by Rachel Lee
“It’s a quetzal,” Jack murmured. “Pretty rare around here.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He smiled at her awed expression as the bird tilted its head back, puffed out its shimmering ruby chest and swallowed the fruit whole.
“Indian legend says its breast wasn’t always red.”
She slanted him a quick, amused look. “More prehistoric lore?”
“No, this tale’s more modern. Supposedly the Spaniards who invaded this area in the 1500s attacked a Mayan chief. The quetzal swooped down and landed on the dying man’s chest, either to protect him or to mourn him. When it flew away again, its breast was colored with the chieftain’s blood.”
Sarah glanced back at the exotic creature, feeling her pleasure in its exotic beauty slowly fade. When it took off with a flap of emerald wings, she sat still for a long moment. Then she reached up and began to work the fastenings on her robe.
Jake eyed her lazily, reluctant to see this interlude of quiet between them end. She was right, though. They needed to get back to the kids. Back to camp. Jake straightened, only to realize that she wasn’t hooking the few fastenings she’d undone earlier to fan herself. She was unhooking the remaining ones.
“What are you doing?”
She pulled another hook open. “I’m taking this off. Then I’m going to make love to you.”
“We talked about this earlier,” Jake said gently. “I can’t let myself lose control like that again. Much as I want you, I can’t cross that line again—not until I get you out of here.”
“What makes you think the decision is yours alone to make?” She jiggled her shoulders. The black gown slid down her arms and pooled around her hips.
Lord, she was beautiful, Jake admitted ruefully. He’d never seen anyone so small and perfectly proportioned. All gold and tan and white in places he damn well shouldn’t be staring at.
“Sarah, this isn’t smart.”
“No,” she replied, leaning forward to brush the edges of his shirt aside and lay her palms against his heart. “But it’s necessary. Maybe not for you, but for me. I need you, Jack. I need you to hold me and kiss me and know that, whatever happens tomorrow, we had this time together.”
He felt the soft touch of her fingertips against his bare skin and drew in a ragged breath. “I don’t think I can just hold you.”
Her lips curved in a slow, wicked grin. “Why don’t you put your arms around me and find out?”
Maybe it was time for him to find another line of work, Jake thought. He couldn’t ever remember making a conscious decision to put his own desire ahead of operational needs before. The thought worried him for the few seconds it took to reach out and pull Sarah into his lap.
She nestled against him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head tucked under his chin. He breathed in the sun-warmed scent of her hair. Her skin was damp with the humidity of the jungle and incredibly soft against his.
Jake rested his chin on the top of her head, content for the moment just to absorb the tactile sensations Sarah’s mere touch generated. Content, that is, until her hands began to move on his back. With feather-light strokes, she explored his skin, his spine. Her hips shifted, and the lazy sensuality of the moment suddenly sharpened. He felt himself hardening against the rounded curve of her bottom.
She straightened, leaning a little bit away from him. Her eyes gleamed up at him, as shimmering and brilliant as any of the birds that swooped through the canopy.
“Well, I guess that settles that,” she declared solemnly. “Holding is definitely not an option for us.”
Jake groaned and bent his head.
Sarah responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with all the warm eagerness that characterized her. Her lips opened under his. She tasted and explored his mouth with a hunger that matched his. Her breasts pressed against his chest, their small, round centers peaking against his flesh.
This time, when they shed their clothes and rolled onto the green, springy carpet of ferns, their loving wasn’t hard and fast and furious. This time it was slow and indescribably sweet. At least at first.
Sarah herself set the pace. Smiling, she pushed Jake onto his back. She stretched out at his side and explored him, tasting, touching, teasing with her hands and mouth. Her hair formed a silvery puddle on his stomach as she left a trail of kisses from his navel to his chin, then back down again. Her fingers speared through the light mat of hair on his chest, twisting it and tugging lightly.
Jake lay with one knee bent, the woman he now considered his own cradled at his side. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her body pressed to his and wondering at the crazy junction of time and circumstance that had brought them to this place and this moment.
“Are you going to sleep?”
He opened one eye to see Sarah propped on her elbow, staring down at him with a rueful smile.
“No, ma’am. I’m just lying here thinking about that nun who whacked me over the head all those years ago.”
“The one with the umbrella?”
“Mmm….”
She pursed her lips. “I’m not sure I want to hear why you’re thinking of her at this particular moment.”
He grinned and reached up to twist a strand of her hair around one finger. “If she hadn’t scared the bejesus out of me, I might not have been so intimidated by your little disguise for so long.”
“And?”
He tugged gently on her hair, bringing her face closer to his. “And I might not have been so angry when I discovered that the woman who’d been twisting me in knots wasn’t little Sister Sarah Josepha after all.”
“And?”
He brushed his lips across hers. “And I might not have forced the issue between us yesterday.”
“No,” she whispered against his mouth, “but I might have. In fact, if you hadn’t forced it, I probably would’ve done exactly what I’m going to do now.”
Jake’s stomach muscles jumped as her seeking fingers slid through the thick hair at his groin and closed around his shaft.
