Children of Destiny Books 1-3 (Texas: Children of Destiny Book 9)

by Ann Major

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s the helicopter pilot with the same Mexican he had with him last night.”

  “Señorita, your brother, he can’t be moved. He said to leave him.” This was the Mexican, breathless, his black eyes enormous with fear. She didn’t trust him.

  “Where’s MacKay?” Jeb demanded.

  “In a hut, señor, at the edge of the jungle.”

  “Take me to him.”

  “We can’t, señor. The kidnappers are closing in. The bandits who charge a landing fee to all planes that use their strip, they come at any time.” His black eyes darted to Megan. “If we don’t go now, I cannot guarantee the lady will be all right.”

  Jeb slid the safety off his automatic. There was a cool recklessness in his dark face. “I said take me to him.” His voice was a deadly rasp. He jumped down onto the muddy strip.

  “I’m going with you,” Megan said, scampering after him.

  The cool, silent rain soaked into her cotton shirt and jeans and ran in chilling rivulets down her hair. She began to shiver.

  “Don’t be crazy,” Jeb muttered roughly, turning back to her, keeping his eyes on the other men as well.

  “What if Kirk’s dying?” Her voice shook. A single damp lock of hair fell over her brow. “W-what if I never get to see him again?”

  She glanced fearfully toward Jeb and found no comfort in the ruthless set of his grim features. His black eyes were narrowed and so intense when they fell on her that they seemed to pierce through her, to the marrow of her soul. The rain had already soaked through his shirt, and the cloth was glued to his lean, muscled body. He seemed dangerous, a stranger, not the man she knew at all.

  Without a word he jammed the loaded forty-five he was holding into her hand. The metal felt hot from his grip. She watched him adjust his rifle to automatic fire. His voice came low and soft, and yet she heard it above the Mooney’s engine. “Now is not the time for histrionics. Now is the time for gut-level decisions, and I’m going to make them. For once in your life, you’ll do exactly as I say. Kirk’s only chance and maybe our only chance is for me to go to him and for you to stay with the plane.”

  “I’ll never forgive you, never, if you’re wrong. If he dies...”

  Jeb snapped her roughly into his arms, knocking the breath from her lungs, and she was silent. The rest of her hair came undone and fell in a sodden plait down her back.

  “So, what else is new?” he whispered hoarsely. “And, Megan, if those other guys, the ones after Kirk or the ones out to rob us, get here before we do, take off.”

  Her head tilted back and she stared beseechingly into his grim face. “N-no. I—I couldn’t leave you.”

  A grin flitted briefly across his dark face and was gone. “That’s a switch,” he murmured in a harsh, low tone, and yet his fingers were oddly gentle as he smoothed the wet hair out of her eyes.

  “Please, Jeb, don’t leave me.” Megan was frantic as she tried to hold onto him. She felt the warmth and power of his arms through his ice-cold shirt.

  To Jeb she seemed younger, more vulnerable. Even with the rain staining her clothes and making her fiery hair drip, she had never seemed softer, lovelier, more amazingly a woman—and most amazingly of all, his woman.

  He felt a fierce melting at the quick. His grip tightened on her arms. “Honey,” he muttered savagely, “I’m coming back.”

  She felt his fingers dig into the flesh of her upper arms.

  “I’m too ornery to die, when I’ve just found out I want you as badly as I do.”

  Her arms slid around his powerful neck, across his back, drawing him closer. He bent his head, searched for her mouth and found it. He kissed her warm lips roughly, quickly, and she kissed him back. She was part of the darkness, part of the black fluid heat of all his memories and tangled desires.

  He buried his mouth in her hair and tasted the tantalizing sweetness of wild roses as well as the fresh flavor of the rain. His arms were around her, pressing her into his body. Her own arms were locked just as tightly around his broad shoulders. He felt the dizzy vertigo of his endless, aching need. How many years had he longed for this and yet denied her power over him?

  His lips devoured hers hungrily.

  “Hold me,” she whispered brokenly, “just hold me.

