Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar

by Lindsay McKenna

  Sister Dominique looked sadly around at the chipped and dented office furnishings. “I need a clerk. I need five new file drawers.” She waved her arms around the stuffy little room. “I need more space!”

  “Now, now, Dominique,” Gabby chided, waving a finger at her, “be patient. Mon petit chou is home and said he’s got two new file cabinets for us! He’s getting the men to help bring them back here. Isn’t that wonderful? He said a norteamericano, Señor Trayhern, gave a huge donation to us! Our prayers have been answered—again!” She clapped her hands delightedly.

  Dourly, Sister Dominique griped, “Why does God always answer our prayers at the last minute? I swear, Gabby, we must be saying them wrong. There must be something to the process we have obviously overlooked, eh? We pray and pray and pray for years, and finally, just when we think the clinic will close, or we just can’t go on, He decides to drop us a few crumbs to keep going. No,” she muttered, scratching her silvery head, “we must be going about this wrong. Perhaps we need to get up at four a.m. to pray instead of six a.m.?”

  Ann smiled gently. Sister Dominique had a vinegar personality, but the tall, lean woman’s burning gray eyes sparkled with hints of wry amusement, too.

  “I think that God heard you plenty, this time,” Ann answered warmly. “Wait until you see what all Mike is bringing out of that van for your clinic. And that donation was for a nice sum—a hundred and thirty thousand dollars to put into the bank for equipment to help you at the clinic.”

  Both nuns said, “Ahh…” as they looked at each other. Gabby broke into a high-pitched cackle and moved around the desk to hug Dominique. And as they embraced, both nuns began to cry.

  Ann found herself with damp eyes as the nuns sobbed on each other’s shoulders, their French and Spanish strewn between their joyous bouts of weeping. Digging into her leather shoulder purse, Ann found some tissues and handed them out to each of them.

  “Thank you,” Gabby sniffed, blotting her eyes. “Oh, this is such a wonderful miracle!”

  “Mon petit chou made this happen, I’ll bet,” Dominique told the other nun briskly. “He can squeeze blood out of a turnip, that one!”

  “And how many times has he had to do it for us? For our clinic?” Gabby sighed, blowing her nose loudly.

  “We must get back to our patients,” Dominique reminded her starchly, throwing her tissue into a nearby garbage container. “Dr. Parsons, why don’t you come with me? You can sit and watch and listen. For the next few days, I want you to just get acquainted with what we do, with our patients. They are quite wary of Anglos, you know. Word must get out in the barrio about you. And then—” she raised her eyebrows, which were so thin they were almost nonexistent, “we will have a hundred people or more lined up and waiting when we open the clinic doors at seven a.m. No medical doctors ever come down here. No, you will be a curiosity. And they have heard so much about modern medicine that they will think you are heavensent to help them with their ills.”

  “Ah,” Gabby said with a sigh, “they will bring their crippled, those that need surgery, thinking that she can do all those things they cannot afford.”

  Dominique grunted and walked quickly around the desk, her long, thin arms flying. “We’ll deal with that when it happens, Gabby. Come, we all have much work to do!”

  When he returned to the clinic later that day, Houston poked his head into the largest room, a five-bed area he added on to the original structure two years ago. He found Ann and Sister Dominique standing on either side of the bed of a little girl whose head and right eye were bandaged. The girl’s mother, a Quechua Indian, held the child protectively in her arms. As he approached, Mike softened his footsteps across the spotlessly clean hardwood floor, studying Ann.

  She sat on the bed, facing the little five-year-old and unwrapping the dressing. He noticed she had changed into a white jacket, her stethoscope hanging around her neck, a blood pressure cuff hanging out of her left pocket. Sister Dominique stood behind her, explaining in detail the child’s condition.

  The low, honeyed tone of Ann’s voice drifted toward him. He halted and watched, unnoticed by all of them except Sister Dominique, who raised her head imperiously, met his gaze and gave him a tight smile of acknowledgment before brusquely returning her attention to the other women. Mike smiled to himself. Sister Dominique never missed a beat.

