by Rachel Lee
Ever afterward, Sarah would wonder at the cool authority in her voice. It stopped Jack in his tracks. He spun on his heel, staring through the dark shadows. Before he could say anything, the patrón signaled his approval.
“Very wise, Miss Chandler.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
Jake’s low growl raised the hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, only the faintest tremor in her voice. “You have your business to conduct, and so, apparently, does this gentleman.”
“Very perceptive, my dear. You are indeed your father’s daughter.”
Sarah didn’t acknowledge the compliment, if it was one. “Take Ricci, Eduard.”
A thin, small shadow materialized at her side. Her hands shaking, Sarah passed the child to Eduard. At the same time, she pressed the small, flat box Jake had given her under the older boy’s elbow.
Her low murmur was for Eduard’s ears alone. “Just turn the top. To the left. Understand?”
“Sí.”
“Sarita?” Ricci’s childish treble quavered. “Do we die, Sarita?”
Sarah closed her eyes, swallowing. “No, of course not. You stay here with Eduard and Teresa and Eleanora until I see what is to be done.”
“I want to go with Señor Creighton.” Teresa tugged against Eleanora’s hand, a hiccup of fear in her voice.
“No!” Tension sharpened Sarah’s reply. “You will stay here! Señor Creighton has…has business to conduct. You will be in the way.”
“Creighton?” Amusement tinted the patrón’s voice. “Is that what he told you his name was?”
“That’s what she calls him,” Che volunteered with a sneer, coming forward to join the other two men. All three turned to watch Sarah approach.
She stepped out of the jungle shadows and walked toward them. Light from the spotlights across the clearing caught the skirts of her robe and moved higher with each step, until it fell across her face. Seeing the patrón’s narrowed, speculative eyes on her, Sarah reached up to tug off the veil.
The short, heavyset man drew in an appreciative breath. “The pictures in the newspapers didn’t do you justice, my dear.”
She forced a small shrug. “They weren’t taken at my best moment.”
“Nor does that habit particularly become you,” he murmured.
At the man’s soft, almost caressing tone, a sick feeling curled in Sarah’s stomach. She sensed, rather than saw, Jack stiffening beside her.
Sarah ignored Jack, concentrating on the man she faced. She recognized his type. Urbane, cultured, confident of himself and his power. She’d dealt with men like him all her life. Summoning the slow half smile she’d so often used to good effect with lecherous ambassadors and interested politicians, she plucked at the black skirts.
“The habit served its purpose. I must confess it is rather uncomfortable, however.”
She reached up to unhook the top fastening. Then the second. She fanned her heated skin with the fold of material. The patrón’s eyes narrowed on the patch of flesh she bared to the glare of the spotlights.
“I apologize that you had to endure such discomfort for so long,” he murmured. “My sources were a bit slow in passing me the information I sought about the medical sister my friend Che held in his camp.”
Sarah lifted one shoulder. “The camp is behind us now. Perhaps you have something at the hacienda that I might change into.”
“Perhaps I do.” He gave a little bow. “Please, allow me to escort you.”
Sarah didn’t move. “First we must settle the issue of the children. They were taken with me in the raid. They’re tired and frightened. I would ask your—” She choked a bit. “I would ask your word that you will send them back to their village with the woman, Eleanora.”
He flicked a glance at Eleanora and the three youngsters and gave a dismissive shrug. “I have no interest in the children or the woman.”
Sarah nodded and started forward.
Jack caught her wrist, swinging her around. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going with him.”
“Just like that? You’re going with him?”
She searched his eyes, pleading with him to understand. “It’s best for the children, and for—”
“And for Miss Sarah Chandler.” Jack sneered. “Do you think I’m going to let you just walk away? After all I did for you?”
“I’m grateful, truly grateful. But—”
He gave a vicious oath. Twisting her arm behind her waist, he brought her slamming up against his chest. “Want to know what you can do with your gratitude, lady?”
