The Stealth Commandos Trilogy

by Suzanne Forster

  “No,” he said harshly. In her desperation to make things right, she kept blundering into his wounds. “You said you were tired. Get some sleep.”

  He heard her sink down on the bed of leaves that made up the floor of the lean-to. Rigid with the need to gain control of his emotions, he sat with his back to her. He couldn’t move. He felt as if he’d been opened up and gutted, but left alive. If he thrashed like a mortally wounded animal, if he tried to get away, he might bleed to death.

  It seemed that hours had passed before he finally lay down, his back to hers, bare skin against blue chintz. Rigidly still, he was aware of the movement of her shoulders against his as she breathed. He could feel the place where her lower back sloped away from his and then returned in the yielding warmth of her buttocks. The experience of his own grief had heightened all his senses. He was as exquisitely tuned in to her as if their nervous systems were linked at the places where their spines touched. He could hear the shallow rasp of her breath, and he knew somehow that she was trying not to cry. He could feel her hopelessness, her sadness.

  Honor, he thought, what happened?

  She shifted, and he felt her moving, turning toward him.

  His heart pounding, he waited until she was facing his back. And then he turned too.

  If there was any resistance left in him at all, it was gone the instant he caught a glimpse of her beautiful, tear-streaked face. He dragged her into his arms.

  “Johnny—”

  “Hush,” he said, “hush.” Pain ripped a piece from his heart as he clutched her close. The torment he’d been fighting for so long, for years, poured over the wound like a river of fire. It was the fiercest, sweetest agony he’d ever known. Vaguely aware that he was crushing her in his arms, and that he didn’t want to hurt her, he understood only that he had to survive the assault somehow. He couldn’t let her speak, not even to comfort him. He couldn’t let her do anything that might unleash the horrible wonder of what was happening inside him.

  Finally he released her, and she buried her face in his hair and heaved a trembling sigh. They held each other that way for a long time, enemies of the heart thrown together by some mysterious design, brought to their knees by the truth of their shared humanity.

  “Johnny,” she whispered, “is it all right between us now?”

  He knew what she was asking, and he had so many reasons not to answer her. It was a dangerous question, badly timed. But he was vulnerable now, opened, and he couldn’t resist it. Feelings were flowing that he’d held in check for so long. There were things he didn’t understand. Questions that needed answers.

  He drew back from her, deliberating. Her grave blue eyes and tear-streaked smile broke his heart.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He followed the path of her tears with his forefinger, surprised at his own need to be tender. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to testify?” he asked. “Even if you believed you were doing the right thing, why didn’t you warn me? We were friends, Honor. Friends watch out for each other; they protect each other.”

  “They told me I couldn’t talk to you, Johnny, not once I’d agreed to be a witness for the prosecution. My father said there would be a mistrial—”

  “Your father hated me. How could you have believed anything he said?”

  Tears glittered. “I had to, Johnny. I didn’t know what else to do!”

  He stared down at her, regret flaring through him. Why was he doing this? Why was he putting her to a test he knew she couldn’t pass? The bond he’d felt went beyond friendship. He would have done anything for her, sacrificed his life. And yet she’d been afraid to stand up to her father. God, it destroyed him to think that she hadn’t even found a way to warn him.

  “Johnny, please. I was frightened for you!”

  “Frightened for me? When the prosecutor asked you if I had violent tendencies, you told him yes. When he asked if I’d threatened to kill those boys, you said yes—” He broke off as the pain resurged.

  “But, Johnny, what else could I do? What else could I say? I couldn’t lie on the witness stand.”

  Her desperation was heartbreaking. It tugged at him, but he couldn’t let himself respond. There was too much misery, too much grief. He was already shutting down, he realized, moving away from her emotionally. His heart was growing cold again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could almost forgive her the testimony because she’d been tricked. But whether it came out of his Apache heritage or out of the terrible isolation of his childhood, he couldn’t forgive her for not being the friend he’d needed, the friend he would have been to her.