  Curious about Ann’s bedside manner, he decided not to make his presence known to her. He knew he should get going. It was dangerous to be at the clinic too long. After unloading the supplies, he’d left for a while to return phone calls and check on some of the operations he had set up, figuring he’d give Ann time to get to know the nuns and see how the clinic worked. But now that he’d returned, he knew it was foolish to stick around. Ann’s and the nun’s safety had to come first over the selfish yearnings of his heart to stay just a minute or two longer. And his presence at the clinic put them at risk.

  But just the way Ann tenderly unwrapped the dressing and gauze from around the child’s head made his skin prickle pleasantly with desire for her. He saw the gentle strength in her face, her eyes warm with compassion, her voice low and soothing. And the child seemed to react positively to her ministrations.

  For the next five minutes, Houston simply absorbed Ann’s presence as she went about her duties, in a manner that indicated her work came as naturally as breathing to her. The child had tripped while carrying a stick and stabbed herself in the right eye. The wound was messy but Ann, with Sister Dominique’s help, washed it out and examined it closely. To Mike’s relief, Ann was willing to allow Sister Dominique to dispense a homeopathic remedy, Symphytum, in order to reduce the swelling of the tissue and help the injured eyeball heal. He liked the way she worked—with swift, efficient motions—and he realized that came from a lot of field experience under extreme and dangerous conditions. A smile tugged at his mouth as he allowed his hands to drop from his hips.

  Mike waited until Ann was getting up before he made his presence known. “Half of healing is the love you put into it,” he murmured as he finally approached.

  Ann turned in surprise. How long had Mike been in the room? “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

  “I didn’t want to be heard.”

  Sister Dominique chuckled. “He’s the jaguar god, Dr. Parsons. That is the mysterious part of him and his other name. Anyone who lives in Peru has heard of him. He walks like the silent jaguar he is named for. His enemies know his deadly abilities. They fear him. Just as his archangel namesake did, he destroys his enemies, but he does it for the common good and protection of the people. You need not fear him, though. He is like a shadow, you know?” She came over and patted Mike’s shoulder. “He is a good shadow, not a bad one. His enemies want to see him hanged by his feet and stripped of his flesh, one inch at a time. With us—” she smiled benignly up at him “—he’s a silent, watchful guardian who protects us and helps us to heal others. No, do not be upset that you did not hear him coming. You are safe with him. Always.”

  Mike watched Sister Dominique leave the room as the woman tucked her daughter, who was probably staying overnight for observation, into the bed. The other four beds held what looked like worse cases, mostly older men and women. He watched Ann gather up the extra bandages and place them in her pocket.

  “How are you getting along?”

  Ann walked up to him, her exhaustion dissolving beneath his caring gaze. “Fine.” For a moment she thought she saw Houston’s eyes change, but it could have just been the fatigue lapping at her that made her think there was something stirring in the depths of those dark blue eyes of his—something so warm and good that it seemed to come out and wrap around her briefly in an invisible embrace. It had to be the jet lag, she told herself, or her imagination was just overactive from being around Mike. Ever since that breathless kiss at the airport, her mind had been creating flights of fantasy.

  “You’re looking beat, Ann. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes the size of the Lima air
port.” Mike said wrapping his fingers under her left arm and leading her toward the door. “I’ve got to get to my office. How about if I drop you off at your apartment? I think you need about twenty hours of sleep and then you’ll feel a hell of a lot better.” And he would feel a lot better knowing she’d been safely delivered to her apartment.

  Ann walked at his side down the hall. “A hell of a lot better than I look?” she baited, a sour smile edging her lips.

  Houston grinned. “Now, querida, I would never say that.” He shook his head. “Nope, in my own male, Neanderthal way, I’d say you can’t make a looker look ugly.” He’d become painfully aware of how his endearment had struck her when he saw Ann’s features grow soft. The word querida meant “darling” in Spanish and he’d allowed it to slip out by mistake. He must be tired. Or maybe, in his heart, she was already his woman. Inwardly, Houston fought against himself. He simply could not see Ann in that way. He had to protect her, not leave her open to a dangerous life by his side.

