GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY

by Beverly Barton

  "Dammit, don't you think that's what I want? But I'm not going to take any chances with that boy's life by trusting Lazaro or anyone else. And if that means taking an extra day or even two to get to the mission, then so be it." He wanted to add that they couldn't be a hundred percent sure that King Julio hadn't lied to them about Frankie's whereabouts. The boy could be in Puerto Angelo with the king right now. But there was no point in worrying Rorie needlessly. If the prince wasn't with the good sisters, then he would be back to square one. And the chances of getting the child out of San Miguel alive would diminish by about ninety-nine percent.

  "I'm sorry, Hawk." Rorie reached over and laid her hand on his arm. He tensed immediately. "I keep questioning your decisions after I promised I wouldn't."

  He shrugged off her hand. She jerked it back as if he'd slapped it.

  "I know what I'm doing," he said. "Remember that you're paying me big bucks for my expertise. I lead. You follow. Keep that in mind at all times, and I just might be able to do my job and rescue your nephew."

  Rorie remembered Utuado from her one trip into the mountains—the time when she and Peter went to visit the nuns at the Blessed Virgin Mission. A large, mountainside village filled with quaint houses, some only thatch-roofed huts, and warm, friendly people, Utuado was the last of civilization before reaching the mission. Endless miles of dense forest, inhabited only by creatures of the wild, stretched up the mountainside, separating the two.

  Usually a journey from Culebra to Utuado took a little over an hour. But since Hawk had chosen, for safety's sake, to take the back roads—some little more than wide dirt trails—they arrived on the outskirts of the village nearly two and half hours after leaving Culebra.

  She had not questioned Hawk's decision to stay in the coastal city for most of the day. He had made half-a-dozen stops before taking her to a local restaurant for lunch, and at least as many stops after their seafood meal. She had understood, without his explaining to her, that they were putting on a Performance—pretending to seek information about Prince Francisco.

  The western horizon burned with hot, tropical color as the orange sun began its descent behind the mountain. Vivid crimson bled into magenta and lavender pools, splashing the blue sky with dramatic hues. Poinciana spread across the hilly slopes like giant scarlet umbrellas opened to cover the earth. Tall, evergreen breadfruits mingled with parrot pines, casting dark green shadows against the chromatic evening sky.

  Dark clouds billowed upward from the village. Hawk pulled the jeep to a stop and rose from his seat, looking over the windshield.

  "What's wrong?" Rorie asked.

  "Something's on fire," he said. "Look closely. That's smoke and a damn lot of it."

  Rorie groaned. The man couldn't seem to form a sentence without using some sort of profanity, but she had promised herself never to condemn his vulgar language again. What good would it do, anyway?

  "Are you sure it's smoke and not just low-lying clouds?" Rorie lifted herself up so she could see over the windshield. "No, you're right. That is smoke."

  "Too much smoke to be just one building." Hawk slid back down in his seat. "It looks as if half the village is on fire."

  "Half the village. Oh, Hawk does that mean—?"

  "Ruining out villages is Emilio Santos's trademark."

  Hawk backed up the jeep. Rorie tumbled sideways into her seat. Just as she tried to sit up straight, Hawk drove off the dirt road into a bumpy clearing.

  "I'm not taking you into Utuado until I know it's safe."

  "Do you think Santos's army is still there?" she asked.

  "I'm going to find out."

  He eased the jeep past the clearing, down a sloping embankment and into a ditch that couldn't be seen easily from the road. He jumped out, rounded the side of the jeep and opened the tailgate.

  "Where are you going?" She got out and followed him.

  "I'm going to see what's happening in Utuado." He unstrapped the tarp protecting their provisions and folded it back.

  "You're not going to leave me here!" Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at him.

  Hawk reached under the sleeping bags and drew out a heavy-barreled, bolt-action Ruger .308 rifle. He had no idea what he would find when he got to the village, but he intended to be prepared. He hated leaving Rorie alone, but he couldn't take her with him. She would be safer here, alone, than tagging along with him and walking into only-God-knew-what.

