by Diana Palmer
He bent suddenly and pressed a hard, warm kiss on her startled mouth. "Shut up, Gabby, before you get us into trouble."
As if she could talk at all, after that. Her lips felt as though they'd been branded. If only they'd been alone, and it could have been longer...
Laremos had a twin-engine plane and a pilot to fly it. He settled into one of the comfortable seats in front of Gabby and J.D. and another man, small and young, brought them cups of coffee as the plane headed toward Guatemala City.
"I have told the appropriate people that you and your friend here are visiting me," Laremos said to J.D. and laughed. "It will put you under immediate suspicion I fear, because my past is no secret. But it will spare you the illegality of having to smuggle yourself across the border. I have friends high in government who will help. Oddly enough, the terrorists who have your sister attempted to kidnap me only weeks ago. First Shirt was nearby and armed."
"First Shirt doesn't miss," J.D. recalled.
"Neither did you, my friend, in the old days." Laremos studied the older man unsmilingly.
"How many men are there in the terrorist group?" J.D. asked. "Hard core, Laremos, not the hangers-on who'll cut and run at the first volley."
"About twelve," came the reply. "Maybe twenty more who will, as you say, cut and run. But the twelve are veteran fighters. Very tough, with political ties in a neighboring country. They are just part of an international network, with members in Italy who saw a chance to make some fast money to finance their cause. Your brother-in-law is an important man, and a wealthy one. And the decision to bring your sister here was most certainly devised by one of those twelve. They took over the finca only a month ago. I have little doubt that the kidnapping has been planned for some time." He shrugged. "Also, it is known that the Italian authorities have been successful in dealing with this sort of kidnapping. There is less risk here, so they smuggled her out of Italy."
"Roberto is trying to borrow enough to bargain with," J.D. said. "He's determined not to go to the authorities."
"He does not know about you, does he?" Laremos asked quietly.
J.D. shook his head. "I covered my tracks very well."
"You miss it, the old life?"
J.D. sighed. "At times. Not often anymore." He glanced at Gabby absently. "I have other interests now. I was getting too old for it. Too tired."
"For the same reasons, I became an honest man." Laremos laughed. "It is by far the better way." He stretched lazily. "But sometimes I think back and won-
der how it would have been. We made good amigos, Archer."
"A good team," J.D. agreed. "I hope we still do." "Have no fear, amigo. It is like swimming—one never forgets. And you, do you keep in condition?"
"Constantly. I can't get out of the habit," J.D. said. "Just as well that I have. Cutting through that jungle won't be any easy march. I've been keeping up with the situation down here, politically and militarily."
"What about this lovely one?" Laremos asked, frowning as he studied Gabby. "Is she a medic?"
"She'll handle communications," J.D. said shortly. "I want her at the ranch with you so that there's no chance she might get in the line of fire."
"I see." Laremos's dark eyes narrowed and he
laughed. "Trust still comes hard to you, eh? You will
never forget that one time that I let my mind wander..."
"No hard feelings," J.D. said quietly. "But Gabby
runs the set."
Laremos nodded. "I understand. And I take no offense. My conscience still nags me about that lapse."
"Will somebody tell me, please, what's going on?" Gabby asked when she could stand it no longer.
"I've gotten together a group to get Martina out," J.D. said patiently. "That's all you need to know." "The meres! They're already here?" "Yes," he murmured, watching her with a tiny smile on his face.
"Ah, I think the line of work of our amigos fascinates this one." Laremos grinned handsomely.
"Can I actually talk to them?" Gabby said, persisting, all eyes and curiosity. "Oh, J.D., imagine belonging
to a group like that, going all over the world to fight for freedom."
"A lot of them do it for less noble reasons, Gabby," he said, searching her face with an odd intensity. "And you may be disappointed if you're expecting a band of Hollywood movie stars. There's nothing glamorous about killing people."
"Killing...people?"
"What in God's name did you think they did, turn water hoses on the enemy?" he asked incredulously. "Gabby, in war men kill each other. In ways you wouldn't like to know about."