  Heat suffused Ann’s cheeks. Self-consciously, she stuffed the stethoscope into her pocket. Anything to halt the frisson of need that burned through her as Mike’s endearment touched her. The intimacy he automatically established with her was shattering. In that moment when he’d looked down at her and spoken that one word, Ann had wanted to step into his arms, drown herself in the rough splendor of his mouth and be loved senseless by him. The raw desire in Mike’s eyes made her tremble inwardly. Rubbing the back of her neck, she said, “You are terribly old-fashioned.” Did he know how much he affected her? Ann would just die if he did. She tried to cover her reaction by remaining busy, focusing on little details around the clinic.

  “Yeah,” he said with a chuckle, “I’m a throwback to the caveman type, I know. As you get used to me, I’ll rub off on you and you’ll see my bite’s not as bad as my bark.” The high flush in her cheeks, her nervous gestures told Mike how much his intimacy with her had affected her. He felt her emotional response rock through him like the powerful gust of wind that struck before a storm poured its life-giving rains upon the jungle.

  “Somehow,” Ann murmured, picking up her purse, which Sister Gabby had stuffed into a drawer of the old metal desk, “I doubt that. Sister Dominique was telling me earlier that there’s a reward offered for your head. Never mind the rest of your body.” Ann shifted uneasily and searched his suddenly hard, expressionless features as he walked easily down the hall and out the clinic doors with her. “Is that true? The nuns told me a lot of what you do down here.” Worry ate at her more than she liked to admit. Mike was so passionate about living, about life. How could anyone want to snuff out this magnificent warrior’s life? How? Reeling from the shock that anyone would have a price on his head, she made an effort to look at Mike in the new light. In Arizona, he had been vague about his work in Peru. Now the truth was ugly and frightening to her.

  “Nuns don’t lie,” he said abruptly, opening the door to the sedan for her. Houston warily looked around the church grounds. It always paid to be alert, no matter how tired he was.

  Inside, Ann put on her seat belt and waited until Mike climbed in. She wanted to stop asking questions, but they just kept tumbling out of her mouth. As he drove the car slowly away from the church, she asked, “Well? Is it true? There’s a huge price on your head?”

  Grimly, Mike nodded. “Let’s talk about more pleasant things, shall we?” He saw the shadowed look she gave him. She really cared about him. He could not protect himself against the waves of her roller-coaster emotions. The worry, anguish and fear she felt for him affected him powerfully. But if she knew how deeply he sensed her every emotion, she’d be mortified.

  Ann rested her head against the seat. “Okay.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I need a hot bath, lots of hot water, I feel so dirty….”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that no one in the barrio had ever experienced a hot bath, but he swallowed his comment. He could tell she was tired by the pastiness of her skin, and he noticed how tight and stressed she had become. “A hot bath can do wonders,” he agreed.

  Ann whispered, “Yes, it will, but you know what? Nothing will take away the pain of caring for that last little girl we saw at the clinic,” she murmured. “It just breaks my heart. She’s going to go blind, Mike, and there’s nothing we can do for her—no surgery available…. I wanted to cry for her.”

  Mike glanced at Ann before turning his attention back to the foot traffic along the dirt road. “You might as well get used to it, querida,” he said, the endearment rolling off his tongue once again. “You’re going to see heartbreaking cases every day you step into that clinic to work. It’s not a pretty sight.”

  Mike’s endearment took the edge off the sorrow she felt for the child, and his deep voice was soothing to her tension and tiredness. But she also heard the anguish in his tone. There was no question of his commitment to the clinic, to the poor. “Those nuns think you walk on water,” she said softly. “They adore you.”

  “Humph, if I step into water I’ll sure as hell go down just as fast as the next poor bastard. My grannies are a little biased toward me, so you have to take some of what they say with a grain of salt.”

  Through her barely opened eyes, Ann realized he was blushing, his cheeks a decided ruddy color. Lips parting, Ann whispered, “Maybe I drew too quick a conclusion about you, Mike. You are a person of unnerving mystery. I have more questions than answers about you.”

