by Julie Miller
But Meczaquatl's spirit had yet to find peace with this world, had yet to pass over into the next. Something had disturbed the Aztec king's immortal slumber long before Salazar and his men opened up the walls of the tomb with plastique explosives and pry bars. Hawk had felt it when he'd entered the antechamber the night before.
The king's restless spirit had touched Hawk's mind then, exploited his clairvoyance into the spirit realm. Channeling through Hawk, he'd seen Sarah as an intruder. A threat to all he held dear. Using Hawk's own hands, he'd tried to kill her.
Would he still see her as a threat? Would Meczaquatl equate Sarah's presence with Salazar's crime? Would he turn someone else against her? Someone who wouldn't know that they were killing her until it was too late?
"Sarah!" he shouted, panic pushing him to ignore the painful pressure of his lungs expanding against his bruised ribs. The beating he'd taken was nothing compared to the pain squeezing his heart.
Sarah had pulled him from that spell. Her gentle touch, her sensual innocence, her selfless concern had reached the man in him. She had broken through Meczaquatl's control and found his spirit. She'd touched his soul and his heart and his body, and made him human again.
Not a mystic. Not a soldier. Not a freak.
A man.
He'd be damned if he'd allow that vengeful entity to hurt her again.
"Sarah!" The heavy, humid air swallowed up his cry like a sponge soaking up water. "Colleen! Lyndsay!"
He hadn't found Jonathan. Alive or dead.
He prayed he'd find Sarah and the girls unharmed.
"This never should have happened!"
"I'm supposed to be taking pictures for my scrapbook."
"If Andrea can't fix the radio, we're history. And it's all your fault!"
Hawk heard agitated young voices and burst into the clearing, counting four healthy teenagers in a circle around the broken radio. "Is everyone all right?" he asked. "Where's Colleen?"
Lynnette spun around and launched herself at his chest. Wincing at the tight hug around his middle, Hawk lowered a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. "I want to go home," she said, sobbing against his shirt.
"I'll get you there," he promised, unsure he believed those words yet.
"This looks so different from the pictures." Andrea spoke her thoughts aloud.
Hawk released Lynnette and knelt beside Andrea. "Do you know what you're doing?"
The young blonde frowned at the open back of the radio. She chewed on the stub of a fingernail before glancing up to answer Hawk's question. "I read one of my brother's books on electronics. I think if we switch the circuits around, we can still transmit. But we won't be able to tell if anybody answers us."
Hawk squeezed her shoulder. "Do what you can."
His mind flashed briefly on his old buddy, Rafe Del Rio, and his former comrade's uncanny ability to fix anything. If Del Rio were here now, he could turn that archaic piece of junk into a broad-based scanner.
Better still, Rafe would have sabotaged those trucks' engines in the first place, and helped Hawk take out the enemy. Then, like a mechanical miracle, he'd have the trucks up and running again, and their transportation to safety would still be on hand.
But Rafe wasn't here. These barely grown children had only him. Hawk hoped he could rise to the challenge this time. He cupped the back of Andrea's head and reassured her. "I know you'll do your best."
When Hawk stood, Raul stepped forward, his hand clenched tightly around Lyndsay's. The boy wore a man's brave face, but Hawk could see the doubt clouding around him. "Did you catch my uncle?"
"No. But I don't think they'll get very far." Hawk worried about the spirit finding its way into the truck and wondered at its evil intent.
"I am sorry," said Raul, looking at his feet.
"Your apology doesn't do Miss Mack much good." Hawk shifted his focus at the sharp accusation in Denise's voice.
"This isn't Raul's fault." Lyndsay jumped to his defense. "He didn't know what Señor Salazar was up to."
Denise moved closer, and Lyndsay stepped out. "If he wasn't so greedy, he wouldn't have been on this trip in the first place."
The two friends advanced to argue further. Hawk grabbed Denise, and Raul tugged on Lyndsay. "Where are Sarah and Colleen?" asked Hawk, defusing the situation before it got out of hand.
