GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY

by Beverly Barton

  But the man's past made no difference to her. If he had the skills necessary to get them into San Miguel, rescue Frankie and get them safely back to the United States, she really didn't care if he was the devil's own. Of course, she could hardly admit that to her parents.

  Rorie gave her father a hug, then turned to her mother. "I'll call y'all as soon as I've met with Mr. Hawk and we've made our plans."

  "Promise me that you won't leave without coming to say goodbye." Tears trickled down Bettye Lou's round, rosy cheeks.

  Rorie embraced her mother, then withdrew and reached into her pocket for a tissue. She patted her mother's cheeks dry. "Once my plans are finalized, I'll come over and tell you and Daddy all the details. I promise."

  * * *

  Rorie pulled her ten-year-old Mercury into an empty parking space near her apartment building. The first thing she noticed was the big, black motorcycle taking up one of the slots. She didn't know of anyone in Building Nine that owned a motorcycle.

  She got out of her car, locked the door and fumbled with her key chain, searching for her door key. The cool night wind chilled her. She turned up the collar on her coat and hurried toward the outside stairwell that led to her third-floor apartment. Within seconds she reached the top landing. She glanced down the well-lit open hallway. A lone man stood outside her door, one knee bent, his foot braced against the wall. Blood rushed through Rorie's veins. The drum of her accelerated heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  There was nothing to be afraid of, absolutely nothing. If the stranger was dangerous, all she needed do was scream and her neighbors would come running. Chip and Gloria, in 9-A1 were at home. So was Mr. Hicks, in 9-A2. Or she could use the pepper spray in her purse. Or even try out one of the self-defense maneuvers her friend Debbie, a fellow schoolteacher, had shown her.

  Of course, it was possible that Mr. Hawk had arrived early. The stranger lurking in the shadows could be the guardian angel for whom she'd prayed so fervently. When she neared her apartment door, the man stepped out of the shadows. Rorie gasped. This couldn't be Gabriel Hawk, could it?

  The man towered over her five-foot-four-inch frame by a good ten inches. He was big, dark and deadly-looking, with piercing ebony eyes and long, silky black hair secured in a ponytail. Dressed all in black—leather jacket, cotton shirt and jeans—he blended into the night like a prince of darkness. Rorie shuddered at the thought. Whoever or whatever this man was, he was danger personified. She sensed the aura of unholy power that surrounded him.

  "Are you Aurora Dean?" he asked, his dark face a somber mask as he gazed directly into her eyes.

  "Yes, I am," she replied, transfixed by his mesmerizing stare. "You—you aren't Gabriel Hawk, are you?"

  He smiled—a wickedly charming smile—and Rorie immediately sensed that this devilishly handsome stranger was dangerous on more than one level, in more than one way. Everything feminine within her responded to all that was masculine in him, and she cursed herself for being so susceptible to pure sexual attraction.

  "I'm afraid I am Gabriel Hawk. I'm not what you were expecting, am I?"

  "I—I— No. You aren't what I was expecting." She couldn't take her eyes off the tiny gold ring glistening in his left ear. "You don't look like my idea of a security agent."

  He surveyed her from head to toe and chuckled. "You're not my idea of an old maid missionary turned schoolteacher."

  Rorie blushed, somehow knowing that his comment was a compliment. Even though she'd often been told—by her parents, her brother, her friends—that she was beautiful, she was unaccustomed to compliments from men.

  Quickly turning her back to him to hide her embarrassment, Rorie inserted the key into the lock and opened her front door.

  "Please, come in, Mr. Hawk."

  Flipping on a light switch, she illuminated the small, cosy living room of her three-room apartment. After following her inside, Hawk closed and locked the door behind him.

  "Please, make yourself at home." Rorie slipped off her coat and hung it on the hall tree just inside the door. "Take off your jacket. I'll make us some coffee."

  "Don't go to any trouble."

  "No trouble." She didn't look back at him when she scurried into the open kitchen area, separated from the living room by a small bar.

  He removed his jacket, glanced around the tidy room and sat down in a tan-and-gray plaid recliner. He watched her as she prepared the coffee machine.

