A Soldier's Quest

by Lori Handeland

  Pretty sad when bouncing along piggyback through the dense Mexican underbrush was the biggest social event she’d had in years.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JANE HAD DEVOTED her life to helping others. She had no time for men and little interest in marriage. She’d seen enough of her colleagues dragged down by love—or what they thought was love. Brilliant women with a stellar career in front of them, giving it all up because hubby wanted them home.

  Gag. True love meant support, not criticism. Encouragement, not censure. She’d never met a man who could keep his mouth shut and let his wife shine. Not even her father.

  Jane pushed thoughts of dead old dad out of her mind. He’d walked out when she was a child. By the time he’d passed away, she hadn’t seen or heard from him in fifteen years. That kind of love she didn’t need.

  But a little affection would be nice. Not that she hadn’t had boyfriends.

  Well, not boyfriends, exactly.

  Lovers?

  Maybe that wasn’t the right word either, since love had never been mentioned.

  Jane wasn’t the type of woman to inspire pretty words and everlasting devotion. She’d come to terms with that long ago.

  If not boyfriends or lovers, what should she call them? Guys she’d had sex with sounded so crass.

  She’d enjoyed the social company of men, slept with a few, then sent them on their way before they could send her. Thus far she’d never missed a single one for more than a minute. Which left a certain dilemma.

  Jane wanted children. They were the one pure thing in an impure world. What wasn’t to like? Kids adored Jane, and she adored them right back. However, as her mother often reminded her, she’d have to be more than social with a man to get one.

  Jane didn’t mind being social, she didn’t even mind the sex, but what she really wanted was the child without the husband.

  Her mother had nearly had an apoplectic fit when Jane had voiced that opinion in front of a cardinal and a senior senator from Mississippi.

  Poor Mother. She enjoyed introducing her daughter, the doctor. But then Jane would open her mouth, start talking about AIDS and pestilence and the starving children in Somalia, and Raeanne Harker’s joy would turn to distaste. Jane really had to stop having so much fun at her mother’s expense.

  Except she couldn’t count how many big, fat checks were slipped into her hand after Raeanne had swept out of the room in a snit.

  “Like taking candy from a baby,” she murmured.

  “What baby?”

  Oops.

  Talking to herself again, a common occurrence in the village, since no one had spoken much English.

  “Never mind,” Jane said. “I can walk now.”

  Luchetti kept jogging so she tapped him on the head with her knuckle. “Hey, pal, put me down.”

  He stopped, she thought to do as she asked. Instead, he tilted his head, swiveled around and murmured, “Shh.”

  Lucky growled, low and vicious—the sound she saved for the most dangerous predators.

  “Drug dealer,” Jane whispered.

  Luchetti shot an incredulous look over his shoulder, and Jane shrugged. “Seriously.”

  Lucky hated drug dealers and made her feelings known whenever one was in the vicinity. Jane figured the dog could smell the product on their skin—it was the only explanation. At any rate, Lucky was doing her drug-dealer snarl louder than Jane had ever heard before.

  Outcries erupted in Spanish. Feet pounded down the trail, and a gunshot sounded an instant before something whizzed by Jane’s right ear.

  Luchetti complied with Jane’s earlier demand by dumping her into the vegetation. She broke her fall with her hands and a shaft of pain made her wince. But with bullets flying overhead there was no time for concern over broken bones or torn ligaments.

  “Stay down,” Luchetti said urgently.

  An unnecessary demand, since Jane was already pressed as close to the ground as she could get. Lucky, who’d been set to tear off a piece of someone, now cowered next to Jane, pretending to be Flat Dog, relative of Gumby.

  Luchetti yanked his rifle clear of the sling across his chest and started firing. A sharp outcry soon followed.

  “Got one.” He grinned.

  “You don’t have to be so happy about it.”

  He didn’t even glance her way, keeping his sharp blue eyes trained on the area the bullets hailed from. “They’re trying to kill us, Doctor. I’m not going to feel bad about doing the same.”