Jack’s explosive violence startled Sarah. For a moment, she feared he didn’t understand her motives. Didn’t realize that she couldn’t jeopardize the children for her own safety. She couldn’t add to the risks he himself already faced.
At that moment, she felt him slip the small, palm-size gun into the hand twisted behind her back. For the space of a heartbeat, Sarah sagged against him, relieved that he understood, afraid to leave the safety of his arms. She wanted so much to wrap her free arm around his neck, to burrow into his strength and let him shield her.
The old Sarah might have done just that.
This Sarah had learned that she had strengths within herself she hadn’t been aware of before. If she’d learned nothing else in these past days, it was that she could no longer hide.
Summoning her will, Sarah wrenched free and faced him, her fists buried in the folds of her skirts.
“All right, gringo. If my gratitude isn’t sufficient, then perhaps you’ll accept some more tangible form of thanks. I’m sure the patrón will give you a bonus for taking care of us, as an advance on what he’ll receive from my father. Will you not?”
The man nodded politely, his eyes on Sarah’s face. “Certainly, my dear. You will have to tell me, of course, just what specific…services…he performed for you, and what you think they’re worth. Come, let us go to the hacienda and discuss this more comfortably.”
Sarah threw a last look over her shoulder at the children, swept her gaze past Jack’s tight, rigid features, then turned and started across the clearing without another word. Covered by the heavy folds of her skirt, her finger curled around the trigger of the small gun.
Holding his horse’s reins, the patrón fell into step beside her.
The steady plopping of the animal’s hooves thundered in Sarah’s ears. She strained to hear some other sound, some movement behind her.
Jake watched her walk away, a slight figure in black, identifiable only by the silvery-gold hair that tumbled around her shoulders. He turned slowly, one thumb hooked in his belt. He would have reassessed his options, but Sarah had just preempted them all.
Che wore a tight, satisfied expression on his face, as though the the sight of the woman walking away from Jake pleased him enormously. Which it probably did, the bastard.
“So, gringo,” he said with a sneer, “let us now turn to the business at hand.”
“Yes,” Jake responded. “Let us turn to the business at hand.”
His finger tapped a single coded signal on the metal gusset next to his buckle.
When it came, the attack took Sarah by surprise, even though she was expecting it. Halfway across the clearing she heard a low, steady whump-whump-whump. Suddenly the treetops rattled, as though a violent wind had just blown in. The man beside her froze, then spun in the direction of the sound. Sarah swung around, as well, gasping at the sight that greeted her.
Like a giant moth rising from the jungle canopy, a huge, black-painted helicopter lifted out of the trees and hovered over the clearing. Powerful spotlights switched on, and what Sarah later learned was a million footcandles of brilliant white light lit the entire area.
Sarah brought the little pistol up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you!”
The heavyset man paused with one foot in the stirrup and a hand on the saddle horn. Squinting against the glare, Sarah sa
w rage seize his features.
“You will not shoot.” He sneered. “Your hand is shaking so badly you would not hit me if you did. You hold that as though you’ve never fired a weapon before.”
Sarah wrapped her second hand around the first. “I haven’t,” she admitted. “I’ve never touched a gun before in my life, and I’m extremely nervous about this.”
In the wash of bright light, Sarah couldn’t tell if the man paled, but he did take an involuntary step backward, his eyes wide and fixed on her trembling hand. She heard the first shouts from the compound, and a sudden rattle of gunfire.
“Get down,” she ordered. “On your face.”
A sudden explosion rocked the earth back, far down the grassy runway. The horse, already skittish, danced sideways a few steps, threw up its head to avoid the piercing light, then galloped away. The patrón swore savagely and started toward her.
“Get down!” Sarah shouted. “Get down, or I’ll…”
She wasn’t sure what she’d do. She didn’t have to make the decision, however. The patrón was only a few yards away when a figure launched itself from behind her and took him down in a flying tackle. Sarah sobbed in relief as Jack’s fist slammed into the man’s face. Before she could say a word, he reached behind her, grabbed a handful of her skirts and yanked her down. Sarah fell beside him just as a brilliant red flare soared into the sky, marking their place.