  “I can’t stay here tonight,” he said.

  “Why? Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know—anywhere but here.” He pushed to his feet, brushing the leaves from his legs. His food pouch and knife were by the campfire. As he started to get them, she came out of the lean-to and called his name. He didn’t stop.

  “Johnny, I won’t let you do this to me again! If you go, I’ll—”

  She was shaking with anger. He could hear it in her voice.

  “You’ll what?” he said, turning to her.

  She dragged in a breath, as though preparing to blast him. Instead she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know . . . just don’t do it.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t go.”

  Johnny breathed a harsh word, but it wasn’t anger burning inside him now; it was sadness. His heart was a fiery hole in his chest as he turned and walked away from her, into the dark soul of the forest.

  Nine

  HONOR WOKE UP HALF-FROZEN and barely able to uncoil from the ball she’d curled into. Her first awareness was of the warm spot on her back, apparently from a ray of sunshine poking through a hole in the lean-to roof. Her second awareness was that she had spent the night alone. Johnny hadn’t come back, she realized, as she glanced out at the dead ashes of the campfire.

  She quickly gathered kindling and got the fire going again, huddling next to it until she was warm enough to consider her next most pressing concern, hunger. Johnny had dug a pit and lined it with rocks to store the food they foraged. Her mouth actually watered at the thought of a meal of nuts, seeds, and unripe berries.

  Once she’d eaten, and the day loomed ahead, she dealt with her third concern, Johnny. It rather pleased her that he’d come in a poor third among her priorities. Beyond the simmering hurt and anger she felt, it gave her hope that she might be getting her emotional house in order where he was concerned. If there was anything more she could have done to gain his understanding and forgiveness, she didn’t know what it was. She couldn’t change what had happened, and she was beginning to think that enduring eighteen years of guilt was enough atonement for any sinner, no matter what the poor wretch had done.

  She busied herself with gathering fresh bedding for the lean-to and with replenishing their food stores, but as the morning wore on and Johnny didn’t return, she couldn’t deny that she was worried. She told herself that her concerns about him were pointless, that he’d probably gone back up the mountain to the cave. He was a big boy, after all, and he had survived several days alone before she arrived.

  As she packed the last of the supplies she’d gathered into the pit, she became aware of the grime caked on her arms. She scrubbed away at it with her fingers, knowing it was hopeless. She was as ripe as a bag lady, covered with pungent layers of sweat and Mother Nature’s plenitude. Even her hair was matted and tangled with leaves and twigs. She needed a bath, a shampoo. “A manicure,” she murmured, smiling at how absurd a prospect that was.

  The river where Johnny had found her was the nearest source of fresh water, and she and Johnny had traveled back to it several times to fill the small barrel he’d made from the bark of a birch tree. Now the thought of all that fresh running water on her hot, sweat-coated skin was enough to make her shiver with anticipation.

  A short time later she stood on the river’s turbulent banks, watching the churning white water
and savoring the shade of the trees that bordered its shores. The rich scent of pine pierced her senses. The river was exhilarating and calming at the same time, she realized, exactly the sort of place where a soiled woman could cleanse body and spirit. Perhaps that sense of redemption and renewal was what she’d always loved about rushing water, even the stream where she and Johnny used to meet.

  Once she’d found a calm spot in the turbulence, she knelt on the river’s rocky shore to crush the aloe root she’d brought with her. Johnny had told her how to work the pulp into a foamy froth that would serve as soap.

  Moments later, naked as the day she came into the world, she crouched calf-deep in the icy mountain stream, washing out her camp dress and her underwear. When she was done, she laid the clothing out on the rocks to dry. Finally, freeing her braided hair—and her modest soul—she waded into the river and dived.

  The water was bracingly cold and heavenly wet, the answer to her dreams. Once the shock of its icy temperature had worn off, Honor swam and cavorted with a freedom she hadn’t felt since childhood, and perhaps not even then. The pressure of the water surging against her skin felt delicious, as did the bubbles that churned from the turbulence upstream.