"Well, yes, I realize that." She frowned. "But it's a very dangerous way to live, it's..." She stopped and searched for words. "Before I came to work for you I lived a quiet, kind of dull life, J.D.," she said, trying to explain. "Sometimes I thought that I'd probably never do anything more exciting than washing clothes at the Laundromat. Those men.. .they've faced death. They've learned the limits of their courage, they've tested themselves until the secrets are all gone." She looked up. "I don't suppose it makes sense, but I think I envy them in a way. They've taken all the veneer off civilization and come away with the reality of what they are. In a terrible way, they've seen the face of life without the mask. I never will. I don't think I really want to. But I'm curious about people who have."
He brushed the hair back from her face with a gentle hand. "When you see First Shirt, you won't have to ask questions. You'll be able to read the answers in his face. Won't she, Laremos?" "But indeed." He chuckled.
"Is he a friend of yours?" she asked J.D.
He nodded. "One of the best I ever had."
"When you were in the Special Forces?" she asked.
He turned away. "Of course." He glanced at Lare-mos, and they exchanged a level gaze that Gabby didn't understand.
"You didn't want mines, did you?" Laremos asked suddenly.
"No. We could have carried in a few Claymores, but they're too much extra weight. The RPGs will be enough, and Drago can jury-rig a mine if he has to. I want to get in and get out fast."
"The rainy season hasn't started, at least," Laremos said. "That will be a bonus."
"Yes, it will. Have you still got my crossbow?"
"Above the mantel in my study." Laremos smiled. "It is a conversation piece."
"To hell with that, does it still work?"
"Yes."
"A crossbow?" Gabby laughed. "Is it an antique?"
J.D. shook his head. "Not quite."
"Is it easier to shoot than a bow and arrow?" she asked, pursuing the subject.
He looked uncomfortable. "It's just a memento," he said. "Gabby, did you pack some jeans and comfortable shoes?"
"Yes, as you saw in Italy." She sighed, beginning to feel uneasy. "How long will we be here?"
"Probably no more than three days, if things go well," he replied. "We need a little time to scout the area and make a plan."
"The hospitality of my finca is at your disposal,"
Laremos said. "Perhaps we might even make time to show Gabby some of the Mayan ruins." Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Don't mention archaeological ruins around her, please," J.D. muttered. "She goes crazy."
"Well, I like old things," she retorted. "Why else would I work for you?" J.D. looked shocked. "Me? Old?" She studied his face. It wasn't heavily lined, but there was a lot of silver at his temples mingling with his black hair. She frowned. She'd always assumed he was pushing forty, but now she wondered. "How old are you, J.D.?" she asked. "Thirty-six." She gasped.
"Not what you expected?" he asked softly. "You.. .seem older."
He nodded. "I imagine so. I've got thirteen years on you."
"You needn't sound so smug," she told him. "When I'm fifty, you'll hate those extra thirteen years." "Think so?" he murmured, smiling. She glanced away from that predatory look. "Tell me about Guatemala, Senor Laremos."
"Diego, please," he said, correcting her. "What would you like to know?" "Anything."
&n
bsp; He shrugged. "We have hopes for a better future, senorita, now that we have new leadership. But the guerrillas are still fighting the regime, and the compa-nitas are caught in the middle, as always. The warfare is sometimes very cruel. We are primarily an agricultural
country, with an economy based on bananas and coffee. There is a sad lack of the things your people take for granted. Indoor plumbing, automobiles, adequate medical facilities—these things even the poorest of your people can expect, but here... Did you know, segnorita, that the life expectancy in my country is only 50 years?"
She looked shocked. "Will things get better? Will the fighting stop?"
"We hope so. But in the meantime, those who wish to hold their land must have security. Mine is excellent. But many do not have the financial wherewithal to hire guards. I have a neighbor who gets government troops to go with him every afternoon to check his cattle and his holdings. He is afraid to go alone."
