
"I'm not capable of love. If you want love, you've got the wrong man."
Glenna fought back a rush of tears. She didn't want to hear any more. Reality was shifting again, and she was afraid of where it would stop. "No, Rafe. You're a good man...."
"I know what I am, Glenna!"
He took her hand and dragged her fingers over his scars. "For once, take a really good look at these. Do you see how deep and ugly they are?"
His grip verged on painful. She knew he wasn't aware of it, just as he wasn't aware of the tears that trailed down her cheeks. "Rafe---"
"They're twisted. They're repugnant." He slapped her hand against his chest. "But those scars aren't half as ugly as what's in here."
Dear Reader,
This month we have something really special on tap for you. The Cinderella Mission, by Catherine Mann, is the first of three FAMILY SECRETS titles, all of them prequels to our upcoming anthology Broken Silence and then a twelve book stand-alone FAMILY SECRETS continuity. These books are cutting edge, combining dark doings, mysterious experiments and overwhelming passion into a mix you won't be able to resist. Next month, the story continues with Linda Castillo's The Phoenix Encounter.
Of course, this being Intimate Moments, the excitement doesn't stop there. Award winner Justine Davis offers up another of her REDSTONE, INCORPORATED tales, One of These Nights. A scientist who's as handsome as he is brilliant finds himself glad to welcome his sexy bodyguard---and looking forward to exploring just what her job description means. Wilder Days (leading to wilder nights?) is the newest from reader favorite Linda Winstead Jones. It will have you turning the pages so fast, you'll lose track of time. Ingrid Weaver begins a new military miniseries, EAGLE SQUADRON, with Eye of the Beholder. There will be at least two follow-ups, so keep your eyes open so you don't miss them. Evelyn Vaughn, whose miniseries THE CIRCLE was a standout in our former Shadows line, makes her Intimate Moments debut with Buried Secrets, a paranormal tale that's as passionate as it is spooky. And Aussie writer Melissa James is back with Who Do You Trust? This is a deeply emotional "friends become lovers" reunion romance, one that will captivate you from start to finish.
Enjoy! And come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance around---right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Sor Editor
Eye of the Beholder
INGRID WEAVER
Books by Ingrid Weaver
Silhouette Intimate Moments
True Blue #570
True Lies #660
On the Way to a Wedding... #761
Engaging Sam #875
What the Baby Knew #939
Cinderella's Secret Agent #1076
Fugitive Hearts #1101
Under the King's Command #1184
\*Eye of the Beholder #1204
Silhouette Special Edition
The Wolf and the Woman's Touch #1056
INGRID WEAVER
admits to being a sucker for old movies and books that can make her cry. A Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner for Romantic Suspense, and a national bestselling author, she enjoys creating stories that reflect the adventure of falling in love. When she and her husband aren't dealing with the debatable joys of living in an old farmhouse, you'll probably find Ingrid going on a knitting binge, rattling the windows with heavy metal or rambling through the woods in the back forty with her cats.
To Mark,who makes life an adventure.
Contents
The pilot's blood spattered Glenna's cheek, hot, wet and smelling like copper. Other passengers screamed, but Glenna couldn't make a sound. The gun that was pressed to her windpipe cut off her breath.
"Ten minutes," the man in the cockpit doorway yelled into his phone. "You give me an answer in ten minutes or we shoot another one."
This couldn't be happening, Glenna thought. No. It couldn't be real. Any minute now she would wake up to the squeal of her alarm and the aroma from her coffeemaker and the chess problem in the morning paper and---
The pilot thumped to the floor. His white shirt turned crimson. Blood pulsed from the black-rimmed hole in his chest to form a gleaming pool at Glenna's feet.
It was no dream. It was as real as the red stain that crept up the ivory leather of her high heels. Her legs turned to rubber, but she locked her knees to keep herself upright. She couldn't fall apart. She never fell apart. She was levelheaded Glenna Hastings, always in control, no matter what problems were thrown her way. She couldn't let herself show weakness, even if her stomach was congealing to ice and bile was burning her throat.
"Please..." It hurt to talk. She tried to swallow past the cold metal that was jed to her throat. "Please, let me help him."
They didn't. The leader, the one with the phone, issued orders in an unfamiliar language. Two men stepped forward and dragged the fallen man to the open doorway. There was no staircase.
Oh, no. They couldn't really mean to drop him---
Glenna winced at the sound of the pilot's body hitting the pavement. Would he make it? Or would his life bleed away on the steaming tarmac before help could reach him?
He had tried to be a hero. Despite his white hair and his grandfatherly paunch, he had done his best to resist the men who had broken through the cockpit door and commandeered his plane. His efforts had earned him a bullet.
Was that what fate had in store for the rest of them? Would they be nothing but statistics on the evening news, faceless names to be read in somber tones, then promptly forgotten?
"You!" Someone propelled her forward with a rifle butt between her shoulder blades. "Stand here in front of the door."
Glenna stumbled to obey them, grabbing the edge of the doorway for balance as she glimpsed the still form below her. A whimper rose in her throat, but she suppressed it. She couldn't fall apart, she repeated to herself. She couldn't.
She squinted against the blaze of afternoon sunlight, straining to fill her lungs with tropical air that was thick enough to spoon. Through shimmers of heat, she glimpsed a squat gray building with a glass tower and a drooping wind sock. A chain-link fence separated the runway from the rest of the airport. As she watched, a white van---an ambulance---rolled slowly through the gate and approached the plane.
Her heart had been slamming against her ribs in an exhausting sprint for the past eight hours. She hadn't thought it was possible for her pulse to speed up...yet it did.
This was the first sign of outside help since the plane had landed on this godforsaken spot. It wasn't much---what good could some paramedics do against maniacs with guns? Yet at least it was something. It meant the passengers and crew weren't completely alone. And if the hijackers allowed someone to give aid to their first victim, then maybe there was hope for the rest of the hostages.
There was a sudden spate of conversation from the hijacker with the phone. The ambulance came to a stop twenty yards from the plane.
So near. So impossibly far away.
Glenna hadn't realized she had swayed toward the open doorway until a rough hand at her elbow jerked her back. Once more, the muzzle of a gun was shoved under her jaw.
She blinked against the tears that she couldn't quite control. She didn't know the name of the island they had landed on. She couldn't understand the demands the hijackers were shouting. But she did know that unless a miracle happened within ten minutes, she would be the next to die.
She had heard that a person's life flashed before their eyes when they faced death.
It was true.
But rather than seeing what she had done in her twenty-nine years of living, she saw what she hadn't don
Oh, God. There were so many things she hadn't yet done. She had always assumed there would be time. Someday, she was going to put the past behind her. She would take the chance to live like everyone else, maybe even love.
Love? How could she think of love at a time like this?
Yet if she didn't think of it now, then when would she?
If only she had another chance, she would do things differently. She wouldn't always have to be the strong one, the sensible one, the one in control. She would savor every moment of the time she was granted.
Please, God, let it be more than ten minutes.
Someone began to pray aloud. Seconds trickled past. Despair rolled through the fuselage in a choking wave. Fear was a smell in the air. Hope was as distant and unattainable as bedtime stories with knights in shining armor and happily ever after. Glenna swallowed a sob. She had left the fairy tales of childhood behind a long, long time ago.
This was reality.
There were no heroes.
Barely a leaf rustled as Master Sergeant Rafal Marek moved through the undergrowth. On his belly, using his elbows and knees, he inched toward the chain-link fence that marked the perimeter of the airport. Ignoring the sweat that trickled down his temples and the insects that whined around his head, he brought his binoculars to his eyes and focused on the plane.
The wide-bodied jet sat in isolation at the very edge of the tarmac. Black skid marks on the pavement showed where the pilot had desperately tried to bring the aircraft to a stop on a runway that was never meant for a plane that size.
Flight 481 had left Jamaica at dawn and had been scheduled to land in New York eight hours ago. Instead, it had been diverted to this crumbling strip of asphalt on a map speck in the Caribbean, its tanks so empty it was running on fumes. At this point it was unknown how the hijackers had gotten past the security measures in place at the airport and on the plane. Rafe suspected someone had been bribed or coerced into looking the other way. But how this had happened wasn't his concern. What happened next was.
"Three in the cabin, two in the cockpit." The voice crackled through Rafe's earpiece. It was Captain Sarah Fox, relating what she could see through the windshield of the ambulance.
Rafe adjusted his earpiece and activated the attached microphone. "Weapons?"
"I can see two automatic weapons that look like Kalashnikovs," Sarah said with her usual brisk efficiency. "The target in the doorway has one handgun, possibly a .45 calibre."
"Seven minutes left to their deadline," Flynn announced, laying his hand briefly on Rafe's shoulder.
Rafe lowered the binoculars and glanced to his left. He hadn't heard a whisper of sound as Sergeant Flynn O'Toole had approached. For a large man, Flynn could move with uncanny silence, a useful trait in their business. They had watched each other's backs on more missions than he could count.
"We need to move in six," Rafe responded. "Is everyone in
Flynn melted into the shadows of a fern grove. One by one, the rest of the strike team from Eagle Squadron, Special Operations Delta, reported in. Rafe couldn't spot them any more than he could see Flynn or Sarah. Good. The longer their targets were unaware of whom they were dealing with, the better the chances of this succeeding.
Usually the team planned a mission more thoroughly before embarking on it. They liked to consider every possibility, account for every potential flaw, and then practice the sequence of action until they could do it in their sleep. But the situation was deteriorating too rapidly to risk a prolonged standoff, so they didn't have the luxury of practice time.
Worse, they were operating with no support. The Rocaman government hadn't wanted to allow the U.S. military onto their soil in the first place, despite the fact that all the hostages were American citizens. The foreign secretary had done some heavy-duty arm-twisting, and eventually the locals had grudgingly agreed to permit Delta to send a small contingent, yet it was understood the team was on their own. There would be no backup. They would have to think on their feet, but then, that's what they were best at.
The hijackers were demanding the release from an American prison of a convicted Central American drug lord, as well as ten million cash in American dollars and enough fuel to allow them to disappear. The negotiations were a farce---there was no way in hell any government was going to give in to those demands. Unfortunately, it looked as if the hijackers had realized that. They had already shot one hostage. In less than seven minutes, they would undoubtedly shoot another.
Rafe moved his binoculars to the body on the tarmac. White shirt, gold-on-black epaulets. Obviously the pilot. Hard to guess which had done more harm, the bullet or the four-meter drop from the plane door. The man's chest was moving, so there was still a chance he might live if he could get medical attention.
The ambulance rolled another few feet closer to the plane, halting once more when threats were shouted from the open doorway. Rafe didn't believe the hijackers would agree to let anyone tend to their victim, but the team hadn't expected them to. The primary purpose of the ambulance was to provide a distraction.
Rafe moved into a crouch, stowed his binoculars in his rucksack and took out the wire cutters. One link at a time, he snipped an opening in the fence. He had readied the grappling hook and checked the sweep of the minute hand on his watch, preparing to go into action, when he caught a movement at the open door of the plane.
The hostage in the doorway was being repositioned by her captor to serve as a shield. Rafe retrieved his binoculars and focused on the woman.
She was right on the edge of the four-meter drop---one slip of her high heels and she would certainly fall. Good thing she didn't look like the hysterical type. In fact, even with her business suit wilted from the heat, and her auburn hair straggling out of its clasp, she gave an impression of coolness.
She must have been one of the passengers traveling first-class. Classy was a good word to describe her. In other circumstances, with those clothes and that upswept hairstyle, she would exert the natural authority of royalty. Her elegant height and her body language marked her as someone more accustomed to giving orders than to following them.
Rafe aded the focus on the binoculars, zooming in on her face. Her chin was angled upward. The gesture was likely due more to the pistol that was pressed under her jaw than to defiance. Still, she didn't look beaten. There were signs of spirit in the tight set of her lips and the angle of her brows.
She turned her head to the side, as if searching the surroundings. He knew she couldn't see him behind the concealment of the foliage, but as her gaze swept past, he felt a jolt of reaction at the raw terror in her eyes.
He reconsidered his initial assessment. On the surface, she appeared in control, but it was the deceptive calmness of a charge of Semtex. There was a hell of a lot more to this lady than the elegant exterior she presented to the world. And she was no fool. She had to know that in a matter of minutes, she could be sharing the pilot's fate.
Urgency gave an added push to Rafe's pulse, but he breathed deeply until it steadied. Even in the best-case scenarios, there was always a risk of civilian casualties. That was the reality of high-stakes hostage rescues. He needed to keep his head clear if he wanted to do his job.
He was a soldier. That was his profession, that was his life. This was a mission. She was a stranger, no less and no more important than any of the other thirty-six hostages who remained on board the plane.
Yet as he looked at the woman across the heat shimmers that rose from the pavement, his reaction wasn't that of a soldier. It was the reaction of a man. He wanted to save her. He wanted to protect her and erase the terror from her gaze. More than that, he wanted to learn what she kept hidden beneath that layer of control.
What would her lips look like when she wasn't pressing them into a tight line? How would her cheeks move when she laughed? And her voice...what did it sound like?
Who was she? Why was some nameless redheaded hostage stirring feelings he'd had no problem controlling until now? He knew better than to let a woman distract him, especially a woman who looked like that.
"Thirty seconds," Sarah said.
Rafe forced his thoughts back to business. He stowed the binoculars, pulled the black hood of his assault jumpsuit over his head and carefully pried apart the edges of the fence.
Glenna took shallow, panting breaths, trying not to inhale the smell of her captors as another one of the hijackers pressed close to her back. The ambulance was inching forward again. Despite the shouted commands of their leader, the men were peering past her in order to see what was happening.
A trim, blond woman dressed in a doctor's white coat emerged from the van. With her arms raised over her head, a black leather bag clutched in one hand, she called out to the hijackers in what sounded to be the same language they had been using. Gesturing to her bag and then to tarmac, she obviously wanted permission to tend to the fallen pilot.
A heated discussion ensued. Glenna didn't need to understand the words to get the gist of it. Permission was being denied, yet the feisty blond doctor kept arguing, despite the rifle that was thrust past Glenna's shoulder to point straight at her.
The doctor seemed oblivious to the danger she was in. In fact, she appeared almost pleased with the reaction she was getting. What was wrong with her? It seemed as if she were deliberately trying to gain the hijackers' attention.
A muffled clang vibrated through the plane. It was followed a heartbeat later by the thud-whump of an explosion.
The pressure of the gun at Glenna's throat eased. She twisted to look behind her.
Dark smoke rolled through a hole in the opposite side of the plane. Glenna coughed, blinking to clear her eyes. There was a momentary glimpse of blue sky, then the opening was filled with moving figures. Before Glenna could blink again, a group of men, dressed in black from their boots to the ski masks that covered their faces, burst into the plane, brought their weapons to bear on the hijackers and opened fire.
After that, everything went by in a fast-forward blur. Bullets thudded into the seats and clanged into the fuselage as the hijackers fired back. Several of the black-clad men advanced on the cockpit. The other half guided the passengers toward the back of the plane, where an emergency exit was opened and an inflatable escape chute unfurled.
They were leaving. Against all odds, it was actually happening.
Glenna threw her weight to the side, trying to jerk away from the man who held her. He hooked his arm around her neck and yanked her back, wedging them both into the doorway. Using her body to shield himself, he fired at the retreating hostages and their rescuers. Glenna's ears rang from the noise of the gun and her eyes were streaming from the smoke, but she continued to struggle, doing what she could to throw off his aim.
More quickly than she could have believed, her fellow hostages had funneled through the opening at the tail and disappeared, leaving her trapped between the hijackers and safety. Screaming in frustration, the man who held her jammed his gun to her cheek.
The gun barrel was hot now. It burned her skin. Glenna had another flash of awareness, another moment of clarity when she knew she was about to die.
But the bullet she expected didn't come. Instead, a staccato burst of gunfire came from the direction of the cockpit and the arm around her throat went slack. And then Glenna was falling through the air. She had a split second to brace for the shock, but with the blood that was pumping through her body by her elevated heartbeat, she barely felt the impact with the ground. On some level, she registered agony as the pavement ripped the skin from her knees and her right ankle crumpled beneath her, yet the pain didn't matter. She was alive. She was free.
But for how long?
She glanced around. Beyond the belly of the plane she could see the drooping orange emergency chute. At its base, the last of the passengers were clambering into the back of a large, canvas-covered truck. The blond doctor who had arrived in the ambulance helped load the pilot's limp form, then leaped onto the running board just as the truck pulled away. Clods of dirt flew up from its tires as it left the tarmac and careened toward a gap in the fence that bordered the runway.
Even at this fast-forward speed, how could it all be happening so quickly? Glenna tried to stand, to run after them, but her ankle collapsed, sending her back to the pavement. Biting her lip, she had started to crawl forward when someone thudded to the ground behind her.
Panic that she had managed to suppress until now suddenly sed through her veins. Whimpering, she dragged herself another yard, only to stop short when her fingertips struck a black-booted foot.
"Give me your hand," a deep voice said. "I'll help you."
Glenna looked up. One of the men who had stormed the plane just minutes ago was standing over her. Like the others, he was clad all in black. If she hadn't already been terrified, his appearance would have been enough to send chills through her heart. His size, his black clothes, the rifle he held would have made him look menacing in any circumstance.
But right now, she knew he was her only hope. She grasped his hand and came to her knees, attempting once more to get her feet under her. "I...I can't," she said. She hated the weakness that put the quaver in her voice. "My ankle..."
He didn't wait for the rest of her explanation. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he leaned down and slipped one arm under her knees, the other behind her back. "Hang on to my neck."
She looped her arms around his shoulders. Beneath the tightly woven black fabric, there was no softness---his muscles were bunched like steel cables. His face was hidden behind the black mask. Only his eyes were visible.
But oh, Lord, he had beautiful eyes. Vibrantly blue and full of life. His gaze was as solid and confident as the rest of him. It glowed with strength, it made her want to trust him, hold him, perhaps even believe in heroes....
Glenna inhaled sharply. She was losing her mind. How could she be staring at his eyes while bullets were flying around her?
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, except my ankle." She glanced toward the rapidly retreating truck. There was no way they could catch up to it.
He cradled her against his chest and straightened up in one smooth motion. "Don't worry. I'll get you out of this. I promise."
Normally she didn't believe men who made promises. She had learned the hard way to rely on no one but herself.
But the rules she had lived her life by had become irrelevant eight hours ago. His voice affected her like his pure blue gaze. She wanted to believe him.
"Keep your head down."
She did as he said without hesitation. Tucking her head under his chin, she pressed her cheek to the hollow of his shoulder. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet, princess. We've got a long way to go."
It didn't seem possible, but the muscles that had felt like steel hardened yet further. Crouching to shelter her with his body, he jogged toward the ambulance that sat abandoned on the pavement.
A sudden high-pitched whine drowned out the staccato pops of gunfire from the plane. The man carrying Glenna dove to his left. An instant later, the ambulance exploded in a fireball. Black smoke billowed upward while twisted shards of debris rained down.
"Oh, my God!" Glenna cried.
The man staggered sideways and muttered a curse. Where did that shell come from?" He recovered his footing, then glanced toward the airport gate. "Oh, hell."
Glenna saw the answer to his question at the same time he did. Two olive green pickup trucks, their cargo areas filled with armed men, sped toward them from the direction of the airport gate. At first she thought more help was on the way, but then she saw that the weapons were aimed directly at her and her rescuer.
He veered in the opposite direction, increasing his speed from a jog to a sprint. Glenna tightened her hold on him, doing her best to keep from flying out of his grasp as he lunged into a zigzagging path toward the fence.
Puffs of dust burst from the ground on either side of them. Glenna felt something whiz past her ear. They were almost at the fence when she felt the man jerk. A shudder went through his body and his grip on her slackened.
Desperately Glenna clung to his neck. Would this nightmare never end? Had she put her trust in the wrong man again? "Please. Oh, please, don't leave me now. We're nearly there."
He grunted. "I'm not leaving you, princess," he said. "I'll keep you safe."
Behind the black mask, his expression was invisible, yet his eyes shone with determination. He spared her only a glance.
It had the same effect on Glenna as before.
He managed another three limping steps before his leg buckled in midstride. He shifted as he fell, taking the impact of their combined weight on his back, then rolled over, rose to one knee and thrust Glenna behind him. While she pressed as close as she could to his body, he unslung his rifle from his shoulder and faced the trucks full of armed men that were bearing down on them.
After the heat of the day, night brought a creeping clamminess that chilled straight to the bones. The air was thick with the musty odor of damp cement. Glenna hunched her shoulders and huddled closer to the motionless man on the floor, as much to share her warmth with him as to draw comfort from his.
No more than a sliver of lamplight came through the crack beneath the door. It was enough to distinguish shapes and outlines, but the shadows swallowed any color. For that, she was grateful. She didn't want to see whatever small creatures were making the scurrying noises in the corners. She didn't want to look at the swelling on her ankle. And she didn't really want to see the blood that seeped onto her hand.
The bullet wound in her rescuer's leg had opened up again when their captors had tossed them onto the floor of this storeroom. In the darkness, she wouldn't have discovered he was bleeding if she hadn't felt the sticky warmth on her palm. She had done what she could to help, ripping up her suit jacket to wrap around his thigh as a makeshift bandage, but her knowledge of first aid was minimal. For lack of anything better, all she could think to do was press her hand to his thigh over the bandage to help stop the bleeding.
Even slack with unconsciousness, his body was rock solid. He emanated an aura of strength that was as tangible ahis warmth. Whoever he was, he must be in superb physical condition to have survived the treatment he'd received. It had taken seven men to overpower him and knock him out when the trucks had reached them. Glenna suspected that if it wasn't for her, he never would have allowed himself to be captured. Despite the wound in his leg, he probably could have made it to the fence and gotten away from the airport altogether, but he'd remained by her side, willing to risk his life for a complete stranger.
What kind of man did that?
Her gaze moved to the pale blur of his face. His black mask, along with some kind of radio headset, had been removed when he'd been dragged onto the pickup truck, but he'd been lying facedown during the trip here, so all she had been able to see was the back of his head. The transfer to this room had been short and rough---she hadn't gotten a good look at him then, either.
He had carried her in his arms. He had sheltered her with his body as bullets had hissed past them. Yet she didn't know his name. And if she passed him on the street, she wouldn't recognize his face. After what they had been through, it seemed...wrong somehow.
Keeping her palm on his thigh, she lifted her free hand to his face. His skin was taut, with a hint of roughness from the day's growth of his beard. She ran her fingers along his jaw, exploring the contours. It wasn't enough to build a picture in her mind, but it did reinforce the impression she already had. He was lean, hard and uncompromisingly male.
A smooth ridge of skin interrupted the sandpaper beard stubble on the right side of his jaw. It had to be a scar, she thought, tracing the ridge to his cheek. The scar branched there, scattering into a network of furrows and more patches of raised skin that curved upward to his right temple. She swayed closer, curious, running her fingertips over the pattern. She didn't need to see it to realize how bad it was. He must have suffered horribly.
Was he a policeman? A soldier? Did he storm hijacked planes and rescue women for a living? Had he obtained these scars while he was being a hero for someone else?
Whatever had caused it must have happened years ago---the skin had the firm smoothness of an old injury, like the tiny line on her own index finger that was a souvenir of a childhood mishap with a crystal water glass. She felt a surge of sympathy for him. What courage he must have, to continue to brave danger despite the pain he must have endured.
Compared to him, she had been a cringing coward, afraid to fully live, to take a chance on life.
Yes, well, she intended to change all of that.
She moved her fingers along the ridges and grooves that crossed the rise of his cheekbone until she reached the corner of his eye. The scar didn't extend this far, or it would have showed at the edge of his mask. The only lines on his skin here were laugh lines, too fine to feel, but she remembered them perfectly.
He had beautiful eyes, so blue and piercing. Would the fine lines at the corners crinkle when he smiled? Was his laugh as deep and rich as his voice? Would she get the chance to hear it?
Before today, the sensible, levelheaded Glenna Hastings wouldn't have wasted one moment considering those questions. What possible relevance could the sound of his laughter or the color of his eyes have to her li
But that was the whole point, wasn't it? She was alive, and she hadn't forgotten what she had vowed when she had believed she was going to die. Every extra minute she lived was a gift. Every detail about her rescuer was relevant. The sound of his breathing, the scent of his skin, even the warmth of his blood against her palm...at this moment those things were more important than any of the thousands of trivial details that usually filled her days.
Her knees nudged against his hip. She winced at the stinging from her scraped skin and the ache in her ankle, but her injuries were nothing compared to her rescuer's. She moved her hand to his hair. In the shadows it was leached of color, but on the ride here she'd seen it gleam golden in the sunshine. It was cropped short in a no-nonsense style that had appeared stiff, but as she slid her fingers into it, she discovered that his hair was as fine as a baby's. It tickled her fingertips in a caress of silk, and for the first time since she had left the airport in Montego Bay, she felt her lips relax in a smile.
It was a little thing, to be sure, but taking pleasure in the texture of a strange man's hair was something Glenna simply didn't do. She might do lunch with a man. Or dinner and the theater, when her schedule allowed. Nice, sensible functions with no commitment, no expectations and no messy demands. She had found the situation completely satisfactory.
But it all seemed so impossibly faraway now, another world, a previous existence.
There was a furtive scrabbling along the far wall. Glenna's smile faded as quickly as it had formed. Her situation was worse now than it had been hours earlier on the plane. She should be thinking about ways to escape instead of mooning over her fellow hostage.
Is that what she was doing? Mooning over a man, like some teenager with a crush?
Hardly. There was nothing juvenile about what she felt for this stranger. With one hand in the sensual softness of his hair, the other slick with the heat of his blood, Glenna had never felt more intimately connected to another human being in her life.
For however long that lasted.
Rafe came awake with brutal swiftness. His leg was on fire, and someone was slamming a sledgehammer into his head. His eyes had barely snapped open when he sensed a figure leaning over him.
Why was everything so dim? Had the blows to his head messed up his vision? Either that, or night had fallen. How long had he been out? Where was he? The questions buzzed through his brain as his hands shot out to grasp his assailant's wrists. With a twist of his torso, Rafe reversed their positions.
There was a startled gasp. "Ow! What are you doing?"
The voice was female. It didn't take Rafe more than a second to realize that the body he'd pinned to the floor was female, too. More than that, she felt familiar. She smelled familiar, a blend of sunshine and citrus that had his nostrils flaring for more.
Rafe blinked, trying to focus on the face beneath his. It was impossible to see anything more than a blur, yet he knew who this was. He might not be able to see her, but his other senses had no trouble recognizing her. It was the woman from the plane---the tall, classy r
He knew the chances of rescuing her had been slim when he'd seen her fall to the tarmac. He should have remained with Flynn and the team to cover Sarah's retreat with the other hostages. This woman who lay beneath him was a stranger, he reminded himself again. No less and no more important than the others...but the decision to go after her hadn't been made by his brain, it had been pure gut-level instinct.
He breathed shallowly a few times, striving to control his pain the way he'd been trained to do. The pounding in his head retreated. The burning in his thigh settled into a deep throb. Bullet wound, he realized. He'd been hit five yards from the fence. He replayed the final moments, searching for an explanation for their present circumstances, but he must have been unconscious while they were transported here.
Wherever "here" was.
"Where are we?" he asked, careful to pitch his voice low enough not to carry. No point alerting anyone else that he was awake.
"I don't know."
He put his mouth close to her ear. "Keep your voice down. Is it a house? A factory? A warehouse? How big is it?"
"It's a house," she whispered. "It was hard to tell how large because it was already dark when they brought us here. They dumped us in this room and left."
She had said it was already dark. That meant his vision was probably undamaged. One piece of good news. "They? How many?"
"I'm not sure."
"Try to remember."
She paused. He could feel her body tremble. She was struggling for the control she'd exhibited before. Her terror was there, just under the surface, but she was fighting it down. "There might have been six or seven men on each truck," she replied finally. "There are more in this place."
"We're still on Rocama then?"
"Rocama?"
"The island where your plane landed."
"Yes. We must be."
"Son of a bitch."
"What is it?"
He hadn't liked the setup of this mission from the start. This proved his misgivings had been justified. "The locals were in on it."
"What do you mean?"
"At the airport. Had to be. How else could the hijackers have gotten reinforcements through the police cordon and pulled off a raid of this scale?"
"I hadn't really thought about it."
"We weren't allowed backup. That has to be why." He squinted in the direction of his left wrist, but he saw no sign of the luminous dial of his watch. They must have taken it along with his gun and the knife he'd strapped to his calf. "How long did it take to get here?"
"I don't know."
"Minutes? Hours?"
"It felt like hours."
"Damn."
Her breath puffed past his cheek. "What are we going to do?"
"Escape."
"How?"
"I'll think of something, princess."
She was silent for a moment. "Glenna."
"What?"
"Glenna Hastings. That's my name."
It suited her, he thought. It was classy and feminine, just like the woman. "Master Sergeant Rafal Marek," he replied.
"Sergeant? Are you with the police?"
"Army Special Forces," he said.
"You mean like SEALs?"
"They're navy. Special Ops Delta is army."
Another silence. "You're from Delta Force?"
He heard the note of awe in her voice. He had Hollywood to thank for that. They had built Delta into a legend, even though the government still didn't officially admit the force existed. "I'm from Eagle Squadron. And most people call me Rafe."
"Okay. Rafe?"
"Yes?"
"Could you get off me, please?"
Rafe knew he should have let her up as soon as he had realized she wasn't a threat. Sure, he'd wanted to learn the details of their situation as quickly as possible, and he hadn't wanted their conversation to be overheard, but those weren't the only reasons he had delayed.
He liked Glenna where she was. Her body was warm and firm and very, very comfortable stretched out underneath him. Now that she had brought it to his attention, he was aware of every inch of her. Her long legs rubbed alongside his. Her breasts pressed into his chest with each breath she drew and the pulse in her wrists was fluttering hard against his fingers.
She was a good fit. He didn't want to let her go. It was the same possessive urge he'd had when he'd first seen her through his binoculars. And despite the ache in his head and the throbbing in his thigh, he felt a quick stirring of masculine interest.
Adrenaline, that's all it was. Battlefield lust. It was nothing more than his body affirming that it was alive, a natural albeit primitive reaction to a brush with death and a tense situation.
Concentrate, he told himself. He had to think of the mission, not the woman. They were on the floor in an unknown location, surrounded by an undetermined number of enemies. He should be investigating their prison, assessing their options and forming a strategy.
And he should get the hell off Glenna before she felt the physical evidence of the reaction he was having no success controlling.
"Sorry," he said, releasing her wrists. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"You didn't startle me."
Yeah, right, Rafe thought, rolling to his side. If his face hadn't been covered with a mask when they'd met, she probably would have gone screaming off in the opposite direction, bad ankle and all. Lucky for him this place was so dark. He sat up, biting back a groan as he straightened his leg in front of him.
"Oh, be careful," Glenna said. "The bleeding's almost stopped. You have a wound in your left leg."
"Right. Forty-five caliber from the feel of it." He ran his hand over his thigh and found a twisted piece of fabric. Something was wrapped over the leg of his jumpsuit just above the knee. "What's this? Did they bind it?"
"No, I did that. I used my jacket for a bandage. It's all I could think of."
Her jacket? She had used that elegant silk outfit to sop up his blood? For some reason, the image jarred him. "Thanks."
"I turned it inside out before I used it." There was a whisper of movement, the slide of skin on cement. Her voice came from a spot near his shoulder. "I know it's not sterile, but it was the best I could do."
He traced the edge of what he realized had to be a sleeve and found a knot. "Thanks again. Are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm a planner."
"A planner?"
"For the Winston Hotel chain. I coordinate special events like conventions and fund-raisers. It's..." Her voice became muffled, as if she rubbed her face. "It all seems so trivial now."
Not trivial, he thought. Just a long way from here. A woman like her belonged in a different world, where men wore suits and drank bottled water at health clubs. The last man to touch her probably had manicured nails and wouldn't know a bivouac from a bidet.
Still, she had done a good job binding his bullet wound, he realized as he loosened the knot. He eased back the torn edges of his jumpsuit and gingerly probed the area. Fresh waves of agony rolled over him. Despite the chill in the room, sweat dampened his upper lip, but he continued his exploration. He had to know the extent of the damage if he was going to plan an escape.
"Sergeant Marek? Rafe?"
It was more of a furrow than a hole. The bullet had tunneled into the fleshy part of his thigh and then passed through the other side. Messy, but good. He withdrew his hand and tipped back his head, steadying his breathing before he replied. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?"
Sure, he thought. She could press her body against his again and take his mind off this pain. "It's just a flesh wound," he said, using Flynn's euphemism for anything that didn't involve shattered bones. He repositioned the makeshift bandage.
"But---"
"I've had worse. It'll heal on its own." True enough, as long as idn't get infected, he thought grimly. Under these conditions, infection was extremely likely, and usually deadly. He'd have to make his move soon, before the infection set in, or he wouldn't be able to move at all.
"Maybe we can ask for a doctor."
He snorted. "We're not going to stick around that long, Glenna. We're only alive because they needed more hostages. They must still be hoping to negotiate."
"Who are those people, anyway? Are they terrorists?"
"No. Just your garden variety drug smugglers with delusions of grandeur." He gave her a summary of what he knew, including the demands the hijackers had originally made. But as he spoke he realized that the demand for the jet fuel must have been a sham meant to throw them off the trail---the hijackers had never intended to leave this island. This was where they were based. "I don't think they're going to release us, whatever happens. They have nothing to gain by showing mercy. That's why it's imperative that we escape as soon as possible."
He braced his knuckles on the floor, got his feet under him and straightened up to stand. Pain knifed along his leg to his groin at the change in position, but he fought it back and limped toward the darkness that marked the nearest wall. He ran his hand across the surface. Cement block. If it had been wood, there might have been a chance of prying a board loose, but without tools, he couldn't realistically consider this way an option. Moving cautiously, he made a circuit of the room, exploring their prison by touch, searching for any windows, any break in the mortar, but the only opening was the door. He got down on his stomach and laid his cheek against the floor to peer through the crack.
What he saw wasn't encouraging. A long corridor, the legs of a chair, the butt of a rifle and three pairs of scuffed brown leather army boots. Three men. Armed. Probably paramilitary trained like the group at the airport.
Still, they wouldn't be expecting an escape attempt so soon. He'd have the element of surprise on his side. If he got Glenna to provide a distraction, and if he managed to get a weapon away from one of those guards before they sounded the alarm, then they might be able to make a run for it. They would have to move fast, though. Otherwise...
He pushed off the floor and moved back to where he'd left Glenna. His leg would be good enough to carry his own weight for a short distance, but he wasn't sure whether it would bear Glenna. "How's your ankle?" he asked.
"Sore."
He used her voice to zero in on her position, then sat down and groped in front of him. His fingers brushed her knee and he heard a sudden intake of breath. "Sorry," he said. "I forgot you scraped the skin there in your fall."
"It wasn't bad. It's not bleeding anymore."
"It probably wasn't deep enough to leave a scar."
"I'd say my appearance is the least of my worries right now."
She wouldn't feel that way once they got out of here, Rafe thought. He traced her leg downward, grasped her calf and brought her foot to his
Her palms slid over the floor behind her. "What are you doing?"
"Checking the damage." He ran his fingertips over her injured ankle. There was a spongy swelling where he judged the bones should be. He felt his way down to her foot. "Can you move it?"
"Yes." She wiggled it. "A bit."
"Where are your shoes?"
"They fell off on the trip here."
"I don't think your ankle's broken, just twisted. But you won't be able to walk far on it tonight, especially barefoot."
"You can't very well carry me in your condition."
"Not for long, no."
She hesitated. "You could make it on your own."
How could she think he would even consider that? Rafe wondered. On the other hand, she had no idea how he felt. Why would she? He had trouble figuring it out himself. "When we go, we go together."
"But if I can't walk..."
"Then we get a vehicle. Trust me, Glenna, I'm not leaving you."
Trust me. She didn't really have a choice, Glenna thought, yet she had trusted him from the first moment she had looked into his eyes. Now all she needed to do was to hear his voice, and she believed him.
Was it some kind of side effect of their situation? she wondered. Or maybe it was all wrapped up with this new lease on life she suddenly had, something to do with not squandering the time she had left.
Whatever was behind it, she didn't want to deny her feelings. He was wide-awake and very aware, yet that sense of intimacy she had felt when she had touched him earlier hadn't faded. If anything, it was deepening.
Rafe's hands were large and strong, like the rest of him. His fingers were warm against her skin. His inspection of her ankle was justified and completely clinical...and yet her nerves tingled at his touch.
He was a Delta Force commando. He really did storm hijacked planes and rescue people for a living. Who would have thought that a man who did what he did could be so gentle? Like his surprisingly soft hair, like the laugh lines around his eyes, there was much more to Rafe Marek than the tough exterior. She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. "Thank you, Rafe."
"What for?"
"You saved my life."
He set her foot on the floor. "Sure. From the frying pan into the fire. In case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly home free yet."
"It doesn't matter. I'm still better off than I was. You gave me another chance at life, and I'm grateful for the way---"
"I was doing my job," he said gruffly.
Why did her gratitude make him uncomfortable? She smiled. "How much do they pay heroes these day
"Hero? You've got the wrong man, princess."
She didn't think so. She curled her legs to the side and leaned closer. "Rafe?"
"What?"
"Would you hold me?"
"Listen, Glenna, you don't know what you're saying. I've seen this happen before in hostage situations. You're feeling the strain of the situation and---"
"No, I'm feeling chilled," she said, calmly interrupting him. "I used my jacket for your bandage."
He hesitated. "So you did."
"That left me with just this sleeveless shell, but if it would bother you..."
He muttered something under his breath and pulled her into his arms.
Glenna sighed as she fitted her cheek against the hard curve of Rafe's shoulder. She was no fool. She knew their situation was grave. And he was probably right. She was feeling the effects of stress...but she didn't care. This man had given her a reprieve from death. Was she going to waste it?
No, she wasn't. She was going to savor every moment. From now on, she would rather have regrets for something she had done, rather than something she had restrained herself from doing.
Who knew how much longer either one of them would be alive? And when was the last time she had shared anyone's embrace? She couldn't even remember.
That was a rather sad commentary on her life, wasn't it? She could remember practically every word that was said at the meeting she'd attended yesterday. She could recite the phone numbers of florists and staffing agencies in every major North American city where a Winston hotel was located. She had a gold-embossed leather day planner that was filled in for the next two years...but she had no idea when she had last felt a man's arms around her.
Rafe's fingers splayed over her back, urging her to lean more fully against him. "You might as well try to get some sleep."
"I doubt if I'll ever sleep again."
"You're still feeling the adrenaline," he said. "You'll crash when it wears off." He moved his hand to her neck and brushed her hair aside to rest his fingertips over the pulse beneath her ear. "Relax, Glenna. I'll keep watch."
Could he feel the way her heart pounded? she wondered. Did he know how wonderful his skin felt against hers? She had never been comfortable with casual touching. She preferred a handshake to a hug and an air-kiss for a greeting. But somehow she needed to touch him. "Thanks, Rafe."
"No problem. You need to rest and recover your strength. As soon as you can put more weight on your ankle, we'll make our move."
"But---"
"We'll get out of this. I promise. I've been in worse spots. The whole key is you've got to keep a clear head"Control," she murmured. "That's what I kept telling myself in the plane."
"You did great, by the way."
"I didn't have any choice."
"There's always a choice. When I was watching you in the doorway---"
"You were watching me? How? I didn't see you."
"I was there, Glenna. Even now, the rest of my team is probably searching the area. Once we get out of here, we'll find some way to hook up with them and you'll be back home in..." He paused. "Where are you from?"
"New York," she replied. "It seems so far away."
"Sure, but you'll be back there before you know it. Once you're debriefed at the base, I'll see that you're flown directly---"
"Rafe, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather take a train."
A low rumble sounded in his chest. "Right."
Glenna felt a smile tug at her lips. The noise he had made was more of a grunt than a laugh, but she liked the way it had felt against her cheek. She'd like to hear it again. "Rafe?"
"What?"