  He let her go. For an instant she clung even tighter, her eyes seeking his in the darkness. Then knowing she could never hold him against his will, she let her hands fall away.

  Because he was leaving her, she felt cold and empty, depleted, afraid of the blackness, of this night, afraid as she’d never been afraid. Because he was leaving her.

  “If I’m not back in half an hour, go,” he commanded.

  An agony as profound as his own was in her enormous bleak eyes.

  She shook her head silently and held out her trembling hand to him.

  “Listen to me. If I can’t make it back here, our only chance will be for you to get out and get help.”

  Her hands flew to her lips. She choked back a sob. “That’s very harsh.”

  “Promise me,” he growled, “or I swear, if we live, you’ll regret it.”

  If…

  For Megan there was only the incessant sewing-machine-like roar of the prop. Only the pelt of the bone-chilling rain. Only Jeb leaving her. “You’re asking the impossible.”

  She rallied briefly. “Who do you think you are, Jeb Jackson, a king?”

  “Damn right.” But his voice went soft. “Promise me, so I can get the hell out of here and try to save Kirk.”

  The threat was silky smooth, but for all its softness, it was still a threat. At last she crossed her fingers behind her back and nodded forlornly. Then she closed her eyes, unable to watch him go.

  He turned toward the men. “Okay. Take me to him.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  When she opened her eyes she was alone.

  She stared into the dark jungle, wishing she had watched him walk away, wishing she knew exactly what spot of that dense growth had swallowed him, wondering why the mere thought of him in danger was tearing out her soul.

  She had hated him for years. No woman with a grain of sense could endure such a man. He was spoiled, selfish, insolent, pigheaded, demanding—in short, impossible.

  Tonight he’d been no different. He had treated her arrogantly, high-handedly ordering her about as he always did, commanding her to stay with the plane as though she were his lackey, keeping her from Kirk, who might be dying. And yet, now that Jeb was gone, it seemed he was her dearest, most trusted friend, that he alone could be depended on to keep her safe. It came as a startling surprise to realize how much delightful enjoyment she had taken in hating him.

  What if he didn’t come back? What if she never saw him again?

  Megan felt a swift stab of black, all-engulfing loneliness. What if she never again knew the piercing thrill of his hard lips taking hers?

  She could still taste the flavor of his mouth. She could still remember the way every muscle in his body had gone tight with desire when he held her.

  She sucked in her breath sharply. She would go crazy if she kept thinking about it.

  The pilot in her took over. She checked the plane for any damage that might have resulted from the rough landing. Luckily there was none. She cleaned the windshield. She got inside and maneuvered the plane so it was positioned for takeoff. Then she paced the runway in front of the Mooney, moving blown branches and occasional stones, trying to memorize where all the potholes were. The further she moved away from the plane, the fainter the whir of the engine became.

  The strip seemed deserted, but she realized someone could be watching her. Someone could dash to the plane and take off and be gone. She ran back to the Mooney to wait.

  The darkness and the waiting were unendurable. A mist was rising from the damp earth on all sides of the strip. The cloud-choked glow of a golden moon rose above the trees, and the jungle seemed to glisten.

  The drizzle changed to a violent downpo
ur. If the rain kept up, the strip would soon be unusable.

  There was the crackle of distant thunder. A flash of light.

  Above, through a thin patch of cloud, she could still see stars.

  The rain pounded against the wings of the plane. Her eyes strained in the darkness. Oh, where was Jeb?

  She glanced at her watch and realized with horror that he’d been gone longer than half an hour.

  A nightmarish haze of panic gripped her. Jeb had commanded her to leave.

  She studied the minute hand of her watch as it made two lazy rotations around the dial. The rain continued to swirl down in sheets.

  She heard the thunder again and saw the flickers of light. A bullet ricocheted off a tree trunk.

  It was gunfire, not thunder!

  The next bullet erupted two feet in front of her, slinging mud onto her jeans.

  Someone was shooting at her!

  She raced toward the plane door and crawled inside.

  Bullets sprayed wildly from the jungle, but not in her direction.

  Then there was an awful silence.

