“Do you know who I am?”
Laura asked, her voice shaking with emotion.
“I…I remember you from another time you were in here. Are—are you a nurse?”
“No, I’m not part of the hospital staff,” she quavered. “Do you know who you are?”
Morgan scowled and closed his eyes. Who was he? “I’m sorry…I don’t.” He studied her. “Where am I? And who are you?”
“I’m Laura Trayhern. Your name is Morgan Trayhern. You’re at BethesdaNavalHospital, in Maryland.”
The information was coming too fast. He tried to digest it but didn’t succeed. The obvious hurt in Laura’s voice tore at him. Her beautiful mouth was pulled into a tight line of suffering that touched some deep, unknown cord within him. He studied her in tense silence. “Are you my sister?”
“I— No, I’m not, Morgan. I’m your wife.”
MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: LOVE AND DANGER: Four men. Four missions. Each battling danger to find their way back to love!
To my many other friends whom I enjoy growing with, learning from and sharing with: Maryann McClusky, Dr. Vickie Menear (little Sis), Melissa Assilem, Mary Buckner, Lieutenant-Commander Tim Arkin, USCG and White House Fellow, Rainbow Joe Bass, D. C. Fontana (of “Star Trek” fame), Eileen Charbormeau, Susannah Gullo, Nina Gettler, Bob and Kathy Martin, Glenn Malee (Little Bro) and Kalina Raphael Rose (my spiritual sister from Australia). Ï love you all dearly, and count myself very lucky to have you in my life. Thank you.
ISBN 0-373-24005-8
MORGAN’S MARRIAGE
Copyright © 1996 by Lindsay McKenna
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books SA.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books SA., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
CLS
Printed in U.S.A.
Books by Lindsay McKenna
Silhouette Special Edition
Captive of Fate #82
*Heart of the Eagle #338
*A Measure of Love #377
*Solitaire #397 Heart of the Tiger #434
fA Question of Honor #529
fNo Surrender #535
f Return of a Hero #541
Come Gentle the Dawn #568
fDawn of Valor #649
**No Quarter Given #667
**The Gauntlet #673 **
Under Fire #679
ffRide the Tiger #721
ff One Man’s War #727
ffOff Limits #733
tHeart of the Wolf #818
tThe Rogue #824
tCommando #830
**Point of Departure #853
°Shadows and Light #878
°Dangerous Alliance #884
°Countdown #890
ttMorgan’s Wife #986
ttMorgan’s Son #992
ttMorgan’s Rescue #998
ttMorgan’s Marriage #1005
White Wolf #1135
ÊWild Mustang Woman #1166
ÊStallion Tamer #1173
ÊThe Cougar #1179
AHeart of the Hunter #1214
AHunter’s Woman #1255
AHunter’s Pride #1274
§Man of Passion #1334
§A Man Alone #1357
§Man with a Mission #1376
Silhouette Shadows
Hangar 13 #27
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Love Me Before Dawn #44
Silhouette Desire
Chase the Clouds #75
Wilderness Passion #134
Too Near the Fire #165
Texas Wildcat #184
Red Tail #208
AThe Untamed Hunter #1262
Silhouette Books
Silhouette Christmas Stories 1990 “Always and Forever”
Lovers Dark and Dangerous 1994 “Seeing Is Believing”
Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar Morgan’s Mercenaries: Heart of the Warrior
Harlequin Historicals
Sun Woman #71
Lord of the Shadowhawk #108
King of Swords #125
Brave Heart #171
*Kincaid trilogy
fLove and Glory
**Women of Glory
ffMoments of Glory trilogy
tMorgan’s Mercenaries
°Men of Courage
ttMorgan’s Mercenaries:Love and Danger
ÊCowboys of the Southwest
AMorgan’s Mercenaries:The Hunters
§Morgan’s Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts
LINDSAY McKENNA
spent three years serving her country as a meteorologist in the U.S. Navy, so much of her knowledge comes from direct experience, In addition, she spends a great deal of time researching each book, whether it be at the Pentagon or at military bases, extensively interviewing key personnel. Lindsay is also a pilot. She and her husband of twenty-two years, both avid “rock hounds” and hikers, live in Arizona.
Dear Reader,
In 1983, when I first published Captive of Fate with Silhouette Special Edition, I had no idea I’d continue to write for Silhouette Books. Now Special Edition has hit 1000 great romance novels, and I’m thrilled to be a part of a wonderful, continuing tradition.
I have always loved the freedom to write what inspires me. At Silhouette, my interest in the military has been nurtured and supported enthusiastically. With Silhouette’s support, I helped to create the subgenre of military romances. It has met with resounding success—thanks to you!
That is why MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: LOVE AND DANGER is an achievement not only for Silhouette Special Edition but for readers who have loved the Trayhern family since LOVE AND GLORY. And everyone, judging from the thousands of letters I’ve received over the years, fell in love with Morgan Trayhern and Laura Bennett.