But whatever she was going to say ended in a gasp as the door to their prison was flung open. Before it had slammed against the wall, Rafe was on his feet, once more placing himself between her and the weapons that were aimed directly at them.
"Dios," someone muttered. "You are right. He is one ugly bastard."
The guards must be blind, Glenna thought as she limped along the shadowed corridor. How else could they call Rafe ugly? Yes, his scars were unpleasant to look at. The network of white-streaked, ravaged skin was evidence of horrible suffering. Puckered gullies sliced his right cheek and gave the corner of his mouth a sardonic twist. In addition, his nose was large and bent in the middle, as if it had been broken at some point in the past.
But couldn't the guards see the intelligence in his eyes? How could they miss the strength in the angle of his jaw and the pride in the tilt of his head? Didn't they notice how he ignored the pain his leg must be giving him in order to lend her support as she walked?
She had known men who were as pretty as purebred puppies but who had ugliness in their smiles. What appeared on the surface didn't matter if what lay underneath was rotten. And she couldn't believe Rafe was rotten inside. His deeds were constantly proving otherwise.
The corridor branched into three. The guard who had been leading the way in front of them turned to his right. One of the two who were behind them prodded Rafe in the back with his rifle. Rafe stumbled briefly, his nostrils flaring. Whether it was to control his pain or his temper, Glenna couldn't tell. tightened his arm around her waist to pull her more firmly to his side, somehow managing to take even more of her weight off her sprained ankle.
She gave him a small smile of gratitude, but he didn't acknowledge it. His gaze was flicking all around them, as if cataloguing every possible detail of their surroundings.
Glenna decided to follow suit. She realized the floor was now sloping upward. The scent of damp cement that had permeated the room where they had been held wasn't as sharp here. They must have been in a basement and were now being taken to the ground floor of the house.
It wasn't any ordinary house, though. She'd known when their captors had brought them in from the truck that this house was large. She hadn't realized how large until now.
What had Rafe called the hijackers? Garden variety drug smugglers with delusions of grandeur? The drug business must be booming, if they could afford a place like this.
They reached a thick wooden door. One of the guards turned a key in the lock and they were ushered through. Glenna blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the light from a huge crystal chandelier that blazed overhead. They had emerged in the corner of a large foyer. A majestic staircase curved along the far wall, opulent bouquets of tropical flowers rested on delicate antique tables, and all of it was reflected in a marble floor the color of a forest. She had no more than a glimpse of a set of intricate wrought iron entrance doors before the guards pushed them through another door into a dark paneled office.
A slim, dark man in a white suit sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He looked up as they came in. "Ah, my visitors have arrived," he said into the phone he held. An accent tinted his words with a soft lilt. "We shall continue our negotiations, yes?"
The door slammed behind them. Glenna glanced over her shoulder and stared straight into a gun barrel. She quickly turned her head.
The white-suited man was watching her, his fingers working over the telephone receiver with long, lazy strokes. The glossy mustache on his upper lip lifted in a smile. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Leonardo Juarez, your host. And what is your name, delightful lady?"
She didn't know how to respond to this parody of civility. She remained silent.
Juarez gestured with a flick of his fingers. One of the guards stepped forward and shoved his gun butt into Rafe's stomach. Rafe made no sound as he jerked with the impact, but Glenna cried out.
"You will answer me next time I ask you a question," Juarez said, his smooth tone reflecting nothing of the brutality he had instigated. "Now, I would like to know your name."
"Glenna Hastings," she blurted out immediately.
"Very good. And the, what is the word, the Frankenstein here. What is your name, sir?"
Rafe held himself perfectly still, his gaze a sliver of steel as it targeted the man behind the desk. "Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial number seven zero---"
"Yes, yes. Name, rank and serial number. You are Delta Force, I presume?"
"Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial ner---"
"Do not be tiresome. I know the policy of your government. For this situation, they would have sent only their best." He repeated their names into the phone, then pointed at Glenna and crooked his finger. "Please, come here for a moment, Miss Hastings."
She saw the guard lift his rifle again. She pulled away from Rafe's support and limped to the desk.
Juarez smiled and tilted his head, as if he believed the curving of his thick lips was attractive. "It is Miss Hastings, is it not?"
She nodded.
"American men truly do not appreciate beauty."
Oh, God. He had the dead, black eyes of a lizard. If he smiled again she was going to be sick.
He crooked his finger once more, motioning her to his side.
Glenna wanted to run back to Rafe. She needed to touch him, to feel his support. He was her anchor in a world gone crazy. But if she went to him, he would likely be struck again. She wouldn't fall apart, she wouldn't. Holding her head high, trying to act as stoic as Rafe, she put one hand on the edge of the desk for support and made her way to the other side.
Juarez looked boldly at the thin shell that covered her breasts. He ran his palm down her bare arm. "So soft. I wonder if you are as silky as that garment you wear. Shall I see?"
She swallowed a surge of bile.
"But business before pleasure. What a shame we meet under such...inconvenient circumstances." He sighed and held the telephone toward her. "Take it."
She clutched the receiver as if it were a lifeline and lifted it to her ear.
"Let them know you are enjoying my hospitality, Miss Hastings," Juarez said, taking a cigarette from a silver case on his desk. He lit it leisurely, leaned back in his chair and regarded her through drifting white curls of smoke. "And tell them one of you will be killed tomorrow at midnight if they do not release Arturo. My brother."
"Do you think he was bluffing?" Glenna asked.
They were back in the underground storeroom that served as their prison, so Rafe couldn't see her expression, but he heard the truth of what she believed in her voice.
She was no fool. She must realize that the people who were capable of hijacking an airliner and shooting the pilot in cold blood were capable of anything. He didn't consider lying to her about this---he had more respect for her than that. "No," he said.
"I didn't think so."
He braced his back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, stretching his wounded leg in front of him. He needed every second of rest he could get. "From the looks of Juarez's phone, he has several lines. Those indicator lights on the side would tip him off the minute someone tried to dial out, so we won't be able to call for help from inside the house. We need to get out as soon as possible. We'll give them two hours to go about their
"But my ankle, your leg..."
"With the timetable Juarez has set, it's our only option, princess."
"My name is Glenna."
"Sorry, I didn't mean any offense."
"No, I'm sorry." She shuffled along the floor until she reached his side. She sat down and placed her hand on his knee. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I guess I'm just a little...stressed."
His lips twitched at her understatement. "You're entitled. You handled the business with Juarez well, Glenna."
"Do you want to know the truth?"
"Sure."
"I thought I was going to throw up all over his stupid white suit."
Rafe grunted, "Maybe you should have. It would have cooled him off."
"Sure, and then they would have hit you again."
"Don't worry about me. This is my job."
"You should ask for a raise." She moved her hand from his knee to the silk bandage on his thigh. "How does your leg feel?"
This time, he did lie. He'd checked the wound when their captors had allowed them to use a bathroom after their meeting with Juarez and he'd found it was getting hot, the edges puffy and tender. The infection must have set in the moment he'd been shot. "Fine."
"The bandage feels dry."
"The bleeding stopped. I told you it wasn't serious."
She patted his thigh gently, then skimmed her hand along his hip to his waist. She spread her fingers just beneath his ribs. "What about here? Are you okay? That guard hit you pretty hard with that gun."
"No problem. I saw it coming and flexed before he hit me."
"Flexed?"
"My abs." He could feel her touch warm him through the fabric of his jumpsuit. What would it be like to feel her hand on his bare skin? "Tightens everything up to deflect the damage."
"Oh. Is that a Delta Force trick?"
"Not really. Houdini used to do it all the time."
She stroked her fingertips across his stomach, tracing the contours of the muscles he'd just mentioned. "But didn't Houdini die when someone punched him?"
His pulse throbbed heavily at her caress. And it was a caress, he couldn't interpret it any other way. He caught her hand to keep her from exploring further. "He wasn't ready for it. It ruptured his appendix. Glenna, don't."
"What?"
"It's a reaction to our situation."
"What is?
"The way you're touching me."
There was a brief silence. When she spoke again, her voice was low and defiant. "I don't care. I won't have any regrets. Or don't you like it?"
"That's not the point."
"When Juarez touched me, I felt as if a slimy lizard were crawling over my skin. Is that how I make you feel?"
"Of course not, but---"
"He plans to kill one of us tomorrow. He'll probably start with me."
"What makes you think that?"
"That Latin lover nonsense was just for show. A Delta Force commando is more of a prize as a hostage than a special events planner for the Winston Hotel chain."
Just as he thought, she was no fool. He'd come to the same conclusion himself.
"So why shouldn't I spend my last few hours touching you?" she finished.
He twined his fingers with hers and brought their joined hands to his chest. "I've already explained that. You can't keep thinking every minute is going to be your last. Life goes on, and that's the hard part."
There was a silence. "That's a strange thing to say," she murmured.
"Forget it."
"No. I want to know what you meant."
"When we get out of here, I'll tell you, okay?"
"How can we get out? We're unarmed, we don't know where we are, neither of us can walk far let alone walk fast and---"
"Don't give up, Glenna. You're stronger than that."
"Am I?"
"Yes. You've gotten this far, haven't you?"
She sighed. "Do you think our government is going to release Arturo Juarez?"
He hesitated. "What's your guess?"
"From what I saw of this place, these drug smugglers are very rich and powerful. You said the local police were probably involved, didn't you?"
"It's the only way to explain what happened at the airport. We hadn't known Leonardo Juarez was operating out of Rocama. To have a base as well established as this house, his influence must stretch all the way to the top levels of the government. Someone had to have been bribed back at the airport in Jamaica, as well, so the hijackers could get aboard your flight in the first place."
"It must have been tough to apprehend a member of the Juarez family. I don't think our government is going to let him go."
"That's my guess, too. But either way, I'm not going to let you die. I promise you."
"Why do I believe you, Rafe?" She pressed her head the hollow of his shoulder. "I don't understand. I never believe promises, but I believe you. Is that a reaction to the situation, too?"
"No. I'm just a trustworthy kind of guy."
She made a sound that was too shaky to be a laugh. "And isn't it just my luck that we have to meet like this?"
"A woman like you must have someone waiting for her to come home. You must have your pick of men."
"A woman like me?"
"Refined, classy." He lowered his head, catching the scent of lemons. "Beautiful," he added softly.
"Thank you."
"And once you get home, you're going to regret what you're doing now."
"You're wrong. I have no one, Rafe. No boyfriend or lover to go home to. Only a day planner full of appointments and an apartment full of books." She rubbed her lips against his chin. "So don't tell me about regrets."
He tipped his head away. "Glenna, don't."
"Why? Are you married?"
"No."
"Then do you have a girlfriend or a fiancée?"
"With this face?"
She braced the heel of her hand against his chest and lifted her head. Her features were no more than a pale blur, but the fierceness in her expression was somehow immediately discernible. "That man shouldn't have called you ugly, Rafe."
"Hey, I'm used to it. I know what I look like."
"That's got nothing to do with it."
"Are we talking about the same thing here? Didn't you get a good look at me in the light?"
"If you mean your scars, yes, I saw that. I had already felt them."
"What?"
She brought her hand to his face. Butterfly light, she brushed his ruined cheek. "When you were unconscious, I felt them. I can't imagine how painful it must have been."
He jerked his head away from her touch.
"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"No." And that was another lie. The pain she caused wasn't physical, like the ache in his leg, but it was no less tangible.
She sounded as if she actually cared. She didn't, of course. The tenderness in her voice and in her fingers was merely a byproduct of this situation. It was textbook hostage-scenario psychology. She was grateful to him, she regarded him as her rescuer, she was mistaking gratitude for attraction.
He couldn't take this personally. He could have been anyone else and she would have been behaving the same way. Any warm body would do in the dark. She needed comfort, she needed understanding. She sure didn't need his own body reacting as if this were real. would be the worst kind of bastard if he took advantage of her vulnerability.
She curled her legs and snuggled against him, pressing her breasts to his chest. "What you look like makes no difference to me, Rafe."
There, she had just proved him right, he thought. "Glenna..."
"It's what you are inside that matters."
God help him if that was the case, because he was as much a monster on the inside as he was on the outside. "Glenna, you don't know me."
"You're wrong. I've seen what you do."
"All I am is a man trying to do his job."
"Are all you Delta Force heroes so noble?"
He snorted. "I told you before, I'm no hero. And I'm sure as hell not noble."
"Then there's no reason you can't hold me, right?" She lifted his arm and draped it over her shoulder. "You did it before."
He didn't want to argue with her twisted logic. "Glenna, we should be conserving our energy right now. Try to rest."
"Mmm. You said we should wait two hours before we move, right?"
"More like one hour, forty-eight minutes now."
"Then we have enough time."
"For what?"
Her breath tingled over his lips. "For this," she whispered, pressing her mouth to his.
He could blame it on surprise, but he'd known this was coming. He could blame it on his weakened state, but he'd been in worse shape than this before and had remained in control of the situation. So there really was no excuse for the way he sat there and let her kiss him.
Oh, man, it felt good. Her lips were cool and sweet and he could have wished that the moment might last forever. He could have wished it, but he didn't. He knew better. The deeper they got into this now, the worse it was going to be when they were back in the world.
He said her name, a caution, a warning. But instead of pulling back, she slid her tongue along his parted lips.
The intimate contact jolted him. Had he thought she was cool? No, there was passion in this woman. He'd known that from the moment he'd focused his binoculars on her face. He'd wanted to know what was beneath her layer of control. Now she was showing him.
But she thought he was noble, she thought he was a hero. She wouldn't be kissing him if she knew the truth.
He clasped her cheeks. He started to ease her head away.
She made a low sound in her throat and thrust her tongue into his mouth.
Rafe shuddered. Instead of pushing her away, he slid his fingers into her hair and returned the kiss. One hour, forty-one minutes, he thought. Then they had to stop. Then they had to move.
In the meantime, he was enough of a bastard to give her what she wanted.
It was what she wanted, Glenna thought. His kiss was like the beauty of his eyes or the silkiness of his hair, an unexpected glimpse of the man beneath the scars. Strong. Sensitive. Fascinating.
He kissed the same way as he talked, straight-ahead and to the point. His lips were firm, moving over hers in a sensuous exploration as he rubbed and tasted, making her head spin. And yet he was gentle when he slipped his tongue into her mouth. He probed slowly, as if he were giving her a chance to change her mind.
But Glenna had no second thoughts. No, she didn't think of anything other than how good it felt to have Rafe's mouth on hers and his fingers in her hair. She needed this contact with him to push away the horror that was waiting, crouching in the corners of their prison like the rats that scurried in the shadows...
She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly she saw bursts of red behind her lids. No, she wouldn't let the fear win. She wouldn't remember the feel of Leonardo Juarez's hand on her skin or the blank stare from his reptile eyes. She'd block out the sensation of the pilot's blood on her cheek and the bullets that had whined past her head. She wouldn't dwell on the death that threatened them. She would focus on Rafe, her rescuer, her rock. She opened her mouth, urging him wordlessly to give her more.
He understood. He gave her more. His fingers tunneled into her hair, cupping her head as he leaned over her. He held her steady as his exploration turned to conquest. His tongue plunged alongside hers in a rhythm that sent echoes through her body.
She trembled. It was only a kiss. Just a kiss. But heat pooled between her legs so swiftly it was painful.
The blatantly carnal response might have shocked her if she'd allowed herself to think. Her experience with sex consisted of tame, pleasant lovemaking on clean sheets, but that life was too far away to matter. And what she felt was more urgent than sex, more primitive than desire. It was the mindless urge to mate.
It was madness to feel this here, to feel it now. But she had faced her own death this afternoon. There was a good possibility that she would die tomorrow. The old concepts of right and wrong didn't apply. She was alive. She was following her instincts. This was keeping the fear at bay. She didn't even feel the pain of her scraped knees rasping over the cement floor as she hiked up her skirt, flung her leg over Rafe's and straddled his lap.
He was hard. Everywhere. She put her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers over the tight weave of his jumpsuit, tracing the ridges of his muscles with her thumbs. This time he didn't stop her. He pressed his back against the wall, grasped her hips and tugged her closer.
Dimly she realized he had repositioned her in order to ease her thigh away from his bullet wound. He'd taken that bullet while he'd tried to save her. He'd risked his life for her. The thought didn't check her spiraling arousal, it only shifted it to a more elemental level.
She leaned into him, brushing her breasts across his chest. It felt good, oho good, but it wasn't enough. She pulled up her blouse, then reached behind her and fumbled to undo her bra, her fingers shaking in her eagerness. The closure parted with a soft snap.
He pulled back his head, breaking the kiss. "Glenna."
She recognized the caution in his tone, but she didn't listen. She only heard the undertone of need that echoed her own. She grasped his wrists, trying to move his hands from her hips to her bare breasts but he didn't budge.
"Glenna, we have to stop."
"Rafe, touch me."
"You're reacting to the stress," he said, his voice rough. "You're on a high. You don't really want---"
"I want you, Rafe."
He expelled his breath on a short, muttered obscenity. But he didn't move his hands. Instead, he curled forward and pressed his face between her breasts.
The beard stubble on his jaw scraped over her tender skin. His breath was hot on her chest. Then he turned his head and his breath whispered over her nipple.
Glenna gasped, her nipples swelling and hardening instantly. Her flesh was so sensitive the mere movement of air made her shudder. She bit her lip, some corner of her brain that still functioned telling her not to scream, but when he didn't move, when he didn't take what she'd bared for him, she was unable to stop the whimper of longing. She released his wrists and grasped his head, guiding herself toward him. "Rafe...please..."
As tenderly as a sunlit breeze, his lips traced the curve of her breast.
He understood. That didn't surprise her. There was a bond between them. She'd sensed it from the first moment she'd looked into his eyes. "More," she said.
"Glenna---"
"Now. I need...more."
He rolled her nipple on his tongue, then drew it into his mouth and sucked.
She was panting now. She heard the soft noises she made and was helpless to stop. She grasped his shoulders and raised her body so she could rub against the long, firm bulge at his groin. She felt no shame. There wasn't room for it.
Rafe tipped back his head and moved his hands to her waist. He lifted her up enough to stop her movements. "We can't, Glenna."
She trembled. Dammit, they could. They had to. This could be her last chance. It could be her final night on earth and she wasn't going to waste it. She'd tiptoed through her life. She wanted to let go, to feel, to love, to lose control. "Rafe, please! Don't stop. Don't make me beg."
He swore again. He lifted her off him completely, laying her on her back on the floor. Then he stretched out beside her, brought his mouth back to hers and slipped his hand under her skirt.
At the first touch of his fingers, she started to shake. She was so close to the edge. So close. When he moved his thumb, she cried into his mouth and let the passion take her. Release surged over her in wave after shuddering wave
Yes. Yes! She sobbed, squeezing her thighs shut on his hand, holding him there, prolonging the moment. Yes, oh yes, oh yes. This was good. This was real. The rest wasn't. The rest she wouldn't think about. Only this man. Only Rafe with his battered face and his gentle gaze and his magic, magic touch.
The waves built and crested again, carrying her hips off the floor. Glenna flung out her arms and arched upward, holding her breath, her body tensing, shaking, straining...
She shattered suddenly. The tension drained, leaving her limp and sobbing. She was still sobbing as Rafe straightened her clothes and pulled her into his arms.
He stroked her hair, his large, strong hand cupping her head. "Shh," he whispered. "It'll be all right."
She nuzzled into the hollow of his shoulder. He was still rigid. "Rafe, we can't stop yet...you didn't..."
"Go to sleep."
"I can't." She lifted her hand to his chest. Her arm felt boneless, as if her strength had drained along with her tension. She tried to focus her thoughts, but it was as if the passion had shut down her mind.
And that's what she'd really wanted.
Had he understood that, too? "Rafe..."
"Glenna, trust me. You can."
Rafe checked the clock in his head. Only eight minutes left and the two hours would be up. He would have to wake her soon.
On the other hand, would it make that much difference whether they moved in eight minutes or eighteen? His timetable had been arbitrary. Their odds wouldn't be much different if they waited a while longer. Glenna needed the rest.
And the truth was, Rafe wasn't looking forward to waking her. As long as she was lying so soft and trusting in his arms, her hand riding his chest, her head nestled into the crook of his neck, he could delay the inevitable regrets.
What he had done was inexcusable. She had an excuse, he didn't. He'd never intended to let things go so far. He'd taken advantage of her. Sure, she'd practically begged him, and yes, he'd given her more than one opportunity to stop, and okay, she'd benefited from the release of tension. She'd been pumping adrenaline, strung out with nerves, in no condition for an escape attempt, but now that she had caught some sleep, her mind and body would be better equipped to handle whatever might happen.
But he hadn't been thinking about that when he'd touched her. No, he hadn't kissed her because he figured that would help her relax. His motives had been purely selfish.
He wanted her. Plain and simple. Nothing noble about that. Being left in a state of acute discomfort hadn't detracted from the pleasure he'd gained from giving Glenna pleasure. Even knowing that she'd used him hadn't made any difference.
And she had used him, he reminded himself. He could have been anyone. People reacted to stress in a wide variety of ways. Over the years, he'd seen it all. Some got hysterical, screaming and crying out their fears. Some withdrew into the total escape of catatonia. Some did what Glenna had done, desperately channeling all the flight-fight hormones that were stirred up by the fear into an equally primitive emotion---lust. He'd felt it himself when he'd rolled on top of her, back when he'd first awakened in this room. She probably didn't even understand what had come over her. He couldn't take it personally. As he'd already told himself, any warm body would have served her equally well in the dark.
Unlike her, though, he had no illusions. He knew what was going to happen if they ever got out of here. As soon as she got back to her high-powered job and manicured men, she'd realize how low she'd sunk. She'd be aghast at her behavior. She'd look on him with revulsion. She'd pretend she'd never done anything so sordid as make love with a virtual stranger---an ugly stranger---on a concrete floor.
He dipped his head, burying his nose in Glenna's hair. He inhaled her scent to block out the odor of the storeroom. Traces of her tangy-sweet perfume, hints of shampoo and the underlying scent of a warm female. Heady stuff. Almost made him wish...
He yanked his thoughts back on track before they could veer in that direction. They hadn't made love, he reminded himself. They'd done a sexual act, that's all. Not even a very good one, considering how quickly it had been over.
And it was over. No doubt about that. He couldn't afford to be distracted by this woman again. He had to focus on getting her out safely. That was his job.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Six more minutes. Then they would move. He stroked his hand across her cheek...and his fingertips brushed the tracks of her dried tears.
Damn, he was a bastard. But what else was new? He moved his hand to her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. "Glenna?"
She stretched briefly, her breasts pressing into his ribs, then she snuggled her head more tightly against his neck.
Rafe gritted his teeth and shook her again. "Glenna, wake up."
She stilled. Her breathing changed from the slow, deep inhalations of sleep to shallow bursts. "Rafe?"
He could hear the confusion in her voice. He could imagine the dazed expression on her beautiful face. If they were anywhere else, he'd wake her up with a kiss and coax her body into awareness and---
No. If they were anywhere else, she wouldn't even be with him. "I've been listening to the guards outside the door," he said. "One of them left fifty minutes ago, so that leaves only two."
She took her hand from his chest and rubbed her face. "I...I must have fallen asleep," she said, her voice muffled.
"Yeah. I'm hoping the guards did, too, but even if they didn't, the odds have improved."
"I can't believe I slept."
"Feel better?"
"Yes, I---" She stopped suddenly. Her body tightened. "Oh, my God," she whispered. She pushed herself out of his embrace and rolled awa
Well, that didn't take long, he thought. He sat up, resting his arm on his bent knee. "Glenna---"
"Oh, my God. I can't believe I...we..."
He was grateful for the darkness. He didn't want to see the look on her face. "Forget it. Things happen. We have more important problems to worry about."
She was silent for a while. "I'm sorry, Rafe," she said finally. "I...I took advantage of you."
That stunned him. She was apologizing? To him? "Glenna, I'm the one who owes you an apology."
"No, you don't. It was---"
"A mistake," he said gruffly. "I shouldn't have gone so far."
"I wanted you to."
"You were stressed-out and didn't know what you were doing."
"You're wrong, Rafe. I know what I'm doing. I'm living." Her fingers brushed his sleeve. Her voice steadied. "And I won't have any regrets. I promised myself that."
Yeah, right, he thought. "Like I said, you're stressed-out. How's the ankle?"
"My..." There was a shuffling sound. "It's still sore."
"Do you think you can walk on it?"
"I guess. Not far."
"We'll need a vehicle once we get out of the house."
"Yes, I remember you mentioned that before."
"Once we see where we are, we'll make our way to an alternate extraction point and wait for my team."
"Wouldn't they have left by now?"
"They'll come back."
"Rafe?"
"What?"
"Whatever happens, I want you to know how grateful I am for everything you've done." She slid her fingers down his sleeve to the back of his hand. "I'd never have gotten this far without you."
"I don't want your gratitude, Glenna."
"It's more than gratitude I feel for you, Rafe."
He ground his teeth to keep from swearing. She might say she wouldn't have any regrets, but the more she built this illusion in her head, the harder she was going to fall when it was over.
And the more she acted this way, the more he might start to wish it could be real...
Dammit, he didn't have time to deal with Glenna and her tangled emotions now. He'd leave that to the army shrinks.
The six minutes were up. He pushed to his feet. At the change of position, the woundthigh throbbed suddenly, a reminder of the infection that was continuing to get worse. He took long, slow breaths until he brought the pain under control, then moved to the door.
It was quiet on the other side. He didn't hear any conversation, but he didn't hear snores, either. He couldn't assume this was going to be easy.
He ran his palm down the door until he came to the lock. It was a run-of-the-mill hardware store dead bolt, keyed on both sides. Not much of a challenge if he had the right tools, but he hadn't found anything useful on his previous survey of the storeroom.
He sensed Glenna's presence behind him even before he caught a whiff of her perfume and felt the warmth that came from her body. Her voice was no more than a whisper in his ear. "What's the plan?"
His pulse thudded at the tickle of her breath. That bothered him. He couldn't afford to be distracted, he reminded himself. "We're going to use the element of surprise. When I give you the word, start screaming."
"Why?"
"Say you saw a mouse. I don't know. It doesn't matter."
"No, I mean why do you want me to scream?"
"Distract the guards. Get them to open the door so I can jump them."
"Wouldn't they be expecting that?"
"I'll move fast. I'll make sure they don't hurt you."
"It would be easier to pick the lock and open the door ourselves, wouldn't it?"
"Sure, if I had the tools, but---"
"What about some hairpins?"
He twisted to face her, lifting his hands to her hair. "Do you have some? I didn't feel any when I..." When I kissed you, when I ran my fingers through your hair as I wanted to do from the moment I saw you... He dropped his hands. It was over. It shouldn't have happened in the first place. He couldn't afford to think about it. "I didn't feel any an hour ago."
"I lost most of them on the trip here. I took the rest out before you regained consciousness because my hair was such a mess...." She drew in her breath unsteadily. "What a stupid thing to have worried about." She caught his hand and tugged him forward. "Help me look. They should still be on the floor somewhere."
Both guards were leaning back in their chairs, the olive-green caps they wore shading their eyes from the bare lightbulb that hung from the corridor ceiling. As soon as the door cracked open, the closest man jumped to his feet and swung his gun toward them.
Rafe was on him before he could pull the trigger. He knocked the gun aside and drove his stiffened fingers into the man's solar plexus as the second guard was getting to his feet. As the first man toppled, Rafe spun around and struck a swift blow to the side of the second man's neck. Within seconds, both guards were sprawled unconscious on the floor.
Glenna blinked at the en ferocity of Rafe's movements, then hobbled toward him when he gestured her forward. Maybe escape wouldn't be as impossible as she'd feared. Now that they'd gotten past these guards---
Instead of going by, though, Rafe was leaning over the fallen men.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, grasping the back of one of the empty chairs for balance. "They're out cold, aren't they?"
"Buying us some time," he said. He reached for the man's belt and yanked it off.
"What?"
He gestured to the unconscious man in front of her. "I'd prefer not to kill them, so I want to tie them up and gag them to keep them from raising the alarm when they come to. You can help by taking off his belt."
It made sense. She should have thought of it herself, but she didn't have any experience in matters like these. No, arranging a fund-raising banquet or coordinating a conference didn't have much to do with the skills involved in breaking out of a drug lord's basement prison...
She focused on Rafe and somehow managed to tamp down the bubble of rising panic. He was moving swiftly and purposefully as he bound one guard's hands behind his back with his belt. He emptied the man's pockets, coming up with a lighter, a small ring of keys and a folding knife. After he crumpled the man's cap into a rough ball and wedged it into his mouth, he fastened the gag in place with one of the guard's boot laces, then grasped him under his arms and dragged him into the storeroom.
Glenna bent over and reached for the remaining guard's belt buckle. It was a challenge to open because her fingers were shaking. But she couldn't fall apart. She would think of Rafe. He had promised he'd get them out of here. She believed him. He wasn't like the other men she'd known. They had a bond...
I'd prefer not to kill them.
That's what he'd said. That meant he would have killed them if he'd had to. Of course. He was a soldier. That's what soldiers did.
But his touch had been so tender, and he'd given her what she'd needed and held her while she'd slept and---
Oh, God, she couldn't think of that now. If she did, she'd be no help to either of them. She pulled the belt free from the belt loops just as Rafe returned.
He bound and gagged the guard the same way as the other one and dragged him into the storeroom. When he reappeared, he was carrying a pair of boots and the guard's clothing. "I left the laces in these ones. Take them," he said, holding them out to her.
"Why?"
He dumped them into her arms and stooped over to pick up the guards' discarded rifles. "You don't have shoes and that skimpy top and skirt you're wearing aren't practical for jungle survival."
She juggled the bundle of clothing and grasped the boots before they could fall to the floor. "Jungle..."
"We need to cover every contingency. We're not in New York, princess." took the ammunition clip from one of the rifles and tucked it into another pocket on his jumpsuit. He slung the other rifle over his shoulder, slipped his arm around her waist and guided her down the corridor. "You can change later," he said. "The first priority is getting us out of here."
His tone was curt, his grip on her waist firm, yet he did his best to take most of her weight as they moved. She realized she had to be a burden to him. He had to be aware that he could probably get away faster without her. She stole a glance at his face.
Because of the wound in his left leg, he held her on his right side, just as he'd done when they'd been taken to meet Juarez. Glenna had a good view of his scars, but she still couldn't see any ugliness. She saw his strength and his concern for her.
They reached the place where the corridor branched into three without encountering anyone. The corridor on the right led into the main part of the house. Rafe stopped and tilted his head to listen.
Glenna thought she heard footsteps until she realized it was the pounding of her pulse. She bit her lip and tried not to give in to the urge to run back.
He lowered his lips to her ear. "When they brought us here after they caught up to us at the airport, which way did they come?"
"From the left, I think."
"Were there many twists? Changes in direction?"
"I don't..." She swallowed hard and clutched her bundle of clothing to her chest. The image of Rafe's limp body being dragged by two of Juarez's henchmen rose without warning. Oh, God. She'd blocked that out. They'd been so rough. "Yes. Quite a few. It was awful. They kept bumping you into the corners and---"
"What else did you see? Any doors?"
"I saw a big room that looked like a lab."
"What about the exit? How far is it?"
"There was a door that was set into a cement wall outside. It wasn't wood like the ones upstairs. It was steel."
"What was nearby?"
"It was dark and---"
"And you were scared out of your wits. I understand." He spoke slowly, his words calm although she could feel tension humming through his body. "Think about where they parked. Picture that."
She felt the truck jerk to a stop after it backed into place beside a platform, and she remembered Rafe sliding toward the tailgate... "A small loading bay with a set of steps. There were people all around. They might still be there."
"Yeah. People in the drug business tend to work nights, especially if they're running a refining operation in that lab you saw. That might not be the best way to---" He stopped abruptly and looked down the center corridor. "Someone's coming. We can't go that way."
To her surprise, he started down the corridor on the right. "Rafe, this will take us into the house," she said.
"I didn't se guards stationed there. They're probably more concerned with keeping people out than keeping them in. Could be our best bet."
The sound of voices came from behind them, then gradually started to fade. They must have turned the other way. Rafe didn't slacken his pace. Glenna did her best to keep up with him, but by the time they reached the thick wooden door that led to the house, he was essentially carrying her on his hip. He set her on her feet and shifted the rifle from his back to his hands. "Hang on to my shoulder and stay behind me," he ordered. He took the keys he'd found on the guard from his pocket. The fourth key he tried unlocked the door.
The crystal chandelier beside the staircase had been dimmed. In the semidarkness, the slender legs of the delicate antique tables along the wall looked skeletal, the flowers ghostly. Glenna took a deep breath and followed Rafe through the doorway, then winced at the noise as the wooden door clicked shut behind them.
A light shone from beneath the door of the room where Juarez had met them. Glenna imagined him lurking there, his mustache lifted in that oily smile as he waited to mock their escape attempt and take them back to that basement cell with the rats in the corners and the guards outside and---
Rafe grabbed her hand and pressed it against his shoulder, snapping her out of her temporary paralysis. Keeping his gun ready, he moved along the curve of the staircase in the opposite direction from Juarez's office. Glenna gripped his shoulder for support and followed. The marble floor was cold beneath her feet. She hadn't had time to notice it before, but now she was noticing everything. Her pulse was accelerating, her senses becoming so acute she was imagining footsteps again.
No, it wasn't her imagination. She looked to their left, squeezing Rafe's shoulder as she whispered a warning. A large figure moved on the other side of the wrought iron entrance doors.
Rafe spun around, clamped her to his chest and dove into the shadow beneath the curving staircase just as the doors clanged open.
Glenna couldn't see who walked past. She couldn't see anything. Somehow Rafe had managed to place himself between her and the rest of the foyer, sheltering her completely behind his black-clad body. She didn't even dare to breathe as heavy footsteps vibrated across the marble floor.
A door opened. She heard Juarez's voice call out a greeting. "Hello, Captain Aznar. You're late. I wasn't sure you were coming tonight."
"I got held up in a meeting with those damned soldiers," a low voice grumbled. "We have to change our plans."
"No need. Everything is still progressing..."
A door closed and the voices cut off.
Rafe slid backward quickly, dragging her with him. "The front door is out," he whispered. "Juarez's visitor probably has a driver waiting for him."
"Then what---"
"We head for a room at the back and find a window." He returned her hand to his shoulder and started forward again. "As long as we keep clear of that loading bay you saw, with any luck we'll be long gone before anyone thinks to bring us breakfast.
He made it sound easy. It wasn't. Three more times they had to make use of Rafe's quick reflexes, his black clothing and the shadows to conceal themselves as they worked their way toward the back of the sprawling house. But at last they found an empty guest room that overlooked nothing but trees. Rafe detached the alarm wires that were around the window frame, opened the window and dropped to the ground with a grunt, then held out his arms to help Glenna.
By this time, Glenna's ankle was too painful to allow her to do more than hop. She hadn't realized that he was aware of her growing discomfort, since he hadn't allowed them to slow down, but of course, he was. He pressed her into the wall under the window, using his body to shelter her and to hold her up as a pair of men with rifles walked past. As soon as the men disappeared around the corner of the house, Rafe scooped her into his arms. He carried her to a pale strip of a road that curved toward the blackness of the rain forest. "Stay here," he said, setting her down behind the concealment of a bush. "I'll find us some transportation."
She grasped his hand. "Rafe, be careful."
"Shh. It's okay. Things are looking up. It seems Juarez is too arrogant to think he needs gates." He faded into the night shadows and was gone before she could argue.
Glenna strained to listen for some sound that would tell her what he was doing, but all she heard was the rumble of vehicles at the other side of the house and the screech of some animal in the distance.
Shivering as the night closed around her, she looked back at the house they'd just escaped. Even though she wasn't more than fifty yards away, it was practically invisible, its dark brick walls blending into the grove of palm trees that surrounded it. From this vantage point, it didn't appear large enough to explain the size of the basement. The underground corridors had to stretch well beyond the actual house. It was deceptive. Everything appeared completely innocent.
Yet more proof that appearance was no indication of what lay inside.
She shook out the shirt Rafe had taken from the guard and slipped it on over her top. It smelled of cigarette smoke and a strange man, but she refused to be squeamish. Rafe had spent precious moments getting these things for her. She pulled on the pants next. The guard had been close to her height, so the length was good but the waist was hopelessly too large. She bundled up her skirt and shoved it into the waistband, then slid her feet into the borrowed boots. She laced the right one carefully over her swollen ankle. To her surprise, the extra support gave her a trace of relief from the pain. Rafe had probably realized it would help, she thought.
Headlights appeared suddenly from the direction of the house. Glenna shrank further into the concealment of the bush, thankful that the green pants and shirt she now wore wouldn't pick up the light the way her ivory skirt and top would have. Rafe had probably thought of that, too. Was that him driving toward her? Should she go to meet him so he wouldn't strain his leg by carrying her again? She had moved her good foot under her and braced her knuckles on the ground, prepared to stand, when something made her wait.
The moon was in its first quarter, hanging low as it rose over the black wall of the trees. Its slanting rays glinted from a light bar on the roof of the car that approached. Police? Could it be this easIf she flagged the car down...
Glenna stayed where she was. Rafe had said the local authorities were in on the hijacking. And the man who had visited Juarez tonight was called Captain Aznar. She couldn't trust the police. She couldn't trust anyone...except Rafe.
Rafe. Every other thought seemed to start and end with Rafe. Well, why not? It was better than thinking of this nightmare she was living.
The sound of the police car hadn't yet faded into the trees when Glenna heard another engine. An open-sided jeep was moving toward her from the house, its headlights off. She sighed in relief when she saw the gleam of Rafe's blond hair in the moonlight. But she hadn't doubted that Rafe would come back for her. The jeep slowed to a stop beside the bush where she crouched.
She smiled as she settled into the passenger seat. She knew they still had a long way to go before they were safe, but she was with Rafe now. She believed in him. Everything would be all right.
According to Murphy's Law, anything that could possibly go wrong, would go wrong. Rafe and his team always tried to take Murphy into account when they planned for a mission. If a piece of equipment was vital, they took a backup for the backup. If they needed one escape scenario, they charted at least two alternatives. Even so, every member of Delta Force was chosen for their ability to think outside the box, to operate on their own without direction, to wing it when necessary.
And when it came to this operation, Murphy was an optimist. The jeep bounced along the rutted track with bone-rattling spurts of momentum. The engine sputtered, sounding as if it were running out of fuel, but according to the gauge the tank was still full.
Rafe had checked the gauge before he'd started off. If he'd had more time, he would have verified the condition of the engine as well, maybe thrown an extra gas can and some supplies in the back for good measure, but he'd been too busy persuading the jeep's driver to part with the vehicle.
That man hadn't gone down as easily as the other two guards. Rafe had known it would be only a matter of minutes before the alarm was raised, so he'd gone as far as he'd dared in the open before he'd left the road. If he had been alone, he would have taken his chances out-shooting or outmaneuvering any men Juarez sent after him, but not with Glenna along.
Using these old logging trails to cut across country like this would take longer, but it was the best way to avoid a confrontation. With this vehicle, he would be able to get Glenna as close as possible to one of the alternate extraction points his team had specified when they'd set up this mission yesterday. That way no matter how bad the infection in his leg got, she would have a good chance of getting home. He had faith in his friends. Flynn, Sarah and the rest of the team would be back. Rafe just had to make sure Glenna was someplace where they'd find her before Juarez's men did.
The island of Rocama was divided into distinct geographic zones, depending on the elevation and the distance from the coast. There were saltwater marshes on the east, a strip of fertile land between the northern coast and the highlands and a band of dry forest on the central plateau. Judging by what he'd seen so far, they had to be on the western end of the island. The vegetation that loomed over them on either side of this track was typical of a moist forest, which meant they weren't as far from the airport as he'd first thought. Glenna's perception of time during the ride to the Juarez house must have been skewed by her fear.
Then again, that could be said for everything she'd done.
The left fender of the jeep scraped against a moss-covered stump. Glenna fell into his side. "Sorry," she murmured.
