"Almost."
To Cari's consternation, the clean, sharp scent of river-washed male cut right through her elation at getting the navigational system up. Her concentration took another hit when Mac leaned over her shoulder to peer at the checklist in her lap.
"What's next?"
Oh, sure! Like she could read a checklist with McIver's wet, naked chest snuggled against her cheek?
"Next up are, uh, the defensive systems."
"Be good to get our eyes and ears back on line," he commented, pushing upright. "It makes me feel real goosey having only a couple sentries out there between us and the bad guys."
It made Cari feel goosey, too. Almost as goosey as the final squeeze Mac gave her shoulder before sliding open the panel to the rear compartment. The ripple effect of that casual caress went all the way down to her toes.
For Pete's sake! What the heck was going on with her? One short, hot session in Mac's arms and she approached total meltdown if he so much as looked sideways at her.
Exasperated, Cari shook her head. So much for her decision to back off and let the embers stirred by one man die before jumping into the fire with another. In two short days Major Russ McIver had crowded Commander Jerry Wharton right out of her head.
How long he would stay there after the Pegasus cadre disbanded had yet to be determined, Cari reminded herself.
Well, what would happen, would happen. Right now her focus had to be getting Pegasus ready to swim again.
She had half of the systems powered up and was tapping her fingers impatiently on the checklist when Mac called from the rear compartment.
"Hey, Dunn!"
"What?"
"Thought you might want to know the environmental systems are fully operational. It's downright chilly back here."
"No kidding?"
The prospect of even a few minutes relief from the suffocating jungle heat was too tempting to resist. Cari checked the instrument panel, estimated it would take another twelve minutes for the hydraulic system to achieve maximum efficiency, and tossed the checklist onto the seat next to hers. Mere seconds later, she was leaning against the sliding door separating the cabin from the cockpit, bathed in blessedly cool air.
"Ahhhhh."
Mac flashed a grin. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Good doesn't begin to describe it."
She closed her eyes, letting the heat and suffocating humidity leach from her bones. The climate-controlled air felt so wonderful she didn't notice when her sopping BDU pants and T-shirt went from merely wet to downright clammy.
Mac did, however. "You've got goose bumps popping out up and down your arms."
She waved a careless hand. "What are a few goose bumps compared to such bliss?"
"My T-shirt's dry." Scooping up the wad of black cotton, he tossed it in her direction. "You're welcome to change into it."
It was more than just dry, Cari discovered after snagging the garment midair. It was soft and warm and carried the scent of sun. Not to mention a distinctive blend of raw masculinity that was all Mac.
Dropping it on the webbed seat, she dragged up the hem of her wet shirt. She'd bared two inches of midriff before she noticed that McIver had crossed his arms and propped his shoulders against the bulkhead.
"I take it you're just going to stand there and enjoy the show?"
His eyes glinted. "That's the plan."
"Hmm."
Pursing her lips, Cari debated whether to perform for her one-person audience. She certainly hadn't had any reservations last night. She'd come within a breath of stripping to her skin. Okay, she'd pretty well ached to shed every scrap of clothing she had on.
As hot and heavy as those moments had been, though, there was something infinitely more disconcerting about peeling off a wet T-shirt in the bright light of day, with Mac's very intent, very interested gaze aimed in her direction. Which was crazy, since that same wet T-shirt made it obvious she was wearing another garment under the cotton.
Crazy or not, Cari's skin prickled from more than the cool air as she raised her arms and dragged the damp, clingy cotton over her head. Common sense told her to grab Mac's shirt and pull it on. A perverse, wholly feminine instinct told her to take her time.
Casually, she tugged at the lower hem of her bra to adjust the wet spandex. The fabric stretched taut over the tips of her breasts, which had gone tight and stiff in reaction to the cool air. To Cari's intense satisfaction, Mac's breath left on a little hiss.
Shoving away from the bulkhead, he stepped over the roll of cargo netting he'd retrieved from the storage compartment. His voice held a rough edge but his touch was tender as he drew a knuckle down the slopes of her breasts.
"Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?"
She hadn't looked into a mirror in going on thirty-six hours and would probably shriek when she did. She wasn't about to argue with the man, however.
"You aren't so bad yourself, big guy."
"You're just saying that because you've got a thing for buzz cuts and sidewalls."
Buzz cuts and sidewalls and little white squint lines at the corners of sexy hazel eyes, Cari admitted silently. Not to mention a strong, square chin and a set of pecs right out of Bench Press Quarterly. Tiny shivers rippled along the surface of her skin as his knuckle traced a path down the slope of her other breast.
After the frenzied urgency of last night, this slow, soft caress was incredibly arousing. She stood still under the whisper-light stroke as long as she could before giving in to the need to touch him.
Gliding her fingertips across his chest, she imprinted every sensation. The damp heat rising under her fingers. The smooth bulge of skin and muscle. The dusting of dark hair arrowing down to his waist. She kept her touch every bit as light as Mac's, yet her breath was soon coming as fast and rough as his.
She should have known touching wouldn't be enough—for either of them. Her pulse pounding, Cari tipped her head back and opened her mouth eagerly under his. One kiss and they'd picked up right where they'd left off last night. She clung to him, every nerve in her body singing.
The rush of blood was so swift and fast she almost missed the echo of a distant shout. Mac caught the sound, though. Jerking his head up, he listened intently for a moment before thrusting her away.
"Get dressed."
She was already grabbing at the dry T-shirt. Yanking it over her head, she clambered into the open cockpit after Mac. The sight of two men paddling furiously downriver in their direction started a curl of dread in her stomach. Something had obviously alarmed the sentries.
It alarmed her, too, when they relayed their news using a mix of English, Spanish, and Caribe.
"Boat comes. Big boat. With gun."
The sentry held two fists waist high, as if gripping handles, and stuttered like a machine gun.
"Sounds like a patrol boat," Cari forced out through a suddenly dry throat.
"They come slow," the other fisherman put in. "Stop many times. Search bank."
"How far away?" Mac asked urgently.
"Three bends of river."
Cari drew a map in her head of the snaking Rio Verde and came up with a rough guesstimate.
"I make that a half hour. Maybe more if the boat is moving as slowly as they say."
Her mind racing, she weighed their options. They could abandon Pegasus and fade into the jungle with the Whites and the kids. Or they could make a run for it.
"How long before you can get us underway?" Mac snapped, breaking into her thoughts.
"We're barely halfway through the sequence of powering up the onboard systems."
"How long?"
Desperately, she drew on the months she'd spent prepping for Pegasus's water trials. "Ten minutes, if we stay on surface. Twenty, if we want to go below."
Mac didn't hesitate. He was as determined as Cari not to leave their craft behind.
"We'll go surface." Scooping up the roll of cargo webbing, he headed for the cockpit. "I'll get the Whites and the k
ids. I'll also see if I can convince our hosts to rig another fishnet, like fast. With any luck, they'll snag the patrol boat the same way they did Pegasus and buy us a little more time."
Chapter 7
Cari raced through the checklist and brought up only the absolute essential systems. The last to come alive was the Satellite Surveillance System, which picked up the infrared heat signature of a watercraft some miles upriver and displayed it in the form of a faint amber dot. The signal was weak due the satellite's inability to fully penetrate the dense jungle canopy, but strong enough to confirm the craft was in fact a patrol boat—heavily armed and moving slowly, but definitely heading in their direction.
Keeping one eye on that amber dot, Cari had the engines revving and Pegasus ready to shake free of the mooring lines when Mac came charging out of the jungle with Rosa on his shoulders. The two missionaries and the rest of the children scrambled after him. In their wake came most of the village.
While Mac handed the Whites and the kids aboard, the local men made for their canoes. Cari had time for only a few shouted words of thanks and a wild wave before Mac freed the mooring lines. As soon as he'd jumped into the cockpit, she closed the canopy, steered her craft out to midchannel and throttled up. To her infinite relief, the twin, rear-tilted engines gave a throaty roar. Their propellers cut into the water. With the delta-shaped wings acting like a hydrofoil, Pegasus raised his nose out of the water, sprayed a long silver arc behind him, and sped downriver.
