The Stealth Commandos Trilogy

by Suzanne Forster

  There was no sign of her in the living room or the kitchen. But as he wandered through the house, increasingly concerned, he heard murmurs coming from down a hallway where the guest bedroom was located. He stopped at the door and listened. It sounded as if she was in there, talking to someone. His heart froze for an instant. Santeras? Had he found her?

  Geoff nudged the door with his foot. His body was spring-tight, ready to fly into action. As he continued to inch the door open. Randy came into his field of vision. She was sitting on the bed, talking on the telephone, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  He swung the door open wide, and she looked up. She was alone in the room, and the anguish swimming in her dark eyes told him everything he needed to know.

  “It’s Hugh,” she said, holding her hand over the receiver. “He’s alive.”

  Geoff felt as if he’d been kicked hard in the solar plexus. “That’s him on the line? Where is he?”

  “No, it’s the hospital—” Randy broke off to complete the call. She copied down some information, then mumbled a hurried thank you and hung up the phone.

  “What happened?” Geoff asked. He didn’t want to know, but he had to know. It was the same sick curiosity that made people crane their necks to look at a horrible accident.

  She ducked her head, wiping her damp cheeks against the bedspread she was wrapped in. “I called my assistant to tell her where I was,” she said, “and she told me they’d been contacted by a doctor in Caracas. Hugh’s at a hospital in Venezuela. Somehow he got as far as São Paulo, and from there he chartered a small plane.” She swallowed with some effort. “They crashed in the jungle. The pilot was killed, and Hugh was found unconscious. Apparently he’d tried to go for help. He was several miles from the plane, but they say he’s going to be all right.”

  “How about you? Are you all right?” It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. He wanted to know how she felt about him, about them.

  “I’m—I don’t know ... in shock, I guess.”

  He exhaled heavily. “What do you do now?” He didn’t need to ask. He knew, he knew.

  She began to talk quickly, not looking at him. “I’ve got a flight out this morning, so I suppose I should call a cab and stop at a store to get something to wear. It’s probably better that I don’t go back to the hotel in case Santeras or his men are there. I can have my things sent home, of course—”

  He knew she was trying to postpone the inevitable, but he had to stop her. He had to get it over with. “Just answer one question for me,” he said. “Are you going to marry Hugh?”

  She nodded and the tears began to flow. “Yes.”

  The wrench at his heart was deep, brutal. “Then call that cab and get out of here.” He was amazed at the fatalistic tone of his voice, amazed that he wasn’t busting up the room. “Go, Randy. Now, while I’m still hallway civilized. Get out of here.”

  Her chin trembled on a choked sob. “Geoff ... I’m sorry.”

  He turned his back, unwilling to let her see the savage contraction of his jaw.

  “Please,” she said, “please understand that I have to do this. It’s my life. It’s everything.”

  In a crazy way he did understand. Even with the pain locking his throat, strangling him, he understood. He could never be what she wanted. He was the wrong man for her, but not for the reasons she thought. No, it wasn’t nearly as simple as the fact that he was a biker and she wanted a prince.

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he told her, echoing the words of another night. “Just go. Please go.”

  Twelve

  “MIRANDA? ARE YOU all right?”

  Hugh Hargrove asked the question from his hospital bed. Peering intently at Randy through his rounded tortoiseshell glasses, he added, “You seem agitated.”

  Randy winced inwardly at his use of the long form of her name, and then she remembered she’d asked him to call her that some time ago. She’d thought it was more sophisticated than Randy. He’d agreed.

  “I’m fine, really,” she reassured him, turning away from the window where she’d been distracted by the rainstorm. “I was thinking about our flight home. I hope the weather doesn’t get worse.”

  She forced herself to smile, though he’d been right about the agitation. She was still heartsick, still feeling confused and shaken about the way things had ended with Geoff. “Can I get you anything?” she asked Hugh. “Some water?”

  “I’m fine,” he insisted, waving her to sit down. “Please, relax.”