Rafe felt the brush of her hair on his cheek and glanced at her as she straightened up. Dawn had broken fifty minutes ago. Apart from the hour of sleep she'd had in the storeroom, she'd been awake for at least twenty-four hours now. Her hair was a tangled mass of auburn curls. Her face was streaked with dirt. Dark smudges of leftover makeup and circles of fatigue shadowed the skin under her eyes. The dull green men's shirt and pants she wore sagged loosely around her frame.
Yet to Rafe she was still the same elegant woman who had first caught his eye when she'd stood bravely in the doorway of that plane. Her strength was there in the tilt of her chin and the way she held her body.
She'd done well during their escape from the house. Better than he'd expected, considering that episode in the storeroom. She'd held herself together and obeyed his directions without complaint.
She smiled as she caught his gaze. Her green eyes were filled with trust.
Rafe looked away. Her trust made his job easier, but damn, it was hard to take. She thought he was a hero, but she wouldn't think that if she knew the direction of his thoughts. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and drive the strain from her body. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and draw in her scent. He wanted to kiss her and rekindle those stolen moments in the darkness and use her as she had used him....
No. That was over. He had to focus on his duty. From now on, he had to be a soldier first and a man second.
The engine coughed. Rafe gave it more gas, but instead of lurching forward, the jeep nosed into a puddle and shuddered to a halt. The engine died.
"What happened?" Glenna asked. "Are we there already?"
"We stalled. Stay put, I'll see what's wrong."
Rafe got out and did a quick scan of their surroundings. The growth that flanked the track they'd been following was too thick to discern any distance, but it would also shield them from the view of possible pursuers. If someone was following them, Rafe would probably hear them long before he'd see them. He listened for a moment, but all he heard was the rustle of leaves overhead, the hum of insects and the usual chirps and calls of wildlife.
He turned his attention to the jeep. There were innumerable things that could have caused it to behave as if it were running out of gas. There could be a clogged fuel line, a malfunctioning pump, an incorrectly adjusted carburetor. But he might as well check the most obvious first. He broke a branch from one of the trees beside the track, stripped off the leaves and inserted it into the gas tank. When hehe stick, apart from a quarter-inch section at the very tip, it was bone-dry.
He tossed the stick aside and rubbed his face. Of all the vehicles he could have chosen, it turned out that he'd taken one with a faulty fuel gauge. The tank must have been almost empty to begin with.
"Rafe, what is it?" Glenna asked.
"Murphy at work," he muttered.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we're out of gas."
She climbed from the jeep and hobbled around the hood to his side, holding her pants up with one hand. "What do we do now?"
Good question. They were still at least eight miles from the extraction point. Glenna was in no condition to walk any distance. And he was in no shape to carry her far. But as long as they could stay alive and undetected for another few days...and her ankle healed sufficiently to bear her weight so that they could move closer to the rendezvous...and his wound didn't fester badly enough to kill him before that...then they still had a chance of getting out of this. Sure. Situation normal, all fouled up.
"Rafe?"
He turned back to the jeep and took out his gun. "Now we improvise."
The scene around her could have come from a travel brochure. Sunlight filtered through the canopies of towering trees in a dozen shades of green. Lush swaths of ferns and moss carpeted the ground. Birds she couldn't name sang and swooped through the glade in startling flashes of color.
But Glenna wasn't looking at the scenery. She sank down at the base of a palm tree and looked at the crumpled skirt in her hands.
When she'd bought this suit, the salesclerk had said it would be versatile. The neutral color could be worn with almost anything. The simple cut of the raw silk could be dressed up or dressed down. Glenna had a closet full of similar outfits in her Manhattan apartment, along with shoes to match.
She liked shoes. She'd never been able to pass by a shoe store without looking in the window, and if there was a sale, well, she seldom came out empty-handed. She was especially fond of heels, even though with her height she didn't need the extra inches. The ivory pair she usually wore with this suit had been one of her favorites.
She moved her gaze to the dull brown leather that encased her feet. The guard's boots were practical, she reminded herself. How they looked wasn't an issue.
She returned her attention to her skirt. It was smeared with dust and streaks of mascara from being used as a washcloth, a result of her vain attempt to repair her appearance. Once again, she thought of what a stupid thing that was to worry about. Gripping the skirt firmly, she ripped the back seam apart, then tore a strip from the bottom of the hem. She wove the piece of raw silk through the belt loops of her borrowed pants, pulled it tight around her waist and fastened the ends together in a bow.
The salesclerk had been right. The suit certainly was versatile.
Glenna drew up her legs and dropped her head to her knees. She felt a lump in her throat that could have turned into a laugh as easily as a scream and that frightened her. She wanted to go home. She wanted her alarm clock and her coffeemaker and the chess problem in the morning paper and all the mundane little details that made up her life.
"Hey." Rafe put his hand on her shoulder. "It'll be okay. We'll get out of this."
She closed her eyes, absorbing the steadying warmth of his touch. She believed him. He wasn't like the other men she'd known. He made her feel safe and protected.
It was yet another novel experience for her. From the time she'd been thirteen, she hadn't accepted protection from anyone. Glenna Hastings was always in control, always strong. But with Rafe, she didn't have to be.
Before yesterday, she would have been appalled at relying on a man like this. Actually, she would have been appalled at plenty of the things she had done...but she wasn't. She wouldn't let herself. Was it because of the situation? Or was it because of Rafe?
Both, she decided. He was a special man. She'd never met anyone like him before. He was like a throwback to the days of Camelot and chivalry. Fairy tales and knights on white horses...
"I brought you some lunch," he said.
She turned her head. He was holding a ripe mango in front of her nose. Her stomach rumbled and she took the fruit gratefully. "Thanks, Rafe."
He sat down beside her, leaned against the tree trunk and bit into a second mango.
Glenna noticed a sheen of moisture on Rafe's forehead. He had peeled his jumpsuit down to his waist, knotting the sleeves in front to hold it up. The greenish brown T-shirt he wore beneath it was darkened with sweat, which wasn't surprising. The temperature had climbed steadily since dawn.
His arms looked as strong as they had felt. His wrists and forearms were thick with masculine ridges of muscle and sinew, dusted by a thin covering of pale brown hair. At the neck of his T-shirt, Glenna saw the glint of a metal chain. In the center of his chest, the damp fabric clung to the outline of his dog tags. Had she really touched him yesterday? Crawled over him and begged him to touch her? Sometimes the memory seemed unreal, like a snatch of a fevered dream.
Still, no one could deny that he had a physically attractive body. He was tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped, and tautly muscular. He could move with startling speed or loose-limbed ease. The strength he had displayed over the past day would have made any female's pulse flutter, whether she was half crazy with fear or not.
"Don't you need to rest, Rafe?" she asked.
"I'm resting now," he replied. "We'll wait an hour until it starts to cool down, then we'll move."
He really was an incredible man, she thought. Was there no limit to his endurance? After his efforts to get them both away from Juarez, he had to have been near exhaustion when they'd finally stopped this morning, yet he hadn't rested. He'd used the winch on the front of the jeep to pull the vehicle off the track and conceal it in the undergrowth. He'd found this hidden glade, but he'd no sooner brought her here than he'd been off again, scouting the area. He'd used an empty rum bottle that had been in the jeep to bring her a drink of water, then had gone in search of food.
Throughout it all, he'd returned to check on her every few minutes. Protecting her. Keeping her safe. Just the way a hero should.
He took another bite of the mango, his jaw flexing as he chewed. His eyes were closed, his lashes lying motionless in spiky curves. His skin appeared paler than usual, but that might have been because this was the first time she'd studied his face in full daylight. The white scar tissue on his cheek was extensive.
"Rafe?"
"Yeah?"
"How did you...?" She hesitated.
He licked a drop of juice from his lower lip and opened his eyes. "How did I what?"
She was curious about how he had got his scars. More than that, she was curious about his attitude toward them. He knew they weren't pleasant to look at---he'd even referred to them to explain why he wasn't married or engaged---so why hadn't he endeavored to have them repaired?
Ordinarily, she wouldn't ask such a personal question of someone she'd only just met. But there was nothing ordinary about this situation. And after what they'd shared in the past twenty-four hours, she couldn't regard him as a stranger. She put her fingertips on his jaw, tracing the edge of the deepest scar. "How did these happen? Was it on a mission?"
His kept his gaze on a tree across the clearing. "What difference does it make?"
"None. I just want to know about you."
"I'm the soldier who's going to get you to safety. That's all you need to know."
She dropped her hand. "Next are you going to give me your name, rank and serial number?"
He finished the mango and flung the pit hard toward the undergrowth. "The track we followed ends in a field about two hundred meters southwest of here. It's over-grown, looks like it hasn't been worked in several years, but the going shouldn't be too bad if we stick to the perimeter. I'll rig up a crutch for you. Even if we take it slow, we should still be able to cover some distance before nightfall."
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's my job."
"No, I mean why are you treating me like a stranger?"
"We are strangers, Glenna. I think it would be best if we both remember that."
"You're wrong, Rafe. After what we've gone through together, I know you. I can't remember ever feeling this sense of...connection with any other man."
He turned his head, finally meeting her gaze. "That's because you've never been shot at and held prisoner before. You're just grateful to me for rescuing you. You'll feel differently once we're out of here."
She didn't believe that. "Have you ever kissed a woman you rescue?"
"No. And I shouldn't have this time."
"Didn't you like it?"
Sudden heat flared in his eyes. "You know damn well I did. I liked kissing you and I liked every damn thing we did. Any sane red-blooded man would. But the subject's closed. End of discussion. Eat your mango."
Because she was hungry, she took a bite. She continued to study him, not bothered in the least by his outburst. If anything, the outburst had reassured her that what she'd felt had been real. "You don't like people getting close to you, do you, Rafe?"
"Glenna..."
"I know what that's like because I do that, too. Or at least, I used to. Would you like to know the last time I kissed anyone?"
"No, I would not."
"I had to think about it a while, but it was New Year's Eve last year. I was overseeing the gala in the Winston grand ballroom and Abernathy Black, the executive director of the chain, had too much champagne. We had gone to the theater a few times before that, so I suppose he thought I wouldn't mind, but he'd also had too much garlic shrimp."
He folded his arms across his chest and let his head thud back against the tree trunk.
"Before that, it was a stockbroker I met at one of my mother's dinner parties. I think his name was Clifford something. I'd gone out to the garden to get some air and he seemed to think it was expected of him. I couldn't blame him, since that's why my mother had invited him. She considers it her duty to set her only child up with eligible bachelors from her circle. I don't know why."
"I do not want to hear about your love life."
"I already told you, I don't have one. There's no room in my day planner for that." She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her cheek on her knee. "I wonder if she's worried about me."
"Who?"
"My mother. Her health has always been delicate."
"Your immediate family would have been notified before the news media broadcast the story."
"The news..." She inhaled sharply. "I hadn't even thought about that. There would be reporters on the grounds, and strange people calling the house. My God, she'll be so upset by the scandal. She hates scandal."
"It sounds as if your family is well-off."
"My mother prefers to call it 'comfortable,' but yes, the Vanderhayden family is wealthy."
"You said your name is Hastings."
"My full name is Glenna Hastings Vanderhayden." She pulled her knees more tightly to her chest. "I don't use the family name."
"Why not?"
She hesitated. This was a topic she never discussed. If someone asked, her standard explanation was that she used Hastings as her professional name so that her career could be independent from her family. It was a reasonable explanation---even her mother seemed to believe it. In nine years, Glenna had never told a soul the truth.
But here in the clearing, with borrowed army boots on her feet and her designer silk suit ripped into a rag to hold her pants up, it seemed ludicrous to lie in order to keep up appearances. Yesterday she had prayed for a chance to put the past behind her. She could start now. "I didn't want to use my father's name," she said. "I didn't want anything from him."
Rafe lifted one eyebrow in a silent question.
"We had...a difference of opinion."
"Is that what rich people call it? Where I come from, we'd call it a fight."
"I'm not rich, Rafe. I didn't take any Vanderhayden money when I left home. I used the organizational skills I learned while growing up to work my way into the career I have now. I've earned every penny I have. I'm good at what I do."
"What was the 'difference of opinion' about?"
Again she hesitated. It was far easier to ask Rafe personal questions than to have the tables turned. She pushed one hand into her hair, absently working to unsnarl a tangle. "I didn't like the way he treated my mother."
"Did he abuse her?"
She heard a note of restrained anger in his voice. She'd come this far, she might as well tell him everything. "Not physically. He abused her trust and her emotions by having affairs with other women. I was thirteen when I forgot to knock on his office door and witnessed firsthand what he did."
Rafe paused. "That must have been a shock."
Unbidden, an image sprang to her mind. Two people writhing on a couch, their bare limbs entwined. The pretty, perfectly made-up face of the nice Miss Thompson who taught tennis at the club was regarding her smugly while Glenna's father scrambled to pull up his pants.
"He swore he couldn't help himself," she said, shoving the image away. "He claimed he was born with a passionate nature and fell in love too easily. He didn't see the destruction he caused when he indulged his feelings. He didn't care that I had to hide the liquor bottles from my mother and put her to bed and answer her mail and lie to their friends. He hid behind the family name and money until..." She took a deep breath as the old pain stirred.
"What happened?" Rafe asked.
"He died of a heart attack nine years ago when I was away at college. He'd been in bed with the daughter of his best friend, a woman younger than me." She took her hand from her hair and covered her eyes. "She'd been engaged. The wedding was canceled, of course, but the real reason was hushed up by both families. Then while I was dealing with the lawyers and making the funeral arrangements my mother polished off a magnum of champagne and overdosed on sleeping pills. The only way I got her into therapy was by threatening to tell everyone the truth."
"That must have been rough," he said quietly
"She's doing much better now, even though she still has health problems because of the years of drinking. I don't see her as often as I should, but she keeps busy with her friends and her charities."
"I meant it must have been rough on you."
"It taught me what happens when passion gets mistaken for love. People get hurt. But the worst of it was that when I was a child, I'd idolized my father. He'd been so much fun. I'd wanted to be just like him. He'd been..." She bit her lip. She'd been about to say that her father had been her hero. He had. Her disillusionment in him had made her lose her faith in heroes.
Until Rafe had swept her into his arms and proved that not all men were the same.
She dropped her hand and looked up at him. "I'm twenty-nine years old, Rafe. I've spent the past sixteen years making sure that I'm not like my father. That's why I don't use his name and I don't have a love life. But when I felt that hijacker push his gun barrel against my throat yesterday, I realized I was wrong. Life is too short to waste."
"You can't keep thinking like that, Glenna. Life does go on."
"And that's the hard part? Is that what you were going to say? You told me that before."
He jabbed his arm outward to gesture to the clearing around them. "All of this is temporary. You won't feel the same when you get home. Once you have a decent meal and a good night's sleep, everything's going to look different."
She looked into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his vivid blue gaze steady her. "No, Rafe. I think I'm seeing more clearly now than I ever have before."
He swore under his breath and braced his hand on the tree trunk. "We have to get moving."
"You said we were going to rest. Is the hour up?"
"Not yet. I don't want to wait."
She caught his wrist before he could get to his feet. "Why? Because you don't want to talk to me?"
"No. Because when Juarez finds out that your family is rich, he's going to pull out all the stops to find you."
"What?"
"He's got the local cops in his pocket and probably some powerful friends in the Rocaman government. With a drug operation as big as what he has going here, he might have the local population on his payroll, too. If he calls in all his markers, he could have an army on our trail." He stood, then caught her elbow and helped her up. "You might not think a special events planner for the Winston Hotel chain is a prize, but I'd bet that Glenna Hastings Vanderhayden is."
"Oh, God. I hadn't even thought of that."
"It's not your job to think of that. It's mine." He slung the strap of the rifle over his shoulder and checked the clearing for any signs of their presence. He picked up the rum bottle they were using for water. "Are you okay with this
Surprised that he'd ask her opinion, she nodded. "If you think we should go now, I won't argue."
"No, I mean using the liquor bottle. Because of your mother."
His consideration brought another lump to her throat. It shouldn't have surprised her. No matter how gruff he acted, he was the most sensitive man she'd ever met. She shook her head. "I have to deal with liquor as part of my job. It's not going to send me into hysterics."
He shoved the bottle into a side pocket on his good leg and stepped into the trees. A few minutes later there was a sharp cracking sound and he reemerged with a stout branch about a yard and a half long. He stripped off the twigs and leaves as he returned to her side, then picked up what was left of her skirt and wrapped it around the forked end. "You can used this for extra support."
She took the improvised crutch and tucked it under her arm. "Thank you."
He fitted himself to her side and put his arm around her waist. Moving carefully over the uneven ground, he guided them forward.
Rafe found the stream just before sunset. At the time he'd thought it was the first stroke of good luck they'd had. Even though the vegetation along the bank was more difficult to push through and the damp ground made the footing trickier, it was shallow enough in places to walk right down the center. Following the streambed for a while would throw off anyone tracking them. The cold water had to be spring fed, so he wouldn't have to find someplace else to refill their water bottle. And once they stopped for the night, he could use the cool water to bring down his fever.
It was getting worse faster than he'd anticipated. He'd done his best to keep himself hydrated throughout the heat of the day, but his mouth felt like cotton wool. His sense of balance was deteriorating. Every muscle in his body was screaming for rest, but he had forced himself to stick to the pace he'd set, ten minutes on, ten minutes off. Each yard they advanced was one yard closer to getting Glenna to safety.
No, not simply Glenna. Glenna Hastings Vanderhayden, he reminded himself. Only daughter of wealthy parents. Raised with money and privilege. No wonder he'd thought she had the look of royalty the first time he'd seen her.
Considering her upbringing, it was amazing that she was continuing to function without any complaints. He'd been taking as much of her weight as possible while they walked, but he could tell by the pinched lines at the corners of her mouth that her ankle must be giving her hell by now. Yet the trust in her eyes when she looked at him hadn't faded.
And so he continued to lie. He couldn't let her know how bad off he was. From what he'd already seen of Glenna's character, it was a safe bet that she'd refuse to go any further if she was aware that every step for him was a struggle.
Being responsible had come early to Glenna. She'd only been a kid when she'd taken on the duty of caring for her alcoholic. She hadn't complained about that, either. When they got out of here, she'd probably regret confiding the family secrets to him. He already wished she hadn't done it. How was he supposed to regard her as part of his job when the more he learned about her, the more he...liked her.
Another half mile, and then they would call it a day, he promised himself. Then he wouldn't have to feel the pain that knifed into his thigh from his wound. He wouldn't have to feel the gentle bump of Glenna's hip rubbing against his. The curve of her breast wouldn't brush his fingertips when he curled his hand around her midriff to help her over an obstacle. Her hair wouldn't tickle his chin, her scent wouldn't tease his senses, her murmured snatches of conversation wouldn't set up vibrations in his chest...
Glenna shrieked. That was all the warning Rafe had before he felt her full weight slam into his side. He was having enough trouble keeping himself upright. He made a valiant effort to recover his footing, but the ground was no longer level. He clasped Glenna to his chest to cushion her fall as they went over backwards.
He splashed hard on his butt in the center of the stream. Rafe waited for the trees around him to steady, but they didn't. At first he thought the sensation of motion was just another dizzy spell. Then he realized they were sliding downhill.
Before he could react, the streambed became a mossy slope. Leaves from overhanging branches slapped his forearms and head as they picked up speed. Glenna shrieked again and twisted in his arms. She reached out to grab for the branches that whipped past, but they ripped from her grasp.
Rafe dug in his heels, trying to slow their descent, but it was no use. The slope turned vertical. Their momentum carried them through a thicket of ferns and over the lip of an embankment.
With disbelief, Rafe realized they were airborne. He curled around Glenna, trying to shelter her from the inevitable landing. She pressed her face to his shoulder and hooked her arms around his neck, clinging to him as they hurtled downward.
The impact wasn't as hard as he'd feared. They landed in water.
Silence closed around them as they sank. He hadn't realized how accustomed he'd become to the background noises of the forest until they were gone. The light was gone, too. In its place, he saw an image from a nightmare. It took him unawares. Twisted metal, broken glass. And blood in the water, so much blood---
His feet touched bottom. He pulled his sluggish brain back to the here and now. It wasn't blood, it was a cloud of mud from his feet. Glenna was still wrapped around him. Her hair floated in a thick mass, brushing his face. He anchored her to him with one arm, bent his knees and pushed off.
They broke the surface together, both gasping for air. Their legs tangled as he treaded water, his heavy boots making swimming awkward. "Are you okay?" Rafe asked.
She coughed and tossed her head to flick her hair from her eyes. It took a few moments for her to catch her breath. "Yes. Are you?"
"Sure." He glanced around to assess their situation, using the time to clear his head.
They were in a small pool, about twenty yards long and only a few yards wide. It was surrounded on three sides by lush foliage that retched over the water in places and was dense enough to block out the late-day sun. On the fourth side a limestone wall rose into the canopy of trees. Water streamed down the center of the face, turning the stone a glistening dark gray. Clumps of moss and sprays of some yellow flowers swelled from crevices in the rock in a profusion of life.
The pool must have formed in a fissure in the limestone, Rafe decided, noting the long, narrow shape. Lucky for them that they hit the water when they fell instead of crashing into the trees on the shore.
Glenna slipped out of his hold and tipped her head back, still breathing hard. She used sweeping movements of her arms to stay afloat.
He'd been about to ask her if she knew how to swim, but her actions just answered his question. Good. Another nightmare image he could push to the back of his mind. He felt for the strap of his rifle and patted his pockets to make sure he hadn't lost anything. "Head for the left side of the rock wall," he said, touching her shoulder. "It looks as if we'll be able to climb out at the base there."
She followed him to the edge of the pool. Rafe grasped the root of a banyan tree and hauled himself past the mud and rocks. When he reached solid ground, he turned around and extended his hand to Glenna.
She let him pull her out of the water, then released his hand and rolled onto her back with a groan.
Rafe leaned over her, immediately concerned. "Glenna?"
"Give me a minute."
"You did get hurt."
"No, I didn't." She closed her eyes. "I'm just...tired."
He'd known that since they'd started off. He wished he could have carried her, but then they wouldn't have gotten this far. Once again, he felt a stirring of admiration for her courage. He reached out to stroke her hair from her forehead, but before he could touch her, he paused.
All day he had touched her. It had been necessary. This wasn't. And once he started touching her the way he wanted, he wasn't sure he would have the willpower to stop. He braced his hand on the tree and did a careful survey of their surroundings.
The pool was completely secluded---they wouldn't have found this valley if they hadn't fallen right into it. The rock wall would be good to have at their backs. The dense growth here had blocked the light of the sun, so it would probably hide the glow of a fire. And once darkness fell, the smoke wouldn't be visible. This might be as good a place as any to call a halt. "All right," he said. "We'll stop here for the night."
Her chest heaved with a sigh. "Thank you, Rafe."
His gaze dropped, caught by her movement. Her wet shirt clung to her breasts, revealing the outline of her bra and the tight nubs of her nipples.
He had no business noticing. He shouldn't be remembering how they had tasted of the same tangy sweetness as her perfume. It was useless to think of how they had swelled and hardened as he'd rolled them on his tongue...
Rafe clenched his jaw and looked away. Damn. He'd thought it would be better once they stopped. Shexhausted. He was in rough shape. But he'd have to be dead not to notice Glenna.
No, not Glenna. Glenna Hastings Vanderhayden. That mother of hers wouldn't be inviting a man like him to any of her dinner parties.
He pushed to his feet too quickly, then had to hang on to a vine that snaked up the trunk of the banyan tree until his head stopped spinning. He turned away. "I'll go find some wood to build a fire. You need to dry off."
Flames licked quietly along the sticks in the shallow pit Rafe had dug, sending flickers of orange over the dark limestone that towered behind them. Exotic smells from plants Glenna couldn't name mingled with the earthy scents of damp moss and the mat of palm fronds beneath her. There was no wind, but the jungle around them was alive with the rustling of unseen animals. Rafe had already assured her there were no dangerous animals native to this island, but she was thankful for the fire anyway. Amid the strange scents and sounds that came from the darkness around them, the bite of wood smoke and the whispering crackle of the flames was comforting. It was something familiar in a world she didn't know.
Glenna closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep. She'd passed out the moment Rafe had agreed to stop here and had been sleeping on and off since then. She'd never been more exhausted in her life. She needed rest if she was going to keep up with Rafe tomorrow.
Yet something was dragging her back to wakefulness. Something was wrong.
She felt a bubble of hysteria at the ridiculousness of the thought. Something was wrong? Where should she start? She was wearing a strange man's clothes, lying on a mat of leaves in the middle of a jungle, on the run from a drug lord but unable to run...
Stop it, she told herself. Think of Rafe.
Of course. Rafe. He'd get her out of this. He'd promised.
She shifted, seeking the reassurance of Rafe's warmth. She'd been aware of the moment he'd stretched out behind her. It had been shortly after nightfall. She didn't remember much, other than being glad that he'd finally taken the time to rest.
Yet rather than the warmth of Rafe's solid form, Glenna felt a cool draft on her back. She turned over and stretched out her arm, but her hand closed on empty air.
She came fully awake with a start. He was gone. That's what was wrong. That's why she couldn't sleep. "Rafe?"
There was no reply.
Glenna sat up, looking around the small clearing. There could be a simple reason he wasn't here. He could have stepped into the trees for some privacy while he relieved himself. He would be back any minute. There was no need to make a big deal of the situation. She knew he wouldn't leave her.
But when several more minutes went past with no sign of Rafe, Glenna knew she wouldn't get back to sleep. She reached for the branch that served as her crutch and used it to get to her feet. She moved to the edge of the circle of firelight. "Rafe?"
There was a quiet splashing from the direction of the pool. Glenna peered into the darkness. N much moonlight penetrated the forest canopy, but she thought she saw a pale gleam near the edge of the water. She started forward. "Rafe?" she called, raising her voice as much as she dared.
"Yeah?"
His reply sounded pinched. Was it from fatigue? She moved closer. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"What are you doing?"
"Cooling off."
By this time her eyes had adjusted to the dimness enough to distinguish the outline of Rafe's bare shoulders where he stood near the shore. He'd obviously undressed before he'd gone in the water.
Glenna stopped, her hand tightening on her crutch. Oh, God. He must be naked.
A part of her---the old Glenna---told her that she should apologize for intruding, turn around and go back to the camp. But why should she? She'd already felt every inch of his body in one way or another. She'd wondered more than once how he'd look without his clothes. They could be caught or killed tomorrow, so why should she worry about propriety?
She picked her way carefully across the uneven ground, not stopping until her boots began to sink into the moss at the shore. She noticed his black jumpsuit hanging from a tree branch. "You seemed hot in that outfit," she said. "I'm surprised you didn't want to take it off before now."
"The heat was better than the scratches."
"What scratches?"
"The ones the brush we walked through would have given me." He leaned forward to scoop water into his hands and splashed it over his face.
She watched, fascinated, as a droplet of water trickled down the ridge of Rafe's spine. He was immersed to his waist, but what she could see of him cleared the last remnants of sleep from her head.
His body was magnificent. A shaft of moonlight filtered through the trees, dappling his back and his arms, painting silver highlights over the subtle shift of muscle under his skin. He had a warrior's body, she thought. Taut and toned and powerfully male.
She wasn't surprised by the rush of heat she felt. Despite her weariness, she'd been feeling them all day. Each time she'd brushed against him and every time she heard his deep voice, she'd felt twinges of response. Even when he'd held her in his arms during the uncontrolled slide that had plunged them into this very pool, she'd been aware of him.
"There's a rock to your left that juts out into the water," he said over his shoulder. "Since you're awake, you might as well soak your ankle for a while. It should help the swelling."
She glanced around until she saw the spot he described, then sat down and unlaced her boots. She rolled up the bottoms of her pant legs and slipped her feet into the pool.
The first contact with the water made her gasp.
"What's wrong?" Rafe asked immediately, twisting to face her.
"It's cold!t didn't feel this bad when we landed in it."
"Sure, it did."
"No, it must have cooled down...after..." Her words trailed off as her gaze was caught by his chest. Her throat went dry.
Oh, he was more than magnificent. It was more than the strength that was so evident in his physique that affected her. It was the memory of how he'd used that strength to carry her and shelter her. And it was the memory of the pleasure he'd given her during those dark, desperate moments before they'd escaped Juarez. She smiled. "It feels good, Rafe. Thanks for the suggestion."
"You did well today, Glenna."
"Thank you, but you know I wouldn't have gotten anywhere without you."
He leaned down and scooped water over the back of his neck. His dog tags clinked softly against their chain. "We'll set out at daybreak tomorrow. If we can cover the same distance as we did today, we should be able to make the rendezvous point the day after."
Her smile faltered. "Another two days of this?"
"We can't let up the pace. We won't be out of Juarez's reach until we're off the island."
She looked around the pool, wondering if someone was closing in on them in the dark. "Except for that field we crossed when we started out today, I haven't seen any sign of habitation."
"Most of the population is concentrated along the coast. In this area there are only a few scattered subsistence farmers."
"How would the local people make a living if they didn't work for Juarez?"
"Why?"
"You said that the police and many of the other people who live on the island could be in the drug business with Juarez. I'm assuming their motive for working for him would be financial."
"Sure, it's financial." Rafe sank down in the water. He exhaled slowly and leaned back, spreading his arms to keep himself steady. "Fields of coca plants are more profitable than coffee or pineapple."
"What if they had an alternative?"
"Like what?"
"Tourism, for example."
"There isn't much on this island. No ports big enough for cruise ships. Not even a decent runway at the airport."
"That could change with the right investors."
"Who? You?"
"I already told you, Rafe, I'm not rich. I don't have the funds to invest, but I know people who do."
He tipped back his head and sank lower. "Yeah, I bet."
"The reason I traveled to Jamaica in the first place was to meet with representatives of a tourist resort. The Winston chain is considering the possibility of acquiring a hotel there, and I had to assess the existing facilites. Anyway, I was thinking about suggesting this island for the new hotel instead."
"Why?"
"Developing the area for tourism would give the local population a legal source of income and would reduce Juarez's power base. What do you think?"
He made a grunt that she took for approval.
"It's so beautiful here." She looked around. "I was thinking it could have been pictures on a tourist brochure. As long as the development is done with regard to conserving the island's ecosystems it could---"
"Glenna?"
"Mmm?"
"I'm going to get out now."
She swung her gaze back to Rafe.
He had stood up again and was walking toward the shore. Water streamed from his chest, glistening over the ridges of muscle on his abdomen and the lean contours of his hips. He moved without self-consciousness, as if he were completely comfortable with his body and didn't care whether or not she watched.
And she did watch. As long as she was able. But just as the dark thatch of hair at his groin inched above the waterline, she dipped her head and put her boots back on. Yes, Rafe had a body that made even a woman on the verge of exhaustion feel aroused, but Glenna knew the bond between her and Rafe was more than that. She respected him too much to sit here and boldly ogle him. How would she feel if the tables had been turned, and he had been the one to watch her bathe naked in the pond...?
The very idea made her catch her breath. How would she feel? Good. Natural. Alive.
Her fingers shook too hard to fasten the laces. There were so many other things to fear, she shouldn't fear these feelings for Rafe. She wasn't like her father. She wouldn't hurt anyone. She moistened her lips and looked up.
But Rafe had already gone past. She had only a glimpse of his back silhouetted against the firelight before he yanked on his clothes, slung his rifle over his shoulder and faded into the darkness.
It was a strange noise that woke her. Glenna opened her eyes, surprised to realize that dawn had already broken. The fire had burned down to a few smoldering embers. A bird darted through the hazy wreath of smoke that hung in the trees, warbling a high-pitched call. It was answered moments later by a call in the distance.
Glenna pressed back into Rafe's warmth. Sometime during the night he had spooned himself around her, his thighs cradling her bottom, his arm draped over her waist. The position had felt so natural that Glenna had been able to sleep more soundly than she'd believed possible.
He'd said that he wanted to start out at daybreak, but it was already well past that. She glanced down at his hand where it rested against her midriff. His palm was turned upward with his fingers slightly curled. His arm was heavy on her waist and his chest rose and fell against her back in the slow rhythm of deep sleep.
She wondered if she should wake him. She was reaching for his hand when she spotted the fruit beside the fire pit. Coconuts, mangoes, and some small dark green sphere she didn't recognize were stacked in a colorful heap. That must have been what he'd been doing after his swim, she thought. He'd gone in search of food to take with them today.
Her eyes misted. If she thanked him, he would say that it was his job, but he really was the most incredible man. She slipped her hand into his palm, fitting her fingers between his. "Rafe?"
There was no change in his breathing, no sign that he'd heard her.
She squeezed his fingers, finally noticing how hot his skin was. She raised her voice. "Rafe? It's morning."
The noise that had awakened her came again. Not a birdcall but a rapid clicking sound. She twisted to look at him.
His face was drawn. The skin on his good side was as pale as his scars. She focused on his mouth and immediately realized what the sound had been.
His teeth were chattering.
"Oh, my God." She slipped out from under his arm and knelt beside him. She laid the underside of her wrist against his forehead. He was burning up. "Oh, my God. Rafe!"
His eyelids fluttered. He looked at her blankly for a moment. He blinked twice and his gaze sharpened. He rolled to his back and flung his arm out to grab the rifle from the ground behind him.
"No, Rafe!" She grasped his shoulders and leaned her weight on him, trying to keep him from getting up. "No one's here. It's okay. You don't have to---"
He brushed off her weight as if it were nothing and sat up. Tendons stood out along the side of his neck as he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clacking. He scanned the clearing, his gun held ready.
"Rafe, for God's sake, lie down! You're ill."
He put his index finger against her lips to signal silence. He tipped his head to the side to listen. A full minute passed before he lowered the gun and returned his gaze to hers.
His eyes were too bright, she thought. "You're sick," she said. "You must have caught a chill in the pool."
"No." His voice was scratchy. He cleared his throat. "I didn't catch a chill."
"But you have a fever." She returned her wrist to his forehead. "You're burning up."
He caught her hand and lowered it. A shudder rippled through him. "I'll be okay. It's daylight. Let's go."
"No."
"Glenna..."
"You're in no shape to go anywhere. Do you want the chill to turn into pneumonia?"
"It's not pneumonia."
"Then what is it?"
"My wound." He braced the rifle butt against the ground and used it to help himself up. He swayed.
Glenna got to her feet as quickly as she could, propping her shoulder under his arm before he could topple. "Rafe, sit down before you hurt yourself."
"We have to keep moving. We can't stop yet."
"We can't--- Rafe, watch out!"
His knees buckled. Glenna cried out as his weight forced her downward, but he pushed clear from her before he hit the ground. He rolled to his side, his lips pressed tight in pain. Nevertheless, he propped the rifle butt beside him and levered himself into a sitting position.
Glenna wanted to weep at his stubbornness. "Rafe, please. You've got to rest or you'll get worse."
He leaned his forehead against the side of the gun barrel and panted. "I'll be okay. It's not a big deal. We have to move."
"Fine, Rafe. We'll do that. Right after breakfast, okay?"
"What?"
"That's what all the fruit you gathered is for, right? I have to eat something before we start out." She spoke hurriedly, trying to stave off his next attempt to get up. "I'm hungry. I couldn't possibly go anywhere yet, so you're going to have to wait for me, all right?"
He looked at her as if he knew she was stalling. "Eat fast."
"Certainly."
She hopped to the pile of fruit and grabbed whatever was on top, then returned to sit down at Rafe's side. He was still leaning against the rifle, but his eyes were closed. She tossed the fruit aside and looked at his thigh.
The bandage that she'd made out of her suit jacket was gone---he must have discarded it when he'd gone into the pool. The torn edges of his jumpsuit gaped open over a shiny, viciously red swelling. She used her fingertip to lift up a loose flap of the black fabric. She had no more than a glimpse of a long groove of shredded, inflamed flesh before Rafe closed his fingers over her wrist and moved her hand away.
"Oh, my God," she breathed, her heart racing. She swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to his face. "Rafe, this is infected. It couldn't have gotten this bad overnight."
"Germs multiply fast in the tropics."
"I should have realized you weren't just feeling the heat when I saw you sweating yesterday," she said. "I should have seen that you were ill. But all I thought about was how nice you were being to me and what a wonderful man you are and all the while you must have been suffering---"
"Forget it, Glenna."
"I'm so sorry, Rafe. How could I have been so blind?"
"I didn't want you to know."
"Why not?"
"Because I figured you would react like this."
"You need medicine. I could retrace our steps and find my way back to Juarez. Maybe I could make a bargain with him, offer to have my family pay him whatever he wants for a doctor."
Rafe curled her hand into his chest toward her, bringing his face within inches of hers. His eyes were still feverishly bright, but his gaze was rock steady. "You do that and we're both dead."
"But---"
"You weren't blindfolded on the trip to his house, Glenna. Until now, no one knew he had a stronghold on this island, but you've seen his setup. You could identify his accomplices. Whatever happens, he won't let you go."
"But I have to do something. Do you want some water? Do you---"
"Glenna, if you really want to do something, you can help me stand up. The stream we followed yesterday flows out where the pool narrows. We'll stick with it as long as we can."
"Rafe---"
"Don't argue, Glenna. I've got to get you as close to the rendezvous as possible before..." He pressed his lips together, tensing as a wave of shivering swept over him.
He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to. Glenna could all too easily picture what was going to happen. She might not have any personal experience with conditions like these, but she'd read books, she'd seen movies. She knew that gone untreated, an infected wound would fester. Rafe could lose his leg. He could even lose his life.
Oh, God, no. He couldn't die. Not like this, not because of the bullet he'd taken for her.
She wanted to whimper and curl into a ball on the mat of palm fronds and pretend she was home and have the nightmare end.
But Glenna Hastings never fell apart. She was always in control. She could do this. She owed Rafe her life.
She pulled away from him and retrieved her crutch and their bottle of water, then returned to Rafe's side and helped him to his feet.
She never did find the place where the stream flowed out of the pool. Ten feet from their camp, Rafe collapsed.
Glenna knelt at the edge of the pool and wrung out the cloths she was using for compresses. She had never felt more useless in her life. What good was her career or the skills she'd been so proud of? What point had there been in denying her heritage? She would give anything to have access to the Vanderhayden money right now. And a phone. She would charter a helicopter and fly Rafe to a hospital. She'd call on every family connection to round up the best doctors. She'd build a hospital right on this spot if that's what it would take.
She dunked the cloths back into the water. These rags were all that was left of her skirt. At least her wardrobe was still proving useful.
She hiccuped on a sob, propped her crutch under her arm and pushed back to her feet. The light was fading fast, but it was easy to find her way back to their camp. She'd been back and forth to the pool so many times, she'd worn a path.
Rafe's eyes were open when she returned. Shehope that it was a positive sign, but he'd been fading in and out of consciousness all day as his fever had raged. He'd told her the fever itself was a good thing, simply his body's way of fighting the infection. Glenna suspected he was trying to protect her from the truth.
Yes, that was Rafe. Flat on his back, crippled with fever, and he was still trying to protect her.
He'd lanced his wound himself shortly after midday. He'd tried to shelter her from the horror of that, too. He'd cut away his left pant leg with the knife he'd taken from the guard, then sharpened the knife on a piece of rock, instructed her on how to build up the fire and sterilized the blade. He hadn't made a sound as he'd sliced into the puffy mass of swollen tissue on his thigh. He'd been silent as the foul-smelling fluid had drained. When he'd used the hot blade to sear the wound closed afterward, she had been the one to cry out.
God, she wished it was only a nightmare. But she couldn't fall apart. Rafe needed her. As useless as she was, she had to keep trying.
She dropped to his side, folded a cloth and put it on his forehead. "Hello, Rafe." She forced a smile. "How are you feeling?"
His eyes looked right past her. There was no recognition in his gaze.
"Rafe, do you want a drink? I refilled the water bottle where the stream flows into the pool." She held the bottle to his lips. "It tastes wonderful."
He swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. "John?"
She set the bottle aside and blinked back a surge of tears. He'd called out that name before. His periods of lucidity were getting fewer and farther between. "It's Glenna, Rafe."
"John? Answer me!"
"It's all right, Rafe." She turned the compress over. It was already warm to the touch. "Try to rest."
