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Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar
Lindsay McKenna


His spirit was tied to the jungle…Nine years ago, mercenary Major Mike Houston had faced death and won. So he knew his Quechua Indian blood made him different from other men. And the force of that knowledge kept love and the life he wanted out of reach.Until he was assigned a new mission with the one person he could love without fear. Dr. Ann Parsons knew he was the only man she could trust when her latest mission took her deep into enemy territory. But loving anyone in danger-prone Lima was risky. And now she had so much more at stake….









“I need you,” Mike rasped, placing his hand against her cheek and guiding her face upward.


In one heated moment out of time, all Ann longed for was finally happening. It was all so crazy. So mixed-up. Yet as she lifted her chin and felt his strong mouth settle upon her lips, nothing had ever felt so right. So pure. So devastatingly beautiful. His strong arms moved around her back and she felt him put her against him.

There was no mistake about his gesture; it was clearly that of a man claiming his woman….




Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar

Lindsay McKenna







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A homeopathic educator, Lindsay McKenna teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers on those levels. Coming from an Eastern Cherokee medicine family, Lindsay has taught ceremony and healing ways from the time she was nine years old. She creates flower and gem essences in accordance with nature and remains closely in touch with her Native American roots and upbringing.


To all my wonderful readers who have been

with me over the years. You are the greatest!




Contents


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17




Prologue


“Oh, hell…I’m dying….”

The thought slammed through Captain Mike Houston’s spinning mind and then, in disgust, he uttered the desperate words out loud. Sliding his long, muddied fingers along his camouflaged right thigh, he looked down to see bright red blood spurting like a pulsing fountain. A bullet had ricocheted off a tree and nicked his femoral artery, and he was bleeding like a butchered hog. Instinctively, because he was trained as a paramedic, he put direct pressure on the wound with his dirty hand.

Lying in the midst of the Peruvian jungle, Mike knew there wouldn’t be any rescue coming. No, the helicopter he’d been in had been shot down by Eduardo Escovar’s drug cartel mercenaries, who were intent on hunting him down and murdering him. As far as Mike knew, he was the only survivor of the flaming wreckage. The redness and blisters on his forearms, the tightness of his face, told him he hadn’t gotten away without being burned. Gasping, he threw back his head. Sweat trailed down the sides of his hardened face as he began to feel each single beat of his heart in his heaving chest.

Though he’d leaped from the falling bird before it hit the triple canopy of trees, Mike knew his Peruvian army team hadn’t survived the attack. The helicopter had been hit by a rocket at five hundred feet and had slowly turned over on its side like a wounded, shrieking eagle, twisting around and around until it hit the thick jungle cover.

In the distance, he could hear flames from the downed aircraft still snapping and popping. He heard the excited voices of Escovar’s men as they searched through the jungle, hunting for any survivors. It was only a matter of time now, actually. A pained, one-cornered smile twisted Mike’s mouth. Helluva place to pack it all in: in his mother’s homeland. She was Quechua Indian and had been concerned when he was assigned by the U.S. Army to teach Peruvian soldiers how to begin ridding their land of the cocaine lords. She’d wept in his arms, pleading with him not to go down there, that he’d die.

Well, it looked like she was right. Mike scowled. At twenty-six years old, he didn’t want to die. Hell, he’d barely lived yet. He’d only been an Army Special Forces officer since he graduated from college at age twenty-two. He had his whole career—his whole life—ahead of him. But as he lay in the shallow depression, the surrounding green, leafy jungle effectively hiding him, the soft, spongy ground beneath him damp with rotting vegetation, he began to feel light-headed. That was the first sign of shock, he noted coldly. Pretty soon I’m going to dump, my blood pressure will drop through the floor and I’ll lose consciousness and die. It would be like going to sleep.

Still, he’d been in so many close calls over the years as he’d directed Peruvian army teams against the continuing battle with drug lords in the highlands of this jungle country that he believed he might have a chance. He had luck—his mother’s Indian luck. She prayed for him constantly. It made a difference.

He could feel his heart thudding hard in his chest. And, he became aware of the pulse of blood through his body. The sticky red substance had completely soaked the material around his thigh. He tried to put more pressure on the wound. No, he thought gravely, this time there would be no help, no helicopter coming, no relief to make up the difference. He knew that the copilot had gotten off a mayday message shortly after they were hit because he’d heard him scream out their location as the out-of-control helicopter plunged toward earth. But who knew if anyone had picked up the transmission? There was little chance of a rescue being organized.

The heavy jungle growth felt comforting to him. In his green-and-tan camouflage uniform, he was well hidden. With a mirthless smile, Mike lay on his left side, placing his arm beneath his head like a pillow while his right hand closed more firmly over his hard, massive thigh. It was only a matter of time. Escovar’s men were local villagers. They knew how to hunt and track. They’d eventually pick up his trail. He hadn’t been able to hide his tracks this time. Usually, he was just as good as they were in hiding his whereabouts, but not on this misty, cool morning. Blinking through the sweat dripping off his bunched brow, Houston looked up through the wide, wet leaves.

Humidity lay like a blanket above the canopy. On most days, sunlight never reached the jungle floor. His eyes blurred briefly and everything went hazy. The beat of his heart became pronounced. As he lost more blood, his heart pumped harder, trying to make do with less. It was a losing battle. His mind was shorting out, too. He wondered if he’d bleed to death before the cocaine soldiers found him. He hoped so, because what they’d do to him wouldn’t be pretty. He laughed to himself. The Geneva Convention didn’t mean a damn thing down here. Its declaration of the rights of prisoners was a piece of paper in some far-off land. Here, the law of the jungle prevailed. Any prisoner taken could expect horrendous, painful torture until death released him from the agony. To torment one’s enemy wasn’t just permitted, it was a right.

Pain throbbed up and down his leg. He had to try and get his web belt around his thigh and make a tourniquet. Mike laughed at himself once again. Why the hell was he trying to save his own miserable life? So Escovar’s men could finish him off, an inch at a time? He kept his hand gripped on his thigh. No belt. Screw it. I’ll die instead. He shut his eyes, the black, spiky lashes resting against his ashen, glistening features. Ordinarily, he looked like a Peruvian Indian, his skin not copper colored, but a dark, dusky hue that hinted at the norteamericano blood interfaced with Indian. He spoke Spanish and the Quechua language as easily as he did English, thanks to his mother’s influence.

“Never forget your upbringing, Michael!” she would remonstrate, shaking that small, brown finger in his face. “Your father might think you’re all norteamericano, but you are not! Your heart belongs to my people. Your spirit belongs to the Jaguar Clan in the jungles of Peru. Never forget that.”

Mike chuckled softly, his face pressing into the scratchy leaves and branches where he lay. He was weakening further. In spite of the humid hell that surrounded him, he felt cold, and he was dying of thirst. Oh, for a drink of water right now! Somewhere in his hazy mind, he knew he was going to go through every classic symptom of shock as the blood leaked out of his body. For a moment, he felt lighter, the heaviness of his body, the belts of ammunition he wore criss-crossed around his chest no longer pulling him downward. Despite his tightly shut eyes, he saw the dull, whitish yellow glow of clouds that always embraced the jungle. The light always reminded him of his mother’s belief that the clouds were actually the veil between the worlds. On this side was the “real world,” she’d told him, when he was a child on her knee, listening as she spun story after story of her Indian heritage. But the other side…ahh…that was the world of the shamans and the Jaguar Clan. It was a world full of magic, danger, mystery and terror. Only trained medicine people could go between the worlds and come back alive from the experience. Anyone else foolish enough to try it would die.

I’m dying now. I’m going between the worlds. Part of him, the norteamericano side, laughed derisively at the thought. But his mother’s Indian blood, that part of him connected deeply with Mother Earth, believed it. Until now, Mike hadn’t really thought much about his mother’s belief system. In these moments before his death, her words were more important to him than he’d ever realized.

Mike heard the shout of a soldier no more than a hundred feet away from where he lay. He knew he’d done a bad job of hiding himself beneath the damp, rotting leaves and branches that filled the shallow depression he’d dug, but his leg wound had taken most of his attention. Now consciousness was draining from him. His fingers began to slip away from his wound and he felt the pulse of warm blood spreading across them. He didn’t have the strength to hold pressure over the bullet hole in his thigh any longer.

He was breathing shallowly now. His heartbeat was growing weaker. He was dumping. His blood pressure would plummet any second now, and he’d die. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing but that humid, moist veil to another world. Funny, he couldn’t see anything else anymore. He supposed that was part of dying. Blinking away the sweat running into his eyes, he realized he no longer felt its sting. Yes, he was definitely going through the dying process. He began to lose his fear of being discovered. Absorbed by the white-and-gold light that now surrounded him, he realized the cold that had been flowing up his legs and into the center of his body had stopped. He blinked again.

A voice inside his head told him to look down at his arm, which was flung out before him. He shifted his gaze slightly across the surface of the ground, thinking he would only be able to see the white light. But he could make out his darkly haired arm, the camouflage material torn away, leaving the lower part exposed.

His vision was changing. As if he were looking at his arm through a microscope, Mike saw each black hair and his darkly tanned flesh beneath. His focus moved to his large-knuckled, heavily scarred hand. Suddenly, he felt something shift within him.

The feeling wasn’t that noticeable, just a vague sense of readjustment. Mike wasn’t sure what caused it, but there was a rumbling feeling in his chest, like a heavy truck grinding up a steep hill in low gear.

Sounds blurred around him. The drip, drip, drip of water falling from the leaves was amplified, while the shouts of the soldiers dissolved. Mike felt oddly uncomfortable, but his pain was nearly gone. Even the throbbing sensation in his leg had disappeared.

Puzzled, Houston blinked and continued to stare dazedly at his outstretched arm. The sight of it was his last hold on reality, he figured. Pretty soon, his vision would dim and he’d be gone—forever, this time. He felt lighter and lighter, all the noises and the pain slowly dissolving. He felt as if he were whirling and the sensation made him dizzy as it became more and more profound. His gaze clung to his dirty, bloodied arm, as if he were trying to absorb one last reminder of his physical body before he died. A part of him didn’t want to die. It was his Indian spirit fighting, he guessed.

All of Mike’s focus was drawn to the dark hairs that carpeted his forearm. Suddenly some of the hair began to turn a deep gold color. The black hairs remaining took on the shape of black crescent moons all over his now golden-haired arm. What the hell was going down? He didn’t have the strength to utter the question. His mind spun. He couldn’t think straight any longer. He watched, mesmerized, as his forearm continued to change. Gasping he saw his long, callused fingers transformed into claws. He was no longer staring at his hand, but the huge paw of a big cat! What was happening? Was he hallucinating? That was it. He was hallucinating just as he was dying.

A new strength began to flow up his right arm, a startlingly powerful, pulsing sensation of life triumphing unexpectedly over death. Groaning, Mike rolled onto his back. He closed his eyes, unable to comprehend this strange new feeling. As the warmth and power tunneled up his right arm and flowed into his thickly corded neck and head, he felt changes. Unusual changes. He felt his teeth elongate in his mouth. Strangely, miraculously, he began to regain his senses.

His left arm began to feel like his right one. Then his torso felt like it was shifting—expanding here, narrowing there. The warmth flowed down into his legs and he felt them change shape, too. He was dying, that was all. Dying. But if this was death, why was his heart beating so powerfully in his chest? He opened his mouth and took in a deep, ragged breath. Air flowed into his lungs, life-giving and galvanizing. What’s going on? His mind wasn’t working right. His senses were suddenly, inexplicably acute. Even more so, his sense of smell was heightened. He could scent the soldiers and detect the direction they were coming from. Even better, he could hear them as he’d never heard them before.

Mike rolled onto his stomach. He shouldn’t have been able to due to his wound, but he did. The jungle had taken on different colors to him—not the shades he was used to seeing. Soft light surrounded every leaf, branch and tree. Everything was connected by that river of slowly moving light.

The first soldier was nearly upon him. Mike crouched and waited. Anger tunneled through him as he saw the man lift his rifle and quicken his pace toward where he lay hiding. The soldier was dressed in camouflage fatigues and heavily armed, his black eyes narrowed with a sort of savage pleasure. There was no denying his murderous intent, and Mike sensed this intruder into his domain had tortured many victims and enjoyed their pain, their screams. Blinking, Mike saw a dark gray color around the man. It wasn’t at all like the clear, unbeguiling light he saw around the plants and trees. No, this man’s light was murky. Evil.

Instinctively, Mike crouched, every fiber of his being set to defend himself. He didn’t know where the strength came from, but he felt his hind legs tense, lower slightly, and then he lunged out of his hiding place, his body a projectile, his claws aimed at the man’s exposed neck.

The soldier shrieked and tried to halt. Too late! Everything went black in front of Mike. As he slashed savagely at the soldier’s neck, he heard the man’s scream die in his throat. Within seconds, three more soldiers arrived. Though Mike did not see them, he heard their choking cries and screams of surprise, felt the powerful, flowing movement of his well-muscled, sleek body. The only thing he knew was that his life was at stake and he had to kill them before they killed him.

Once the killing was over, he felt blackness rimming his vision, the gold-and-white light rapidly beginning to fade. With a groan that seemed more like a low growl to his ears, he felt himself running, or more appropriately, loping. He could feel the slap of leaves against his body, but he couldn’t see anything! His energy began to seep away. Strength left his legs, flowing up through his torso. He felt the damp earth beneath his hands and he suddenly collapsed onto it with a groan. The light was gone; the darkness rapidly moved toward him. He was dead. He was sure of it as he lay there on the jungle floor, covered in the humid mist that divided this world and the next.



Houston regained consciousness slowly. Prying his heavy lids open languidly, he stared upward. He lay on his back, hidden by the thick, luxuriant growth around him. Yes, he could see the dark silhouettes of the trees outlined in the mist. But something was different. What? His mind was groggy and he was having trouble remembering much of anything. Above the dense, humid white clouds above the canopy, the sun had shifted. It was almost dusk, he realized.

Little by little, strength flowed back to him. He groaned and rolled slowly onto his left side. Recalling his deadly wound, he propped himself up against a tree and groggily looked down at his right thigh. Blood was everywhere across his lower body. Yet where was the wound? Weakly lifting his hand, his fingers trembling badly, he tried to find the rip in the material where the bullet had entered. There was none. Frowning, he tried to think. It was impossible.

Was he dead and just didn’t know it? Looking up, he realized he felt different, but very much alive. He dug his fingers into the damp, rotting leaves to assure himself of the reality of his surroundings. As he continued to stare down at the place where his wound should have been, he realized something else had changed. The entire front of his uniform was splattered with blood. He hadn’t been wounded in the chest. What would cause blood to cover the front of his shirt? Moving his hand slowly up his wrinkled, muddy uniform, Houston realized the blood had dried, stiffening the fabric. The metallic odor clung nauseatingly to his flaring nostrils.