  He hung the rifle strap across his back, then turned and grabbed Rorie by the shoulders. "Listen very carefully. Check your watch right now." When she stood there with a stricken look on her face, he shook her. "Do it! Now!"

  Trembling from head to toe, she nodded her head, lifted her wrist and looked at her watch.

  "I want you to go over there—" he pointed downward, toward a thickly wooded area "—get inside that heavy growth of vines, behind the trees. Take your pistol out of the holster, in case you need it, and wait for me."

  "Hawk…?"

  "If I'm not back in thirty minutes, I want you to get in the jeep and drive like hell as fast as you can down the mountain."

  "No, Hawk, please…" She grabbed his wrists and squeezed tightly.

  "Don't take the dirt roads," he told her. "Get on the paved road and head straight for Vieques. When you get there, find a man named Tito Alverez. He'll know how to get in touch with Murdock."

  She gripped his wrists. He shook her again, a little harder. "Do you understand?"

  "Yes, I understand."

  He removed her sunglasses, stuck them in her shirt pocket and ran the tip of his index finger across her cheek. "Go. Now!"

  "Hawk … please, be careful."

  He jerked her roughly up against him, taking her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss. Then he shoved her away, and waited until she followed his instructions and disappeared inside the heavy growth of vines and shrubs in the nearby forest.

  * * *

  Perspiration soaked through her clothes, trickled between her breasts and dampened her hair. Crouched close to the dark earth floor of the forest, she waited. Every squawking bird, every insect crawling over rotted leaves, every beat of her heart amplified a hundred times over, until the most natural sounds became deafening and frightening.

  She clutched the automatic pistol in her hand. If necessary, would she be able to use it? Could she actually kill another human being, even to save her own life?

  She checked her watch incessantly. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. After twenty minutes of waiting, she stared at the illuminated face of the timepiece. Glowing on her wrist, like a giant firefly in the darkness around her, the watch became a focal point for her. Twenty-one minutes. Twenty-two minutes. Twenty-three minutes.

  Please, God, don't let anything happen to Hawk. Keep him safe. Bring him back to me.

  Twenty-four minutes. Twenty-five minutes. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Or was it gunfire?

  Twenty-six minutes. She couldn't leave him, could she? She couldn't just get in the jeep and run away. But what could she do if she went to the village? If Hawk had been captured … or killed. No! He wasn't dead. She knew he wasn't. She would feel it if he was. She would feel it in her heart, in her soul.

  Twenty-seven minutes. Twenty-eight minutes. The underbrush rustled with movement. Footsteps?

  Please, God, let it be Hawk.

  But what if it wasn't? What if it was one of Santos's soldiers?

  Tenaciously grasping the 9-mm handgun, Rorie rose from her low crouch and slid upward and over, bracing her body behind a large tree. The sound of her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She didn't hear the footsteps. Had they stopped or had she simply imagined them? Maybe it was just the birds or the insects. Or maybe it was a snake!

  She checked her watch one last time. Twenty-nine minutes.

  Without warning, a large, salty hand covered her mouth and a big arm circled her waist. Acting purely on instinct, Rorie bit down into the fleshy palm of the hand and clawed the arm with her neatly rounded
nails.

  "Dammit, Rorie," Hawk said, jerking his hand away.

  "Hawk!" A flood of air rushed into her lungs. She whirled around and threw her arms around his neck. "You scared me to death!"

  Reaching behind his neck, he eased the gun out of her hand and returned it to her shoulder holster. "Sorry, honey, but I didn't want to call out to you, in case there were any of Santos's men still around anywhere."

  Hugging him tightly, she planted a garden of tiny kisses all over his face. "Do you know what time it is?" She pulled away from him and tapped the face of her watch. "You cut it awfully close, you know." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'd be in the jeep, headed down the mountain by now."

  "I came back as soon as I could."

  "One minute!" Tears spilled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "You made it back one minute before time was up! One little, bitty minute. One—" She choked on her tears.

  Hawk drew her into his arms. When she laid her head on his chest, he pulled the droopy, tan cotton hat off her head, stuck it into the back pocket of her pants and grasped her head.

