by Rachel Lee
"The Air Force or flying fighters?"
"Either. Both."
"Not particularly."
She digested that while he tipped his head back and took a long swallow of his tea. Despite her determination to remain focused on the mission and not the man, Dani couldn't help noticing the weathered skin, the square jaw, the strong column of his throat. He wouldn't be bad if he scraped off those bristles and trimmed his hair, she admitted silently. Not bad at all.
Sternly, she banished the thought and probed deeper. "My father said you were one of the best pilots in his squadron."
"Yeah, well, Dan Flynn knew how to wring every last ounce of performance out of his men and their aircraft."
"Did you ever consider going back into the military? You're what? Thirty-two?"
Actually, he would turn thirty-three in a few weeks, but Dani saw no need to let him know she'd put together a file on him.
"Given the million or so the Air Force spent training you," she commented, "they might entertain a waiver."
"They might, if I was interested in one."
His heaping platter arrived. Several forkfuls disappeared down his throat. She knew she should let him enjoy his meal in peace, but the career officer in her wouldn't let go.
"So why aren't you interested?"
His shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. "What I'm doing suits me fine."
"But..."
"There are no buts, Flynn. Not in my mind. I'm my own boss. I spend as many hours in the air as I can cram in. I take the contracts I want and turn down those I don't."
"You can't prefer tooling around in a World War II vintage plane to flying jets!"
"You think so?" Annoyance put an edge to his voice. "I like flying low and slow. I like throwing my plane into a loop or a hammerhead stall whenever the mood strikes me. I like landing on runways so short I have to plow into someone's backyard to stop. There's nothing that compares to the feel of that old rag-wing's stick in my hand. Nothing."
Except maybe the feel of Danielle Flynn's mouth under his. The thought jumped uninvited into Jack's head and wouldn't jump out.
Damn! He couldn't remember when a woman had gotten to him like this. Even his ex hadn't delivered this kind of quick, hard punch to the gut. Their courtship had been rocky, their marriage even rockier.
And that, Jack reminded himself grimly, was a lesson he wouldn't soon forget. Couldn't afford to forget. Now that he'd arranged his life exactly the way he wanted it, he wasn't about to let some intense, intent career-type take it apart again. Scowling, he dug into his enchiladas.
"Eat up," he ordered curtly. "We've still got a good five hours of flying time before we reach this mountaintop resort of yours."
It took Dani exactly one flip of the biplane to understand that Buchanan was not happy with her for challenging his present career choice. Two to bring her lunch back into her throat.
She closed her eyes to the crazily tilting horizon, gritted her teeth as the harness straps gouged her shoulders, and shouted into the intercom. "All right! You've proved your point. You like throwing your plane into loop-de-loops."
"Those were barrel rolls."
"Whatever," she growled. "Unless you want recycled french fries and chili all over your damned plane, I suggest you fly straight, Buchanan."
The grin he shot her over his shoulder was positively evil.
Dani still hadn't quite forgiven him when they touched down on a dirt airstrip high in the Sierra Mad-res some five hours later. Unsteadily, she clambered out. Her bottom was totally anesthetized from sitting so long, and she was sure the harness straps had carved permanent creases in her shoulders.
While Buchanan made arrangements to service the plane with the attendant who ambled down from the hotel perched high on an escarpment above them, Dani rolled her neck to relieve the kinks and did a slow 360. The sun was slipping behind the mountains to the west, but the beams shooting through the towering peaks illuminated a stunning landscape.
This was Copper Canyon. Barranca del Cobre. Not really a single gorge, but a network of canyons slicing through the Sierra Madres. An area four times larger than Arizona's Grand Canyon, with dizzying changes in elevation and flora that ranged from cactus and sagebrush to cedar and pine. Filled with cascading waterfalls. Staggering cliffs. Verdant valleys. Sprinkled with prehistoric cliff dwellings, abandoned gold and silver mines, and isolated villages inhabited by the shy, dignified Tarahumara people.
