The Captive's Return

The Captive's Return Catherine Mann Wingmen Warriors 10

Silhouette Intimate Moments #1388 October 1, 2005 ISBN: 0373274580

Prologue Cartina, South America: Five Years Ago "Marry me... please." Major Lucas Quade almost missed Sarafina's gasped appeal as he sprinted toward the embassy with her bullet-riddled body in his arms. Explosions and gunfire from behind the dense trees all but drowned out the shouts of military security around them. He focused on reaching the side entrance rather than risking even a glance at the pale face of his friend of six months, his lover of thirty days and the only woman who'd ever come close to stealing his heart. "Helluva time to change your mind, Sara." Her limp arms around his neck tightened a hint. "A woman's prerogative and such." Bullets from local crime lords hungry to take over the tiny coastal country tore the ground by his feet. The surprise attack had interrupted an argument with Sara nearly as explosive as the munitions lobbing over

the fence. Five yards away, a grenade landed, blasting a shower of leaves, branches and orchids. A tree crashed to the ground in front of him, so close to having flattened them both. Damn it. Quade darted left around the uprooted oak, hunching forward to shield her as best he could. Debris pounded his back, but he kept Sara clear, easier to accomplish than blocking her surprise proposal from his mind. She must be freaking delirious. Zigzagging across the lushly landscaped lawn, he raced toward the side entrance of the stucco building. He stayed close to sprawling trees, off the stone path, his eyes on the portico. The mini-jungle landscaping in the middle of the city offered plenty of vine-covered trunks to duck behind—for him and the enemy. Sara's chin-length hair tickled his face, hints of her floral shampoo blending with the acrid scent of gunfire. Her curves fit against him with familiarity, her hot blood soaking through his flight suit. He refused to accept that this would be the last time he held her. Even the thought threatened to send him to his knees. Not the first time he'd been leveled by this woman. She'd first knocked him on his ass six months ago in a press brief. The stunned feeling hadn't come close to fading while he'd worked with the embassy interpreter during his stint as an assistant air attache, or even when he and Sara had started sleeping together. He wanted to remember Sarafina Tesoro that way, not torn apart from rebel gunfire on the front lawn of the U.S. Embassy in Cartina. His Sara dying when only minutes ago they'd been feeding the birds while sharing a couple of beefy churrascos, for God's sake. Why the hell hadn't he just appreciated that moment rather than arguing with her over her latest refusal to marry him unless he turned himself into some flipping sensitivity guru? Instead he'd walked away, pissed off. If only he'd been a second faster in throwing himself over her. He'd seen the suspicious "tourists" gathered outside the iron gates, had been turning toward Sara, opening his mouth to call for the guards when... Mayhem. His combat boots landed on the first stone step up to the looming door. For the next ten strides he would be out in the open. Exposed. His back a target. But he had to get her inside. The level of fighting didn't show signs of easing anytime soon, and he knew without question that seconds would count in saving her. A whistle sounded overhead. Damn. Damn. Damn it all. Boom. A column gave way, spewing chunks and shards of stone. He rammed the side entrance with his shoulder. It gave. The weighty door creaked open to a corridor packed with guards darting for position, civilians seeking cover. Quade booted the door closed behind him. The cacophony outside was muffled. "Guards," he shouted, even as security personnel poured around the corner. "Alert a medic or doctor. Now."

He ignored offers to pass Sara over and pounded down the winding hall toward the small on-site clinic. She clutched his wrist, her hold a fading echo of her usual strength that only yesterday had left scratches down his back. "We have to keep Tomas safe." Not surprisingly, she focused on her teenage brother instead of herself. "He is too young, not a man yet in spite of what he thinks. Promise me you'll take care of him." Her brother had no family except Sara since their father had died two weeks ago. Without her, Tomas would be a vulnerable fourteen-year-old. So young, but old enough for "recruitment" into local rebel armies renowned for underworld dealings, even some with terrorist ties. Now Lucas understood the reason for her surprise proposal. She wasn't delirious after all. As Lucas's brother-in-law, Tomas could leave the country. He should have known she would only marry him if desperate. He'd asked her to be his wife more than once over the past month, and she'd always said no. But nothing mattered now except easing her worries so she could focus on surviving. Or dying in peace. "Yes. I'll marry you." He knew she only asked to secure Tomas's safety and somehow that made Lucas respect her even more. He understood all about survival and paying any price to protect others. "But you have to stay alive. Got it?" "Si." Her eyes slid closed. "Sara!" His arms convulsed around her while he checked that—yes—she still breathed, shallow but steady. He kicked through the clinic door, only to be stopped short by the press of walking wounded. Blood streamed down the groundskeeper's face. A secretary cradled his mangled arm to his chest. Where the hell was a doctor, nurse, anyone? Or a medevac helicopter out would be damn welcome right about now. He opened his mouth to bark an order—but a medic acknowledged him from across the room, leaning to whisper to the overworked doc. Lucas spotted an empty gurney in a far corner, tucked sideways through the mass of people and lowered her, carefully, slowly. As she peeled away from his chest, fresh blood pumped from her side onto the sheet. "Doc! Speed it up," Lucas shouted as he sealed his hands to her wound, speaking while searching over his shoulder. "Hang in there, Sara. You're going to be fine. By the end of the week, I'll be giving you bed baths that will drive us both crazy." "Senor," called the overworked doctor. He slid between Lucas and Sara, rolling the tray of medical sup plies to a stop by the gurney. A medic trailed behind with IV bags. "If you will step aside, porfavor." Quade clasped her fingers in his, moving closer to her head, their hands slick and red with the same blood oozing from her side as the medic cut away her blouse. "Swear to me." She clasped Quade's hand tighter. "Swear you'll take Tomas out of here. Don't let Tio Ra