  So this was Aurora Dean. Former missionary. High-school teacher. Woman with a death-wish mission.

  She certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting. He had envisioned Peter Dean's sister as a plain, skinny, unattractive prude. The woman was neither plain nor skinny.

  She was beautiful, if you liked voluptuous, full-figured women with perfect facial features and long, golden blond hair. In her simple black skirt and beige sweater, she looked as neat as her apartment. She was a little too plump for his taste, but there was something about her—an ultrafemininity—that unwittingly drew him to her. He couldn't help but wonder just how sweet and innocent she really was.

  He knew one thing for certain: he couldn't take this woman into San Miguel with him—she wouldn't last a day.

  "Do you want cream or sugar, Mr. Hawk?" she called out from the kitchen.

  "I take my coffee black," he told her. "And drop the Mr., okay? Just call me Hawk."

  She walked into the living room, handed him a white ceramic mug and sat down on the sofa opposite his chair. "Well, Hawk, how soon can we leave for San Miguel?"

  He took a sip of the hot, rich coffee, then held the mug in both hands and gazed down into the dark liquid. "I haven't agreed to take the job, Ms. Dean."

  The large, curling snake emblazoned on Hawk's left hand caught Rorie's eye immediately. Squinting to try to make out the word tattooed beneath the snake's belly, Rorie glared at his hand. Cobras. The word was Cobras. What did it mean? When and why had Hawk gotten his hand tattooed with such a vile symbol?

  "I thought that was why you were here—to accept the job," she said. "I understood from Mr. Carmichael that once you came to Chattanooga, everything would be set into motion for our trip to San Miguel."

  "Things have been set into motion, but not for us to make the trip. Only for me to make the trip."

  "No!" Rorie set her mug on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her. Easing to the edge of the sofa, she balled her hands into fists and placed them on her knees. "The deal was for you to take me into San Miguel and act as my guide and bodyguard, to help me find Frankie and bring him safely back to the United States."

  "San Miguel is no place for a woman, especially not a lady like you. Things have gotten a lot worse since you were down there. We can't just fly in, get our passports checked and stay at a hotel in La Vega." He watched her closely, noting the tension radiating from her body, the glint in her blue eyes and the barely suppressed anger she held in check. "We'll have to go in at night, by boat, and swim ashore. Often we'll have to hide in shacks and caves and maybe even sleep outside in the jungle. We'll have to meet and mix with some pretty rough people. Our lives would be constantly threatened. We couldn't trust King Julio or the rebels. The experience would be far too grueling and far too dangerous for you."

  "I'm well aware of the conditions in San Miguel." Rorie spoke slowly, each word enunciated in a carefully controlled tone. "I know that I'll be risking my life. But it's a risk I'm willing to take to save my nephew."

  "There's no reason for you to take any risks, Ms. Dean. You stay here in the States and let me go into San Miguel alone and bring out your nephew. It's the best solution all the way around. You'll be safe and sound. Besides, I work best alone. Finding and rescuing your nephew will be easier for me without having to worry about you."

  "I'm afraid you don't understand." Rorie stood and looked down at Hawk. Their gazes met and held. "I'm going to San Miguel. If you don't want to accept the assignment as my guide and bodyguard, then I'll find someone else."

  "Dammit, lad
y, are you crazy?" He shot up out of the recliner.

  "There's no need for you to curse, Mr. Hawk. Whether or not I go to San Miguel isn't your decision. It's mine. And I am going. With you—or with another protector."

  No need for him to curse? Was she kidding? If she called saying "Dammit" cursing, then heaven help her if she ever heard him really let loose with the full extent of his vocabulary. If she went with him to San Miguel, he would have to put up with her naive, innocent sensibilities.

  "Look, lady, nobody tells me how to talk."

  "Not even your employer?"

  "Nobody."

  "Then perhaps we've both made a mistake," she said. "I would expect my employee to follow my orders."

  "If I were to take you into San Miguel—and I'm not—I'd give the orders and you'd follow them to the letter."

  "I'm sorry I've wasted your time, Mr. Hawk." Rorie glanced at the front door. "I'm sure I can find someone else to take me into San Miguel. Someone willing to follow my orders."