And marked by steep, almost inaccessible arroyos. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Any one of which could hide a ragtag band of kidnappers.
Grimly, Dani dug into her carryall for the plain gold wedding band she'd purchased to complete the cover, and slipped it onto her ring finger. She glanced up to catch Buchanan's ironic gaze, shrugged, and led the way up the steep incline to the resort.
The main lodge of the Posada Barrancas clung to the side of the cliff like an eagle's aerie. Two dozen or so individual casitas were scattered along the canyon rim on either side of the lodge. Inside the lobby, timbers held aloft a soaring ceiling, and the sharp tang of pine resin drifted through two-story sliding windows left open to the spectacular vista.
"I'm Danielle Flynn," she told the receptionist. "I called in a reservation."
"Sí, señora. We have the reservation for you and the señor." A warm smile lit her face. "May I congratulate you both? We at Posada Barrancas are honored you chose to spend your honeymoon with us."
"Thank you."
"We've upgraded you, compliments of the house. Here are the keys to our best casita. And this key is for your Jeep. You must be careful when exploring the canyon, though. The roads are very narrow and steep."
Dani accepted the keys, her throat tight. Patricia had been driving one of the hotel's green-and-white-striped vehicles the afternoon she was kidnapped. It took some effort to toss off a casual query.
"A woman I know stayed here a few weeks ago. Patricia Stevens? Perhaps you remember her?"
At the mention of her stepsister's name, the friendly smile fell right off the receptionist's face.
"Sí. I remember." Chewing on her lower lip, the girl glanced around the lobby. "Señorita Stevens was here. She...she left."
That's all the girl would say. Or could say, probably. The hotel had no doubt put a tight lid on word of the kidnapping to avoid adverse publicity. Dani could only hope she had better luck in the villages nestled in the valleys below.
Neither she nor Buchanan spoke during the short ride via golf cart to their casita. But once the bellhop had showed them the amenities and left with a hefty tip, Buchanan gave a low, appreciative whistle.
"Now this is the way to fly."
Dani had to agree. The furniture was all natural wood—smooth, polished pine; white oak; native birch peeling bark in long, curling strips. Fabric woven in colorful Mexican designs covered the chair and sofa cushions. Aztec and Mayan statuary decorated the walls, interspersed with exquisitely woven basketry.
But dominating all was the view. It was, quite simply, magnificent. Tall, sliding glass panels formed one entire wall and framed a panorama of rugged mountains just turning purple. The doors opened to a railed balcony that hung suspended over a sheer, thousand-foot drop.
The bedroom proved even more stunning. A king-size bed sat on a raised platform surrounded on three sides by glass. Sleeping on that platform would be like floating on air, Dani thought, or in an eagle's nest. Not for the fainthearted. Or the acrophobic.
And not for her. Her plans for the next few nights didn't include sleeping.
"You can have the bedroom," she told Buchanan. "I'll take the sofa in the sitting room."
"Fine with me."
He could have offered at least a token protest, she thought wryly. He made up for it—somewhat—by giving her first dibs on the shower. She jumped at the chance to wash away twelve hours of open cockpit flying, along with the serious aches in her lower regions.
"Thanks. I won't be long. Too long," she amended wit
h a huff as she got her first glimpse of the gleaming spa just off the bedroom.
"Do you want me to order something from room service while you're in the bathroom?"
She dragged her rapt gaze from the circular stall with its floor-to-ceiling, all-round jets. "What?"
"Want me to order from room service?" he repeated. "I figure we should stay in. Since we are newlyweds..."
He let the sentence trail off provocatively, but Dani was too enthralled by the gleaming gadgets in the bathroom to do more than flap a hand.
"Okay. Sure. Whatever you want. Just go away, Buchanan. Please, go away."
He gave a small snort. "This honeymoon is starting to remind me a lot of my first."
Startled, Dani swung around and stared at his back as he strolled out. The former Mrs. Buchanan must have lacked a few necessary hormones, she thought. Or brain cells. Had the woman really turned Jack Buchanan away? On their honeymoon? The mere thought of tumbling onto that decadent bed with the man raised goose bumps all over Dani's skin. If he made love with anything close to the same skill he kissed with...