"I'll never grumble about paying income taxes again," Gabby said. "I guess we tend to take it for granted that we don't have to defend our property with guns."
"Perhaps someday we will be able to say the same thing."
Gabby was quiet for the rest of the trip, while J.D. and Laremos discussed things she couldn't begin to understand. Military terms. Logistics. She studied her taciturn employer with new eyes. There was more than he was telling her. It had something to do with the past he never discussed, and he was obviously reluctant to share any of it with her. Trust, again. At least he trusted her enough to let her handle the communications for this insane rescue attempt. If only he'd let those men go into the jungle and stay behind himself. Maybe she could talk him into it. It was a job for a professional soldier,
not a lawyer. She closed her eyes and began to think up things to say, knowing in her heart that J.D. wasn't going to be swayed by any of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
DESPITE GABBY'S UNVOICED FEARS, they went through customs with no hitches, and minutes later were met by a man J.D. obviously knew.
The man was short and sandy blond, with a face like a railroad track and a slight figure. He was much older than the other two men, probably nearing fifty. He wasf wearing jungle fatigues with laced up boots. At his side j was a holstered pistol; over his shoulder, a mean-look-1 ing rifle.
"Archer!" The short man chuckled, and they embraced roughly. "Damn, but I'm glad to see you, even under the circumstances. No sweat, amigo—we'll get Martina out of there. Apollo came like a shot when I told him what was on."
"How are you, First Shirt?" J.D. replied. "You've lost weight, I see."
"Well, I'm not exactly in the right profession for getting lazy, am I, Boss?" he asked Laremos, who agreed j readily enough.
"Laremos said Apollo and Drago were here, but how about Chen?" J.D. asked.
The short man sighed. "He bought it in Lebanon, amigo" He shrugged. "That's the way of it." His eyes !
were sad and had a faraway look. "It was how he'd have wanted it."
"Tough," J.D. said, agreeing. "Maps and radios, Shirt—we'll need those."
"All taken care of. Plus about twenty vaqueros for backup—the boss's men, and I trained 'em," he added with quiet pride.
"That's good enough for me."
"Shall we get under way?" Laremos asked, helping Gabby into a large car. He stood back to let J.D. slide in after her. They were joined by First Shirt, who drove, and another man with a rifle.
The topography was interesting. It reminded Gabby of photos of Caribbean islands, very lush and tropical and studded with palm trees. But after they drove for a while, it began to be mountainous. They passed a burned-out shell of what must have been a house, and Gabby shuddered.
"Diego," she said quietly, nodding toward the ruin, "the owners—did they escape?"
"No, senorita," he said.
She wrapped her arms around herself. J.D., noticing the gesture, pulled her closer. She let her head fall onto his shoulder quite naturally and closed her eyes while the men talked.
Laremos's finca was situated in a valley. The house seemed to be adobe or stucco, with large arches and an airy porch. It was only one story, and it spread out into a garden lush with tropical vegetation. She fell in love with it at first sight.
"You approve?" Laremos smiled, watching her with his dark, lazy eyes. "My father built it many years ago.
The servants in the house are the children and grand-1 children of those who came here with him, like most of my employees. The big landowners who hold the fences provide employment for many people, and it is not so temporary as jobs in your country. Here the laborers serve the same household for generations."
They'd passed through a small village, and she remembered glimpses of dark-eyed, dark-skinned, barefooted children grouped around a big fountain, where women were drawing water in jugs. The apparent lack of modern conveniences made her grateful for her own life in Chicago.
She hadn't noticed anything unusual about the drive except that the small, dark man beside First Shirt had his rifle in his lap and kept watching the countryside. Now he stood beside the car, rifle ready, while the others went into the house.
It was dark for a moment until her eyes adjusted; then she began to see its interior. There were tiny statuettes, obviously Mayan, along with bowls of cacti, heavy wood furniture, and Indian blankets all around the big living room.