“Now you just close your eyes again,” Sarah murmured in between tiny, wet kisses, “and let me give you something else to think about besides being whacked with an umbrella.”
She definitely did that. Within moments, she had him rigid and aching and straining against her hold. Her mouth teased and nipped at him with the same erotic impact as her hands. As much as he ached to roll her over into the thick green carpet, Jake held back, giving her the time she wanted, needed. Every muscle quivered with the effort. When his low, strangled growl gave evidence that he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, she took him into her body, her hips straddling his and her back arching as she met his slow, driving thrusts with a strength that stunned him.
Jake saw his hands, dark against the pale skin of her breasts. He heard her breathless, panting cries as her passion deepened. He felt her moist heat surround him, clench him. When she braced her hands on his shoulders and brought her mouth to his, Jake drank in her dark, sweet taste.
Sarah was right, Jake thought—while he could still think at all. Whatever happened tomorrow, they’d have this. They’d always have this.
Slowly, reluctantly, they rejoined the universe they’d left behind for a moment out of time. Jake brought Sarah up into his arms for a last touch of his lips against hers, then turned away to reach for their clothes.
She clutched at his shoulders, achingly reluctant to allow even a breath of space between their sweat-slicked bodies.
“Jack, I…I want you to know that everything you heard or read about me was true.”
He stopped her with a brush of his thumb over the soft skin of her lips. “We both have things in our past that are best forgotten.”
She took his hand in both of hers, needing to tell him what was in her heart. “I was stupid and self-centered and uncaring who I hurt, before. I…I thought I was in love. But now…now I’m just beginning to understand what the word means.”
His thumb shaped her lower lip. “When we get out of here, Sarah Josepha, we’re going to take a long, slow, cool shower in the biggest, most decadent hotel room money can buy. We’re going to make wild, sweet love on a bed with clean sheets. And then we’re going to do some serious talking about the future.”
Not five minutes later, the future reached out to grab them by the throat.
They’d collected the children and Eleanora and were only a few hundred meters from the camp when the sharp crack of a gunshot set the parrots overhead squawking. The dense undergrowth shielded the camp from view, but there was no mistaking the source of the sound.
“Get down!” Jake ordered instantly. Eleanora dropped like a sack of ballast, tugging Teresa down with her. Sarah grabbed Eduard’s good arm and pulled him down with her and Ricci. Tucking the toddler under the shelter of her body, she wrapped a protective arm across Eduard’s thin shoulders.
Jake strained to hear above the noise of the birds. No other sound reached him from camp. He straightened slowly, rapidly assessing the possibilities. One of the men could’ve shot a viper. Or amused himself by taking a potshot at one of the monkeys that occasionally darted into camp to snatch at shiny objects in the debris. Or an argument between a couple of the rebels could’ve taken a personal, ugly twist. It had happened before.
He turned and crouched beside Sarah. “I don’t think it’s anything to panic over. I’m going in. Stay here until I signal for you.”
He pulled the palm-size pistol from his boot. She hesitated, swallowing hard, then reached out a shaky hand and took it.
“It’s ready to fire,” Jake warned softly. “If I’m not back in five minutes, take the children back to the pool. I’ll call in what help I can and try to hold off the others as long as possible.”
“Jack, I—” She broke off, unable to articulate her thoughts. Her eyes expressed them for her.
“Me, too,” Jake answered, smiling. Ruffling Eduard’s hair, he rose and moved down the trail with the silent, swift tread of a hunter.
Che met him at the edge of the clearing, his pistol drawn and a cold, flat rage in his eyes. A half-dozen men were strung out behind him, their expressions nervous. Jake caught the stoop-shouldered Xavier’s frowning look. Clearly the leader’s unexpected return had shaken the camp.
For several tense moments, they faced each other. Jake’s finger curled around the trigger.
At last the rebel leader broke the crackling tension. “I was just coming to look for you.”
Jake let his eyes drift to the leader’s drawn gun. “Did you think I’d gone somewhere? Without getting paid?”
Che straightened slowly, contempt replacing some of the rage in his eyes. “That was what Enrique said, when he tried to justify letting you go into the jungle with only the women.”
“You still don’t trust me?” Jake asked mockingly.
“I don’t trust anyone who’s not dedicated to the revolution,” the rebel said flatly. “Nor do I tolerate those who disregard my orders.”
Jake knew then what had caused the single pistol shot. He wouldn’t have to worry about Pig-face any longer.
Che uncocked his weapon and slid it into its holster. “Where is the woman?”
Jake lowered the barrel of his own weapon. “Where I left her.”
The other man eyed him for a long moment. “You’ve taken your responsibility for her welfare most seriously, gringo.”
“You put it on my neck, remember?”
“Call her in. We’re abandoning this camp. We leave immediately.”
Jake’s stomach clenched. “Why?”
“The patrón has sources in the city. They tell him people, unknown people, have been asking questions. Too many questions. He is not nervous, you understand, but cautious. He’s bringing in the shipment we’ve been waiting for tonight….”
Tonight, not tomorrow! Beads of sweat collected in the hollow between Jake’s shoulder blades.