Whoa! She'd better derail that train of thought before it left the station. She wasn't here to test the mattress on that sybaritic bed. Or to indulge in erotic bedroom exercises with a scruffy crop duster. She was here to find her sister. Only to find her sister.
Closing the bathroom door, Dani stripped down, padded into the shower stall and turned the water jets to full blast.
Jack stood at the tall windows, trying his damnedest to ignore the muted buzz of the shower. Trying even harder not to picture in precise detail the wet, naked body of the woman caught in the crossfire of those jets.
He should be exhausted. Should be feeling those twelve hours at the stick, with only short breaks for refueling. Instead, the urge to strip off and join Danielle Flynn in that glass cubicle kept him wound tighter than the Stearman's engine coil.
She bothered him. Big time. Not just physically, although thinking about the way her mouth had tasted under his was enough to put a hitch in his stride. What really bugged him, though, was that he couldn't figure her out.
Last night, he'd pegged her as an uptight, ring-knocking academy grad. This morning, she'd damned near shot off his ear before calmly announcing that she was breaking all the rales by mounting her own rescue operation. Jack was pretty sure the OSI wasn't going to appreciate one of its agents going into a potentially dangerous situation alone, without authority or backup.
She had guts. He'd give her that. Just like her old man.
He emerged from his turn in the shower some time later to find her examining the contents of domed serving dishes laid out on a wheeled serving cart. He'd ordered fish for both of them, a local trout, crusted and served with a red salsa, black beans and chorizo. If the dishes tasted half as good as those heavenly scents wafting across the room promised, he'd made an excellent choice.
"I didn't think I could eat again after this afternoon's aerobics," she commented, her nose twitching appreciatively as she raised another dome.
"Barrel rolls are fun, aren't they? Wait until you experience your first hammerhead."
"Which I hope happens, oh, maybe never. I've decided—"
She broke off, her eyes widening as she turned and caught her first glimpse of him showered, shaved and minus three days' growth. Her reaction drew a rueful grin from Jack.
"I caught a few too many bugs on the way down," he admitted, dragging his hand across his chin. "The whiskers had to go."
Oh, man!
Dani sucked in a breath, sincerely wishing he'd left both the whiskers and the bugs in place. She'd suspected Buchanan might pack quite a punch under his bristles, but she'd seriously underestimated its potency. With his midnight hair slicked back and those golden eyes glinting through those sinfully thick black lashes, he could give the Baldwin brothers a real run for their money.
Shaking herself out of her temporary trance, Dani passed him a plate. They ate at the table set beside the soaring windows. Outside, dusk deepened to night. A few pinpricks of light pierced the darkness. Not many. Aside from a few scattered villages, the canyon was sparsely populated. Which could make tonight's task relatively easy or incredibly difficult.
"So what's the plan?" Buchanan asked as he speared into his trout. "What do we do now?"
"Right now, we don't do anything."
We being the operative word in the equation. Dani had plans for the rest of the night, but they didn't include her dinner companion.
At his questioning look, she shrugged and forked into her fish. "Tomorrow morning we'll drive down to the village and nose around. The kidnappers must have a local base. Someone's supplying them with both information and food. I intend to find out who that someone is."
She intended to do more than that, but she was a professional. She hunted down bad guys for a living. Considering all she hoped to accomplish tonight, she couldn't risk taking along an amateur.
Since she suspected Buchanan might have a different view of the matter, Dani schooled herself to patience for another hour or so. Finally, he cracked a yawn, hooked his hands behind his neck for a body-twisting stretch, and surprised her with another chance at the eagle's nest.
"Sure you don't want the bed?"
"It's all yours."
His glance drifted to her mouth. "We could share."
"I don't think so."
"You might be making a mistake here, Flynn."
She didn't miss the underlying message. He was talking about more than getting naked and sweaty on that wide, inviting mattress. He wanted in on whatever she was planning.
