Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar

by Lindsay McKenna

  Houston got up. He couldn’t sit still. “This is my fault, dammit,” He began pacing the length of the room. “All my fault…” He ran his fingers savagely through his hair.

  “How could it be?” Ann protested. “Mike, stop pacing. Sit here.” She patted the side of the bed next to where she lay.

  He halted and came and sat beside her once again. There was just a hint of a flush in her cheeks. How good it was to see her blush again!

  “How did you know I was sick, Mike?”

  He heard the fear in her husky voice. Holding her level gaze, which was filled with questions, he said, “You called me. Remember?”

  Closing her eyes, Ann concentrated. Then she remembered something. Mike was here. Alive, not dead. “But,” she said hoarsely, opening her eyes and fighting back tears, “they—the newspaper—said you were dead….”

  Mouth pursed, he put his hand over hers. “Listen to me, Ann, these damn newspapers exaggerate a lot. Drama is their way of selling more copies.”

  “Then it was all a trumped-up lie?” Her voice was off-key.

  “Not entirely,” Mike muttered darkly. “I was slated to go on that chopper up to the village of San Juan with my squad. But something warned me against it. I settled for a convoy run up the mountain, instead. Another captain and his men were only too glad to get a lift to the top instead of marching through ten miles of jungle.”

  “And…they died instead?”

  “Yeah…all of them, the poor bastards. Escovar’s men have rockets they can launch from their shoulder. The chopper was just about to land when they began firing at it. I was halfway up the mountain with our convoy and saw it happen. We got pinned down, anyway…I lost most of my men….” His brows drew down and his voice faded. He didn’t want to tell her how close to death he’d come himself. A bullet had ripped past his head, scoring his skull, and he’d fallen unconscious. Most of his men had thought he was dead because he was bleeding so badly. That was when he’d moved into the light—when Ann had come to him. The choice to live or die was his to make in that moment and he’d known it. Because of her, he’d come back, and thanks to his decision, his spirit guardian had healed the badly bleeding wound and he’d survived. Ann didn’t need to know any of this. At least, not right now. She was too torn up already from the lousy newspaper report.

  She gripped his hand as hard as she could, and he knew it was because she felt his pain and grief over the loss of his men. The moments strung between them, palpable and heart wrenching. Never had Houston allowed her to see him like this. There were tears glittering in his eyes, but he refused to look up at her.

  “I never realized just how dangerous your work really is….” she said thickly.

  Twisting his shoulders to get rid of the tension and grief knotting them, Mike finally forced himself to face her. Her eyes were filled with such compassion. Suddenly Houston was tired of the life he lived. And though he’d found the woman he wanted to be with forever, his path would not—could not—change. The love he felt could never be expressed to her. “It’s life and death every damn day, Ann. That’s all I’ve ever known.”

  The flat finality, the grief behind his words, shook her. “This has been the worst two weeks of our lives. I’m so sorry, Mike—for your men…their families….”

  Mike grimaced and admitted hoarsely, “I wanted to protect you from Escovar, from getting killed. Escovar has a sixth sense about people I—I care for. He’s like a dog on a scent, and when he finds out who is important to me, he has them murdered.”

  “Escovar didn’t get me,” Ann stated wryly, “a damn parasite did.”

  “This time,” he stated soberly. Mike knew he was scaring her, so he changed the subject. “Anyway, I heard you call me. Remember? The mental telepathy? And I felt you were in danger. I thought one of Escovar’s killer squads had gotten to you.” Releasing her hands, he stood up, frustrated. “It never crossed my mind that you’d contract a hemorrhagic fever and damn near die from it. I thought you were safe. I thought, for once, I’d outsmarted Escovar. He’s a dark shadow in my life, always staining it, murdering those I care about. And when I heard—felt—you were in danger, there was no way I wasn’t going to come back to Lima.” He looked down at her, his voice heavy with weariness.

  Ann swallowed hard at seeing the pain in his eyes. “I thought for sure I was going to die.”

  Rubbing his jaw, he muttered, “When we got here, about three in the morning, we busted down the door to gain entry. You were lying on the carpet, on your belly. You were bleeding from your nose, ears and mouth.”