  “Isn’t there another way? Talk to them? Offer money? Something.”

  “If they think we have money, they’ll kill us for sure. The only thing men like these understand is force that’s greater than theirs.”

  “But we don’t have force that’s greater than theirs.”

  “Speak for yourself. One American soldier is a match for ten of those guys.”

  “Hoo-ah,” she muttered again, but he ignored her.

  The bullets flew, and Jane began to worry about ammunition. Luchetti kept yanking shells from the pockets of his pants, but that wasn’t going to last forever.

  He never fired indiscriminately, but waited and watched before shooting. Nearly every time he pulled the trigger, someone fell.

  At last, when they’d been pinned down for nearly an hour, the shooting slowed, then stopped altogether. Lucky gave a low woof.

  Jane quickly covered the dog’s muzzle with her hand, but no more bullets came blasting through the trees. “They must have left.”

  “Or they want us to think they did, then lift our heads to look so they can blow them off.”

  “Or that.”

  Luchetti gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Did he think she was funny? Hardly anyone ever did. Jane might like him for that alone—even without the stunning blue eyes and great big biceps.

  “Now what do we do?” she asked.

  “I’d like to circle around, make sure they’re gone.”

  “But?”

  “I can’t leave you alone.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself, soldier boy.”

  “Right.”

  “Stop humoring me. Go see if the bad guys fled before your military might. We’ll be all right.”

  He hesitated.

  “Or we could keep hiding behind the bushes until we’re old.”

  “Fine.” He jerked his pistol from the holster and held the weapon out to her, butt first.

  Jane made a face. “No thanks, I’m trying to cut down.”

  “Hardy-har-har. Take it.”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll sit here until we’re old.”

  Jane narrowed her eyes. Luchetti tightened his lips. She knew that expression of bullheaded stubbornness. She recognized it from the mirror.

  “Give me that.” Jane took the pistol with two fingers and set it on the ground with the muzzle facing away from her.

  “Do you know how to fire a gun?”

  “I know how to remove a bullet from a body, I think I can figure it out.”

  The captain sighed and picked up the weapon again. “This gun is a little tricky.” He aimed the pistol toward the trees. Lucky whimpered and hit the dirt. He cast her a quick, concerned glance. “That dog gun shy?”

  “No, she’s smart. Guns kill people, and their little dogs, too.”

  “People kill people.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. Spare me the NRA propaganda and get on with it.”

  Luchetti shrugged. “Point the long end at a bad guy. Pull back the hammer, then squeeze the trigger. Keep squeezing it until you’re out of bullets or bad guys. Got it?”

  “I think so.” Luchetti handed Jane the gun, and she set the weapon back on the ground.

  He rubbed his forehead as if an ache had started in the center. “If someone attacks, you won’t have time to pick that up, thumb the hammer and fire.”

  Since Jane wasn’t sure she’d be able to shoot anyone, anyway, she didn’t mind. But he started to get t
hat stubborn expression again, so she took the gun and held it tightly in her hand.

  “You’re left-handed?”

  Jane nodded.

  “Huh. So’s my brother.”

  Before she could comment, he melted into the trees.

  Lucky watched him go with her tongue hanging out. Jane had to agree with the sentiment.

  “So soldier boy has a brother, and here I thought they grew him in a lab.”

  Jane waited and listened. Lucky panted faster; Jane prayed harder. No guns were fired; no outcry was raised. But that didn’t mean the bad guys had gone. However, Lucky had stopped snarling. Jane trusted the dog’s instincts more than anyone’s.

  Time seemed to slow. The silence after so much noise was oppressive. Jane’s fingers clenched the grip of the weapon until they ached.

  When the foliage rustled behind her, she gasped and swung in that direction.

  Luchetti raised a brow. “For a pacifist you took to the gun awful fast.”

  “Who said I was a pacifist?”