Well, after all those years of pleading to see what happened to Morgan, Laura and their family, I have created a four-book series that answers all your questions! This series came about because of you, and I hope it gives you as much pleasure reading it as it gave me to write it. So don’t think that your heartfelt thoughts and feelings about an author’s characters don’t count with her and her editors—this is living proof that it does!
I hope you enjoy MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: LOVE AND DANGER.
Warmly,
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 1
It was raining. Or was the sky crying? Laura Trayhern stood rigidly on the steps of the Operations building at Andrews Air Force Base in Washington, D.C., peering anxiously through the gray light of dawn. The Perseus jet bearing her husband, Morgan, trundled slowly toward them. It was February, but instead of snowflakes, cold raindrops fell.
> As Laura stood huddled in her tan raincoat, her hands plunged into the deep pockets, a wool muffler encircling her neck, trapping her shoulder-length blond hair, she remembered Morgan telling about that rainy Virginia night seven years ago when he’d been summoned to a general’s home. The dying man had sent for him, wanting to reveal the truth about circumstances that had sent Morgan into the clandestine life of a traitor to his country. It had been the first time in years he’d stepped back on American soil.
A shiver wound through Laura. If Morgan’s situation had been desperate then, it could well be critical now. How badly injured was he? Less than twelve hours ago he’d been rescued from a cell at drug-lord Ramirez’s Peruvian jungle fortress by two very brave and daring operatives. The woman agent, Pilar Martinez, who had entered the fortress to locate Morgan, was missing in action. But her partner, Culver Lachlan, a Perseus employee and mercenary, had managed to get Morgan out of that hellhole and onto a waiting Peruvian army helicopter.
Now Culver was back in the jungle, searching for his missing partner—and Laura was standing on these cold concrete steps watching the Lear jet, bearing her husband, rolling far too slowly toward Operations. She tried to still her anxiety, but to no avail. Radio silence had been maintained for the entire flight out of South America, for fear of reprisal attempts by Ramirez. But on board, she knew, was one of the Air Force’s best flight surgeons, Dr. Ann Parsons. Laura and Morgan knew Ann well, and with the surgeon’s medical knowledge and special expertise working with men and women traumatized in battle, Morgan was in the very best of hands.
Still, she had no idea what kind of shape her husband was in. He was alive; the flight team had reported that much by radio once they’d reached U.S. airspace. Laura squeezed her eyes shut. She felt herself sway. A large hand settled supportively around her upper arm.
“Laura?”
She lifted her chin and looked up into Jake Randolph’s weary, carved features. Since the fateful day that she, Morgan and their son, Jason, had been kidnapped by Ramirez, Jake had taken over the day-today running of Perseus for Morgan. And she could see the toll this worldwide marathon of searching out and rescuing them, with the help of three extraordinary merc teams, had taken on him.
“I’m all right,” she whispered. But she wasn’t, and she knew Jake could see it. Anxiety, rage, worry and sorrow—emotions writhed within her like agitated snakes. Her personal captivity had come at the hands of Garcia, Ramirez’s right-hand man, who’d held her prisoner on NevisIsland in the Caribbean. The work of Morgan and his Perseus mercenaries had badly disrupted Ramirez’s cocaine trade to the United States over the past year, and the drug lord had decided to get even in the most personal of ways. Luckily, Jason had been relatively well treated and hadn’t been physically harmed during his imprisonment. Although emotional consequences were inevitable after such an ordeal, Dr. Parsons had assured her earlier that Jason, due to his age and resilience, would likely be the first to heal. Laura—and Morgan—could take much longer to come to grips with the personal nightmares they’d endured at the hands of Ramirez and Garcia.
“A few more minutes,” Jake reassured her, leaving his steadying hand on her arm. “Do you want to wait in the ambulance for him?”
Laura noted the grudging lightening of the sky as drops of rain continued to splash against the gray concrete landing apron—like the heavy tears that threatened to spill from her aching eyes. The ambulance was waiting to take Morgan to the navy hospital in Bethesda, Maryland—one of the best in the nation. Laura didn’t know what she would do when she saw Morgan. The wait had been agonizingly long—three months since the kidnapping—and now his freedom was at hand. But what condition was he in? How badly had Ramirez tortured him?
Shivering, she felt Jake’s arm go around her shoulders and draw her against him. The man was a giant—like Morgan. Morgan was so tall and proud, towering a good eight inches above her petite frame. For just a moment, Laura allowed herself to lean heavily against Jake. He seemed so stalwart and un-yielding, and she felt as if the last of her own strength—the wall she’d erected to survive her desperate ordeal—was rapidly crumbling. Maybe it was the fact that it was all over, and she could let down a little of her careful guard. She had her son back. And now her husband, whom she loved with a fierceness that defied description, was returning to her.
“Laura?”
Opening her eyes, she eased away from Jake. “Y-yes, let’s go to the ambulance. I don’t want to get in the way when they bring him off the plane.”
He smiled slightly, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Good thinking. Come on….”