In answer, all four turned toward the mess tent. Undisguised fear flooded their auras with coppery hues. A reborn sense of urgency propelled him across the compound in just a few long strides.
He found Colleen in the doorway. A strident plea distorted her calm, sweet voice. "Miss Mack, please. Just come outside with the others and I'll find the scissors for you."
"Colleen?" He whispered her name so he wouldn't startle her with his touch. He gripped her strong shoulders in his hands and held her until some of the tension eased out.
She reached up and covered his hand, offering an almost adult reassurance to him. "I'm fine," she said, "but I don't know what's wrong with her."
Hawk followed her gaze to the tall metal storage cabinet at the far end of the mess hall. The doors had been flung open. Pans and plates were strewn across the floor and nearby tables. Sarah hovered in front of the cabinet.
She slammed shut the top drawer and whisked open the second. She reached in and pulled out cooking utensils. She glanced at the ladle in her fist, then slung it over her shoulder. Two other large spoons sailed through the air before Hawk spoke again.
He whispered firm instructions into Colleen's ear. "Tell the others to lighten their packs. They won't need extra clothes or sleeping bags. Load up any food you brought and blankets only. Tell Raul we're trekking through the jungle on foot. He should be able to help."
Colleen nodded. "Do you think she'll hurt herself?"
Hawk knew the girl's immediate concern was Sarah. Hawk brushed his fingers across her cheek and smiled, as proud of this girl's strength as if she were his own daughter. "I'll take care of Sarah. I'll keep her safe."
Colleen smiled gamely and hurried off to the others. Hawk sucked in a fortifying breath and expelled it slowly, observing and analyzing Sarah before taking any action. Her hair haloed around her head and shoulders in wild disarray, blocking him from seeing her face. But he could interpret the invisible signals she sent out. Fear and confusion and driving need warred for dominance. Cause for concern, yes, but to his trained counselor's eye, this was a much healthier reaction to what had happened and what she needed to face than denial and shutting down had been.
"Sarah." He called her name across the room. She halted her manic search for an instant, then resumed digging through and tossing aside utensils, hot pads, and storage containers.
"Scissors," she said in a hiss between her teeth. "I have to find scissors."
A long strand of hair fell over her shoulder and she jerked as though a live snake had fallen there instead. "Get away!"
She clutched the strand in a tight fist and tucked it back behind her ear. She released it abruptly, as though the snake had sunk its fangs into her hand. "Get off me!"
Hesitating no longer, Hawk crossed the room. He dodged a flying fork and called her name again. "I'm going to touch you," he explained, struggling to remain the counselor in control of the situation and not the man frightened by her shaking form.
She allowed him to take her by the arms, pull her away from the mess she had created, and turn her slowly to face him. His resolve to stay impersonal nose-dived at the sight of her blanched skin and huge, tear-swollen eyes.
She rubbed at the shredded placket of her blouse. "I can't get it off." Her teeth nearly chattered with the strain of emotions overtaking her. She ripped the material in her hands, tearing off a patch and flinging it to the floor. Then she tore at it again. That long strand of hair fell over her shoulder one more time and she jerked.
"Get it off me!"
She captured the curly tendril in one fist and pulled ruthlessly at the ends of it with the other. Then she flipped it b
ehind her back, scoured her palms together and went back to work at the front of her blouse. "I can't get it off me."
Hawk finally understood.
Blood had caked in the tips of her hair, and the front of her blouse was soaked in de Vega's blood. He must have been right on top of her, close enough for her to see his eyes when she’d shot him. With an eerie similarity to the madness of Lady Macbeth, she worked feverishly to rid herself of the damning reminders of taking a man's life and surviving an attempted rape.
He wanted to shelter her in his arms to share his sorrow and pledge an apology to her. But she didn't need his guilt. And he wasn't sure what more he had to offer her. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and looked inside himself, not to that peaceful center of strength, but to that cold, unconnected place that allowed him to be a soldier. He tapped into the ancient brotherhood of warriors that he'd laid to rest so long ago and allowed their clarity and cunning to flow through him.