mon near him." Ramon Chavez, her father's best friend rather than an actual relation. Chavez was a slimy bastard with enough money to buy invulnerability in this corrupt country. Damn stubborn woman. "I won't let anything happen to your brother." "You'll take him with you when you leave." She insisted on nailing him to a specific promise even as she winced at the jab of an IV needle. "We'll take him with us." "Of course we will." Her accent grew thicker, the normal perfection of her multilingual skills seeping away in time with her blood. "But to be safe, marry me now, so you are his legal guardian." Lucas sliced away the thought of a world without Sara as effectively as he blocked the clipped orders of the doctor probing her side. She'd painted his stark life with bold strokes the first time she'd swished in to translate for a press conference. He would take her any way he could have her. Pivoting, he barked to the Marine sergeant standing guard at the door. "Find a priest." "We already have, sir. Anyone who requests it will have last rites." Last rites? Denial howled through him. Not to mention rage. Lucas eased from the gurney, strode across the room, his face right in the sergeant's, his voice low. "To perform a marriage ceremony." The seasoned Marine's eyes radiated a pity Lucas hadn't seen since a teacher slipped him an extra apple in elementary school. "Of course, Major, I'll see if I can hurry him up." "Lucas?" Sara's weak voice pierced through the pandemonium. "I'm here." He took her hand again. "I want you to know, just in case—" "Damn it, Sara, quit wasting energy talking." Another blast outside echoed his command. Plaster rained from the ceiling. Way to go, grouching at a bleeding woman. Of course he'd never been much for pretty words or flowery sentiments. His emotions were too raw, especially for a guy who preferred to keep life even, unemotional. Objective. Sara blew his objectivity right out of the sky on a daily basis. Who knew what she saw in him, enough to be his friend, then his lover. He wrestled his emotions and tone to softer levels. "You're going to be fine. You're a tough lady, Sarafina

Tesoro. You'll be chewing me out for being a grouchy SOB before sunrise." "I look forward to it." The door flung open, slamming against the wall. Lucas reached for his M9 strapped to his waist, ready to fling himself over Sara again if necessary. She wouldn't shed one more drop of blood on his watch today. The sergeant raced through the door with a young man in jeans, a black shirt—and thank God—a priest's collar. Sara's hand drifted back down to rest on her chest. While the harried doctor rolled her to her side to eval uate another wound in her shoulder, the priest leaned down to Sara. She whispered, quickly, something that obviously convinced him, as if her condition wasn't cause enough. The priest straightened. "I hear we need a wedding performed." The surgeon didn't so much as glance up from his patient, his jaw going tight at a newfound slice on her shoulder. "Short version, Padre, this lady has a date with me in surgery." Searching the doc's world-weary eyes, Lucas found determination—and not much hope. Dread sucker punched him. Words and vows passed in a blur as he spoke and ran alongside the litter being raced to the next room —a piss-poor tiny facility when she needed the technology of a major hospital. He wanted to growl orders at everyone around him, command them to wipe the fatalistic looks off their faces. She would not die. The priest raised his hand for a final blessing of brief vows Lucas couldn't remember repeating. So little time. Her eyes slid closed and he could only seal their marriage with a brief kiss to her blood-covered hand before they rushed her away. He watched the door slam closed, blocking her from sight, but not from his mind's eye. He refused to accept he would never see Sara again.

Chapter 1 Cartina, South America: Present Day Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Quade refused to allow himself to hope he would see his dead wife again. The woman he'd been sent to rescue would turn out to be some other poor sap's wife. Still, in spite of his fervent belief that he was wasting his time, Lucas found himself at a computer station mounted to a pallet in the belly of a cargo plane. Just yesterday, he'd piloted the C-17 from his home base in South Carolina to a tiny-ass airfield in the Cartinian jungle. The parked craft would serve as a mobile command post for the joint rescue op with the CIA, Army and Air Force scheduled to launch at midnight. Less than six hours from now, the mobile command post would support communications while Delta Forces slipped into Chavez's compound, snatched the woman and brought her to the other waiting C-17 that had flown in the Delta Boys.

Six hours. A damned eternity. Old satellite feed provided by the CIA scrolled across the computer screen in front of him, while five operatives clicked on keyboards a few feet down the steely cavern. The CIA had approached him a week ago to ID the woman they suspected might be Sarafina Tesoro Quade—a possibility he still couldn't wrap his brain around. He'd been through five years of hell since saying goodbye to her lifeless body after the failed surgery. Now the CIA wanted him to believe she'd somehow survived in spite of what his eyes witnessed? He'd given up on miracles in kindergarten after a playground drive-by shooting. Certainly the satellite images of a woman in a drug lord's compound could be her. But then the grainy im ages scrolling across the screen could be any woman. A woman who could be Sara's twin. Lucas downed the rest of his tepid coffee. He had a job to do regardless of the mystery woman's identity. They would either save a captive—or capture a willing participant in Ramon Chavez's suspected dealings with terrorists trafficking opium to fund their operations. The attack on the embassy had failed years ago, but rebel factions like the ones responsible for shooting Sara were still jockeying for control of the country. No way in hell could Lucas walk away from the chance to participate in this smash and grab—smash in and grab the target. The target. Not Sara. No miracles. No hope. His fist closed around the empty mug until the handle snapped off, pricking his hand. Crap. He needed to take things down a notch, stick with the facts. He'd been shown her bullet-riddled dead body in the recovery area at the embassy just before he paid the priest to give her a Catholic burial. Nothing could have forced him to leave the country before seeing for himself that she hadn't survived the surgery. Only his promise to protect her brother could have made him leave her body behind at all. At least he hadn't failed her when it came to Tomas, or Tom as the boy preferred to be called these days. Tom had survived, thrived even, in spite of Lucas's no doubt inept parenting of a grieving teenager. With Lucas's insane military deployment schedule, he'd been left with no choice but boarding school until Tom entered college. He felt guilty about that sometimes. Most of the time. But overall they rocked along fine, two brooding loners who shared holiday dinners and worked like hell not to think too hard about the woman they'd lost in Cartina. Or had they? He stared again at the fuzzy image of an adult female and six children in the courtyard compound owned by the bastard rebel leader known to be Sara's dead father's best friend. Reason reminded him that seventy percent of the world's kidnappings took place in neighboring Colombia. Militants to this region thought nothing of snatching an innocent. If somehow Sara lived, then either she'd been through five years of hell. Or she'd used and betrayed him. Not an unlikely scenario given his history with women. "Colonel?" his copilot called from behind him, dropping the lieutenant part of his rank as protocol de-