He grabbed her hand, his grip startlingly strong. "Have to find him. Got to get him out."
"Rafe..."
"Got to help him."
Glenna glanced at his leg. The edges of the wound were dry---the treatment he'd self-administered had been brutal but effective. Still, she worried that he would do further damage if he moved around. She eased her hand from his grasp and tried to soothe him. "We will, Rafe. You rest now. We'll get John."
"The water. He's in the water."
"Okay. We'll get a boat."
"No." He moved his head from side to side in a quick negative. The folded cloth fell to the ground. "No time. He can't swim."
Glenna put a fresh compress on his forehead. Can't swim? she wondered. She had assumed Rafe was reliving a mission, but wouldn't his fellow soldiers know how to swim?
"John! Johnny, hang on!"
His voice was rising. She could see his muscles tense. Concerned, she leaned over him and tried to catch his gaze. "Rafe, pleas. Lie still."
He put his hand over his scarred cheek. His lips pulled back in a grimace of pain. "Can't see him. Too much blood. Oh, God! Johnny!"
Rafe tried to get up. Someone was grabbing his shoulders, calling his name, telling him to stop, but he couldn't. Not this time. Johnny hadn't surfaced yet.
There were people in the way. So many other guys needing help. Each time Rafe went into the river, he pulled someone else out. He couldn't pass them by. He couldn't leave them to drown.
But where was Johnny?
Rafe pressed his palm harder against his face. The cold water was numbing the pain, but pieces of skin kept sliding between his fingers. He couldn't hold his face together. He couldn't see. There was too much blood in the water.
Johnny had been at the back of the bus, not up front with the driver like Rafe. All the first-string guys liked to ride in the back on the way to the games. They'd been flying high today. One more victory and they'd go to the state championships. The college scouts would be watching the game. They'd be watching Johnny.
Everyone loved John. He was always smiling. His laughter had been the last sound Rafe had heard before the bus had crashed through the guardrail.
The driver was dead before they'd hit the water---a post had come through the windshield and pinned him to his seat. The broken glass and sheared-off pieces of metal that had followed had caught Rafe in the face. He didn't know if he screamed. He hoped not. He had to be brave. He had to save Johnny.
"John!"
"Please, Rafe. Calm down. You're going to hurt yourself."
He squinted, trying to focus on the shadow in front of him. Who was that? There hadn't been any cheerleaders on the bus, had there? Johnny's girls. That's what the guys called them. John always had the prettiest one on his arm. Sometimes the girls would talk to Rafe, but it was only so they could get closer to John. Yes, everyone loved John.
Something cold and wet touched his forehead. He snatched it off and tried to get up.
"Rafe, no!" A weight fell across his chest. "You're dreaming. Stop."
Oh, God, he wanted to stop. It hurt. So much. He felt the panic seize his lungs, just as it had before. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't help anyone.
"Rafe, it's okay, it's okay." The weight was soft and warm and spread over his body. "Please, you're worrying me."
He wanted to answer. The voice sounded so scared. But if he stopped now he wouldn't find John. Perfect, lovable John. And he wanted to save John, didn't he?
Didn't he?
Yes. He must want to save him. What kind of monster would let his brother die?
The red haze that clouded his vision suddenly lifted. There he was! It would be all right. John was on the front porch, sitting on the rag. He was spinning a football in his hands, tossing it in the air and catching it so it made that solid thumping sound. He flipped his hair out of his eyes and grinned at Rafe. Dad had told him to get a haircut, but John had said it would be bad luck to cut his hair before the game. He hadn't left yet. It wasn't too late.
"John, don't go. Don't go. Don't go."
But John swung his long legs over the railing and hopped to the lawn. He gave Rafe's shoulder a punch as he walked past.
"No, Johnny. Wait!"
The high school was at the end of the street. He could see the bus waiting in the parking lot.
"No." Rafe tried to catch him, but his body wouldn't move. He couldn't let it happen. "No!"
It did happen. Over and over again. The crash. The water. The blood. He felt John's hand, but he couldn't hang on. He didn't hang on. Oh, God, why didn't he hang on? "I'm sorry, Johnny. I'm sorry."
"Shh, Rafe." The weight on his chest shifted. The scent of flowers and citrus wafted past his lips. "It's all right."
His throat stung. His eyes burned. He felt his temples grow wet. "Sorry."
Gentle fingers stroked his skin, wiping away his tears. Soft as a butterfly, a kiss settled on his shredded cheek.
The red haze returned. Rafe felt himself spinning backward. He latched on to the woman. He couldn't save Johnny.
But he would save her.
The night was endless. Glenna was afraid to sleep. Each time her eyes drifted closed she woke with a start and stumbled to the pool to wring out the compresses. Rafe no longer struggled to get up, but it wasn't a sign he was getting better. The fever was raging unchecked and had drained him of strength. He no longer recognized her or heard her. He was caught in the past.
It had taken her a while to piece together the story. His words had been disjointed and hard to understand at times, but eventually the picture had begun to emerge from his ramblings.
She had wanted to know how he'd gotten his scars. Now she did. But she hadn't wanted to learn it like this. Each time he relived that accident, he relived the suffering. Not just the physical pain of having his face mutilated, but the emotional pain of losing his brother.
She swallowed hard, her throat tight with compassion. She wouldn't tell him that he'd cried---she knew instinctively that he wouldn't have wanted anyone to witness it. Because now that she had, she would never regard him the same way again.
This was why he was so determined to be a hero. It was why he'd joined Delta Force and rescued people for a living. He believed he'd failed his brother.
"Oh, Rafe." She leaned over him, tracing the white ridges on his cheek with her fingertips. "Why can't you see the man you are? You deserve to be happy."
He didn't respond. She hadn't expected him to. if he'd been awake, he wouldn't have listened. Yet she'd heard the torment in his voice when he'd called John's name. She'd seen the agony on his face as he'd remembered the accident. She knew Rafe would have done everything humanly possible to save his brother. Even in his delirium, the love he felt for John was obvious.
"That's why you push people away," she said. "You don't want to risk loving anyone because it hurts so much to lose them."
She rubbed her lips across his scars. These were only the scars she could see. She wished she could help him heal the ones inside, the ones on his heart.
How long did it take to fall in love? A year? A month? Was it possible to fall in love at first sight? And would she recognize love if it happened? Was that the connection she'd sensed between them? Was the bond she felt love?
She wasn't sure. She'd worked so hard at not loving anyone, she hadn't had any practice.
She picked up a fresh cloth and passed it over his shoulders. She'd stripped off his clothes during her efforts to cool him down. He hadn't objected to the intimacy, he hadn't even been aware of it. His body was completely lax.
She flipped the cloth over and moved it across his chest. "That's why you went swimming yesterday," she murmured. "You were trying to lower your temperature." The signs had been there, she simply hadn't seen them. She'd only seen his gorgeous body.
And it was gorgeous. Oh, Lord, he was like a living, breathing sculpture. He was so...male. Everywhere.
Was there something wrong with her because she could think of him as a man at a time like this? Was it a sign of some moral defect if she couldn't ignore the appeal of his body even when he was so vulnerable? Or was it all part of the way she felt? Was it love?
She'd worry about that when he woke up. If he woke up. Oh, God, he had to wake up.
Glenna's gaze skimmed down to his left thigh. The redness around the wound appeared less intense. It was difficult to tell whether it was due to the weak light from the fire she'd managed to build or from her own desperate need to see improvement. She felt a twinge of despair as she tossed aside the cloth. It was already too warm to do any good. She had to do more.
She looked at the damp spots the compresses had left on her clothes, then looked at Rafe. A crazy idea rose in her brain. If he'd been cold, she would hold him to share her warmth. But if she wanted to cool him down... She got to her feet and limped to the pool. She unlaced her boots and waded into the water, then took a deep breath and dived in. It was colder than she'd remembered. She surfaced with a gasp and lunged for the shore. With her hair streaming wet and her clothes dripping, she hurried back to Rafe and draped herself on top of him.
The heat from his skin warmed her almost instantly. She waited until her clothes began to dry, then went back to soak herself again. For the rest of the night she repeated the process until she no longer had the strength to get up. She stretched out beside him and fitted her head to the hollow of his shoulder. She would close her eyes for just a minute or two....%">
It was another dream. Unlike most of the dreams, though, Rafe didn't want to wake up from this one. Slim arms were wrapped around his shoulders. He felt the tickle of soft hair on his chin and warm breath on his neck. Someone was holding him as if they really cared. He inhaled slowly and felt a jog of recognition.
Glenna. Why was she holding him? Where were they? Had he fallen asleep? The two hours must be up. They had to move, they had get out of this storeroom...
No, they had already gotten out. The jeep had run out of gas. They'd slid down the stream. He'd lanced his wound. Was it yesterday? The day before?
He felt sunlight on his eyelids. He heard the rustle of leaves and the buzz of insects. He stretched experimentally. His muscles ached, every joint was stiff, but the agony in his thigh had faded. His improvised field first-aid must have worked. All right. He needed to get moving.
But Glenna's arms felt so right and her body fit so snugly against his where she stretched out beside him that he didn't want to leave yet. He would stay for another minute.
"Rafe."
He wasn't sure she'd spoken his name. It had been half sigh, half whisper. He parted his lips but no sound came. He ran his tongue over them and tried again. "Yeah?"
Her body tensed. Her weight shifted as she raised her head from his shoulder. "Rafe?"
He opened his eyes. He squinted against the daylight and tried to focus on Glenna's face.
She stared at him, her mouth agape. She put her hand on his forehead, then twisted her arm and used the underside of her wrist. "It's gone!"
"What?"
"Your fever. Thank God!"
The skin under her eyes looked bruised. He frowned. "Are you okay? You...look tired."
She smiled. "Now I know for sure you must be awake. You're worrying about me."
"What..." He coughed. "What day is it?"
She sat up and reached for their water bottle. She gave him a drink, then moved her hands to his cheeks to frame his face. Her lips trembled. "I don't know, Rafe. I've lost track. How about that? No day planner and everything goes crazy. How are you feeling?"
"Not sure," he mumbled.
"Your leg's getting better. It isn't anywhere near as red and the swelling's gone down and---" She caught her breath on a sob.
He tried to sit up. "Glenna?"
She didn't reply. Instead, she leaned over and kissed his forehead. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're going to be all right. I'd thought you were dreaming again, but you're really with me this time." Her lips skimmed over his temples to the ridge of his cheekbone. "You're really getting better."
"Looks like it."
She rubbed her against his. Even through the scar tissue he could feel the warmth of her tears.
He caught her chin. "Glenna? You're crying."
She hiccuped and dipped her head to kiss his knuckles. "It seemed to go on forever. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
"I promised I'd get you out of this."
"I know, but that's not what I meant. I..." She paused. "Oh, Rafe." She brought her mouth to his.
It wasn't like the first time they had kissed. There were no demands, only giving. It was warm and gentle, flitting across his lips like the sunlight on his skin. Her mouth still trembled. Her whole body was starting to shake. She inhaled sharply and pressed her face to his neck.
He wanted to ask her what the matter was. He had to get up and get them moving. But he didn't resist as her weight eased him back to the ground. He decided to stay where he was for just another minute.
Because oh, man, she felt so good. Her hair was cool and damp where it spread over his chest. He slid his arms around her back and pulled her closer. Her clothes were damp, too. He could feel every button in her shirt and every wrinkle of her pants as she moved against his bare skin...
His awakening senses were jolted into a different kind of awareness. Bare skin? What had happened? How had he ended up naked? Why was she wet?
And what the hell did it matter? He was alive, and the beautiful woman he'd wanted for days was plastered to the front of his naked body. How much more alive could he get? He lowered his head to her hair, closing his eyes as he drank in her scent. Snatches of the dreams that had haunted him stirred in the back of his mind, but he pushed them aside. No room for them now, not with Glenna trembling in his arms. He spread his fingers over her back, pulling her closer, and lowered his hands.
This felt so good, maybe it was a dream. He skimmed past the gentle dip at the small of her back and cupped her buttocks. Under those men's pants she was all woman. Round and firm and generous enough to fill his hands. He moved his palm over her hip to her waist and reached for the bow of her improvised belt.
She might have said something then. He felt her breath puff across his throat. But his pulse was thudding too hard for him to hear her. He tugged the bow loose and slipped his hand inside her pants.
He groaned at the softness as he stroked her stomach. He slid his palm downward brushing over her tight, feminine curls. He'd felt this before, too. He knew what she liked. He moved his fingers.
Her breath caught. She tilted her hips to give him better access.
His body hardened instantly. If he'd been thinking straight, he might have been surprised at the strength of his reaction. But he wasn't letting himself think. And he wasn't surprised. He'd already realized he'd have to be dead not to react to Glenna.
"Rafe?"
The blood that pounded through his veins was making his head start to spin again, yet he didn't stop. He heard the yearning in her voice and couldn't stop. He tugged her pants down past her knees and rolled on top
She wriggled beneath him. She wasn't trying to get away, she was kicking free of her pants. She clutched his shoulders. "Oh, Rafe. Yes."
He settled between her thighs. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was sure there were reasons he shouldn't do this, but after the pain and the nightmares, he needed Glenna's sweetness like he needed air. Once before, he'd given her what she needed. Now it was her turn. He dug his fingertips into her buttocks, angled her to meet him and thrust forward.
The power of Rafe's entry sent Glenna sliding across the ground. Her hair caught under her shoulders. Her back scraped over a broken twig. She heard a bird screech and flap noisily from a tree overhead.
She didn't care. She was right where she wanted to be. With Rafe. She wrapped her arms around his back, whimpering as he withdrew, sighing as he filled her again. It was fast and raw, as primitive as their surroundings. But after twenty-four hours of touching him, bathing him, lying on top of him, it was what she needed.
They fell into a rhythm as easily as if they'd been lovers for years. No words were spoken. The world became a blur of his body sliding over hers, of his breath on her neck, of the scent of skin and sex and the ripe heat of the jungle.
She arched her back as the pleasure burst over her. Yet it was more than pleasing. It was...right. As precious as water in a desert, as inevitable as thunder following lightning. She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes until she heard him say her name. She blinked and focused on his face.
His limbs stiffened. He shuddered once, twice, then gathered her to his chest and rolled to his side.
His eyes drifted closed. Yet just before his breathing slowed into the steady cadence of sleep, he did something that sent Glenna soaring through another climax.
For the first time ever, she saw Rafe smile.
It was dark when Rafe awoke next. This time there was no moment of disorientation, no question whether or not he was dreaming. He was completely awake and more aware than he wanted to be.
Glenna. What the hell had he done? His eyes snapped open.
She was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire pit, leaning over to add a stick to the flames. Her hair was a halo of backlit curls. She held it back with one hand, her body twisting as she reached forward. Her shirt pulled tight, revealing the silhouette of her breast.
Rafe knew he should apologize. He should have warned her of what a bastard he was. But right now, the only regret that he had was that he hadn't been completely awake. The first time, she had fallen asleep. The second time, he had. Next time he would make damn sure they had the opportunity to do it right, to make it last and to savor each sensation.
The mere thought of touching her again made his pulse speed up. He glanced down. He was still nude, but she must have draped his clothes over top of him while he'd slept.
Yeah, next time they would both be naked. He had yet to see what she looked like. He'd felt her, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to watch his hand move over her skin. He wanted to see her face when he touched her and when she c apart with that low, throaty cry.
Dammit. There couldn't be a next time. He knew that. He just had to get the message to his body. He sat up, snatching his jumpsuit to cover his groin.
At his movement, Glenna spun around. The moment she saw him, her face lit up in a smile. "Hi."
"Glenna."
"How are you feeling?" She knelt by his side and put her wrist against his forehead.
He caught her hand and lowered it. "The fever's pretty well gone. Thanks for helping me."
"I didn't do much. You're the one who got through it." She brushed a soft kiss over his mouth. "You're really an amazing man."
He caught her shoulders to hold her away from him. He still wasn't functioning at a hundred percent, but if she kept touching him, he didn't know how long his good intentions would last. "Glenna, we have to talk."
She rubbed her cheek against his arm. "All right."
He gritted his teeth at her caress. "I apologize for what happened earlier. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you."
"I thought you enjoyed making love with me."
"It was sex, Glenna."
"We made love, Rafe."
"It was a reflex reaction when I woke up to find you on top of me."
"It was more than that. We made love because we have a bond between us. Why do you keep trying to find other explanations?"
"Because other factors are at work here. I tried to explain that to you before."
"I know you did, and you were wrong then, too."
"You're going to feel differently once you're home."
She ran her fingers along his tensed arms. "We'll be the same people, no matter where we are, Rafe."
"That's my point. You don't know me."
Glenna curled her hands around his biceps and smiled. She was certain that he was wrong about that, too. She did know him. She'd seen him when he'd been stripped of his emotional defenses. She'd seen him weep, and she understood why he wanted to push her away.
There was so much love inside him, but he was unwilling to let it out. It was there in his courage, in the countless little kindnesses he'd showed her. And it was there in the way he made love. This morning he'd been groggy and probably only half-aware, yet he'd made her feel loved.
Just like she had, he'd let the events that happened in the past shape his life. She'd let her vow not to be like her father keep her from getting close to anyone. But Rafe had given her a second chance. He deserved to have one, too. "Have you ever been in love, Rafe?"
He took her hands from his arms and lowered them to her sides. "You should try to getleep, Glenna. We need to get moving at dawn."
She knew what he was trying to do. He was retreating into his soldier mode, but she wouldn't let him. She rose to her knees and framed his face in her palms. "I thought I wouldn't recognize love when it happened, because I've been avoiding it all my life, but I'm not afraid of it anymore. I love you, Rafe."
Something sparked in his gaze. Something so eager and pure and so full of longing, it brought tears to her eyes. But it was gone before she could blink. He jerked his head away from her touch. "No, you don't, Glenna. It's all an illusion, a product of our circumstances."
"I've never said that to anyone before. I thought I would die without knowing what this felt like, but then you burst into my life and---"
"Dammit, don't do this!" He rolled to his feet. He staggered briefly and hung on to a tree trunk until he regained his balance. He stalked to the other side of the fire. "Just stop, okay? You don't know what you're saying."
She had a moment of uneasiness as she stared across the fire at Rafe. His body was etched in orange by the flames. Flickers of light licked across his shoulders and back and the tight curves of his buttocks. He stood with his legs braced apart and his fists clenched by his sides.
His nakedness didn't make him look vulnerable. On the contrary, it made Glenna vividly aware of his size and the power in his frame. What if he was right that she didn't really know him?
No. She had faith in Rafe. His actions kept proving the kind of man he was. He would never hurt her.
She stood up and followed him. She stopped when she stood a foot behind him. "Don't be afraid, Rafe. I'm not."
"I never meant for it to go this far."
She put her hand on his back. There was no give to his muscles. She stepped closer and slipped her arms around his waist. "I think I knew I loved you from the first moment I looked into your eyes. It's why I thought we had this bond."
A shudder rippled over his skin. "Think, Glenna. It isn't love you feel. You keep trying to make this into something it's not. We had sex, that's all."
She tightened her embrace, pressing her breasts against his back. "You gave me a second chance, Rafe. I'm not letting my past keep me from enjoying the here and now. Neither should you."
"For God's sake, Glenna, stop touching me." He caught her wrists and stretched her arms away from his waist. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, but I'm not made of stone."
"Oh, I know that." She kissed the hard edge of his shoulder blade. "No other man has made me feel the way you do, Rafe. I just have to look at you and I want you."
He ground his teeth. "You're Glenna Hastings Vanderhayden," he muttered. "You're a civilian hostage and it's my duty to rescue you."
"So?"
"You're under stress. You're using this...attraction between us to escape from reality."
She shook off his grip and slipped her arms around his rib cage, spreading her fingers over his chest. "Why can't you accept what I'm offering?"
"Because this situation isn't real, Glenna."
She skimmed her fingertips over his nipples. "It feels real to me, Rafe."
"Glenna..."
"Unless you don't want me. Is that what the problem is? Does it repulse you when I touch you?"
His chest heaved. He tipped his head back and swore, then turned around and grasped her arms. He made no move to hide the erection that butted against her stomach. "Does that answer your question?" he said through his teeth.
She couldn't reply. The firelight traced his scars in stark, jagged outlines. The stubble of his beard glittered roughly over his jaw. His entire body radiated the fierce tension of a warrior.
And yet his eyes gleamed with an echo of the pure, eager longing she'd seen before.
Glenna didn't even consider retreating. She remembered how he had felt moving over her, moving inside her. After a lifetime of bottling up her passion, she was amazed at how easy it was to let it go. She stepped closer and rubbed against him.
He swore again. Softly, beneath his breath.
She reached for the buttons on her shirt.
He pushed her hands aside and crumpled the edges of her collar in his fists. "We still have to move out at dawn."
She nodded. "All right."
He drew her upward until she stood on her toes. "It's not love, Glenna."
She lifted her hand to his hair. "Rafe, would you stop arguing and kiss m---"
He did. Long, deep and hard. He slid her buttons from their holes and yanked off her shirt. In less than a minute she was as naked as he. And still the kiss went on. Glenna shifted restlessly, rubbing the sole of her foot down his leg, pressing her hips toward him in a wordless plea.
Rafe clamped his hands to her waist and lifted her from her feet, then backed her away from the fire until her shoulders came up against the trunk of a tree. He kissed his way down the side of her neck and opened his mouth over her shoulder. Some animal screeched in the darkness, echoing the wildness Glenna felt. She dug her nails into Rafe's back, quivering at the scrape of his teeth.
Oh, yes. This was what she wanted.
Suddenly he set her feet on the ground and released his hold on her waist. But instead of taking her in his arms, he spun around and placed himself between her and the fire. He held up his hand in an order for silence.
Her pulse was crashing in her ears, her breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. It took her several seconds to hear the hum. "What..."
"It's a chopper." He reached behind him for her hand. "Coming in low from the north."Oh, my God." She twined her fingers with Rafe's and pressed closer to his back. "Could it be Juarez?"
He listened for another minute, then shook his head. "It's an AH6."
"What does that mean?"
"It's one of the helicopters that Delta uses. Looks like my team found us." The noise grew stronger until it became the stuttering rhythm of a helicopter engine.
Emotions welled inside her. After so many endless days and nights, it didn't seem possible. It's what she'd prayed for, what she had almost given up hoping for.
This was what she wanted.
Wasn't it? Wasn't it?
Rafe turned to face her. With his back to the fire, his expression was unreadable. "It's over, Glenna. You're going home."
The helicopter searchlight sent columns of blue-white knifing through the forest canopy. Branches swayed in the backwash from the rotors as Rafe zipped up his jumpsuit and helped Glenna fasten the last of her buttons. She lifted her hand to shield her face from the dry leaves and the ashes from their fire that swirled in the air just as the first ropes snaked downward through the trees.
Four men in army fatigues slid down the ropes and jumped to the ground. Three of the men moved smoothly into defensive positions at the edge of the clearing, their guns held ready as they scanned the forest. The fourth man jogged over to where Rafe and Glenna stood.
He was as tall as Rafe and almost as broad. Jet-black hair curled from beneath the back of his helmet. Streaks of dark green camouflage paint crisscrossed his face. He was an imposing sight until his mouth stretched into an incongruously boyish grin. "Hello, Rafe. Want a lift?"
"Sure, Flynn. Nice of you to drop in."
"We were in the neighborhood and had nothing better to do." He clapped a large hand on Rafe's shoulder and moved his gaze to Glenna. "Sergeant Flynn O'Toole, at your service, ma'am. I'll take you up first." He tipped his head to speak into the microphone at his throat. "Send down the harness. We've got both of them."
Rafe put his arm around Glenna's waist to support her and guided her forward. "Her right ankle's sprained," he said, talking past her to Sergeant O'Toole. "Have you got a medic with you?"
"Yes, Norton's here. Any other problems?"
"Some minor abrasions."
"What about you, Rafe?"
"Just a flesh wound."
He leaned in front of Glenna, looked at Rafe's thigh and snorted. "Sure. That's why you've only got one pant leg. What's the name of your butcher
"Murphy. Relative of yours, isn't he?"
"Right. Here's the harness."
While they were walking forward, something that looked like a tangle of webbing had been lowered into the clearing. Rafe grabbed the rope and fitted a pair of straps over Glenna's arms as he continued his conversation with the black-haired soldier. "Any sign of Juarez's men?"
"There's an armed group in the next valley. A mile over the ridge to the north."
"That's too close. Do we have backup?"
"Nope. We can't engage that group ourselves, either. We're not officially here."
"Fine. We move out as soon as she's on board." Rafe knelt in front of Glenna and looped two more straps around her thighs, then buckled her in. He took her hands and placed them around the ropes that suspended the harness in the air. "Hang on here and here, Glenna. Keep your chin tucked in until you get through the trees. The air currents off the rock wall could be tricky. Flynn will help you through the door when you get to the chopper."
She couldn't believe how fast everything was happening. "Rafe?"
"You'll be fine." He stepped back and gave a thumbs-up signal. Sergeant O'Toole grabbed the rope above her head, put his foot into a loop that dangled below the harness and issued a command into his microphone.
Glenna felt them jerk upward. The ground below began to rotate. "Rafe!"
"Don't worry, ma'am," O'Toole said, raising his voice as they drew nearer to the noise of the helicopter. "We're trained professionals." He shifted his weight to one side, slowing down the spin of the rope. "But it's better if you don't look down."
Glenna ignored his advice and watched the clearing recede below her. Rafe had already slung his rifle over his back and was kicking dirt over the embers that remained in the fire pit. He gave a series of swift hand signals to the men on guard at the edge of the trees, then grabbed the nearest rope and began a hand-over-hand ascent. One by one, the other men followed until nothing remained in the clearing to mark their presence but the flattened mat of palm fronds that she and Rafe had slept on for two nights. And made love on this morning.
Oh, God, this was happening too fast.
She focused on Rafe. In the searchlight his hair was bleached silver. His arms flexed against his sleeves as he hauled himself up the rope. She thought of how soft his hair was, and how hard his arms were, and how safe he'd made her feel.
"Heads up, ma'am," O'Toole called. "Here's your ride."
Glenna looked up. The open doorway of a large helicopter gaped in front of her, the interior lit with a dull red glow. More soldiers stood on either side of the opening and reached out to swing her inside. O'Toole un-buckled her harness and bent down to loop her arm over his shoulder. He hustled her to the rear of the helicopter just as Rafe and the others reached the doorwahe twisted to watch Rafe, but he didn't look her way. The moment he was inside, he put on a radio headset and headed toward the cockpit.
Of course. He'd have to report what they knew about Juarez, she thought. He'd gotten her to safety. His duty to her was over.
It's over, Glenna. You're going home.
No, not yet, she thought. She wanted to make sure Rafe had his wound checked. She had to tell these people he needed more rest. She needed to feel his arms around her again, and she wanted the chance to make him smile the heart-melting smile she'd seen this morning. She wanted the chance to tell him again that she loved him---
"Ma'am? Are you all right?"
She glanced up at Sergeant O'Toole. He was looking at her with an expression of alarm.
Only then did she realize that she was crying.
She dried her cheeks on the backs of her hands. "Some dust got in my eyes," she said. "That's all."
The drone of the engines vibrated through the fuselage as the transport lumbered over the Atlantic. Rafe felt the hum from the soles of his feet to his molars. It rattled the map that was spread out on his knees. He'd never thought much about it before. On the way to a drop point, he was always focused on the mission. On the way home, he'd usually be catching some sleep.
But Glenna had never traveled in the belly of a plane before, with cargo nets instead of windows and a bare metal floor. The utilitarian bench seats that folded down from the walls bore little resemblance to the upholstered seating in the first-class section of a passenger jet.
Out of necessity, the transfer from the helicopter that had brought them out of the jungle to this transport had been swift. As Flynn had said, Delta wasn't officially in Rocama, so they had to get back in the air ASAP. Rafe wished there was some other way to get Glenna home---he remembered what she'd said about preferring to take a train rather than a plane---but speed was of the essence. He'd made sure Glenna was provided with a few pillows and blankets to make her as comfortable as possible for the trip back to Fort Bragg, but he hadn't thought about the noise.
"Rafe? Did you hear me?"
At Flynn's voice, Rafe handed the map to his friend and got to his feet. "I'll be right back."
"She's still asleep, just like she was the last five times you checked on her." Flynn tapped his index finger against the map. "Show me where you left the jeep you took from Juarez."
"In a minute." Rafe stepped over Flynn's legs and moved past the other soldiers who dozed along the wall to make his way toward the tail of the plane.
Glenna was curled on her side across a pair of seats, a gray blanket draped over her legs. Her eyes were closed. Rafe caught hold of a strap on the fuselage above the bench to steady himself as a wave of weakness rolled over him. He studied her for any sign of discomfort, but she appeared to be sleeping peacefully despite the drone of the engines.
Good. S was what she needed most. That and some decent food. The medic who had examined her ankle said the sprain was healing well. She'd get a thorough medical exam once they got to the base hospital, but in all likelihood she'd be pronounced in good physical health despite her ordeal. No permanent damage. The scrapes on her knees were already healing. The scrapes on her back that she'd gotten when they'd made love on the ground would heal, too.
No, it hadn't been love. It was sex, that's all. Simple, basic, mindless sex. She had tried to dress it up to justify it to her conscience, but he'd known the score all along. They'd used each other. Now that she was going home, his usefulness to her would be at an end. She would get back to planning charity balls and he would get back to being a soldier.
He swayed on his feet as the plane jolted through a pocket of turbulence. His wound throbbed distantly, but he ignored it and focused on Glenna.
What would she do when she got home? Would she let some man kiss her at her mother's next dinner party? Who would she be with on New Year's Eve? She said she didn't have a love life, but she was too passionate a woman to remain alone. She had so much warmth and compassion to share, she deserved to find someone who could make her happy.
Sure, she deserved it. But the thought of another man touching her made him want to break something.
I love you, Rafe.
He felt a wave of pain that had nothing to do with the wound in his leg. He'd known she hadn't meant what she'd said, but it had felt so good to hear those words, he hadn't tried all that hard to make her stop.
Damn, he was in worse shape than he'd thought. He'd known the deeper they got into it, the worse it was going to be when they were back in the world. If he really wanted to help Glenna, then he had to get his head straight before this plane landed.
She was going to hate him once she came to her senses. That was a given. The best he could hope for was that the shrinks made sure she didn't hate herself.
He reached down, tugged the blanket up to cover her shoulder and tucked it gently behind her back. His hand brushed her hair. He curled a stray lock around his thumb, rubbing it against his finger, remembering how good it had felt sliding over his skin.
If only the chopper had showed up a few hours later...
With a muttered curse, he withdrew his hand. A few more hours, a few more days, what difference would it have made? It was over. It never should have happened in the first place. He returned to his seat beside Flynn.
"All finished?" Flynn drawled.
"Yes." He picked up the map and spread it over his knees. He leaned over to study it once more.
"You sure? There might be a square millimeter of her face you haven't memorized."
"Shut up, Flynn."
"Not that I blame you. She's looking pretty rough now, but I'll bet she cleans up real well."
"Leave her alone, O'Toole."
"No" Flynn scratched his forearm. "Females who cry give me hives."
Rafe's head jerked up. "She cried?"
"When we got her on the chopper. I thought you'd noticed."
"No, I hadn't. What did you do to her?"
"Hey, calm down. I didn't do anything. She told me she had dust in her eyes."
"You didn't believe her?"
"Of course not. Knowing the way women are, she was probably emotional about getting rescued, that's all."
"And you're an expert on women, right?"
Flynn smiled. Twin dimples appeared in his camo-smeared cheeks to bracket his mouth. "Not yet. I need to do way more research."
Normally Rafe found his friend's attitude harmless. Women were drawn to Flynn's striking Black Irish looks. They were charmed by his easy manner and his knack of telling them what they wanted to hear. If Flynn had been the one to rescue Glenna from the hijackers at the airport---
Then Glenna would have wanted to sleep with Flynn instead of Rafe. She would have told Flynn that she loved him. Any warm body would have done in the dark.
Rafe had an irrational urge to drive his fist into his friend's teeth.
Instead, he jabbed his finger at a spot on the map. "This is where the track ended."
Flynn's smile winked out. He was immediately all business. "And where's the Juarez compound?"
"In this area," Rafe said, moving his finger to the southeast. "It's heavily treed, so it wouldn't have showed up on the satellite shots."
"We'll tell Sarah where to look. She'll find it," he said confidently. "She told us where to look for you two, didn't she?"
Flynn was referring to Captain Sarah Fox. Technically, she worked for Intelligence because of the regulations barring women from combat roles in the Special Forces, but over the years Sarah had become as much a member of his team as any of the men. The camaraderie they shared transcended both her gender and her rank. "How did she do that, anyway?"
"When Juarez wouldn't let anyone speak to his hostages after the first night, we figured you were either dead or had escaped. Knowing you, we put our money on escape. So Sarah got her friends in Intelligence to focus the recon satellites on a three-kilometer radius around the extraction points we'd agreed on. She used the infrared shots to penetrate the forest canopy."
"Infrared? With all the wildlife? That's like the proverbial needle in a haystack."
"Apparently the Funny Platoon has some computer gizmos that can analyze body heat patterns to sort out the human ones. It helped that you built a fire and were stationary for three days. That's why we mobilized for a look-see."
Body heat? Rafe wondered uneasily exactly how much detail showed up on those surveillance shots. "I'll be sure to thank Sarah when I see her. With Juarez's men in the next valley, we might have had some trouble."
"Yeah. The guy doesn't seem to care who he goes up against. He wants his brother freed."
"He's got the local authorities on his payroll."
"We figured that. How many men patrol the perimeter of his compound?"
"Unknown. I saw a total of twelve who were on duty, but that was only in a limited area."
"We took down seven at the airport. I counted twenty-three reinforcements who were arriving before we drove off with the hostages, so we have to assume Juarez has a sizable force."
"They've got serious ordnance, too. They used a grenade launcher to take out the ambulance."
"What kind of security is at the house?"
"No gates, but the house is wired. The guards have automatic weapons. The one I took had a magazine full of hollow-point ammo, so they're not pulling any punches. Why do you want to know?"
"The pilot died."
Pilot? Rafe set his mind back to the minutes before his team had stormed the plane. He remembered the red stain on the pilot's white shirt, the sound of his body hitting the tarmac. Juarez's men had showed no mercy. Glenna would have been next. "I'm sorry to hear that. We should have moved sooner."
"Hindsight's twenty-twenty."
"Did he leave a family?"
"No kids, and his wife died two years ago. But he was a vet. Decorated navy flier before he retired from the service, which explains how he had the skill to do a no-fuel landing on that short runway without crashing. It's possible that his murder is going to give the politicians the leverage we need to authorize going after Leonardo Juarez."
"When?"
Flynn gestured to the fresh bandage that showed beneath the ragged edge of Rafe's pant leg. "How long before you'll be good to go?"
"Whenever we get the word."
Flynn grunted. "That's more like it. You had me worried there for a minute."
"What do you mean?"
"You seemed more interested in playing nursemaid than finishing what we started."
"Since when haven't I done my job, Flynn?"
"Never, Rafe. You do your job and then some." He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, then clasped his hands behind his head and looked toward the back of the plane. "If it wasn't for you, Glenna Hastings would have been dead five days ago. I wonder if she realizes how lucky she is."
Glenna couldn't seem to stop crying. Up until a few days ago, she hadn't cried since she was thirteen. Now it wasn't only her passion that was bling out, it was every emotion she had ever tried to bottle up.
She tipped up her face, hoping the full force of the shower would wash away her tears, but they kept coming. She didn't even know why she was crying. The nightmare was over. She was back on American soil. She was as safe from Juarez and his men as she could possibly be---she was in the middle of an army base, surrounded by thousands of trained soldiers. No one was going to hurt her now. She was well rested, she was well fed. She was in the process of getting clean. What on earth was there to cry about?
She grabbed the small container from the shelf in the shower and emptied the last of the shampoo into her palm. She lathered her hair for what had to be the fourth time, digging her fingers into her scalp to be sure she got rid of every last speck of dirt. But as the suds sluiced down her back, her tears came faster. Her chest felt hollow, as if she were losing far more than the grime that had accumulated during the past five days.
Five days. It seemed incredible, but only five days had passed since she'd put on her business suit and her favorite shoes and had boarded that plane in Montego Bay. Five days of being alive that wouldn't have happened if not for Rafe.
Rafe. Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he in pain? Had he slept, had he eaten? Why wasn't he here?
Glenna hiccuped on a sob and picked up the soap. She scrubbed at her skin until it began to hurt. She was being unreasonable. Rafe had other duties. He had things to do. She didn't need him here to hold her hand, did she?
Oh, God. Yes, she did. She needed to see him. She needed to hear his voice and feel the reassuring warmth of his touch and look into his eyes and believe everything would be all right. After five days straight of being together, she couldn't imagine being without him. She loved him. It wasn't over. She couldn't wash away what had happened.
She looked at the puffs of lather that swirled around the drain at her feet. The fragile mounds shuddered at the impact of each drop of water that fell, breaking apart, dissolving into flat spots of white that slipped effortlessly over the tile through the chrome grating, leaving nothing behind but the ceaseless beat of the water. Nothing. As if it had never been.
Glenna stared, her vision blurring. She heard a stream that gurgled lazily through lush ferns. She saw a peaceful pool in the moonlight. Her body was wet, moving over Rafe's to cool him. Then she was moving under him and his lips were curving into a smile that stole her breath...
With a cry, Glenna shut off the water and fell to her knees. She flattened her hands over the drain, trying to hold back the flow. It couldn't be over. Not yet. Please. She wasn't ready to go home. She didn't want to be the old Glenna.
"Miss Hastings?" There was a soft rap on the bathroom door. "Are you all right?"
She slapped her palms on the tile. Water splashed over her face, mixing with her tears. She wanted to scream. She couldn't stop the flow. She couldn't put her emotions back in the bottle.
Oh, God. What was wrong with her?
Someone rapped on the door again. "It's Dr. Colbert, Glenna. Do you need some help
Glenna recognized the voice. It was the doctor who had talked to her when she'd first arrived at the base hospital. But Glenna hadn't wanted to talk to her then. She'd been waiting for Rafe to come back.
Her shoulders shook with the sobs she could no longer control. She keeled over and buried her face in her hands.
A draft of cool air rolled across her back. A towel settled over her shoulders. She was so empty, she made no protest as the doctor helped her to her feet and slipped her arms through a robe like a child. Her eyes felt swollen from the tears that continued to trickle down her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away.
"Come on, Glenna." Dr. Colbert put her hand under Glenna's elbow and steered her through the bathroom doorway. She led her into the private hospital room where she'd been brought shortly after her arrival on the base. "I have a surprise for you."
Glenna lifted her head. "Rafe?"
"No, Sergeant Marek has other duties to take care of right now. He'll be here soon. Look what's on the bed."
She turned. A dark green suitcase lay in the center of the narrow mattress. For a minute she couldn't grasp what it was. It was something from another reality.
The doctor led her forward and reached out to open the lid.
Glenna stared blankly at the neatly folded clothes inside. It took her another minute before she realized they were hers.
A piece of her life drifted into the emptiness inside her. It hovered out of reach for a confused moment, then slowly settled into place.
"I pulled a few strings and got your luggage sent here when I heard you were on your way," Dr. Colbert said. "I thought you'd be more comfortable in your own clothes. Would you like some coffee while you dress? I brought you a pot of my favorite blend. Personally, I don't start to feel human until I have at least two cups. What about you?"
Gradually Glenna become aware of the aroma that floated through the room. It was from another reality, too. The reality of alarm clocks and morning papers. It snicked into place, lending more structure to the emptiness. She exhaled shakily and cleared her throat. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, Glenna. Do you normally fix your hair before you get dressed or after?"
She raised her hand to her hair. She hadn't used a comb in five days. Her fingers could barely penetrate the tangles. She looked at the quilted cosmetics bag that she'd packed along the left side of her suitcase. "Uh, it needs..."
"Conditioner?" the doctor asked. She handed the cosmetics bag to Glenna. "Did you pack any in here?"