  “I can smell bleeding-heart liberals a mile away.”

  Jane scowled as she put the firearm back on the ground. “Probably because they smell a lot sweeter than war-mongering soldier boys.”

  “Probably.”

  He let her rudeness bounce off him like a Nerf basketball. Which only made Jane feel small, nasty and ungrateful.

  “I apologize.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve heard worse—in ten languages.”

  He no doubt had, which only made her feel smaller, nastier and less grateful.

  “They’re gone,” he continued.

  “How many…?” Jane wasn’t sure how to ask for the number of men he’d killed. Was that an appropriate question?

  “Six. Two headed back the way we came. I doubt we’ll see them again.”

  The cockiness was understandable considering his skill at the job. Nevertheless…

  “Why won’t we see them again?”

  “We didn’t see them this time.”

  Well, that was comforting.

  “We’re nearly to the airfield. They won’t come any closer to an American base.”

  “We have a base in Mexico? Since when?”

  “Not a base, base.” He took a deep breath. “Never mind.”

  “Top-secret, double-naught spy stuff?”

  “I’m not a spy,” he said quickly.

  “What, exactly, are you?”

  “Special Forces.”

  “You already said that. Which kind?”

  “The secret kind.”

  She searched her memory. There was only one area of the special forces where the operatives were removed from the data banks of the U.S. Army.

  “Delta.” Jane’s eyes bugged. “You’re Delta?”

  “Shh. You want the whole world to know?”

  “Delta Force is some hotshot antiterrorist unit—”

  “Counter terrorist.”

  “What?”

  “We respond to terrorist acts—after they happen.”

  “Sure you do.”

  He could tell her all day that Delta didn’t take out terrorists before they blew people up. She wasn’t going to believe him.

  His face went mulish at the heavy dose of skepticism in her voice and she hurried on. “The point is, what are you doing here?”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  Jane bit her lip. Her mother was going to be in deep doo-doo if it ever got out that she’d sent a Delta Force operator to rescue a daughter who didn’t need rescuing.

  Well, maybe she had needed a little rescuing. But… Delta?

  That was like sending a shark after a guppy, dropping an atomic bomb on a riot.

  Jane sighed. Like sending a superhero after Plain Jane of the Yucatán.

  BOBBY WAS SQUIRRELLY, and he couldn’t figure out why. He’d routed the evil drug lords and rescued the fairy princess.

  Although she didn’t look much like a fairy, nor did she act like a princess. Considering her mother was a senator and she was a doctor, Bobby had figured he’d have more prima donna behavior out of Jane Harker. He’d been pleasantly surprised.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and bent down so she could climb on his back again. Instead, Lucky licked him on the chin.

  “Ack.” Bobby straightened so fast his spine crackled. He wiped the slobber from his face and turned toward the doctor just in time to see her give a sharp yank on her T-shirt. It split at the midriff, exposing smooth, creamy skin and six-pack abs. She hadn’t gotten those by walking.

  “I thought you brought a first aid kit,” he said.

  “Band-Aids and antibiotic ointment ain’t gonna help this,” she muttered, dropping to the ground.

  After yanking off her shoe, she began to wrap her ankle with the cloth. Bobby frowned at the difficulty she had with the simple task.

  “What happened to your wrist?”

  “I landed on it when those guys started shooting and we hit the dirt.”

  Bobby remembered dumping her and going for his gun.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor. I didn’t—”

  “Jane.”

  He blinked, then stared at her, confused. “What?”

  “Isn’t it time you started calling me Jane?”

  Breaking her wrist should put him in the doghouse and not on a first-name basis.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “I’d rather have a banged-up wrist than a bullet in the head.”

  Bobby wasn’t sure what to make of her. Most women of his acquaintance would be screaming or crying by now, maybe both, even without the sprained ankle and the injured wrist.

  The least he could do was help, so Bobby went down on his knee and reached for the strip of T-shirt.

  She shoved at him with her shoulder. “I can do it.”