How did he get covered with so much blood? It couldn’t be his own. His mind railed at the illogic of it all. Lifting his head, Mike slowly tried to absorb everything around him. Yes, he was still in a jungle. The same one he’d crash-landed into, as far as he could tell. Monkeys screamed in the distance, their howling somehow comforting him. A few colorful parrots flew above him looking for a night perch before dusk ended in darkness.

As his gaze dropped from the jungle around him to his left arm, hanging at his side, he felt a jolt. There were gold hairs on his arm. Gold and black. He frowned, thinking he was seeing things. Using what little strength he had left, he lifted his arm and stared at it. What the hell? His vision blurred and then cleared once again. There, on his forearm near his wrist, was an irregular patch of gold hair with two black crescent-moon shapes. This couldn’t be real, he reasoned. As he moved his fingers across the patch of hair, his heart thudded hard, once, in his chest. It was fur. Soft, short, thick fur, surrounded by his own hair. But as he explored it, it disappeared beneath his fingertips.

Overwhelmed, Houston leaned his head back against the tree and drew several deep breaths of air into his lungs. His senses were no longer as acute, but he heard voices not too far from where he lay. Escovar’s men? Snapping his eyes open, Mike waited. For some reason, he didn’t feel danger. That was silly, too. Just moments ago, several of Escovar’s men were going to kill him. Confused, Mike narrowed his eyes and gazed toward the sound.

An aged white man, barefoot and wearing dark blue pants, with a jaguar skin draped over his shoulders, appeared out of the jungle in front of him. Houston raised his eyes to the gray-haired man’s bearded face and met his crinkled gray eyes. The old man nodded in greeting and exposed strong white teeth in a welcoming smile. The man’s two cohorts came toward Mike, an African man and a young Indian girl with willow green eyes.

“I was told you were out here,” the old man said, leaning heavily against a staff that had brightly colored macaw feathers attached to its top. He touched the claw necklace around his neck and chuckled. “I see your guardian has left you your life, hombre. We will take you back to the village. You will be safe with us. Come….”




Chapter 1


“Mike? Mike, it’s time to get up!”

Groaning, Houston turned on his side, jamming his face into the feather pillow. Damn, he thought groggily, he’d had that nightmare again. A flashback really, the same one he’d had a hundred times before…

“Mike?”

“Uh, yeah…I’m awake….” he muttered.

Where was he? Rolling over, he forced his eyes open. The plain timbers of the Santa Fe architecture of the room met his eyes, reminding him he was no longer in the jungle. The sounds were different here. He heard the crow of a nearby rooster and the soft snort of some horses in a corral. As he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he heard the lowing of cattle, too. Oh yeah, he remembered suddenly. He was staying at the Donovan Ranch near Sedona, Arizona. Helluva long way from his normal digs.

He shoved himself upright in the old brass bed, the covers falling away to expose his naked chest and upper body. When he got the chance, he never slept with clothes on—even pajamas—preferring nakedness instead. All too often in his work he had to sleep in his fatigues, ready to leap up and start moving at a moment’s notice. In fact, sleeping in a bed was a luxury for him.

Savagely rubbing his face to wake up, Mike felt the stiff prickle of beard beneath his fingers. He’d had that post-traumatic-stress-disorder dream again, reminding him of who he really was, of what made him different from other men, other human beings. Scowling, he shook his head and sent the fragments of memory back into the depths of that cauldron, his subconscious. More like Pandora’s box with an ugly twist, he thought with a sleepy grin.

What time is it? he wondered, shoving his feet from beneath the covers and placing them on the cool cedar floor. The clock on his bed stand said 0800.

Dr. Ann Parsons had called him from the next room, he realized belatedly. The alarm clock must have gone off and he hadn’t heard it. Damn. He’d promised Morgan Trayhern that he’d meet him at 0800 to get the details of his next mission. Grunting, Mike launched himself out of bed and stretched. He liked the feeling of each group of muscles in his body bunching, stretching and relaxing. Arcing his arms over his head, he closed his eyes and appreciated his physical strength. It was one helluva body, one that had more scars on it, had taken more blows and survived more than most.

Exhaling loudly, he ran his fingers through his military short, dark hair and headed to the bathroom that adjoined his room. As he padded across the pale gold floor, he remembered his nightmare. A smile cut across his thinned lips as he opened the door to the shower and turned it on. Nine years had passed since that incident in the jungle, and at thirty-five years of age, he still dreamed about that miraculous, life-changing event.

As he stepped into the pummeling stream of hot water for his morning shower—another luxury—the steam roiled in clouds around him reminding him of the endless twisting clouds that haunted the jungles of South America. He grabbed the soap and began to briskly wash himself. There was nothing like a hot shower to get the blood flowing and wake him up. For the first hour of the morning Houston was a bear of sorts, until he was fully awake and had poured a cup of good, black espresso down his gullet. Then and only then was he human and not growling or snarling at everyone. Mike had a reputation of being a grizzly in the morning.

Soaping his left arm, he blinked away the water running in rivulets across his face. Grinning, he studied the burn scars on his darkly haired arm, reminding him of his escape from the flaming copter that had been shot down. Various white scars from shrapnel that had exploded from the craft after it had crashed were also visible reminders of that day he’d faced death and won.

But he no longer saw a tuft of gold fur with black crescents across it. Scrubbing his arm, Mike turned his face into the stream of hot water. That old shaman from the village, Grandfather Adaire, had informed him that Mike’s guardian had guided him to rescue Mike and care for him. It took nearly a week of rest in that remote jungle village known as the Village of the Clouds before Houston had been in any shape to decide whether he wanted to live or not.

Mike recalled how his men at the military barracks just outside of Lima called him El Jaguar, or the jaguar god—the man who had returned from the dead. Jaguars were believed to be the only animal able to do that, according to legends about them that abounded throughout South America. Everyone had thought Mike died with the other men of his squad in that crash. But he hadn’t. And he never told anyone of his strange adventure through life, death and life again. They’d have called him loco—crazy. No one would ever know the truth of what had really happened out there.

Only that old shaman, his white hair sticking out around his head like a hen’s nest, seemed to know exactly what had happened. Mike had been too weak to question him. Inca, the young Indian girl from Brazil with the willow green eyes and long black hair, had fed him nourishing soup, kept him warm and tended him hourly in a hut near the shaman’s dwelling in the village. For that entire week, Inca had cared for him like he was a newborn baby. She was only eighteen years old, an orphan who had been adopted by Adaire and his wife, Alaria. Every time Adaire dropped by to see how well Mike was recovering, the old shaman would laugh the laugh of a man who knew an inside joke. Only Mike didn’t know the joke and the shaman didn’t seem particularly desirous of letting him in on it.

After washing his hair, Mike quickly rinsed, shut off the shower and climbed out. Rubbing himself briskly with a thick, white, terry-cloth towel, he reveled in the sensations it created across his goose-bump-covered flesh. Funny, but since that incident nine years earlier, he’d become far more aware of his body than ever before. He had walked away from his experience in the jungle with a sense of pleasure about his tall, strong physical form that he’d not had previous to his brush with death. Sometimes he felt like a great, giant cat stretching. And if he ran, he could feel the joy of blood pumping through him, the incredible power in his muscles. It was a euphoric sensation, one that he’d come to enjoy.

Hurrying through the rest of his morning duties, Mike quickly dressed in his camouflage fatigues, put his spotless, shining boots on and placed his beret in the left epaulet of his blouse. Taking one more look in the steamy mirror, he saw staring back at him a man who looked like one tough hombre, in his opinion. His blue eyes were large, though more often they were narrowed, focusing on something that would catch his wary attention. Tiny white scars stood out against his recently shaved jaw. The many lines at the corners of his eyes and the slash brackets on either side of his pursed mouth shouted of his military hardness. He was a major in Special Forces and damn proud of it. He’d survived thirteen long years in the Peruvian jungle, where life was often snuffed out in a heartbeat by vengeful drug lords.

Glancing at the watch on his hairy wrist, he realized he’d better get a move on. He’d just hurry out to the kitchen, grab his very necessary cup of espresso and gulp it down before meeting Morgan. And he was anxious to get to that meeting for another reason beside the fact that he was late. Though Mike had enjoyed the peace and quiet of this ranch, he had discovered other, greater benefits to staying there—such as spending time with the good doctor. Dr. Ann Parsons had been assigned to tend to Morgan and his wife’s recovery, while Mike had been assigned to keep guard. And he certainly hadn’t minded working with the pretty M.D.

Even better than seeing his boss today, Mike decided as he opened the door to his bedroom, he’d get to sit and look at Ann once more. Smiling to himself, he realized he was looking forward to that pleasure most of all. Even though she also worked for Morgan at Perseus, a high-level, supersecret government entity, he wouldn’t see her after today. Houston wanted to take every opportunity to absorb her beauty before they parted ways. Sighing as he walked down the gleaming hallway, he knew he could easily fall in love with Ann. If he allowed himself to. The price that they’d pay, however, would be too high. Besides, his keen interest in her was only one-sided. Yes, they’d shared a number of heated, promising kisses over the last two months, but she wasn’t really interested in him as much as he wished she were. Ann was afraid of commitment, Mike realized. Why, he didn’t know.

The memory of her sweet, soft mouth beneath his made him go hot with yearning all over again. Ann enjoyed their stolen moments together, there was no doubt. So why did she keep pushing him away? He’d seen the desire in her thoughtful blue-gray eyes after one of their torrid, hungry kisses. Had felt her tremble deliciously in his arms. The hunger in her eyes went all the way through him. So what had stopped her every damn time? Mike was confused. He’d tried to get Ann to open up, to talk about it, but she wouldn’t. It was like hitting a damn brick wall. But he didn’t press Ann any longer. Because although this was the first time in a long time he found himself wanting a woman, being with Ann wasn’t a game with him, either. Mike didn’t see her as a one-night stand or someone to amuse himself with while he was here in Arizona. He, too, was wary of having a relationship and he knew he couldn’t have things both ways. But what really did he want with her?

The realistic side of him told him that even though he could fall hopelessly in love with her if he threw caution to the wind, their relationship could go nowhere anyway. Not with his jaded past. Not with his dangerous present and future. His heart ached. He reluctantly admitted that he’d felt a lot of things for Ann over the past two months and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Maybe, Houston ruminated sadly, it was just as well she kept her distance from him—for whatever secret reasons she held. Anyone he had ever loved had died. It was that heartbreakingly simple. A fact. And he had no desire to see Ann die. Hell…

More than anything, Mike respected Ann. She had started out as an Air Force flight surgeon and her training also included work as a psychiatrist. Now a medical doctor for Perseus, she was very good at what she did. Her work with Morgan had often placed her in danger; she was frequently assigned to fly in and pick up wounded mercenaries when they got into more trouble than they’d bargained for. Mike decided that maybe Ann had made a pact with herself a long time ago not to get involved with military types. Oh, he didn’t blame her there. Hell, a military man could be alive one moment, dead the next. And where did that leave the woman who loved him? Alone, without the man she’d hoped to have around for a long, long time. Her lover gone—forever.

Too bad. She’s a looker. Tall, leggy, self-confident, she had a gutsiness he admired. There was nothing about the thirty-two-year-old doctor that didn’t appeal to him. Pity she didn’t see him in the same light. Maybe her womanly instincts warned her how different he really was. Maybe she was picking up on his secret life and it was scaring her away from him….

Mike turned the corner and headed to the kitchen. Hell, any woman who took one look at his hard-bitten, scarred countenance and heard of his fearsome reputation would run the other way. He was one mean son of a bitch and he had his actions in Peru to prove it.

Down there they called him the jaguar god because he seemed to have nine lives like the most powerful hunter in the South American jungle—the dreaded, mystical jaguar. The drug lords feared Mike and they damn well should. Those bastards had destroyed his mother’s helpless people, and as long as Houston could take a breath into his body, his whole life would be geared to eradicating them from Peru.

Maybe that’s why no women wanted to become involved in a long-term relationship with him. They wouldn’t be the focus of his life or his attentions. Houston couldn’t blame them. Still, he’d miss Ann Parsons like hell. Her soft, exploratory kisses, the hunger she sparked in him would be no more. It was a damn shame. For she was a woman who could not only turn his head, but even make him consider devoting a little time to her instead of the one-man war he waged continuously against the cocaine lords….

When Houston reached the kitchen, he heard voices. Groaning inwardly, he realized it was Ann’s honeyed, cultured tone and Morgan Trayhern’s deep, probing voice. Mike was so late the meeting was already underway. As he headed for the espresso machine, he heard them in the living room talking animatedly, like the good friends they were. Ann had worked for Morgan almost from the time he’d created Perseus many years ago. It was then he saw the note beside the tiled sink, next to the espresso machine. “In case you oversleep,” it said in Ann’s “doctor scrawl.” No one could read her writing but him, and he’d teased her about it mercilessly during the eight weeks they had been at the Donovan Ranch babysitting Morgan and his wife.

Mike hurriedly snapped on the machine. Ann had ground the coffee, put it in the small basket and filled the steel container with fresh water that would soon be boiling, ready to percolate his desperately needed espresso. A mirthless, one-cornered smile cut into the hard planes of Mike’s face. Though Ann didn’t like him to the degree he fancied her, she had a good heart. She’d even taken pity on the likes of him.

Houston poked his head around the entrance to the living room of the cabin he was staying in on the ranch. They’d agreed to meet at his cabin and he saw Morgan, dressed in a pair of jeans and a red plaid, flannel shirt, sitting at the end of a leather couch, near the open fireplace. Ann stood in front of the blazing flames, which brought out the red and gold highlights in her shoulder-length, sable hair. She was rubbing her long, thin surgeon’s hands together vigorously, warming herself.

Mike was chilly, too, but it was wintertime in Arizona, so what did he expect? When Ann lifted her chin and her blue-gray eyes met his, he grinned a little sheepishly.

“Morning,” he rumbled.

“Is it? You haven’t had your coffee yet, Major Houston, so I know better than to engage you in polite social conversation.”

His boyish grin broadened in embarrassment. He saw Morgan frown and look first at Ann and then at him.

Houston nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, Doc. I’m just an old, snarly jaguar before I get my espresso. I’ll be in shortly. A good fairy all but made my java for me and it’ll be ready pronto.” He winked at her. “I owe you, Ann….”

“Take your time, Mike,” Morgan murmured with a forgiving look. He lifted a heavy white mug from the coffee table and took a sip. “Today we’re not in a hurry.”

Mike saw Ann’s eyes sparkle mischievously even though her face had a deadpan expression. As he stepped back into the kitchen, he remembered the blush that had spread across her long, sloping cheekbones when he’d winked at her. She always reacted to his playful charm with some discomfort. He wondered why and lamented once more that Ann had never opened up to him about her past or why she couldn’t fully embrace him now. Her kisses said one thing, the fear he saw in her eyes quite another.

