“We’re out of the city now,” he told her huskily as he removed all but one blanket from around her. He was leaning over the seat, his eyes narrowed and glittering as he rapidly checked her condition. She was very pale, her eyes huge and dark with fear. “Damn, I’m sorry for this, Ann. This wasn’t in the plans….”
She rolled over and lay across the seat as best she could. Mike folded up one of the blankets and, lifting her head and shoulders, placed it beneath her as a pillow.
“Thanks…. What’s going on?”
Houston never stopped looking around as he spoke to her. “Escovar got wind of my whereabouts. Pablo was keeping watch in the apartment complex across the way and he spotted a hit squad in a car out front of your place. They were probably waiting for backup before coming in after me.” He saw Ann’s face drain of color. How badly he wanted to protect her from all of this. Reaching down, he smoothed an errant curl off her wrinkled brow. “It’s okay. We’re safe. We managed to get out of Lima without a tail, thanks to Pablo here.” Mike gratefully patted his sergeant on the shoulder in thanks. Pablo glowed at the sincere compliment.
“Where are we going, then?”
Mike heaved a sigh and rested his arms across the seat as he regarded her. “Home,” he rasped. “We’re going home, Ann.”
Chapter 10
“Where are we?” Ann asked as she awoke and sat up on a pallet in a roomy hut, the morning light cascading through the window openings. Mike Houston was standing in the doorway, his massive frame silhouetted against the bright sunlight.
Mike turned toward her, smiling a little as he eased away from the door. They had driven for two days, with few stops in between. For Mike, outwitting Escovar was like trying to get his shadow to disappear on a sunny day. However, with more than a little help from the men and women elders here at the village, they’d successfully evaded him. And he was very relieved, he thought, studying Ann sitting before him, her legs crossed beneath the light pink cotton blanket. Her hair was beautifully mussed, her lips softly parted, her eyes still puffy with sleep.
Crouching down, he slid his fingers through her hair and eased errant strands away from her face.
“We’re home,” he told her huskily, catching her tender look as he caressed her cheek. “And we’re safe here. No more running, ducking or dodging.”
It was so easy to surrender to Mike. Ann was still healing from her illness and feeling excruciatingly vulnerable. Craving his continued closeness, his touch, she pressed her cheek against his open palm and closed her eyes.
“Home?” she whispered. Mike had been vague about where they were going. She only knew she was someplace safe from Escovar’s murdering thugs and spies. She had slept most of the time during their escape because she was still recovering from the fever. Last night, in Tarapoto, they had left civilization behind, and Ann had heard Pablo say, as they slowly moved down a rutted dirt road in the darkness, that he saw a bank of clouds ahead. She vaguely remembered Mike carrying her from the car. She had seen stars overhead between the clouds. She had heard cries and greetings—some in English, others in Spanish and yet others in a language she was too tired to try and identify. Exhausted, all she could do was cling to him as he carried her to a hut and a soft, awaiting pallet. The last thing she remembered was Mike tucking her in with a warm blanket and pressing a kiss to her temple as she drifted back into the arms of sleep.
Now as he placed a feathery kiss on her wan cheek, a tremble raced through Ann and she lifted her chin, looking into his face, which was only inches from hers. “Hold me?” It took all her courage to ask. This was one of the few times in her life that she felt so nakedly vulnerable, so overwhelmingly in need of his protection. It must be the fear of Escovar finding them, coupled with the remnants of the fever, that made her feel this way. Ann searched his shadowed eyes. She had made it a point never to ask a man for anything because of her past. With Mike, it felt normal to ask for his help, his protection. “For just a minute?” she continued.
Houston saw the fear and worry in her drowsy blue-gray eyes. Forever, if you want, querida, he thought, though he dared not utter those words. Nodding, he sat down and positioned her between his massive thighs. It was so easy now, Mike mused, as Ann leaned against him trustingly. Her trust had been hard-won, he realized. And it could be shattered all too easily. One mistake on his part would destroy the tenuous connection between them. Especially now, when she was fragile and still mending. Her old walls hadn’t been resurrected yet, but he was expecting them to be. Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he laughed softly against her hair. “I held you all night. Didn’t you get enough of me then?” he teased.