Red, she thought dazedly, her face pressed to the earth. As red as the quetzal’s breast, stained by the blood of the dying Mayan chief.
It seemed to Sarah as though the red flare must have been a signal. The noise all around her suddenly intensified a thousandfold. A sudden whizzing sound split the night overhead. Rockets were launched from the helicopter, leaving bright trails as they arced overhead. Small explosions detonated all around the cluster of buildings. The hiss of escaping gas was added to the shouts and gunfire exploding all around.
Her ear pressed to the earth, Sarah felt the reverberations of footsteps thudding toward them. Her fingers tightened around the little pistol.
“Jaguar! Have you got her?”
Sarah assimilated the sound of the woman’s voice and the name she used for Jack in the same second. She twisted her head and collected a confused picture of a tall, long-legged woman in black, with paint smeared across her face and a lethal-looking weapon in her hands. Incredibly, she was grinning at Sarah.
“I’ve got her,” Jack replied, scrambling to his feet. “What about the kids?”
“They’re already in the chopper along with the other woman. The strobe guided us right to them.”
The tight, choking tension that had gripped Jake by the throat eased enough for him to swallow. He reached down and hauled Sarah to her feet. Her knees shook so badly that she sagged in his hold and would have crumpled to the ground.
Jake swore, then bent and scooped her over his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her legs, keeping his other hand free for the weapon he snatched up from the ground.
“Take care of this guy. I’ll put Sarah in the chopper, then join you. We’ve got work to do.”
He raced to the helicopter, bent low, protecting Sarah’s body with his own. When he reached the side hatch, he tossed her inside. She scrambled to her knees, hampered by her skirts and the three year old who launched himself at her and wrapped both arms around her neck.
“Jack!”
“Stay here! Don’t try any more of your damned cowboy tactics. If you move, if you so much as stick your hand out the door, I swear I’ll—”
A rattle of gunfire nearby cut him off. He whirled and ran to Maggie’s side.
It was over in minutes.
The gas canisters the assault helicopter had fired into the compound soon stilled all but a weak resistance. A burst of fire from the 50 mm cannons bristling from its nose shredded most of the tail on the smuggler’s aircraft and halted its desperate attempt to take off. The combined force of elite Cartozan and U.S. rangers moved through the compound, subduing the dazed, coughing defenders and collecting an arsenal of weapons that would have supplied a small army.
“So, Chameleon, I will leave you now.”
Maggie turned at the sound of Colonel Esteban’s voice. “Let me guess,” she said, grinning. “You’ve had a chat with one of the prisoners and managed to discover the exact coordinates of the processing plant nearby.”
His black mustache lifted. “I have. The rest of my force will arrive within moments. You may see the explosion from here when the chemicals go up.”
“I’d give anything to go with you!”
He grinned. “So come.”
Maggie shoved a hand through her hair. She was tempted. Lord, she was tempted. The thought of facing Adam held her back. She was going to have enough difficulty explaining to him how her simple extraction mission had expanded so dramatically.
“I’d better not,” she said ruefully. “I’ll stay here and help clean up.”
He stepped forward and curled a finger under her chin. Maggie swallowed—hard!—at the impact of his stunning masculinity at such close quarters.
His thumb brushed her lips. “Perhaps we will work together again sometime, my Chameleon.”
“Perhaps we will,” she answered, more than a little breathless.
His thumb traced her lips once more, and then he was gone. Maggie watched him climb aboard a Cartozan helicopter. Stifling a small sigh, she went to back to work.
The prisoners—including Jake’s middleman, a coldly furious patrón, and a superficially wounded Che—were herded aboard waiting choppers.
Gleeful at the rich haul, Maggie greeted Jake with a sweep of one hand. “Do you believe this?”