  She turned to the chair, but she couldn’t sit. She couldn’t relax, and she knew her unrest had nothing to do with Hugh. The doctor had given him a clean bill of health and was discharging him this afternoon. The symptoms of his concussion had cleared, his bacterial infection had responded to medication, and his other injuries were considered minor.

  “Hugh,” she said, “about the wedding—”

  “It’s all right. We can postpone it.”

  “No—” Her throat tightened painfully. “I don’t want to postpone it. I want to get married next weekend as we planned. Is that all right?”

  He pushed the glasses up on his nose as if to get a closer look at her. “Next weekend?”

  She knew he was startled, but she also knew that to delay their wedding would mean letting more fears and doubts creep into her thoughts. She’d never once doubted the rightness of marrying Hugh before Geoff Dias reappeared. Now she had to find that feeling of certainty again, to reclaim her sense of direction, of destiny. She’d told herself that everything would fall into place if they could just follow through with their plans, get their lives back on track.

  She walked to his bedside and took his hand. “I want to get home, Hugh, don’t you? I want to begin our life together.”

  “Of course I want that.” He squeezed her hand.

  “The doctor said you were fine,” she reminded him. “And I think we might both feel safer on the other side of the border.”

  He settled back against the pillow, looking almost boyish with his chestnut hair falling onto his forehead. Randy had rarely seen him with a hair out of place, and it surprised her that she found his dishevelment attractive. She suppressed a smile at the thought of her meticulous Hugh trying to fight his way out of an Amazon jungle.

  “Why would we be safer?” he asked. “Because of Santeras? Don’t concern yourself about him, Randy. The man’s all show. It’s nothing but bravado.”

  “Hugh, he tried to torture information out of me! And he accused you of trying to bribe him.”

  “That grandiose bastard.” An angry flush stained Hugh’s face. “Carlos Santeras is a world-class crook, and he has the gall to suggest that I was trying to rig the bids on the hotel deal. I was simply speaking the man’s language, dealing with him at a level I thought he’d understand. He makes a good show of moral outrage, but I hope you weren’t taken in by him. There’s no one more righteous than a converted sinner.”

  “What are you saying, Hugh? That you did offer him some kind of bribe?”

  “I wouldn’t have put it in those terms exactly.” He seemed surprised at her concern, as well as defensive. “I was playing the game according to what I thought the rules were, his rules. When in Rome, that sort of thing.” He broke off, shrugging. “Surely you understand, Miranda?”

  “Well, yes, I—” She was trying to agree with him, trying to smile, but she couldn’t. When in Rome? There was something too convenient about that logic, but she couldn’t bring herself to debate it with him while he was lying in a hospital bed. Anyway, who was she to be questioning Hugh’s ethics, considering what she’d done the night before?

  Still, it bothered her that Hugh had thought it necessary to play Santeras’s game at all. They’d always been in sync when it came to their goals. He’d once told her how attractive he found her “romantic ambition” and her “passion to succeed.” She didn’t know who had changed, her or Hugh. But bribing someone, even a crook, didn’t seem romantic to her at all.


  “Shouldn’t we be getting ready to go?” Hugh asked. “We’ve got a plane to catch.” He tried a devilish wink, but it came off looking comic with his glasses, like a Groucho Marx gag. “Not to mention our date with the man in black.”

  “Black?” Randy’s mind flashed an image of a hooded executioner.

  “The minister, silly girl. Our wedding.”

  “Oh ... yes.” Randy glanced out the window at the pouring rain. “Our wedding.”

  “Why did I choose such an elaborate wedding gown?” Randy lifted her sheer lace veil out of the way as she struggled to rearrange the voluminous skirt of her gown. She and Barb, who was to be her only attendant, had been stranded in the anteroom of the church for several minutes, trying to get her dress to behave properly.

  Barb knelt and tugged the taffeta material free of the stiff undernetting it was caught on. “There,” she said, smoothing the material with a reassuring smile. “You’re beautiful. Now, are you about ready? Your groom awaits.”