manded in conversation, another inexplicable quirk of military lingo. Pitching the broken handle into his coffee cup with a clink, Quade tore his eyes from the computer screen, resisting the impulse to shut down the whole system and erase the image. Or worse yet—stare at the mystery woman for hours on end as he'd often stared at Sara's picture the first year after she'd died. Over his shoulder he found Major Carson "Scorch" Hunt jogging down the stairwell from the cockpit. Hunt had flown as his copilot bringing in the C-17 mobile command post that currently housed command and control equipment for the joint CIA and military operation with Cartinian officials. "Yes, Major?" Hunt strode past the five CIA operatives to stop at the empty station behind him, hands braced on the back of the seat bolted to the pallet. "Everything okay with you here, sir?" He must look like hell for anyone in his command to dare ask a personal question, even somebody in the number-three position in the Charleston, South Carolina, based squadron. Quade thought about loosening the scowl locked on his face, then reconsidered. He knew the squadron called him Darth, as in Darth Vader, behind his back. Fine by him. He'd never been a warm-fuzzies sort of commander, and if he kept them on their toes with a growl or two, then good on'em. He stood less chance of losing anyone on his watch ever again. "Sir?" "I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?" He leveled his best don't-mess-with-me scowl at the Major. Which rolled right off Hunt as the man dropped into one of the red webbed seats lining the cargo plane walls, "This situation is extreme. I suspect you would be within your rights to chew my ass later if I didn't watch your back." The guy was right, although most wouldn't have dared that comeback after an infamous Quade scowl. A big part of why he'd chosen the guy in the first place. Still, if the glare didn't work, he needed to scrounge up something else to keep Hunt from getting too comfortable, maybe a call sign change. Instead of Scorch—which he'd earned by setting his blond mustache on fire with a flaming Dr Pepper drink—perhaps something like Ivy League and shortening it to Ivy. He could almost hear Sara's laugh as she would swat his arm and declare he did have a sense of humor after all. Buried deep, of course. Yeah, being saddled with a name like Ivy might put Scorch in his place, a man with an inbred confidence from inherited privilege. They'd both gone to Ivy League schools, except golden boy Carson Hunt hadn't needed scholarships like Quade. But thank God for those scholarships. If not for a kick-butt ACT score, he would have died in the same hellhole where he'd spent his first eighteen years. He didn't resent Hunt's silver spoon beginnings. In fact, he was doing everything he could to give Tomas

an easier start in life. But he needed to be damn sure those advantages didn't make Hunt or Tomas soft. Survival went to the fittest. What kind of hell had that woman—he wasn't ready to believe it could be Sara—in the compound survived? Sara had been a dynamo personality, but pampered by her father. The whimsical woman he'd known sang in the embassy halls and blew bubbles in the courtyard on her lunch break, for crying out loud. How could someone that soft have persevered through five years as a hostage? Mentally, he'd prepared himself for the possibility of capture. He'd completed POW training, served in war zones, flying both the older C-141 and newer C-17. His assistant attache job had thrown him into hairy scenarios. But Sara would have been totally unprepared. He forced his breathing to stay even. It wasn't her, so he could just focus on his damn job. "Well, Hunt, have you checked the maintenance status of the airplanes? Make sure they're ready to get us out of here at a moment's notice. Don't wait for maintenance to come seek you out." "Yes, sir. Both aircraft are in the green, only minor write-ups, a seat cushion doesn't meet minimum comfort levels, a scratch to repaint, nothing that can't wait—" "Have you checked the weather?" "Pretty much like you see it now. Chance for thunderstorms—we're near a rain forest after all—but noth ing below minimum standards for flight—" "Are our crewdogs all billeted up for the night? No breaking crew rest before we fly out tomorrow." "Got it covered." "We need weather for here, there and in-between, too." "Right. That's why I was coming to check in with you in the first place." He tugged papers from under a chart by the computer. "I've got printouts right here." Quade thumbed through the pages, found the data sufficiently detailed, but then he wouldn't expect less from a flyer as seasoned as Hunt. He was beating the guy up for nothing. If anything, Hunt went above and beyond after being shot down in the Middle East, then held for a week by warlords. "Sir? Anything else?" Hunt was too damned perceptive and the cavernous cargo hold was shrinking fast. Six more hours of gut-burning waiting with suddenly sensitive Hunt? Screw that. Lucas shoved to his feet, restless and in need of the solitude he was only likely to find in the jungle outside. He secured his weapon strapped to his waist and shrugged into his survival vest. "Looks like you've got it covered. I'm going for a walk."

"Are you ready for our walk, chica?" Sarafina Tesoro Quade asked as she fished out the survival backpack from deep in her closet. She tried to keep her tones lighthearted in spite of the ticking clock easing away precious seconds to make her escape, louder in her head than the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of her bedroom. Lighthearted? Whimsy came slower to her these days, a good thing since the frivolous fool she'd once been wouldn't have stood a chance of surviving what lay ahead. "I like walks in the woods." Lucia jumped higher on the queen-size bed, dark curls bouncing, Sara's bilin gual daughter babbling in a mix of Spanish and English. "And bugs. Will we see bugs? Please? I won't eat'em this time. Promise." "I'll hold you to that promise." Sara tugged her daughter's ponytail and prayed her shaking hands wouldn't betray her. The last thing she needed was a frantic four-year-old on her hands while trying to slip out of Ramon's compound, her lavish prison-home for the past five years. When she'd woken from her surgery after the embassy attack, groggy and in fiery pain, she'd found her father's old friend at her bedside, ready to console her over Lucas's and Tomas's death. Through her hoarse screams of denial, he'd explained that his contacts documented they'd died in a helicopter explosion on their way out of the country. She'd feared Tomas landing in Ramon's care, but anything was better than death. Yet she'd wanted to die, as well, had curled up inside and out, crying until she was dry and proving everything her father had ever said about her being a piece of fluff. Then came a surprise reason to haul herself out of her depression and heal. The baby she carried had sur vived the shooting and surgery. For Lucas's child, she would fight, even if it meant depending on Ramon. The following months had passed in a blur of bed rest, then caring for her fragile premature daughter, planning her life. Slowly, she'd emerged from her grief enough to realize she didn't have a life since she couldn't leave. Ramon still swore it was for her own good since she was ill—apparently she entertained unwise yearnings to betray their homeland by leaving. Her father may have been soft with his children, but Ramon wouldn't repeat the mistake. Ramon cut off all her contact with the outside world, keeping her as a pampered captive, handpicked for her family connection to be a nanny to his five grandchildren. He controlled this little corner of Cartina, after all, and carried an obsessive adherence to familial and friend connections with a mafia like lethal intensity. She'd found no alternative but to bide her time as she nursed her premature child through one medical crisis after another. Although these days little Lucia certainly appeared healthy enough, working off her endless supply of energy by jumping on the bed. She hoped she was making the right decision in leaving now, but she feared staying any longer after what she'd overheard while standing outside Ramon's study this morning. "Will we see frogs, too, Mama? Oooh, and a lizard. I want a lizard. It can live in my pocket and be my friend." Thank goodness her tomboy child preferred jeans and T-shirts instead of dresses so she wouldn't arouse suspicion by suddenly appearing in more practical clothes. She allowed herself a reassuring second to

