover for him. It had happened before.
“D-do you have any identification?”
His answer was a snort.
“You say you’re Special Forces, but how do I know that for certain?”
“You don’t. Come with me or take your chances with the drug-dealing scum.”
Under any other circumstances Jane would have laughed at his words. He sounded like a commando in a low-budget war flick.
Jane frowned and glanced uneasily around the jungle. Could she be a victim of a new reality show? Punked in Mexico. Survivor: the Rescue. American Kidnapping.
Her denial was moving rapidly toward paranoia.
“If I have to, I’ll carry you out of here,” Luchetti murmured. “But it’ll be a lot easier on both of us if I don’t have to.”
“Why didn’t you bring a helicopter?”
As they whispered back and forth he shoved at the ground cover with his boot. “I might not be a doctor, Doctor, but I have rescued a hostage or two.”
“I wasn’t a hostage.”
“I didn’t know that.” Leaning over, he moved aside the thick fronds with his hands. “The quickest way to get someone killed is to hover a helo over the area. Psycho murderers tend to get trigger-happy with all that noise and light.”
He probably had a point.
Suddenly he cursed and dropped to his knees, digging through the foliage.
“What’s the matter?” Jane asked.
“My stuff is gone.”
“When you say ‘stuff,’ you mean—”
“Satellite phone, night-vision goggles, various demolition items.” He sat back on his heels.
“Did they get your decoder ring and your bat utility belt, too?”
She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his scowl. “Don’t be a wise guy. I need those things.”
“Hold on,” Jane said. “What happened to ‘no contact until we reached the air field’?”
“There isn’t.”
“Yet you had a satellite phone?”
“In case of emergency.” He stood and took hold of her arm again. “Like now.”
“What emergency?”
Luchetti leaned in close. His breath brushed her forehead; his heat swept over her skin and Jane shivered. What was it about this man that both attracted and repelled her?
“Someone either knows I’m here or—”
He broke off and lifted his gaze to the sky.
“Or?” she prompted.
“Or they will know as soon as they get a peek at the prime American gear they just stole.”
“Nice job, Rambo.”
“Yeah.” With a sigh of disgust, he lowered his head. “I thought you’d like that.”
THEY WERE BEING FOLLOWED.
Bobby cursed the loss of his equipment. He could really use a few of those items right now.
He couldn’t figure out how everything could have disappeared so fast unless someone had been following him. And if they’d been following him, why not shoot him instead of just stealing his toys? There were more mysteries to this mission than answers.
At least he had his Browning .45 and the sniper rifle designed especially for Delta. Gun manufacturers just loved to create weapons for America’s elite force, even if they couldn’t advertise that they’d done so. Nevertheless, most Delta operators stuck with the tried-and-true Browning instead of newer and fancier models.
Glancing over his shoulder, Bobby saw nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever was following them was good, but Bobby was better.
Even though he’d come to Mexico in a hurry, he’d come prepared. During the plane ride he’d pored over maps, plotted his strategy and their escape. He knew this area as well as it was possible for him to know it on paper. Though he mourned the lack of proper reconnaissance, Bobby had learned in fifteen years of army living that he couldn’t have everything.
He should count himself lucky to have a map, water, food and Dr. Harker, alive.
Still, what he wouldn’t give to have one of the army’s elite Night Stalker pilots on alert. The 160th SOAR was responsible for chauffeuring Delta into some of the most dangerous areas in the world. Quintana Roo would be easy. Sadly, sending Bobby was all that had been warranted for this mission. He’d have to do without the superior air support.
He glanced at the doctor. “You doin’ okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was clipped, annoyed. He couldn’t blame her. He’d be mighty pissed off if someone tried to shoot him in his sleep.
Not that it hadn’t happened. More times than he cared to count. But the people who tried to kill Bobby did so because if they didn’t, he’d kill them first. He had no idea what her bodyguard’s excuse was.
Bobby kept walking, shoving his way through the dense underbrush. A quick glance at his compass revealed they were on track—at least for now.
His life was another matter. For the last couple of years he’d felt at odds. Happy in the job he’d always wanted, yet lonely despite living, for the most part, with dozens of men.
Easing that loneliness with one-night sexual encounters had become more sad than fun. He’d only found one woman he was interested in spending his life with, and she was married to his brother.
Bobby thrust the depressing thoughts away. They’d been creeping up on him too often lately. He’d say he was getting old, except thirty-three was far from it. Still, life in the Special Forces made men age faster than most.