  She dived deep and resurfaced again and again, letting the water stream over her body and flinging her head back to toss her hair off her face. Being naked was wonderful, liberating, and Honor was delighted at her own lack of inhibitions. Refreshed, she finally waded toward shore to get the aloe root and wash herself.

  Standing thigh-deep in the swirling currents, she soaped down her shoulders and arms with great satisfaction. She was getting ready to wash her hair when her pulse quickened in response to something she sensed more than heard. Above the rush of the water, a crackling sound caught her attention. She glanced up, scanning the trees, and spotted a sight that paralyzed her.

  A man was watching her, standing in the shadows.

  She couldn’t make out his features because of the light at his back, but she recognized his broad shoulders and his long hair. It must be Johnny, she realized. He’d been watching her bathe. Honor resisted the impulse to dive in the water and escape his eyes. Something held her there, barely breathing.

  She was sharply aware of her own nakedness, and of the effect it might have on him. She knew he must have fantasized about her; she had about him often enough. But she’d never imagined him watching her this way. Did she look the way he’d expected? She’d always thought of herself as too thin and pale. The kids had teased her about being all bones in high school. Did Johnny find her pretty? A desirable woman?

  All of those questions rushed through her mind as she glanced down at her own body and saw the beads of moisture clinging to her skin. Her breasts were full and flushed with color, perhaps from the invigorating swim. Whatever the reason, they looked larger than she remembered, and heavier. Her nipples were hardened and tingling.

  She felt a stirring of excitement as she surveyed her own jutting hipbones and the golden delta of hair that crowned her womanhood. The rise and fall of her belly as she breathed made her realize how sleek and sensual a woman’s body could look when sheened with water. She was seeing herself through a man’s eyes, through his eyes.

  She began to wash herself, drawing the foamy material across the rise of her chest. Bubbles streamed over her breasts and down her torso, clinging to the sensitive crests of her nipples and hiding in the crevice of her belly button. Her stomach muscles tightened as she imagined his finger tracing the same path.

  A shudder went through her that was as deep and sexual as anything she’d ever felt. Stimulation showered her senses. She was breathing deeply, heatedly. She wanted him, his touch. Johnny—

  A cracking sound exploded in her head. It sounded like a gunshot, but as her eyes flew open, she knew it must have been a twig snapping under someone’s foot. A man stood on the bank before her, as plain as day, but it took Honor several stunned seconds to come to grips with what she was seeing. He wasn’t Johnny.

  He was tall, even taller than Johnny, with storm-blown blond hair that swept back from his face and cascaded down his back. His brawny build and the black bandanna he wore tied around his head might have marked him as a biker if it hadn’t been for his marine fatigues. The olive-drab T-shirt and flak vest made him look like a soldier of fortune.

  “Who are you?” she breathed. Without waiting for the man to answer, she turned and plunged into the river.

  “Where is she?” Johnny was both angry and alarmed as he searched the empty campsite, looking for Honor. He’d returned, planning to break camp and head back to Whiteriver, and much as he might have wanted to, he couldn’t leave her behind in the mountains.

  He hadn’t completed all the tests required of him, but he’d had all he could handle of waiting for the spirits to speak and sleeping in a lean-to with a woman he wanted but was afraid to touch. He assumed she felt the same way. Now where the hell was she?

  After a quick search of the surrounding woods with no sign of Honor, Johnny returned to the campsite. He’d just set about dismantling the lean-to when he heard someone—or something—crashing through the trees toward the camp. He couldn’t imagine anything but a large animal making that much noise? A bear? Drawing the knife from his moccasin, he slipped behind the cover of the lean-to.

  “Starhawk?”

  The male voice sounded familiar, but Johnny watched and waited until the intruder came into view. He recognized the wild blond hair and black bandanna first. Johnny swore softly and rose from his hiding place as his former partner strode into the campsite. “Dias!” he growled in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

  Geoff Dias took one look at Johnny’s loincloth and roared with laughter. “They told me you were on some kind of quest, but I didn’t believe them. I had to check it out for myself! What are you doing, buddy? Playing cowboys and Indians?”