  A dark foreboding swirled around inside him, tightening his gut. The very thought of her putting her life into someone else's hands bothered Hawk greatly. He hadn't been able to save Peter and Cipriana Dean, but if he allowed Peter's sister to go into San Miguel without him, he would be signing her death warrant.

  "Any man stupid enough to follow your orders would lead you to certain death," Hawk told her. "Regardless of what you think, you don't have any idea what you'll be getting yourself into if you go to San Miguel."

  "Are you implying that you're the only person capable of keeping me safe once I get to San Miguel? Do you honestly think that no one else is qualified for this assignment?"

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. His big, long fingers sank into the plush material of her sweater and bit into the soft flesh beneath. "I'm probably the only man available to you who knows San Miguel on a firsthand basis and who has contacts in the country who can help find your nephew."

  She trembled beneath Hawk's big hands. He looked into her pure blue eyes and wondered if Aurora Dean was frightened or aroused. Or both? As she breathed deeply, in and out, her full breasts rose and lowered—their voluptuousness, pure temptation.

  Rorie stared him directly in the eye, calling on every ounce of her willpower not to show him any weakness. His nearness both aroused and frightened her. He was big and dark and dangerous. He was gloriously, intriguingly male. And suddenly she knew that he was the one man on earth capable of helping her rescue Frankie. Gabriel Hawk was the powerful guardian angel for whom she'd prayed. She just hadn't expected her protector to be a fallen angel—a dark and deadly man whom neither she nor anyone else could control.

  "Will you take the assignment, Mr. Hawk?" she asked.

  "You're damned and determined to go, aren't you?" He felt a twinge of satisfaction when she winced at his use of the word damned.

  "Yes. And I want you to take me."

  The air sizzled between them. He ran his hands up and down her arms, then released her. A closed-mouth smile spread across Hawk's face. "All right, lady. I'll take you. On two conditions."

  "What two conditions."

  "One is that you follow my orders, without question. After all, you're paying me for my expertise."

  Rorie bit down on her bottom lip. "All right. I agree to follow your orders."

  "Without question?"

  "Yes," she said reluctantly. "Without question."

  "And the second condition is that you allow me to put you through a month of physical training, to get you in shape for our mission."

  "What?"

  "Lady, you're not trained for this kind of endeavor. Besides being totally inexperienced, you're soft and plump. In the shape you're in, you couldn't hold out for very long. You'd wind up putting both our lives in danger."

  She glared at him, unable to believe the way he'd just insulted her. He had all but called her fat! "I may not be skinny, with a lot of toned muscles, but I'm hardly out of shape just because I'm plump."

  "I wasn't trying to be insulting," he said. "I'm just being honest. You're in no condition for the rigorous mission we'll be undertaking. Either you agree to a month's training or we don't have a deal."

  He was a devil. She'd known it the minute she saw him. He thought she would back down, refuse his second condition and allow him to go to San Miguel alone. Well, he'd better think again.

  "I'll agree to two weeks of training."

  "You need at least a month."

  "We don't have a month to waste." She walked across the room, lifted his leather jacket from the hall tree and held it out to him. "Two weeks of training and then we go to San Miguel."

  Following Rorie to the front door, he reached out and took his jacket from her. When their fingers brushed in the exchange, she jerked away from him as if his touch had burned her. He knew he was making the biggest mistake of his life, but he couldn't let this woman get herself killed. He owed it to Peter Dean to protect his sister, if at all possible.

  And he owed it to himself to pay penance for his sins. Maybe, in the process, he would find out whether he still had a soul or if he had lost it—more than three years ago, in San Miguel.

  "All right, Ms. Dean. Two weeks of training and I'll take you into San Miguel."

  "Call me Rorie." She smiled. "I'll be ready to leave first thing in the morning, right after I say goodbye to my parents."

  "I'll pick you up around nine." He opened the door and stepped outside, then paused and turned around to face her. "Pack light. We'll be taking my motorcycle."

  When her eyes rounded into big blue circles and her mouth parted into a soft, pink oval, Hawk reached out and gripped her chin.