Tightening his hands around her shoulders, he steeled himself against her pain. "Come with me."
"I can't get it off." Her hoarse voice reached his heart, but he didn't allow his sensitivities to sway him from his purpose.
He pulled her out the door, sweeping her up in his arms when her stumbling feet threw her off balance. She curled into a ball, concentrating on rubbing her stained fingers. Devoted to her task, she seemed unaware that her feet had even left the ground.
But Hawk was keenly aware of every hill and hollow of her slim figure pressed against him. His skin tingled with a surging heat where her hip and shoulder brushed his stomach and chest, and his lips throbbed with the desire to taste her beautiful mouth again.
He half hoped that she would come to her senses, slap his face and chastise him for his improper thoughts. But the feisty schoolmarm who had come to his tent last night and warned him not to touch her was absent. In her place was this tortured waif of subtle beauty.
The spirit of the warrior, driven to protect his own, swelled in his heart. He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her temple. He held her there, tasting the salty tang of her heated skin and inhaling the fresh, unperfumed scent that was Sarah.
He rocked her close a moment longer, calming her and his own need. But he stilled when his nostrils picked up a very different scent. The spoiled odor of sweat tainted her hair. De Vega's smell.
And suddenly the same madness that consumed Sarah swept through him. Her subconscious desires became a very conscious need for Hawk.
He carried her toward the path to the lagoon, snapping orders to the others. "Colleen, bring me soap and a towel. Andrea, pack up the radio. Raul, find a way to carry any fresh water you can find."
"But we do not have that much…"
"Do it!"
He took Sarah to the water's edge, setting her on her feet in a clearing blocked from view of the others by an outcropping of ferns and wild hyacinths. Putting aside a half-formed fantasy, he stripped off her clothes with doctor-like precision. He pushed aside her hindering hands and peeled away the material to reveal her pale beauty.
Hawk's breath lodged in his throat when he saw her naked figure. Unadorned perfection. In his eyes, Sarah McCormick represented the essence of woman the way nature intended her to be. Proud, slender shoulders. Elegant, eloquent hands, small breasts, seductively tipped in pale peach. Full, flaring hips that could welcome a man or nurture an unborn child.
He savored a rush of heat, the answering cry of his body to hers. But that base reaction of his manhood reminded him why he had brought her here in the first place. He wanted to cleanse her. To wash away her fears, her shock, and another man's vile touch.
Her conscious mind might not welcome his attention, but she had not welcomed de Vega, either. She had offered to sacrifice her body to protect her girls, then sacrificed her peaceful existence by destroying the threat to them all.
He owed her this duty. As a counselor, as a protector, and as a man.
Shoving aside possessive motives, he quickly pulled off his boots, socks and shirt, and scooped her into his arms. In his native Pawnee language, he whispered to her, pledging fealty and offering soothing reassurances as he walked into the water with her. He went in to his waist and bent his knees, pulling her down with him.
Startled by the wet, sluicing warmth on her chilled body, Sarah screeched and scrambled up his chest. She clutched him around the neck and clung to him like the mast of a sinking ship.
"Shh." He hushed her and stroked her back beneath her hair, dipping his hand into the water and letting it dribble along her skin until she got used to the sensation. He turned his head and chanted more native words in her ear, a song of strength and power. He called to her spirit bear, thanking it for saving her life, asking it to save her again.
Prayers of his own ran through his mind and buried themselves in his soul. When she gentled her death grip, he lowered her into the water again, more slowly this time. Her hair fanned out across the surface, encircling them both, cloaking her freckled alabaster skin beneath the green-tinted water.
He held her close and rocked her like a baby, beating down his own internal need and fighting to remain detached. He felt her mouth move against the hollow between his neck and shoulder and sensed rather than heard her cries of distress settle into sobs of grief.
The warmth of her tears trickled down his chest and merged with the cooler temperature of the water. Although warm as a bath, the water's heat couldn't compare with the tortured anguish he imagined in each teardrop.