Damn, but the woman was pretty. Did she realize she held his heart in her hands? Did she want today to be goodbye? He’d dreamed torrid dreams of loving her completely. The closest they had come to that was the day they had shared a picnic down at the creek. He’d accurately read her desire that time, and when he’d kissed her, she’d asked him to touch her intimately, to explore her with his hands.

In the molten heat of the moment, as he’d stretched out on the blanket beside her, she’d frozen. Mike had sat up, for he had no desire to push himself on her. She had apologized and quickly pulled her blouse back over her shoulders, before getting up and hurrying away. Her face had been flushed and he could tell she was embarrassed by her behavior.

It was so frustrating! Everything about their relationship was on again, off again. She wanted him. She was afraid of him. Or maybe she was afraid of herself? Mike pondered that angle as he waited for his espresso to brew.

Ann was a type A personality who didn’t know how to rest or relax. She had to be doing something every single minute of her day. In his book, people like that were running away from something. So what was Ann running from? Sighing audibly, Mike scowled. If only she’d lower those walls she held around herself and talk to him. If only…

The aromatic odor of the espresso drifted toward him as he stood expectantly over the machine. Ann had often made a wry face at his need to drink only black, thick espresso, but hell, in South America it was the drink of choice, besides maté, Argentina’s national drink. He’d been raised on espresso since he was a small kid, following his mother into the kitchen as she made her own cup each morning.

Picking up the note with his scarred fingers, he shook his head. He couldn’t figure Ann out. Most of the time around the ranch she pointedly ignored him. His job was to run patrols and keep Morgan and Laura safe from possible drug-cartel attacks while they holed up and tried to heal from the kidnapping ordeal that had torn their lives apart, quite literally, at the seams. Ann had come because she was a qualified psychiatrist and Laura’s state had been rocky and unstable at first.

Mike ran his fingers across the ink on the note. Since she’d been staying at the hideaway cabin on Oak Creek with her husband, Laura spent an hour in therapy every day with Dr. Parsons, and Mike wasn’t surprised that Ann had helped Laura Trayhern tremendously. God knew, he wanted to feel the effects of Ann’s undivided attention on him. Grinning darkly, he told himself that he’d change, too, if given the chance to be the center of her focus. But thus far, Ann evaded him whenever possible. So why did she obviously enjoy his kisses so much when he eased her into his arms? He could feel all her walls melt away as they kissed.

Was Ann prejudiced against his skin color—the fact that he wasn’t a pure white, Anglo male with all the trimmings? Perhaps she couldn’t bring herself to admit it to herself, much less him? Questions, so many damn, unanswered questions. And today was the last day he’d ever see Ann. His heart squeezed with pain. With need.

As he poured the espresso into a small, delicate white cup with his large hands, he sighed in frustration, mentally preparing himself to shift gears and talk business with Morgan Trayhern. At least Ann would be in the same room with him and he’d get one last moment with her. He felt like a man being sent to the gallows and having his last wish fulfilled, but hell, there was no love life for him where he was heading. None at all. The only thing waiting for him was a bullet or a machete with his name on it. No, Peru was his hell. Whatever small piece of heaven he’d been afforded had died years earlier, and Houston knew that with his karmic track record—the many men he’d killed over the years—heaven wasn’t about to grant him a second chance at anything. With a careless grin, he shrugged his shoulders as if throwing off the grief and chains of the past, and headed toward the living room.




Chapter 2


Mike sauntered into the living room after taking his first, rejuvenating sip of the dark, fragrant liquid. He chose a leather wing chair opposite Morgan, in front of a coffee table littered with magazines. Ann was holding her own cup of coffee between her hands, standing with her back to the snapping, roaring fire. She refused to look him in the eye, some of the flush still lingering on her cheeks.

“I overslept,” Mike growled in Morgan’s direction, studying his boss’s somber features. The man who had hired him was internationally famous. Morgan headed up Perseus, a high-tech mercenary operation consisting of men and women, mostly from the military, who were hired to perform dangerous missions around the world. Though Perseus was privately owned by Morgan, there wasn’t a government in the democratic world that didn’t hire his renowned services. Like Morgan, whose honesty and strong military background kept this clandestine ship of state running smoothly, his people were the best at what they did. Most people, when they heard the word mercenary, thought of a turncoat bastard who had no allegiance except to the bottom line: money. Not so at Perseus. Trayhern’s reputation for integrity was well-known by almost every government in the world. He and his team were revered for coming to the aid of those who were in trouble and, for whatever reason, were without their country’s legal or political protection.

Because Trayhern had been wronged by his own country, had been labeled a traitor and been in hiding for nearly half his life before his name was cleared with the help of his wife, he knew the disastrous results of not being able to reach out to some powerful entity for help.

As Mike leaned back and relished each sip of his espresso, he noticed once again the white scar that ran from Morgan’s left temple all the way down his recently shaved cheek to his jaw, a mute testimony of his surviving on a hill in the closing days of the Vietnam War. There, he’d been a captain in the Marine Corps, and responsible for a company of men that had been wiped out and overrun by the enemy. Only he and one other man had survived. And then his troubles had really begun. Now that he was nearing fifty, Morgan’s black hair was peppered at the temples with silver though his square face was still hard, shouting of the rigid discipline of his military background. Because he was a hero in Houston’s eyes, Mike had agreed to act as Morgan and Laura’s bodyguard during this rather bland two-month stay in rural Arizona.

“You ready to talk?” Morgan asked him with a slight grin. “Ann’s been warning me about you being snarly without your espresso.”

“Yeah,” Mike rumbled, “she might as well have set up an IV and poured it directly into my veins this morning. Sorry I overslept.” He glanced at Ann, who refused to meet his gaze. Mike was too much of a gentleman to say why he’d lost so much sleep last night. The reason was that he’d cornered Ann and asked her why she was evading him. It had turned into a frustrating, angry confrontation and he’d ended up silencing her with a kiss—a kiss that had nearly been both their undoing. Ann had almost lost control of herself. He had felt her unraveling in his arms. And that’s when she’d pushed him away. It had been a miserable night for them, he acknowledged. She’d cried and he’d held her. Yet as he rocked her in his arms, she’d still refused to give in to him and talk about why she kept him at arm’s length. One thing he knew for sure, she didn’t trust him. That hurt Mike deeply and his heart ached with sadness.

Cocking his head in Ann’s direction, he saw a slight, strained smile cross her full lips as she lifted the cup and took a sip of her coffee. Her eyes were still puffy looking this morning. He wondered if she’d cried more after tearing out of his embrace and fleeing to her room last night.

Morgan nodded. “It was a good day to sleep in.” He picked up a file and handed it across the pine coffee table to Mike. “Here’s your pay and a little extra bonus for taking this mission on. I know you didn’t have to.”

As the manila file slid into his fingers, Mike placed his cup on the table. Opening the folder, he saw a check for thirty thousand dollars, plus papers detailing all his duties over the last two months.

His brows raised. “This is a little much, boss.”

Morgan grinned and crossed his legs. “I know soldiers like you don’t enjoy babysitting jobs like this one. But you knew the drug lords involved, and you knew their habits and techniques. I know you’d rather be down in the Peruvian jungles chasing them than sitting up here for two months playing watchdog.” He motioned with his finger toward the check Houston was holding. “I’m grateful you took the mission, pabulum or not, Mike. That’s our way of thanking you.”

Houston had heard several times from Ann how generous Trayhern was with his employees, as well as the charities they supported. Now Mike was getting a firsthand taste of it. “Hell,” he muttered, “this is almost a year’s army pay for me.”

Chuckling, Morgan nodded. “It probably is. There’s a first-class airline ticket there also, reserved under your assumed identity of Peter Quinn. You’ve got a flight out of Phoenix at 1500 hours today aboard Veracruz Airlines. They make a fueling stop in Mexico City and then you fly directly into Lima.”

The man was excessively generous, Mike decided as he found the airline ticket. He frowned as he saw another check beneath the ticket. Setting the folder down in his lap, he muttered, “What’s this?” His eyes widened considerably. It was a check for a hundred thousand dollars, made out to the Sisters of Guadalupe Clinic in Lima, Peru.

“Laura was telling me how, in your spare time, you work with two old French nuns down in the barrio, the poor section of Lima, using your paramedic skills alongside the nuns’ homeopathic treatments. She said you’d established the medical clinic eight years ago to help Indian children who couldn’t afford medical help.” He waved his hand toward the check Mike was holding. “That’s a donation to your clinic, Houston. Laura hinted that the clinic was usually running on hope and faith, and that you could use a lot more supplies.” His eyes grew thoughtful. “Maybe this will keep the wolf…or jaguar…from your clinic’s door for a while.”

Mike swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held the check. The paper felt as if it were burning his fingers. “This…”

“Speechless for once?” Ann teased with a soft laugh.

Mike twisted his head to look up at her. That unreadable doctor’s facade generally in place on her oval face was gone. He waited for such moments because her openness gave her unusual features a warm attractiveness. Her nose was long and thin and had obviously been broken at one time because there was a slight bump on it. She was narrow all over—narrow oval face, narrow hands and skinny but shapely legs. Her eyes were one of her finest features: large, intelligent and widely set. Her mouth, which was now curved gently, hinted powerfully to him of her soft, vulnerable side. Mike hungrily absorbed her countenance, and he managed a slight grin. Ann was trying desperately to be civil to him.

He saw the darkness in her eyes and could feel her fear. Was she as sad over their parting as he was? His heart said yes. Although his intuition didn’t make sense at all to him, now was not the place or time to pursue it. He was sure Morgan didn’t know about Ann’s on-and-off relationship with him over the past two months, and he’d keep it that way—for her sake.

“Yeah, you’re right—I usually have a comeback for almost everything, don’t I?”

Ann nodded. “Without fail, Major Houston. One of your most reliable traits.”

“I’ll take that as praise, not an insult, Dr. Parsons.” A little of her old, teasing self was resurfacing, and Mike was glad. The last thing he wanted was to make Ann feel bad, and he sure as hell had managed to do that last night. Before he left, he knew he’d have to draw her aside, privately, and apologize. He didn’t want their friendship to end on a bitter note. Ann deserved better than that and so did he.

She shrugged her shoulders delicately. “Take it any way you want, Major. I’m always open to options.”

How he wished she really were! Laughing deeply, Mike returned his attention to Morgan. “This is unexpected.”

The warmth in Morgan’s eyes belied the expressionless mask he usually wore over his features. “Needed, according to Laura,” he said. “I like to help out the less fortunate. God knows, I was one for long enough, Mike.” He scowled at the memory of the atrocities he’d suffered.

Mike stared at the check. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this is going to help. I was trying to figure out a way to keep the clinic open. I’m afraid our little charity isn’t seen as very worthy by the rich and powerful in Lima. The children are dark-skinned Indians, not poor little Anglos in need. Believe me—” his voice shook with sudden emotion “—this is going to help more than you’ll ever know.” Mike vaguely recalled talking to Laura about his clinic once, a fleeting conversation he’d completely forgotten about. The woman didn’t forget anything! And she was just as generous and giving as her very wealthy husband.

“We’re glad to do what we can, Mike. From now on, your clinic is on our donation list. The sum might go up or down a little, but at least you’ll know that every January, you’ll be receiving enough money, I hope, to keep those doors open to the Indian children and their families.” Leaning forward, Morgan took a second manila file from the coffee table and handed it to Ann. “Here are your marching orders, Ann. You were asking me where I was sending you next. Well, take a look. I think you’ll be pleased.”

Ann smiled warmly at Morgan as she took the file. “Thanks. I love new missions.”

Mike saw how comfortable Ann and Morgan were with one another and realized they almost had an older brother–younger sister relationship. It was obvious Ann loved Morgan and respected him. Hell, who wouldn’t? Still, Mike felt a twinge of longing because he wished Ann would bestow such a warm, trusting look in his direction. But he knew that would never happen after today, and he found himself lamenting that fact far more sharply than he should. Such was the effect the good doctor had on him, although she pretended to be oblivious of the way he mooned over her like a jaguar did over a lost mate. Mike suspected Ann really missed nothing. She was a trained therapist. She was taught to observe nuances of body language, tone of voice and subtle expressions. No, she knew he was powerfully drawn to her, but she wasn’t interested, that was all. And although that left him confused and frustrated, he realized it was for the best. He wasn’t exactly the kind of man who could give her what she needed, in light of his own past.

Sighing, Mike leaned back in the chair, stealing a moment to watch Ann unobtrusively. He rarely got such a chance, and since they were parting today and he’d never see her again, he wanted to take this opportunity to absorb her into his heart one last time. In some ways, he was like a greedy thief, and he felt a little guilty about it.

Ann chuckled as she placed the coffee cup on the dark wood mantel above the fireplace. “I hope it’s a warm place, Morgan! I’m freezing here.” She opened the file in her hands. “Hawaii or Australia would sure be nice,” she hinted with a smile.

“Oh,” Morgan murmured, “you’re going someplace warm, all right, but neither of those countries.”

Ann picked up the airline ticket and opened it.

Mike saw her broad brow wrinkle instantly. And then she snapped an unsettled look in his direction. He almost asked why, but then she pursed her lips and began sifting through the rest of the papers, reading intently.

“Morgan,” she protested in a strangled tone, “what’s going on here? This isn’t an assignment for another mission.” Ann stared accusingly at Houston again. “These are orders to go down to his clinic in Lima and help him out for six weeks.”

“Yes,” Morgan murmured, sipping his coffee contentedly, “it is.”

Stunned, Houston looked at Ann’s upset features and then at Morgan. “What?” He couldn’t have been hearing right. His heart pounded briefly in his chest as he sat up at full attention. Ann was coming to Lima with him? The news staggered him. Elated him. Worried him. He saw the undiluted fear in Ann’s eyes as never before. His hands wrapped around the arms of the chair. What was going on here?

Waving her thin hand across the file, Ann sputtered, “Morgan, this isn’t a mission assignment. This—this is—charity work!”

“It’s a mission,” Morgan soothed. “A very important one. Laura and I think you’re the perfect person to help Mike get this little clinic up and running.” He smiled slightly, satisfied with his plans. “As a matter of fact—” he glanced down at the gold Rolex watch on his wrist “—there’s a load of medical supplies being trucked from Mesa, Arizona, over to Sky Harbor International Airport in Phoenix right now. Ann, you will be responsible for over fifty thousand dollars’ worth of medical supplies once you two land in Lima. And then I expect you, with your usual precision and organizational skills, to take the six weeks and get Mike’s clinic up to full speed like it should be.”

Gasping, Ann shut the folder with finality. Her eyes flashed. “You planned this, Major Houston.”

Mike’s mouth dropped open and he quickly snapped it shut. “Now, just a minute, Ann,” he muttered as he unwound from the chair and stood up, “I didn’t know anything about this.” And he hadn’t. But he felt her anger directly. Those gray-blue eyes of hers turned icy cold when she was upset. Disliking the fact that he was being accused of something he was innocent of, he looked at Morgan. “Tell her, will you?”

