The Right Stuff

by Merline Lovelace

  "Bring us in closer."

  Keeping a wary eye on the depth finder, she took Pegasus into the bay. "The ocean floor's shelving fast. If we don't find the mouth soon, I'll have to switch to track mode and take us..."

  "There it is."

  The narrow gap in the tangled vegetation was almost invisible. Mac would have missed it if not for the rippling water surface where the river eddied into the bay.

  Getting a lock on the ripples, Cari swung the wheel. Moments later, Pegasus was fighting his way against the powerful current. Before the green gloom of the river swallowed them, Mac needed to advise the recon team they were on their way up the Verde.

  "Second Recon, this is Pegasus One."

  He waited for a reply. None came. Frowning, he keyed his mike again.

  "Second Recon, this is Pegasus One. Acknowledge please."

  Long, tense seconds of silence passed. Cari pulled her gaze from the instruments. Mac saw his own mounting worry mirrored in her brown eyes. His jaw tightening, he was about to try again when the unmistakable rattle of gunfire came bursting through the radio. The patrol leader came on a second later, his voice sharp-edged but remarkably calm given the stutter of small arms fire in the background.

  "Pegasus One, this is Second Recon. Be advised we've run smack into a heavily armed rebel patrol."

  "Do you have them in your sights?"

  "We do, but our orders are to avoid returning fire unless under extreme duress."

  The sergeant broke off, cursing as another loud burst made extreme duress sound a whole lot closer than it had a few seconds ago. Mac's fists went white at the knuckles. Those were marines taking fire. He didn't breathe until the team leader came back on the horn.

  "We can give these bastards the slip, but we'll have to fall back. We'll try to lead them as far as possible away from the target. Sorry, One. Looks like you're on your own from here on out."

  "Roger that."

  "Good luck, sir."

  "You, too."

  The transmission cut off. The sudden silence drowned out even the muted whine of Pegasus's engines. His jaw locked tight, Mac took another GPS reading from the radio signal and noted the team's position on his map. They were still a good four klicks away from the mission.

  "We've entered the river channel. I'm going to take us under, then power up to full speed."

  The calm announcement brought Mac's head snapping around. Cari's profile was outlined against the dark vegetation lining the riverbank. She kept her attention divided between the instrument panel and the view outside the bubble canopy, now narrowed to a fast-flowing river crowded above and on both sides by jungle.

  She had every intention of pushing ahead, with or without fire support from the squad of marines they'd planned to rendezvous with. Evidently, it hadn't occurred to her to abandon their mission. It hadn't occurred to Mac, either, until this moment.

  "Listen up, Lieutenant. We need to take another look at our operations plan. I..."

  "Don't even think it."

  The flat comeback snapped his brows together, but she didn't give him time to respond. Slewing around, she raked him with a wire-brush look.

  "This is a two-person operation, McIver. If you go in, I go in."

  He bit back the reminder that he was in command of the land phase of this mission. He knew damn well she'd remind him he hadn't yet set foot on dry land.

  Satisfied she'd made her point, Cari prepared to take Pegasus under the river's green surface.

  Twenty-six torturous miles later, she brought her craft up from the murky depths. Cari had seen more than her fill of submerged tree stump, twisting roots, slime-covered boulders and darting water snakes.

  Once above the surface, the jungle reached out to envelop them. When the water sluiced off the canopy, Cari got the eerie feeling she and Mac were alone in a dark, still universe. Only an occasional stray sunbeam penetrated the dense overgrowth hundreds of feet above. Strangler vines drooped down like ropes from entwined branches. Giant ferns fanned out to cover the riverbanks.

  Carefully, Cari navigated the last few yards to their designated rendezvous point. No one was waiting on the riverbank. No marines. No missionaries. No rebels or government troops.

  Mac swept both banks with high-powered Night Vision goggles. The goggles could penetrate the gloom beyond the banks far better than the human eye.

  "It looks clear," he said tersely.

  Cari nodded. "Hold tight."