He’d seen things that would give other people nightmares forever. He’d done things for which there was no forgiveness. Yet he had no regrets. He’d become the man he’d always wanted to be. So why wasn’t he happy?
“How much farther?” Dr. Harker asked.
“Few hours.”
She sighed but didn’t complain.
An odd sound made him stop and listen intently. Had that been a bird or a man, a dog or a monkey?
“What is it?”
He glanced at the doctor. Should he tell her they were being f
ollowed or keep it to himself?
“How far away are they?” she asked.
He lifted his brows. She continued to surprise him.
“Far enough.”
“Who are they?”
“You tell me.”
“I have no idea. I didn’t even know I was kidnapped.”
He stifled a smile. He shouldn’t like her so much. In a few hours he’d never see Dr. Harker again. In a few weeks she’d forget she’d ever met him. Which was as it should be.
Another hour passed. Whoever was following them must be part wolf because, despite a tempo he hadn’t reached since Special Ops selection, he and the doctor weren’t getting ahead. Bobby couldn’t figure it out.
She was keeping up, but she was fading. The increasing heat of the day didn’t help.
“Do you jog?” he asked.
Dr. Harker blew a bead of sweat from her nose with an irritated puff of her lips. “You want to jog?”
“No.” He glanced at the trail behind them and frowned. Or at least not yet.
Bobby returned his attention to the doctor. “Just wondering why you’re in such great shape.”
“I walk. A lot.”
“Walk?”
“Yeah, put one foot in front of the other? You remember it. From before you were a soldier boy.”
She surprised a laugh out of him. His mother and sister were the sarcasm twins, his brother Dean, the king. Bobby usually refrained from playing since he couldn’t compete, but he’d always found dry humor amusing.
“Keep on keeping on, Luchetti.” She waved a hand. “I’ll be right there with you.”
A sudden burst of sound from behind them and Bobby reacted, spinning with gun in hand. Something erupted from the foliage—something low to the ground and hairy, running straight at the doctor.
He leveled the pistol, but before he could fire, Dr. Harker launched herself at him. “No!”
Bobby pulled up. The doctor tripped over a rock and fell down. He tried to catch her, but he only had one free hand, and he missed.
She hit the dirt with a thud and a grunt. The furry thing pounced on top of her. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was a dog.
“Don’t shoot,” the doctor cried. “She’s mine.”
Bobby had been raised on a farm. He’d seen all sorts of domestic animals. His dad kept Dalmatians. Now, those were dogs.
This…that…it? Hell. What?
The animal licking Dr. Harker’s arm, neck and cheek appeared to be a starving coyote crossed with a hairless cat. The beast was stick thin. Her fur was an indeterminate color—gray, brown, a little black and white—with patches of pink skin like polka dots across her bony butt.
When she lifted her head, Bobby blinked. The creature had only one eye. He took a step forward, planning to pull the flea-bitten mutt off his charge, and the beast snarled at him. She was short a few teeth, too, though there were enough left to do some damage.
Bobby pointed the gun and narrowed his eyes.
“Down, girl,” Dr. Harker said.
The dog stepped daintily off the doctor’s back and sat at her side.
Dr. Harker indicated Bobby’s weapon. “Put that away.”
He did, but he could have sworn the animal was laughing at him. Her tongue lolled as she panted louder than a freight train.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You’ve never seen a dog?”
“That isn’t a dog.”
The doctor frowned. “You’ll hurt her feelings. Lucky thinks she’s beautiful.”
“Lucky hasn’t looked in the mirror lately.” Bobby contemplated the one-eyed mangy mutt. “Why on earth would you name that Lucky?”
“Because I was lucky to find her. She’s a good girl. Aren’t you, sweetie?”
The dog turned and licked the doctor from chin to forehead. Bobby winced. Lord knew where that mouth had been.
“Unsanitary much?” he muttered.
Her glance was filled with surprise. “Dogs are much cleaner than humans. I’d rather kiss a dog any day.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that except, “Send her back where she came from.”
“She’s with me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Lucky followed me this far. She gets an all-expense-paid trip to America.”
“You didn’t say anything about a pet.”
“You didn’t ask me.” At his scowl, she hurried on. “Lucky comes and goes. I knew we couldn’t search for her. But if I don’t take her with me, she’ll die. There are far too many dogs in Mexico, and Lucky isn’t exactly a beauty queen. No one will take her in.”
“I can’t traipse through the jungle with…that. What about the guys following us?”
“Maybe Lucky was following us.”
Bobby went silent. She might be right. Then again, she might not be.