“Mike knew nothing about this, Ann. It was actually Laura’s idea. We spent several evenings planning it out, making the necessary phone calls and getting everything lined up.”

Glaring at Houston, Ann closed her fingers tightly over the folder. “Morgan, one thing I learned about this Peruvian cowboy in the last two months I’ve spent here is that he’s a master of manipulation.”

“Oww, that hurts,” Mike protested. Not that it wasn’t true. “Sure, I rob Peter to pay Paul, so to speak, in order to get the money I need to finance our military efforts down in Peru, but—”

“You’ve got a mind like a steel trap,” Ann accused in a low voice. “You probably purposely dropped the information about your clinic to Laura because you know she has such a soft heart for people who are in trouble or need help.”

Anger stirred in Houston. One thing he didn’t like was being wrongly accused. He saw the desperation in Ann’s eyes and heard the raw pain in her voice. He was receiving so many confused emotional signals from her that he didn’t have time to sort them all out. Keeping his voice soothing, he rasped, “Look, Ann, I had no idea when Laura buttonholed me about a month ago, and nosed around about what I did down in Lima, that she’d take the information and do something like this with it.”

“Ann, calm down,” Morgan said in his deep voice. “This isn’t a prison sentence.”

“Really?” Ann glared steadily in Houston’s direction.

“Really,” Morgan repeated. He sat up and placed his cup on the coffee table in front of him. “Why be so upset? It’s spring in Peru. It’s warm. It’s a beautiful country and Lima is one of the most sophisticated and affluent cities in South America. I’ve arranged everything for you. There’ll be a van waiting at the Lima airport. The medical supplies will be loaded into it and Mike can drive you to the clinic. There’s another car there waiting for you. It was bought earlier and registered in the clinic’s name, since the clinic’s got a nonprofit status. You can use it to drive back and forth to the nice apartment we’ve rented for you.” He smiled at her. “For once you aren’t going to be flying around in a helicopter with a flak jacket and helmet on, wondering if you’re landing in a hot fire zone. This is a pretty safe assignment. Quiet. Probably pretty boring, but I’m sure it will be immensely satisfying to you emotionally. It isn’t that you don’t like children. I know different.”

Houston prowled restlessly around the perimeter of the living room. He watched Ann give him livid, stabbing looks of raw accusation every now and again, despite the fact that Morgan had an incredibly soothing effect on her—any woman, in fact. Mike wished he had the skill, but didn’t. “Look,” he protested in frustration, “if Ann doesn’t want to go, there’s nothing I can do about that. But maybe I can take the edge off things a little bit for her.” He leaned down and picked up the thirty-thousand-dollar check.

“Here, put this with the rest, since you’re going to have to put up with me six weeks longer than you thought.” He handed Ann the donation and the personal check Morgan had written out to him. He could see the fear deep in her eyes. Anger warred with sadness and heartbreak within him. Trying his best to gather his strewn emotions, he rasped, “You want to run a clinic, it takes money. So here it is. And if you’re pissed off and distrusting of me and my intentions, well, that’s okay. I know the truth—I had nothing to do with this assignment of yours. I won’t be around the clinic that much to be a pain in the ass to you, anyway. Fair enough?” He put both checks in her hands. Her gaze wavered as she met his hard, angry eyes.

Houston turned, shook Morgan’s hand, thanked him and left. He needed to get out of the house and calm down. As he went out the front door, the coolness of the Arizona morning hit him. Throwing back his shoulders, he descended the wooden steps quickly and headed toward the corral. Damn! Everything’s screwed up. Everything! As he took long, steady strides, Mike rubbed his aching chest.

But although this wasn’t how he’d planned things to go with Ann, a tiny part of him was euphoric that she would be coming to Lima with him. He would have more time with her, even if the opportunities to see her would be severely limited down there. As he halted at the corral, where twenty Arabians were feeding, he placed his elbows on the uppermost rung of the pipe fence. The metal felt cooling to him, to his smarting anger and frustration.

Closing his eyes, Houston tried to wrestle with all his emotions. Ann thought he’d set this whole thing up. It was obvious she hadn’t believed Morgan when he’d explained that Mike had nothing to do with it. Her anger was real. And so was that terror banked in her eyes. Closing his fists, Mike took a deep, unsettled breath of air into his chest. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t erase the sweet power of Ann’s mouth upon his, her incredible, hungry response to him. But although her mouth, her body signaled one thing, her mind held sway over her actions. What a helluva fix he was in now! More than anything, Mike wanted to somehow convince Ann that he was innocent of dragging her on this assignment. Judging from her anger, she probably wasn’t going to give him an opening very soon to explain. Maybe, on the flight down to Lima, she’d cool off and he could reason with her. He hoped so. Or maybe Morgan could soothe her because Mike certainly couldn’t!



“Morgan, I don’t want to go down there,” Ann declared.

He shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Calm down, Ann. This is an excellent assignment.” He smiled up at her drawn features. She looked cornered but Morgan didn’t really want to let her out of this one. Worried that Escovar, one of the most powerful of all the drug dealers in South America, was going to go after Mike Houston in earnest once Mike was back in Peru, Morgan wanted a backup. He didn’t want to tell Houston of his concerns for his life, but if Mike got into trouble, Morgan wanted someone with the best medical skills on the planet nearby. And even though Ann was only in her early thirties, she was a top professional in the field.

Ann didn’t know why he was sending her to Peru to be near Houston. Morgan didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her. Besides, from everything he and his wife could see, there was a mutual attraction between the by-the-book doctor and the hotheaded, passionate major whose Indian blood kept him running headlong into dangerous scrapes with Escovar. Yes, Ann’s cool, calm and collected personality would be a good match for Houston, whose zealous attempts to destroy every drug dealer he could find in Peru could be his undoing.

Morgan admired Houston tremendously, and he’d just gotten information from the highest government sources that Escovar had recently renewed his efforts to take revenge on Houston. In fact, Escovar had just doubled the price on his head. Morgan had no doubt Mike had his own network of spies to warn him of Escovar’s movements, but Morgan wanted a safety net for him. And Ann, who was all science and facts, was a good chess piece to put into play down there. She could keep tabs on the footloose major and save his neck, if necessary. No, it was best that Ann go there thinking she would be slaving away in a small clinic. Morgan didn’t want her flying in those drug-raid copters and getting shot at. He knew that Houston’s network of helicopters could ensure that he was within an hour’s ride of Lima should anything terrible happen to him. And Ann would be there waiting, ready with her surgical skills to save his sorry life.

Smiling to himself, Morgan sipped more of his coffee. There was no one better than Houston to go up against Eduardo Escovar. But Morgan wanted insurance for him of a different sort. He felt intuitively that Houston liked Ann—a whole lot. And maybe, just maybe, the hotshot jungle fighter would ease off on the throttles just a little bit, take a few less risks if he knew he had someone to return to in Lima after one of his bloody raids deep in the mountains. Maybe… Morgan admitted his plan was risky in itself. It was obvious Ann thought Houston had maneuvered things to get her on this assignment. And in Houston, she had more than met her match. Chuckling to himself, Morgan marveled over the attraction he saw between the cool, level-headed scientist and the passionate jaguar god of Peru. It was the molten steel being thrust into a bucket of icy water. What a combination! Morgan knew the sparks would fly. Secretly, his money was on Houston to endure her scalpel-like reactions and slowly but surely wear her down. Beneath Ann’s genius mind, beneath that cold, scientific rationale that fed her intellect, was a hot-blooded woman who was afraid to step out of her ivory tower and experience being wild and free in a man’s arms. And these weren’t just any man’s arms Morgan was pushing her toward…. He was betting that Houston could handle her. Time would tell, though.

“The flight to Peru will be a good shakedown cruise for both of you,” he told Ann in his rumbling voice. “A nice chance to talk over how you want to run the clinic for Houston.”

Ann glared at Morgan. “I’m not happy about this assignment. At all.”

He lifted his hand. “Just be patient,” he urged gently. “Mike isn’t the monster you make him out to be. He’s all-heart if you give him a chance.”

That was exactly what Ann was afraid of—Mike Houston’s passionate, wild heart. He frightened her. More so than any other man. And in less than three hours, she’d be forced to sit beside him on that airplane. How was she going to deal with her fearful emotions?



Ann tried to contain her feelings as she sat in the first-class section of the Veracruz flight. Mike Houston, dressed in a pair of dark brown slacks, a short-sleeved, white silk shirt and camel hair sport coat, sat across the aisle. She studied his rugged profile. It reminded her of the harsh granite of the Andes beneath them. They’d been in the air for hours since picking up fuel in Mexico City for the long flight to Lima.

Her conscience prickled. She knew she was being grumpy about this assignment and she didn’t like herself for it. Generally, she was unflappable in every situation. Nothing ever caused her to swerve from her focus on saving lives, not even bullets flying around her. This man, this army major, had really unsettled her in ways she’d never thought possible. How could she be so drawn to Mike? How? It scared her to even think of him in that way. Ann thought herself incapable of ever falling in love again since— She slammed the lid shut on her memories before she felt the pain of them. Somehow being around Mike made her feel vulnerable once more. He was mysterious; there was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on and it bothered her immensely. He was unlike any man she’d ever met—or had been attracted to. Her gut told her that dealing with him would be like handling nitroglycerine—one false move and the attraction between them would explode into something more.

She was a coward, she admitted to herself. A certifiable coward. Mike had been honest and aboveboard in his genuine interest in her. He hadn’t manipulated her in this regard. After all, she’d enjoyed his kisses, his incredibly tender explorations, as much as he obviously had. There was no fault in this, really. She was an adult. She had willingly kissed him and wanted his continued caresses. Even now, she felt her lower body tighten with such need of him that she wanted to cry. The past was too strong for her to overcome, though. If she knew Mike for a longer time, those walls might dissolve. And that’s what Ann was really afraid of. Six weeks in Lima with him around on a daily basis would surely unlatch a door in her heart that she’d thought would remain closed forever.

Anxiety raced through Ann. She felt bad and wanted to apologize to Mike for accusing him, though she wasn’t so sure he was completely innocent of getting her assigned to Lima. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he sipped some amber-colored whiskey. He’d barely spoken a word to her for hours now and he only communicated when she asked him a question. He was still angry with her, despite the fact that he seemed to have cooled down considerably after his outburst in front of Morgan. He’d even apologized to her later as they were packing to leave the ranch. She’d stiffly accepted his apology, but she’d seen the sadness in his eyes, and had fought the tears in her own.

Ann didn’t want to hurt Mike, but she knew she had. She could barely stand herself as a result. He was a man of incredible courage, an officer and a gentleman. The kind of man she could fall in love with, if she allowed herself. That’s why going to a foreign country and being under Houston’s protection was unnerving. She would have to rely on him because she was unfamiliar with Peruvian culture. Her rational mind didn’t like being out of control like that. Ann had always relied upon herself, all her life. If she got into a scrape, she managed to get herself out—alone, without help.

Yes, she’d dreamed of Mike, of their kisses, of being with him completely. Her emotions unraveled when she was around him, and she felt needy, hungry in a way that she’d never felt before. The thought of six more weeks in his powerful and persuasive presence scared her more than bullets or bombs exploding around her.

Manipulation was something Ann despised. It brought out every conceivable dark emotion within her. But then, she’d been manipulated once, by a master similar to Houston, so why shouldn’t she be wary of him? She’d fallen for an Air Force pilot after the one love of her life had died in a plane crash. Robert Crane had said every word, given her every look and done everything she’d ever dreamed that a man might do for the woman he was falling in love with—and she’d fallen hopelessly for him. Now she knew that what she felt for Robert had not grown out of love, but out of the grief and loss of her one true love. At the time, Ann hadn’t realized that, of course.

The realization came soon after Crane had lured her into bed. Once he’d “caught” her, he’d up and left. When Ann confronted him about it a week later, he’d laughed at her and told her the awful truth: he was a hunter, she was the hunted. His quarry. She’d been prey to be taken, used and then thrown away. The humiliation and shame of that disastrous time in her life had branded her forever. Never did Ann want to be manipulated like that again. Yet somehow Houston had gotten beneath her considerable armor. It must be his South American blood, his passion for life, that had breathed hot, molten desire into her heart. Daily, she fought her feelings for him. Daily, she tried to shrug off his heated looks, his gentle teasing, and yes, those wonderful kisses that opened her up inside and made her bare her vulnerability.

Ann closed her eyes and sighed raggedly. What was Houston’s real intent? At thirty-two years old, she wasn’t stupid or naive. She’d seen the looks he’d given her. She wasn’t a young thing who didn’t recognize in his dark blue, assessing eyes the smoldering hunger of a man who wanted a woman. He wanted her. She felt his longing for her, his unqualified interest. The raw, painful truth was Ann wanted Mike as much as he wanted her. And she was too much of a coward to even try to disentangle herself from the past and reach out to him. She was simply too scarred and too scared. What little emotion she had left was deeply hidden and protected within her. She just didn’t have what it took to freely love Houston.

Sighing, Ann wrapped her arms across her chest, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. It was gloomy in the plane now, the lights very low. Most of the people around them in the first-class cabin were already asleep—except for her and Houston. Part of her just couldn’t believe that he hadn’t dropped several hints to Laura about his struggling clinic to get Ann down here in Lima with him. She knew enough about his dangerous job as an army liaison between the U.S. and Peruvian military resources to realize he had learned how to be very adroit in touchy political situations. She knew Houston had hobnobbed with the rich and powerful at fashionable dinners and society events in Lima. He was a smooth talker. Too smooth, she decided with a frown. Like Robert Crane, a little voice warned her stridently.

As an advisor and the commanding officer representing the U.S. Army, Houston had to have a lot of skills in place. He had to have the ability to employ U.S. policy and get it to jibe with Peru’s political philosophy at the same time. While working out in the field, which was obviously what he loved the most, he coordinated well-planned attacks against the cocaine lords in the jungle highlands. After a successful battle or raid, he’d work his way through the chain of command all the way up to the president of Peru, letting the government know what went down and how many millions of dollars of cocaine wouldn’t flow north as a result. Houston handled a big budget and was responsible for keeping ten helicopters flying around the clock, chopping away at the cocaine warlords’ domain.

Exhaling forcefully, Ann wondered why a man with such skills would have to manipulate her into coming down to his clinic. The thought made her open her eyes and sit up. She moved across the aisle to the empty seat next to him. Houston lifted his massive head, his dark blue gaze settling warily on hers.

“I just want to know one thing,” Ann whispered fiercely. “Why the hell didn’t you ask me, face-to-face, for my help? If you wanted me to come down here and help out, why didn’t you come to me instead of pulling strings with Laura and Morgan to maneuver me into this corner?”