  Randy took a sustaining breath. “I’m ready,” she said. With a quick nod, she signaled Barb to go ahead of her, and then she herself stepped up to the chapel entrance. A moment later, as the first crashing strains of Lohengrin’s wedding march sounded, she started slowly down the flower-festooned center aisle of St. Andrew’s Presbyterian church.

  Her ankle-length skirt swished loudly as she walked, but it was her heartbeat that sounded truly thunderous. One false step and she would be inextricably entangled in taffeta, brought down by her own bridal gown. The prospect of embarrassing herself that way in front of Hugh’s family was unthinkable, especially when she was already making herself conspicuous by walking down the aisle alone.

  The Pasadena Hargroves had belonged to St. Andrew’s for generations. Of Hugh’s immediate family, only his mother was alive. Katherine Hargrove had been infirm for years and was unable to attend the ceremony, but his aunts, uncles, cousins, and more distant relations had turned out in great numbers. And they were all scrutinizing her now, she supposed, trying to figure out what their brilliant and successful Hugh saw in her.

  As she continued down the aisle, Randy tried to focus on Hugh’s admiring smile instead of the sea of curious faces. She hoped he wouldn’t wink again. She didn’t care much for the way Hugh winked, though she couldn’t imagine why she was worrying about that now.

  It seemed an eternity, but once she reached the altar, Hugh took her hand and drew her alongside him. Randy’s palm was damp against his, and her heart was not only pounding by that time, it seemed to be trying to escape her chest altogether. Wedding day jitters, she told herself.

  Since their return from South America she’d been caught up in a frantic whirl of activity to bring the wedding off as planned. She hadn’t had a moment to think of anything else, which was exactly the way she wanted it. But the pace had taken its toll. She hadn’t been eating or sleeping well. She’d felt hollow all morning, nearly sick with nerves.

  She clutched Hugh’s hand tighter as the minister began to speak, his sonorous tones carrying all the way to the collection baskets in the back of the church. “We are gathered here together to unite this young couple in holy wedlock,” he informed the crowd.

  For an instant Randy’s breath seemed suspended in her throat. She had waited her whole life to hear those words, to experience this moment. It was the most important day of her life, she told herself, and she wanted to enjoy every second of it, to remember it forever. She drew in a calming breath, ordering herself to relax, but the admonition didn’t work. She couldn’t seem to inhale normally. The air was crowding up high in her throat as if some blockage kept it from reaching her lungs.

  She hung on to Hugh’s hand determinedly, trying to absorb his calm presence. As the minister continued his recitation she forced herself to focus on what he was saying. His voice was melodious and soothing, but for some reason he seemed to be repeating the same words over and over again ... unite this couple in holy wedlock. The phrase resounded in Randy’s mind like a gunshot in a canyon.

  A rush of blood through her head made her dizzy, and she knew something must be terribly wrong. She wanted to blame it on exhaustion. But the viselike blockage in her throat told her it was something far worse, something unthinkable. This was the wedding of her dreams, the culmination of all her fantasies, and yet she had a terrible urge to bolt and run from the church. She didn’t want to be here!

  Nerves, she told herself. Wedding day jitters. She’d waited her entire life for this day! She couldn’t possibly want to ruin it.

  She glanced at Hugh, desperately needing reassurance. He squeezed her hand and smiled. Her answering smile froze on her lips as she saw him wink at her—not once but several times! And then her eyes began to play terrible tricks on her. For one bewildering second she imagined that Hugh’s head was encased in an executioner’s hood and that he was winking at her through the eyehole!

  She felt a sharp tug against her wrist and blinked to clear her vision.

  “Miranda, are you all right?” Hugh was whispering. “Why are you staring at me like that? What is it?”

  She blinked again, several times, and the room flashed back into focus, clearing up as quickly as it went out of kilter. Hugh was peering at her through his tortoiseshell glasses, the minister was intoning solemnly, and everything seemed as if it were back to normal.