  “Oh, God…” Ann connected back to the memory of that night. “Then I wasn’t imagining it? I was burning up with fever. It was at least 105 degrees.”

  “You had a temp of 106.5,” he corrected grimly. “You were dumping. Your blood pressure was through the floor and your pulse was almost nonexistent. Pablo figured you lost two pints of blood on that carpet.”

  Her eyes widened. Ann heard herself gasp. “Then…I shouldn’t be alive….”

  With a shake of his head, Mike avoided her look. “No…you shouldn’t be…but you are.” His voice shook with raw emotion.

  “But,” Ann said weakly, “how? How did I come back? Medically, I should have died.” She saw Houston’s face grow closed, that hard mask returning. When he refused to answer her, fragments of memories began to trickle back—chaotic scenes and emotions. Groping, her voice cracking, Ann ventured, “Something happened…I remember being lifted up. I felt like I was in the clouds. I felt so light, so very light…. And I heard your voice. I told myself that was impossible. You were dead. It was then that I knew I was dying.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said roughly, “you were dumping fast at that point. I was scared to death. I—” He stopped himself abruptly. He was afraid Ann would not believe the truth of what had happened. She was fragile right now, and he didn’t want her upset. And if she knew the real truth, it would stress her out completely. That was the last thing he wanted.

  Instead, he said, “I brought you here, to the bedroom. Pablo went and got Sister Gabby, who gave you a homeopathic remedy. I set up the IVs. When we realized how much blood you’d lost…well…” Damn, he didn’t want to admit the rest of this, but he knew Ann was hanging on every word he spoke. He had to think of some kind of explanation. And he did—one that she, in her world, could accept.

  “Sister Gabby said you were Type O blood. Of the three of us, her, Pablo and myself, I was the only Type O available. Sister set up a transfusion between us. It took one and a half pints from me to get your blood pressure stabilized….”

  Pressing her hand against her heart, Ann whispered, “I see….” The loss of that much blood was critical, she knew. “That’s why you look so bad.”

  He grinned a little sheepishly. “Yeah, it kinda took me for a trip for the next forty-eight hours. I was a little weak after transfusing that much of my blood into you.”

  “Did Sister Gabby stay here?”

  “No, she couldn’t,” Mike answered. He came back to the chair, and positioning it near the bed, he sat down. Ann was obviously accepting his version of the story of how her life was saved. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mike added, “I couldn’t afford to have one of Escovar’s spies zero in on this apartment. I know they follow the nuns around. I don’t know if they followed Sister Gabby that night or not when Pablo drove her over. I wanted her out of here as soon as possible. I sent Pablo away, too.”

  “So, it was just you and me? You’ve been taking care of me through this whole ordeal?”

  Houston nodded. Mouth thinning, he rasped, “I wanted to be here. I don’t regret it, Ann.”

  “But,” she murmured, “you said that it wasn’t safe for you to stay very long in any one place—that Escovar’s spies always tailed you….” And he’d been here, with her, going on five days now. Ann suddenly grew afraid—for Mike.

  “That newspaper article probably covered my entrance into Lima,” he said. “Escovar probably thinks I
’m dead, too, but that won’t last long. He’ll send his spies in to see who was on that flight manifest.”

  “Five days is long enough for someone like him to find out the truth,” Ann said. She suddenly felt very weak and very old. Worry for Mike’s safety mushroomed within her. “And you look like hell warmed over. You haven’t gotten enough sleep after losing nearly two pints of blood.”

  He lifted his head. “You must be feeling better. You’re griping at me again.”

  Ann laughed spontaneously—a croak, really—but Mike’s deep, answering laughter was music to her ears, a balm for her frightened heart. What had changed so much between them that she felt this close to him? Felt this desire to remain in his presence? She secretly hungered for his touch and wondered if she’d ever feel his arms around her again. It had felt so wonderful when he’d held her before.

  “I guess,” Ann uttered tiredly, “I had that coming.”

  He rose. “Yeah, you did, wild orchid.” The name slipped out before he could stop it. Halting, Mike studied Ann for a reaction. There was a dull flush in her cheeks and she shyly looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. In that moment, she was such a fragile, innocent young woman. It was torture not to kiss her, hold her close and feel her heart beating in unison with his. Torture not to think that someday…. Oh, Goddess…someday he could love her wildly, passionately, until they were joined on every level of themselves, from the physical to the most sublime. His heart ached for her. But it was a dream never to become a reality.