Cari kept her eyes on the instruments and her hands fisted on the controls. "You'd better get on the horn and inform base of the situation. See if they can get the particulars on that patrol boat."
They could and did. Captain Westfall came back on the radio within moments with the information that rebels had seized the boat two days earlier from government forces, killing all aboard. He also confirmed that it was heavily armed.
"Be advised that we'll have a Pavehawk in the air within the next ten minutes," Westfall said tersely. "The chopper will be waiting for you when you exit the mouth of the river and fly cover while you cross the open sea."
That was welcome news. Very welcome news. A highly modified version of the army's Blackhawk helicopter, the Pavehawk had enough firepower to hold off a dozen patrol boats. Now all Cari had to do was get her craft and her passengers to the mouth of the Rio Verde.
Her heart in her throat, she put on as much speed as she dared given the river's sharp twists and turns. At the same time, she gauged the progress of the glowing amber dot trailing them.
Mac, too, kept his jaw locked and his eyes on the display screen. He gave a muttered curse when the patrol picked up speed and inched closer, an exclamation of relief when it suddenly stopped dead.
"Yes!"
Cari tore her gaze from the green river ahead to take a fix on the boat's location. "Looks like they're at about the same spot where we hit."
"Looks like."
"Think they're caught?"
"Either that or they spotted the cargo webbing and decided to stop and investigate."
"I hope the villagers don't take heat for helping us."
Mac shook his head. "They won't. The headman told me he and his people would melt into the jungle at the first sound of an engine. How far to the coast?"
Her glance dipped to the instruments. "Three miles as the crow flies. Forever, the way the river snakes back on itself at every turn."
"Just keep us heading in the right direction and... Hell!"
The terse expletive sent Can's hope that they'd make a clean escape plunging straight to the river bottom. Her jaw tight, she watched the amber dot begin to move again.
"They must have cut through the webbing," Mac muttered. "They're picking up speed."
"I see." She dragged in a deep breath. "Go back and make sure our passengers are strapped in. I'm going to open it up."
The next twenty minutes were the longest of Cari's life. Her heart pounded out every second, every bend they rounded, every centimeter the patrol boat nudged closer. They were still a long, twisting half mile from the mouth of the river when Mac bit out a terse command.
"Pop the canopy."
"What?"
"Throttle back and pop the canopy."
She tore her gaze from the green-shrouded river and saw he'd snapped the ammo clip out of his assault rifle. He checked the rounds and shoved the clip back in before meeting her slicing frown.
"They're closing too fast," he said grimly. "I'll have to slow them down."
"Mac, no!"
"It's our only chance." He jerked his chin toward the rear compartment. "Those kids' only chance. I'll stir up a little rear-action diversion, then hotfoot it downriver. The Pavehawk can pick me up."
"I don't like this."
"Throttle back, Cari."
She shot a look at the amber dot, snarled a vicious curse, and pulled back on the controls. Mere seconds after the canopy lifted, Mac splashed into the river. She saw him go under, bob to the surface, kick for shore. Then she shoved the throttle forward and sent Pegasus racing around another bend.
Her chest squeezing, she divided her attention between the twisting waterway ahead and the small screen. The patrol boat was less than a hundred meters behind and coming on fast. When it took that last bend, its crew would have her in their gun sites.
"Okay, Mac. If you're gonna do it, you'll have to do it now."
She gripped the wheel, prepared to take evasive action, when the patrol boat swerved wildly, took a sharp turn, and doubled back.
The roar of her craft's engines swallowed all other sounds. Cari had no idea whether Mac had opened fire, couldn't tell if the rebels were returning it. Every instinct screamed at her to go back, to employ Pegasus's not inconsiderable firepower as cover for Mac. Only the safety of the passengers she'd been sent in to rescue kept her on course.