The texture of the bag was something else familiar. She opened the zipper and focused on the orderly array of items within. The pieces of reality were cascading now, rushing in to fill the void the past five days had left. Glenna clutched the bag to her chest and picked up the blouse that was on top of the folded clothes.
"Oh, that color would look wonderful with your auburn hair," Dr. Colbert said. "W like to wear pants or a skirt with it?"
The questions were easy. They were the mundane details that had made up Glenna's life before Rafe. They gave her something to hang on to, something that didn't slip through her fingers like the suds on the shower floor.
Another wave of tears struck without warning. Glenna looked at the doctor.
Dr. Colbert was half a head shorter than Glenna and comfortably plump. She carried the lines of middle age as easily as the smattering of freckles on her small nose. Unlike the other people Glenna had met so far, she wasn't wearing a uniform. The flowered dress she wore reminded Glenna of a librarian or a teacher, not the severely attired psychiatrists she'd dealt with during her mother's therapy.
Still, Glenna had known immediately that Dr. Colbert was a psychiatrist. She hadn't wanted to talk to her earlier. She'd been waiting for Rafe to come and make everything all right...
"What's wrong with me, Dr. Colbert?" she asked. "Why can't I stop crying?"
The doctor smiled and rubbed her shoulder. "You're having a perfectly normal reaction to stress, Glenna."
You're reacting to the stress.
That's what Rafe had said in the storeroom when she'd tried to move his hands to her breasts.
You're under stress. You're using this attraction between us to escape from reality.
That's what he'd said yesterday when she'd wanted him to make love again.
She'd been sure he was wrong. She'd been convinced her feelings for him were real.
But those five days with Rafe weren't reality. This was. She wiped her cheeks on the robe's collar.
"Do you take cream or sugar in your coffee?"
Another easy question. Glenna replied automatically. "Just cream."
The doctor's heels clicked across the floor. There was the sound of liquid gurgling into a cup. "After a particularly dangerous mission, even experienced soldiers sometimes have trouble getting back into their daily routine, Glenna. Being in the field involves long stretches of very intense emotions, and it can be difficult to turn them off."
"Turn them off," she repeated. "Push them back into the bottle."
"Yes, that's a good way to put it. I'm here to help."
Glenna slipped her hand around the coffee cup. "Where's Rafe? Did anyone look at his wound?"
"Yes, the doctors saw Sergeant Marek. He's going to be fine."
"I'd like to see him."
"Of course. It's understandable that you'd want to thank him and the entire team who brought you home. You must be tremendously grateful to all of them for saving your life.I don't want your gratitude, Glenna.
It's more than gratitude I feel for you, Rafe.
And it was more, she thought. It was love, right?
Then why was she crying? Why did she feel as if she'd lost something precious? Why hadn't she wanted to come home?
Why? Maybe it was because Rafe had warned her this would happen.
And she didn't want to discover that he had been right.
Rafe couldn't remember feeling this nervous before. He could handle multimillion dollar pieces of machinery without breaking a sweat. He could do a night jump in enemy territory after a meal of steak and potatoes and not feel a twinge of queasiness. Yet every step he took down this hospital corridor echoed through his nerves as if he were on a double-time march to hell.
The shrink had requested that he stay away from Glenna for a few days. He knew why. Dr. Colbert was an experienced trauma counselor. She'd be helping Glenna find a way to deal with what had happened and put it behind her. She would be encouraging her to distance herself from the events of the past week in order to guide her back to everyday life.
And Rafe had no place in Glenna's everyday life. He'd known that from the start. But it had been more than two days now. He had to see her before she was released. Whatever the shrink said, one more conversation couldn't do any more damage than he'd already done.
"Sergeant Marek!"
The woman's voice came from behind him. He recognized the smoky timbre and paused to look over his shoulder.
Sarah Fox was striding toward him from the elevator. As always, her captain's uniform was neatly pressed and her shoes gleamed from a fresh polishing. She covered the distance with a deceptively quick stride, dropping the formality dictated by her rank the moment she reached him. "You're a difficult guy to track down, Rafe. Where have you been?"
"Getting debriefed by the major."
"Ah." She fell into step beside him as he resumed his progress. "Does Major Redinger have any word on when we're going after Juarez?"
"Not yet. Soon, I hope. By the way, Flynn told me about the work you did with the surveillance satellites. Good job."
"Thanks. Like I said, you're a difficult guy to track down." She tipped her head to watch him as he walked. "You're limping. I heard you were shot."
"The bullet passed through."
"Is that why you're here? Are you going for treatment?"
"No. The medics already looked at it. They monitored me overnight and gave me some antibiotics to clear up what was left of the infection
"I heard you could have lost your leg if you hadn't lanced the wound when you did. That was some creative field doctoring."
"So much for medical confidentiality."
"I have my ways, Rafe. Be honest. How does the leg feel?"
"Better than it was."
She moved in front of him. "And what did the medics really say?"
He halted so that he wouldn't run into her. "They want to do some repair work."
"Is it serious?"
"They're mainly concerned that if they don't intervene, I'll be left with an unsightly scar."
Sarah blinked, then let loose a sudden laugh. "Oh, that's a good one."
"Yeah."
"What did you tell them?"
"What do you think?"
Her eyes twinkled. "I think I don't want to get anywhere near you when you're armed with a knife." Her amusement faded. "So where are you headed?"
He looked away. "Just visiting someone."
"The Hastings woman?"
Rafe didn't have a little sister, but if he did, he imagined she would have been a lot like Sarah. Inquisitive, no-nonsense, and protective as a mother hen when it came to all the men of Eagle Squadron she regarded as her brothers. "Sounds as if you already figured it out," he muttered.
"The fresh shave and the cologne were my first clues. It looks as if you got your hair trimmed, too."
"She's an exceptional woman, Sarah. She saved my life. I was out of my head for more than a day with that fever and she stuck with me."
"Then you're even. You saved her life."
"That was my job."
"I heard you spent most of the trip back from Rocama checking to make sure she was comfortable. Was that your job, too?"
"Flynn has a big mouth."
"So what's really going on?"
"Nothing. Back off, Sarah."
She wasn't discouraged in the least by his bluster. She stepped closer and drew herself up to her full height. Her head barely reached Rafe's chin, but she had the kind of presence that made her seem taller than she was. "There was one satellite shot I didn't show to the team, Rafe. We'd zeroed in on your position by then, so it was high resolution. Maximum detail. So don't tell me it's nothing."
Oh, hell. He'd been afraid of that. "Whatever you think you saw, you interpreted it wrong."
"I thought I had, too, until I heard about how you've been acting since then. Incidentally, that's nice cologne. Funny, in all the years I've known you, I can't remember noticing you wearing any while you were on duty before. Did you put it on for the major's benefit?"
"What's your point?"
"Be careful with this Hastings woman, okay? We've all had the psych training. It was a hostage situation and things likely got pretty intense, but those feelings don't last."
He told himself that Sarah was only trying to be his friend. She was looking out for him. He would do the same for her, if the situation ever came up. It wouldn't, though. Sarah Fox made no secret of the fact that her heart wasn't available.
And his heart was? No. What had happened between him and Glenna hadn't involved that part of his anatomy, no matter how she had tried to confuse the issue. "You forget who you're talking to," he said. "I've never had any illusions about what women want from me."
Her eyebrows drew together in a quick frown as she glanced at his cheek. "Oh, yes you do, but that's a whole different topic."
"I've got to go."
She put her hand on his arm before he could move away. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Rafe."
"Sarah..."
"You seem to care about her, but once she goes back to her life in New York---"
"Dammit, Sarah, I don't need a lecture. Glenna Hastings was part of the mission, that's all. She was no more and no less important than any of the other hostages we rescued. Now the mission's over. End of story. End of discussion."
She squeezed his arm. "I'm not hard-of-hearing, Rafe."
He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but there was always the chance that if he repeated the same thing loud enough and often enough, he might convince himself. "Sorry," he muttered.
Sarah looked past him and dropped her hand.
Rafe felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. His palms began to sweat. He turned around.
For an instant, he didn't recognize the woman who stood in the doorway of the room across the corridor. Her auburn hair was tamed into a smooth French twist at the back of her head. Tasteful pearl earrings gleamed at her earlobes. Her pale green blouse and loosely cut pants flowed over her body with the supple elegance of designer silk.
Yet it wasn't the clothes and the hair that threw him off. It was her expression.
The complete trust that he'd become accustomed to seeing in her eyes was gone. So was the clear glow that she'd called love. In its place was wariness. She looked from him to Sarah and back again. "Hello, Rafe."
Her tone was as cautious as her gaze. Not cold but...cordial. Yes, that was it. She said his name as if he were an acquaintance. She looked at him as if she had never seen him naked.
This wasn't the woman who had sobbed in his arms and who had brushed butterfly kisses over his scars. The passion shared so generously with him had to still be there---it was as much a part of her as her green eyes---but it was under control now. Semtex without a primer. Anyone looking at her would see a sophisticated, poised lady. The kind who traveled first-class. The person Glenna Hastings Vanderhayden had been last week.
Evidently, Dr. Colbert had done her job well.
This had been inevitable. Rafe knew that. But that didn't stop him from hating it.
And for a crazy instant, he wanted to rip out her hairpins and plunge his fingers into her curls until her hair was an untamed halo around her head. He ached to press himself to her body and feel her mouth tremble under his. To hell with the shrinks and the psych manuals and doing what was right. He wanted to turn her back into his Glenna.
Damn, he'd known this was going to be painful. He hadn't realized how much. He should have scheduled a few sessions with Dr. Colbert for himself. He dried his palms on his pant legs. "Hello, Glenna."
His voice brought it all back. Glenna had believed she was making progress. She had only cried twice today. She'd even been able to control the shaking of her hands enough to do her nails.
But all she had to do was hear his voice and she wanted to throw herself into his arms and weep.
The books she'd borrowed from Dr. Colbert had explained all of this. The psychological effects of captivity were well documented. She had been dependent on Rafe for the necessities of life, and he had taken on a heroic stature in her mind. In her exhausted state, her gratitude had become infatuation. Her desperation had been channeled into passion. And she'd mistaken that passion for love.
All in all, she was a textbook case.
It was humiliating. It was pathetic.
But oh, God, she wanted to hold him. One last time. It didn't matter to her that he'd just stated flat out she'd meant nothing to him. If he so much as crooked his finger at her, she'd be all over him in a heartbeat.
"Miss Hastings?"
Glenna looked at the uniformed woman who stood beside Rafe. "Yes?"
"I'm Captain Fox. I work with Master Sergeant Marek and Eagle Squadron. We're all pleased the mission ended successfully." She smiled pleasantly, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. She extended her hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better, thanks." Glenna took a closer look at her as she shook her hand. The trim, blond woman seemed familiar somehow. Suddenly it struck her why. "You're a doctor, aren't you? Last week you drove that ambulance to the plane. You wanted to help the pilot."
"I did, but I'm not a doctor. I was a distraction who went along for the ride since I happened to speak the local Rocaman dialect." She held Glenna's gaze, as if she were studying her in turn. "I'm surprised you remember. Many people in your situation prefer to block out traumatic events."
"Yes, I read about that."
"Oh?"
"has been very helpful. I've learned quite a bit about trauma psychology."
Captain Fox glanced at Rafe. "That's good, isn't it, Sergeant Marek? We were just discussing that."
A muscle in the side of his jaw twitched. "How's your ankle, Glenna?"
If she told him it hurt, would he sweep her into his arms? "Almost as good as new."
"And the abrasions?"
If she told him her shoulders were still sore from the bark of the tree he'd held her against before the helicopter had showed up, would he want to finish what they'd started? "Healing well, thank you."
"Good."
"How's your leg?" Did he remember how she had wiped his tears while he'd dreamed about John? Did he think about how well their bodies had fit together?
"Fine."
"That's wonderful."
"I imagine you must be eager to go home, Miss Hastings," Captain Fox said. "Your life in Manhattan must be very different from what you've experienced this past week. When will you be discharged?"
"I just was," Glenna replied, keeping her gaze on Rafe. "I'll be taking the Amtrak to New York in forty minutes."
He rubbed his palms against his legs again and nodded to the room behind her. "Before you go, Glenna, I'd like to speak with you. In private, if you don't mind, Captain," he added to the blond woman beside him.
Captain Fox nodded curtly. "Nice meeting you, Miss Hastings. I'll speak with you later, Sergeant Marek."
The moment she and Rafe were alone in the hospital room, Glenna felt her pulse go wild. Adrenaline rushed through her body. Oh, Rafe, please tell me it was real. Tell me that you and the books and the doctors were wrong. Take me in your arms and ask me to stay....
He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and clasped his hands behind his back. "Glenna, I would like to apologize once more for my conduct."
Oh, damn. Why didn't he just slap her? She moved to one of the chairs that flanked the table under the room's window and grasped the chair back so that he wouldn't see her hands shake. "You have nothing to apologize for, Rafe. I understand now that you were honest with me. I simply didn't listen."
"I should have tried harder."
"There really isn't any need to discuss this. As you said, it's over."
"Not completely."
The eagerness that burst through her took her off guard. Oh, God. She was pathetic. He had never spoken about a future for them. It was absurd to hope that he would now. "You made yourself very clear on several occasions, Rafe. I don't know what more there is to say."
"I take responsibility for what happened between us."
"We both know that I was the one who...initiated the...things we did." Her eyes heated with tears. She lifted her chin. "Please, don't embarrass me more than you need to, Rafe."
"Hell, Glenna. That's not why I came here." He took a step toward her, then clenched his jaw and resumed his stiff posture. "I wanted you to know that if there are any consequences as a result of my actions, I intend to take full responsibility. Legal and financial."
"Consequences?"
"I mean if you're pregnant."
Her knees gave out. She yanked the chair around and sat down before she could fall. "Pregnant?"
He swore under his breath and moved to her side. "We had unprotected sex, Glenna. I realize the odds are slim that you would have conceived, but---"
"Oh, my God. I hadn't even thought about that."
He dropped to one knee to catch her gaze. "I'm sorry, Glenna. I hadn't wanted to upset you, but we had to get this straight before you left."
She looked at him, her head reeling. Pregnant? With Rafe's baby? A child with his blond hair and his beautiful blue eyes? Oh, yes. She could imagine it so easily. If she was pregnant, then her relationship with Rafe wouldn't have to end. They could get married. They could raise a whole family of blond-haired, blue-eyed angels and they could lay the ghosts of their pasts to rest. She could show him that he was a good man inside, that he didn't have to be afraid of loving someone...
"I don't like the idea of abortion," he said, "but it's your body so you have the right to decide. Whatever your choice, I'll support you, Glenna."
Oh, God, she was doing it again. He didn't want a relationship. There was no relationship. He was merely trying to be honorable.
Yes, that was Rafe, all right. Willing to go beyond the call of duty. Riding to her rescue like some fairy-tale knight.
But this was reality. And she was a fool. An utter fool. When it came to her emotions, it appeared that her judgment was no better than her father's. She'd had good reasons for living the kind of life she did before the hijacking. She'd been wrong to believe she should change.
Dr. Colbert had explained all of that, too. Decisions made under extreme stress were never reliable. Glenna had believed she'd been about to die---stress didn't get much more extreme than that. She'd thought Rafe had been her last chance for living and loving.
But life went on. And that was the hard part.
Damn him. Rafe had been right about that, too.
"Glenna?"
She gestured toward the suitcase that sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Would you bring that over here, please?"
He did as she asked, setting the suitcase down on the table in front of her.
She turned it around so that she could unzip a pocket on the , then took out her gold-embossed leather-covered day planner. She held it so tightly her freshly polished nails scored the cover.
"What's that?" he asked.
It was her anchor, she thought. The structure of her life before he came into it. Her road map home. She handed the book to Rafe. "There's a section for addresses in the back," she said. "Write down your number. I'll be in touch."
Rain drizzled through the boughs overhead in a shimmering gray mist. The smell of pines mingled with the scent of mud and wet leaves. The light was fading fast, turning the forest into a maze of dark trunks and eyeball-poking brush. It was an old National Guard post in West Virginia instead of a tropical rain forest, a selection exercise for the latest class of applicants to Delta Force, not a rescue mission, yet somehow Rafe's mind kept straying to those five days in Rocama.
It had been more than three weeks ago. It had been only one mission in hundreds. Why couldn't he get that one out of his mind?
Simple. It wasn't the mission, it was Glenna.
He leaned against an oak tree and rested his head against the trunk. Water fell from his hood and trickled down his neck into his collar. He was tired, and despite his poncho, he was wet. He should be able to ignore the discomfort. He usually could. That's what he'd been trained to do. But lately he'd had a hard time focusing. Everything he did seemed to remind him of her.
Take the rain. It reminded him of how wet they'd both been when the stream had carried them into that pool. And his boots. He couldn't lace them up without remembering how bravely she'd tried to walk in her borrowed boots, and how her bare foot had felt so good when she'd rubbed the sole on the back of his leg. Even the damn orange juice he'd had before heading out this morning had reminded him of her perfume. All he had to do was think of her lips on his skin and his body got hard.
He didn't have as active a sex life as Flynn had, but he was no monk. He knew he didn't have a face a woman would want to see across a breakfast table, but no one had complained about his body. He understood what women wanted from him and he enjoyed providing it. He'd provided it for Glenna.
Granted, his behavior had been inappropriate. Worse, it had been irresponsible. He'd never had sex without using a condom before.
Was that why she haunted him? Because there had been no barrier between his body and hers to dull the pleasure? Was it as simple as that?
Maybe. Or maybe it was a matter of male pride. He wanted the chance to do it right. On a bed. While he was fully awake. He would make sure she knew it was him she was holding and not simply a warm body in the dark.
Then again, the sex wasn't the only thing that haunted him. He missed her touch and her smile and the way she used to look at him. He missed the brave little tilt of her chin when she had told him she loved him. Had it really been just an illusion, a side effect of their circumstances? At times he almost hoped there would be a baby, just to make it real. Then he'd have an excuse to keep her.
Keep her? No, that's not what he wanted. His life was fine the way it was. Permanence was forother people, not him. And as for love, well, that wasn't for him, either. He'd had no right to listen to Glenna say those words. He had no right to hear them from anyone.
He scowled and wiped his face. It had been twenty-six days since she'd gone home. Was it too early for her to know for sure whether she was pregnant? And would she call him if she did know?
She'd said she'd be in touch. But she'd sounded as sincere as if she'd been promising to do lunch. She'd been eager to leave. She hadn't stayed at the base one more minute than necessary. Everything he'd predicted had come true.
He'd done the right thing. A quick, clean break and they could get on with their separate lives.
Except he kept thinking about her. He kept wanting her. No, that wasn't entirely true. He didn't want the woman who had looked at him so coolly and handed him that swanky address book. He wanted his Glenna.
He'd give her another week. If she didn't call him by then---
A slight change in the texture of the grayness in front of him was the only sign that Rafe was no longer alone. He dragged his mind back to his duty. The flat surface of another poncho slowly materialized out of the gloom.
The recruit was good at moving undetected, Rafe thought. The rain would have masked his footsteps to some degree, and the leaves on the ground were too wet to crackle, yet he'd also had the good sense to move a few hundred meters out of his way rather than crashing through the brush. It had taken him longer, but he would reach the objective within the allowed time.
Of course, none of the applicants were told how much time they had. It was up to them to decide whether they would go for speed or concentrate on stealth. Apart from the particular destination that had been marked on each individual map, everything about this exercise was up to the recruits, from getting themselves up in the morning to deciding how much of their rations they should consume in one day. This exercise wasn't about being a team player, it was about showing that they could be relied on to make the right decisions on their own.
Rafe stepped away from the relative concealment of the oak tree. "Orange Five?"
The man spun around, his hands and body moving reflexively into a classic defensive stance. There was an instant of tension when he caught sight of Rafe's face---given the rain and the eerie gloom of the forest, Rafe knew his appearance could spook even a seasoned solider. To his credit, the man recovered quickly and snapped a salute. "Yes, sir."
Sergeant Beliveau was an Army Ranger, one of the best of an elite unit. He'd been invited to apply to Delta because of his outstanding marksmanship and his skill with explosives. Yet his qualifications didn't carry any weight here. Today he was simply Orange Five. Tomorrow he would be Blue Three. Whether he'd ever be part of Delta wasn't yet certain.
Rafe extended his hand. "Give me your rucksack."
Beliveau did as he was asked. Rafe took a small spring-operated hand scale from under his poncho and attached the strap of the soldier's rucksack to the scale's hook. All the men had been told to maintain thirty pounds in their packs. That meant whatever water or foonsumed during the day had to be compensated for by adding extra weight.
Beliveau's rucksack was three pounds light.
Rafe made a note of the error on his clipboard. He didn't admonish the applicant, nor did he praise him for his orienteering skill. There would be no feedback whatsoever during the selection process, just as there seldom was feedback during a real mission. Delta needed people who could work independently, who relied on their own judgment and their conscience to do what was required of them. Few applicants succeeded. Sometimes the entire class washed out. Rafe wasn't sure about Sergeant Beliveau's chances, but he privately hoped the man would make it.
One slip shouldn't condemn a man. One moment of weakness didn't negate an otherwise spotless record. Sure, Delta wanted only the best of the best, but the men weren't machines. As long as the objective was achieved, why couldn't a soldier be human and think about the texture of a woman's hair in his fingers and the taste of her lips on his tongue...
Aw, hell. He was doing it again.
A message was waiting for Rafe when they returned to the base camp he and the rest of the selection team had set up for the exercise. He was to report back to Fort Bragg as soon as his replacement arrived.
Rafe felt a low buzz of interest stir in his veins. This could only mean one thing. Eagle Squadron was preparing for another mission.
Good. That was what he needed. Maybe then he'd be able to get Glenna off his mind.
Glenna ran her finger down a leaf of the potted fern that sat on her desk. "Yes, Mother," she said into the phone. "I realize how awful these past few weeks must have been for you. I'm sorry."
Her mother continued. "I had thought it was over, but a foreign-sounding man called this morning wanting information about you. Harrigan and the rest of the staff have done a wonderful job of putting these reporters off, of course, but it's disturbing."
Harrigan was the Vanderhayden butler, and was an even bigger stickler for proprieties than Glenna's mother. Still, the publicity hadn't been as bad as Glenna had feared---as usually happened in situations when Delta Force was involved, only the bare facts had been released to the media. When the press had learned that no one was willing to provide any details, they had soon lost interest. "I've been referring reporters to the army's public relations officer," Glenna said. "I'll give you the number again if you like."
"Oh, we have the number." A delicate sigh came through the line. "This whole situation is just so difficult. The strain has been very hard on me."
And what about me, Mother? Glenna thought. Don't you think it might have been difficult for me, too?
Naturally she didn't voice the thought aloud. She never did. She was the strong one, wasn't she? "Have you seen Dr. Gadsen?"
"Yes. Theodore is such a gem and always so understanding."
"What did he say?
"He's concerned about my blood pressure, as usual. He told me to avoid stress."
"That's good advice. How are you feeling today?"
"A little tired, but I'll manage. Oh, the Spencer-Smythes are coming to dinner tonight. You'll be here, too, won't you?"
Glenna stroked the leaf again. The segments parted under the pressure of her fingertip, then once more resumed their pattern.
That could be said about everything, couldn't it? Whatever external force was introduced, things just naturally wanted to fall back to the way they had always been. Like this fern. Like the pattern of her life.
And that was good. That was exactly what she wanted.
She withdrew her hand from the fern and leaned back in her chair. "I'm sorry, Mother. I was sure I'd mentioned this already. There's a fund-raiser this evening that I should oversee, so I won't be able to join you for dinner. The proceeds are going to the orphans of September Eleventh, and I want to make sure everything goes smoothly."
"Of course, that's such an important cause. What about afterward? There are some interesting people I'd love to introduce to you."
"Please, don't expect me. I don't know how long it will go on."
There was another delicate sigh and the clink of china. Glenna pictured her mother reclining on the antique chaise longue in the master bedroom, tapestry pillows behind her back and a gold-rimmed teacup in her tiny hands. Victoria Vanderhayden was a fragile woman. Glenna felt a familiar stab of guilt that she'd been the one to bring this latest scandal into her home. "But my calendar is clear for next Friday," Glenna said. "I promise I'll drive out to see you then, would that be all right?"
"That would be marvelous, darling. Shall we say sevenish?"
"More like seven-thirty."
"Wonderful. I'll have cook prepare something special. Wear the beaded Dior. It's so slimming."
Glenna hung up the phone, then closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the tight throb of an impending headache. Yes, everything was falling back into its familiar pattern.
There was a soft knock on her office door before it clicked open. "Miss Hastings?"
At her assistant's voice, Glenna schooled her features into a pleasant expression and looked up. "Yes, Janet?"
"The board meeting scheduled for next Wednesday has been postponed until Monday the week after." Janet Baker moved into the office, a large manilla envelope in her hand. She had started working for Glenna as an intern two years ago and still hadn't completely lost her puppy-dog eagerness. Glenna liked her because she usually spoke her mind. Janet paused in front of the desk, her hair flopping over her ears as she tilted her head to study the fern. "Is that another new plant?"
Glenna nodded. "Yes, I picked it up this morning after my meeting with the flori
"It looks nice."
"Yes, I thought so."
"It's amazing what a change a bit of greenery makes, Miss Hastings. This office looks so much better now that you've added all these plants. That's not to say it looked bad before," she added hurriedly. "I only meant---"
"It's all right, Janet. And I agree. I think it needed a splash of color." Glenna looked around. Rain drizzled down the windows, casting a restful gray sheen over the taupe walls and beige carpet. She'd always felt at ease in this office. The neutral colors were businesslike and unobtrusive. The teak furniture was uncluttered and functional. Yet the desk did look better with a vibrant green fern to interrupt the large expanse of wood. The potted palm beside the filing cabinet lent warmth to the room despite the rain. The narcissus on the credenza was just beginning to unfold its dainty white flowers, adding a touch of whimsy to the atmosphere.
A psychiatrist like Dr. Colbert would have a field day with this sudden interest in tropical flora. What did it mean? Was it symptomatic of a deeper problem? Was it an attempt to bring pieces of the rain forest back to Manhattan?
Perhaps. If so, it wasn't doing any harm. She had resumed her normal routine, just as she had been counseled to do. She was doing her best to look ahead, not back. She could go for hours at a time without thinking of Rafe.
And when she did, it didn't hurt quite as intensely anymore. She had everything in perspective now, so she rarely cried. And it had been days since she'd dialed his number. She never let the calls go through, of course---she was in control of her feelings.
Yes, she was much better now. She gestured toward the envelope that Janet held. "Is that the information I was waiting for?"
"Oh, right. It just came." Janet handed the envelope to Glenna. "But I'm confused. I thought we were working on a reception in Montego Bay."
"We are. This is for another project."
"In Rocama? But that's where your plane... I mean, why would anyone want to go there?"
"The entire country can't be blamed for the actions of a few individuals. I believe the Rocaman people would benefit from having a more varied economy." Glenna waited until Janet had closed the office door behind her, then took a deep breath and withdrew a sheaf of papers from the envelope.
There was more here than she'd anticipated. The regulations covering foreign investment in Rocama were an orgy of red tape. Without the cooperation of the island nation's government it could take years to work through it.
Proposing new investments wasn't part of Glenna's job. She didn't have the authority to determine the Winston Hotel chain's policy. Yet she knew most of the members of the board of directors, either professionally or socially. Many of them would be at the fund-raiser tonight, and she intended to make full use of the occasion to introduce her idea of developing a tourist resort in Rocama. If she could sway even one board member, then her preliminary study could be presented at the next meeting.
What would Dr. Colbert s about this? she wondered. More symptoms of being unable to let go? Or was it a means to bring closure to the memories?
At least Glenna's memories of the natural beauty of Rocama had been real. Her perception of that hadn't been distorted by stress. The research she'd done so far supported what she remembered---the island had tremendous tourism potential just waiting to be tapped.
Unfortunately, the Juarez family's influence appeared to extend all the way to the government. Leonardo Juarez liked things the way they were. As long as the country remained undeveloped, he could operate his criminal business with impunity. Why else would the Rocaman foreign ministry be so uncooperative?
Glenna slipped the envelope into the project file and set it on the side of her desk. She would wade through the remainder of this information later. There were too many other things to deal with that were part of her job, beginning with the threatened walkout by the hotel catering staff. The legal department was working on a new contract---she needed to check on their progress before she decided whether she should investigate other options for this evening.
She reached for the phone just as it buzzed. She tucked the receiver between her shoulder and her ear and picked up a pen. "Yes, Janet?"
"There's a Mr. Marek here to see you."
The pen dropped from her fingers. She couldn't have heard her assistant correctly. "Who?"
"Mr. Rafal Marek. He doesn't have an appointment." There was a pause. "What would you like me to tell him?"
The receiver clattered to the desk. Glenna fumbled it back into its cradle, then got to her feet so fast her chair toppled backward. Rafe was here. Here. Not in her memories or her dreams, but here at the hotel. On the other side of that taupe-painted wood panel.
She was halfway to the door before she caught herself. No. She wouldn't be a fool again. There would be no excuse this time. She was in control. She was strong. She wasn't some pathetic textbook case---
The office door slammed open. Rafe was framed in the opening, his hands at his sides, his weight on the balls of his feet in what she'd come to think of as his warrior's stance. His gaze scanned the office, then locked on Glenna. "Are you all right? I heard a crash."
His voice was the same. It sent bursts of pleasure over her nerves like hot syrup over dark chocolate. His big body filled the doorway, his shoulders impossibly wide beneath his black golf shirt. His eyes were even bluer than she remembered. The mere sight of him stirred a hunger she didn't need a psychologist to interpret.
"Miss Hastings, do you want me to call Security?"
Glenna brushed away Janet's question with a wave of her hand. She couldn't take her eyes off Rafe. He stepped into the room and closed the door.
For an endless moment they simply stared at each other. Glenna never knew who moved first. It didn't matter. Before she had time to whisper his name, she found herself in his arms.
He smelled like summer rain. Warm and free, the scent rolled over Glenna's senses in a breathtaking rush. There were other scents, too. Different ones. The tang of clean cotton that rose from his shirt, the hint of sandalwood from his cologne, soap, shampoo, toothpaste, all the trappings of civilization. Yet beneath it all was the familiar essence of Rafe.
Glenna pressed her face to his neck, rubbing her forehead along the side of his jaw. Unlike the other times he'd held her, this time there was no bristling stubble on his jaw to scratch her. His skin was smooth with a fresh shave. She parted her lips over the pulse that beat beneath his ear. His heart was racing like hers.
The tropical plants in her office were bad enough. So were the phone calls to Rafe she never completed. But this embrace was truly insane.
Yet Glenna didn't want to pay attention to the voice of reason that was struggling to be heard in the logical, controlled corner of her brain. How could she? Rafe's arms were living steel around her back and her body was fitting itself so naturally to his that she felt as if she were flowing into him.
It wasn't love. She still had enough of a grip on reality to realize that much. The books and the doctor had to have been right about that---love took longer than five days. This was infatuation, that's all.
That's all? She could barely breathe. The heat that gathered between her legs was turning her knees to rubber. If it had merely been infatuation, it should have faded by now, shouldn't it? She hooked her arms around Rafe's neck and leaned back to look at his face.
He was smiling.
Oh, God. How was she supposed to think when the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled and his mouth was shaped into that sensuous curve? Deep, masculine dimples framed his lips, folding a crooked line of softness into his scarred cheek. She wanted to kiss him so badly her lips swelled.
But she had to think. She had to be practical. She was back in the real world. Her world. She wasn't some pathetic, stressed-out victim of a hijacking....
No more and no less important than any of the other hostages.
The memory of the words she'd overheard Rafe say the last time she'd seen him helped to send strength back to her knees. What on earth was she doing? She couldn't go through this again. She knew that. Yet she couldn't seem to help herself...
I'm sorry, Glenna. I couldn't help myself.
That's exactly what her father had said when she'd walked into his office that day her faith in love had been shattered. Was this what he'd felt? This driving, pulsing need that overrode common sense and reason?
Glenna glanced past Rafe to the door. He'd closed it behind him, but it wasn't locked. Anyone could walk in. It was a wonder that her assistant hadn't checked on her yet. What if Janet had called Security after all?
She'd thought she was in control of her feelings. Damn Rafe Marek. What made him think hewalk back into her life after he'd done such a thorough job of shutting her out of his?
Rafe sensed the change in Glenna's body well before he saw the change in her expression. Her back straightened. Her shoulders stiffened. She was pulling herself back into the elegant, power-suited businesswoman he'd seen when he'd opened the door.
He should let her go. Take his hands off her and step back. Chalk up her reaction when she'd seen him to surprise and get on with the business that had brought him here. Forget about the leap of yearning he'd felt when he'd seen her run to him.
Sure. In a minute. But first there was something he'd been wanting to do for four weeks.
He cupped the back of her head, fitting his palm over the smooth twist of her tamed hair. Instead of the softness he remembered, he felt the hard poke of a hairpin and the crispness of hair spray. That jarred him, but he tightened his grip and brought his mouth down on hers anyway.
He tasted lip gloss and coffee. He increased the pressure, searching for something familiar. Her lips trembled briefly, but they didn't part. She didn't moan. She didn't hold him. She brought her hands between them and pushed at his chest.
He lifted his head.
Her eyes searched his. Her gaze was more wary than he'd ever seen. "Why, Rafe?" she asked.
"Why? What are you talking about?"
"Why are you kissing me?"
"To say hello."
"I thought we had this straight. What happened between us, it's over."
"Then why did you run to me just now?"
"I was surprised, and I'm...pleased to see you. Because I'm grateful."
It sounded as if she were reciting a list. "Is that why you kissed my neck?"
She gave him another push. "Call it a reflex action." A spark of anger flared in her eyes. "You know all about those, don't you? Reflex reactions?"
He'd never seen her angry before, he realized. It was...intriguing. "Glenna..."
"Why are you here, Rafe?"
"You were supposed to call me."
"What?"
"Did you lose my number?"
"No. I just...never got around to it. Let go of me, Rafe. We're not in the jungle anymore."
"Right." He released her and stepped back. "Guess you've been too busy to call, what with your job and all those fancy dinner parties at your mother's."
"Yes, that's right." She smoothed the front of her jacket. "How have you been?"
"Fine."
"And your "It's fine, too." He dropped his gaze. She'd smoothed the wrinkles their embrace had left in her jacket, but her skirt was still slightly twisted. Her long, slender legs had the subtle sheen of sheer hose and a pair of classy-looking high heels were on her feet. "Your ankle seems better."
"Yes, it's completely healed, thank you."
"And those scrapes on your knees are gone."
"They weren't serious. Would you like some coffee?" she asked, turning back toward her desk. "I'll order a fresh pot."
She was retreating into herself before his eyes. Treating him like a stranger.
Well, that's what he'd expected, wasn't it? That's what the psych training advised. But Rafe didn't like it now any more than he'd liked it when she'd done the same thing at the hospital.
He caught her elbow before she could move past him. "Glenna, wait."
Her arm trembled in his grasp. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "No coffee? Would you prefer tea?"
"I don't want anything except an answer."
"I'm sorry, I don't remember you asking me a question. What was it you wanted to know?"
He drew her back to face him. "Are you pregnant?"
She shook her head.
He ducked down so that he could see into her eyes. "Glenna, are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Three days after I got home, I---" She cleared her throat. "My body rhythm is as regular as clockwork. I assure you, Rafe, there isn't any baby."
He was unprepared for the disappointment that went through him. It wasn't rational. He should be pleased---this was one complication he didn't have to worry about. "The odds were against it."
"And luck appeared to be with us. Was there anything else you wanted to see me about?"
"Are you dismissing me, Glenna?"
"I do have several items that need my attention before the end of the day, so unless you have some other business..." She looked at the place where he held her arm.
"I want you to come back to Fort Bragg with me."
"What?"
"As soon as possible."
"But I told you I'm not pregnant. You don't have to pretend we have a relationship. Because we don't, Rafe. You were right about everything. Absolutely everything. I realize I made a fool of myself, and I apologize again if my behavior made you uncomfortable. You were only trying to do your job. I had no right to push you into that...unwanted intimacy."
"You didn't need to push very hard, Glenna." He let go of her elbow and stroked his hand along her cheek. "You're a desirable woman."
She jerked her head away from his touch and walked to the window. Folding her arms tightly over her chest, she stared through the rain at the street below. "Rafe, there's no point to this."
"To what?"
"Why couldn't you just phone me? Or say hello like normal people do instead of charging through the door as if you're on some mission?"
"But I am. I want you to come back to Bragg with me. I need---"
"No."
He moved behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "It would only be for a few days. A week at the most."
She knocked his hand away so hard his knuckles stung. "However pathetic I might have seemed to you, I do have a life here. I've put myself back together. I'm not the woman you knew."
He could see that. This woman wore lipstick and hair spray and had a temper. "I'm aware that you have a life. I realize your absence would be difficult to explain, but in the interests of security my commander wants you to keep the visit confidential."
"Your commander?" She turned to face him. "What does he have to do with our personal business? Or did you document everything we shared in some military report?"
He was making a complete mess out of this, he realized. What was it about Glenna that didn't let him think straight? "Glenna, what happened between us is private, and it has nothing to do with this. I need you back at Bragg to help my team prepare for a mission."
"What?"
"We're going after Juarez at his compound. You've seen more of it than I have. We need your memories of the layout in order to plan our assault."
A siren whined outside. A car honked. Glenna slowly stepped away from the window. "Are you saying that you need me to help plan your mission?"
"Yes. Juarez has to be brought to justice. He belongs in the same prison as his brother Arturo and we're going to put him there."
"And is that why you came here today?"
"Essentially."
She pressed her fingertips to her mouth, staring at him over manicured nails the color of her lipstick. "That's why you want me at the base," she murmured.
"Yes."
"I misunderstood."
"I realize that. I'm sorry."
"I'd thought you wanted me there because of our...personal relationship."
"You claimed we don't have a personal relationship."
She dropped her hand and lifted her chin. "We don't. Not anymore."
"Then there's no reason why you shouldn't help us."
"I can't simply leave my job, Rafe. I have responsibilities
"Don't you want to get Juarez?"
"Of course, I do," she said fiercely. "I've been working on that in my own way."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm putting together a study about developing a resort in Rocama. I'm hoping it can be presented to the hotel board. It would give the population an alternative to working for Juarez."
"I remember you told me about that idea. It has merit. But it would be easier to pursue once Juarez is in custody. His family has too many connections in the government who wouldn't want your project to succeed."
"Yes, I've already run into that."
"What about your other responsibilities? Is there any possibility of delegating them?"
"Maybe some of them, but---"
"Then come with me now. We can get started tonight."
"No, not tonight." She walked to her desk and flipped open a familiar-looking leather-covered book. "I can postpone some appointments and have my assistant handle the rest, but I can't leave until tomorrow at the earliest."
He followed her across the room. He noticed the chair behind her desk was on its back. Was that the crash he'd heard earlier? He righted it and slid it into place. "Then you'll help us?"
"I don't know how much help I could be, Rafe. I didn't see much more of Juarez's house than you did."
"Even the smallest detail could prove vital to the success of the assault, Glenna. Knowing in advance which way a door swings open could save someone's life."
"Will you be participating in the assault?"
"There's nothing in this world that could stop me."
She studied him in silence, then dipped her head in an affirmative. "All right."
He caught her hands. "Thanks, Glenna."
She tugged her hands free. "On one condition."
"Name it."
"Our relationship will be strictly business."
He wanted to argue the point, but that wouldn't be rational, either. As always, his first priority had to be the mission, not the woman. "Whatever you say."
"Fine. I'll check my calendar and get back to you."
Rafe had heard that before. He pushed aside a potted fern, propped his hip against her desk and crossed his arms. He wasn't going to let Glenna slip away from him again. For the good of the mission, of course. "If it's all the same to you, I'll wait here."
This was definitely insane, Glenna thought, pressing her palm over her stomach in an effort to quiet the butterflies. How could considering going back to Fort Bragg with Rafe? How could she see him without remembering what a fool she'd made of herself? And how could she work with him when she couldn't forget what it felt like to slide naked down his body?