  He cut her a wry look. “Now, don’t go believing the nuns. Every once in a while they stretch the truth a little.”

  Her lips pulled into a careless smile and she met and held his gaze. “You mean you don’t want to suffer from a good reputation?”

  Chuckling, Mike flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. “You’re hearing only one side of the story.”

  “I ask you and you don’t answer me. So what choice do I have but to believe what others say about you?”

  He winced. “Touché.”

  “So, there really is a reward for your head on a silver platter?”

  He saw the genuine worry in Ann’s eyes once more and he tried to minimize the danger of his situation. “Thirty pieces of silver or something like that…” he muttered.

  “Don’t get defensive, Mike. It isn’t every day I hear of such a thing. You seem to blow the whole thing off. If I had a bounty on my head, I’d never come back to Peru.”

  Mike glanced briefly into her drowsy eyes. “Trust me, I’m on guard twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week. Yeah, some drug lords would love to have my head served to them on a silver platter. But that reward has been offered for seven years now and no one has collected it yet. I don’t intend to give my enemies the pleasure, either. I’m going to keep hitting them, disrupting their trade and fighting to take back the Indian villages they enslave for their nefarious ends.” His mouth reflected the grimness in his voice. “No matter how long it takes.”

  Ann felt a sweeping surge of power gather around him; it wasn’t visible, but she could sense it. In some ways, the sensation reminded her of what she’d felt around Mike at the airport earlier, when he’d saved his friend’s life. The pupils of his eyes dilated, making them look huge and black, with only a thin ring of blue around them. His features hardened to emphasize his words.

  “I know plenty about the drug lords because Morgan’s mercs have been working in the Caribbean, Brazil and Peru on assignment against them,” Ann said, watching as they drove out of the barrio and onto the asphalt streets of a more upscale area. “When Morgan and three or four of his mercs were kidnapped by two drug lords down here, I found out a lot more than I ever wanted to know.”

  “Drug lords are the living scum on the face of Mother Earth,” Mike growled. “I’ll spend every breath I breathe taking those bastards down and apart. No, I’m their nightmare, believe me. That’s why there’s a ten-million-sol reward for my head.” He saw Ann blanch as he mistakenly revealed the true price his enemies offered for his death. />
  She stirred and sat up, rubbing her face. Heart beating wildly in her breast, she said quietly, “That’s more than thirty pieces of silver. Has anyone tried to kill you?”

  Mike wished they could talk about something else, but he knew he owed her the truth—before it was too late. “Sure, many times.” He frowned. “That’s why you have to be careful, too, Ann. You stay alert everywhere you go. The clinic has never been a target—yet. So far, Eduardo Escovar, one of the drug lords who’s after me, has respected the sacredness of church ground. But they’ve hit the barrio three times in the last seven years. People have been killed by the raids they’ve made, thinking I was in the area when I wasn’t. Thank God, none of the bombs they planted around the barrio went off. The people there know about the druggies and their soldiers. They watch the clinic grounds and they protect those two sisters. I try and vary when I go to the clinic to help out. I never have the same schedule twice, to keep them from setting up an ambush for me. And the nuns are never told beforehand when I’ll be coming in. I just show up unannounced.”

  Shivering, Ann felt suddenly cold. She shouldn’t be; the late spring afternoon was warm and pleasant. Rubbing her arms, she wrestled with the harsh truth that Mike’s life was on the line every day. “How can you live like this? The stress would kill me.”

  His mouth curved tightly. “I guess what it boils down to is that my passion to see my people free of oppression is stronger than my need to worry about my own neck.” He tasted the fear and the care warring within her. Helpless, Mike could only try to buffer her tumultuous emotional state. Would Ann withdraw from him now? He knew the stakes were too high for her to even consider a relationship with him, and he could see in her eyes that she was realizing that truth now. It was best if she did. Maybe hard reality would make her care less for him than before. He hoped so. It was the only way he could be sure she remained safe.