  Everything but her. She was trembling, shaking hard.

  “If anyone objects to this union,” the minister boomed, “let him speak now or forever hold his peace.

  The chapel went still as death ...

  Randy could hardly breathe for the silence. In her mind she heard Geoff Dias calling out an objection, storming up to the alter to carry her off. Was that what she wanted? To be rescued, kidnapped from St. Andrew’s on her own wedding day?

  She gripped Hugh’s hand more tightly, as if by holding on to him, she could hold back the turmoil building inside her, smother it between their clasped hands. She wanted to be married to Hugh. She had always wanted to be married to Hugh.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, aware that Hugh was still watching her with concern.

  The minister nodded as if he’d heard her and continued, unfazed. Clearly he had seen worse disruptions than this one in his time. Randy realized. She shuddered with relief. If she could just hang on a little longer, it would all be over. Once they were married, she would be fine. It was the ceremony that was making her nervous, all the pomp and circumstance.

  Hugh’s voice startled her until she realized he was repeating a passage they’d picked out especially for this ceremony. She forced herself to smile as he said his lines and then she repeated her own lines, words she’d rehearsed by rote. Never mind that her heart felt frozen solid, that her voice sounded distant and hollow. She would be fine once this was over.

  “Miranda?” the minister asked her at last. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, to ... ”

  Randy began to nod before he’d even finished. Yes, she did, she did. But before she had a chance to say it aloud, the chapel doors swung open and the sound exploded like a bomb in her head.

  She whirled, her heart surging. “Geoff!”

  In confusion, she watched a mother and her small child slip into a pew at the back and smile sheepishly.

  Late arrivals. Randy realized, stunned. She’d been expecting to see a beautiful, angry man in fatigues, his golden hair ablaze as he strode up the aisle toward her. Now the entire church was gaping at her; even the religious figures suspended in the stained glass windows seemed to be gasping in surprise.

  “Miranda?”

  Hugh’s horrified voice dragged at her, and the guests’ eyes, round with startlement, swam in her head. What had just happened? Had she shrieked his name aloud? Had she cried out Geoff Dias’s name?

  Hugh reached for her, but she fended off his hands. Her mind was spinning, pinwheeling in a desperate need to seize on something that made sense, someth
ing that explained what was happening.

  “Miranda, for God’s sake!”

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted, the words searing her throat. “Something’s wrong, terribly wrong.” She turned to Hugh, and tears set fire to her eyelids, blurring his angry, reddening features. “Forgive me, Hugh, please forgive me. I’m not feeling well.”

  “What is it?” he demanded. “Miranda, what’s wrong with you?”

  She began to weep softly, anguish rising inside her. What was wrong with her? She had no good reason, no rational explanation for what she was doing. It felt as if she were giving up everything she’d worked for, throwing it all away. But she couldn’t do anything else. She couldn’t go through with it. “I can’t do this,” she told him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “Marry ... you.”

  “Have you gone crazy?” he hissed.

  “Yes, I think so,” she said, her voice catching on a sob. “I really think I have gone crazy.”

  He tried to grab her as she stumbled backward, but she twisted away from him and hurried blindly down the steps and up the aisle toward the chapel doors. She felt as if the walls were closing in on her, as if the roof were coming down on her head, and she had a terrible, desperate need to be outside in the daylight, to be free.

  Sunlight blinded her as she burst out of the church.

  Fearful that Hugh and the others might follow her, she slipped into a narrow alleyway that she hoped would take her to the parking lot at the back of the church. And then she remembered that she’d come with Barb. She had no car!

  Frantic, she turned into an adjoining alley, having no idea where it would lead her or what she intended to do. Her ankles wobbled as she tried to hold up her skirts and negotiate rocks and the crumbling asphalt in high heels, but she had to get away, as far away as possible. A cluster of little girls playing with dolls looked up at her as she lurched past them in her wedding gown. “She’s beautiful,” one of them whispered. “Just like my Barbie.”