  “That’s right.” With a movement so swift it was barely discernible, Johnny sent his knife whistling past Geoff’s blond mane and stuck it in the snow-white back of an aspen tree just behind him. “And I’m damn good at it too.”

  Geoff glanced over his shoulder at the quivering knife handle. “Hey! Only kidding.”

  Johnny nodded and grinned. “Right, me too.”

  A moment later the two men, one dark as a jungle panther, the other tawny and golden as a mountain lion, were hugging and cuffing each other on the back.

  “What are you doing here?” Johnny asked, pushing his old friend away good-naturedly.

  Geoff chuckled, a wicked gleam in his rich green eyes. “You won’t believe me if I tell you. There’s some naked honey taking a bath down by the river.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yeah.” Geoff’s expression said what else? “She’s gorgeous, man, and hotter than the pistons on my Harley.”

  Johnny had a bad feeling about Geoff’s little adventure at the river. A very bad feeling. “What did she look like?” he asked.

  “A beauty. Long blond hair, long neck. Slim, but built—you know.” He cupped imaginary breasts and laughed, a husky male sound. “She looked right at me, man.”

  “She saw you?” Johnny’s hands curled into fists. “She knew you were watching her?”

  “Hell, yes, she saw me. I thought she was going to ask me to scrub her back.”

  By this time Johnny knew he had to be talking about Honor. How many women could there be on this mountain who fit that description? As Geoff went on, describing Honor’s body in detail, Johnny saw red. Blood red. For all of the emotion and heat and turmoil that he and Honor had been through, Johnny had never seen her naked, and he couldn’t stand the thought that Geoff Dias had. He could easily have killed his long-lost buddy. At the very least he wanted to rearrange his handsome face.

  “Bastard,” Johnny muttered.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “You’re the problem!” Johnny snagged Geoff’s vest, jerked him forward, and launched a fist toward his chin. The blow that connected was a
n uppercut that should have knocked Geoff’s head off. When it didn’t, Johnny backed it up with a powerful left hook. The one-two punch set Geoff on his butt.

  Geoff shook his head like a stunned prizefighter. “What’s going on?” he said, glaring up at Johnny as he worked his jaw. “You got me all the way up here to fight?”

  Johnny had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean, I got you up here? What are you doing here?”

  “I got a call from a friend of yours. She said she was calling from the reservation, and you needed some surveillance done on a uranium-mining operation. When I showed up at Whiteriver, they told me you were up here.”

  Johnny was already regretting his decision to contact Geoff. He should have known better. Dias couldn’t be trusted around anything that shaved its legs, much less a beautiful woman. Since their glory days together rescuing POWs and hostages for the Pentagon, Geoff had become the “bad boy” of the American press. The fact that he was still doing recovery work on a mercenary-for-hire basis added to his roughneck glamour. Women couldn’t seem to resist the man’s raffish smile, and if that didn’t get them, the sexy, come-get-it-baby rumble of his motorcycle did.

  Still, the fact that Honor had contacted Geoff didn’t explain what he was doing up here in the mountains, skulking around like a Peeping Tom. “That operation’s in the hills near Coyote Gulch. Did you get lost trying to find it?”

  “I’m way ahead of you, Starhawk. I’ve already been to the site, and I’ve got all the evidence you’ll ever need.”

  Johnny rubbed his fist. He was still furious, but Geoff’s claim had piqued his curiosity. “Documented evidence?”

  “A photo album—you’ll love it. I’ve got copies of one of their own ‘confidential’ environmental impact studies, which shows the seepage from their holding pond is polluting the groundwater.”

  That might have been good news to Johnny under other circumstances, but he wasn’t in the mood to congratulate his ex-partner at the moment, or to explain why he’d tried to knock his teeth out. “How’d you get up here?” he asked.