“Lucky’s the best watchdog in the village,” the doctor continued.
“She did a bang-up job last night.”
“She wasn’t there last night.”
Bobby sighed. “You can’t expect me to show up at the airfield with—” He broke off.
He couldn’t call her a dog, that wouldn’t be fair to dogs.
Dr. Harker narrowed her eyes. “What’s the difference? I’m sure the plane has plenty of room.”
Not nearly enough if he had to share space with Lucky, the ugliest mutt in the world.
“She’ll only follow us,” Dr. Harker wheedled. “You may as well let her stay.”
Bobby threw up his hands. “Fine. Whatever. Why don’t you bring all of the stray dogs back with you?”
She contemplated him with a deadpan expression. “Now, that would just be foolish.”
JANE KEPT AN ARM around Lucky. There was no way she was leaving the dog behind. Lucky loved Jane more than anyone else ever had.
Only Luchetti’s ferocious scowl kept her from grinning with joy at Lucky’s presence. She never would have pegged him for an animal hater.
“Come on.” He offered his hand.
Lucky growled.
“Relax, girl,” Jane murmured, and the dog went silent.
She would have preferred to get up under her own power, but she was exhausted. She might walk a lot, but she’d never walked this long at a stretch.
Jane allowed Luchetti to haul her upright. Pain rocketed up her right ankle and seemed to settle at the base of her spine. She stumbled into his arms.
“What’s the matter?”
“I must have twisted my ankle when I fell.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not this time.”
His lips tightened. Only then did she notice what a nice mouth he had—full and wide. He should smile more.
Of course he probably saw little in this world to smile about. The same could be said for Jane, although the children she treated gave her a good laugh every day. If not for them, she might get caught up in all the misery—like Captain Luchetti had.
“You’ll have to piggyback.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He turned around and bent his knees. “Climb on. I’ll carry you.”
“You can’t. I’m a lot heavier than I look.”
“And I’m a lot less patient than I act. Get on.”
Less patient? His fuse was the shortest she’d ever known. Maybe he was teasing, but she couldn’t really tell.
“I’m sure if I bind the ankle I can walk.”
“We don’t have time, Doctor.”
She hesitated for another few seconds, then gave in to the inevitable and climbed onto his back. Luchetti trotted down the trail at an impressive clip, though still slower than the pace they’d traveled together. Lucky woofed once and followed.
“Where are you from that you don’t know what a piggyback is?” he asked.
“I know. I just didn’t believe you could carry me.”
He laughed. “I’ve carried two-hundred-and-fifty-pound men over my shoulder, with bullets flying and people dying.”
<
br /> “Well, hoo-ah,” she muttered, using the gung-ho army expression for let’s go, get ’em and so forth.
“You aren’t impressed?” he asked.
She was, but she wasn’t going to let him know it.
“Where are you from that you don’t like dogs?” she countered.
“I like dogs fine.”
“You weren’t very nice to Lucky.”
“That isn’t a dog,” he repeated.
She let her left foot bang against his thigh, hard.
“Watch it,” he muttered, and she smirked.
Lucky followed in Luchetti’s footsteps, prancing like a French poodle. The dog made Jane smile. Lucky wasn’t pretty, but she thought she was—or maybe she just didn’t care. Pretty didn’t feed you. Pretty didn’t save you from the vultures, but attitude could. Lucky had attitude times three. Jane wished she could be half as confident.
Seeing Jane glance her way, the dog mumbled and grumbled in her own peculiar manner.
“What was that?” Luchetti snapped.
“Lucky. She talks.”
“Sounded like a dying cow.”
“You’ve heard a lot of dying cows, have you?”
“My fair share.”
“Oh, really. Where was that?”
“Illinois.”
“There’s a huge need for Special Forces in Illinois?”
“You know we can’t operate in the U.S.”
“I do?”
“Posse Comitatus Act ring any bells?”
Actually, it did, thanks to her mother’s habit of discussing business at the dinner table.
Federal soldiers were prohibited from operating as law-enforcement officers inside the Unites States—unless the act was temporarily suspended by the president.
“So you’re from Illinois?”
“Dairy farm near Bloomington.”
“Never been there.”
“You didn’t miss much.”
Jane frowned. Most people pined for home while they were away. Luchetti had no doubt been posted to some mighty unpleasant places. By now Illinois should look great. She had to wonder why it didn’t.
Jane was tempted to ask more, nevertheless she kept silent. She was very good with patients, spent most of her time examining people and discussing private matters. Maybe that was why she’d never been any good at getting personal in social situations.
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