  Repeating the process she'd tested only this morning in the Gulf waters just off Corpus Christi, she switched Pegasus from sea to land mode. The outer engines shut down and tucked against the hull. The propellers folded. The belly doors opened and the wide-track wheels descended.

  Like some primeval beast crawling up out of the swamp, Pegasus clawed his way up the riverbank. The wheel tread ate up the giant ferns and spit them out. But even a high-tech, all-terrain, all-weather assault vehicle was no match for the impenetrable jungle.

  Mac would have to hoof it from here. Killing the engines, Cari hit the switch to open the rear hatch. Smothering tropical heat instantly rushed in. So did an astonishing variety of flying insects. Swatting at a winged critter in a particularly virulent shade of orange, Cari climbed out of her seat and followed Mac to the hatch.

  "I'll bring out the two Americans," he told her. "You stay with Pegasus.'"

  She swallowed her instinctive protest. With her craft secured and on dry land, the baton had passed. She was no longer in command. From now until Mac returned with the missionaries, this was his show.

  Feeling a little deflated, she watched as he hunkered down on his heels and dug through his pack. A few, quick smears decorated his face in shades of green and black. Thin black gloves covered his hands. He performed a radio check, chambered a round in his assault rifle, and slung the weapon over his shoulder. His gray-green eyes lasered into her as he confirmed their communications pattern.

  "I'll signal you at half-hour intervals. If I miss one signal, wait another half hour. If I miss two, get the hell out of Dodge. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  His gaze speared into her. "I mean it, Dunn. No stupid heroics. They could get us both killed."

  He was right. She knew he was right. Yet her throat closed at the thought of leaving him in this smothering heat and darkness.

  "Two missed signals and you're gone. Got that, Lieutenant?"

  She gave a tight nod. He returned it with a jerk of his chin and started off. He took two steps, only two, and swung back.

  "What the hell."

  The muttered oath had Cari blinking in surprise. She blinked again when he strode back to her and caught her chin in his hand.

  "Mac, what are—?"

  His mouth came down on hers, hard and hot and hungry. Stunned, she stood stiff as an engine blade while his lips moved over hers. A moment later, he faded into the jungle. She was left with the tang of camouflage face paint in her nostrils and the taste of Mac on her lips.

  Chapter 3

  "That was smart, McIver. Really smart."

  Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Mac moved through the dense undergrowth. He'd made some questionable moves in his life. Tangling with the senator's wife had been one of them. Laying that kiss on Caroline Dunn was another. What was this thing he had for married—or almost married—women?

  Calling himself an idiot one more time, Mac forced his thoughts away from the woman, the kiss and the heat that brief contact had sent spearing right through his belly.

  The mission lay some three kilometers from the river. Five or six kilometers beyond that Second Recon had run smack into a heavily armed rebel force. The marines had said they'd fall back and draw the rebels away from the mission, but Mac wasn't taking any chances. He kept his tread light on the damp, spongy earth and his assault weapon at the ready as he pushed through the giant ferns.

  Once away from the river, the ferns thinned and the going got easier. The overhead canopy was so thick only the occasional stray sun
beam could penetrate. It was like moving through a dim, cavernous cathedral with tall columns of trees spearing straight up to support the vaulted ceiling. The deep shadows provided excellent concealment for him and, unfortunately, for potential enemies.

  He pushed on, using the GPS built into his handheld digital radio to check his position and send Cari a silent signal at the prearranged times. With each step, his jumpy nerves steadied and his concentration narrowed until there was only Mac, his weapon and the gloom ahead.

  As swift and stealthy as a panther, he cut through the jungle. Every sense had moved to full alert, every flutter of an orange-winged butterfly and slither of a spotted lizard sent a message. So did the sudden, raucous screech of a parrot.

  Mac spun to his right, dropped into a crouch, and caught a flash of scarlet as the bird took wing. Peering into the gloom, Mac tried to see what had spooked it. Nothing else moved. No leafy ferns swayed.

  Forcing the knotted muscles at the base of his skull to relax, Mac came out of the crouch. Without warning, something hard and sharp smacked into his forehead just above his right eyebrow.