Jake held the black umbrella above her as they stepped off their partially sheltered spot on the wet steps. The rain pounded steadily on the taut umbrella. The temperature was barely above freezing, and as they hurried toward the white ambulance marked with an orange stripe, Laura shivered deeply. Her gaze remained pinned on the approaching Lear jet. Morgan. Oh, sweet Lord, how she loved him! Her heart ached, tears stung her eyes and she hung her head. She needed so badly to see him, to assess his condition. Would he be glad to see her? Be able to reach out for her hand—and tell her he loved her?
Her heart began skipping beats as she climbed awkwardly into the ambulance. One of the military attendants who rode up front took her hand, smiled a little and helped her. The bright lights in the rear, where a gurney awaited Morgan, made her wince. The paramedic, a young Air Force lieutenant named Bob Martin, guided her into a seat beside him, and Laura was grateful for the heat blowing from the vehicle’s front vents.
She watched anxiously as the jet drew closer. Now she could hear the whine of the engines. Jake stood in the rain, the umbrella folded in his left hand, all his attention on the approaching aircraft.
Laura closed her wet fingers into fists in her lap, starkly aware of all the medical paraphernalia surrounding her. Thank goodness, Dr. Ann Parsons would be accompanying them to Bethesda and would be acting as Morgan’s primary doctor. Oh, how Laura ached to see her husband! How many nights had she lain awake, needing his touch and the comforting warmth and bulk of his body next to hers? She even missed those soft snoring sounds he made when he lay on his back and she had to elbow him gently so he’d turn on his side. She longed for so many little things—important things she had never properly appreciated.
“Here they come,” Jake said, turning toward her.
The aircraft had stopped, and someone appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to put chocks beneath the tires. The engines were cut, the whine rapidly dissipating even as the rain picked up, bouncing off the wet glare of the concrete. Jake’s hair was soaked, the tan jacket he wore dark with water as he moved toward the jet’s lowering ramp.
Laura’s breath became suspended as the two ambulance attendants moved quickly to join him at the aircraft’s opened hatch. A stretcher appeared. Her heart thudded hard. The still form on it, wrapped completely in blankets, had to be Morgan. Ann Parsons appeared at the door as the stretcher was lowered to the ground. Laura’s hands tightened almost painfully in her lap.
Lieutenant Martin eased by her, asking her to move into his unoccupied seat. Her knees weak, Laura got up, grabbing at anything she could put her trembling hands on to help her make the move. Light-headed with anticipation, she heard voices outside the ambulance. The rain was driving hard now, as if the sky were weeping unabashedly for what Morgan had endured. Instinctively, Laura knew it was a bad sign. Oh, God, how bad? Did Morgan need emergency surgery? Had he suffered cardiac arrest? she wondered with terror. She needed so much just to touch his cheek and let him know that he was finally safe and that she loved him!
Her eyes widened as the stretcher bearing Morgan was hoisted aboard the ambulance by two strong men. Light blue covers swathed his motionless body, protecting him from the cold and rain. Another attendant handed two IV drips to Lieutenant Martin, who hung them on hooks above the gurney. Movement at the opened doors caught her attention: Dr. Ann Parsons.
Laura tor
e her gaze from the blankets covering Morgan’s face as Ann climbed in, her features tight and unreadable. Automatically, Laura’s hands went to her chest. The doors slammed shut.
Ann glanced at Laura. “We’ve got him home,” she said a little breathlessly.
The ambulance jerked forward, its lights flashing. At the head of the gurney, Ann quickly pulled the blankets from Morgan’s face.
Laura heard someone gasp. Lieutenant Martin worked in tandem with the doctor, very few spoken commands passing between them. The ambulance seemed to move almost drunkenly through the downpour, and Laura’s brain leadenly registered that the gasp had come from her, seeing Morgan’s face for the first time.
Ann twisted to look at her, then quickly resumed her work, leaning over Morgan, monitoring a blood-pressure cuff around his arm. “He’s unconscious, Laura,” she said, her voice calm.
Laura fought the panic racing through her as her gaze remained fastened on her husband’s slack, grayish face. Shock bolted through her like a lightning strike. This was Morgan? But it couldn’t be! This man’s face was pathetically thin, his gray skin taut over the sharp bones of his face. Morgan’s face was full and strong, not this broken horror. Laura felt terror seep through her skin and muscles to settle into her bones—a coldness leaking to her very soul as she stared at him.
The sounds of the rain pounding on the ambulance roof and Ann’s husky orders, the swaying of the vehicle—all ceased to exist in Laura’s consciousness. She knew only this man’s face—her husband’s face—which didn’t look familiar at all. Morgan was tall, strong-boned and heavily muscled. This man resembled a prisoner of war starved nearly to death. Morgan had a proud, hawklike nose, but this man’s nose was puffy and broken in several places. Her eyes moved to rest on the jet black hair, now peppered with silver at the temples, and those straight, black brows. They, at least, she recognized—remnants of the Morgan she’d laughed with on the night of their seventh wedding anniversary. The night he’d given her a strand of pearls. The night the thugs had broken into their home, shot them with tranquilizer darts and spirited them away to their separate hells.
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