Ignoring the wisdom of his own counsel, Hawk altered his clinical grip and folded Sarah into a more loving embrace. "Let me bathe you. I'll be gentle," he promised, pressing a kiss to the crown of her hair. "I'll try to make you whole again."
A shy voice intruded from the bank. "I brought the soap." Shielding Sarah from curious eyes, Hawk turned only his head to look at Colleen.
"Thank you." The girl's quiet strength impressed Hawk. The girl deserved comfort, too, but right now Sarah needed him more. "You're going to be fine. So will she."
"I know. My father said you're a man we can trust."
Her unwavering faith reminded Hawk of the times he had failed. The hurt in his heart made his reply unintentionally harsh. "Take Sarah's clothes and burn them."
Seemingly nonplussed, Colleen collected Sarah's things and left. Before he could distance his emotions again, Sarah spoke. Her lips grazed his heated skin with an innocent caress.
"I scared them terribly, didn't I?"
Hawk continued to stroke her back. "I expected something like this. You've been through a lot. There was no way you could keep it all bottled up inside. It's a natural reaction."
"Still, I should—"
"Enough." He pressed a finger to her lips and silenced her. "They're a great group of kids. They believe in you and they'll be fine. Right now it's time to take care of you."
"But—"
"For once in your life, can't you put yourself first?"
Her head snapped back and she impaled him with a mixture of fear and surprise shimmering in her golden eyes. He immediately regretted the frustration that had seeped into his voice. Despite her amazing inner strength, this woman was a fragile thing. Her shy outward appearance was matched by the delicacy of her ego. He wanted to show her her beauty, help her believe in the loveliness he perceived.
He traced the elegant curve of her jaw and spoke gently. His anger receded as he realized it was focused on others who had hurt her and not on Sarah herself. "I don't think anyone has ever really taken care of you, Sarah. Just for a few minutes, let me."
"But I have to be strong."
Hawk shook his head at her rhetorical protest. "Not right now. Can you stand?" he asked.
She nodded in meek compliance. She crossed her arms and covered herself when he moved away. In seconds he returned with the soap and a shaky resolve to help her in any way she needed without acknowledging the growing interest of his own body and the burgeoning need within his own heart.
&nbs
p; "Turn around." Respecting her rediscovered modesty, he gathered up her Godiva-like hair and rubbed the strands with the soap between his hands. He concentrated on working the lather through her hair, washing it from the roots to the ends, averting his gaze from the determined angle of her chin and the slight trembling in her shoulders. She said nothing more, and from the intermittent catch of her breath, he guessed she was crying silent tears.
He ignored the urge to gather her back into his arms, and tipped her head back to rinse the soap from her hair. His lips quivered at the creamy temptation of her arched neck, then pursed into a grim line when he glimpsed the purplish discoloration of the bruises around her throat, bruises that he had put there.
To carry him beyond his anger, he reminded himself that he was here for Sarah, not to alleviate his own guilt or assuage some ill-timed need. Trying to shut down that whole distracting line of thought, he moved the bar of soap to her shoulders and back and started talking. "The winds of fate have scattered your strength before them. But I have seen a vision of your strength, and I know that the most powerful spirit guide has joined with you."
He smoothed his sudsy hands down her arms and along her spine. He reached around and soaped her stomach. He skimmed his fingers across her breasts and around her hips. Her acceptance of his touch humbled him, made his hands tender worshipers of the treasure of trust she gave him. "The she-bear may be wounded, but she will not fail her cubs."
He slipped his hands lower, sliding the soap across her bottom and the supple length of her legs. He dunked his head to reach her ankles and feet, bringing him to eye level with all that was most feminine about her. The pulsing surge of heat in his body made him wish for cold water. He swallowed hard, gulping in enough water to lower his carnal thoughts to a simmer. Sputtering with embarrassment, he surfaced, bringing his palm up along the inside of her leg, carrying the bar of soap higher.
Sarah's lithe fingers closed over his hand midthigh. Jolted by the unexpected contact, already flooded with maddening thoughts, he unclenched his hand. The soap slipped from his grip and shot to the surface. Hawk backed away with the same abrupt motion.