study her precious baby, her mirror image. She liked to imagine Lucia had inherited her black hair and leanness from her papa, even though she certainly hadn't received his genes for height. Lucas. Even thinking his name and envisioning him made her long to sink into memories the way she'd of ten replayed their dates and lovemaking in her mind five years ago, anticipating the next time her lean, stark lover would... But she wasn't a daydreamer any longer. "I am certain we will see plenty of frogs, butterflies and lizards today, maybe even a snake." Sara shuddered at thoughts of the human snakes slithering in the compound and the jungle beyond her barred window. She inventoried her bag—bottled water, not much, though, because of the weight and most likely there would be plenty of rain. Two ponchos. Bug repellent. Mosquito netting. Flashlight and a purloined stash of PowerBar packets for energy in case they did not reach their destination by sundown. She would only have a small window of time to slip out during the guard changeover. But she had to be gone before nightfall. "Our walk will be a long one, just as you always ask. You'll have to be very good, though, and quiet. Definitely quiet. Then we can stay out longer than a half hour, all right?" Nodding, her daughter pursed her tiny bow mouth shut tight and continued to bounce a path over the fluffy comforter, willing to do anything for more outdoor time, even stem her endless flow of chatter. Higher and higher she jumped, rattling the vase of orchids on the bedside table. Sara tucked a knife inside the backpack, an ugly serrated knife, the riskiest of her stolen survival gear. Once clear of the house, she would secure it to her belt. She would have preferred a larger blade but feared that would be too noticeable missing from the wooden block. So she'd opted instead for a loose steak knife in a kitchen drawer. Footsteps sounded in the hall, thudding on the hardwood floors. Then muffled by the thick Persian runner closer to her room. Dios. She snatched up the backpack. A knock sounded at the door. Ice chilled her veins, like the pulse of an IV solution fresh from the refrigerator. Shoving the backpack un der the bed, she raised her finger to her lips, scrounging for a smile for her daughter. "It's all right to talk about the picnic, but keep our walk a secret," she whispered, regretting that she had to encourage her daughter to lie. Turning, she opened the door a crack. Ramon stood in the hall, such a benign-looking man in his favored workout clothes with a tropical fruit smoothie in his hand. He battled age as fiercely as rival factions during his freedom fighter days. She inched the door wider. "Si?" Lucia leaped from the bed. "Tio Ramon!"

He scooped her up and twirled her high, as he did with his own grandchildren. Sara had long ago given up shuddering when he came near. At least he didn't harm Lucia, beyond the mental games of cultivating dependence. She'd also given up trying to understand the twisted logic of this man. She hated him, but the hatred jumbled in with so many other emotions and memories of racing to hug him as a child, much like Lucia. And he'd brought in the best of care for her during her difficult pregnancy, even shipping her off to an exclusive, private clinic for the delivery. In return, she lived under his constant control, as did his children, sisters and grandchildren. He said he considered her family, too. Her father would have done the same for Chavez women. Ramon had only hit her once, just once when she'd asked to leave after Lucia's first birthday. He'd jarred her teeth and complacency, as well as fracturing her jaw. He'd told her Lucia would suffer for any further betrayal of their family and country. In fact, he'd already murdered Lucas and Tomas because of her disloyalty, by shooting down their departing military helicopter. Tomas would be alive if she hadn't plotted to turn him into a traitor to their people. She wanted to believe he'd lied. Regardless, there was nothing she could do for either of them, and she had to protect her defenseless daughter. She focused on shedding fluff for leather. Tougher. Stronger. Like Lucas. Ramon lowered Lucia to the floor. "Enjoy your picnic, little one. It is fun to be spoiled every now and again, no? Just don't stay out too long. We need to lock down the compound tonight." A shiver chased up her spine, but she refused to let her nerves fray. She'd held herself together the past years through sheer grit. She couldn't fail her daughter. "I hope nothing's wrong," she asked, even though she already knew differently. "There's no need to worry. I protect what is mine, and you've proven yourself well. You take good care of my treasures." He cupped her shoulder. "I am grateful." He never touched her in a sexual manner. At first, she'd been afraid he planned to abuse her. But in some warped code of his, he segmented some women to mother roles and others to sexual—no crossover, as if his sex toys might somehow sully innocent children. "Gracias." Survival, she reminded herself. "I appreciate the warning." Sara leaned, pressing her cheek to his. "Your father would be pleased with how you've come along." She refused to dwell overlong on reevaluating her childhood, how her father had been like this man and how that could have shaped her into a dependent person. Ruminating wasted energy. She understood Lucas so much better now. Too late. The door clicked closed behind Ramon. Launching into action, she hauled the backpack from under her bed to finish packing. If she could make it to the bridge by nightfall, they would be safe. She'd painstakingly sketched a map

over the years, drawn from snippets of information here and there. A cook mentioning a walk on a path that way, while gesturing. A gardener referencing a fishing stream beyond the back stone wall. And other tidbits, seemingly meaningless when taken alone—until she'd compiled what she hoped was an accurate map of the landscape surrounding her luxurious prison. Why hadn't she paid more attention when Ramon had started building the place five-and-a-half years ago? But she'd been too caught up in her new life at the embassy—and her new romance with Lucas. She'd hoped to make a more controlled break at a time of her own choosing. But this morning she'd over heard Ramon Chavez order his security forces to prepare for a rival crime lord's imminent attack. Time had run out. She couldn't wait for the perfect moment, not with the possibility of Hector Padilla gain ing control. The man's reputation for trafficking in child prostitution left her longing to gather her daughter close. Sliding open her bedside drawer, Sara pulled out two small leather pouches, tucking one into the backpack by her Glucometer and bag of hard candies. She shoved the other into her fanny pack. Each contained insulin in case the other went missing. She knew better than to be reckless about her diabetes. She wedged the backpack into a picnic basket that should pass scrutiny if anyone saw her on the way through the courtyard to the stone wall where she would crawl through to freedom. And pray she wasn't walking into a bigger hell.

What the hell? From the cover of the towering hardwoods and tropical underbrush, Lucas studied the far western wall surrounding Ramon Chavez's compound. He'd planned a little last-minute recon along the deserted back wall. A ten-foot stone fence encircled the sprawling acreage of adobe buildings and a towering mansion, much like a small feudal village. He'd been on the lookout for guards. He hadn't expected to see rocks and mortar pop free. Sweat trickled down his spine, but he didn't bother plucking at his flight suit sticking to his back from the greenhouse-type heat generated by the jungle .canopy. He crouched lower, waiting without moving while a lizard scampered over his boot. Another stone, then two more tumbled into a spray of orchids. A head filled the makeshift portal with dark waves of hair draping over the brown and orange masonry. A tangle of arms and legs tumbled through into the spray of hot pink.flowers, along with Spanish curses that made even an old crewdog like himself grin. Only for a mind-numbing flash did he consider this might be the woman who resembled Sara. Then he'd looked closer. Even with her hair still covering her face, he knew the woman reaching back into the hole—for a picnic basket?—could not be his wife. He knew her body well, intimately well, the memories of their month as lovers still vibrantly clear. So clear, those thoughts had left him aching through more than one sleepless night. Certainly Sara had been taller, more voluptuous, brimming with energy and vitality, unlike this frail woman.