But he'd said every detail that might be stored in her memories could be important. And he would be participating in the assault. What if Rafe was hurt because she'd refused to help?
There really wasn't any choice. She had to go. It would be all right. She could do this. She simply had to make sure it was on her terms.
No more hugs. No more references to the past. And the next time he wanted to say hello, he would have to settle for a handshake.
"Miss Hastings, we have a problem in the kitchen."
The butterflies gathered into a heavy knot. Glenna dropped her hand, her palm brushing over the folds of her dress. Mindful of the guests around them, she kept a pleasant expression on her face despite her assistant's panicked tone. "What happened, Janet?"
"The head chef walked out."
Glenna did a quick survey of the room. The Winston Hotel's main ballroom had been transformed into a sparkling starscape for the evening. Tiny lights twinkled from swaths of midnight-blue velvet that draped the walls. Silver cloths covered the tables that were being prepared for the banquet, which was due to start in thirty minutes. Beneath the cascades of crystal that formed the ballroom's three chandeliers, the hotel's waiters were moving smoothly through the crowd, offering trays of hors d'oeuvres. The threatened walkout hadn't materialized, but not everyone was satisfied with the new contract. "The head chef isn't part of the union," Glenna said.
"This has nothing to do with the union," Janet said. "His wife went into labor and he's on his way to meet her at the hospital."
"How far along---"
"Apparently the labor was well advanced. It's their third child, so she'll probably give birth any minute."
"I meant how far along were the dinner preparations?"
"The main course is taken care of, but he was in the middle of supervising dessert."
"See if the sous-chef can carry on without him."
"But he left strict instructions that no one could touch anything."
The satin evening purse that hung from Glenna's bare shoulder began to vibrate against her hip. She held up her palm to ask Janet to wait as she opened her bag and took out her phone. "Glenna Hastings," she said.
The voice was distorted by static and difficult to make out. Glenna pressed her fingers over her other ear and the reason for the poor reception soon became apparent. Four of the six musicians who should have set up forty minutes ago were stuck in a traffic jam in the Midtown Tunnel. Glenna told them to do their best, then terminated the call and turned to her assistant. "Janet, I need you to go to the lounge on the main floor and bring back the piano player. He'll have to fill in until the other musicians get here. We can only hope they make it before the dancing is suppoed to start."
"The piano player? What about the chef?"
"He thinks he's indispensable, but I'm sure the rest of the kitchen staff can muddle through without his leadership. Oh, and make a note to send a gift to the chef's new baby. That should head off any tantrums."
"The baby's?"
"The chef's."
Janet smiled. "You make it sound so simple."
"Simple solutions are usually the best."
"I'll have to remember that when you're on vacation next week. I'm glad you're going. I don't mean I'm glad you'll be away, I just mean you never take time off and..." Janet's words trailed away as her gaze went past Glenna's shoulder. Her lips pursed as if she had just tasted something unpleasant. "Uh, Miss Hastings?"
What now? Glenna thought. "Yes?"
"That man's here."
"Excuse me?"
"The one with those scars."
The butterflies unfolded from their knot in her stomach and started to dance, music or no music. She hadn't thought he would come. She hadn't thought she would be so pleased to hear that he had come, either. Glenna fought the urge to glance behind her and kept her gaze on her assistant. Her tone hardened. "Do you mean Mr. Marek, Janet?"
"Uh, yes. I think that was his name. What's he doing here? I thought he was one of the workmen who were setting up the decorations."
"Why would you assume that?"
"The way he was dressed when he came to your office. And his...uh, size."
"Actually, he's Master Sergeant Marek of the United States Army Special Forces and he's here as my guest."
"Oh, my gosh. Was he part of the group that rescued you?"
"Yes."
"That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"How you can bear to look at...I mean..." Janet paused. "I'm sorry. That must have sounded awful. I'm sure he's a very nice man."
"And I'm sure you're not so shallow as to judge someone solely on the basis of their appearance. Now, if you're quite finished making personal comments about the guests, would you mind going to the lounge to fetch the piano player as I asked you to, Janet?"
A dull flush appeared in her cheeks. She nodded and hurried off.
Glenna felt as if she'd just kicked a puppy. She usually liked it when Janet spoke her mind, but she wouldn't tolerate anyone making remarks like that about Rafe, no matter who they were. She focused on her phone again and dialed the number that would connect her with the kitchen. Whi listened to the sous-chef expound as excitedly as a Broadway understudy on his sudden chance to step in for the star, she turned in a circle, trying to look casual as she scanned the room.
The crowd was growing larger by the minute, but the noise level wasn't yet above a genteel hum---the guests who had paid the thousand dollars a plate to attend were generally too well mannered to shout. They were the kind of people Glenna had grown up with---men who kept several tuxedoes in their closets, women who wore earrings that cost more than what it took to feed and house an orphan for a year. They could well afford to contribute to charity.
She spotted a retired mayor, two senators and a prominent art gallery owner. She also spotted Abernathy Black, the executive director of the Winston chain. If she wanted to approach him tonight with her idea about investing in Rocama, she'd have to make sure to do it before he got into the champagne. She wouldn't want a repeat of that awkward kiss last New Year's.
But she wouldn't mind a repeat of the kiss Rafe had given her this afternoon...
No. She wasn't going to go there. Any relationship she had with Rafe now was going to be strictly business.
"Hello, Glenna. Looking for someone?"
The rush of pleasure she felt at his voice made her start. She forced herself to maintain her calm as she put away her phone and turned to face him. "Rafe, I'm glad you decided to attend. It should be a..."
The banal chitchat dried up on her tongue. She didn't mean to stare, but she couldn't help it. "You're wearing a tuxedo."
"Something wrong with that?"
"No, not at all. You look..." She had to swallow hard to keep from blurting out the truth. Who needed a chef to prepare dessert? Her pulse was already racing as if she were having a sugar rush. Rafe looked good enough to make her mouth water.
He was six feet three of masculine elegance, from his polished black shoes to the snow-white shirt that was buttoned snugly at his tanned throat. The formal cut of the suit emphasized the strong lines of his body in a way that no padding or clever tailoring could ever mimic. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his virile appeal. He wore the sophisticated clothes with the same careless confidence he'd displayed when he'd strode naked from that moonlit pool in Rocama.
There went her knees again. She offered her hand in her best businesslike greeting. "Black seems to suit you," she said finally.
He enclosed her hand in his, one corner of his mouth curving upward through his scars in a lopsided and utterly lethal smile. "You look illegal in that dress."
Oh, God. Why did he have to smile? This was twice in one day and she was already having enough trouble with her knees.
And compared to the other dresses that could be seen in this room, Glenna's would be considered modest. The beaded straps bared her shoulders, but no more than a shadow of her cleavage was visible above the neckline. The bias-cut jade fabric did tend to cling to her figure, but the skirt fell to mid-calf. She had no reason to feel as if Rafe could see through it, despite the fact that he did know what she looked like---and felt like---undher clothes.
Stick to business, she reminded herself. "Thank you. I trust your room is satisfactory?"
"It's more than I expected, Glenna. Thanks for having the hotel put me up."
"It was the least I could do. You wouldn't have been comfortable camping out in my office."
"I've slept in worse places."
"I know."
His hand tightened. His smile faded. The gleam that appeared in his gaze was at odds with his civilized clothes. Was he remembering how she'd slept in his arms, how his touch had made her forget the dank cement storeroom and the darkness of the jungle? Was he thinking of how she'd stretched herself over his naked body...?
She had to stop this obsession with nakedness. Their relationship was over. She simply had to try harder to believe that.
Her evening bag vibrated. She was grateful for the interruption, even if it did mean another problem. "Excuse me a minute, would you, Rafe?" She freed her hand and reached for her phone. "I need to take this. We're having some...labor problems."
Rafe stepped back and listened as Glenna went into action. She didn't need to raise her voice---she issued advice and instructions with natural authority. If she ever joined the service, she'd be officer material for sure.
And then he'd really be in trouble, because if he ever wanted to do to an officer what he wanted to do to Glenna...
He imagined leaning over and closing his teeth around those beaded straps that held up her dress. One strap at a time, he'd drag them over her shoulders. He'd use his teeth to get rid of the rest of what she wore, too. That way he'd be able to taste every inch of her skin as he revealed it.
"Glenna, darling!" A ruthlessly thin woman in a red dress brushed past Rafe's arm and stood on tiptoe to kiss the air beside Glenna's cheek. "How fabulous to see you looking so well after that horrible business last month. Your mother was so worried, wasn't she, Miron?"
"Terribly. How are you, Glenna?" A florid-faced man with thinning white hair repeated the air-kissing ritual. He stepped on Rafe's toe as he backed up. He glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, pardon me, sir. It's such a crush tonight, but all for a good...cause..."
Rafe lifted one eyebrow as he watched the man fumble for something to say. So far, these society types had been too polite to stare. Mostly they just averted their eyes and found somewhere else to be. He wondered how this man would have reacted if he'd run into him at dusk in a rain-soaked West Virginian forest.
To his surprise, Rafe felt Glenna's hand settle inside the crook of his elbow as she moved smoothly to his side. "Rafe, I'd like you to meet Candy and Miron Thomas. They're very dear friends of my mother's." She gave the couple a tight smile. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Master Sergeant Marek. He and his team were the ones who rescued me last month. With his busy schedule, we're all lucky he agreed to attend tonight."
Candyressed his chin. "Ah, then you must be in the military, Captain Marek?"
"Yes, ma'am. And it's Sergeant."
"How fabulous. Miron's second cousin was an admiral or something. He and his wife give the loveliest parties when they're in town. You must know him. Hancock Thomas."
"Sorry, ma'am. We don't move in the same circles. I'm in the army, not the navy."
Candy's laugh was as thin as her body. She patted Glenna's hand and snagged her husband. "Oh, look, Miron. Isn't that Bunky? We simply must go and say hello. Fabulous meeting you, Major. Talk to you later, Glenna."
Rafe waited until they had moved out of earshot before he dipped his head toward Glenna. "I don't need rescuing," he said.
"I'm sure you don't. They're nice people once you get to know them."
"They give out promotions pretty easily, too. Look, I know you're working. If I'm cramping your style, I'll come back later."
"Don't go yet. Actually, I'd like you to do me a favor."
"Name it."
"See that man to the right of the exit doors? He's about my height and has black hair with a white streak above his left temple."
Rafe followed her gaze. "Sure. What about him?"
"That's Abernathy Black. I wanted to run my idea about the Rocaman resort past him, and it would be great if you could help me."
"How? You want me to take him outside and rough him up if he doesn't agree?"
She laughed, twisting her head to look at him. "No, Rafe, I'd like it if you could help me describe how beautiful the island is."
For a moment he couldn't breathe. He'd never heard Glenna laugh before. It was another new aspect of her, like her temper. And it was even more intriguing. "I didn't pay much attention to the scenery," he said. He ran the edge of his knuckles along her cheek. "Yet I do have a vivid memory of the beauty I saw."
Her smile faltered.
He knew he shouldn't be touching her. He knew he shouldn't be talking like this, either. Still, compared to what he wanted to do, this was nothing. "It's strange, Glenna, but in all the time we spent together, you never laughed."
"I never knew you had a sense of humor."
"I don't. It's only army issue."
Her lips twitched with another bubble of laughter. He touched his finger to her lower lip and imagined putting his mouth there. After he dragged her clothes off with his teeth. After he kissed the rest of her body...
Kissed. The name finally made the connection in his head. His fingers curled into a fist. "Abernathy Black?" he muttered. "Isn't that the guy who kissed you?"
"We've forgotten about it. We have a good working relationship, and I need him on my side to get my project in front of the board."
Rafe dropped his hand. No man could forget kissing Glenna, or be content with a working relationship after getting a taste of more. He'd only be fooling himself. That applied to skunk-haired what's-his-name over there as much as it applied to Rafe.
Dammit, what did he think he was doing? Did he honestly believe he'd be able to work with Glenna and keep himself from touching her? So far he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her for more than a minute. How was he going to live up to their agreement for another week? If he didn't...
What? Would she refuse to help them? That was unlikely. He was certain that she was as determined to get Juarez as he was. Rafe hadn't accepted Glenna's invitation to this black-tie fund-raiser in order to keep an eye on her---he knew she wouldn't back out now. No, he wasn't here because of the mission, he was here because of her. Just hearing her laugh had been worth the cost of the tux rental.
They had nothing in common. It was more obvious than ever that they came from separate worlds. She was no longer the stressed-out and vulnerable hostage he was duty-bound to protect, yet the physical attraction was still there. It wasn't only him---she'd been a full participant in the embrace this afternoon before she'd had second thoughts. As long as they were both clear about what was going on between them, why should he continue to fight this?
Right now, with Glenna's hand on his arm and her body warm against his side, he couldn't think of a single valid reason.
"Rafe?"
She was no longer looking at him. She was looking toward good old Abernathy. But she didn't appear interested, she appeared...concerned.
Rafe glanced across the room. "What is it?" he asked.
"See the dark-haired man who's talking to Abernathy? Does he seem familiar to you?"
He wrenched his thoughts away from Glenna. There was something about the way Black's companion held his shoulders and the tilt of his head that rang a bell. His back was toward them, yet when he punctuated something he was saying by a flick of his fingers, Rafe felt his senses go on alert.
The last time he'd seen that same careless gesture, half a second later he'd had the butt of a rifle slammed into his gut.
The dark coloring, the height, the weight, it all fit. But the resemblance had to be coincidence. Leonardo Juarez had no reason to be here. He wouldn't dare.
Or would he? Juarez was arrogant enough to consider himself invincible. He had the money and the connections to show up wherever he wanted.
Still with his back toward them, the man started to move toward the exit doors. Rafe gave Glenna's arm a gentle squeeze. "Stay put, okay?"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to check this out."
"Rafe, be careful."
"Hey, what could happen? Like you said, we're not in the jungle anymore."
Glenna paced over to the window and looked out at the city. Lights twinkled through the rain from constellations of steel and glass that lit up the night. The traffic that splashed along the street in front of the hotel had grown sparse, but it would never cease completely. All around her were the sounds of technology: the low hum of the printer beside her desk, the whisper of the air-conditioning, the distant whoop of a siren and the rumble of a jet heading toward the Atlantic.
We're not in the jungle anymore.
Rafe was right. All she had to do was look and listen and that much should be obvious.
Yet reality could be confusing at times. If her feelings for Rafe weren't real, then why hadn't they disappeared? If the infatuation had only been a result of their situation, then why did he affect her the same way now, in her world, a month later?
The glittering starscape in the ballroom had lost its sparkle once he'd left. He'd actually been flirting with her. And she hadn't stopped him, she'd enjoyed it. Maybe she should have agreed to go back to the base with him immediately. It might be better to get this over with now before her feelings could become more confused.
She pulled back from the window, her gaze straying to her reflection in the glass. Only the lamp on her desk was lit, so her face was mostly in shadow. A lock of hair had pulled loose from her twist. She raised her hands, locating one of her hairpins so she could tuck it back into place.
Instead, she found herself studying her image. When had she started to wear her hair up? She couldn't remember. It was something she was accustomed to, another part of the pattern that defined her life. Yet it wasn't comfortable---the pins often poked at her scalp. She frowned and removed the hairpin. Another lock tumbled to her neck.
"I thought I'd find you here."
She whirled around, her pulse taking a hard leap. She pressed her hand to her chest. "Rafe!"
He stepped into the office and closed the door. His tie was undone, his collar opened. He held his black jacket hooked over his shoulder by one finger. "Isn't it a little late to be working?"
Had Glenna thought he looked attractive in a tuxedo? He looked even more devastating with the tuxedo half-off. "I wanted to print out a report," she explained.
"I looked for you downstairs, but they said you'd left. The man I followed wasn't Juarez."
"I know. Abernathy said the name of the man he'd been talking to was Tony Garrido. He's a businessman from Nicaragua."
"Yeah, that's what the desk clerk at the Marriott said after I followed him there." Rafe passed his free hand through his hair and shook off the water that dripped from his fingersasn't able to see Garrido's face, but there wasn't any point pursuing him further. I called the base from the Marriott lobby and, according to the latest intelligence reports, Juarez hasn't left his compound for two days."
Glenna took a step forward. "You're wet."
"It's raining. Garrido found a cab, I didn't."
"Oh, Rafe. I'm sorry. I should have realized I was mistaken but---"
"No problem, I'll dry." He swung his jacket off his shoulder and regarded it ruefully. "I don't think I'll be getting my deposit back on this tux, though."
"I'll have the hotel take care of it."
"It doesn't matter. I got my money's worth." The single lamp that burned lit his features as softly as a flickering fire. "You look beautiful tonight, Glenna. That color becomes you."
She turned away. She had to. Otherwise, she was going to start remembering how he'd looked at her before. Or how she'd believed he'd looked. God, this was confusing. "I have a towel with my workout clothes," she said, brushing past the potted palm to reach her filing cabinet. She pulled open the bottom drawer and took out her blue nylon athletic bag. Her fingers shook as she opened the zipper. "I use the hotel health club on my lunch hour sometimes. Here," she said, holding out a white towel. "It's clean."
"Wouldn't matter if it wasn't." He hung his jacket from the back of her desk chair and walked toward her. "We've shared sweat before."
The memory hit her without warning. Sunlight filtering through palm leaves, Rafe's body sliding over hers, his skin slick, his breath hot...
Stick to business, she told herself. "I do apologize about sending you on that wild-goose chase," she said. "At the time I was sure it was Juarez, but that was probably because he was on my mind since we'd just been talking about Rocama. The resemblance was just coincidence coupled with the power of suggestion."
He took the towel from her hand and wiped his face. He rubbed his hair, then looped the towel around the back of his neck and tightened his fists over each end. "I saw the resemblance too, Glenna. It wasn't only you."
"Then we were both mistaken."
"Yeah. Sometimes we see what we want to see."
Like passion? Like love? She crossed her arms and eased a step backward.
He tossed the towel aside and moved closer. "Did you still want me to talk to Abernathy for you?" he asked.
The shoulders of his shirt were damp. The white fabric outlined muscles she had clung to and had kissed. She pressed her lips together briefly before she replied. "No, it's okay. Oddly enough, he'd already heard about my plan for the tourist resort. I believe my assistant has been gossiping."
"Will he support you?"
"He hasn't decided yet. He wanted to see more deta" She gestured toward the printer. It spat out the final sheet of paper and beeped to signal the job was finished. "That's why I was printing out the report."
"Is he expecting you to give it to him now?"
"No, I thought I'd better wait until tomorrow."
His jaw tensed. "Was he drunk? Did he try anything?"
She shook her head quickly. "No, of course not. I told you, we have a good working rela---"
"Bull."
"Excuse me?"
"I guarantee you, he hasn't forgotten what you taste like, Glenna. No man could."
"Rafe---"
"Maybe you should finish what you started."
"What?"
There was a pause. "When I got here you were taking your hair down." He caught the lock of hair she had loosened and rubbed it between his thumb and fingers. His nostrils flared. "You have incredibly soft hair, Glenna."
Her nails scored her palms as she struggled to keep from leaning into his touch. For a large man, he'd always been surprisingly gentle. He searched out the rest of her hairpins with his fingertips. One by one, he eased them free and dropped them on the floor. They made no noise as they hit the carpet. She wouldn't have heard them anyway over the rush of her heartbeat.
He worked his fingers into her hair, his eyes half-closing in pleasure. "Does that feel better?" he murmured.
It was heaven. But it was wrong. "Rafe, we shouldn't do this."
"Why not?"
"What do you mean, 'why not?' How many times do we have to go over it? You explained it all to me in humiliating detail."
"That's because I didn't want you to have regrets, Glenna. I knew you wouldn't see things the same once you got home. But now we are home."
She couldn't help it. She tilted her head to get more of his touch. "What difference does that make? What we shared wasn't real."
He stroked her hair from her forehead, running the pads of his thumbs along her temples. "The sex was always real, Glenna."
"But---"
"The sex was real," he repeated. "Only your reasons for it weren't."
Her reasons. He meant stress, gratitude and desperation masquerading as love. She'd believed she was in love. "I...wasn't in my right mind. The doctor explained that."
"But now you are."
Was she? Then why was she standing here letting him touch her? Why was she leaning closer and slipping her hands around his waist? His pant legs were damp from the rain. She could feel the moisture soak into her skirt. It was unexpectedly intimat
He ran his knuckles along her cheek. "I did what the shrinks wanted. I stayed away from you for almost a month, but I haven't been able to get you out of my head."
Tears pricked behind her eyes. Damn him. She'd thought she had this all under control. She'd believed she'd put everything back in the bottle. But he was coaxing it out again as easily as he'd freed her hair. "Why are you doing this now, Rafe? We had agreed we'd keep this strictly business."
"That was a mistake. I should have realized it sooner."
"It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is. This afternoon, you asked me a question. I'd like to answer it now."
"What question?"
"You asked me why I kissed you. Remember?"
"You told me it was to say hello."
"It was more than that." He leaned down and nuzzled his nose into her hair. "I've always tried to be honest with you, Glenna. You know that, don't you?"
She nodded. It was true. She'd trusted him from the start, even when he'd said things she hadn't wanted to hear.
"It doesn't seem to matter where we are or how you're dressed." He pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her ear. His breath whispered over her skin. "I still want you."
His shirt bunched in her fingers. His words sent a shudder through her thighs. Reality was shifting. Everything was turning upside down. He'd always done his best to resist her advances, or to make excuses. This time he was the one trying to seduce her instead of the other way around.
It was intoxicating. It was... "Crazy," she murmured. "This is crazy."
He traced his tongue along the side of her neck and kissed her shoulder. "I won't tell the shrinks if you don't."
She felt the light brush of his lips. Seconds later, the strap of her dress was sliding down her arm. He followed it, pressing his mouth to the upper curve of her breast.
She caught his face in her hands. She couldn't pretend it was to push him away. She held him where he was and arched her back, reveling in the sensations. She could feel his power in the taut quivering of his body next to hers. She knew the strength he was capable of, yet this tenderness was more potent than force. Beneath her palms she felt his cheeks shift into another smile.
There was nothing else she could do. She angled his face toward hers and kissed him.
It kept getting better. She didn't know why. She'd been sure her wishful thinking and her imagination had distorted the kisses they'd shared in Rocama, yet this kiss was even sweeter. The new tastes brought depth to the old. She stepped closer, her discarded hairpins clicking under the soles of her shoes. Parting her lips, she lost herself in the pleasure he gave.
His chest rumbled with a sound too primal for words. He kissed her until they were both straining for breath, then clamped one arm behind herst and lifted her from her feet. Somehow, they ended up at her desk. He pushed aside the lamp and the fern and sat her down on the edge, then braced his hands on either side of her, bent down and caught the neckline of her dress in his teeth.
Suddenly Glenna felt as if time were collapsing. They were back in the clearing near the pool. He was lowering his head to her breast. She was swaying into him, desperate for the passion that would take her away from the nightmare.
I love you, Rafe.
But he hadn't spoken of love. He'd spoken of sex, of wanting. That's all.
But she loved him.
No, she couldn't love him. It was infatuation, physical attraction, her own messed-up emotions.
But she was home. She was better. Why were the words still trembling on her lips?
She pushed at his shoulders. He was as immovable as a rock wall. She flattened her palms on the desktop and shoved, crumpling papers as she slid backward a few inches.
He lifted his head. His gaze burned into hers. "Glenna?"
"Rafe, I...this is too fast."
He smiled. "I thought you liked it fast, but we've got all night. We'll do it however you want." He moved his hands to her thighs and eased them apart, then stepped between her knees. The smooth, damp fabric of his pant legs rubbed over her skin. A moment later, she felt the warmth of his palm slip under her skirt.
She trembled, her breath hitching. "Rafe, wait. Stop."
His smile faded. His fingers dug into her bare thigh.
She caught his arms. "Please. It really is too fast. I have to think."
He leaned over her, his arms cording into ridges of muscle under the sleeves of his dress shirt. His chest pressed into her breasts, sending flickers of sharp pleasure to her hardened nipples. "Don't," he said.
"Don't think?"
"Don't pull back into that other woman. The one who hides her glorious hair in a bun and who writes phone numbers in that leather address book and then never calls."
"But that's who I am, Rafe."
"No, that's only a part of you. I've seen what's underneath, Glenna. I've tasted your passion. That's why I haven't been able to forget you."
His words were as seductive as his touch, as the awesome strength in his body.
He was right. The sex had been real. It would be so easy to use it as an escape again. All she had to do was spread her legs a little wider, lean back and let it happen.
"Don't you want me, Glenna?"
It was the most seductive thing of all. Not what he said, but the look in his eyes when he said it. For a heartbeat she saw the tormented soul who had wept for the brother he'd been unable to save. She saw the loneliness and the longing she'd glimpsed by the light of their final fire. She saw the waror who used his scars and his devotion to his duty to push everyone away from his heart.
She laid her hand against the lines on his cheek. "Yes, I want you, Rafe. As you said, the sex was real."
He turned his head to close his lips over her thumb.
"But I need more than that."
He licked her nail and sucked gently.
"I need my reasons for it to be real."
Something flared in his eyes. He nudged her hand over and placed a kiss in the center of her palm. "Come back to my room with me, Glenna. I'll make it real for the rest of the night." With the tip of his tongue he traced a line to the inside of her wrist.
"You don't understand, Rafe."
He straightened up and pulled her from the desk to her feet. He thrust both hands into her hair, lifting her onto her toes. "I understand perfectly. I want you. You want me. Why make it more complicated?"
"It isn't complicated at all, Rafe. I had sex with you because I believed I was in love with you."
"What happened before doesn't matter. We're home now. The situation---"
"But it does matter." She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. When had she started shouting? She blinked and focused on his face. "It does matter," she repeated, striving to control the shaking in her voice. "It matters to me. When passion is confused with love, people get hurt. That's why I've always tried to be careful. I've seen the damage people do."
His grip on her head loosened. "Glenna, you shouldn't be afraid of who you are. You're not like your father."
"I can't be sure of that."
"No one's going to get hurt if the two of us give each other pleasure in private." He kissed the tip of her nose. "We're both adults. We're both unattached." He placed a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry for the pain you went through when you were growing up, but that was years ago. I thought you wanted to let go of your past."
"Then why haven't you?"
"What do you mean? What past?"
"You're afraid of getting close to anyone."
He smoothed his hands down her shoulders and flicked the drooping straps of her dress. "Let me take off the rest of your clothes and I'll show you how close we can get."
"I'm not talking about sex, Rafe. I'm talking about love. You don't want to love anyone, and it's because of what happened to John."
"Who?"
"Johnny. Your brother."
He went completely still. The warmth slowly drained from his eyes. "Who told you about John?"
"You did
"No."
"The day before your fever broke you were delirious. You told me about the bus accident and how you pulled all those boys from the river."
He moved his head from side to side in denial, his gaze riveted on her face. He let go of her and held up his palms as he retreated. "No."
She pushed her straps back on her shoulders and followed him. Once again, she laid her hand on his cheek. "You got these wounds when you went through the windshield. You could have bled to death or drowned but you wouldn't give up. You kept saving one boy after another. You've always been a hero."
He jerked his head away from her touch. "Stop it, Glenna. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do. You tried to save John, but you couldn't. You've been trying to make up for it ever since. That's why you were so determined to save me."
"Saving you was my job. I'm a soldier. That's how I earn my living."
"And it's the excuse you use to keep people at a distance." She took his hand, twining her fingers with his to keep him from pulling away. "It wasn't just our situation that made me think there was a bond between us. Not everything was due to stress. When I learned about that accident---"
"Don't pity me."
"It wasn't pity I felt. I was certain it was love. That's why I made love to you that afternoon when you woke up. And that night, that's why I said the three words to you that I had never said to anyone in my life."
"Glenna---"
"I know you loved your brother, Rafe. Losing him that way was tragic. I can't begin to imagine the agony you must have gone through."
"He died. I didn't. I have nothing to complain about."
"But you're letting the pain you suffered keep you from risking your heart."
"You figure you've talked to a shrink and read a few psychology books and now you can psychoanalyze me?"
"Rafe, no. It's not like that."
"Damn right, it isn't. Because you're dead wrong, Glenna." He leaned into her, his expression stark. His gaze had cooled to ice. "You think you know what happened, but you don't."
"Then tell me."
"I let John die."
"You were exhausted. You were badly injured yourself. You couldn't have saved everyone."
Rafe brought his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her chin. "I had a hold of his hand but I let go."
"You couldn't help it."
"I let him die," he repeated. "Because I wanted him dead.he heard his conviction in the tremor of his voice. He was convinced he was speaking the truth. But she didn't believe him. "No. It's not true. You loved him."
"Everyone loved John. Our parents, our neighbors, every girl in school. He was perfect. He was handsome. He was bigger and stronger and smarter than me. From the day I took my first steps, I walked in his shadow."
"Rafe..."
"I envied him. At times I hated him. I used to wish I'd been him. But love? No. I'm not capable of that. If you want love, then you've got the wrong man."
She fought back a rush of tears. She didn't want to hear any more. Reality was shifting yet again, and she was afraid of where it would stop. "No, Rafe. You're a good man. You're---"
"I know what I am. I've known it since I left my brother and half of my face at the bottom of that river sixteen years ago." He took her hand and dragged her fingers over his scars. "Take a good look at these, Glenna. For once, take a really good look. Do you see how deep and ugly they are? Do you feel the lumps and the pits where my flesh was ripped away?"
His grip verged on painful. She knew he wasn't aware of it, just as he wasn't aware of the tears that trailed down her cheeks. "Rafe---"
"It's twisted. It's repugnant." He slapped her hand against his chest. "But those scars aren't half as ugly as what's in here."
They took the Amtrak train to Fayetteville. It would have been faster to fly, but Rafe hadn't suggested it. He hadn't said much of anything during the entire trip. He was completely silent now as he drove toward Fort Bragg in the car he'd arranged to pick up at the station. The only sounds were the quiet strains of a jazz quartet from the radio and the swish of the tires through puddles left over from yesterday's rain.
Glenna knew why he had chosen not to travel by plane. It was because he remembered she had gone home by train. She'd overcome her temporary anxiety about flying after the hijacking---besides the flight from the Caribbean in the army transport plane, she'd already taken two business trips since then. But Rafe had wanted to spare her any uneasiness. So he had sacrificed speed and efficiency for the sake of her emotional comfort.
She leaned back against the headrest, moving her gaze from the trees that flashed by at the edge of the street to Rafe's profile. His expression was carved granite. His jaw was clenched, his mouth set. In the sparkle of morning sunlight that slanted through the windshield, his scars looked grimmer, deeper and more formidable than she remembered.
It wasn't the scars that had changed, it was her perception of them that had. Now she understood why he'd never sought surgery to repair them. He believed he deserved them. He wore them as penance. They served as a constant reminder to himself and as a warning to others. Keep away. Beware of the beast.
She wanted to shake him. She wanted to grab his head between her hands and shout into his face until he listened to her. How could he think he was a monster? Whatever he thought had happened that day John had died, Rafe had proved a thousand times since then the kind of man he was inside. He'd proved it again today by the simple act of taking the train.
She believed in him. That hadn't changed. It had begun the moment he had held out his hand amid the bullets and the blood and had promised to help her.
Yet since the night before, the blind belief she'd experienced back on the island had been tempered with understanding. She had already realized he wasn't a fairy-tale hero. Now she saw him clearly as a man. He had weaknesses and faults and more than his share of personal demons.
And somehow, that made the things he had done all the more heroic.
"I've arranged accommodation for you through the Airborne Inn on the base," Rafe said. "You have a room at Moon Hall. It won't be as fancy as the Winston, but it should be comfortable."
"Thank you. I'm sure it will be fine."
He slowed down as they approached the entrance to the base. "There won't be time to check in until after the briefing."
"What briefing?"
"Major Redinger scheduled a meeting this morning to introduce you to the team. We'll start working on the model of the Juarez compound directly afterward."
"I just hope I'll be able to contribute something worthwhile."
"You will."
Glenna didn't share Rafe's confidence. How was she supposed to remember the details of something she'd only glimpsed for a few moments?
Then again, she remembered every second of her brief time with Rafe. And every word that had been spoken last night.
At least he hadn't gone back to treating her like a stranger. The intensity in his eyes whenever he met her gaze brought a flush to her cheeks. The mere brush of his sleeve against hers made her pulse race. Yet he hadn't pursued his suggestion about having an affair---their conversations had been strictly business. Advance and retreat. Hot and cold. Did he know what he wanted? Did she?
Glenna sighed. As far as her body was concerned, there was an easy answer. She wanted him. Even with this awkward silence, she was excruciatingly aware of the physical attraction between them. She looked at his hands on the steering wheel, and she thought of how they'd felt on her breasts. She watched his legs flex as he changed gears, and she remembered how firmly he'd moved between her thighs.
Why couldn't she have taken what he'd offered and left it at that? What made her think she should hold out for being in love? Maybe this was as real as it got.
The room wouldn't have been out of place in any high school in America. Two dozen chairs arranged in front of a raised wooden platform that held a long rectangular table. An American flag draped from a short pole beside the window. A large whited shared space on the front wall with a cork bulletin board. But the soldiers who were assembled here could never be mistaken for schoolboys.
Glenna had worked with men on a professional basis for a decade. She was familiar with the constant awareness she felt whenever Rafe was nearby. But she had never experienced anything like the atmosphere in this room. If ambient testosterone levels could be measured, the readings here would be off the scale.
The Fort Bragg military installation was enormous, one of the largest in the country. When she'd been here last month, she'd seen only one of the airfields and the hospital. This time Rafe had brought her to a remote corner of the base sheltered by pine trees and dunes of Carolina sand. They were now in the Delta Force compound, an area set aside for the exclusive use of the army's elite hostage rescue specialists. Hundreds of men worked and trained here daily. Ten of the best were gathered in front of her.
They were all dressed alike in standard olive-and-tan camouflage-patterned army fatigues. They were large, well-muscled men, yet the kind of self-confidence they radiated stemmed from more than mere physical strength. There was leashed power in their relaxed posture and a calm assurance in the direct way they met her gaze. They possessed the deceptive, deadly ease of a pack of lounging predators.
As Glenna moved further into the room, she felt her pulse shift to a hard, steady throb. It wasn't nervousness. Quite the opposite. It was an involuntary, primitive female response to the proximity of so many virile males.
She recognized a few of the men as being part of the small group who had been aboard the rescue helicopter in Rocama. The lanky medic who had wrapped her ankle was talking quietly with a man who resembled a pit bull. The soldier who had ridden up on the harness with her was leaning casually against the back wall. He caught her gaze, flashing her a smile that put twin dimples beside his mouth. Thick black hair curled roguishly over his ears. Without the helmet or the camouflage paint on his face, he was startlingly handsome. She searched her memory for his name as he approached. Something Irish. O'Connor? O'Toole? Yes, that was it.
"Hello, Miss Hastings," he said. "You're looking well. No ill effects from your ordeal, I gather?"
"Thank you, Sergeant O'Toole. I'm fine." She offered her hand. "I hope I can help your team the way you helped me."
He enclosed her fingers in his large, callused palm. "Your presence alone is an inspiration, ma'am."
She felt Rafe move behind her even before his hand settled on her shoulder. She knew without looking around that it was him. He didn't say anything, he simply stood there, a large, silent presence at her back oozing yet more testosterone.
O'Toole lifted one eyebrow, his gaze moving to a point above her head. "Did you have a nice trip, Rafe?"
"Where's the major?" he asked.
"He's on his way."
"Why don't you go and check, Flynn?"
O'Toole still hadn't released her hand. He brushed his thumb lightly over the back of her knuckles and continued to look at Rafe. "Why don't you go, Rafe? I'll take good care of Miss Hastings while you're gone."
"Did that rash ever clear up, O'Toole?"
"What rash?"
"Those hives you told me about last month."
O'Toole chuckled. He winked at Glenna and finally let go of her hand just as three more people in fatigues entered the room.
Glenna didn't know how to distinguish the rank insignia on the uniforms, but she knew instinctively the man in the lead had to be the officer in charge. He was a few inches shorter than Rafe, not half as handsome as O'Toole, yet in his own way he was just as distinctive. His features were honed to sharp planes and angles, and wisps of silver gleamed in the raven black hair at his temples. There was something in his clear, amber gaze that spoke of hard-earned authority. The other soldiers straightened respectfully as he made his way directly to where she stood.
"Miss Hastings, I'm Mitchell Redinger," he said, giving her hand a firm, no-nonsense shake. "I'm pleased you agreed to assist us."
"I'm happy to help, Major Redinger," she responded. "I'll do whatever I can."
"Excellent. I like your attitude, Miss Hastings. This is Chief Warrant Officer Esposito, my second in command," he said, nodding to the bald man on his left who was holding a manila folder and several rolled-up charts. Esposito had a voice like crushed gravel and a smile that sported a gold tooth.
"And I think you've already met Captain Fox," Redinger said.
With a start, Glenna realized the third person who had entered with the major wasn't a short man as she had assumed at first glance but a woman. She smiled a greeting as she recognized the blond captain she had met last month at the hospital.
As before, Captain Fox's answering smile didn't reach her eyes. She made no attempt to free her right hand by shifting the briefcase she carried. She gave Glenna an assessing look, then moved her gaze to Rafe.
Glenna didn't have the opportunity to wonder about Fox's reaction. Major Redinger was wasting no time introducing her to the rest of the team. Rafe stepped aside to enable her to say a few words to each of the other soldiers, but he didn't go far. As soon as the major moved toward the front of the room to start the briefing, Rafe put his hand under her elbow to guide her to a chair, then pulled up a seat beside her. His knee pressed the side of her thigh. Glenna was certain it was deliberate.
She knew what he was doing. Despite the fact that their relationship was in limbo, he was staking his claim to her in front of the other men as plainly as if he'd grunted and pounded his chest. She was torn between being irritated and being flattered.
Chief Warrant Officer Esposito took a photo from the folder he had brought and pinned it in the center of the corkboard. It was a picture of a young man in a white navy uniform. He was staring straight at the camera. He had probably been attempting to appear solemn, Glenna thought, but he hadn't been able to suppress the sparkle of eagerness in his eyes. As she studied the photograph, she felt a stir of recognition. She was sure she had seen this man somewhere before, but she couldn't que place him.
"This is Commander Harry Hawthorne." Major Redinger didn't need to raise his voice. As soon as he began to speak, the room went silent. "Commander Hawthorne served his country for twenty-five years with the United States Navy. He distinguished himself flying combat missions during the Gulf War. He retired ten years ago to take up a career as a commercial pilot."
A pilot, Glenna thought. She leaned forward, taking another look at the young officer. She imagined him years older, with thinning hair. He was wearing a white shirt with black-and-gold epaulets and sporting a grandfatherly paunch....
And his blood had spattered her cheek moments before his body had been tossed to the tarmac in Rocama.
"Oh, my God," she breathed.
She felt Rafe's hand close over her arm. He squeezed gently in an offer of comfort, evidently aware of her distress. Although her eyes filled as she remembered the horror of that day, she continued to regard the photo.
Redinger had been wise to begin his briefing like this. It helped to put things in perspective. And it reminded Glenna that whatever personal problems she might have in dealing with Rafe, she was here because of the mission. Rafe had been clear about that all along. The mission should be her first priority, too.
"Although he was no longer in the service of his country," Major Redinger continued, "Harry Hawthorne used his skills and his courage to bring his last flight down safely, only to be shot in cold blood on the orders of a common criminal. During the past several years, Leonardo Juarez has been keeping in the background, letting his brother, Arturo, be the front man while he himself has been quietly running the family drug empire from various bases around the Caribbean. Juarez is guilty of countless crimes, but it is this one for which he will finally pay." The major paused to look at the flag in the corner, then swept his gaze over the room, focusing on each person in turn. "This time, Juarez made the mistake of taking one of our own. Now it's up to us to bring Commander Hawthorne's killer to justice."
There weren't any windows in the briefing room, but the drafting lamp that was clamped to the table was shining directly into Glenna's face. She tried holding up her hand to shield her eyes, then gave up and moved her chair to the other side of the table.
