The Heart's Command

by Rachel Lee

  She zeroed in on a mule deer curled up around her fawn under a pine tree. What looked like two coyotes on the prowl. An owl swooping down on a scurrying creature. Isolated farmhouses tucked in the narrow valleys, with assorted farm animals asleep in their pens or roosting in henhouses. An occasional village clinging to the side of a mountain.

  Painstakingly, Dani swept each farmhouse for signs of something, anything, out of the ordinary. An armed guard at a door. Sentries posted at the farm's perimeter. She recorded the coordinates of each village in the scanner's computer for return, daylight visits. But it was the cliffs above the farms and villages that drew her most intense scrutiny.

  Despite the failed attempt to rescue Patricia, government authorities had gathered some useful intelligence. By far the most significant piece had come from a Canadian executive who'd escaped some months before Patricia was snatched. The kidnappers had kept him hidden in caves, he'd told authorities. He'd also confirmed that they moved often to escape detection. Always at night.

  Inch by inch, grid by grid, Dani swept the dark cliffs across the valley. She stayed hunched over the scanner, her eyes glued to the small screen, as Buchanan navigated the tortuous, winding roads. The tight switchbacks and steep curves restricted the Jeep to a slow crawl. By dawn, they'd covered only about ten miles of a series of canyons that stretched for more than a hundred. And they'd surveyed just the east-facing cliffs. They'd have to cross to the far side of the valley to survey those facing west.

  When Dani finally tucked the scanner inside the carryall and slumped wearily against her seat, Buchanan hooked his arm over the steering wheel. Eyes narrowed, he studied the sun rising above the rugged escarpments stretching endlessly in both directions.

  "Driving these dirt roads isn't going to hack it. Not if you want to find your sister this year."

  "The only other options are horse or mule," Dani retorted. Her back ached and her eyes felt as dry and hard as peach pits, but she was darned if she'd give up after just one night. "I doubt they'd prove any faster."

  "We've got a plane at our disposal. We should use it."

  "In these narrow ravines? At night? With no terrain-following radar or sophisticated navigational aids? You can't be that good a pilot!"

  The grin he flashed her said it all. "Sure I am."

  "Get this straight, Buchanan. I'm not climbing into that sorry collection of canvas, baling wire and bubble gum you call a plane and swooping sideways through these gullies and ravines in total darkness."

  "Chicken?"

  "Yes!"

  "Well, you've got twelve hours of daylight to work up your nerve. What do we do until then?"

  Firmly resolved to use those twelve hours to convince Jack of the idiocy of night aerial surveillance in a forties-era Stearman biplane, Dani hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "We drive back to the hotel, snatch a few hours sleep, then hit the villages."

  That was the plan, anyway.

  Dawn was exploding into bright, brilliant morning when Jack parked the Jeep outside their casita. Scrunching her eyes against the dazzling sunlight, Dani trudged inside and dumped her leather tote on the table. Puffs of red dust billowed from the bag, adding to the layers already coating her face and clothes.

  "Mind if I grab another quick shower before you claim the bedroom?"

  "Be my guest."

  Stripping off, she set the water to just below scalding and stepped inside the glass booth. Hot needles pierced her body from every angle. Sighing in pure delight, Dani dropped her head back and let the water drill through the tension that had gripped her day and night since Patricia was snatched. It took awhile, but she finally worked up enough energy to soap down and shampoo up.

  Wrapping herself in one of the hotel's bath sheets, she plopped down at the built-in dressing table and grimaced at the creature in the mirror. Her cheeks glowed bright cherry from wind-chafing during yesterday's flight. Last night's activities had drawn road maps in the whites of her eyes. Her hair... Well, at least the dust was out of the red tangles.

  Flicking on the wall-mounted hair dryer, Dani adjusted its flexible neck to blow down without scorching her scalp, and set to work dragging a comb through the sodden mass.

  That was where Jack eventually found her. With her back slumped against the bathroom wall. Her hair a red sail rippling under the force of the blow dryer. Sound asleep.