She saw the hand lying on the armrest slowly flex. She studied the many scars across it and knew every one was a story in itself. The scars were like mini badges of courage in her mind. Then she saw a flinty, cold look come in to his eyes. She felt iciness around him, aimed directly at her.

“Don’t you think,” Houston growled, leaning forward and nailing her with a glare, “that I would have if I thought you might do it? Sure, the thought crossed my mind, but that was after I’d told Laura a little about the clinic.”

Ann gripped the seat, her fingers digging into the fabric. “You’re saying you’re innocent?” She tried to contain the hysteria she was feeling. Mike was so close, so very, very male, and her heart cried out for him, for his embrace. She hated herself for attacking him. He looked completely stunned by the force of her verbal assault. Once again she was hurting him. But she had to protect herself from Mike somehow, keep him from melting her down, little by little. Especially now that they would be working together at the clinic. He’d broken her resistance at the ranch. He would do so again down there, and Ann felt trapped and desperate. She just couldn’t give in to her heart. If she did… No, it was too scary to even contemplate.

“For once,” Houston rasped, “I am innocent.” Reeling from her unexpected attack, he felt his anger explode. “Don’t you think I know you don’t trust me? You’ve made that pretty damn obvious, Ann.” He set his empty glass down on the table in front of him and leaned slowly toward her, his eyes becoming slits. “Have you ever asked yourself why in the hell I would want to drag someone unwilling down to Lima and spend six weeks with her? That’s kinda like throwing two male jaguars into the same pen. You sure as hell know they’re territorial—that a male jaguar won’t put up with another being in his territory. And they’re sure as hell gonna fight each other to the death because each one can’t stand the fact that the other is invading his turf.”

He exhaled and growled, “One thing I’m not, Ann, is a victim. If you think for one second that I’m looking forward to your sulking, pouting demeanor while I’m working with those two little nuns, whom I love like grandmothers, you’re very mistaken. As far as I’m concerned, you can get off this plane at the airport, execute an about face and climb right back on for a return flight to the States.”

Stung, Ann glared at him, her heart beating hard in her breast. She saw the raw hurt in Mike’s eyes, heard it in the rasp of his voice. Oh, why was she doing this? It was as if all the desperation she felt was being fueled by her underlying fear and turning her into this woman she’d never met before. Helpless to stop her response to him, she whispered harshly, “You’re very good at twisting words, Major. But then, that’s your job, isn’t it? Get the dishonest politicians to play ball with you, fund you and your men, your activities. Cross lines in the sand and get both bullies to play the same game together?”

His lips curled away from his teeth. “Dammit, Ann, you’re stepping way out of line now. I don’t mind if you attack me personally or question my ethics, which you seem to think are very badly flawed, but when you go after my men, who put their lives on the line every day, that’s where I draw my line in the sand.” His gaze drilled into her shadowed, frightened eyes. “Those men have wives and kids and extended families, yet they get paid a pittance to leap out of those choppers and face well-armed cocaine soldiers in the highlands. It’s not fair and it’s not right. But I’ll be damned if some Harvard-graduate medical doctor is going to look down at them. My men are some of the bravest soldiers in the world. Their families are in jeopardy because of what they do, so they’re risking more than their lives, they’re risking the lives of their loved ones, too.”

Gasping, Ann straightened. The air was tense and she felt his low growl move through her like a tremor from an earthquake. His demeanor had changed to one of controlled violence—aimed at her. She saw the spark in his eyes, like the gleam of a predator stalking her. Fumbling internally, Ann knew she had started this attack. She deserved his reaction. The wounded and vulnerable part of her would rather deal with a man’s anger than a man’s love. And right now, her heart was hurting so much in her breast she wanted to cry out, throw her arms around Mike and just hold him as she knew he would hold her. If only she wasn’t so frightened. Smoothing her gray, light wool slacks against her thighs, she took several breaths before speaking. The danger emanating from Houston shook her. He’d pulled out all his guns, probably hoping she’d back down.

“Okay,” she whispered, holding his glare, “I’ll apologize for the remarks I just made about your men. They grew out of my anger. I own it and I’ll admit it.”

Houston slowly straightened, his gaze never leaving hers. “You still think I engineered this whole thing to get you down to Lima, don’t you?” He’d give anything to make her realize he was innocent of this. But the look in her eyes told him differently.

“There’s no question in my mind about that,” Ann growled back.

“For what possible purpose?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Surprised, Ann placed her hands on her knees. “Why, the obvious one, Major.”

“What? That I like you? That I admire your brains, your gutsiness? I made no bones about that when we worked together up north.” He’d have said more, but people were looking in their direction. Even now he would protect Ann from prying eyes and ears.

“And I’m sure those aren’t the only things about me you admired,” Ann sputtered, feeling heat move up her neck and into her face. She felt uneasy talking about the attraction between them, but dammit, there was no denying it! Oh, she was blushing! Of all the times to blush!

Houston forced himself to lean back in his seat, a mirthless smile slashing across the hard planes of his face. The pain and raw need he felt for her were mixed with anger and frustration. He’d never expected Ann to assault him like this. “And here I thought you were without imagination, Ann. I was wrong, I guess, wasn’t I?”

The innuendo struck her full force. Ann saw and felt his derisive laughter as he tilted his head back and allowed the low, growling sound to escape from his throat. She had that coming and she knew it.

“You know what, Doctor?”

She met his ruthless gaze. “What?”

“I have a really tough time thinking you’re not a machine. I’ve seen a lot of medicos in my lifetime, but none of them came across as icy and brittle as you. I heard Morgan say you were one of the best. Well, you’re going to have to prove that to me. I won’t allow you to step a foot in that clinic with your kind of by-the-book bedside manner. I’ve seen it for eight weeks now, and I’m certainly not going to subject two nuns who work tirelessly for the poor to your iceberg tactics. As a matter of fact, I don’t think you’ve allowed yourself to be human for a helluva long time. You’re happy in your little ivory tower. That’s fine. Down there at the clinic, we’re all touchers and huggers, and you’ll probably misread that, too. Some of the children coming in are orphans off the street, abandoned because their parents were unable to feed one more mouth. Those kids get a lot of hugs, embraces and love showered on them by the three of us.”

With a shake of his head, Houston rasped, “And if Miss Anglo with her highfalutin Harvard medical degree thinks she’s stepping into our humble abode like the proverbial Ice Queen to order us poor half-breeds and stupid Indians around like we’re brainless, she has another think coming. No, I don’t want you down in Lima with me, if the truth be known, Ann. Not like this. I’m used to working with people who have heart, who have a passion for living life and who aren’t afraid to show their vulnerability. Do me a favor? When you get off this flight, stay at the airport. I’ll make sure you get the very next flight back to the States.”




Chapter 3


By the time their jet touched down at Lima’s international airport, it was 0600. Pink touched the rim of the horizon, and ordinarily, Mike would have enjoyed the spectacle of color set against the darkness of the Andes mountains, where Lima sat loftily overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Disgruntled, unable to sleep and generally grouchy because of his head-on clash with Ann, he strode off the plane. His heart ached with grief over the loss of the trust he’d forged with her on the ranch. How could he have fallen so helplessly and hopelessly in need of her in two short months? Maybe he was more lonely than he realized. But it was more than loneliness, he realized. He knew now that he wasn’t the kind of man who could go through life without a good woman at his side. The tragedy and loss he had endured in his past had told him he had no right to ever try and reach out and love again. Mike never expected to find love again—nor did he want to. He’d always thought of himself as a doomed man. Because of his dangerous lifestyle, he’d always known it was just a matter of time until his body became meat for buzzards. And then Ann Parsons had walked into his life and he’d begun to dream once more of happiness. What a fool he was.

The dark smudges under Ann’s glorious eyes told him she didn’t feel much better than he did. Dammit, he wanted to apologize for some of the things he’d said to her in anger earlier. Somehow, she got to him, and he lost his normal ability to hold on to his temper. Great. Just great. More than anything, Mike didn’t want to leave her with hurtful feelings between them. Ann deserved better than that. He owed it to her to make amends and try to heal the bad blood between them.

Slowing his gait, he waited for her to catch up. One nice thing about first class was that they were off the plane first. He slung the black canvas knapsack he always carried with him over his left shoulder. As Ann approached, he saw that her dark hair was in mild disarray, and he had the maddening urge to reach over and comb his fingers through the thick, gleaming strands, which shimmered with highlights of gold and red. Better not, he warned himself. She’ll take my hand off at the elbow. And then he grinned carelessly. He knew it would be worth it, because she’d once allowed him the privilege of sliding his fingers through her silky hair in one of their stolen moments—in the heat of a hungry, searching kiss.

Once Ann was beside him, he continued toward the terminal. Even at this time of morning, Lima airport was busy. Mike wasn’t surprised. Peru’s capital was a twenty-four-hours-a-day city. It was cosmopolitan, upscale and surging ahead because of the influence of Japanese investors and the huge population of Japanese people who had left their island home to settle here. They brought money into the economy, and over the years Lima had become the third largest enclave of Japanese in the world. Only São Paulo, Brazil, had a larger population outside Japan.

As he stepped into the terminal, he saw a huge crowd of people waiting for folks to disembark from their flight. Too bad he didn’t have a special somebody waiting for him. Someone like Ann. Hell, he had too much of the romantic left in him. Or maybe being with a woman he was so drawn to had stirred up that vat of loneliness he’d stuffed deep down inside of him. No, the army was his only wife, and this was one time he was regretting that dictate. Well, it didn’t matter anyway, because Ann didn’t want him. And if she hadn’t before, she sure as hell didn’t now after his stupid, stupid remarks to her in the heat of their argument on board the aircraft.

At customs Mike dropped easily into Spanish, Lima’s main language. Japanese was a close second and one that he’d mastered with a lot of difficulty over the years because of his position with the Peruvian government. He remained on guard, always looking around. Now that he was back on Peruvian soil, he had to be alert or he could be killed. The young lady behind the desk, obviously Castilian Spanish with her golden skin, thin proud features, black eyes and shining black hair, smiled at him. Mike felt a little better just seeing a pleasant expression on someone’s face for a change.

At the check-in desk, he launched into conversation with the ticketing agent about a van that was due to bring the medical supplies, to be carried in on the next flight. In the meantime, he saw Ann halt a few feet away and observe the busy, crowded terminal. She didn’t look like a doctor in that moment. No, just a very thin, tired woman. His conscience ate at him big-time. Thanking the agent, Mike turned and sauntered over to where she stood just outside of the streams of people coming and going in the terminal.

“I’ve never been to Lima,” Ann confessed without looking up at him. “This airport reminds me of the Chicago terminal—huge, bustling and busy twenty-four hours a day. I just never imagined it.” Mike’s presence, especially in the fog of her exhaustion, was overwhelming to her. Ann felt herself seesawing between going with him to the clinic and remaining at the terminal to catch the next flight back to the States. She saw the anguish in his dark eyes, the fatigue clearly marked on his own hard features, and felt a wonderful blanket of protection and care settle around her. She knew that feeling came from being with him. She tried to tell herself that his care didn’t mean anything. However, she was too tired to fight the truth of what she felt emanating from him. And she knew the rawness she felt in her chest was her own longing for him.

She’d had a long time on their flight to feel her way through her jangled feelings, her confusion, her fear and her needs. Although she lay in her chair, her eyes closed, Ann hadn’t slept because she’d been too upset. How had she come to feel so much for Mike while at the ranch? How? No matter what she did, the answer didn’t seem forthcoming. Ann had sworn never to fall for a man again…not with her bad track record. How had Mike eased himself into her life? Was it that boyish smile he flashed at her in unexpected moments, always catching her off guard? Was it his obvious passion for living life fully and for the moment? That dancing glint in his eyes that broadcast such warmth and tenderness toward her every time he looked at her? His hot, searching kisses? The way he touched her, fanning coals of passion into wildly flaring flames? It was more than sexual, Ann admitted darkly. She liked Mike. His integrity. His continued efforts to help the poor and defend them. She approved of his morals and values. There was nothing, really, not to like about Mike Houston, she sourly admitted. Absolutely nothing. Except for the mystery she felt around him—that mystical quality she couldn’t pinpoint with her razor-honed intellect. Not all the academic degrees in the world could outfit her to deal with someone like Houston.

“Maybe,” Mike growled, despite his attempt to take the sting out of his tone, “if you give Peru half a chance, she’ll seduce you like she did me when I came here more than a decade ago.” He heaved an inner sigh of relief. At least Ann was talking civilly to him once again. But then, she hadn’t slept, either, so he knew she was probably feeling more like a walking zombie right now and the blame game was low on her list of priorities.

Pointing toward where they had to walk to get to the baggage claim area, he added, “They call Lima the Jewel of the Pacific. The city sits up on the slopes of the lower Andes and looks out over the dark blue Pacific Ocean. The first time I came here, I didn’t know what to expect. My mother had told me many, many stories of Lima, and how beautiful it was—the apartments that had flower boxes on their balconies and the trees that made the city look more like a park than a maze of steel-and-glass sentinels. She loved this city.” Mike risked a glance down at Ann. Even though she was a good five feet nine inches tall, she was still short in comparison to him.

She refused to look up at him. The way her full lips were pursed told him that he’d hurt her earlier with his nasty, spiteful comments. Ruthlessly, Houston absorbed her aristocratic profile. She had high cheekbones, like his Indian ancestors did. With another sigh, he dropped his gaze to her pursed lips once more. To hell with it. Somehow, he had to change things so that they parted on good terms at least. He took a deep breath, reached out and gripped her arm gently, forcing her to look at him.

“Listen,” he muttered darkly as her expression changed to one of shock as he touched her, “I’m sorry for what I said to you on the plane. It wasn’t right and—”

A cry for help halfway down the terminal ripped through the early morning air. People began to slow down or hurry a little faster.

Scowling, Mike dropped his hand from Ann’s arm, instantly alert. “Now what?” he growled.

Ann looked in direction of the sound. She could hear a woman sobbing and screaming for help. She saw Mike Houston peering above the heads of the crowd. “You’re taller than I am,” she exclaimed. “What do you see? What’s going on?”

Grimacing, he glanced down at her. “Someone’s in trouble. Medical trouble. Come on….” He took off in long, loping strides.

“Mike! Wait!” Ann hurried to catch up. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man and he cut a swathe through the crowds in the airport terminal. She wasn’t so lucky and was stopped repeatedly. As she hurried along in his wake, she found herself admiring the way he ran, with a boneless, swift grace that reminded her of a large cat. Perhaps a cougar loping along silently, yet with remarkable power. Other people seemed to sense it, too, for Houston was never elbowed, stopped, nor did he have to change direction. No, the masses parted for him like the Red Sea had for Moses. Ann realized she was witnessing that impenetrable mystery about him in action now. No wonder they called him the jaguar god.