"Is there a problem?" Captain Fox asked, glancing up from her laptop computer. "If this is too tiring for you, let me know."
Glenna rolled her shoulders a few times to dispel the stiffness that was gathering there. Apart from a thirty-minute break for lunch, she had been working at this non-stop since Major Redinger had finished his briefing.
Most of the men had departed for other duties soon after the major, leaving Captain Fox to assist Rafe and Glenna as they put together facts from their memories. But Rafe had left for one of the Delta compound's target ranges almost two hours ago in order to put in his mandatory daily practice time. Only Glenna and Captain Fox remained.
Glenna had hoped it would have been more relaxing to work with a woman than with the hormone-charged men, yet the more time that passed, the more...irritating the captain had become. It seemed as if she'd deliberately positioned the lamp so that it shone squarely in Glenna's eyes. "No, I'm fine," Glenna replied belatedly. "Please continue."
"In the service we're all used to twenty-five-hour days. It's very different from what a woman like you would be accustomed to." Captain Fox tapped a few keys and waited while the computer's hard drive crackled. "Are your quarters adequate?"
"I haven't seen them yet. Rafe said he'd take me there when he's finished at the range."
"Master Sergeant Marek is one of our best marksmen."
"I didn't know that."
"I imagine there are many things you don't know about him. He's one of the team's weapons sergeants."
"What does that entail?"
"He's had specialized training in the handling of every domestic and foreign weapon manufactured in the world, as well as weapons defense systems. He's a very dedicated soldier."
"Yes, I've seen that."
"And he often goes well beyond the call of duty. I'll take you to your quarters myself." She tapped another key, then rotated the laptop so that Glenna could see the image on the screen. "This is the best shot I have of the Juarez house loading bay. Unfortunately, the surrounding foliage blocks much of the detail."
Glenna leaned closer to the screen, astounded by the clarity of the satellite image. If she wanted to, she would have been able to count the segments on the palm leaves that hung over the door. "This is amazing."
"Yes, you'd be surprised what we can pick up on some of our satellite shots. The infrared ones in particular often reveal...the unexpected."
"Infrared," Glenna repeated. "Would that be used to detect heat sources?"
"Very good. You must watch the Discovery Channel. Yes, we can analyze heat patterns. That's how I found you and Sergeant Marek in the jungle, by your body heat."
As Glenna continued to study the detail on the screen, she wondered exactly how clear the body heat images had been. Who else had seen them? Did everyone know? Rafe had said what had happened between them was private, but judging by Captain Fox's tone of voice, at least one person suspected the truth. On the other hand, considering the possessive act he'd put on in front of the other men this morning, there was bound to be speculation.
But that shouldn't have any bearing on what she was doing here, Glenna reminded herself. She indicated an area that was practically invisible in the shadows. "The truck Juarez's men brought us to the house in backed up to a place on the left side of that ramp."
Fox stretched her arm past Glenna and slid a paper across the table toward her. It was one of the diagrams they had sketched earlier. "I thought you said it was on the right."
"Did I?"
"Could you have been confused because the truck turned around?"
"No, I don't think so." She frowned and rubbed her forehead. "It was on the left."
"Be certain, Miss Hastings. This isn't a hotel tea party we're planning. It's an armed assault."
Glenna leaned over the sketch, doing her best to visualize the actual place she'd seen. Instead, a memory of Rafe flashed through her mind. He'd been lying facedown, his black jumpsuit bearing the dusty boot prints of the thugs who had thrown him into the truck. The paper blurred. "I understand the importance of what we're doing, Captain. There's no need to badger me."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Hastings. Obviously you're fatigued after all." She opened a folder and gathered the sketch and the other papers from the table. "We'll continue this tomorrow."
"No." Glenna caught the paper before she could put the diagram away. "I'm sorry. I want to do everything I can, even if I have to stay here all night. Please. Let's go on."
Captain Fox looked at the place where Glenna gripped the paper, then moved her gaze to her face. "Is it really that important to you?"
"Yes." Glenna tugged it away from her and bent her head to study it once more. "Rafe told me that even something as insignificant as which direction a door opens could save someone's life. How could I live with myself if...someone got hurt because I didn't remember?"
"But aren't you eager to return to your life in New York?"
The question seemed familiar. It took a moment for Glenna to remember why. Captain Fox had said something similar last month at the hospital. The assessing look was back in her eyes, too. Glenna suspected it had very little to do with the mission they were supposed to be working on. She decided to clear the air. "Do you have a problem working with me, Captain Fox?"
The captain's delicate blond eyebrows lifted as her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"Is it because of Rafe?"
"Naturally, I'm concerned about Sergeant Marek."
"Well, so am I. And if you care about him like I do, then help me straighten out all these details about the house that are locked in my head instead of wasting our time by sniping at me."
The captain didn't deny the charge. Instead, a spark of challenge sprang to life in her gaze. "You said you care about Marek."
"I owe him my life."
"Practically every person in the squadron owes him their life. That's no reason for you to lead him on."
Glenna took a closer look at the young woman. Although she was dressed like a man, there was no disguising her feminine figure. She had the kind of pale complexion and delicate features that wouldn't have been out of place in a painting by an old master. Rafe had told Glenna he wasn't involved with another woman and she believed him. That didn't rule out the possibility that another woman might be interested in him, though. "Despite the impression Rafe might have givarlier," she said, "we don't have a personal relationship."
"That wasn't true a month ago, and it's not true now."
"What did he tell you?"
"He didn't have to tell me anything. I work in Intelligence, Miss Hastings. And I know Rafe. I'm not easy to fool."
"Could you be jealous, Captain Fox?"
"Not even remotely, Miss Hastings. Rafe is my friend. He's like a brother to me. I don't want to see him hurt."
"Neither do I. So if you can't work with me, then I'd appreciate it if you could find someone who can. I won't jeopardize the safety of innocent people just because you think I'm not good enough for Rafe."
"Not good enough?" The captain rose to her feet. She took a moment to tuck her shirt neatly into her pants, then crossed her arms over the front of her uniform and regarded Glenna carefully. "You come from a rich family. You have a successful career. You're attractive enough to have had practically every man on the team drooling over your hand. Why would anyone think you're not good enough for an ugly man like Sergeant Marek?"
"How dare you call him ugly," Glenna said. Her voice shook. So did her hands. To have someone who claimed to be Rafe's friend make such an unkind comment so casually pricked her temper far worse than any remark the captain could have made about her. She tossed the paper she'd been holding to the table and stood, unconsciously mirroring the captain's stance.
Captain Fox lifted one shoulder. "I've heard some women like to close their eyes anyway. In that case, he does have a lot to offer."
"If that's what you believe, then you're not his friend. His face and his physical attributes are irrelevant. He has a wealth of goodness inside him. He's the kindest, sweetest, most compassionate..." She took a few deep breaths, struggling to stay coherent. Where was her control? What about her priorities? "Please, excuse me," she said stiffly. "I've been under some stress lately."
Captain Fox made a noise suspiciously like a snicker.
"Do you find something funny?" Glenna demanded.
"Not at all. There's nothing amusing about what Rafe has endured in his life."
"That's right. And it's your loss if you can't see him as he really is."
"Do you see him as he really is?"
Glenna propped her fists on her hips and glared. "Yes, and it doesn't have a damn thing to do with how he looks."
The captain no longer attempted to hide the smile that had spread over her face. This time it did reach her eyes, and the change it wrought in her demeanor was startling. "I couldn't have put it better myself," she said.
Glenna had a moment of disorientation, as if she'd just been thrown off a carnival ride she hadn't known she was on. She shook her head. "I don'."
"I've been trying to push your buttons all afternoon. I wondered when you would crack, but nothing got past your good manners until I insulted Rafe."
"Why would you want to push my buttons?"
"In Eagle Squadron, we look out for our own."
"What does that mean?"
"I saw where Rafe stood, I just had to know where you did. And one of the first things we're taught about intelligence gathering is to use whatever means are at our disposal." She reached for the sketch that Glenna had dropped, slipped it into the folder where she'd put the others, then stored it in her briefcase. "I'm sure it's not that different in the business world," she added.
As Glenna watched Captain Fox's graceful, composed movements, the realization gradually dawned on her that she'd just been finessed by an expert. Somehow, this trim blond soldier had managed to provoke her into revealing her feelings about Rafe.
Not a small feat, since Glenna wasn't yet clear about those feelings herself. "Captain Fox..."
"Please, call me Sarah." She closed her laptop, added it to her briefcase and snapped the clasps shut. "Let's call a halt for the day. We can continue this tomorrow."
"What about the sketch of the loading bay?"
"We already accomplished twice as much as I thought we would." She walked to the door and opened it. "Come on, Glenna, I'll buy you a coffee."
Rafe usually liked target practice. It was one time of the day when he could totally clear his mind. Murphy and his law notwithstanding, as long as a mechanical device was maintained and operated properly, it generally did what it was expected to do.
Take this assault rifle. It was lightweight and accurate up to five hundred meters, yet it provided enough fire-power for close quarters room clearing. The grenade launcher that was fitted to the top delivered a nice little surprise when more persuasive tactics were required. All in all, it was a versatile weapon that had served him well over the course of many missions.
He didn't know whether he would be carrying it on this one. Maybe he'd need his sniper rifle. Or the 9 mm sub-machine gun. The details of how they would infiltrate the Juarez compound weren't yet hammered out. One thing was for certain, it wouldn't be any half-baked shoestring raid like the last one. They hadn't had time to prepare properly when they'd stormed the plane. Now they did have the time to construct a plan, and the opportunity to practice it until they could do it in their sleep, and the resources to insure they accomplished the mission goal.
As he'd told Glenna, there was nothing in the world that would keep him from going after Juarez.
Why, then, didn't he want the mission to end?
Rafe tried once more to clear his mind. He didn't want to think about the answer to that question. They still had a lot of training in front of them. It would be days, maybe a week before they would be ready. She wouldn't be ing home yet.
He sighted down range, keeping both eyes open as he focused on the target. When the range master gave the signal, he squeezed off the remaining rounds in his magazine. They hit dead center. Anything less would have been unacceptable.
He was good at what he did. He knew that. He was comfortable with it. It was the path he'd chosen and it was enough. He didn't need some woman coming along and making him doubt all that.
He'd thought Glenna would have made a good officer. Now he had to amend his opinion. In addition to being a good officer, she would have made a first-rate sniper. She'd sure known how to zero in on his weak spot. She'd taken him completely unawares when she'd ambushed him with that talk about John. He'd never seen it coming.
He reloaded, aimed and fired.
Why the hell had he told her the truth? He'd known he'd dreamed about it---he always dreamed about it---but he never talked about his brother to anyone. Why had he been so blunt with Glenna? He'd been attempting to coax her into going to bed with him. Letting her know how much of a bastard he really was definitely wouldn't further that cause. Was he trying to push her away? Was she right?
Another halt, another reload. Thirty more rounds. His movements were as smooth as those of a well-oiled machine. But his mind wasn't clear. It seethed with needs and desires that wouldn't leave him in peace.
No one was in the briefing room when he returned from the range. It was already dark. Glenna had obviously found someone else to take her to her quarters.
Rafe hated the disappointment that went through him. He didn't like the impulse that had him striding past the reception desk at Moon Hall twenty minutes later, either. He took the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator. When he reached the door of Glenna's room, his heart was pounding as if he'd just done a twenty-kilometer run with a thirty-pound rucksack.
Who had brought her here? Flynn? Rafe had assumed his friend had gotten the hands-off message this morning, but when it came to women, Flynn's reputation was legendary. He could charm anyone. He could be in there right now, flashing his dimples and enjoying the sound of Glenna's laughter.
Rafe curled his hand into a fist and banged on the door.
It swung open a moment later. Glenna stood in the doorway. She was alone. She'd let her hair down and had taken off her shoes and the suit jacket she'd worn for the day. She looked disheveled and tired, and yet the smile she gave him was as warm as a fresh dawn. "Hello, Rafe."
His pulse settled. His thoughts steadied. For the first time today, his mind was perfectly clear. Of course, Glenna wouldn't be here with Flynn or anyone else. She was too honest and too honorable to enter into a meaningless physical relationship. He trusted her. In a strange way, he even admired the strength she'd showed when she'd refused to have sex with him.
That didn't mean he'd changed his mind about what he wanted from her. On that he was perfectly clear, too. He itched to grab her and pull her into his arms and finish what they'd started yesterday...no, a month ago.
But she'd stated her terms, and he wasn't able to meet them.
He lifted his hands to grip the sides of the door frame and stayed on the threshold. "Are you and Captain Fox finished for the day?"
"Yes, we'll resume work in the morning."
"What time do you want me to pick you up?"
She hesitated. "Thanks, but Sarah's going to pick me up on her way in tomorrow."
"Did she bring you here tonight?"
"Yes. She's a very nice woman. You're lucky to have her for a friend."
Her comment surprised him. Normally it took a while for Sarah to warm up to people. He'd thought he'd sensed some tension between the two women earlier, but it seemed they'd sorted it out. "I'm glad you're getting along with her. It should make the work easier."
"Yes, it should. How did your target practice go?"
"Fine. Did you have dinner?"
"Yes. Did you?"
"I'll get something later." A door down the hall opened. Rafe glanced over his shoulder as a woman herded a pair of small children toward the elevators. Someone's family, either just arriving at the base or about to leave. He turned his gaze back to Glenna. "Are you going to ask me in?"
"That wouldn't be a good idea."
He shifted his grip to the top of the door frame and leaned toward her. "Why not?"
She looked at his flexed arms. She swallowed. "You know why not, Rafe. I'm here to help with the mission, that's all."
"Right."
"And I don't have any reason to do anything else."
"Right. You have to have reasons."
"Yes, I do."
He dropped his hands and stepped back. "Then I'll say good-night."
She regarded him for a moment in silence, then slowly started to swing the door shut. "Good night, Rafe."
Before the door could close, Rafe slapped his palm against it to hold it open.
She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. He noticed she'd worn off her lipstick. She kept her gaze on the collar of his shirt. "Rafe..."
He gave the door a push, swinging it out of her grasp. He stepped inside and kicked the door shut with the back of his heel.
Her gaze lifted to his face. Her chest was rising and falling with short, sharp breaths. She pushed her hair behind her ear, her hand unsteady. "What do you want, Rafe?"
"I want to kiss you, Glenna."
A flush spread over her cheeks. "It's not that simple. We've been through this
"For tonight, let's pretend it is simple, okay?" He caught her wrists and drew her toward him. Her bare toes nudged his boots. He moved his legs apart so he could pull her closer. "When you're near me, I want to kiss you, and when you're gone, all I can think about is being near you again. Maybe I'm the one who needs a shrink this time."
She twisted her wrists from his grip and slid her hands up his arms. She spread her fingers over his biceps. Her mouth tilted with the hint of a smile. "Just one kiss?"
He slipped his arms around her. "Yes. Just one kiss, Glenna," he said. "I promise. Then I'll go."
She smoothed her hands upward. Her fingers curled over his shoulders as she swayed into him. "All right. Just one, then---"
He tightened his arms and brought his mouth down on hers before she could finish. It was a hard kiss, packed with craving and frustration. He needed to taste her, touch her, drink his fill. She responded with a moan, her body softening, her lips parting. Rafe seized her invitation and deepened the kiss. If this was all he was going to get, then he was going to make it last until...
Until she changed her mind about love?
Or until he did?
He picked her up and whirled her around, pressing her back against the door. He felt the warmth of her thighs, the heat between her legs...and for the first time since his brother had died and Rafe understood that he didn't deserve a future, he wished he was someone else. Someone better. Someone...lovable.
He tore his mouth from Glenna's and banged his forehead against the door beside her head. He had to wait a full minute before his breathing steadied. It was another long minute before he was able to keep his promise and leave.
"I like tall women." Flynn leaned back in his chair to watch the waitress make her way back to the bar. He lifted his glass and sipped thoughtfully at his beer. "They fit better. You don't get a crick in your neck. What do you think she'd be without her shoes? Five-ten?"
Rafe glanced at the statuesque blonde who had brought their drinks. "Five-ten and a half. And she's the bartender's wife."
"I know that, I'm talking hypothetically. Another good thing about tall women is that you don't have to worry about crushing them by mistake. And those legs..." He pursed his lips. "Man, oh man. I once knew a model who was into yoga. The things she could do with those long legs of hers would make you weep."
Rafe rolled the base of his soda glass along the top of the small table where they sat. He studied the arcs of moisture the condensation left on the wood, letting Flynn's chatter drift past. Like most of the men in Delta Force, Rafe and Flynn kept a low profile when they went into town. This was a quiet neighborhood bar, a few miles from the base. The only action came from the baseball game that flickered across the screen of the TV in the corner. It was a good place to relax and have a beer or two.
But Rafe hadn't had a beer for more than a month. Not since Glenna had told him about her mother's alcoholism. She'd said she didn't have a problem with other people's use of liquor, but he didn't want to risk the possibility of her smelling it on his breath. He didn't want to stir up any painful memories. Yes, everyone had memories that were better off left buried.
Flynn rapped his knuckles on the table beside Rafe's glass. "Earth to Marek."
Rafe looked up. "What?"
"You were thinking about her again, weren't you?"
"Who?"
Flynn rolled his eyes. "Who else? Our favorite redheaded hostage."
"She's not a hostage anymore. The situation is entirely different. She's here of her own free will."
"Whoa. Did I hit a sore spot?"
"No. We're straight on that."
"Then why have you been acting like you and Glenna are joined at the hip?"
"I brought her into the mission. She's my responsibility."
"Well, it's been five days. The model of the compound's done and she'll be going home tomorrow, so maybe it's time to get yourself back to normal. We need you with us one hundred percent when we go after Juarez."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, Rafe. Ever since she batted those green eyes at you, you've changed."
"No. I've done my job. I've---"
"You've lost your edge. Whenever she's around, you've got this sappy way of looking at her that gives me the creeps. Next thing you know she'll be getting you to pick out china patterns and naming your firstborn."
"There's no chance of that, Flynn. I'm not husband or father material."
"Does she know that?"
"Yeah. She should."
"Are you sure that you do?"
"Lay off, Flynn. You've made your point."
"I'm trying to help you here, Rafe. I hope that you'd do the same for me if you ever see me getting serious about a female." Flynn sipped his beer and absently scratched at his arm. "Although hell would have to freeze over first before that happened," he added under his breath.
"Flynn..."
"She's a beautiful woman, I'm not disputing that. She cleaned up even better than I'd guessed. I have nothing against her personally and every guy on the team can understand what you see in her." He punched Rafe's shoulder. "But there are plenty more out there. Lots of them as tall as Glenna. Don't get yourself tied down to just one."
"I don't regard women as sport the way you do, Flynn."
"Who said anything about sport? I like women. I think they're wonderful. I enjoy making them happy. But once a man gets tied down to one woman, he loses part of himself. He might as well rip open his chest and say, 'Come and get it,' because if you give a woman control over your heart, she'll tear it out."
Rafe was startled by the sudden vehemence in his friend's voice. "You sound as if you're speaking from experience."
Flynn stared at his beer glass for a moment, then muttered an oath and drained it with a flourish. He thumped the empty glass to the table and gave Rafe a crooked smile. "Long time ago, buddy. We're talking about you here, not me. Freedom is good," he said. "And it's safe."
Why did he want to argue? Rafe wondered. Yes, freedom was good and it was safe. But it was also...lonely.
Rafe braced his elbows on the table and dropped his forehead into his hands. Ever since he'd brought Glenna to the base, it had been a constant struggle to keep his mind on his duty. He kept seeking ways to get her alone. But privacy in the middle of an army base was hard to come by. Flynn wasn't the only one who had commented on Rafe's preoccupation with the team's beautiful guest.
But Rafe didn't care who knew. Even when they weren't alone, he enjoyed being with Glenna. He'd once thought they had nothing in common, but that wasn't true. She was as serious about this mission as anyone on the team. She never complained about the long hours or the incessant questions and double-checking as they had built the final plans of the Juarez compound. She got along well with officers and enlisted men alike, treating them with courteous respect whatever their background or upbringing.
She'd once told him that they'd be the same people, no matter where they were. She'd been right. She didn't act the way he had expected a rich and privileged Long Island heiress or a sophisticated Manhattan businesswoman to behave. She was still...Glenna. Her intelligence was spiced with wit. Her good manners stemmed from her warm and giving heart. Each day he spent with her revealed more aspects of her that were as intriguing as her laugh or her temper.
She liked jazz. She was partial to pecan pie. She read mystery novels, she liked making lists and she had a habit of pulling her lower lip between her teeth when she was trying to concentrate.
He was going to miss her when she left.
Flynn's hand clamped over Rafe's shoulder. He gave him a hard shake. "Come on, Rafe. You're scaring me. You want me to get hives again?"
Rafe rubbed his face and stood up. Glenna was going home tomorrow. This time, it really would be over. What the hell was he doing in this bar? "Sorry, Flynn. You're on your own. I've got somewhere else to be."
Glenna walked around the table, trying to scrutinize the house from every possible angle. It was hard to believe they'd started with only a few sketches and some satellite photos. She had seen architectural mock-ups of building projects that 't this detailed. Every scrap of information was there, from the position of the surrounding trees to the iron grating on the front door and the slope of the loading ramp. The maze of underground corridors wasn't complete---there was still a questionable area in the center---but the large three-dimensional model they'd constructed looked so real, it was disconcerting.
The last time she'd seen this place, she had been scared half out of her mind and crouching behind a bush. This model even included the bush.
"You're looking at that as if you expect to see the chief slimeball waving at us from a window."
At Sarah Fox's comment, Glenna gave a nervous laugh. "Is that the official military term for people like Leonardo Juarez?"
"Among others."
"He struck me as somewhat reptilian. Like a lizard."
"We don't have anywhere near as much intelligence on the man as I'd like, but judging from what we and the DEA have been able to gather, I'd be careful about what you compare him to. You'd be insulting innocent lizards." Sarah yawned, then braced her hands at the small of her back and stretched her spine. "Well, that's it for me. Would you like a ride back to your quarters?"
Glenna glanced around the room. During the past five days, this briefing room had transformed into the planning center for the mission. There were high-scale maps of the area tacked to the walls and charts of projected weather patterns on the corkboard. There also were files on all the suspected members of the Juarez crime family, but there weren't any good photos of their faces---Juarez's friends in the Rocaman police claimed they didn't have any mug shots. "I'd like a few more minutes, if you don't mind," Glenna said. "I want to check this over again."
"Glenna, it's finished. You've done all you can do."
"No, there might be something I've forgotten."
"We appreciate your dedication, Miss Hastings," Major Redinger said from the doorway. He was wearing his dress uniform, his cap held loosely in his hands. He looked as distant and distinguished as a recruiting poster. "But I believe we've reached the point of diminishing returns as far as this model goes. We have enough information to proceed with our training. If you do remember anything else, you can call us."
Glenna knew he was right. She was wasting their time by dragging this out. She probably could have gone home yesterday. "I will, Major," she said.
"Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."
"All I want is for your mission to be a success."
"It will be." He turned to go, then paused. "By the way, Sergeant Marek mentioned the project you've been working on regarding that tourist resort in Rocama. It's a worthy idea. Once the Juarez group is dismantled, there will need to be considerable economic rebuilding. I've already spoken to the army public affairs people and they'll do what they can to help you cut through the red tape if the Winston Hotel chain decides to go ahe
She tried to hide her surprise. She hadn't asked Rafe to speak to the major about this, but that was exactly the kind of thing he would do. He didn't expect thanks or acknowledgment. His thoughtful acts arose from his character. He was an honorable man. He kept his word.
Sometimes she wished he wouldn't.
Another man would have pressed his advantage and simply seduced her. Not Rafe. Apart from a few stolen kisses when he managed to find her alone, he'd been the epitome of restraint for the past five days. He'd made what he wanted clear, so he was leaving the next move up to her. It was driving her crazy.
Crazy. There was that word again. She yanked her attention back to her surroundings in time to bid the major good-night. As soon as he'd gone, Sarah packed her briefcase and walked to the door. "I don't want to rush you, but I have to lock up, Glenna."
"I'm sorry." She did another circuit around the table. "I just want to make sure..."
"It's as complete as we can get it. The major has put together a good team for the assault. The rest is up to them now."
"'The rest' is what terrifies me."
"You need to have faith. He's one of the best soldiers in Eagle Squadron."
Glenna didn't pretend not to understand which soldier she was referring to. From the first day they had worked together, Sarah had been aware that a large part of Glenna's devotion to this mission stemmed from her feelings for Rafe. "I can't seem to stop worrying," Glenna said. "I know firsthand what Juarez is capable of. We were lucky to escape the way we did. What if the number of guards has changed? What if he's increased his security?"
"Then the team will adapt to the situation and go from there. Delta Force chooses people who can think on their feet. The plans we're making are only a starting point." Sarah eased the door closed and came back to Glenna's side. She set down her briefcase and put her hand on her arm. "We all know the risks. We live with them."
"But how?" Glenna turned to the other woman. "How can you shut off the worry? What happens if they don't come back?"
"You deal with it and get on with your life."
Glenna took a steadying breath. "No. I can't imagine that."
"I understand what you're going through, Glenna. I've been there."
"I thought you and Rafe were just friends."
One corner of Sarah's mouth lifted in a sad smile. "I'm not talking about Rafe. I was engaged once to a captain in the Special Forces. We had less than a year together before he was killed on a training mission in the Middle East."
"I'm sorry. That must have been horrible for you."
"Yes, it was. Not a day goes by that I don't think about Jackson. I've never met a man who compares to him, and I know I never will. He was the best." She squeezs arm, then dropped her hand and retrieved her briefcase. "But that's part of life in the service. There are always risks. If you love a soldier, you have to accept the possibility that every goodbye could be the last."
"But how?"
Sarah returned to the door and put her hand on the knob. She paused for a moment, then looked over her shoulder and fixed Glenna with a level stare. "How? For both your sakes, you make sure you give him a reason to come back."
A reason to come back. It sounded so simple. She'd told Rafe that she needed reasons. For what? To make love? To do what her body was yearning for? How could she put conditions on her love? Why was she making things so complicated? If she loved him, she should be thinking about what he needed...
Wait a minute. If she loved him?
Glenna felt something shift inside her. She didn't know how she got to the other side of the room. Sarah probably said something, but Glenna brushed past her and kept walking. Her heels echoed hollowly in the corridor. The door to the building slammed shut behind her. The chirp of crickets and the rumble of a transport plane filled the darkness around her, yet her surroundings were a blur.
If she loved him?
She stumbled at the edge of the sidewalk that ran in front of the building. She turned left and kept walking, needing to move. There was a restlessness growing inside her. She couldn't control it. She didn't try.
She'd spent five days in the jungle with Rafe. She'd spent five days here on the base with him. She'd thought it took longer than five days to fall in love.
Well, what about ten days? Was that enough? Was there a rule somewhere? While she'd been so concerned about having the right reasons to do what her heart told her, she hadn't seen where this was leading.
She'd done everything within her power to reduce the risks Rafe would encounter during the raid, but there would still be dangers. What if he didn't come back from the mission, like Sarah's fiancé? What if he ended up like the pilot, Harry Hawthorne, a photo on the wall of the next mission briefing? They had never spoken of a future---they hadn't even gotten as far as dealing with the present---but what if this was all there was?
She was going home tomorrow. Given the way things stood between her and Rafe, after today she might never see him again anyway. Yet she couldn't bear the thought of Rafe being hurt. Or worse. Whether they were meant to be together or not, she couldn't imagine the world without him. He was so alive, so vital, so determined.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She'd been on the base long enough to recognize the sound of boots. A soldier was running along the sidewalk in her direction. "Glenna?"
At the sound of the deep voice her pulse slammed into a sprint. She whirled around. "Rafe!"
He caught her shoulders when he reached her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you. I figured you'd still be at the comman
"I just came from there. I...needed some air."
"Sarah told me which way you'd gone. She said you seemed upset."
"I'm going home tomorrow, Rafe."
He released his grip on her shoulders to take her hands. "I know."
"And you'll be leaving for Rocama afterward."
"Not right away. Not for a few more days. We still have to finalize our plans."
"But when the team goes, you'll be with them."
"Absolutely."
"I guess...it hadn't really hit me until now."
"You've been busy."
"You'll be careful, won't you?"
"Glenna, what's going on?"
She looked at him, her heart pounding so hard it sounded like the ocean in her ears. He was silhouetted in front of a light that burned over the doorway of a nearby building. His hair was pale gold. His broad shoulders were etched with silver. His face was in shadow. It was as if he were already fading from her life.
It was happening again, the desperate, soul-shaking feeling that she could be staring death in the face. Not her own death, but Rafe's. And just like before, she didn't want to have regrets for something she hadn't done.
Give him a reason to come back.
She twined their fingers together and stepped closer. "Rafe, take me home."
"Home? Do you mean Moon Hall or New York?"
"Neither. Take me to your home, Rafe."
"My place? Why?"
"I want to see where you live." She tried to smile, but she couldn't. She was too close to tears. Five days or ten, it would never be enough. She didn't want to waste another minute. "And I want to be alone with you, Rafe."
Even though his face was in shadow, she sensed the sudden spark in his eyes. There was no need to spell it out---he knew what she had said. "Are you sure, Glenna?"
"Are you trying to talk me out of it? Have you changed your mind?"
He brought her hand to his chest. "No, Glenna. I haven't changed my mind. Wanting you is something that isn't a choice, it's a fact."
The certainty in his voice lent her strength. How could something that felt so right be a mistake?
It seemed to take forever to get there, but his apartment was only twenty minutes from the base. Like most unmarried officers and NCOs who were stationed at Fort Bragg, he'd been required to find off-base housing. He lived on the top floor of a restored red-brick three-story house, set on a street where the trees were old and large enough to meet overhead.
A dim light was burning in the ceiling of the short entrance hall when he unlocked the door to his apartment. The rest of the place was in darkness. Rafe reached for a switch beside the door, but Glenna put her hand over his to stop him. She didn't need more light. She had seen him clearly for days.
He locked the door and dipped his head to press a kiss on her knuckles, exhaling hard against the back of her hand. "I can't believe this," he muttered.
"What?"
"I've been thinking of nothing but getting you alone like this all week, and now that you're here, I don't know where to start." He skimmed his hands up her arms. "I want you so much, I'm shaking."
She leaned into him, astounded to feel a tremor in his fingers. "I want you too, Rafe."
"Just so you're clear about this," he said, easing her jacket off her shoulders. "We won't be stopping with only a kiss this time."
"I know." She removed the clasp that held her hair at the back of her head, then shook her curls free. "I don't want you to stop, Rafe." She unfastened the buttons on the front of his uniform and pressed her lips to his neck.
Her eyes closed as she inhaled his scent. It was the same yet different, the mixture of the civilized and the primitive, the essence of her warrior. She kicked off her shoes and ran her hands over the smooth cotton undershirt that covered muscles like steel.
He took off her clothes. Right there at the front door. With fingers that became steadier with each item he removed, he stripped off her blouse and her skirt and her underwear. And when she was naked he caught her under her arms and lifted her against him.
His dog tags clinked. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the sensitive peaks rubbing over the open edges of his uniform. Her toes brushed the hard leather and the rough laces of his boots. Her stomach pressed into the long, firm bulge that strained against the front of his pants.
She'd never been more aware of him as a soldier and as a man, yet the desire that flooded through her carried with it the echoes of other times. There was the mindless impulse to mate that she'd felt in their basement prison. There was the poignant urge she'd felt in the jungle to give comfort to a scarred and vulnerable hero. Yet what she felt now was more, so much more.
If she loved him...
She'd been wrong before. Or so she'd thought. Was it possible that her heart had recognized him all along and had been waiting for her head to catch up?
She looped her arms around his shoulders and raised her face to his. His lips brushed her cheek. He spread soft kisses over her temple, her forehead, her nose and her chin. By the time he kissed her mouth, she was the one who was shaking. His body was hard, but his actions were filled with a tenderness that brought a moan to her throat.
He shifted his grip to her waist and lifted her higher. "I promised myself we'd go slow if we ever got the chance to do this again," he murmured. He dragged his mouth over the top of her breast. He kissed his way downward. "But so help me, Glenna, if I don't taste you in the next second---"
He closed his lips over her nipple. This kiss wasn't soft. He used his tongue and then his teeth.
Glenna cried out, not from pain but from pleasure. She gripped his arms to steady herself. Muscle corded and quivered beneath her fingers as he held her suspended in front of him. He switched to her other breast and kissed her until the room began to spin.
No, it wasn't spinning, he was moving. Rafe swung her up in his arms and carried her through the darkness, maneuvering her past the bulky outlines of large pieces of furniture toward a doorway on the other side of the room. He turned sideways to carry her through.
The moon hadn't yet risen, but the light from a streetlight outside the window seeped through the louvered shutters to cast a muted glow over the bed. He laid her down in the center and knelt on the mattress by her side. His hands were warm and sure, skimming up her legs, over her thighs, lingering on her breasts, curling around her shoulders and down her arms until she felt too restless for her skin. When she reached for him, he caught her wrists, stretching her arms over her head. With his free hand, he started stroking her all over again.
She tried to hold back. It was impossible. He knew where to press and where to squeeze and how far he could push. When he leaned over her and nudged her thighs apart, using his mouth to send her over the edge, Glenna turned her head into the pillow to muffle her scream.
Rafe rested his head on her stomach and curled his arms around her hips. He didn't say anything, he just held on as the aftershocks crashed over her.
She put her hands on his shoulders. Distantly she realized he was still fully dressed. "Rafe?"
He flicked his tongue into her navel. "Yeah?"
"Don't you want..." She tried to focus her thoughts. It wasn't easy. "Your clothes..."
"We've got all night, princess," he said.
"But..."
"Don't worry, it won't be like the first time. I'm a long way from done." He got to his knees and straddled her legs, then sat back on his heels. "And I've got no intention of letting you go until we finish what we started."
Finish. She didn't like that word. She didn't want to think about endings or afterward or what would happen tomorrow.
"Besides, I could get used to having you like this." His voice roughened. "Naked. On my bed." He placed his palms over her breasts. "You're so beautiful."
So are you, she thought. But she didn't say it aloud. He wouldn't understand. She inhaled deeply, lifting herself into his caress. "Rafe..."
He traced lazy circles with his thumbs, then bent forward and followed his thumbs with his mouth.
She whimpered. She couldn't believe the sound, even as she heard herself make it. She couldn't believe the tremors that were beginning again, either. "Rafe, please."
"Tell me what you want
His question set off a flurry in her heart. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to be safe. She wanted him to love her.
But this was reality. She'd settle for what he was willing to give. She reached up and caught the edges of his shirt. She tugged it over his shoulders and down his arms. Then she opened his zipper and slipped her hand into his pants. "You, Rafe. I want you."
He took off his clothes, stretched out beside her and gave her what he thought she wanted. He gave her his body.
She wrapped him in her arms and did her very best to pretend it was enough.
Rafe sifted his hand through Glenna's hair, feeling the curls flow around his fingers like water. She mumbled something and snuggled her head against his chest. Her arm was draped limply across his waist, her leg flung over his thighs. He knew she was tired, but he didn't want to let her sleep.
It was only three hours until dawn, and he hadn't had anywhere near enough of her. That was no surprise. He'd been thinking about making love to Glenna for so long, he'd known he wouldn't be satisfied with only one time. Or two. Or whatever happened to be the number of empty condom wrappers that were scattered on the floor around the bed.
He squeezed her shoulder. "Glenna?"
She sighed. Her hand drifted downward. "Again?"
He laughed quietly. "Maybe later."
She lifted her head and looked at him. In the dim glow from the streetlight, her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips appeared swollen and well kissed. He ran his thumb across the lower one, feeling a rush of male satisfaction. He'd put that look on her face. He'd been the one to hear her cries and make her writhe.
She swirled the tip of her tongue over his thumb and smiled. "I wasn't sure you could do that."
"Hey, if anyone was keeping score---"
"No, not that," she said. "You laughed."
"What?"
"Just now. You hardly ever laugh."
"Then we're even." He rolled to his back and settled her on top of him. "I never heard you laugh until last week."
She folded her hands on his chest and propped her chin on her knuckles. "We haven't had much time for laughter, have we, Rafe?"
"Yeah, we kind of skipped some of the preliminaries."
She tilted her head. "The preliminaries?"
"You know, dinner and a movie."
"Not unless you count mangoes. You brought me plenty of those."
He chuckled again. "That's something I definitely didn't want to count."
She hesitated. "If we had met under different circumstances, do you think you would have asked me on a date?"
"Considering that we live more than five hundred miles apart and don't exactly work in the same field, I doubt if we would have met any other way."
"But if we did," she persisted. "Would you have asked me?"
He probably wouldn't have gone anywhere near her, he thought. He would have judged her by her cool and elegant exterior and passed her by, never knowing the warm and passionate woman she was inside. "We can't rewrite the past, Glenna."
"You're right. We can't. We can overcome it, though."
He couldn't see her eyes clearly enough to tell whether she was talking about more than their dating history. He suspected she was. He reached for the lamp on the bedside table.
She squinted at the sudden illumination in the room. Rafe smiled at the picture she made. Her face was bare of makeup and bore a rosy flush. Her hair was a tousled cloud brushing her shoulders. Her hands looked slender and feminine where they rested on his chest.
He remembered in vivid detail how those delicate fingers had explored every inch of him. He skimmed his hands down to the dip at the small of her back. "I'm glad you did."
"Did what?"
"Overcome the past." He cupped her buttocks. "We're good together. I've never wanted anyone as much as I've wanted you."
She was silent. Her hands on his chest curled slowly into fists. "Yes," she said softly. "The sex was good."
"Like I said, I could get used to this."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"I get thirty days paid vacation every year," he said, spreading his fingers. "Maybe we could get together sometime."
"Get together sometime," she repeated.
He could feel tension seep into her body. He realized it wasn't from arousal. "Glenna, that's the only promise I can make. I respect you too much to lie. I thought you understood."
"Yes, I understand perfectly. You're glad that I've overcome my hang-up about needing to be in love to have sex. You enjoyed our evening together and you hope to have more of the same whenever you happen to be in Manhattan. Is that about right?"
"You're making it sound---"
"Sordid?" she asked. She pushed herself off him. "Ugly?"
He reached for her, but she pulled away and sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. He followed her across the bed and knelt on the mattress in front of her. "No. It wasn't ugly." He tipped up her chin to meet his gaze. "What we did here was natural and healthy. It was special."
"That's right, Rafe. It was special."
"I'm sorry, Glenna, I never wanted to hurt you. I've tried to be honest.""I know. That's why I have to be honest with you now."
"I felt your honesty, princess. I tasted it."
She shook her head. "You didn't know why I came here tonight. I let you think I had changed my mind about us, but I hadn't. We didn't have sex, Rafe. We made love. I love you."
It still hurt, the sudden spurt of hope he felt when he heard those words. He dropped his hand.
She caught his fingers and hung on. "I want you to hear this. I know I said this before. You were right not to believe me then. Not that I was really wrong, but because I didn't know you."
"You didn't."
"I do now. And I do love you. Not because you saved my life, not because you're a skillful lover but because of who you are in here." She moved their hands over his heart.
It was the same gesture he had used last week in anger, he realized. Why, then, did it feel so different?
"We are what we make of ourselves, Rafe. And you've made yourself into the kind of man any woman would be proud to stand beside. But you're not perfect. None of us are. There will always be some ugliness mixed in with the good."
"Glenna---"
"You have to forgive yourself, Rafe. And you have to forgive John."
"What?"
"Forgive him for the envy and resentment that robbed you of your childhood. Let him go. It wasn't his fault."
"I hated him."
"No, you didn't hate your brother. You hated yourself for being human." She dropped her hand to his thigh. Her palm rubbed over the healing patch of skin where he'd taken a bullet for her. "I believe in you. You're too good a man to have been guilty of the things you fear. Because if you're the monster you think you are, then how could I love you?"
"You don't."
She tightened her grip on his thigh and shifted to her knees. "Think about it, Rafe. If I didn't love you, then how do you explain what we've been doing on this bed for the past six hours?"