  Never in his life had anyone been so glad to see him. She was acting as if she really had been worried about him, as if it would have broken her heart if he'd gotten killed.

  He petted her, stroking her head, rubbing her back. "It's all right, Rorie. I'm fine." He tugged on her braided hair. Lifting her head, she gazed up into his eyes. "Things are pretty bad in Utuado," he said. "Santos has come and gone, but he's left havoc in the village."

  "What happened?" she asked. "Is it safe for us to stay the night there?"

  "I'm not sure I should take you into the village."

  "Why not?"

  "It isn't a pretty sight," he said. "Over half the homes have been burned to the ground. Dozens of people were shot when they tried to flee. I spoke to one of the unofficial town leaders, an old guy named Berto. He said that Santos had the villagers rounded up and forced them to watch while his soldiers raped a young woman. Then they gathered up half-a-dozen women and about ten men and took them when they left."

  "Oh, dear God." Rorie clung to Hawk, drawing strength from him.

  "Santos's men confiscated nearly all the livestock and food the villagers had, and took every weapon they found."

  "I want to go to the village," she said. "We have to do what we can to help those poor people."

  "There's nothing we can do to help them." Hawk released her, then lifted her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Our best bet is to sleep in the jeep tonight and head out at first light in the morning. I don't think it would be safe traveling tonight, when I have no idea where Santos went. He could still be fairly close. I'd have to use the headlights on the jeep if we drove any farther before morning."

  "But we can help the villagers," Rorie said. "We have food. We have weapons. And I know first aid. I'll bet you do, too. If anyone is injured, we might be able to save their life."

  "Lady, you can't save the whole damn world."

  She gazed up into his eyes, her look pleading. "I know that. I'm not asking you to help me save the world. I just want you to take me into Utuado and let's see if we can't do something for the villagers."

  "If you're planning on trying to comfort them by assuring them that God loves them and things will be better tomorrow and all that kind of garbage, forget it." Hawk squeezed her chin, then released her.

  "Take me to Utuado, Hawk. Please."

  "You're not going to like it up there, honey."

  "But you'll take me, won't you?" She laced her arm through his.

  * * *

  Rorie and Hawk walked the narrow dirt streets of Utuado at twilight. Swirls of gray smoke rose from the dying embers of the burned houses. The smell of smoke mixed with the odor of blood and the stench of death in the tropics.

  The mournful sobs of those who had lost loved ones echoed from every corner of the village. Women stood huddled together, their dark eyes vacant as they stared sightlessly over the destruction of their homes—of their lives. Men carried bodies to the far end of the village, where others were digging graves. Several small children wandered aimlessly, crying for their mothers.

  A naked woman sat in the middle of the street. Bruises covered her body. Dried blood coated her thighs and spotted the edges of her lips. She rocked her hips back and forth on the hard ground, humming the same bar of an oddly familiar tune over and over again.

  "Get a blanket from the jeep," Rorie told Hawk.

  Without questioning her, he turned and walked back to the jeep. Rorie knelt down beside the woman and swept the long, tangled strands of her hair away from her face. The woman flinched, but didn't stop rocking and humming.

  "They raped her. All of them." The quivering male voice spoke in Spanish. "And we could do nothing but watch."

  Rorie glanced up. A small, gray-haired man in a bloodstained white shirt stood over them, his eyes filled with tears. "Are you Berto?"

  "Sí, señorita."

  "Berto, why hasn't someone helped her?" Rorie asked. "Why hasn't someone at least covered her?"

  "Every time anyone came near her, she screamed and fought like a tigress. Finally, we left her alone. That's when she began humming."

  Hawk returned with the blanket, but when he reached down to cover the woman, she scooted away from him, her eyes wild with fear. Rorie grabbed the blanket and motioned for Hawk to step away from them. Rorie crawled over to the woman, draped the blanket around her shoulders and pulled it together across her breasts.

  "What's her name?" Rorie asked the old man.

  "Josephina."

  "Does she have any relatives here in Utuado?"