  She held her breath.

  Three stooped figures emerged from the trees. They were running, crouching low, carrying something heavy.

  In the rain it was impossible to recognize them. She squinted, sick with the agony of not knowing.

  Her hand was on the throttle. Then she removed it, knowing that if she guessed wrong, it would mean her life.

  Horrible visions of rape and torture preceding her murder flashed through her mind. Gulping a deep breath, she threw open the door.

  It was Jeb and the men, carrying Kirk on a makeshift stretcher.

  Behind them she could hear the staccato bursts of more gunfire.

  Jeb threw himself on the ground and fired in rapid succession toward the jungle to cover the other men as they hauled Kirk into the cockpit.

  Even in the darkness Megan could see Kirk was desperately hurt. She took his hand, and beneath the thick silver bracelet he always wore, his pulse made only the faintest throb against her fingertip. When she released his wrist, it fell limply to his side. She brushed his hair away from his forehead and murmured his name, but he did not answer.

  He was burning hot. Beneath the black streaks on his face, his skin was ashen. It pained her to see her tough, powerfully rugged brother so silent, so defenseless. Blood seeped through a crude, dirty bandage wound around his head. His camouflage pants were slashed from cuff to knee, and around his calf another filthy bandage was dark with blood. His eyes were closed. His almost girlishly long lashes lay in inky fringes against his bloodless cheeks. He was so thin and battered-looking. She was almost glad that he was unconscious.

  Men streamed out of the jungle to block the runway just as Jeb jumped inside the plane, blood pouring down the side of his face.

  “Dear God,” she moaned, reaching out to touch him, forgetting the small army rushing toward them.

  “It’s nothing,” Jeb growled, “just a scratch. Fly the damn plane.”

  The men knelt to take aim.

  “Are they the guys after Kirk or the ones in control of the strip?” Megan asked.

  “Who the hell cares!” Jeb thundered. “Take off, Megan.”

  “But they’re down there, on the runway. I might hit one of them!”

  He swore viciously. “Women! I knew I should have had Tim fly us instead of you.”

  Jeb always knew exactly what to say to get to her.

  Stung, she headed the plane straight toward the firing men. Several bullets bit the wings and fuselage. All the lights on the panel went out.

  She couldn’t see her instruments. There was no way of knowing if the fuselage or anything else was damaged as the heavy wheels rolled forward, ever faster, jouncing over rocky ground.

  Mud splashed the windshield in wide-arched rooster tails. She saw brown faces, brief, cruel images of white-eyed, evil men, throwing their guns to the ground and scattering out of the way. Mud spattered from the wheels of the racing plane, then sprayed hard in all directions. In an instant the Mooney was skimming above the grass, heading for the wall of trees at the end of the strip.

  The wall loomed nearer. In the rain the strip was too short. They were hurtling toward the trees at one-hundred-and-sixty miles an hour.

  Every nerve in Megan’s body froze. They weren’t going to make it!

  Jeb shielded his eyes with his hands, and she thought she heard him praying.

  Megan watched in horror as trees rushed up to meet them. At the last second she thought she saw a small pocket in the wall, and she aimed for it. Two tall trees, a wingspan apart, loomed near. But at the last second Megan pulled the yoke back hard and made a steep climbing turn.

  Fluttering leaves brushed by them. Miraculously they were above the trees, leaving them smooth and untouched, casting down a shuddering black shadow.

  The rain had slackened. The moon was blazing.

  Slowly Jeb dared to remove his hands from his eyes. In the moonlight his bloody face was as white as a sheet of poster board daubed with vivid red paint.

  The instrument panel was still dark, and she began to jiggle several knobs. Jeb slammed his fist against the panel. “Come on! Damn you!”

  “That’s no way to treat sophisticated equipment,” Megan muttered.

  He banged the panel again.

  The lights flickered a couple of times and then came back on. The silent radio exploded into life.