  Cursing, he ignored the blood pouring into his eye and aimed his assault rifle at the base of a hollow-trunked strangler fig. When the shadows moved, his finger went tight on the trigger.

  "Whoever's in there better show yourself. Now!"

  He repeated the warning in Spanish and was searching for the few words of Caribe he'd memorized when another missile came zinging at him. This one he managed to dodge. It ricocheted off the tree behind him and landed at his feet.

  A rock! Mac saw in disgust. Damned if he'd hadn't taken a direct hit from a rock.

  "You've got five seconds to show yourself," he shouted, blinking away the blood. "Four, three, two..."

  The shadow burst out of the tree trunk. With a frightened look at the gun aimed at his chest, the attacker whirled and ran.

  With another muttered curse, Mac eased the pressure on the trigger. His assailant was a kid. A scrawny, barefooted kid in a Spider-Man T-shirt, of all things. Judging by his size, the runt couldn't be more than six or seven.

  "Hey! Hold on! I won't hurt you!"

  Fumbling for the Spanish phrases, he hotfooted it after the kid. He couldn't have him spreading the word that there was an armed Americano roaming loose in the neighborhood. Not until after Mac had departed the scene with the two missionaries, anyway.

  His longer legs ate up the ground. He caught the kid by the back of his ragged shirt and swung him around. The little stinker put up a heck of a fight, grunting and kicking and jabbing with his bony elbows. Keeping well clear of those sharp elbows, Mac held him at arm's length.

  "I'm a friend. Amigo."

  The kid twisted frantically. He wasn't buying the friend bit. Considering the violence now ripping his country apart, Mac couldn't exactly blame him. He gave the boy a quick little shake.

  "Where's your village? ¿Dónde está su, uh, casa?"

  Still the youngster wouldn't answer. His lower lip jutted out and his black eyes shot daggers at the marine, but he refused to speak so much as a word. Instead, he made some motion with his hand that Mac strongly suspected was the Caribe version of buzz off, pal.

  "Stubborn little devil, aren't you?"

  Well, no matter. He had to be from the village where the Americans had set up their mission. It was the only settlement in this vicinity.

  Bunching his fist, Mac kept a firm grip on the boy's shirt with one hand while he slung his weapon over his shoulder and probed the cut above his eye with the other. The skin was tender and already rising to a good-sized lump, but the blood had slowed to a trickle. He'd clean the cut when he got to the village. Unless the navigational finder in his radio was sending faulty signals, it couldn't be much farther.

  It wasn't.

  Another ten minutes brought Mac and his sullen, squirming captive to the edge of a clearing. Although the boy hadn't as yet uttered a single sound, Mac clamped a hand over his mouth. Eyes narrowed, he surveyed the scene.

  It didn't take him long to determine the village was deserted. No dogs yapped. No pigs snuffled in the dirt. No goats were tethered to stakes beside the huts. Nor could Mac discern any sign of human habitation... until an unmistakably female figure in a sleeveless white blouse and baggy tan slacks emerged from the clapboard building at the far end of the dirt track that served as the village's main thoroughfare. Obviously agitated, the woman thrust a hand through her cropped blond hair.

  "Paulo! Where are you?"

  The woman repeated the shout in Spanish, then Ca-ribe. Mac was congratulating himself on having located at least one of the missionaries when his attacker gave a strangled grunt and renewed his frenzied attempts to escape.

  This time, Mac let him go. The little squirt shot off, his skinny legs pumping.

  "Paulo! There you are!"

  Her shoulders sagging in relief, the woman dropped to her knees and opened her arms. The boy charged straight into them. The woman hugged him fiercely, rocking back and forth.

  Mac decided he'd better make his presence known before the kid painted him as an enemy. But when he stepped out from behind the tree, the woman's horrified glance whipped from his black-painted, blood-streaked face to his assault rifle. Before Mac could identify himself and assure her he meant no harm, she let loose with a piercing yell.

  "¡Los soldados!"

  "Lady, it's okay. I'm..."