Who cursed like a sailor. Still threats came in all sizes. Probably best he keep an eye on the situation for a while longer to make sure she didn't spot the military in place and send up a warning. A rock-solid reason to stay put, and a convenient excuse since he couldn't pull his eyes away from the subtle sweet curve of her bottom as she snaked her arms inside again to heft free... A child. Holy crap. He definitely needed to keep an eye on this. This jungle was no place for a kid to take a nature walk. A boy or girl? Tough to tell with the short dark curls and jeans. A rustle sounded from the spiky fronds. The woman froze, hand drifting to her waist. His hand slid to his M9, his muscles bunched to protect her. An iguana scampered up a tree. She sagged against the wall, head hanging for two deep breaths while monkeys cackled overhead. Kneel ing, she whispered to the child in a muffled exchange of part Spanish and English. Interesting. Bits and pieces wafted his way. "—walk yet, Mama?" Mama. Mother and child, not a nanny. "Soon, we just have to tie your shoes and get—" The wind stole the rest of her sentence. The child's head bobbed in answer. "Okay, and bugs." "Yes, plenty of bugs." She gave the shoelaces a final tug, her hair dusting the ground. "Now we need to be very quiet. Shhhh." "Shhhh." The child echoed, head bobbing, swishing forward a tiny ponytail he'd missed seeing before. A girl. The woman's daughter, or definitely someone close to her, given the trusting way the little one slipped her hand into the woman's. Dragging the picnic basket nearer, the woman flipped open the lid. Why leave the safety of the estate, and why climb through the wall for just a meal? Something wasn't right. Hefting, she replaced the stones until the wall appeared untouched then turned back to her basket, reached inside and tugged, hard. That must be one helluva heavy sandwich. Finally, the bundle inside came free—a backpack. No PB & Js and apples in sight. She slid her arms through the shoulder straps and shook free her tangled hair to reveal... Sarafina Tesoro Quade—his wife of five years, his bride for only a few minutes—was alive.

Chapter 2

Freedom. Sara could almost swear the air smelled better outside Ramon's fortress walls, even with the steamy humidity laden with the scent of decomposing undergrowth. But she didn't have time to analyze oxygen particles and rotting foliage. She needed to melt into the jungle with Lucia before someone noticed she hadn't returned to their quarters. Squeezing her daughter's hand, she took reassurance from the strength emanating from Lucia's eyes. Her child had been born with a steely spine, unlike her mother who'd learned to cultivate one later. Lucia might look just like her, but she acted more like Lucas. Or like her father could have been if she'd been gifted with the time to dismantle the walls around him. A tougher task than hefting those loose stones from the barrier behind her. A silly thought, more like one she would have entertained before. If she didn't pull herself together quickly, she'd be blowing bubbles in the wind and letting others take care of her again. At least she had her knife secured in her belt, and she wouldn't hesitate to use it. She tugged the backpack straps tighter for the walk ahead. With luck, they would reach the bridge in under an hour. A couple hours more would bring her to a village where she could meld into a new community until she figured out who to trust. If memory served her correctly, there should be a base nearby. Frequent planes overhead had reminded her too often of Lucas over the years. She clasped her daughter's hand and fast-walked toward the towering hardwoods. The dense branch ceil ing overhead reverberated with a symphony of monkeys, macaws and heaven only knew how many more animals. Noisy animals, thank heavens, that would help mask any sounds of her escape. They would stay parallel to the path for about a mile to disguise footprints, then blend back onto the safer route once she cleared the bridge. Two more steps and they were out of sight. Allowing herself an exhale of relief, she turned her head to smile down at her daughter and— A hand clamped over her mouth, strong, yanking her back against a solid masculine chest. Lucia stumbled away, eyes wide with terror. Sara kicked, bit, and a steely arm clamped around her waist. Dios rnio. Her heart lurched up into her throat. Horror, frustration, futility clawed inside her as hard as she clawed at him. She'd been so careful. How could they have found her already? And who? Ramon's men or Padilla's? Either way, she couldn't give up. For her child, she had to fight. Please, Lucia, stay back. She rammed her elbow into his gut, but his hold didn't even loosen. Lucia squeaked, darting behind a tree. Good, chica. Stay there, she willed with her eyes.

Sara slammed her head back, cracking her skull against the man's face. He grunted. A promising reaction. Spurred, she hooked her foot behind his knee and leaned, using her weight rather than muscle to drop them to the ground—a more level playing field. Steely arms locked around her as they tumbled. Strong. He was so damn strong. But she was smart and determined. She stopped fighting, stunning him still long enough for her to slip her hand to her waistband. Her fingers closed around the knife's wooden handle. She wasn't the piece of fluff who fainted at the sight of blood any longer. She eased her arm up, slowly, blade tucked out of sight until just the right moment. Fired by the maternal drive to protect her child, Sara stabbed deep into human flesh. Pain seared Lucas's arm. Holy crap. Sara had stabbed him. So much for a happy reunion. The warm gush of blood flowed down screaming nerves, slickening his grip on her wrist. He clamped tighter, tighter again, until he feared breaking her fragile bones, but she wouldn't let go and seemed beyond hearing his hissed words in her ear. Even with the hard-rock band of monkeys and backup macaws screeching overhead, he didn't dare shout her out of the daze and risk bringing Ramon Chavez's men down on them. But he couldn't serve himself up for carving, either. Flipping her to her back, he anchored her to the grassy carpet and tried like hell to ignore the sensual arch of her bucking and writhing under him. Who'd have thought there was enough blood left in his body for a hard-on? She writhed under him much like she had during long sweaty siesta hours spent making love in her flat. Not the smartest memory to have at the moment. Her knee jacked up— Hell. She was determined to neuter him. He twisted to block her and slammed her wrist against the ground once, twice, whispering, "Sara, damn it all, Sara, it's me. Lucas." She didn't stop struggling. Her eyes glazed over with bloodlust, her nostrils flared. Too battle-focused to hear? Or could she have amnesia? Unlikely and tragic, but God, that would be a balm for his ego that was stinging worse than the gash in his arm. "Sara. Sarafina, baby," he whispered in her ear as he'd done often in the past with a completely different intent. "It's me. It's okay. Do you hear me? I'm here." She stilled under him long enough that he dared pull back to look down at her. Her eyes went wide with shock. With recognition. "Lucas?" she gasped. "Dios mio? It can't be you." She slumped back, her longer hair splayed over the verdant forest floor like on a mossy bed. "How? Why?"