  "Her husband was murdered today," Tito said. "And her brother and sister were taken. There is no one except her little boy."

  "She has a child?"

  "Sí, Little Pedro."

  Old Berto pointed to the small child standing in the doorway of a nearby house, watching his mother silently from afar. Rorie guessed the boy to be no more than four years old. He stood as rigid as a statue, no emotion on his face and not a single tear in his big brown eyes.

  Rorie very carefully slipped her arm around the woman's shoulder, then spoke to her in Spanish. "Josephina, I know you don't want to hear me. I know you want to shut out the whole world. That's all right. You go right ahead and hum your song and pretend that you're a million miles away from here. But I want you to get up and come with me."

  When Rorie tried to help Josephina stand, she resisted, planting herself firmly in one spot.

  "I don't think you're going to get her to move. Why don't you just leave her alone?" Hawk motioned for Rorie to get up out of the dirt and come to him.

  She ignored him. "Josephina, there's someone who needs you. Your son is all alone and he needs you."

  The woman stopped humming, but she continued rocking. "Pedro is alive, but he's all alone and he wants his mother."

  The woman stopped rocking and looked directly at Rorie. Rorie tried again to help her stand. With Rorie's assistance, Josephina rose from the ground onto shaky legs. Sliding her arm around the woman's waist, Rorie braced Josephina's slender body against her own more sturdy one.

  "Look, Josephina." Rorie turned the woman toward her house, toward the child in the open doorway. "See, there's Pedro. He's such a tiny little thing and he's so alone and afraid. All he needs is his mother's arms around him."

  Rorie all but carried the weak, battered woman toward the child. "Call to him, Josephina. Tell him that you're coming to him."

  The unmoving child watched and waited. His little chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath he took.

  "Say his name," Rorie urged.

  "Pedro." Josephina whispered her son's name.

  "Mama. Mama." The child ran to his mother, throwing his scrawny arms around her blanket-covered legs.

  Josephina dropped to the ground, Pedro falling with her. Reaching out, she drew him into her arms and onto her lap. "Pedro. Pedro."

  "Leave them alone for a
while," Rorie told Berto. "Later, get some of the women to help her into her house. Tell them to help her bathe and put on some clothes. She will need a lot of love and support from those who care about her, but right now, she has all she needs."

  Berto crossed himself and muttered a prayer of thanks. He followed along behind Rorie when she walked up the street.

  "Come on, Hawk. We need to find out where these other children's mothers are. And if we can't find their mothers, we'll have to get someone to take care of them."

  "I thought all we were going to do was share our supplies with these people and see if we could help save anyone who was dying." Hawk caught up with her in two giant steps. "I didn't know we were going to set up our own mission of mercy."

  "Berto, where are the wounded?" Rorie asked. "Is there a doctor in the village?"

  "No, señorita. No doctor."

  "After we get these babies off the streets, I want you to take Mr. Hawk and me to where you're keeping the wounded," Rorie said. "We might be able to help. I know some basic first aid and I'm sure Mr. Hawk has removed a bullet or two in his time."

  "Oh, señorita, gracias. Muchas gracias. We have many with burns and two with gunshot wounds who are still alive."

  Rorie stopped and turned to Hawk. "I think you should bring whatever extra weapons we have to the village and set up some sort of guard system to keep watch. Don't you think that's a good idea?"

  "Oh, yeah. A peachy keen idea. That way we'll know if thirty or forty armed men are approaching the village, and we can hold them off with three rifles, two handguns and a few assorted knives. Maybe a pitchfork or two and a few sling-shots."

  "You don't have to be so sarcastic. I was just trying to figure out what all we can do to—"

  "To help these poor people." Hawk finished her sentence for her. Heaven save him from a softhearted, hardheaded woman with an earth-mother complex. There was no telling this woman that she couldn't do something. She was as stubborn as she was caring.

  "Your woman, she is an angel, señor," Berto said. "An angel sent from God."

  "Yeah, she's an angel, all right," Hawk mumbled. "An angel trying to cut a path straight through hell."