  When Ann saw his wary look at his use of the endearment, her mouth softened. “Wild orchid. That’s beautiful….”

  “You like it?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” She laughed, a little embarrassed by the smoldering look in his narrowed blue eyes. Whenever he looked at her like that, she felt so incredibly feminine and wanton—two things she’d never felt before, really, except with Mike. And now, for whatever reason, his look stirred her even more deeply, ripening her yearnings as a woman who not only needed her man, but who wanted to make love with him as she’d loved no other man in her thirty-two years of life.

  “I know I’m not beautiful, but I like the idea of being compared to such an exquisite flower.”

  Angry, but shielding her from it, Mike walked over to the dresser, toward the vase of red-and-yellow orchids that Pablo had brought before he left the apartment. Mike had wanted fresh orchids—Ann’s orchids—by her side. They’d been sitting on the dresser through the long, dark nights of her illness, reminding him as he worked to save her that life was stronger than death. That love could delay death. And his love had.

  “Here,” he rasped as he placed the vase next to her bed, “you just look at these and know they’re a reflection of you, okay? I’m going to take a shower, shave and probably keel over afterward.”

  Touched, Ann reached out and caressed one of the fragrant vanilla-scented blossoms. “They’re lovely,” she admitted softly, meeting his exhausted gaze.

  “So are you.” His tiredness was making him say too much. “I’ll check on you before I hit the sack, querida.”

  Ann nodded. “I’ll be fine, Mike. You just get some rest. You look awful.”

  At the door, he hesitated. Placing his hand on the gold-painted frame, he looked over his shoulder at her. Already he could see that the old Ann was back. Her wry wit. Her sparkling blue-gray eyes filled with warmth—toward him. Heaven help him, but he absorbed it all like a greedy beggar stealing what wasn’t rightfully his. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, and giving her a sad grin, he left.

  The phone was ringing. And ringing. And then it stopped abruptly after the second ring. Then it began again. Groaning, Houston rolled over on the couch and damn near fell off of it as he fumbled for the noisy device. Throwing out his hand, he forced his heavy lids open.

  What the hell time was it? Sunlight was cascading through the western curtains of the apartment. The watch on his wrist read 3:00 p.m. Groping for the phone, he hesitated, even in his drowsy state. How many rings had it rung? If it was Pablo calling, they’d agreed upon two rings and then hanging up. Then the phone would ring again until the other party picked up. Mike had told his trusted sergeant to phone if, from his watch post in the apartment complex next door, he spotted one of Escovar’s men hanging around the apartment. How many times had it rung the first time? Mike wasn’t certain, as he knew the caller could be one of Escovar’s spies trying to find out if he was here. Answering the phone could mean the difference between life and death. Or it could simply be Sister Gabby, worried about him and Ann. But the granny nun wouldn’t be calling, he realized, because she knew it might put him in jeopardy.

  Damn. To answer or not? How many times had it rung before he’d awakened? Something told him to do it.

  “Yes?” he growled into the receiver.

  “Major,” Pablo said in a low voice, “Escovar has four armed men in a car parked outside your apartment building. They’ve been here five minutes.”

  All the sleepiness was instantly torn away. Standing up, Houston snarled, “Pablo, get the car. Meet us around back, near the exit by the basement door, next to the trash cans. Make sure you aren’t seen.”

  “Sí, sí!”

  Son of a bitch! Savagely cursing, Mike pulled on his shoulder holster. He always slept with the nine-millimeter pistol under his pillow no matter where he was. Grabbing his civilian black leather coat, and already dressed in a pair of jeans and a red Polo shirt, he hurried down the hall to Ann’s room. They had to get out of here now! Escovar’s men would be up at any minute. The yellow-bellied bastards were probably waiting for more backup, more men. More guns.

  His heart was pounding as he opened the door to the bedroom. Ann was sleeping. As he hurried to her side, she looked like an innocent in a world gone mad. Shaking her shoulder, he growled, “Ann, wake up!” He didn’t want to scare her, but time was of the essence. Moving swiftly, he unhooked the IVs and brought them carefully around the bed.