“After tonight, we will have what we need to bring this decadent government to its knees.” The intense fanaticism that characterized the leader vibrated in his voice. “After tonight, we will not need this camp. We will take the revolution out of these hills and into the city.”
And take the heat off the patrón’s little operation, Jake thought in gut-twisting disgust.
“Call in the woman,” Che said impatiently.
Jake slung his weapon over his shoulder. “Why not let her go?” he suggested casually. “She and the children will only slow us on the march. She has served her purpose here.”
“I would as soon put a bullet in her head. The church she serves is nothing but a tool of the corrupt government that suppresses our people. But the patrón has said to bring her.”
“Bring her where?”
“You have no need to know our destination, only that your job with us ends tonight.”
It was going to end, all right. One way or another.
“Come, collect the woman and your gear. You will take the point. I have need of a man who’s good with his eyes and his weapon out in front.”
In other words, Jake thought grimly, Che intended to put the gringo where he could watch him every minute. With Xavier dogging his footsteps, Jake went to collect Sarah and the others, his mind racing with possible options.
Chapter 13
“OMEGA control, this is Chameleon.”
Maggie tucked the tiny transceiver between her shoulder and her ear and leaned against the rest room wall. While she waited for Cowboy to respond, she glanced around the dingy room.
As unisex bathrooms went, this one contained all the essentials. A grimy, once-white stool with an old-fashioned overhead flush unit. A urinal hanging crookedly on one wall. A rusted faucet set over an equally rusted sink. A sliver of mirror nailed above the tap. Maggie caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced. She fit right in with the rest of the clientele in this raunchy café, but she was ready to wipe off the half pound of green eye shadow that weighted her lids, slip out the back door to retrieve her discreetly concealed habit and make her way back to the relative quiet of the convent. Even the raucous chapter house bell was melodious compared to the disco music booming off the walls of the Café El Caribe.
“This is Cowboy, Chameleon. What’s happening? We thought you’d— What’s that noise?” His voice sharpened. “Are you under assault?”
“Not me, just my ears,” Maggie responded quickly. “I’m at the local night spot.”
“Let me guess,” Cowboy drawled. “You’re soliciting contributions from the patrons for the sisters’ welfare fund?”
Maggie glanced down at the skintight glowing-pink tube of slinky fabric that hugged her from well below her collarbone to well above her knees. “Let’s just say I’m soliciting…information. Heard anything from Jaguar in the last few hours?”
“No, nothing.”
She nibbled on her well-glossed lower lip. Everything was set for tomorrow. She really didn’t need Jake’s confirmation. Still, Maggie would like to talk to him one last time before going in.
“Did you pick up anything interesting at that end?” Cowboy asked.
“Very. I’ve been sharing a table for the last half hour with a runner.”
“One of the big guys?”
“No, just a mule. A small-time carrier trying to earn enough for a stake for herself in Hollywood.”
“Aren’t they all?”
Maggie frowned, thinking of the young wives and mothers she’d talked to yesterday. They were simply trying to feed their families.
“No, not all the ones down here, anyway. But this one is definitely in it for the thrills, as well as the money. She makes a run to the States every month or so, ferrying about ten kilos each time. She’s also a personal friend—a very personal friend—of the man the folks around here call the patrón.”
Cowboy’s low whistle was audible even over the boom of disco. “The same patrón who’s funding the arms for Jaguar’s little band?”
“Right the first time. She mentioned that she paid him a visit a couple of nights ago. Bragged about a chopper flying her in. She also let drop that our friend Che was visiting at the same time.”
Maggie hesitated, still not sure of the import of her next tidbit of information. “She said that Che mentioned a nun his band had taken, and that the patrón was very interested in her.”
“Interested how?”
“I’m not sure. I’m going to follow this up, though. I have this funny feeling…”
Cowboy groaned. “You and your feelings.”
“Look, I have to go. I’ve tied up this rest room long enough. Tell the chief—”
She broke off as the door handle rattled. “Gotta go, Cowboy. Talk at you later.”
Flipping the tiny, flat transceiver shut, Maggie hitched up her short skirt and clipped it to the garter belt she’d filched at the same time as the stockings and the high spiked heels. She shimmied her hips to smooth the tight fabric down over them and grinned, remembering the ridiculous ease with which she’d acquired her new wardrobe.
She’d made the rounds of the tawdry shops this afternoon with the young novice to hand out pamphlets describing a free clinic the sisters were offering next week. While the earnest young novice explained the various treatments, Maggie had collected her present outfit, bit by bit. She’d tucked the items under her robe and left notes where the shopkeepers could find them directing them to present a bill to the U.S. consulate. Maggie grinned, imagining the expression on some State Department rep’s face when he had to issue a voucher for a black lace garter belt and net stockings.
The door handle rattled once more.
“Just a minute,” she called, taking a quick peek in the mirror. She poked her fingers a few times in the mass of hair that framed her face. She applied another layer of scarlet lipstick and dusted more green on her lids. Satisfied that even Adam would have had to look twice to recognize her under her layers of paint, Maggie opened the door.