"Coffee?" Laremos asked. He clapped his hands andgt; a small, dark woman about First Shirt's age came running with a smile on her face. "Cafe, porfavor, Carisa," he told the woman in rapid-fire Spanish.
She nodded and rushed away.
"Brandy, Archer?" he asked J.D.
"I don't drink these days," J.D. replied, dropping onto the comfortable sofa beside Gabby. "First Shirt,, have you been able to get any intelligence out of the! other camp?"
"Enough." The short, sandy-haired man nodded, also refusing the offer of brandy. "She isn't being mistreated, not yet, at least," he said, watching the younger man relax just a little. "They're holding her in the remains of a bunkhouse on a finca about six clicks away. They aren't well armed—just some AK-47s and grenades, no heavy stuff. They don't have an RPG-7 between them."
"What is a click? And what's an RPG?" Gabby asked.
"A click is a kilometer. An RPG is a rocket launcher, Russian made," J.D. explained. "It makes big holes in things."
"Like tanks and aircraft and buildings," First Shirt added. "You must be Gabby. I've heard a lot about you."
She was taken aback. Everybody seemed to know about her, but she'd never heard of any of these people. She glanced at J.D.
"So I brag about you a little," he said defensively.
'To everybody but me," she returned. "You never even pat me on the head and tell me I've done a good job."
"Remind me later," he said with a slow smile.
"Could I freshen up?" Gabby asked.
"Of course! Carisa!" Laremos called.
The Latin woman entered with a tray of coffee, and he spoke to her again in Spanish.
"Si, senor" Carisa murmured.
"I've asked her to show you your room," Laremos explained. "Archer, you might like to take the bags and go with them. Then we can talk."
"Suits me." J.D. picked up the cases and followed Gabby and the serving woman down the hall.
The room had a huge double bed. It was the first thing Gabby noticed, and she felt herself go hot all
over, especially when Carisa left and she was alone with J.D.
He closed the door deliberately and watched her fiddle with her cosmetic case as she set it down on the dresser.
"Gabby."
She put down a bottle of makeup and turned.
He moved just in front of her and framed her small face in his hands. "I don't want you out of my sight any more than you have to be. Laremos is charming, but there are things about him you don't know. About all these men."
"Including you, Mr. Brettman?" she asked gently, searching his eyes. "Especially you?"
"You were one of them, weren't you, J.D.?" she asked quietly. "They're more than old friends. They're old comrades-in-arms."
"I wondered when you'd guess," he murmured. His eyes darkened. "Does it matter?"
She frowned. "I don't understand. Why should the fact that you served in the Special Forces with them matter?"
He seemed torn between speech and silence. He drew in a breath and rammed his hands in his pockets. "You don't know about the years before you met me, Gabby."
"Nobody does. It has something to do with trust, doesn't it?"
He met her searching green eyes squarely. "Yes. A lot. I've lived by hard rules for a long time. I've trusted no one, because it could have meant my life. These
men—First Shirt and Laremos and the rest—I know I can trust them, because under fire they never failed me. Laremos, maybe once—that's one reason I brought you along. Against my better judgment," he added dryly. "I'm still not sure I could live with myself if anything happened to you here."
"And that's why you want me in the same room with you?" she probed delicately.
"Not quite," he admitted, watching her. "I want you in the same room because I've dreamed of holding you in my arms all night. I won't make any blatant passes at you, Gabby, but the feel of you in the bed will light up my darkness in ways I can't explain to you."
She felt her heart hammering. He made it sound wildly erotic, to be held close to that massive body all night long, to go to sleep in his arms. Her breath caught in her throat; her eyes looked up into his and her blood surged in her veins.
His fingers moved down to her throat, stroking it with a deliberately sensuous lightness. "Is your blood running as hot as mine is right now?" he asked under his breath. "Does your body want the feel of mine against it?"
He bent and tilted her face up to his, so that he could watch her expression. His mouth opened as it brushed against hers.
"Stand very still," he whispered, opening her mouth with his. "Very, very still..."