So much for an ego-soothing case of amnesia. "I'm here for you, of course." He took in the different feel of her, a more angular body, hollows in her cheeks, smudges beneath her eyes barely visible under her naturally bronzed complexion, but up close, he couldn't miss them. Or her dark pool eyes, so deep a man could fall in. Unmistakably his Sara. The reality flooded his mind with near-numbing force. Pain exploded through his head. Not shock. Real pain. What the—? By instinct, he started to reach for his gun. A tiny she-demon stood over him with a branch clasped in her fists, ready to beam him a second time. "Get off my mama!"' she screeched in a jumble of Spanish and English. The little girl who'd come through the stone wall with Sara whacked him again, on his injured arm this time, no quarter. Damn it! Fire flamed up to his shoulder, the jungle ceiling swimming in front of his eyes. Sara crab-walked backward from under the tangle of their legs. "Lucia, chica, stop. Lucas will not hurt us. He's going to walk with us." Lucia? Lucas. Sara's words blurred in his brain. She tucked the child under her arm and stared back at him with stunned wide eyes. A kid. Hers. And his? The name certainly indicated as much, but the child only looked to be three at the most. Realization roared through him when he was too damn shell-shocked to shut down emotions. Had she been raped? Red rage fogged his vision. Kneeling, he planted a hand on the soft jungle floor and hung his head, dragging in breaths for control. She raised a trembling hand to his jaw, skimming up to trace along his cheekbone into his hairline. "Are you all right? She didn't hurt you, did she? Oh my, you are alive. Tomas, as well?" He nodded while sorting through a few too many shocks at once. Hot blood trailed down his arm to squelch in his fisting hand. She'd thought he was dead, too? A little convenient for his jaded peace of mind. But showing his hand could send her running. Either way, the CIA wanted her brought in. Except, God help him, she still knocked him on his ass. He was so freaking grateful to see her alive he could barely breathe. "I prayed that Tio Ramon had lied to me, but I feared that... Never mind. As long as you're here and my brother survived." She swept a hand over her face and shook away the dazed expression.

Dazed? He was the one who had reason to be stunned stupid, not her. He needed to get out of here but he wanted more than anything to haul her close, hard and inhale the scent of the woman who'd tormented his dreams for five long years. What the hell was he supposed to say now? He should have been ready for this meeting, even as much as he'd tried to deny the possibility to forestall debilitating disappointment. "Your arm." Her eyes went wide. "I am so sorry. Let me—" Boom. The ground shuddered under his feet. From surprise? No. Wait. Another explosion. Followed by gunfire. Leaves rained down from the rustling branches. The monkey rock overhead went silent—then shrieked to decibel-defying levels. Smoke spiraled through the trees, drifting with the acrid stench of burning buildings. The compound was under attack. Gunfire stuttered too damn close. Explosions trembled the ground. Alarms filled the air. The government raid already? But it was too soon. Something had gone wrong while he was away, and this woman and child were seconds from being caught in the crossfire. Hellish images from the embassy shooting bombarded him—watching Sara's body jerk from one, two, three bullets before he reached her. The moment spun out in a deja vu repeat of five years ago. Damned if he would let the past replay. Lucas launched to his feet, injury forgotten and scooped up Sara's daughter. "Run!" Lucas's order reverberated in Sara's ears with as much force as the explosions blasting through the walled compound less than five hundred feet away. She'd escaped with seconds to spare. She shivered. Heaven only knew how long Ramon could hold off Hector Padilla or why the attack had launched before sundown. And how did her military husband's appearance now play into everything? At least she was free of Ramon, and Hector Padilla would never touch Lucia. Still too shocked to stand, she could hardly process what she was seeing—the angular face of the stark, ungodly handsome man who had haunted her dreams for years. Threads of silver flecked his jet-black hair, his blue eyes still as steely piercing. Too much to take in at once with her brain already on overload from shock. Lucas hauled her to her feet, reminding her she didn't have the luxury of time to sort through her questions. Given the choice of staying with Ramon or leaving with Lucas... No choice for her at all. "Where—"

"Head straight for the path, a direct route to a bridge. Once we're there, we'll have help." He held Lucia with such authority the child didn't even argue, her warrior-baby attitude gone for the moment. Sara shook her head. "I meant where did you come from?" "There'll be time to talk later, and believe me, we sure as hell will talk. But not now. Follow me." He had her daughter. Of course she would follow him into hell—as he undoubtedly knew. Her eyes firmly on his broad shoulders, her daughter's wide-eyed face peering back at her, Sara trailed him through the dense pines and palms. He stomped spiky fronds, leaped over a downed tree trunk rotting in the undergrowth. Lucas's blood warm on her hands, realization burning hotter in her brain, Sara sprinted deeper into the rain forest with her back-from-the-dead husband and Lucia. Lucas's daughter. So much to explain. If they lived long enough. He broke free of the dense jungle, back onto the path where he picked up the pace, fronds beating their ankles. Somehow without looking he seemed to know just how fast to run so he didn't leave her behind. Her heart thundered in her ears. She'd tried to improve her endurance with long walks and isometric exercises that Ramon wouldn't notice or question. Still, she wasn't half as fit as she'd been five years ago before the shooting. Panting, she wouldn't give up. She refused to slow him down and endanger Lucia. She would live long enough to have that talk with Lucas. To wrap her arms around him and hold him close for a grateful minute before they had to sort through everything else. She would live long enough to tell him he had a child. A beautiful, quirky daughter who loved bugs and swung a branch like a professional baseball player. Sara scrounged deep and ran harder, her lungs laboring. Lucas slowed to run alongside her, even though he didn't waste so much as a glance in her direction, his eyes constantly scanning the terrain. "Hang tough. Not much farther. The bridge is right ahead and a plane's waiting nearby." A plane. Already? Relief made her dizzy. Or maybe it was oxygen deprivation. In minutes, her nightmare would be over. She would leave for the United States, see her brother. Introduce Lucas to his daughter. When she and Lucas had discussed forever before, she'd mourned leaving her homeland. Not anymore. Cartina might be beautiful, exotic, but she was too aware of the real-life predators lurking in those lush trees. Run. Don't think. Run.