Ann pressed her face against his neck. She felt the pounding pulse near his throat. He had recently shaved and she could smell the clean odor of soap still lingering on his flesh. She moved her head from side to side, content to be held within his strong, cherishing embrace. “I can’t get enough of you….” she quavered. And she couldn’t. Being in the backseat of a car for days that melted together like one nightmare had made coping with the ordinary things of life difficult. Mike had done his best to care for her under the harrowing circumstances, but they’d been on the run, barely ahead of Escovar’s men, who had tracked them like bloodhounds. Ann had begun to truly understand just how hunted Mike was—and just how many of Escovar’s spies were on his trail. Even when they’d stopped to get petrol, she’d had to hide beneath the blanket on the back seat, unmoving, where Pablo, the least identifiable of the group, got the gas.
Mike heard the emotion in her voice and felt the stormy chaos within her. Sliding his fingers through her hair and taming it into place, he whispered, “Just tell me what you want, wild orchid, and I’ll do my damnedest to give it to you.” He bit back so much more he wanted to say to her. Every day they’d been on the run, he’d watched as reality struck Ann, reminding her about the price on his head and the raw danger he constantly dealt with. If anything, their experience on the road demonstrated why they could never have a life together. That made every moment he spent with Ann now even more precious, and like a greedy thief he absorbed her presence into his heart and soul.
The singing of many tropical birds added to the tender stillness ebbing around them as Mike held her. His heart sang, too. How often had he dreamed of Ann coming to him like this? Snuggling into his arms, seeking refuge? Seeking his reassurance? His love? Pain tightened his chest. Love? Yes, he loved her, but that was one thing he couldn’t tell Ann. Pressing small kisses against her hair, Mike watched the sunlight strike the silken strands of sable, the red and gold highlights gleaming as the rays crept over the frame of the window and stole into the room.
Ann slowly lifted her hand and pressed her palm against the center of Mike’s chest. She saw that he was wearing civilian clothes still—a short-sleeved, white shirt and dark blue cotton trousers. He pressed his hand against hers.
“I remember….” Ann began in a husky voice as she closed her eyes. “While I was sick, I was dreaming, but I don’t think it was a dream, Mike. When I was dying from the fever, I heard you break into my apartment. I remember you were holding me, willing me back to life. I saw the tears in your eyes. I heard your voice break. I saw this shadow near the bed. I—I don’t know what it was, but then I saw it move above us. And then…” She opened her eyes and stared at the dried palm leaves that made up the wall of the hut. Ann pushed on, because she knew if she didn’t, she’d never again find the courage to address it. “I’m a psychiatrist. This last week has been…bizarre for me. If I told any of my colleagues what I thought I saw, what I think really happened, they’d tell me I’d had a genuine, acute psychotic split from reality.”
Mike eased away just enough to look down into her eyes in the warm silence between them. “What’s reality, anyway?” he began. “Do any of us really know? I sure don’t.” His mouth curved ruefully as he studied Ann’s shadowed, questioning gaze. He gestured to the door of the hut. “When I came here, to the Village of the Cloud
s, I was taught to lead with my heart first, querida, and my head second. I know I see things here—” Mike pressed her hand more firmly against his heart “—that my eyes don’t see. So what’s more important? A head’s reality check? Or the heart’s check of how you or I really feel on a visceral level?”
She managed a slight, strained smile. “I’m confused, Mike. And I’m scared. I feel lost in one way and so terribly vulnerable in another.”
His smile dissolved. “I know you’re scared. So am I,” he confided in a low tone as he held her hands. “Not for the same reasons, though.” He lifted his head and gestured toward the door. “We’re safe here in the Village of the Clouds. Escovar will never find us here. It’s one of the few places on Mother Earth where we’re really safe. It’s a haven where you can heal, Ann. That’s why I brought you here.”