  He'd knocked. He'd give himself credit for that, at least. And he'd called her name. When he'd received no response and cracked open the bathroom door, he'd even spent a good ten seconds debating whether he should pull it shut again.

  But he'd never made any claim to sainthood, and Danielle Flynn draped only in a sagging bath towel could tempt the archangels to sneak a peek. Besides, he couldn't just leave her to sleep sitting up.

  Or so he told himself as he strolled into the bathroom and cut off the dryer. If she'd stirred then, or flickered so much as an eyelash, he would have just waited with a wicked grin for her eyes to open. When they didn't, he let himself enjoy the view for several more satisfying moments before he scooped her into his arms.

  Her lids drifted up at that point. Glazed with sleep, her forest-green eyes filled with confusion. "Buchanan? What are you doing?"

  "Taking you to bed."

  Jack anticipated a dozen possible reactions to that provocative remark. A sudden tensing of her body. An icy demand that he get real. Or maybe one of the lethal karate chops she'd been ready to lay on him last night. To his surprise, she merely snuggled against his chest.

  "Thanks," she mumbled into his shirt. "The couch is too short for you, but maybe if you scrunch up..."

  The sleepy murmur gave way to a long sigh as he stretched her out on the downy comforter.

  "Two hours," she muttered. "I'll just sleep two hours."

  With that mumbled vow, she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. The towel rolled with her— more or less. Jack's lungs squeezed as he took in a curved spine. A rounded bottom cheek. A long, smooth leg.

  When he could breathe again, he dragged his gaze away, gave the wood-framed couch in the sitting room a considering look and tossed a mental coin.

  Dani wasn't sure what pulled her from total oblivion. She knew her internal alarm clock hadn't pinged. No way could she have slept for a whole two hours. Her body still desperately craved sleep.

  Nor had she sensed danger. No external alarms had gone off, either. Her instincts told her that whatever had wakened her posed no immediate threat. So she lay still, letting her mind rev up to full power. Slowly, she absorbed the hazy light. The damp towel tangled around her body. The heavy arm draped over her waist.

  The very heavy arm draped over her waist.

  It lay across her, casual, possessive, altogether too intimate. Dani could feel Buchanan behind her now, a solid wall of warm flesh. The damp towel separated them. Barely.

  She remembered sitting under the blow dryer. Remembered going horizontal. And she was sure she remembered a gruff promise of sorts.

  "Buchanan?"

  When the wall behind her made no response, she poked it sharply with her elbow.

  "Buchanan!"

  He jerked awake, tightening his arm instinctively, and grunted an inarticulate, "Huh?"

  Locked against him now by an iron band, Dani twisted her head. His chin, clean-shaven last night, already showed a dark shadow.

  "What happened to our deal?"

  "What deal?"

  "You were supposed to bunk down in the living room."

  "Oh, Yeah." His head dropped back to the pillow. His arm loosened a mere fraction. Drawing up his knees, he nested her bottom on his thighs. "This is better."

  Much better. Dani could admit the truth when it slapped her in the face. Or in this case, the butt.

  "Go back to sleep," he mumbled into her damp hair. "We've still got a good forty minutes."

  Dani spent the next forty minutes reviewing her game plan for the coming day, counting the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams and fighting t
he most ridiculous sense of pique.

  Here she was, in bed with the man. Naked, except for the damned towel. His ribs pressed into her bare back with every rise and fall of his chest. The bristly hair on his thighs tickled the undersides of hers. She could feel the warm wash of his breath on her cheek. Feel, too, the hard curve of his arm tucked just under her breasts.

  The bath sheet had long since ceased to act as a protective shield. It was now more of an irritant, still damp, still twisted under her in hard ridges. Wiggling discreetly, Dani tried to smooth the lumps.

  They wouldn't smooth. Buchanan's weight added to her own and kept the oversize cotton towel pinned in place. Frowning, she tried again.

  "Careful, Flynn."

  The warning was low and rough and went a long way to soothing Dani's feminine pique. The growing bulge on the other side of the towel eliminated the rest.