Around a curve, the road widened, revealing a bridge a couple of hundred yards ahead. The wooden walkway stretched across a gushing river fifty feet below. Maybe her heart wouldn't explode after all. They really would make it before the bombs and bullets tore them apart. Lucas had come for her, after so long and so many dreams she'd been certain could never come true, he was here. Tall, alive, so wonderfully solid. His intensity that she once longed to rattle was right now pulling them through hell. Almost there. While Lucas paused to secure his hold on Lucia, Sara stretched for the handrail— A whistling sounded overhead a second before a hole split through the jungle canopy like a knife slicing through a verdant green sheet. With a blooming explosion, the bridge blasted apart, ripping the ground from beneath her feet.

Chapter 3 Talk about having his world blown all to hell. Lucas grabbed for Sara's hand as her feet slid from under her, even knowing he was too far to reach her. She slammed onto her stomach, earth giving way beneath her while she clawed for something, anything to hold her. Hell, no, this wasn't happening. He refused to lose Sara after finding her again. He dropped the kid. Catapulted forward. Clapped his fingers around Sara's wrist as she slid over the side. Toward the fifty-foot drop. Flat on his belly, he clamped his hand around her other arm, gripping while her feet dangled. Praying the whole freaking cliff wouldn't give way under them both, killing Sara, him, leaving that kid out here alone to die or at the mercy of monsters. Dimly he registered his radio jarring off his waist and skittering to the edge. Over. The radio spinning endlessly down until it splashed. Half the wooden bridge lay floating in segments fifty feet down in the torrential river. The rest of the bridge dangled, burning, cutting off access to the mobile command post. Something he would worry about later. Adrenaline searing through him, he locked eyes with hers. "Hold on. Don't move. Just let me pull. Try not to pump your feet, okay?" "Okay," she answered, barely moving her lips. "Lucia?" "Is fine." "Let me go before you—" "We're not replaying that past again." No more deathbed pleadings from this woman. She wasn't going anywhere if he could help it. "Now shut up so I can haul you up here."

In the back of his brain he knew his arm throbbed like a son of a bitch, but adrenaline chugged through him, numbing pain and fueling endurance. His muscles bunched, strained, as he used his boots to dig into the moist undergrowth and inch them both back. Slow. Progress. He worked one hand at a time higher up her arms, hefting until she could... Swing a leg over. Hooking his arms around her waist, he rolled them away from the ledge, and damn that hurt. He swallowed down bile and clutched her harder against his chest. Yeah, it could pass for a lifesaving tangle, but he needed to hold her while he cleared his head of the horror of that moment he'd seen Sara pitch forward toward the river, boulders below. Undoubtedly crocodiles, too. Gasping, he untangled from Sara before he lost it and sat there holding her until Chavez's men waltzed up to shoot them. He checked behind him and found Lucia safe, hugging her knees. The kid scrambled to her mama's side. "I stayed quiet, like you said." Gasping, shuddering, Sara curved an arm around her daughter, smothering the top of her head with kisses. "You were perfect, chica, a very good girl." Her accent thickened with emotion. "We're all right. Everyone is all right." And he'd thought Sara was gorgeous before. Right now, even with her hair a tangled mess and her face scratched and streaked with dirt, she glowed with love for her kid so strong she just about blinded him. Resting her cheek on Lucia's sweaty curls, Sara turned her attention to Lucas. "Gracias." The drone of bugs, screech of monkeys, sporadic spit of distant gunfire faded as the world narrowed to just Sara. He recognized the sensation even five years after the first time he'd felt it. He freaking couldn't breathe. He looked away from her beauty and terrified eyes, back to the mangled bridge to wrap his mind around an alternative escape plan. "Something must have gone wrong with the smash and grab." "Smash and grab?" Steeling himself, he nodded to her. With a final kiss to her daughter's head, Sara shrugged off her backpack, unzipping and digging deep with shaking hands, tossing aside bug repellant, PowerBar packets, peppermints.... "Smash into the compound. Grab you out." What was she doing in her backpack? Hunting for a snack, for crying out loud? Or another knife. God, he hated doubting her. He gripped her arm. "Sara. Stop." She jerked at his touch, her eyes colliding with his and sending a jolt snapping right through him. How could she appear so different and so familiar at the same time? If he didn't look away soon, Lucia would be clocking him again long before Chavez found them. "What

are you doing?" A question he should be asking himself. Sara withdrew her hand from the backpack, a fresh T-shirt in hand. "Before we go anywhere, I need to tie a bandage around your arm. The bleeding's worse since you pulled me up and we won't make it too many more steps before you pass out. Even if you think you're superhuman, you're not, and I can't carry you." She had a point, punctuated by gunfire in the distance. He grunted a go-ahead. "Fine. But we need to take cover behind a tree." Not too tough since there were trees just about everywhere. Scanning for threats, he shoved to his feet and herded them from the clearing. "Here's good." He rested his shoulder against a towering hardwood, his uninjured side, as close as he would come to relaxing. He needed to watch, be ready to move, keep his defenses in place against sneak attacks from Chavez—and his own damned traitorous libido. Five years without sex sure did play hell with a man's self-control when his heart was already breaking sound barriers from Sara pitching over the edge of the cliff. Breathe. Shut it down. Get control. "Lucia, chica ?" Sara palmed her back. "Stand by Lucas for a minute, porfavor. Then I won't have to watch you while I help fix his arm." He glanced down at the kid, who happened to offer a great mental bucket of cold water as well as making for an effective chaperone. "I don't bite." "I do," Lucia answered with a mutinous tip to her chin and defiant glint to her saucer-big brown eyes. He admired grit in a person. This one had the makings of being as big a heart-stealer as her mama. "I'll watch my back." Lucia leaned against the same tree, but stopped short of actual contact and pretended an exaggerated interest in a caterpillar between her miniature hiking boots. Might as well get his arm fixed ASAP. He looked up at Sara—finding her gaze glued to the two of them. She had to know he was curious about the child. But he wondered even more if Sara would trust him with the truth. Either way, this wasn't a conversation they could have in front of Lucia. "Patch me up so we can get out of here." White T-shirt in hand, she bit the corner and ripped wide strips before picking the edges of his torn flight suit from the slice in his bicep. Holy crap. The edges of the horizon fuzzed. He pressed his head to rough bark for grounding. "So you were coming to get me? You already knew I was there?"