  Jeb’s brows lifted cockily. “Well, it worked,” he replied. His lips twitched in a faint, triumphant smile, indicating male superiority. “Even you can’t argue with that.” Before she could think of an adequate retort, he issued a battery of fresh orders. “Head for the Gulf. I want you to make contact with an airline pilot the minute you’re over open water. We need to establish a flight plan as soon as we can so that this flight will look as normal as possible.”

  Numbly she obeyed. It was in his nature to command.

  Even when she was flying.

  She forced herself to remember it was his airplane.

  Soon they were over the Gulf with the night sky enveloping them like a shimmering veil of gossamer. Megan tried not to think about Kirk, lying unconscious behind her. She tried not to think that if the damaged plane went down over the water, there was not even the faintest possibility they would survive. She concentrated on flying, and she flew the Mooney as though it were a part of her, piloting with her heart and soul, as well as her brain.

  Near the outskirts of Brownsville, Texas, she landed the plane on a private strip that belonged to a rancher Jeb knew. Megan had radioed ahead for an ambulance, and it rushed toward the plane the minute she rolled it to a stop just short of the hangar.

  Then they were in the ambulance, screaming toward the hospital, down endless palm-lined roads.

  *

  The smell of antiseptic nauseated Megan. It was the odor of illness and terrible injury, the cloyingly heavy scent of death. The pale green walls of the tiny waiting room seemed to close in on her like prison bars. She was suffocating.

  If only it could be she who was dying, instead of Kirk.

  In her right hand she clutched Kirk’s silver bracelet with the wolfhound engraved on its face as if it were a talisman, squeezing the thick silver links until they bit into her flesh. Kirk had been in surgery for hours. His life hung by a spider’s thread. He’d been shot twice and lost a lot of blood. He was feverish and his wounds were infected. The doctors had said there was little hope. Jeb and the doctors had clashed briefly when they’d asked him too many questions.

  Jeb sat across the room, clenching his lighter and glaring at her.

  “Don’t look at me! I didn’t make you throw your cigarettes in the trash.”

  He cocked a dark brow her way.

  “Trust me. The urge will lessen if you don’t weaken and smoke again.”

  “Have you ever smoked?”

  “Of course not. Your point being?”

  “Your advice on the sub
ject is worthless.”

  When he scowled, she was too thankful for his strong, silent presence to react.

  There was a white strip of medical tape along the side of his face where a bullet had grazed him. Jeb put his useless lighter in his pocket and rose slowly to his feet. “This could go on a lot longer. I think I’ll go get us both a cup of coffee.”

  “You know I don’t drink coffee.”

  “You will tonight.”

  “Jeb...”

  His mouth twisted. “They don’t have herbal tea in the machine. Only Cokes and candy and coffee and all sorts of other unhealthy junk foods.”

  She shrugged, too exhausted to argue.

  When he came back, she took the cup meekly from him. The coffee was hot and strong. It tasted better than she’d ever dreamed it could, warming her somehow, making her feel less tired.

  When she was finished, he took her hand and pulled her onto the couch beside him, placing her bright head against his shoulder.

  “Shut your eyes,” he commanded gently.

  “Kirk...”

  “No news means he’s alive.”

  Still she struggled, but Jeb wouldn’t let her go.

  “Shut your eyes,” he said again pressing her close to him.

  “I can’t stop worrying,” she murmured against his chest.

  “Neither can I.”

  Somehow those words were a comfort.

  Megan fell asleep in his arms, whether for hours or for minutes, she couldn’t tell. But when she awoke, she felt better.

  Sleep had loosened her inhibitions, and she’d put her hands on his thighs where they didn’t belong. She jumped away from him quickly, as if burned, realizing what she’d done as she withdrew her hot fingers.

  She rose stiffly, ashamed of the intimacy she had subconsciously sought with him. “How long was I—?”

  “Not long.”

  She felt the quick heat ebb from her cheeks, leaving her cold and pale. “I—I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no need to be.” Something smoldered dangerously in his eyes.

  Megan’s gaze remained fixed on his rugged face, and the burning color washed back into her cheeks. There was knowledge in his eyes.

  “I didn’t mean…to touch you...there,” she stammered.