  It also set off the internal alarms that had been silent up to now. Her heart began a wild rhythm, hammering against her chest with heavy, erratic thumps. Nerves danced under her skin everywhere Buchanan's hard body contacted her own.

  She knew she had exactly two options at this point.

  She could roll over. Go front to front with him. Fan into fire the sparks they'd been striking off each other since she'd walked into that smoky dive two nights ago.

  Or she could roll away. Stay focused on the urgent business that had brought her to Copper Canyon.

  With a sharp sting of regret, Dani gathered the towel against her breasts and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Behind her, Buchanan flopped onto his back. She speared a look over her shoulder and felt her stomach clench. For a man with only a rickety biplane and a rusted pickup to his name, he looked— and acted—like he owned the world.

  Hands hooked behind his head, his body lean and tanned against the white sheets, he gave her a look that made goose bumps pop out all up and down her spine. "Next time, we'll finish what we've started."

  It took some doing, but she managed a cool smile. "You think so?"

  "I know so."

  She couldn't help laughing. He looked so smug. And so damned sure of himself. She almost hated to burst his bubble.

  Almost.

  Buchanan's tantalizing promise hovered in her thoughts all day. As if to add to the simmering turmoil he'd created in her mind, he played the honeymooner to the hilt.

  Each time they parked the Jeep and climbed out to explore one of the villages Dani had circled on her map, he draped an arm around her shoulders. Anchored side by side like the newlyweds they were supposed to be, they ambled through the dirt streets and explored the local markets.

  While she discreetly pumped the locals for information, Jack maintained their cover by purchasing gifts for his new bride. Some were mere trinkets. A wooden flute carved with fantastic shapes. A nest of intricately woven baskets. A small but obviously fecund soapstone figurine.

  "The ancients believed this goddess bring babies," the Tarahumara Indian who sold it explained. With a shy smile, she rubbed the figure's grossly distended stomach. "Many, many babies."

  "Good," Jack said solemnly. "We want many, many babies."

  "Speak for yourself," Dani muttered under her breath.

  Nevertheless, she tucked the goddess into her pocket. But when they stopped at an open-air market just after lunch, and Jack picked up a beaten silver bracelet studded with bits of tourmaline, she drew the line. Or tried to.

  "How much?" he asked the native craftsman.

  The man named his price, and Dani murmured a quick protest. "It's too expensive."

  "The stone is the same color as your eyes," Jack said with a shrug, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

  "You should at least try to bargain!"

  "Why? I want you to have it. Our friend here wants to sell it. A few pesos won't change that. Right?"

  Thus appealed to, the silversmith nodded in agreement. "It is a good price, señora. The stones, they are very clear and bright."

  "Yes, they are."

  Dani felt herself weakening. The bracelet really was gorgeous. The primitive designs stamped into the silver swirls hinted at Barranca del Cobre's past. The rough-cut bits of quartz shimmered in the sunlight.

  "Do these pieces come from around here?"

  "From the caves above the village where my wife's uncle lives, senora. I used to get many such stones there before the..."

  He caught himself. A guarded expression dropped over the broad planes of his face. It was, Dani thought with a sudden kick in her pulse, the same careful wariness that had wiped the friendliness from the hotel receptionist's eyes.

  "Before the what?" she prompted.

  The artisan glanced around, fingering the fringe of his colorful serape. "Before the caves became unsafe," he said finally, choosing his words with obvious care.

  She wanted to probe further, but he pocketed the wad of bills Jack passed him, bundled up his wares and scurried away. Her every nerve taut, Dani stared after him.

  "Did you see his face?"

  "I saw it."

  "He's scared. Just like the receptionist at the hotel."

  "The thugs who kidnapped your sister must have a pretty extensive network of spies."

  "They do," she replied, her stomach clenching as she remembered the tip the bastards had received just before the commando raid last week. "I'm going to nose around, see if I can pick up the name and location of this wife's uncle's village."