  “I can do it faster.”

  Their eyes met. Hers were narrow but curious, and he found himself captivated by the shade, which made him think of jaguars and cougars. Not exactly an appealing thought out here where the wild things roamed.

  Bobby set his hands over hers, and then he didn’t want to let go. Her skin was soft and firm. Speckled with calluses and cuts, both rough and gentle, strong yet feminine.

  An odd current seemed to pass between them and she cleared her throat, then shoved her foot in Bobby’s direction. “Do your worst, soldier boy.”

  I’d like to do you.

  The crude thought, coming out of nowhere, disturbed him, and Bobby quickly wrapped her ankle, taking care not to touch any more of her than was necessary. Touching Jane Harker was both the worst, and the best, idea he’d had in a long time.

  Just because he hadn’t had sex in months didn’t mean he should lust after the first female who came near him. He’d gone longer without a woman. Was this some kind of defense mechanism fashioned by his brain to make him forget Marlie?

  Bobby grabbed on to that explanation. Of course. He was on the rebound, so he’d become attracted to the next woman who crossed his path. All he had to do was ignore the lust, and it would go away. So why did that seem easier thought than done?

  He finished wrapping her ankle and Jane stood, waving away his aid with an annoyed look. Taking help from others was obviously not something she did with any grace. Just like Bobby himself.

  Tentatively she put weight on her ankle. He watched her face, but she didn’t wince. She didn’t comment, either.

  “Well?” he pressed.

  “Just a twinge. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want you ruining anything. I can carry you.”

  “I’m sure you can. However, I choose not to be carried.”

  “But—”

  “Choice, Luchetti. It’s the American way.”

  “We’re in Mexico.”

  She glared at him before walking across the tiny clearing, then back without a limp. Her ankle seemed all right, and he had to admit, though never to her or anyone else, she was kind of heavy.

  “We’ve lost a lot of daylight,�
� he said. “We need to move fast if we want to reach the airfield before dark.”

  “I’ll manage, Captain.”

  “Great.” He leaned over, snatching his weapons and her backpack off the ground. “And the name’s Bobby.”

  He set off down the trail. The maniacs who’d shot at them might have headed toward the village, but there were no rules that said they couldn’t return—with reinforcements of both men and ammunition.

  He glanced at Dr. Harker. Why did they want her so bad?

  JANE CAUGHT BOBBY Luchetti staring at her midriff more than once. What was wrong with the man? Her belly wasn’t anything to write home about. She’d lifted and carried so many supplies, children and elderly that her stomach muscles were as hard as a board. She’d never possess the soft and feminine curves of a supermodel.

  Jane gave a mental snort. As if.

  Perhaps he was just wondering how she could have the guts to expose her…gut. But Jane didn’t put much stock in appearances. Why bother when her appearance would never be fashionable?

  She was strong, smart and good at what she did, which was enough. It had to be.

  “How much longer?” she asked.

  “Soon.”

  Jane had to wonder if his idea of soon and hers had anything in common.

  Lucky trotted between them, tongue lolling. The dog liked taking a walk, even when it was a hundred and ten degrees in the shade.

  Jane wiped another wash of sweat from her brow. More like a hundred and twenty. She pulled a bottle of water from her bag and drank half.

  Nothing like warm water on a hot day. Blech. She gave the rest to the dog.

  A curse made her look up. Bobby crouched behind a low range of bushes. Jane didn’t have to ask what was the matter. Once she joined him, she saw for herself.

  The airfield was deserted—except for the mangled plane and several bodies.

  “Who the hell is after you?” Luchetti muttered. “What did you do? What do you know?”

  Jane kept her mouth shut. Even if she had the answers to those questions she wouldn’t have been able to speak. Her tongue felt glued to her teeth. She’d been scared in her hut last night, shaken by the gunfight today. But those bodies, that plane, the spooky, abandoned air of the place made her want to crawl back into the jungle and hide.