Mike’s eyes widened as he made his way through the large circle of people that had formed. In the middle was a woman crying hysterically. A young woman, very pretty, well-heeled and dressed in a purple business suit. He knew her well. It was Elena Valdez, wife of Antonio Valdez, one of the most prominent and powerful businessmen in Lima. What the hell was happening?

“Step aside,” Mike growled, opening a path to where Elena stood sobbing, her fists against her mouth. She was from one of the old aristocratic families of Peru, of pure Castilian blood. Normally aloof and serene, her mascaraed eyes were running dark streaks like war paint down her cheeks, her red lips contorted as she stared down at the floor. Mike followed her wild, shocked gaze.

“Antonio!” he rasped. Houston suddenly spun on his heel and roared at the crowd, “Give us room!”

Miraculously, everyone took a number of steps back widening the circle. There on the floor, ashen and unmoving, was Antonio Valdez. The thousand-dollar, dark blue pinstripe suit he wore went with the short, sleek black hair combed back on his narrow skull. His red silk tie looked garish next to his pasty flesh as Mike sank to his knees.

“Antonio—Tony!” He gripped the businessman’s shoulder. The man did not respond. Sensing Ann’s presence, Mike snapped his head up as he placed two fingers against the man’s neck.

“Cardiac arrest,” he stated shortly. “No pulse…” He leaned down, his ear close to the man’s nose. “No breath.” He jabbed at his backpack, which he’d dropped nearby. “There’s a bag-valve mask in there. Get it. An OPA, too.” He ripped at the man’s tie, the silk of his shirt giving way under the power of Mike’s efforts. Then he tipped the man’s head back to create an airway. He heard Elena sobbing wildly.

“Oh, Mike! Mike! Antonio was just walking with me. Everything was fine. Fine! And suddenly…suddenly he grew very pale and groaned. He collapsed, mi amigo. Oh, Mike! Help him! Help him!”

Jerking the tie from Tony’s neck, Houston shot a glance at Ann, who was on her knees, digging furiously in his backpack. All the tiredness, the cloudy look in her eyes, had dissolved. When she looked up, protective green latex gloves in hand, he reached out and took them. With expert swiftness, he donned them. “Get the goggles, too. If he vomits, I don’t want it in our eyes.”

“Right!” Ann handed him a pair of plastic goggles. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed the white OPA, a plastic device known as an oropharyngeal airway, into the patient’s mouth. This device would keep his tongue from falling back and blocking his breathing passage once they started pumping air into his lungs.

Ann grabbed the bag-valve mask and moved once more to the man’s head. She knelt and settled the translucent, soft plastic mask over his face. The mask was attached to the blue, oval-shaped rubber bag that would start pumping air into him.

Mike watched her get into position. She leaned over the man, ready.

“Have you got paramedics posted here at the terminal?” she demanded, squeezing the appliance.

“Hell, no.” Mike looked up and barked at a younger man dressed in business clothes. “You! Get to a white phone! Call security for help. Tell them we’ve got a cardiac case in terminal three. Tell them to call an ambulance, pronto!”

“Sí, sí!” the man shouted, and he turned and worked his way through the crowd.

“Okay, let’s get on it,” Ann whispered.

Mike appreciated her cool efficiency as he knelt on the other side of Antonio and placed his hands just below the man’s sternum. He laid his large palm flat against his chest, then nodded in her direction. “Give ’em air. Two breaths.”

“I know CPR.”

He heard the warning clip of her voice. Scowling, he concentrated on his part of the two-person procedure. After two breaths, he leaned over Tony and delivered a powerful downward push over the sternum. The heart lay under that long, flat bone that held the rib cage together.

In moments, they were working like a well-oiled team. Houston forgot the pandemonium around them, forgot Elena’s sobbing. He counted to himself, his mouth thinned, his nostrils flaring.

Two minutes into the process, he rasped, “Stop CPR.” Anxiously, he placed his fingers against Antonio’s neck.

“No pulse.” He leaned down, praying for the man to at least be breathing. “No breath.”

“Do you know him?”

Houston gave a jerky nod as he repositioned his hands. “Yes. Start CPR.”

Ann squeezed the bag-valve mask, delivering a long, slow dose of oxygen into the man’s chest cavity. She saw the patient’s wife kneel down at his feet, sobbing and praying. She was so young and pretty—she couldn’t be more than in her late twenties.

“How old is he?”

“Forty-five.”

“Perfect age for a CA.”

“Yeah, isn’t it, though?” Mike continued to push down on the man’s chest again and again. He kept looking at Tony’s color. “Damn, this isn’t working.”

“How long before an ambulance arrives with a defibrillator machine?”

“Too long,” he muttered. “Too damn long. Stop CPR. We’re going to do something different.”

Ann watched as Houston jerked the shirt completely away from the man’s chest. She saw him ball up his fist. She knew what he was going to do. In the absence of a defibrillator, which with an electrical shock could jolt the heart into starting again, a medic could strike the sternum with a fist. Sometimes, though rarely, the hard, shocking blow would get the heart restarted. It was risky. She noted the strain on Mike’s face, the glistening sweat on his wrinkled brow. His eyes had turned a dark, stormy blue, and she knew all his focus was on his abilities as a paramedic, despite the many other emotions he had to be feeling.

“Is he a friend of yours?” she asked, holding the man’s head steady as Mike prepared to strike his chest.

“Yes. A damn good friend. God, I hope this works,” he said.

Mike measured where his fist would strike the man’s sternum. He gripped Tony’s shoulder to hold him in place. Raising his arm, he smashed his fist downward in a hard arc. Flesh met flesh. He heard his friend’s sternum crack loudly beneath his assault.

“Come on! Come on!” Houston snarled as he gripped the man’s lifeless shoulders and shook him hard. “Damn you, Tony!” he breathed into the man’s graying face, “don’t you dare die on me!” He put his fingers against his neck.

“Nothing,” he growled.

“Do it again,” Ann ordered in a hushed tone. She saw the fear in Houston’s eyes.

“He’s dumping on us….”

“I don’t care. It’s all we got! Hit him again!”

For a split second, Ann met his distraught eyes. And then he balled his fist again. Once the sternum was broken there was a danger that any further strikes to jolt the heart could create lacerations in the liver and possibly the heart itself, from fragments of bone that had been broken by the first blow. Antonio could bleed to death as a result.

“You mean son of a bitch,” Houston growled at Tony as he raised his fist. “You live! You hear me?” Then he brought his fist down just as hard as the first time.

The man’s whole body jarred and jerked beneath the second blow. Ann held the man’s head and neck in alignment and continued to pump oxygen into him. She watched as Mike leaned over to check for pulse and breathing. Whether it was because she was already numb with tiredness and drained emotionally, she didn’t know, but for a split second as he leaned down, snarling in Spanish at his friend, she thought she was seeing things.

Houston’s growling voice wasn’t human any longer. It sounded to her like a huge jungle cat. It shocked her, the primal, sound reverberating through every pore in her body as he leaned over and shook Antonio. She sensed an energy in the air, pummeling her repeatedly like wildly racing ocean waves. She realized it was emanating from Houston as he leaned over Antonio, almost willing him to breathe again.

“You’re not dying on me,” he rasped, striking him even harder than before, in the center of the chest. “Live! Live, you hear me?”

Ann blinked belatedly. As Houston struck the man a third time, she knew she was seeing things. His head disappeared, and in its place she saw the golden face of a jaguar or leopard, black crescent spots against gold fur. She was hallucinating! Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and opened them again. Mike was leaning over his friend, his fingers pressed insistently against his neck. My God, what was happening? What was she seeing? For the first time, Ann clearly realized that she was on a mission with an incredibly attractive man whose power was beyond her own rational mind.

“Tony!” he pleaded hoarsely. “Don’t die on me! Don’t!”

Houston’s plea shook her. Gone was the hard soldier’s mask. She trembled at the raw emotion of his voice. Tears stung her eyes. What a horrible thing to come home to—seeing a good friend go into cardiac arrest and then watching him die. Ann was ready to tell Mike that it was too late. Only seven percent of people suffering from a heart attack ever revived with the help of CPR.

Again she gazed up through her veil of tears. She no longer heard the onlookers or felt them closing in on them, inch by inch. She watched as Houston hunkered over the older man, gripping him by the shoulders and giving him a good, hard shake. Yet again Houston struck him in the chest.

“Mike—” she begged.

“Wait! A pulse! I’ve got a pulse!” He gave a cry of triumph and watched intensely as the man’s face began to lose some of its grayness. “Bag ’em hard,” he snapped. “Pump all the oxygen you can into him.” He grinned tightly and put a coat beneath the man’s legs to elevate them slightly. Leaning over him again, he called, “Tony? Tony, you hear me? Open those ugly eyes of yours and look up at me. It’s Mike. Mike Houston. Come on, buddy, you can do it. Open your eyes!” And he shook him again, all the time keeping a firm grip on his friend’s arms.

Houston watched the dark lashes tremble against the man’s pasty features. “That’s it, open your eyes. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay. Come on, come on back. You’re too mean to die yet….” Then he grinned as Tony opened his dark brown eyes and stared groggily up at him.

Almost immediately, the patient started gagging. Ann removed the bag-valve mask from his face, took out the breathing appliance and threw it aside. She quickly replaced the mask, holding it there until she and Mike were both sure he was getting enough oxygen and was breathing well on his own.

Houston heard Elena cry out her husband’s name as she bent over him.

“Calm down, Elena,” he coaxed, reaching across and soothingly moving his hand against her thin shoulder as she gripped her husband’s hand. “He’s okay….” Mike wasn’t sure how okay Antonio really was. He knew the man had suffered a massive heart attack. How bad, they’d only know after a series of tests at the hospital.

Risking a look up at Ann, who was still kneeling at Tony’s head, delivering the life-giving oxygen, he saw tears sparkling in her eyes. They caught him completely off guard. Returning his attention to his friend, he reached down, got his stethoscope from the bag and listened intently to his heart. It was a good, strong beat. Then Mike took his blood pressure.

“Eighty over sixty,” he announced with satisfaction.

“It could be better,” Ann said.

Grimly, Mike deflated the blood pressure cuff. “Give him five minutes. He’s not dumping on us. Color’s flooding his face. His capillary refill is better,” he murmured as he pinched the index fingernail of Tony’s right hand. Normally, the capillary refill took two seconds or less to flow back into the pinched area. It was a good indicator that the heart was pumping strongly and normally, supplying the life-giving substance to even the farthest extremities of the body.

“Three seconds?” Ann asked.

Houston nodded. He waited to recheck the blood pressure, but five minutes seemed to take forever. Glancing at his watch, he wished the second hand would move faster.

Elena was speaking in hushed tones to her husband. When Tony tried to reach up and touch his wife’s wet, pale face, Mike grinned. “You’re gonna be fine, Tony. But right now, keep your hands off Elena, you hear me? Just lie there and let your strength come back.” He glanced at Ann. “Stop bagging him.”

She nodded and watched as he took another blood pressure reading. Houston’s expression was intense and hard now. She was seeing his professional side as a paramedic once more. He was very good at what he did. He had an incredible confidence that radiated from him like the sun sending energy earthward. She watched as his thinned lips relaxed. A cocky, one-cornered smile tugged at his mouth as he removed the stethoscope from his ears and settled it around his thick, well-muscled neck. When he looked in her direction, she felt incredible tenderness coming from him. It wasn’t for her, but she basked in that invisible glow just the same. In that moment, he looked like a little boy, his blue eyes sparkling with unabashed joy.

“One-ten over eighty. He’s stabilizing. He’s through the worst of it.”

“Yes,” Ann quavered, giving him a trembling smile of triumph. “He’s going to live….”



Houston stood with Ann at his side as the ambulance paramedics took Antonio Valdez away on a gurney. Most of the crowd had disappeared now that the life-and-death drama was over. Without thinking, Mike put his hand on her shoulder. “Hell of a welcome to Lima.”

Ann felt the warm strength of his hand. She recognized his gesture for what it was. People in the medical field had to be devoid of emotion, keep ahead of the curve in any emergency, think rationally and stay calm when everything around them was shaking apart. She lifted her chin and met Mike’s blue gaze, absorbing his touch, the energy that seemed to tingle from his hand into her shoulder. It made her feel safe and cared for. His touch felt like life itself throbbing through her. It wasn’t the first time she had felt this unusual sensation. Now it was far more palpable and comforting. A soft smile flitted across her face. “Yes, it was…but you were good. Very good. You knew what to do.” Her heart expanded wildly. How could she stand the thought of not being near Mike? Suddenly, Ann realized how much her life had changed since he had walked into it.

Digesting the feelings that overrode her normal fears, she understood for the first time how much Houston had become a part of her, and vice versa, it seemed. They had been a good team. They’d worked as one. Perhaps it was due to sleep deprivation, but there in the Lima terminal Ann listened to her heart more closely than she had in a long time.

Houston absorbed that hesitant, fleeting smile Ann gave him. How beautiful she was, even though her hair was in mild disarray and her white blouse rumpled from the long flight. “So were you. We’re a good team, you and I.” And then he grinned. “Even if we do fight like dogs and cats.” He didn’t want to remove his hand, but he knew it was best. Allowing it to fall back to his side, Mike thought he saw a fleeting darkness in Ann’s wide, intelligent eyes. Unable to interpret what it meant, he cocked his head.

“Let me at least buy you a good cup of espresso before I leave for the clinic. It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping save Tony’s life. I owe you one….”

Ann frowned. “I’ll take the offer, but what makes you think you’re leaving this terminal without me?” For better or worse, she had made a decision to stay—because of her feelings toward Mike. She was scared to death, but she had to take the risk. Her mind screamed at her that she was a fool, but her heart was expanding with such joy over her decision that she felt breathless. Inwardly, she knew she was making the right choice, regardless of her dark, haunting past.

Scowling, Houston halted abruptly and turned to face her. There was surprise written on his features. “You made it very clear you didn’t want to be down here with me,” he began slowly, his voice low with raw feeling. Tony almost dying had left Mike more vulnerable than usual. He was afraid to believe what he’d just heard. His heart pounded briefly to underscore his need for Ann. His fear. Mike searched her calm features. Her eyes shone with hope. The fear was still there, but it had lessened. What was going on? Stunned by her words, he rasped, “Or was I hearing wrong?”

“You didn’t hear wrong, Mike. I changed my mind, that’s all. You got a problem with that?” Ann held his flaring look of surprise. She felt an avalanche of that powerful energy deluge her momentarily. She remembered how, when she was bagging Antonio, she’d seen the awe in people’s faces as Mike worked over the man. All eyes had been riveted on him as he struggled to save his friend’s life.

There was no question in her mind why Houston was not only a leader, but one that few people, including herself, could resist. Even if it was dangerous to her wounded heart. She was too afraid, still, to admit for sure why she agreed to stay on. Only time would tell, and another six weeks would hopefully yield the answer she was searching for.