  "Get ready for two weeks of hell."

  She glared at him. "What else would I expect since I'll be spending those two weeks with you?"

  Rorie decided then and there that she was willing to do anything—absolutely anything—to save Frankie. Even spend two weeks in hell with a fallen angel.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Hawk stored his motorcycle in Biloxi and they took a boat out to Le Bijou Bleu. He told Rorie that the island belonged to the owner of the Dundee Agency, Sam Dundee, and his wife, Jeannie.

  "It's the perfect place for you to train during the next two weeks." He sat beside her in the speedboat, the fierce autumn wind whipping around him, loosening stray tendrils of his long, black hair. "Sam and Jeannie are leaving for vacation today, with Sam's niece and her husband. So we'll have the island to ourselves. Except for Manton."

  "Manton?"

  "He's been with Jeannie's family for years," Hawk said. "He's the caretaker for Le Bijou Bleu, and from what Sam tells me, he's a second father to Jeannie."

  Rorie sighed, a sense of relief spreading through her. She didn't like the idea of being all alone with Gabriel Hawk on an island for two weeks. At least now she knew that if she needed a reprieve from hell, she would have someone other than the devil himself to ask for a pardon.

  "Sam has a gym, with a complete workout room in the house and a scaled-down obstacle course on the back side of the island," Hawk said.

  When Rorie eyed him quizzically, he grinned—a devilishly seductive grin that had no doubt lured many a woman to sin. "Sam likes to keep in shape," Hawk explained. "They also have a pool where you can practice your swimming before we try the ocean."

  "You've already figured out all the details of my torture, haven't you?"

  "Ms. Dean, you have no idea what torture is. Not yet."

  "Since we're going to be living together as master and slave for the next couple of weeks, why don't you call me Rorie?"

  "Rorie, huh?" He chuckled. "Not Aurora?"

  "I was named in honor of my paternal great-grandmother, but Peter had a difficult time pronouncing my name when he was little. He shortened Aurora to Rora and somehow it wound up Rorie."

  "Cute little story," Hawk said. "Sounds like you had an idyllic childhood with Mommy and Daddy and big brother."


  He hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic. But when people reminisced about their families, he had a tendency to close down and stop listening.

  "Sorry if my cute little story bored you."

  "Let's just say that childhood memories aren't high on my list of favorite topics."

  This was the man with whom she was going to—willingly—spend the next weeks. Disagreeable. Unfriendly. Hateful.

  Rorie had never dreaded anything as much as she dreaded having to take orders from Hawk. It wasn't that she was more willful than the average woman; it was just that she'd always hated taking orders. That specific aspect of her personality had been a trial to her parents and occasionally an embarrassment. But despite her aversion to following orders, she was willing to obey Hawk's commands. She was willing to do anything in order to rescue Frankie—even allow Hawk to torment her for the next two weeks.

  She still couldn't believe that she'd ridden with him on his motorcycle all the way from Chattanooga to Biloxi. Her backside was sore, her face chapped by the wind and her disposition less than agreeable.

  They'd ridden into Mobile late last night, after leaving Chattanooga that afternoon. They'd gotten a late start because he had insisted on her obtaining an okay from her personal physician before he started her on any type of physical-fitness regime. Once in Mobile, Hawk had checked them into separate rooms at a local motel.

  Rorie knew that Hawk thought he would break her during the fourteen days of physical training on the island. He was counting on her giving up, returning to Chattanooga and allowing him to go on to San Miguel alone. Well, he didn't know her. Although her idea of rigorous exercise was taking a brisk walk, she was prepared to suffer through whatever torturous exercises he devised.

  Hawk watched the woman sitting at his side as they rode out into the Gulf waters, away from Biloxi and toward the small, secluded island that Sam and Jeannie Dundee called home. Rorie was already showing signs of discomfort at having to follow his instructions. But he had to hand it to her; so far, she hadn't mouthed one complaint or questioned one order he'd given. He knew she'd hated making the long trip from Chattanooga on his motorcycle. Rorie didn't exactly seem either the athletic or outdoors type to him—not with her round, plump body and her pale, flawless skin.