By the time she rounded a final bend and caught a shimmer of blue far ahead, her jaw had locked tight. She'd also come to an unshakable decision. She was damned if she'd leave Mac to fight a rearguard action through a half mile of jungle.
The Pavehawk couldn't go in for him. The dense canopy was too thick for the chopper to penetrate. So Cari would transfer her passengers to the helo and go back herself. Snatching up her radio, she contacted the HH-60.
"This is Pegasus One. Be advised I'm approaching the mouth of the river. Request you set down on the beach immediately and prepare to receive passengers."
The reply was swift and unquestioning. "Roger, Pegasus One. Setting down now."
The river widened. Green water merged with indigo, eddied into sapphire. Tangled vines and giant ferns gave way to a fringe of palms and a snowy-white beach. Pegasus shot out of the darkness of the jungle into a light so dazzling Cari had to throw up an arm to shield her eyes.
She spotted the chopper mere yards away, its huge blades churning up a vortex of sand as it settled onto the beach. Spinning the wheel, she cut through the rolling surf, hit the switch to open the belly and lower the wide-track wheels. A moment later, Pegasus churned to a stop just outside the reach of the chopper's whirling blades.
The Pavehawk's side hatch opened. A half-dozen uniformed figures jumped out and ducked under the whirling blades. They included, Cari saw with a jolt of surprise, most of the Pegasus cadre.
There was no mistaking Kate Hargrave's flaming auburn hair or Jill Bradshaw's distinctive black armband with the initials "MP" emblazoned in big yellow letters. Doc Richardson charged across the sand behind the two women with Dave Scott at his heels. Cari caught a glimpse of Captain Westfall's tall, spare figure as she popped her seat harness and scrambled into the rear compartment.
"We've got a chopper all ready to ferry you and the children out of Caribe," she informed the anxious Whites. "Let's get you transferred."
The moment Cari opened the hatch, her friends were all there to help with the transfer. Kate took little Tomas. Doc Richardson hefted a wide-eyed Rosa in his arms. Dave Scott hustled Paulo to the Pavehawk, wher
e the boy dug in his heels and refused to climb aboard. His chin set at a stubborn angle, he signed an urgent demand.
"He wants to know where the major is," a harried Janice White interpreted.
"Tell him the major will rejoin him at the base," Dave said.
"He's mute, not deaf," Cari explained as she passed one of the youngsters to the Pavehawk's load-master. "Dr. White, you'd better take a head count."
Nodding, the missionary poked her head inside the chopper and conducted a swift inventory, "...seven, eight, nine with Paulo here. We're all here."
"See you back at base."
Cari spun away, her mind already on the journey back up river. An insistent tug on her fatigue shirt brought her back around.
"Paulo, I've got to go!"
The boy hung on to her fiercely with one hand while he dug his other into the pocket of his shorts. When he produced his rusted pocketknife, Cari looked at him blankly.
"You want me to take your knife?"
Jerking his chin in a quick affirmative, he shoved it into her hand and signed another urgent message.
"He says you might need it," Janice White translated. "To cut the major's ropes if the rebels have him."
Her throat tight, Cari closed her fingers over the small implement. If the rebels had taken Mac alive, she'd need more than a pocketknife to free him. But the fact that this child was willing to part with his only possession to aid in that effort made her throat go tight.
"Thank you," she said gruffly. "I'll return it to you when we get back to base."
Clutching the knife in a tight fist, she raced back to Pegasus. The rest of the cadre was already aboard. Jill. Kate. Doc. Dave. Even Sam Westfall. The captain wasn't about to leave one of his own behind. With Dave Scott strapped into the copilot's seat beside her, Cari took the multimillion-dollar craft back up the river.
The rebels hadn't captured Mac. As the tense recovery team discovered when Pegasus careened around the second bend in the river, he was still fighting a fierce rearguard action.
Cari's heart leaped into her throat when she spotted tracers from the patrol boat's bow-mounted machine arc from ship to shore. Vegetation flew into the air, shredded by the vicious stream of bullets.
The Right Stuff Page 7