For a moment, she was tempted to take him up on his offer. On both offers. An hour or so spent testing the bedsprings with Buchanan would no doubt do wonders for the tension crawling along her spine. And it would certainly help to have someone drive the Jeep while she operated the specialized piece of equipment she had tucked in her carryall. Convenience, however, wouldn't make up for the danger she'd be exposing him to.
Shrugging, she turned aside his offer. "It wouldn't be my first mistake."
But it could very well be her last.
Dani had time for that one thought and that one thought only when a menacing figure lunged out of the darkness at her an hour later, just as she was about to climb into the white-and-green-striped Jeep.
Chapter 3
It took only a single, fleeting glimpse of the figure in black for Dam's training and instinct to kick in simultaneously. Dropping her carryall, she flattened her right hand into a throat-crunching blade. Her left knuckled into a fist that might have seriously rearranged the man's facial features if she hadn't recognized his set, angry face.
"Buchanan!" Her breath hissed out. "You damned idiot! Don't you have more sense than to creep up on a trained operative like that?"
"If the trained operative had let me in on her plans for the night," he shot back, "maybe I wouldn't have had to creep up on her."
He crowded her against the Jeep, all hard, angry male. Dani had handled bigger and badder men, but she had to admit Buchanan could project a particularly nasty air when he wanted to.
"You want to tell me where you're going, green-eyes?"
"No."
His jaw locked. So did the powerful body pressing hers against the Jeep's fender.
"Wrong answer," he said softly, dangerously. "Try again."
She gave in. Not because he intimidated her in any way, shape or form, but because she'd already wasted too much valuable time.
"I'm going to conduct a little reconnaissance."
"And you didn't tell me because...?"
Dani saw no need to sugarcoat the matter. "Because I didn't want you getting in my way."
She could feel his anger singeing the ends of her hair.
"Do you really expect me to sit around twiddling my thumbs while you scour the canyon on your own?"
"That's exactly what I expect. Your part in this operation consists of flying me into Mexico, providing a convenient
cover where necessary, and flying me and my sister out. I'll handle the rest."
"Wrong again."
"This is what I do," she insisted, trying for calm and rational. "I'm trained in specialized surveillance techniques. I brought along a piece of very high-tech equipment that lets me— "
"I'll drive." He bit out. Obviously he wasn't buying calm or rational. "You play with your high-tech toy."
"You're not listening, Buchanan. I don't need you for this part of the operation."
"Tough. You've got me. Grab your stuff and get in the Jeep."
Okay. Fine. She'd warned him. He didn't have a clue what he was getting into, but she suspected he wouldn't find it anywhere near as much fun as joy-sticking a Stearman around the clouds.
Despite the James Bond mystique, the truth was that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of undercover operations consisted of pure drudgery. Manning listening posts. Monitoring electronic emissions. Following up on tips from dozens of different sources in the hopes that one might actually produce a solid lead.
Occasionally, only occasionally, did operatives get to play Lone Ranger and charge in to the rescue. With any luck, Dani thought grimly, tonight might just be one of those occasions.
It wasn't.
She and Buchanan spent the hours between midnight and dawn cruising the narrow, winding roads that cut through the canyon. After the first few hairpin turns, Dani ignored the dark precipices plunging straight down from her side of the Jeep, and concentrated her attention on the hand-held, heat-seeking scanner she'd "borrowed" for this mission.
The powerful device was a derivative of the active-passive defense systems developed by the military to guard missile silos and nuclear aircraft. In those systems, strategically deployed sensors detected any approaching source of heat, however slight. Holographic images of the heat source would then paint on screens in the control center. If the heat source got close enough to actually trigger alarms, security forces would respond, but they'd know whether they were responding to a stray jackrabbit or a possible saboteur.
The scanner Dani aimed across the dark canyon used the same technology. Its sensitive beam pierced the darkness and picked up any heat source registering a specified number of degrees above the surrounding cliffs and rocks. The images that appeared on the screen were small, but astonishingly detailed.