Fully expecting Jake’s usual quiet words of praise after a successful mission, Maggie gaped when he stalked past her toward the open hatch of the helo.
“Jaguar! Wait, what—?”
He reached inside, grabbed a fistful of black skirt and hauled the pseudosister out the open side hatch. She tumbled down into his arms, apparently not at all averse to his rough treatment. The three children scrambled out after her, followed by a heavyset woman.
Maggie watched in astonishment as Sarah Chandler wrapped her hands around Jake’s neck and smiled up at him. Her eyes were luminous in the glare of the searchlights, and shining with an emotion that sent a spear of envy through Maggie’s heart. She dismissed it immediately. If anyone deserved to win a look like that from a woman, it was Jake. Self-contained, quiet, controlled Jake. A man who had put his duty and his dedication to OMEGA ahead of his own life for so many years.
It occurred to Maggie that she wouldn’t have thought a woman with Sarah Chandler’s background would tumble into love with someone like Jake. But there wasn’t any doubt from the expression on her face that that was exactly what she’d done. Of course, what Maggie had seen tonight made her realize that the senator’s daughter was one heck of a lot tougher than her fragile, delicate appearance suggested.
Jake didn’t seem to be appeased by the glowing look in Sarah’s remarkable eyes. His dark brows were drawn into a slash, and he glared down at her.
“If you ever—ever—do anything as harebrained and idiotic as that again, I swear I’ll…I’ll…”
Maggie, the three children, the other woman they had rescued and assorted strike team members all waited with interest to hear what exactly he would do.
So did Sarah. When he appeared unable to articulate his precise intentions, she laughed up at him.
“What you need to do, Mr. Gringo-Creighton-Jack-Jaguar, is consider your options. You can stand here and sputter at me. You can put me down. Or you can kiss me.”
Jake gave a strangled groan and bent his dark head.
Maggie folded her arms across her chest and rocked back on her heels, thoroughly fascinated by this new, previously hidden facet of Jaguar’s personality. She’d worked with him for two years, seen him operate in every conceivable situation. Except this one. Evidently he was as thorough and as skille
d in his lovemaking as he was in everything else, she thought in amusement, wondering when either of them was going to come up for air.
The little girl beside Maggie watched in smug complacency, a strange-looking doll tucked under her chin.
“Sarita is not the religiosa, you understand,” she explained earnestly. “She just wears the robes. She and Señor Creighton are going to be married. By a padre. A real padre.”
“I have to make the pee-pee,” the smallest child announced.
The helicopter ride back to Cartoza City was considerably less hair-raising than the one that had brought Maggie out. She held the squirming little three year old in her lap. Once assured that they weren’t going to die, he squealed in delight every time the aircraft banked, and bounced on her thighs. Maggie noted with some interest that although the little girl clung to Jake like a limpet, he managed to hang on to Sarah’s hand, as well.
One of Colonel Esteban’s aides met them at the military airstrip outside the city. He came screeching up in a Jeep loaded with an assortment of supplies and a dapper little man in a neat, dark suit and discreet red tie. Maggie jumped out, waiting while Jake unloaded the children. She smiled as the precise, prissy little man wiped a handkerchief across his damp, balding forehead, folded it in neat squares, then tucked it into his breast pocket, leaving an exact half inch showing.
When Jake lifted Sarah out of the chopper, he stepped forward.
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you safe, Miss Chandler.”
Sarah swung around, her mouth dropping in surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”
The man minced forward. There was no other word to describe it, Maggie decided. He definitely minced.
“I came at your father’s behest, of course.” He folded his lips in a thin, prim smile. “I was prepared to go into the jungle to search for you, but these gentlemen assured me their colonel would bring you back safely. In fact, they forcibly restrained me.” His nose wrinkled. “In a rather disgusting cell.”
Sarah stepped forward to lay a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming for me, Creighton.”