Her mouth twisted wryly. “This is probably the sorriest decision I’ll ever make, Houston, but I’m sticking it out down here for six weeks. With or without you. I honor Morgan’s commitments. I go where he sends me.” She saw hope burning fiercely in Mike’s eyes, and more…much more….

Mike just stared at her for a moment. Here was the confident, gutsy woman he knew lived inside her, but who he’d rarely seen. The question why are you staying? was almost torn from him, but he forced the words back down. Whether Ann knew it or not, he had a powerful, ongoing connection with her. He sensed a lot more about her than she realized. He knew she was scared, but he also sensed her feelings for him—feelings that had existed all along but that she’d refused to share with him. Now, for whatever reason, she was doing that. Euphoria robbed Mike momentarily of words. Was it possible that she was going to allow their relationship to grow? The thought was heady. Wild. Full of promise. At the same time, he felt full of fear for an uncertain future. Those he cared for died. She would die, too. No, he had to keep his distance. He had to protect her from himself at all costs. His whole life was committed to killing Eduardo Escovar. Mike was in a death spiral dance with the drug lord and he had no room for a woman in his life. Especially a woman like Ann Parsons. Another part of him, one that surprised the hell out of him, reveled in her decision to remain with him in Peru, regardless.

Ann watched a slow grin crawl across his face. Houston had such a strong, chiseled mouth. A beautiful mouth, she admitted. One that she wanted to feel against her lips again and again. For whatever reason, she felt bolder than she had in a long time. Maybe seeing Antonio almost die had ripped away something inside her, made her realize life was precious and should be lived in the moment, not hidden in some dark closet of fear…. Chagrined, Ann cut off the thoughts and feelings that seem to grow like grass whenever she was around the charismatic army officer.

“Well,” she challenged, her voice husky, “are you going to stand there gawking or are you going to buy me that espresso you promised?”

Snapping into action, Houston slid his hand around her upper arm and guided her forward. “No, ma’am, I’ll buy you that well-deserved cup of espresso.” He felt edgy with fear. He was raw with wanting. Wanting her. Breath-stealing elation raced through him as Ann strode at his side. This time she didn’t seem to mind his hand on her arm. Indeed, it was as if she liked it there. But Houston didn’t fool himself. They’d just been through a very intense life-and-death situation. He found it normal that medicos automatically drew close to one another for emotional support after a crisis was over. It was only human, he warned himself. Still, his fingers tingled wildly as he felt the slip and slide of Ann’s light wool blazer against the white silk of her blouse, the firmness of her flesh beneath it. He reveled in the pleasurable sensation, feeling once again like a greedy beggar taking whatever crumbs she’d unknowingly thrown out to him.

Had Antonio’s heart attack triggered her own need to live life more fully? To possibly reach out to him? Grinning recklessly, laughter rumbling up from his chest, he said, “This has been one wild ride so far, Dr. Parsons, and the day is young yet….”

She raised one brow and glanced up at him as they walked. “I give you that,” she replied, her pulse speeding up. The undisguised happiness in Mike’s eyes affected her, left her aching to kiss him, to feel his hands slide around her torso as he pulled her uncompromisingly against his body. She longed to experience his sweet assault upon her senses once again, and it almost overwhelmed her.

When Mike glanced down at her, he realized in that split second that Ann had dropped her guard, because she was grinning, too. There was bright color in her cheeks, and she looked damn beautiful when she blushed. Instantly, she turned away to avoid his eyes. But not even that could mar Houston’s happiness at her decision to stay in Peru.

To hell with it. Mike threw all caution aside. “Come here….” he murmured huskily as he drew Ann out of the traffic of the busy terminal. Backing her against the wall, he leaned close to her. In her eyes he read the need she felt for him, and registered in every fiber of his being. The connection between them was as palpable as the feel of his fingers as he grazed the slope of her flushed cheek.

“I need you,” he rasped, placing his hand against her cheek and guiding her face upward. The driving need to kiss her and the need he saw in her eyes made him let down his own guard for this one, exquisite moment. He saw her eyes widen momentarily, heard her breath hitch. He sensed her emotional response, and it felt damn good washing through him. Smiling tenderly down at her as he lightly brushed her parting lips with his, he saw the fear in her eyes dissolve. Yes, she wanted this as much as he did.

For one heated moment out of time, all the terminal sounds, the people’s voices, faded from Ann’s awareness. All she’d longed for moments ago was happening. Somehow, Mike had known she needed him. It was all so crazy. So mixed up. Yet as she lifted her chin and felt his strong mouth settle upon her lips, nothing had ever felt so right. So pure. So devastatingly beautiful. His strong arm moved around her back and she felt him pull her against him. There was no mistaking his gesture; it was clearly that of a man claiming his woman.

Her lashes swept downward and the ache inside her intensified as his mouth skimmed hers. How good he tasted! She inhaled his very male scent into her quivering nostrils, slid her hands upward against his barrel chest, her fingers digging convulsively against the fabric of his shirt, marveling in the strength of his muscles tightening beneath her exploration. His mouth slid surely against her lips, rocking them open even farther, his tongue thrusting boldly into her mouth. She gave a moan of sweet surrender as she lost herself in the fiery, hungry mating. All that existed in that moment was Mike, his maleness, his tender domination of her as a woman yielding to him in almost every way possible. Oh, how stupid she had been not to give herself to him sooner!

His mouth moved possessively and she responded just as hungrily and boldly to his dizzying assault. With him, she felt a primal wildness she’d never felt with any man. He brought out her earthiness, her need to be her untamed, untrammeled self. His hand slid behind her head, holding her, trapping her so he could taste her even more deeply. The sweet hotness and longing built between her thighs as she felt him grind his hips demandingly against hers. There was no mistaking his need of her. Ann felt urgency and frustration. Her fingers opened and closed spasmodically against his thickly corded neck. She couldn’t get enough of him and drowned in the splendor of his tender assault upon her.

Ann wanted the hot, branding kiss, the sweet, unspoken promise between them to last forever. As Houston began to ease his mouth from hers, she cried out internally, not wanting to cease contact with him in any way. Yet she knew they must. She was sure they were making a spectacle of themselves in the corridor. People were staring at them but for once, Ann didn’t care. Mike had somehow dissolved all her fears, her need to be proper and prudish out in public. He tore away her doctor’s facade and stripped her naked, revealing her hot, womanly core of primitive needs and desires. As she looked dazedly up into his narrowed, gleaming eyes, she had never felt so protected or desired.

His face was alive with feelings—for her. Ann saw it in his burning look, his mouth only inches from her own as he stood over her, his arm continuing to press her tightly against him. She tasted him on her lips. She felt the masculine hardness of him against her abdomen and her own heated response to his hunger. Never had Ann felt more alive than now. Never. Her breath was shallow and gasping. She tried to speak.

“No…” Houston rasped thickly, “don’t think for once, Ann. Just feel. Feel!” he ordered, and captured her glistening lips one more time.

Sinking against him, her knees like jelly due to his renewed assault on her senses, Ann felt the world skid to a dizzying halt. Only Mike and she existed. She no longer cared what anyone thought as she held him tightly against her, her breasts hard against his chest. Their hearts were pounding; she could feel his as if it were inside her. The sensation was shockingly beautiful and one she’d never experienced before. The sandpaper quality of his beard against her cheek, his hot, moist breath, the taste and power of him as he grazed her lips repeatedly, almost teasingly, left her aching painfully. She wanted to feel him inside her, filling her, taking her, making her his in every conceivable way. Whatever fear had held her was gone now, and in its place, a fierce desire for Mike welled up, surging through her like a tidal wave.

Gradually, ever so gradually, Houston forced himself to ease back from Ann’s lips. Lips made of the wild honey he’d found only in the jungles of Peru. Honey that was so sweet it made him dissolve beneath her searching, innocent mouth. There was no question he needed her. None. And as he opened his eyes and stared down into her dazed blue-gray ones, he knew she needed him, too. She was trembling with need of him. But so was he. He regretted kissing her here in the terminal. Anywhere else would have been better than here. The painful knot in his lower body attested to the poor choice of location. He wanted to love her thoroughly, to indelibly print his essence within her. Wanted so badly to claim her and make her his woman it was nearly his undoing. The fierceness of his desire for Ann was far more than just sexual, because he was in touch with every subtle essence within her—from her emotions to her spirit. Ann didn’t know that, but he knew she could feel his bond with her as much as he did. That much was clear in the awe he saw reflected in her eyes, the questions about what she was feeling.

“Shh,” he whispered, grazing his thumb across her wet lips, “just feel, Ann. Just feel…. It’s real…all of this is real, I promise you. You aren’t imagining anything.” He closed his eyes and rested his brow against hers, letting himself sink back into that invisible connection that he’d allowed to fully form between them. Once Ann could talk to him about her feelings and openly confide in him, he vowed to tell her all that had happened to him in the jungle. Another part of him told him he was crazy for allowing her to get close to him. Did he want to put her in that kind of danger? How could he? But Ann would have to know the truth very soon. She had to make her own decision about whether he was worth desiring or not.

Easing away, Houston cupped her shoulders and gently moved her away from him. Ann’s face was flushed, her eyes soft and filled with desire—for him. Never had he felt stronger…or more protective. His mouth curved ruefully.

“Would you like to go freshen up in the ladies’ room?”

Swaying uncertainly in his embrace, Ann nodded. Looking around, she felt embarrassment flooding her. Many people had stopped to watch them. “Oh dear…yes, yes I would….”

Mike nodded and placed his arm around her. “Don’t worry, folks around here understand lovers. They aren’t staring at us because we kissed, you know. Down here, everyone loves lovers.” He guided Ann toward the women’s restroom up ahead.

Grateful for his humor, his protective demeanor against the many prying eyes, Ann tried to contain her escaping feelings. She pushed strands of hair away from her face and forced herself to breathe more evenly. Lovers. The word flowed through her. Yes, she wanted to be Mike’s lover. Every cell in her body was aching with need of him, more than ever now. Just being close to him was feeding that brightly burning fire that had roared to life in her during his searching, hungry kisses.

Reaching the ladies’ room, Ann forced herself to walk into it. She felt drunk. Drunk with pleasure and desire. Somehow, she had to pull herself back together again. At the washbasin, she sloshed cold water repeatedly into her face until she felt some semblance of order returning to her. She spent a great deal more time in there than was necessary; it took a good ten minutes to gather herself. Blotting her face, she quickly ran a brush through her mussed hair and put lipstick back on her soft, well-kissed mouth.

All of her carefully orchestrated life had just exploded. Completely. Ann was no longer thinking with her head, only her heart. The switch was shocking to her. All her life, she’d allowed her head to rule her, not her emotions. In Mike’s presence, all she wanted to do was feel—and then feel some more. What was going to happen? Could she control herself where he was concerned? She felt like a teenager with her hormones running away from her, like she had no control over anything. All she had to do was think of Mike, allow his hard features to gel before her, and she grew hot and shaky all over again. Ann thought it was because she’d denied her real feelings for him throughout the last two months. This time his kiss had ripped the lid off Pandora’s box.

Groaning, she took a deep breath, talked sternly to herself and left the restroom. She found Houston standing across the corridor, his back to the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. How calm and centered he seemed! Ann stood there for a moment, envying his obvious control. He looked fine. He looked like nothing had happened. But it had. Something life-shattering had occurred within her when he’d held her minutes ago. Something so profound, so deep had occurred that Ann needed time to try and understand what had taken place.

As if sensing she was there, he turned his gaze to her. In that instant, her heart responded violently, and again that sense of warmth and protection he gave her overwhelmed her. Suddenly dizzy, Ann leaned against the wall, unsure of what was happening. Instantly, she saw Mike straighten and walk directly to her.

Before he could say anything, she held out her hand. “I’m okay. I really am.”

He smiled a little and placed his hand on her left arm, just in case. “You look beautiful,” he whispered huskily. And she did. Her lips were soft from his kisses, her eyes velvet with desire. The flush across her cheeks was still there, and as he drew her back into the traffic, he thought she looked like a teenage girl who had just experienced her very first kiss from the boy she had a crush on.

Ann leaned against him as he placed his arm around her shoulders and led her along. Grateful for his understanding, she managed to murmur, “I’ve never felt like this, Mike. Ever.”

Chuckling indulgently, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “I told you Peru would cast her spell on you. Down here, magic happens all the time.”

“Magic? Humph. More like a sledgehammer to my head, if you ask me.” Ann heard him laugh deeply over her remark. She felt his steadying care and she acquiesced to his superior strength.

“Well,” he drawled, giving her a teasing look, “maybe our kiss had a little something to do with that?”

Refusing to be baited, Ann tried to give him a dour look. “You don’t have to look like a satisfied cat about it, Houston.”

Preening a little, Mike broadened his grin into one of boyish delight. “That kiss has been a long time in coming. And there’s no way I’m apologizing for it. Ah, here we are.” He halted. “This is just what you need—espresso to settle your nerves.”

Ann laughed a little as they stood in front of the restaurant. “Oh, sure, coffee to soothe my jangled nerves. Right.” They stood looking at the small café with its red-and-green-striped awning.

“I always stop here, at Federico’s Place, to get my espresso when I’m coming in off a long flight.” Mike gestured to the brass-and-glass doors. “Come on. He’s got the best espresso in Lima. I swear it.”

Once they were seated at a small round table covered in expensive white linen and decorated with colorful flowers in a cut-glass vase, Ann smiled gratefully at the waiter. When he delivered their coffee a moment later, she cautiously sipped the tiny, fragile cup of espresso, and studied the man before her. Mike Houston was simply too large for the white wrought-iron chair, the table or even this small café. But it was there that he frequented because the owner, Federico, had recognized him instantly. There had been a lot of backslapping, smiles and greetings. And it seemed the two young waiters knew him, too. She was beginning to wonder who Houston didn’t know, but then, he’d been down here more than ten years, and in his line of business, it was good to know a lot of people.

“Well?” Mike demanded. “What do you think?” He’d already drunk half of his espresso, while Ann had only hesitantly tasted hers. He supposed she was like that with everything in her life: cautious and slow. Why? She had that shadowed look back in her eyes as she lifted the English china cup to her lips and looked at him over the rim.

“It’s sweet…and tastes surprisingly mild.” Ann set the cup down. “I thought it would taste bitter because it’s so concentrated.”

Chuckling, Mike finished off his first cup. A second magically showed up seconds later, Federico himself brought it over with a flourish. Mike nodded and thanked the restaurant owner. “What you poor folks up in Norteamérica get for coffee beans, is a sin,” he said to Ann with a laugh. “Sudamericanos aren’t stupid.” He raised the cup in toast to her. “We keep the best beans down here, and that’s what you’re drinking—Andean coffee raised on slopes so high that the condors fly over them daily. Coffee growing in some of the finest, richest lava soil in the world. It has to taste good.”