She gazed through the doorway. The view outside looked like any other village in the Andes. Chickens clucked contentedly; dogs yapped and ran among the huts, playfully chasing one another; women cooked over small fires with tripods and black kettles. Yet it felt different here and Ann couldn’t figure out why.
“It’s a beautiful name for a village,” she whispered, returning her attention to Mike. In the light and shadow of the hut, his face looked harsh. She could still see remnants of exhaustion beneath his eyes, and in the way his mouth was set. She realized that Mike was trying to buoy her spirits, to help her feel more at ease here.
“I was brought here many years ago, Ann, when I was dying. My chopper had been shot out of the sky by Escovar and his men. I leaped out of it before it hit the ground and exploded. The blast knocked me into the jungle, but saved my life. Escovar’s men were hot on my trail. I took a ricocheted bullet in this thigh,” he continued, pointing to his leg. “The damn thing nicked my femoral artery and I lay bleeding to death in a shallow depression as they got closer and closer.”
She felt anguish in her heart and she watched a somber darkness cover his face. “What happened?”
“Several things. This old shaman by the name of Grandfather Adaire appeared, almost as if by magic, out of the bush with two of his students, another man and a woman. He saved my life. He brought me here with the permission of Grandmother Alaria…” Mike’s voice softened “…to mend. Only my week-long stay with them turned into a year-long stay.”
“A year? Did the army think you were dead?”
He chuckled a little. “It was real convenient to disappear. I stayed here, fell in love with the village, with the people, found out a lot about myself that I’d been wondering about for years, and went into training with Adaire and Alaria, the elders here at the village. When I returned to Lima a year later, everyone believed I had died and been resurrected. They thought I was a ghost. I told them I’d survived the crash, but sustained a head injury and had amnesia until only recently. Once I realized who I was, I came back to the real world.”
“And people believed you?” Ann demanded incredulously. She saw the mischievous smile creep across his face. There was such a little boy inside this man’s body and she found herself starved for a little of his laughter and gentle teasing.
“Why wouldn’t they believe me? I was a trained paramedic.” Mike touched the left side of his head. “Look at this scar. I got it in that crash. That would have been enough to convince them.”
“What were their options? Reality versus…what?”
“Not everything,” Mike cautioned, “is a delusional episode, Ann.”
“No? I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or imagining things anymore.”
“Well,” he murmured, “there’s another choice among the mystical people of Peru.”
“This had better be good, Houston.”
A fierce tide of emotion swept through him as he saw her rallying for the first time since almost dying. There was a fire in her eyes, her cheeks were slightly flushed and that luscious, orchid-shaped mouth was turned up in a hint of a smile, just pleading to be kissed again. He smiled at her returning spark of defiance.
“Adaire and Alaria would ask you to consider that shamans, such as they are, cross continually between the worlds. They stand with one foot firmly planted in the reality of the here and now that you are familiar with. And—” Mike raised his hand and made a circular motion around the hut “—they keep one foot in the other dimensions, or what they call worlds which intersect this very same space. Most people can’t see them, shamans are trained to be aware of them.”
“Worlds? I have trouble with just one reality. I’m sure I’d go over the edge if there was more than one continuously overlapping it. Anyone would.”
“Patience,” Mike chided. “Don’t be so quick to judge just yet. Shamans have a special ability to move into what I call an altered state. They can tune in, sort of like a radio set, to one or more frequencies simultaneously. They can be here, with us, or out there, in the other worlds. And they switch back and forth by choice.”
“Lately,” Ann admitted, “that’s how I feel—like I’m being flipped through a hundred television channels. I see so many different, shifting scenes. I hear things, smell and taste things…. I’ve never had this happen before, Mike.”
“If I told you that what you’re experiencing is normal, would it make those worry lines on your brow go away?” he asked, caressing her wrinkled brow with his index finger. Ann sighed and closed her eyes as he stroked her forehead. Mike understood the power of touch. Lately, Ann was wanting more and more of it.