  Groggily, Ann raised her head, disoriented. Mike leaned down beside her.

  “Listen to me,” he rasped, “we’ve got to get out of here. Now.” He quickly untaped the IV and pulled it out of the back of her left hand. Blood quickly pooled and he replaced the tape over it. “We can’t take anything. I’ve got to get you out of here.” He took the blankets and pulled them around her.

  Fear jagged through Ann. “What—”

  “No time to talk,” he growled, and he slid his arms beneath her. Ann felt light. How much weight had she lost? He shrugged off the thought as his mind spun with tactics. With how to keep her safe.

  “Hold on to me,” Houston ordered as he brought her fully against him. “Keep this blanket over your head. If I drop you to the floor, don’t you dare move. You hear me?”

  “Y-yes….” Ann clung to his neck as he hurried out of the room, the blankets wrapped tightly around her. Terror seized her as she felt the sledgehammer pounding of his heart against hers. She smelled fear around him. She tasted it as she pressed her cheek weakly against Mike’s neck. She knew she was a liability to him and the thought pained her.

  Outside the door, Houston made a quick, cursory sweep of the hall. Nothing. Breathing harshly, he hurried toward the elevators. No, something inside him warned, take the stairs. Yes, a better, safer way. Turning on his heel, he jogged to the end of the carpeted hall. Leaning over, he jerked open the fire door. Gray concrete stairs with black pipe railing met his gaze. Hurry! Hurry, there’s no time left!

  The warning shrilled through him. Easing through the door, he rasped, “This is gonna be a rough ride. Hang on….” He gripped Ann hard as he began his rapid descent down the twelve flights of stairs.

  Breathing hard by the time he’d gotten them to the basement, Houston ran for the rear exit. The dark, gloomy cellar was empty save for huge conduits, a lot of paper in receptacles and a massive furnace. At the rear door, he halted.

  “Don’t move,” he rasped, and he stood Ann on the ground. He f
elt her legs begin to buckle. In one swift movement, he anchored her solidly against him, blankets and all. With his other hand, he pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster. He felt her arm weakly move around his torso as he eased the door open just a crack. There! He saw the black Mercedes-Benz. Pablo was only four feet from the door. Good! With a swift look in both directions, Houston jammed the pistol back into the holster and picked Ann up.

  “Last step,” he said huskily, kicking the door open with his booted foot.

  Once they were inside the car, Pablo stepped on the accelerator. Houston forced Ann to lie down on the back seat.

  “Stay down. Whatever you do, don’t get up until I tell you it’s safe.”

  “O-okay,” Ann whispered as she felt the car begin to move. Houston’s clipped, harsh tone scared her. If she’d been well, she might have handled this situation differently, but being ill made her vulnerable. Once again, she heard Mike’s voice from the front seat, low and angry sounding.

  “Let’s get out of the city. Use all the back streets, Pablo.”

  “Sí, Major, sí.”

  Houston slid down so he couldn’t be seen. This was the lousy life he led. But he couldn’t take the risk of anyone spotting him—especially Escovar’s hundreds of spies, who salivated after that ten-million-sol reward on his head. Anyone on the street—vendor, beggar or businessman—could be a potential Escovar spy. And all the spy had to do was make a couple of quick phone calls and Mike would be history. Worse, Ann would be killed and so would Pablo.

  “Major, where do we go? If Escovar knows you are here, he will have the airport cut off. He will have his spies at the army barracks…so where…?”

  “Aldea para los Nublado,” Mike ordered. “The Village of the Clouds.”

  Pablo’s eyes blinked, then widened. “Qué? Why?”

  “Because,” Mike snarled in frustration, “I don’t have any other choice, so you’d better damn well make sure we don’t get tailed.”

  “Sí, sí, Major…”

  Ann lost track of time. She grew nauseous as the car twisted and turned down seemingly endless roads. All she could do was try to brace herself so she wouldn’t fall off the seat. The blankets were heavy and she was hot in the stuffy vehicle. Perspiration soaked through the white silk gown she wore, making it cling to her. Trying to pull the blanket off her head so she could at least breathe, she felt Mike’s hand upon her shoulder.