  Jack's gaze roamed the square and snagged on a tin-roofed cantina. "Okay. While you do that, I'll check out the home brew."

  Dani's mouth thinned as she watched him stroll across the dirt square. So much for not sitting idly by, twiddling his thumbs! Disappointed and more than a bit disgruntled, she worked the square.

  When Buchanan sauntered up to her some time later, she'd verified the name of the artisan, but was still trying to pin down the exact location of his wife's uncle's village.

  "It's about twenty miles from here." Jack informed her. "I've got rough directions. Best guess is that it will take four hours to drive there on these winding roads." Slipping a hand under her elbow, he steered her toward the green-and-white vehicle. "Let's get back to the hotel and rev up the Stearman."

  "Wait a minute." She dragged her heels and brought him to a halt. "Before I climb into a Jeep or a plane with you, I want to know how many beers you downed before you solicited this information."

  "Two bottles."

  She had no idea how much of a punch the local brew packed, but Buchanan didn't show any signs of inebriation. On the contrary, the glint in his eyes signaled he was ready for anything.

  As if to prove the point, he curled a knuckle under her chin and dropped a swift, hard kiss on her mouth.

  "You drive. I'll fly."

  Chapter 4

  They located the remote village an hour later. Just in time, too. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows that almost swallowed the handful of huts clustered at the base of the cliffs. Another twenty minutes or so and they would have been searching the narrow valley in darkness.

  Not a prospect that filled Dani with wild enthusiasm. She wasn't particularly anxious to put Buchanan's claim of being able to fly blind to the test. Twisting in her harness, she studied the sheer rock walls they'd just swooped by, and pressed the button for her intercom.

  "I want to scan the cliffs above the village. Can you take us down a little closer on the next pass?"

  Silly question. Of course he could. Gulping, Dani clutched the sides as he aimed the Stearman straight up, spun her on her tail and plunged back down. The valley that had seemed semi-navigable at best just seconds ago suddenly closed in on all sides.

  While Buchanan fought a series of vicious updrafts and ninety-degree twists, Dani did her best to level the scanner at rock precipices above the village. The slicing wind and dizzying, tip-tilted angles defeated her. After the second pass, she was forced to admit defeat.

  "I can't hold the scanner steady. We'll ha
ve to land and conduct the surveillance on foot. Where's the nearest airstrip?"

  "According to the charts, there's a dirt strip about five miles farther up the valley. But I think I can get us down a little closer than that."

  He banked, taking the canary-yellow trainer into a steep turn. A moment later, he aimed for a small, fiat plateau almost lost amid the surrounding peaks. Dani squinted through her goggles at the scruffy oaks and twisted piñons dotting the plateau. True, there was a clear patch among the scrub—a very small clear patch!—but it ended abruptly in a sheer drop at the far edge of the escarpment.

  "Buchanan! Tell me you're not going to try to land on that anthill!"

  "Not to worry. This baby can stop on a dime and give back nine cents in change. You'd better check your harness, though, just in case."

  She didn't like the sound of that. At all.

  "Jack! Wait! I don't think this is a good idea!"

  Her nervous shout got lost in the wind. Either that, or Buchanan simply ignored it. Working the controls with both hands and feet, he leveled off and throttled back. When they were still a good fifty yards from the flat mountaintop, he killed the engine completely.

  A sudden, soaring silence surrounded them, the same stillness that must envelop hawks and eagles when they glided on the wind. Dani might have appreciated the profound quiet more if she wasn't convinced that the Stearman would go into a nosedive several yards shy of the designated landing site. She dropped the scanner, scrunched it tight between her boots and clutched the sides of the cockpit with white-knuckled fists.

  They skimmed in mere inches above a piñon clinging to the edge of the cliff. The wheels hit once, bounced up and came down with a thump. Dani pushed out a shaky sigh of relief, then sucked it back in again as the plane kept right on rolling. If her paralyzed brain cells had been capable of emitting a signal at that point, she would have squeezed her eyes shut. As it was, all she could do was stare in fascinated horror at the empty void looming dead ahead.