Ann couldn’t help but smile. “You are so passionate about everything. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” It was Mike’s passion that was somehow encouraging her to tap into her own desires on such a primal, wonderful level of herself as a woman.

His reckless grin broadened. “My mother often told me when I was a young kid growing up that if I didn’t love whatever I was doing, I’d eventually curl up and die. She told me to do things that made my heart sing, that made my heart soar like the condors that hang above the Andes.” He sobered a little and sighed. “She was a woman of immense intelligence, I realized as I got old enough and experienced enough to really understand what she was telling me.”

“To live life with passion,” Ann murmured. “That’s not one I’ve heard of late.”

“So,” Mike said, “do you live your life with passion? Do you love what you do as a medical doctor?”

“I like what I do. It feels good to be able to stop a person’s pain, to stop death from cheating a life…but passion? I don’t know about that.” She frowned and picked up her cup once again. “I certainly don’t live with the gusto you do.”

“A little while ago,” Mike murmured in a low intimate tone, as he turned the tiny cup around and around between his massive, scarred hands, “I saw a different Ann Parsons out there. Not the one I knew for eight weeks in Arizona. This woman, the one I kissed today, was—different. Provocative…passionate…committed…”

“Translated, that means what?”

“Just that I felt a much different woman,” Mike said in a whisper, so that no one could eavesdrop.

Avoiding his heated look, Ann tinkered nervously with the cup in her hands. “Mike…give me time. I—I’m just not prepared to say much right now.”

Holding up his palm in a gesture of peace, he added huskily, “You’re a woman of immense feelings. I understand. You’re like a deep, deep well of water. Not many are privy to the real feelings you hide so well.”

Ann couldn’t deny any of it. Stealing a glance at him, she whispered, “I don’t know what happened to me today, Mike. Maybe something changed in me when I saw Antonio almost die. I usually protect myself from personal feelings in these situations….” Her words trailed away as she became pensive. Mike deserved her honesty here. Setting the cup down, she forced herself to add, “I guess your passion for living life with emotion has rubbed off onto me a lot more than I realized. Watching your friend almost die probably shook that loose in me. It was time, I guess….”

Mike nodded, feeling the gravity of her statement. She was being honest on a level he’d never experienced with her before—due to that magical connection forged between them earlier, in that beautiful moment when he’d kissed her. He decided to return some of her honesty. “When I was trying to save Tony, I was afraid,” he admitted. “I was afraid he was dead. I wanted him to live so damn bad I could taste it. I could feel myself willing my heartbeat, my energy or whatever it was, into his body. And when I looked up at you in that moment, I felt hope. It spurred me on.” With a shrug, he added a little shamefacedly, “I can’t tell you what went on between us in that split second, I only know that something did. And somehow, it gave me hope when I didn’t really have any left.”

“All that in one look,” Ann murmured as she sipped the espresso. “I’m amazed, frankly.” Still, she felt good at Mike’s sincere praise, at the admiration in his eyes. She liked the feeling.

“You have a very healing effect on people, whether you know it or not,” Houston said sincerely.

“Something else happened back there, Mike,” Ann began hesitantly. “I think what I saw may have been a result of sleep deprivation.” She saw him frown. With a wave of her thin hand, she said, “Not that it was bad. It was just…shocking.”

“What happened?”

“Promise you won’t tell me I had a brief, acute psychotic episode?”

“No problem. You’re sane and well grounded.” Interested in hearing her experience, Houston asked, “This happened while we were bagging Tony?”

“Yes. At one point,” Ann continued, setting the espresso aside and folding her hands on the table, “something changed. You got far more intense than before. You’d hit him twice in the chest and he hadn’t started breathing again. I know you were desperate. You wanted your friend to live. That was normal behavior, but…” she folded her hands “…then something happened, and I can’t explain it or even begin to get a handle on it.”

“What?” Mike’s scowl deepened. He saw a flush stain Ann’s cheeks. “Something that upset you?”

“It didn’t upset me exactly, Mike. I just felt these incredible waves of energy striking me, like waves from the ocean, only…they were coming from you. I actually felt buffeted by them as you leaned over Tony, working so intently with him, willing him to live. And then, the silliest thing of all, I saw this shadow or something…. It descended over you. Well, part of you. And it was only for a split second. I’m sure it was a sleep-deprivation hallucination….”

“What did you see?” he demanded darkly.

Taking a deep breath, Ann dived into her experience. “I saw this dark shadow appear above your head. It just seemed to form out of nowhere. I’m not sure anyone else saw it.” Moistening her lips and avoiding his sharp, glittering gaze, she added, “I saw it come over you like a transparency of some sort, fitting over your head and shoulders.” Embarrassed, she gave an awkward laugh, and said, “For a moment, it looked like a jaguar or leopard over your head. I no longer saw your face, your profile. Instead I saw this huge cat’s head and massive shoulders. Well,” Ann murmured wryly, risking a look up at him, “I’m sure by now you think I experienced a psychotic episode.”

Mike shrugged. “Down here,” he muttered uncomfortably, “I carry a name.”

“Excuse me?”

His brows knitted and he stared down at his espresso cup. “I have a nickname….” He heaved a sigh. Lifting his head, he met her frank blue-gray gaze. “I’m sure you’ll hear it sooner rather than later, so I might as well tell you myself. I’m called the jaguar god. It’s a reputation I’ve garnered over the years. The cocaine lords started calling me that a long time ago. The name stuck.” He grimaced.

“It’s not a bad name,” Ann murmured. “Why are you so uncomfortable with it?”

Mike sat up and flexed his shoulders. “Someday, Ann, I’ll tell you more about it. More than likely my friends at the clinic will fill your ears about me, about the legend surrounding me, until you’re sick and tired of hearing that name.”

Ann frowned. “You mean there’s more to this? I wasn’t seeing things?”

Mike rose and pulled some sols from his pocket. “You’re a trained therapist. You know how sleep deprivation and emotional stress can make you hallucinate during intense moments of crisis,” he said, deciding that the truth would have to wait. He couldn’t risk her rejection of him. Not after that nourishing kiss. “Come on, that van should be ready by now and those medical supplies loaded in it.”




Chapter 4


Despite her extreme fatigue, Ann was wide awake as Mike drove the heavily loaded van from the airport to one of the poorest sections of Lima. She tried to minimize in her mind the power and influence of his hot, melting caresses, but it was impossible. It was almost as if her lips were still tingling from his branding, unexpected kiss. She tried concentrating on the road ahead of them, noticing that Mike avoided most of the major freeways and took smaller streets. He probably knew this city like the back of his hand. Even more, Ann was aware of his heightened state of alertness. He was behaving like a soldier out in the bush rather than a man driving in the relative safety of a city. It didn’t make sense and she wondered what dangers lay ahead of them.

One thing for sure, Mike was right about Lima. The city was set like a crown jewel on verdant green slopes and surrounded by the raw beauty of the Andes, which towered like a backdrop in the distance. The day was sunny, the sky a soft blue, and Ann found herself enjoying her first views of the city.

“Lima reminds me of Buenos Aires,” she said to Mike, as he turned down a dirt road that led into a poor section, what he called a barrio.

Nodding, Mike divided his attention between driving and watching for enemies. He was on his own turf now, and the drug lords had hundreds of spies throughout the city looking for him, trying to pin him down so that a hit squad could corner and murder him.

“Lima and Buenos Aires are a lot alike,” he said, distracted. “Plenty of trees, bushes and flowers all over the place.”

“Nothing like New York City?”

He grinned tightly. “That place…”

“For once we agree on something,” she teased. Moments later, the scenery changed as they crept down the dirt road, which was rutted with deep furrows where tires had chewed into the soil. The winter rains had left the area in a quagmire as usual, and the city certainly wasn’t going to waste money on asphalt paving in a barrio. Houston’s gaze was restless, his awareness acute. His eyes were scanning their surroundings like radar. Ann felt uncomfortable. Or more to the point, endangered. By what? Whom?

When Mike saw her brows dip, he tried to lighten the feeling of tension in the truck. “Hang around and you might decide I’m not the bad hombre you think I am.” He winked at her and delivered a boyish smile in her direction to ease the concern he saw in her eyes. “I’ve got six weeks to change your mind.” He scowled inwardly. What was he saying? He was loco, he decided. There was no way to have a relationship with Ann. Though he’d always known that, the truth of it hit home as he drove through the city. He couldn’t place her in that kind of danger. He simply couldn’t. The price was too high for her—and for himself.

Ann slanted a lingering glance in his direction. Houston had taken off his sport coat and rolled up the sleeves of the white cotton shirt he wore revealing his strong, massive forearms which were covered with dark hair. The window was open, allowing the spring air to circulate in the van, mixed with the scents of fires and food cooking in pots in the nearby village. “Where are we now?” she asked, sitting up and rearranging the seat belt across her shoulder.

“This is the barrio our clinic serves,” Houston said with a scowl. “My home away from home.”

“Where do you live the rest of the time?”

“Anywhere in Peru where I can find the drug lords first before they find me and my men,” he answered grimly. “Usually I stay at the BOQ—barracks officers’ quarters—up near the capital when I come in off a mission.” He took a beeper from his belt and looked at it. “Matter of fact, they know I’m here. I’ve already got five phone calls to make as soon as we get this stuff to the clinic.” He snapped the beeper back onto his belt.

Ann shook her head as she surveyed the neighborhood. Most of the ramshackle houses were little more than corrugated tin held up with bits of wood, with cardboard as siding. Huge families crowded the doorways as Ann and Mike slowly drove by. “No one should live in these conditions,” she murmured. “The city at least ought to put sanitary sewage systems into a place like this. So many children will die of infections from drinking water from open cesspools.”

“You’ve got the general idea.”

She heard the tightness in Houston’s voice and studied the hard set of his mouth. As they drove deeper into the barrio, living conditions deteriorated accordingly. People were thin and hungry looking, their dark brown faces pinched. They were wrapped in rags and threadbare clothing to try and keep warm. As Mike drove, more and more people greeted him, calling out and lifting their hands in welcome. He called back, often by name, and waved in return.

“It seems like everyone here knows you.”

“Just about.”

“Because of the clinic?”

“Yeah, mostly. Sister Dominique goes around once a week and makes house calls. She carries her homeopathic kit from house to house, family to family, doing what she can.” He shook his head. “Oftentimes it’s not enough.”

“Hopeless?”

“No,” Mike said, making a slow turn to the left, down another very narrow street lined with cardboard shacks and crowded with people. “Never hopeless.” He grinned suddenly. “I hold out hope for the hopeless, Ann, or I wouldn’t be down here doing this stuff. No, the clinic makes a difference.”

Ann admired his commitment to improving the sad conditions. “Can’t governmental agencies help you?”

“They won’t,” he said, gesturing toward a redbrick church ahead, its gleaming white spire thrusting above the mire of human habitations. “Peruvians in Lima don’t view Indians as human. We’re animals to them. Big, dumb brutes to be used as pack animals, is all.”

Frowning, Ann said, “You said you were Yaqui?”

“My mother’s part Yaqui, from Central America, and part Quechua Indian. She was born in Peru, but her family moved north to Mexico when she was six years old.”

“How did your mother meet your father?”

“When you get me good and drunk sometime, I’ll tell you,” Mike told her with a grin.

He braked the van and turned at the redbrick church, which was surrounded by a white picket fence. Despite the mud, filth and poverty of the neighborhood, the Catholic church was spotlessly clean, with no trash littering the well-kept green lawn. The church stood out like a sore thumb in the dirty barrio, but Ann supposed it was a symbol of hope. A beacon of sorts. When he drove the van to the rear of the church, she saw a one-story brick addition to the building.

“That’s the clinic,” Mike told her proudly, slowing down. Putting the van into Reverse, he backed up to the open gate of the picket fence. “Sisters Dominique and Gabriella live here. They’re the ones who are in the trenches every day, keeping the clinic doors open for the people.”

Ann saw at least fifteen mothers with children standing patiently in line outside the doors. Her heart broke as she noticed their lined, worried faces. Some carried babies in thin blankets, pressed tightly to them; others had crying children who clung to their colorful skirts. They were all Indians, Ann observed.

Houston turned off the van and set the brake. He glanced over at Ann. The devastation in her exhausted eyes spoke eloquently of how deeply moved she was by the horrible conditions the Indians lived in. She was easily touched, he was discovering, and it said something about her he’d already known intuitively. Still, he wondered how she would fit in with the nuns here, and he worried that the cool demeanor Ann had displayed toward him when they’d worked together on the ranch might put the nuns off. “The two little old nuns are French. They’re from Marseilles, and they’re saints, as far as I’m concerned. They’ve been ministering to the poor since they came here in their twenties. They’re in their seventies now and should’ve retired a long time ago, but they’re like horses in a harness—it’s all they know and they have hearts as big as Lima. They speak French and Spanish and some English.”

He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and gave Ann a measuring look. “I know how you reacted to me off and on for eight weeks up in Arizona. They don’t need a norteamericana coming in here and telling them what to do. They’re homeopaths, not medical doctors. If you don’t know anything about homeopathy, try to suspend your disbelief about it, watch them work and watch what happens to the patients they serve before you make any judgment about it, okay?”

Ann met and held his searching gaze. Because she’d kept him at a distance until now, he probably thought she would carry on that way here. “You’re remembering my attitude toward you in Arizona and predicting that I’ll treat everyone at this clinic the same way?”

Mike castigated himself. “There are times when I wish I had more diplomacy, but lack of sleep is making me a little more blunt than usual.” He opened his hands over the wheel in a helpless gesture. “I owe you an apology.”

Ann accepted his apology—the second one to come from him since they’d traded parries on the plane. “Look,” she said, sighing wearily, “I understand your being wary. I know I haven’t been easy to get along with. But let’s just forget our personal feelings about one another, shall we? I have a commitment to honor in Morgan’s name for the next six weeks. In a clinic situation or a hospital environment, I’m not the ice queen you think I am. So don’t be concerned that I’ll ride roughshod over two old nuns. I’ve got better things to do with my time than pick at them or complain about what type of medicine they practice. No, I don’t know a lot about homeopathy. But it obviously works or they wouldn’t have been using it here for fifty years, would they?” But despite her assurances to Mike, Ann knew she would have to make an effort to suspend some of her rational approaches and training. Her medical background was different from a homeopathic practitioner’s. This was another situation in which she would have to yield her scientific bent to a more mysterious, even mystical kind of medicine. If she was going to survive these six weeks, she understood that she had to adjust to Mike’s world, and that included the nuns’ medical procedures.

Mike saw Ann struggling to not be hurt by his request. That said a lot about her. She was confident and didn’t let her ego get in the way of better judgment. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of being close-minded. It’s just that I know a lot of conventional medicine types in the medical field who look down their nose at homeopathy. Hell, the clinic was so poor financially that we couldn’t afford to buy the prescription drugs we needed, so homeopathic meds took up the slack instead.”




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