“Sometimes,” he began slowly, holding her gaze once she opened her eyes again, “things happen in our life that throw us into chaos. We don’t know which end is up. Or what is right or wrong. The only gyroscope I know that will hold the true course is here, in my chest.”
“The heart,” Ann said, studying his softened expression. She was seeing another side to Mike now. Usually, he was always on guard, wary and alert. Here in this hut, this village, he was not shifting his attention from her to his surroundings continuously. Part of her truly began to relax and believe that they were safe.
“Yep. You’re bang on, Doc.”
She grinned a little. “I think I’m getting better.” She patted her stomach. “I’m starving to death, Mike.”
His brows rose. “Really? You’re hungry?”
“I feel like a starving jungle cat.”
“I see….” Slowly extricating himself, he rose and said, “I’ll go get Moyra, then. She’ll help you out of that nightgown and into some decent clothes. While she’s taking care of you, I’ll scare up some fresh hen’s eggs and be just outside the hut here, cooking them over the fire.”
Who was Moyra? Ann was about to ask, but Mike disappeared out the door before she could say anything. To her total surprise, a young woman in her early thirties, her hair long, black and shiny, her eyes a lively forest green, skipped into the hut.
“Ah, there you are!” she exclaimed. “I’m Moyra. Of late, from Canada. I’m a student in training here at the village. You must be Ann.” She knelt down, setting a colorful skirt and white blouse on the pallet. Holding out her slender hand to Ann, she said happily, “It’s so nice to meet you at last!”
At last? Ann slowly took her hand. “Th-thank you.” She regarded her. “You’re from Canada?”
Chuckling indulgently, Moyra nodded. “Originally I’m an Irish colleen. I emigrated to Peru. When I was older, I moved to Canada for two years to help a good friend of mine, Jessica Donovan, run her orchid greenhouse. I arrived here a year ago for further training with Grandmother Alaria. And you are from the States, we understand?”
“Yes…I am.”
“Well,” Moyra murmured, “while you’re here with us, I’ve volunteered to be your maid-in-waiting. Michael isn’t too well himself, yet. He did too much. I told the elders I’d step in and be of help when and where I could. Well, what do you think? Will this chemise fit you?”
Her upbeat, joyful mood and quick wit made Ann reticent. She saw the lively sparkle in Moyra’s large, slightly tilted g
reen eyes. Her face was oval, and when Ann looked at her, she felt as if she were looking at a cat’s face.
“It—looks okay….”
“I’m so sorry,” Moyra purred in her husky voice. “I’m rushing on like a wild creek in spring flood and here you are, feeling abandoned to a stranger. Michael isn’t far away. He’s just outside, as a matter of fact. He felt you might feel a little more comfortable with a woman helping you bathe and dress than him trying to do it.”
Moyra was literally reading her mind. Ann stared at her as a red flush crept into Moyra’s face.
“Dear me, there I go again. I owe you a second apology, Ann. Don’t mind me, the blithering colleen from the Emerald Isle and all. I was just so charged up, getting to meet you. Michael has told us so much about you! About your bravery under fire. How you saved the lives of men and women who risked their lives helping others. How valiant and courageous you are.” She moved her hands in a nervous, fluttering gesture. “First things first. You must bathe. We have hot springs located just a few steps behind this hut. Do you think you can stand? I’ll help you walk to them.” She grabbed at a woven bag. “Grandmother Alaria asked me to wash you with this very special soap she made. She said it would make you feel stronger. And heal quicker. It is from a very special orchid with healing powers. Well? Are you up to it?” She tilted her head, her smile warm and engaging.
Ann managed a soft laugh. “A bath sounds like a dream come true.” The feverish sweat had left her feeling very dirty, and she yearned for a warm bath to scrub away the memory of her deathly illness. “And is Alaria your grandmother?”
Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar Page 19