He couldn't reply. Not because he didn't have an answer, but because he wasn't ready to accept it. He'd already known that Glenna wouldn't give her body lightly. He should have realized she hadn't changed her mind about needing to be in love to make love. That wasn't the kind of woman she was.
"I do love you, Rafe," she whispered. "And as far as reasons go, it's the best I can do." Her breath hitched on a sob. She leaned over quickly, pressing a kiss to the scar on his thigh before she climbed onto his lap and hooked her legs around his hips. "But you can call it whatever you want just as long as we do it again."
"Stealth and secrecy are our greatest assets. To reduce the risk of security leaks, the Rocaman government will be informed of this mission only on a need-to-know basis. We'll be using Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico, as our jumping-off point." Major Redinger tapped the tip of the pointer to the map of the Caribbean that was tacked to the wall. "Once the plane reaches thirty-five thousand feet it will assume a southeasterly course that will intersect the territorial limit of Rocama here," he said, moving the pointer down and to his right. "At that point, we will exit the plane and deploy our canopies."
Rafe felt his pulse move into the familiar slow, steady throb of anticipation. This mission was going to begin with a HAHO, a high-altitude high-opening jump, one of the most effective---and the riskiest---methods of infiltration that Delta used. They would need navigation and night-vision equipment, oxygen systems and special gliding ram-air parachutes that would take them the fifty miles from the drop point to their target. They would arrive in total darkness and complete silence.
It was a good way to start. With the local authorities out of the loop, there would be no surprises like the reinforcements who had come to the hijackers' aid at the airport. Leonardo Juarez would never see Delta coming.
Redinger walked to the table at the front of the room. "We will divide into two groups. Chief Esposito will take five men and land in this area to the east of the loading ramp." He pointed to a spot on the model where the forest growth was relatively thin. "While group A secures the area and cuts off retreat, the rest of us, group B, will land here, on the roof."
There would be twelve men altogether. Twelve against a heavily armed force of at least three dozen. The odds didn't bother Rafe---they were exceptionally good odds for a Delta Force mission.
Esposito joined Redinger at the model to continue the briefing. As the enlisted men posed questions and offered suggestions, the plan of attack was gradually fleshed out. Rafe would be in the group that would land on the roof with the major. They'd split up from there, entering the house simultaneously through three strategically chosen windows.
Rafe focused on the house. Having a scale model of the target was invaluable to the proper coordination of a mission. Occasionally a team would build a life-size mock-up in order to practice the timing of an assault, but that wouldn't be necessary this time. Sarah and Glenna had done a good job.
Rafe flicked his gaze to the clock on the wall, confirming the time in his head. The team had switched to night hours to adjust their body rhythms for the mission. It was forty minutes before midnight. Glenna had taken the morning train, so she would have arrived in New York over ten hours ago. She'd said she would be going straight to the office because there would be work to catch up on, phone calls to return, meetings to attend, a life to get back to...
She should have gone home first. She needed sleep. They'd been up most of the night. She'd been exhausted when he'd driven her to the station. Yet she'd smiled at him anyway. She'd kissed him and wished him luck with the mission and told him to call her whenever he was in Manhattan. She'd pretended that neither of them noticed the tears on her che.
I love you, Rafe.
Each time she'd said it, the pain had been worse, as if the words had been ripping away the scar tissue that covered an old wound.
He didn't deserve to be loved. He had no right. John was the one who should have heard a woman say those words.
But she had said them to Rafe. She knew the worst, and she loved him anyway. A woman who was beautiful inside and out claimed that she loved him.
And like a goddamn fool, he'd let her go. He'd stood on that platform and watched the train pull out and he'd hung on to the last layer of scar tissue as if it were a lifeline.
"Are you with us, Sergeant Marek?"
Rafe jerked his attention to the major. "Yes, sir."
"As I said, Specialist Gonzales and I will rappel down the wall to the bedroom located here. Sergeants Norton and Lang will enter by the window at the east end of the hall while you and Sergeant O'Toole will take the office."
"Yes, sir."
"The chief has your equipment lists," Redinger said as Esposito handed each of the men a typed form. "Get your gear together and assemble at the hangar at O-one-hundred hours for a dry run. In twenty-four hours, we do the real thing."
The major dismissed the team. The men left the building and set off through the darkness with a minimum of conversation. Rafe paused outside the entrance, folded his equipment list and put it in his pocket, still trying to get his mind on business. They would be needing flash grenades and close quarters assault rifles for room clearing. He turned toward the firearms storage area when he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.
It was Flynn. He wasn't smiling. "Rafe, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"There's nothing wrong."
"Yes, there is. I've never seen you drift off in the middle of a briefing. I told you yesterday, you need to be with us one hundred percent. You'll be covering my back."
"I'll do my job."
"Then get on with it. This isn't funny anymore. I've been cutting you slack because of the woman, but---"
"Her name is Glenna."
"She's trouble."
"She's a courageous and intelligent woman who did her best to cooperate with the team."
"Yeah, I can see by those bags under your eyes you two were probably cooperating all last night---hey!"
Rafe looked down. He had twisted the front of his friend's uniform in his fists. He exhaled hard and released his grip. He opened his mouth to apologize---as maddening as Flynn could be at times, he was a loyal friend who was only trying to help---but instead of an apology, he heard himself give a warning. "Don't talk about Glenna like that again."
Flynn scowled. ok, whatever you two have going is your business, but leave it behind."
Rafe knew Flynn was right. He rubbed his face. He had to get his head straight. The mission was the priority, not the woman. How many times had he told himself that already? "I will."
"You better, or it could cost both our lives."
Headlights swept over them as a dark blue sedan pulled up beside the curb. Sarah Fox emerged from the driver's side and closed the door with a solid thunk. "Sergeant, is there a problem?"
"No, Captain," Flynn replied. "No problem at all."
"Sergeant Marek?" Sarah asked. "Did I just witness you laying your hands on another soldier?"
Before Rafe could reply, Flynn gave him a warning poke in the ribs with his elbow and spoke up. "Rafe was straightening my uniform for me, Captain," Flynn said. "That's all."
She rounded the hood of the car and walked over to them. She looked at Flynn first. "One of these days, you won't be able to talk your way around a problem, Flynn."
"Just trying to solve it before it starts, Sarah," he responded.
"Uh-huh. Seems to me as if it's already started." She turned to Rafe. Her voice softened. "I've never seen you lose your temper, Rafe. Never."
She was right, Rafe thought. He didn't lose his temper. It was usually buried under that conveniently dulling layer of scar tissue. He always focused on the mission. He was a soldier. That was his profession and his life.
Until Glenna had dared to make him hope for more.
Glenna. Was she home? Was she already sleeping? Or was she lying awake thinking about him?
Flynn elbowed him in the ribs less gently this time. "You're doing it again, Marek," he muttered.
Sarah crossed her arms and continued to scrutinize Rafe. "Did you find Glenna yesterday evening?"
"Yes."
"She was upset when she left me. She appeared very concerned for your safety."
Flynn snorted. "She's the reason he's dangerous."
"Shut up, Flynn," Sarah said mildly. "I like Glenna. I think she's just what he needs." She held up her hand. "And I'm not talking about rifle cleaning, okay?"
"You'd better not," Flynn said, "unless you want your uniform straightened, too."
Sarah smiled. "She's the first woman besides me who has seen through you, Rafe. I'd say she's a keeper."
"She's gone," Rafe said.
"So? You know where she is, don't you?" Sarah walked back to her car and opened the door. "Once the mission's over, you can give it another try."
"There, you see?" Flynn raed his fingers against the form in Rafe's pocket as Sarah drove off. "Even Mother Hen agrees with me. Mission first, woman second. Let's go, buddy."
Rafe didn't move. He recognized the concern on his friend's face. He knew what was expected of him, but the more he tried to think like a soldier, the less he could.
"I'll catch up with you later, Flynn," he said, turning back to the building they had just left. "I've got to make a phone call."
There was a bank of black pay phones in the corridor just inside the main entrance. Rafe stopped at the first and dialed the number of Glenna's apartment. He counted five rings before the machine clicked on. He braced his hand on the wall above the phone and listened to her recorded message. Just hearing her voice helped to steady him. "Glenna, it's me," he said. "I..."
That's when it struck him. He didn't know what to say. Should he apologize for taking her love? Well, he wasn't sorry. He'd reveled in every second of what they'd done last night.
Should he ask her for a date? Plan a weekend in the city with her a few weeks from now when their schedules allowed? A weekend wouldn't be enough. Neither would a month.
He hung up the receiver and paced down the hall, then pivoted and returned to the phone. He tried the Winston Hotel this time, in case there was another fund-raiser that Glenna was overseeing. There wasn't, and according to the manager on duty, Glenna hadn't been in today.
Rafe thought of where else she could be. It took him almost twenty minutes to obtain her mother's number, only to be informed by a snooty-sounding butler that Miss Hastings was not there. The man referred him to the army public relations office.
Rafe dialed Glenna's apartment again, hoping she might be there by now. As before, all he heard was the answering machine. He left a brief message, then slammed the receiver down and stared at the phone. What if she was home and simply didn't want to talk to anyone? What if she didn't want to talk to him?
He couldn't blame her. She'd bared her heart for him last night. She'd offered him her love, and he'd been too stubborn to let go of his hate.
You didn't hate your brother. You hated yourself.
He turned around and dropped his head back against the wall. He had less than an hour to assemble his gear before the team did a run-through. He had to get moving if he wanted to be ready for the assault. They had to bring Juarez to justice.
He should be pleased. This is what he thought he wanted. He should be feeling that low-level excitement he got before heading into action.
Instead, all he wanted to do was take the fastest plane to New York and find Glenna.
How could he have let her leave? She loved him. She believed in him.
And if someone like Glenna could love him, then maybe he wasn't really a monster.
It happened gently, without warning. There in the corridor, with the fluorescent light panel overhead and the bank of pay phones beside him and the impending mission looming aheadhe last shred of scar tissue peeled away. The wound inside that hadn't healed in sixteen years gaped wide-open, spilling out half a lifetime of guilt and self-loathing. He felt blood on his face, he heard screams on the shore. Others were safe, but John was still down there. Rafe dove one last time and stretched out his arm. Their fingertips brushed, their hands clasped together for an instant...
Which one of them had let go first?
He banged his head against the wall. He didn't know. Dammit, he didn't know. He would never know.
But...did he have to?
The thought was a new one. It arose slowly from the very center of the wound, no longer buried by the scars.
He would never know for sure what happened the day his brother had died, or how deep his guilt should really be.
Maybe...just maybe...he didn't have to know.
We are what we make of ourselves, Rafe.
He hung on to Glenna's words. If only that were true. He put his fingertips on his cheek, tracing the lines that she had touched and kissed so many times. She thought he was a good man, someone who could be loved. Someone who could love her in return.
More than anything in this world, he wanted the chance to prove her right.
He took a few deep breaths and straightened up. He reached for the phone. This time, he knew exactly what he was going to say.
A door opened somewhere down the corridor. There was the sound of approaching footsteps. Major Redinger rounded the corner, a cell phone pressed to his ear. He spoke a few words, closed the phone and slipped it into his pants pocket. He was already frowning before he looked at Rafe. "What are you still doing here, Marek?"
Rafe paused before he could complete the number. "Making a phone call, sir."
"You should be assembling the ordnance," he said as he walked past.
"Yes, sir."
"Now."
For the first time since he'd put on a uniform, Rafe was tempted to disobey a direct order.
Well, why shouldn't he be tempted? After all, as Glenna had pointed out, he was human, wasn't he? He replaced the receiver. "Major Redinger, I'd like to request a leave of absence."
The major stopped walking. He turned around and strode back to Rafe. "On what grounds?"
"Personal, sir."
"Are you ill? You seemed to have something on your mind during the briefing."
"I'm fine, thanks. As a matter of fact, at this moment my mind is clearer than it has been in years."
"Good. Then we'll see about arranging something after the mission."
"Thank you, Major."
"Can't afford to lose you now, Marek." Redinger resumed his progress toward the exit"The mission objectives have just changed."
Rafe fell into step beside him. "In what way?"
"In addition to arresting Juarez, we'll be retrieving a hostage."
"What happened?"
Redinger slammed the door open with the heel of his hand. "It seems Leonardo Juarez hasn't been in Rocama as the intelligence reports indicated. He's been here in the States, traveling under the passport of a Nicaraguan businessman."
A Nicaraguan businessman? Rafe remembered the fund-raiser at Glenna's hotel, and the man who from the back had looked so much like Juarez. He'd thought it was a false alarm, the power of suggestion. Dread settled in his belly as he followed the major outside. "Garrido. Was that the name he was using?"
"That's right."
"I saw him in New York. I didn't follow up the pursuit because Juarez was supposed to be in Rocama."
"Intelligence slipped up on that one. He was there, all right. He flew out of La Guardia on a private jet at noon today, so he's back on the island now. Along with his hostage." The major looked at him, his jaw tight with anger. "His arrogance is unbelievable. He's thumbing his nose at our entire country by taking her again."
Again?
The dread became a vise, squeezing the breath from his body. No. Oh, God, no. No!
He wanted to go back to yesterday, do things over, take Glenna in his arms and promise her anything and beg her to stay...
But Rafe already knew that you couldn't rewrite the past, no matter how much you wanted to. "He has Glenna," Rafe said.
Redinger nodded. "Yes."
One of the guards was the same as before. Glenna could tell by the smell. It was the same as the smell that had been on the clothes she'd used. He stood in the doorway of the storeroom and used his gun to motion her forward. "Come with me."
She stood up and brushed the dust from her skirt. The soles of her shoes gritted across the cement floor. She was thankful she still had her shoes this time. The extra few inches of height they gave her helped to stem the rising panic.
Oh, God, how could this be happening again? Once was enough for anyone's lifetime.
The guard took his cigarette from his mouth, blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and shifted to one side of the doorway.
Glenna turned sideways to get past, sucking in her breath so she wouldn't have to touch him. She kept her chin up and refused to make eye contact as two other armed men moved on either side of her. They weren't taking any chances that she might escape this time.
The walk down the basement corridor was like a replay of a bad dream. But she wouldn't permit herself to fall apart. Aside from a few minutes of terror when she'd awakened in the storeroom this morning, she'd managed to retain her control. She hahang on. Rafe would come for her. He was a soldier. That's what he did.
Where was he now? Was he still on the base, preparing for the assault? Or was the team already on its way?
They would know she was here.
She could only pray that Juarez didn't know they were coming.
Oh, God. It had been bad enough when she'd stood in the briefing room surrounded by maps and charts and plans. She'd been tormented by the thought of Rafe and the men she'd come to know risking their lives on the mission. Now there was no distance to numb the fear. She could hear the heavy tread of the guards' boots and see the deadly looking rifles they carried. Delta Force was good. The best. But all it took was one stray bullet and---
She tried to steady her thoughts by concentrating on her surroundings. How far had she walked now? Was it thirty yards? Was that what they'd put on the model? Yes, here was the first bend, just as she remembered. The floor was still level. Some of the lights on the wall had burned out. She didn't see the junction of the corridors until they were on top of it.
One guard put his hand on her back to guide her to the right. Glenna fought the urge to slap his hand away. She couldn't afford to provoke these people. She knew what they were capable of. She curled her nails into her palms and counted the light fixtures.
Juarez was in his office. He was wearing his white suit again, an affectation that might have been amusing if adopted by anyone else. But Leonardo Juarez wore whatever served his purpose. He'd worn a tuxedo the night he'd crashed the fund-raiser. He'd worn a navy-blue blazer and a striped tie yesterday when he'd stepped up to her cab as it had pulled up in front of the Winston Hotel. No one had suspected that under the cover of the blazer he had jabbed a gun into her ribs.
"Ah, Miss Vanderhayden. How nice of you to join me." He half rose from his chair and swept his hand toward an armchair that had been drawn up in front of his desk. "Please, sit down."
The pretense of civility was as disturbing now as it had been before. But this time, she didn't want to throw up on his white vest, she wanted to spit on it.
Her mother would be scandalized by the crude thought. Glenna was beyond caring. She'd given up living her life by her old rules.
Her gaze went to the window. Darkness had settled over the rain forest. She had been here for more than a day now. How much longer would he keep her before he reverted to brutality? What if the mission had been postponed? She sat down in the chair he had indicated. "It's useless to keep me hostage this way," she said. "My government isn't going to release your brother on my account."
Leather creaked as Juarez leaned back in his chair. "Now, now, no need to be modest. I had no idea how valuable an asset you were during your last visit. If I had, I would have insured your stay was more...extended. The Vanderhayden name alone opens countless locked doors, and I understand you are personal friends with several senators and congressmen."
"My name is Hastings."
He shook his head. "Lovely Glenna, I know all about you. Over the past week I've had very infor conversations with your colleagues."
She remembered how she'd thought she'd seen him talking to Abernathy in the ballroom. And hadn't her mother mentioned that a foreign-sounding man had called the house to ask about her?
Oh, God. The idea of how easily this...reptile had slunk into her life made her nauseous. He'd been there in New York all along. If she hadn't gone back to Fort Bragg with Rafe, Juarez would have kidnapped her a week ago.
"Yes, I believe your family and your powerful friends will serve my purpose splendidly," he said. "Yet there was a more important reason I decided to extend my hospitality to you again. Your presence here will put an end to your plans to interfere with my business."
Glenna hung on to the arms of the chair so he wouldn't see the sudden tremor in her hands. It sounded as if he knew about the assault that was planned. How? The mission was secret---she hadn't told anyone what she had been doing last week, and she was positive none of the team had disclosed the information. Yet if Juarez was aware of the mission, the team would be in terrible danger. She did her best to keep her voice steady. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The mask of affability slipped. Juarez leaned forward, his face twisted into a scowl. "Do not lie to me. I have heard from several sources of your plan to build a resort on my island. That was what brought you to my attention once more and took me to New York. I will not allow these plans to proceed."
She hid her relief. He was talking about the tourist resort, that was all. "This is a beautiful island," she said.
"It's only natural that I'd regard it as a business opportunity. But if you're opposed to the idea, I'll certainly reconsider."
He snatched the flat silver case from his desk and took out a cigarette. The ritual of lighting it seemed to calm him. He drew his mouth into a circle and pushed out a ring of smoke with his tongue. "You will have no choice, lovely Glenna. You are completely at my mercy. There will be no Delta Force Frankenstein to help you this time."
He'd used the same word before. He'd had Rafe struck. Oh, God. He was an animal.
The phone on his desk suddenly buzzed. "Ah, right on schedule," he said, reaching for the receiver. "It appears your government knows better than to keep me waiting."
The call was almost identical to the one a month ago. The demands. The ultimatum. Juarez's repulsive pawing as he held the phone out to Glenna.
But this time, she recognized the voice at the other end. It was Sarah Fox.
"The hostage is alive."
Sarah's words crackled through Rafe's ear piece over the drone of the plane's engines. He stared straight ahead, no change in his expression. But inside his chest, his lungs had started to work once more.
Redinger's voice came next. The question was brief. "Location?"
"The target told her what to say. She remarked once to him it was juslike last time."
Rafe tongued the transmitter that linked him to the team. "She was giving us a message," he said. "They were in the office at the compound."
To her credit, Sarah didn't question his statement. She would know that Glenna was a bright woman and would be doing everything she could to convey information. "She might not be there now," Sarah said. "We couldn't keep him on the line."
"We proceed as planned," Redinger said. "Two minutes to drop point."
The light over the hatch glowed dull red. The twelve black-clad members of the Eagle Squadron assault team who waited in the hold fitted their night vision and breathing apparatus over their faces and began their final equipment check.
Rafe tapped a button on the device that was strapped to his left forearm. The computer screen showed a green grid that correlated each man's signal with the satellite positioning system that would guide them to the compound. Next he checked his rifle and his backup pistol. Then the extra magazines in his pockets, the sheathed knife on his calf, the rope and the grenades on his belt...he was a walking arsenal. Good to go. Ready to rock and roll.
Except for one thing. He activated the transmitter again. He knew Sarah would be monitoring the frequency until the mission concluded. "How did she sound?" he asked.
There was a brief delay before the answer came. "Scared, but hanging on."
Rafe pulled on his gloves and clenched his fists. Yes, Glenna would be hanging on. She was a fighter. Just look how she'd fought for his heart.
He'd thought he'd known what a nightmare was, yet the past twenty-four hours had been a special kind of hell. Regrets were pointless, but that didn't stop him from having them. He'd made countless bargains with fate and with God as he'd prayed for Glenna's safety.
And in case the higher powers needed help, he had thrown every ounce of his energy into the preparations for this mission. He'd done his job ten times over and then gone on to do everyone else's, getting in their faces until Redinger had needed to haul him aside. But the major had known better than to pull him out. The way Rafe was feeling, even without his gear, he was the deadliest weapon they had.
They had to find her and get her out. Unharmed. There was no margin for error. Juarez was going to do everything possible to make sure she didn't escape again.
Damn, he couldn't think about that now. He had to focus on the mission. It was the most important one of his life.
Someone tapped on his helmet. He glanced across the hold. Flynn gave him a thumbs-up. Beside him sat Chief Esposito. He looked at Rafe and silently did the same. So did Redinger, Norton and Lang. One by one, each man on the team gave Rafe the same sign of support.
Glenna had made twelve friends during her stay at the base. It wasn't only because of her relationship to Rafe that these men considered her one of their own.
At first Glenna didn't realize the sound was gunfire. It was a sharp popping noise, as if someone were hammering in the distance. The only other time she'd heard gunfire, she'd been much closer. The bullets had passed so near she'd felt them slice the air. She'd thought she was going to die.
This time, it wasn't the possibility of her own death that was uppermost in her mind.
She scrambled to her feet and raced toward the sliver of light that showed where the door was. Rafe. He was here. Please, God, keep him safe.
The popping continued in short bursts. A rumbling boom vibrated the floor beneath her feet. It sounded closer than the gunfire. There were shouts and the sound of running footsteps in the corridor. A man screamed and cried out in a language Glenna didn't understand. There was another boom, this time close enough to rattle the door on its hinges.
More footsteps, heavier ones. Keys jingled, something scraped in the lock. Glenna barely had time to move out of the way before the door swung open and slammed against the wall.
Smoke billowed inside, bringing with it an acrid, chemical smell. Glenna coughed and peered at the man in the doorway. It wasn't Rafe. It wasn't any of the Delta commandos she'd grown to know. This man was dressed in white.
She whirled around and lurched for the shadows of the storeroom, but he latched on to her arm.
"You're coming with me," Juarez said, yanking her backward.
Glenna reacted without thinking. She brought her foot down as hard as she could, driving her heel into his instep.
He hissed out a string of foreign words and gave her a hard shake. "I should leave you to suffocate in the fire your friends have set, but you're too valuable. Let's go."
Tears sprang to her eyes from the spurt of pain as he dug his fingers into the sensitive flesh of her upper arm, but she struggled anyway. Rafe was here. She could feel it. "No!"
He hooked his arm around her throat and pushed something hard and metallic into her ribs. She looked down. Through the dim light and the thickening haze of smoke that poured in from the corridor, she saw the gleam of a gun.
"Either you walk with me or I kill you here and carry you." His breath on her cheek was hot and reeking of tobacco. He angled the end of the gun barrel against the underside of her breast. "As long as no one finds your body I can still negotiate. It is up to you, bitch."
The threat wasn't a bluff. She knew clearly that she could die in the next instant unless she obeyed.
Something flashed before her eyes. It wasn't her past that she saw, nor was it all the things she hadn't done. Unlike before, she had no regrets---she had lived, she had taken a chance on love. This time, what she saw was her future.
And dear God, she had a lot of living left to do.
Strength flowed into her and her panic ebbed. She would survive. Somehow, she would find her way back to Rafe
Juarez shoved Glenna out of the storeroom and started down the corridor with her in front of him. He shouted orders to the guards, but they seemed to be milling about in confusion as the gunfire grew louder and the smoke grew thicker. The chemical smell was mixed with a sickly sweet tang. Delta must have destroyed the drug lab that was near the loading bay, Glenna thought. It would only be a matter of minutes before they worked their way here.
Glenna purposely stumbled when they reached the junction of the corridors, trying to delay their headlong rush, but Juarez didn't slow their pace. He pushed her into the middle corridor, the one she'd never been down, and roughly guided her forward.
"Loading bay secure." Esposito's voice in Rafe's earpiece was accompanied by the crackle of flames. "Proceeding up the east corridor."
"Second story clear," Redinger said. "Opposition neutralized."
More voices reported as Rafe sprinted down the west corridor to the basement. The mission was going precisely as planned. The team had glided out of the night in dead silence, their black clothing and gear making them practically invisible to Juarez's guards until they were on top of them.
The resistance was fierce but short-lived. Swiftly and methodically, each area of the compound was cleared as the team worked their way into the middle. Already the house's entrance hall was filling with the prone forms of prisoners who were lying facedown on the marble floor, their hands clasped behind their necks, their weapons stacked in a heap at the foot of the staircase.
But Juarez's office had been deserted. Rafe knew they'd given no warning before he and Flynn had burst through the window in a shower of glass shards, yet they'd found only an empty room. Could she be in the basement storeroom where Juarez had held them before?
The smoke from Esposito's explosives cut the light in half, but as soon as Rafe saw the gaping black doorway, he knew this room was empty, too. She wasn't here.
There was a burst of gunfire behind him. Rafe glanced back to see two of Juarez's guards crumple to the floor. Flynn stepped out of the smoke and bent down to bind the wrists of the men he'd just immobilized.
Rafe pivoted to retrace his steps to the junction of the corridors. Without hesitating, he ran down the middle one.
Only a few yards in, he realized the smoke was thinner here. There was a cool breeze coming from somewhere ahead. Another exit? The team had formed their plan of attack on the assumption they would have Juarez cornered. Rafe activated his transmitter. It was time to figure out Plan B.
Time became a fast-forward blur. Glenna wasn't sure how far they went before she noticed that the smoke had disappeared. There was a muggy breeze coming from somewhere ahead. Could it be another exit? They'd had no hint of this when they'd constructed the model of the compound. What if Juarez had reinforcements waiting there? What if they were able to surprise the Delta Force men and turn the tables?
Glenna twisted her head and screamed. She doubted anyone would hear her, but she had to try to warn them yway.
Pain burst in her cheek as Juarez slapped her. "Do not make me reconsider my generosity," he said. "I can just as easily kill you."
The corridor ended in a set of steps that led up to a steel door. Juarez hauled her back against his chest, wedging the gun firmly under her chin before he flung open the door and crossed the threshold. He was using her for a shield, Glenna realized, the same way one of the hijackers had held her in the doorway of the plane.
But there was no sunlit expanse of pavement in front of them, just a narrow dirt path that led into the black shadows of the rain forest. The only light came from behind them, where the sky glowed orange from the cloud of smoke that billowed from the house.
She looked around as they moved forward, but there was no sign of anyone else. Thank God. Her fears that Juarez might have had reinforcements here were unfounded. The only sound came from some kind of bird that called from the undergrowth on their left. It was answered seconds later by one to their right.
Glenna suddenly realized that the reason she could hear the birds was because the gunfire had stopped.
The assault must be over. Who had won?
A bird called again. It sounded from behind them, closer than before and more like a whistle than a chirp. Glenna felt her heart leap. She peered into the darkness.
And the darkness came alive. Six large, black-clad men materialized from the jungle and converged on the path.
They didn't ask Juarez to surrender. They never gave him a choice. In his white suit, he stood out like a beacon. As his finger tightened on the trigger, the gun he held to Glenna's chin was knocked aside. There was a sharp crunch and Juarez shrieked.
Noise exploded beside Glenna's ear. Something stung her temple an instant before she was pulled off her feet and wrapped in a hard embrace.
The stinging in her temple turned into a sharp pain. Numbness spread over her body but she fought to stay awake. She couldn't see the face of the man who held her, but her heart knew who it was. Her heart had always recognized him. She smiled and laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder. "Rafe," she whispered. "I knew you would..."
But whatever she had wanted to say would have to wait. The blackness that cloaked the jungle reached out to engulf her, replacing the pain with unconsciousness.
"How is she?"
Rafe stroked Glenna's hair back from the bandage on her temple. "The doctor checked her ten minutes ago. He said the swelling inside her skull has gone down and her pressure's back to normal, so she should wake up soon."
Flynn stood at the foot of the hospital bed and crumpled his hat in his fists. "I'm sorry, Rafe. I thought I'd been fast enough."
"You were, Flynn. The bullet only grazed her. It was the concussion that knocked her out." Rafe moved his gaze from the bandage to the reddened skin on her cheek. The powder burns weren't bad enough to scar. The tinge of purple from the place where Juarez had struck her was already beginning to fade to blue. Aing to the doctors who had treated her, chances were excellent that she'd make a complete recovery.
How many times would he have to tell himself that before the hollow churning in his gut finally eased?
"Yeah, but it's my fault he had the chance to fire," Flynn said.
Rafe twisted on the chair to look at his friend. Unlike Rafe, Flynn had taken the time to clean up and put on a fresh uniform before he'd come to the hospital. Every man on the team had volunteered to sit with Glenna so that Rafe could do the same, but Rafe hadn't let her out of his sight since he'd snatched her away from Juarez.
He'd gone over the events of the night before at least a hundred times during the trip back to the base. Was there something he could have done differently? Could he have found the hidden exit and set up the ambush sooner? Or should they have waited and moved later? Maybe. Maybe not. Those were yet more questions he would never know the answer to. "Juarez was the one who pulled the trigger, not you," Rafe said. "Glenna wouldn't blame you. She's not like that."
"Well, I'm sorry anyway."
Rafe wanted to say something about forgiveness, but the concept was still too new to him. It was going to take time. Still, the process had already begun, and with Glenna's help...
He hitched his chair closer to the bed and took Glenna's hand as he remembered her words. "We can't rewrite the past," he murmured. "But we can overcome it."
"I heard Leonardo's going to get a cell near Arturo as soon as his cast comes off."
Rafe smiled grimly. "How many bones did you break when you grabbed his hand, Flynn?"
"Only three."
"He was lucky."
"Yeah. The chief says I need to increase my hours in the weight room." Flynn mashed his hat some more. "Rafe, remember those things I said a few days ago..."
"What things?"
"About women and not getting serious."
"You want to apologize about that, too?"
"Hey, don't push it. I'm not planning to give up my freedom for anyone. I just wanted to say that you were with us more than a hundred percent on this mission. Maybe Glenna's not that bad for you after all."
"Not that bad?" Rafe shook his head. "Flynn, she is the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire sorry life."
"I couldn't agree more." Sarah swept into the room, her arms laden with an arrangement of flowers that she could barely see over. "Where do you want these, Rafe? I had to hit practically every shop in Fayetteville to find them for you."
He twined his fingers with Glenna's as he glanced around the room. There wasn't an empty surface left. Bouquets had been arriving all morning. There were flowers from Glenna's friends at the hotel, a tasteful orchid arrangement in a crystal vase from her mother, even flers that had been sent from florists. Yet most of the vegetation that crowded the tables and the windowsill was from the men of Eagle Squadron.
"Thanks, Sarah," Rafe said. "Can you fit them on the tray table?"
"Sure." Sarah pushed aside the potted violet Esposito had brought from his wife's greenhouse and set the flowers down on the high, narrow table. "She's going to love seeing all of this when she wakes up." She paused as she looked at Glenna. "Any word on when that might be, Rafe?"
"Any minute now."
"I heard her prognosis is excellent."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm not surprised. She's a pretty determined woman. I think she would have made a good officer."
"I had the same thought myself."
"Who gave her the teddy bear?" Sarah asked, waving toward the huge stuffed toy that was leaning in the corner beside the window. "It's cute."
"The major."
Flynn guffawed. "You're kidding, right?"
"For some reason, the gift shop downstairs had run out of flowers, Sergeant."
At Redinger's voice, Flynn straightened and turned toward the door. "Sir, I meant no disrespect."
"At ease, O'Toole." Rather than entering the room, the Major stayed in the doorway. "Is there any change, Rafe?"
"Not yet, Major."
"Let me know when she's lucid. The DEA and the State Department want to talk to her."
"If they want to talk to her, they'll have to get in line behind me, sir."
One corner of the major's mouth lifted. "Yes, I imagine they will. This might be a good time to take that leave you wanted. Consider it effective as of now. You've got ten days."
"Thank you."
"As for you, Sergeant O'Toole, the debriefing starts in five minutes."
"Right. I'm on my way." Flynn moved around the bed and squeezed Rafe's shoulder. "Hang in there, buddy."
"Don't worry," he replied. "I've got no intention of retreating."
Redinger turned to go. "Captain?"
"I'll be right with you, Major." Sarah regarded Glenna in silence for a moment, then smiled at Rafe across the bed. "It's going to work out, Rafe," she said softly. "I believe you and Glenna are two of the lucky ones."
Rafe thought about that as his friends left the room. Lucky? He wasn't sure that luck had much to do with it. They were what they made of themselves. And he planned to do everything in his power to make a future with
As long as she'd have him, that is.
Rafe pressed his lips to Glenna's knuckles. "Wake up, princess," he murmured. "Wake up, even if it's just so you can tell me what an idiot I am."
Her chest rose and fell beneath the pale blue hospital gown. Fluid dripped from the IV bag suspended near the head of the bed into the tube in her arm. Otherwise, there was no movement.
"Because I am an idiot. I've been so wrapped up in my past that I couldn't see the present. I was the one who didn't recognize reality, not you."
Her eyes remained closed, her lashes dark against her pale cheeks.
"I've got ten days," he said. "We'll go somewhere quiet, okay? Just the two of us. No schedules, no missions, no day planners. How about New Orleans? We could take in some jazz, go on some real dates, do all those things we skipped."
No reply.
"Please, wake up, Glenna. I need to talk to you. I need to see you open those green eyes and---" He swallowed hard. Emotions that had been buried for years were gathering into a thick lump in his throat.
It still hurt. But it was a good kind of pain. The pain of healing. "I need you," he whispered. "You. Whether you're Glenna Hastings or Glenna Vanderhayden. Whether you're working in some fancy Manhattan office or stealing the last piece of pecan pie from the commissary, you'll always be my Glenna."
Was that a tremor in her fingers? Or was it his own hand that shook? Rafe leaned closer, pressing a kiss in the center of her palm. "Come on, princess. You can do it."
Her eyelids fluttered.
Rafe tightened his grip. "Glenna?"
She heard his voice, but it sounded rough. She could feel his worry through the tension in his hand. She struggled to push through the haze that surrounded her.
He was leaning over her. His jaw and his good cheek bristled with beard stubble. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. An oily-looking stain smeared the shoulder of his black jumpsuit. He looked terrible. And he was the most wonderful sight in the world. Glenna smiled. "Hello, Rafe."
He didn't say anything right away. He swallowed first, his throat working. "Hello, Glenna," he rasped. "Welcome back."
Her smile dimmed. She moistened her lips as she tried to figure out what was going on. Her head felt thick, as if she'd been asleep for too long, yet her senses seemed to be working with startling clarity. There were flowers everywhere, a banquet of color and scent. "Where are we?"
"We're back at Bragg. In the hospital. You were grazed by a bullet when Juarez discharged his pistol."
The nightmare burst full-blown into her mind. She remembered everything. The horror of her captivity, the fear and the gunfire, the scuffle in the darkness...and then Rafe's arms holding her, keeping her safe.
That was the important part. She was safe. They both weurned her head, then winced at the sudden throb of discomfort.
"Glenna?"
He sounded so worried, she tried to reassure him. "I'm all right, Rafe. I just...have a headache."
"You have a concussion from the bullet. I'll see if they can give you something for the pain."
"Rafe, it isn't bad. I'm---"
He was already on his way to the door. He called for a nurse. A few moments later, a matronly woman hurried in and checked Glenna's vitals. When she was finished, she nodded approvingly and scribbled in a chart.
Glenna declined her offer of pain medication. She didn't want to be sedated. She didn't want to rest as the nurse advised, either. She wanted to see Rafe.
The nurse left with the same bustling efficiency with which she'd entered, pausing only long enough to caution Rafe not to tire her patient. He closed the door behind her and returned to stand beside the bed. He lifted his hand, his fingertips whispering over Glenna's hair. "Are you sure you don't want to take anything?"
"I'm fine. It's not that bad." She inhaled slowly, drinking in the warmth of his presence, and the pain receded. "What happened with the mission?"
"It was a complete success."
"That's great."
"Yeah. Juarez is in custody. The records we found at his compound are going to allow the Rocaman government to weed out every corrupt cop and politician on his payroll."
"Was anyone hurt?"
"No casualties on our side except you." He clenched his jaw. "I'm sorry, Glenna. After everything you did for the team, we should have been able to get to you sooner."
"I knew you would come, Rafe."
"When Juarez took you, nothing would keep me away."
Of course. This was what he did for a living. He was an honorable man. He would feel responsible. She shouldn't hope that it was more. He'd made himself clear before she'd gone back to New York.
Yes, well, she wasn't going to give up that easily again. He was with her now, and whether they were in a hospital room or a basement prison, she still intended to make every minute count. Not because her life was about to end, but because it was just getting started. She braced her elbows on the mattress and began to sit up. "Rafe---"
"Glenna---"
They had both spoken at once. He reached beside the bed for the controls that would raise the mattress under her head. With a touch that was achingly tender, he adjusted her pillows behind her back and tucked the blanket around her waist. "I realize you need rest, Glenna, and this probably isn't the best time or place to discuss this, but there's something I need to say and I don't want to take a chance that something else will happen to stop me again."
"Again
"I tried to call you after you left. I know now why you never answered, but for a while I'd thought you just didn't want to talk to me."
"You called? Why?"
He sat down on the edge of the mattress and braced his fists on either side of her hips. "You made me think about John, really think about him, instead of burying it all under the scars and the hate."
"I'm glad, Rafe."
"When we first met, you said we had a bond. I didn't believe you then, but it turns out that you were right about everything. I was letting my past keep me from having a future." He regarded her in silence for a while, his gaze intense. "But not anymore, Glenna. The major gave me a ten-day leave. I hope that once you're discharged and are feeling better, you and I could go someplace where we could talk about this in private."
She tried to ignore the tickle of disappointment she felt. He meant they would get together when he was on leave. So what if he wanted to pick up where they left off? He was willingly talking about John and facing his past, which was a huge step forward for him. "That sounds great."
"I realize we'll have a lot of details to work through because of our careers, but given your gift for organization we're bound to figure out something. If the Winston chain does go ahead with the resort in Rocama, I could volunteer to work with you as a local adviser or liaison. Then if you can't transfer to a hotel in this area, the army public relations office could always use someone with your skills."
The disappointment was quickly replaced by confusion. "Transfer? For a weekend?"
"Glenna, I didn't mean..." He paused. "Damn, I've been going over this in my head for almost two days now and I still don't know how to say it."
"Say what, Rafe?"
The weariness eased from his face as his lips curved into a smile. "To be honest, I'd rather show you."
Headache or no headache, his smile still knocked the breath from her lungs. "Show me?"
"That night we spent at my apartment, you were right about what we were doing, Glenna." He leaned over and brought his lips to hers. "We were making love."
His kiss was restrained, a mere brush of his mouth, yet she felt it clear through to her toes. The grogginess she'd awakened with was long gone as her heart began to race. This was her warrior lover, her real-life hero.
"I love you, Glenna."
She wasn't dreaming. She'd been through enough now to recognize reality. And this was more real than she'd dared to hope.
"I love you." He pulled back to look at her, his smile growing. "And if you'll have me, I promise I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be a man you can love in return."
Her eyes filled. "Oh, Rafe, you don't have to try. You already are."
He caught her tears with h fingertips. He didn't say any more. He didn't have to. Because he was showing her. Love trembled in the corners of his smile. Love gleamed in his pure blue gaze. Love softened the hard planes of his face and turned the lines and gullies of his ruined cheek into a reflection of the strength in his soul.
And in that moment Glenna knew she was looking at the handsomest man in the world.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8256-2
EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
Copyright © 2003 by Ingrid Caris
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\*Eagle Squadron