  He started toward her, then stopped dead as the shutters covering the windows of one of the huts banged open. In the ominous silence that followed, he heard the snick of a weapon being cocked.

  Impatiently, Cari swatted at a persistent mosquito and searched the towering ferns lining the river.

  Where the heck was Mac?

  Why hadn't he contacted her in... She drew another bead on the functional black watch strapped to her wrist. In fifty-two minutes?

  After he'd missed his last signal, she'd waited ten endless minutes before trying to raise him on his radio. When another ten had crawled by, she'd tried again. Each time she'd received nothing. Nada. Zilch.

  Now she was eight minutes away from the point where he'd insisted she get out of Dodge.

  Could she abandon him?

  She was no closer to an answer now than she'd been for the past fifty-three minutes. She glowered at the leafy ferns, willing them to part.

  Dammit, where was he?

  And what the heck had that kiss been all about?

  She didn't have an answer for either question.

  Grinding her back teeth in frustration, Cari pulled out her sidearm and released the magazine. A quick check verified the clip was full. She snapped it back in, holstered the Beretta, and swiped her damp, sweaty palms down the side of her BDU shirt.

  She could still taste him on her lips. Still feel the scrape of his bristly chin on hers. With all her years in uniform, she would never have imagined she'd be feeling this kind of prickly, itchy, physical awareness smack in the middle of a mission!

  Or at all, for that matter.

  She was no nun. She'd dated her share of smart, sexy men. Had drifted in and out of several heavy relationships before meeting Jerry. And he was certainly no slouch when it came to stirring her senses. Yet Cari was darned if she could remember ever experiencing such a severe reaction to a single kiss.

  She'd be a fool to attach too much significance to it, though. It could only have sprung from tension, that peculiar combination of nerves and adrenaline that came at times like this. Mac had no interest in her outside the professional. None he'd demonstrated during their months in the New Mexico desert, anyway. And she found him almost as irritating as she did attractive.

  So why the heck couldn't she lick his taste from her lips? Scowling, she slapped a palm against the side of the hatch.

  Where was he!

  "Pegasus One, this is Two."

  The sharp, clear communication almost had Cari jumping out of her skin. Gulping down her relief, she keyed her radio.

  "G
o ahead, Two."

  "Be advised that I'm en route back to your position, approximately fifty meters out. Prepare to cast off as soon as we get our passengers on board."

  "Roger."

  He'd done it! He'd located the missionaries and brought them out. Cari would have a word with him later about the grief his missed signal had put her through. Right now, she had to power up her craft.

  The engines were humming and she was back at the open hatch when the ferns began to shake. Seconds later, Mac popped through the leafy wall. He was carrying something on his back. Not something, Cari saw in surprise when he turned to hold aside the ferns. Someone. A child.

  A woman pushed through the greenery after Mac. She was followed by a boy in sneakers and scruffy, white cotton pants. Another child poked through a second later, this one a scrawny girl in pigtails and tattered, pink sneakers.

  Her jaw dropping, Cari watched as several more children emerged. A tall, lanky man with a wide-eyed little girl on his shoulders brought up the rear of the column. Mac hustled them all toward the waiting craft.

  The woman reached the vehicle first. Cari stretched down a hand, grasped her wrist, and helped her up the steps.

  "Thanks." She raked a hand through short, sweat-spiked blond bangs. "I'm Dr. White. Janice White."

  "Glad you made it, Doc."

  Nodding, the missionary stood back as Cari reached for the child Mac lifted up. He was a tousled-haired boy of three or four. He was also blind, Cari realized when his groping hands failed to connect with hers. Gulping, she took a better stance and stretched out her arms. His chubby fingers found her sleeves and dug in.

  "Okay, I've got him."

  To her consternation, she soon discovered each of the children possessed some form of physical disability. One dragged his right leg. Another had a cleft palate that left his young face tragically disfigured. The merry gap-toothed girl had a spine so twisted she couldn't stand upright. Dismayed, Cari waited for Mac to climb aboard.

  "I had to bring them," he said in response to her silent query. "The Whites wouldn't leave them."