"I found out this week." He focused on Lucia to keep his mind off the searing pain—and Sara's butterfly touch. Wide child-eyes stared back, wary. She was so tiny in spite of her defiance he would let her use him as a bridge if he could. But that was his job, right? Defending the helpless. It didn't have anything to do with a soft heart that could make him too weak to protect them. Sara looped a cotton strip around his arm. "What do we do now? You're in uniform so I assume your friends are nearby? And you mentioned a plane." "Other side of that bridge, at the air base." She yanked tight, knotting. He bit back a wince, pulled a smile for the kid currently engrossed in putting the caterpillar on her wrist. Probably not much of a smile, but hey, he was behind on practice. Sara looped the rest of the shirt around her hand. "Now would be a good time to call your military pals to come get us." No kidding, but no dice. "My radio fell into the river." "Oh. That's not good." She swiped the T-shirt over her daughter's dirty face while the caterpillar made its way up Lucia's arm. "We will take the next bridge." "Do you happen to know where that would be?" Because unless she knew something he didn't, they were in a crapload of trouble. "No, but surely there's another bridge close by." How could she have lived here for so long and not know the area? "Fraid not, according to my charts." "Are you sure?" He wasn't used to people questioning him, but figured she wouldn't take well to one of his infamous don't-mess-with-me glares. "I've studied maps of the area. We're better off heading for a shallow crossing point. We have two choices. Option A, continue north along the waterline to a narrow bend where we cross and reach a—" Could he trust her with the location of a CIA safe house? "—safe place in a village where we can sleep for the night." A treacherous hike even without a kid in tow. Sara dabbed the T-shirt over the sweat dotting her throat and brow. "How far?" "Roughly twenty-five miles. With the terrain and the little one, it should take us about two to three days." "Option B?" "Go back and hang out with your buddy Ramon." Lucia dropped her caterpillar. "Tio Ramon?" Uncle Ramon? The child didn't seem in the least scared of the bastard. A thought he could only file away

to think about later, after he hauled their asses out of this mess. "No." Sara shook her head, crossing her arms tight over her chest. A chest, he suddenly realized, that was quite a bit more generous in spite of her slighter frame. From having a kid? With his defenses seriously dinged, his mind filled too easily with the image of her round with a baby. Whose? Sara followed his gaze down to... She dropped her arms. "What about a flare?" "And bring Ramon to the rescue?" "Or Padilla." "Padilla?" Another name on the CIA's To-Be-Nabbed list. Kneeling by the open backpack, she rezipped and lifted it to her lap. "Hector Padilla has been plotting a coup to fake out Ramon." "With any luck Ramon and Padilla will take care of each other." Gunfire popped again. Closer. Scattering birds flapping through the trees. "We have to get out of here. Pass me the kid. I'll carry her and you take the backpack. We've got a lot of ground to cover before sunset." Shoving away from the tree, he stifled a wince at the pull to his arm, flexed his fingers through the pain and reached for the little girl. She chewed her lip, eyeing his hand, then his face. At least she wasn't threatening to chew on him. But they needed to keep her calm. Carting a screaming kid through the jungle would exhaust precious en ergy, not to mention attract attention. She released her lip and pressed her mouth tight. Her arms thrust out in the universal pick-me-up gesture. A surge of protectiveness shot through him at mach speed. Who the hell was he kidding? No matter who'd fathered this child, she was Sara's, who'd for some reason cared enough to name the little one after him. The child was a permanent part of his life, beyond any soldier-style responsibility. The reality soaked into his thick head now that he wasn't running flat-out from bullets and bombs. But he could use a little more time to process that fact. Shifting into survival mode, he shut down his brain to the questions hammering as loud as his adrenaline-revved pulse. Explanations would have to wait until later anyway. Because he was certain this would be no conversation for young ears to overhear. Stick in hand, Sara smacked aside spiky fronds since the path continued to narrow the farther they walked from the demolished bridge. Beyond clearing the way, they also needed to scatter hordes of fire ants and countless other deadly insects Lucia would have enjoyed studying.

If only confused emotions could be as easily swept aside. At least Lucia seemed content to ride on Lucas's back without biting him. He'd fashioned some sort of makeshift baby backpack for her from his vest and vines. From her perch, her daughter drifted in and out of sleep, her head bobbing, tiny arms looped around Lu cas's neck. Sara blinked fast. She wouldn't cry, damn it. So often she'd envisioned just such a beautiful image, but never in such a horrific setting. A setting they were likely stuck with for two nights. Together. On a bizarre family campout, complete with boa constrictors and gun-toting rebels. The sun settled fast in the jungle, which didn't leave much more time to put distance between themselves and the compound. Had Ramon noticed her missing yet? With a little luck—and she could use some—he would assume that Padilla's men had abducted her. Still, she couldn't count on anything. "If Ramon's still alive, I'm afraid he won't give up until he finds me. I just want you to be prepared." "All the more reason for us to walk faster." She'd researched as much as she could without raising suspicion, but she'd never been much of a hiking or camping sort. A lack of skills she now regretted. Even having grown up in this country, she was totally dependent on Lucas's survival training. What would have happened to them without Lucas? She shivered thinking of how close she'd come to being alone with her child out here. She still couldn't believe he was actually with her, an amazing gift that stole the humid air from her lungs. Theirs hadn't been the tearful reunion she may have once dreamed of on days she dared allow herself to believe he might be alive after all. But they were running for their lives. Lucas had barely spoken more than a handful of words to her, each one about making their way to safety. She needed his strength more than sappy words. How ironic that all her reasons for turning down his proposals before made for the very traits that would save her and her child now. She might not need romantic words, but she did need to hear the familiar sound of his voice after so long without him. "Lucas, are you able to talk, or does your arm hurt too much?" Without breaking stride, he checked the setting sun, then his watch. "Arm's fine, so feel free to ask whatever you need," his bass rumbled low and soft. He'd never been one to shout, or even raise his voice, yet somehow she could easily hear him over the constant cacophony of bugs and shrieking monkeys, the periodic bursts of gunfire quieting the farther they trekked from the compound. How did he manage that little trick? She settled for a safer question, and one close to her heart. "Tell me about Tomas." "What do you want to know?"

"Everything, of course. He's my brother. I would do anything for him." Of course Lucas would know that firsthand since she'd married him for her brother. Five years ago, after the embassy attack, she'd seen the disillusionment, even flash of anger in his eyes when he'd realized why she'd finally accepted his proposal. His pain had stabbed through her with far more force than any rebel bullets. "He's attending college at the University of North Carolina studying psychology. He plans to use it as a cop." Her baby brother a police officer someday? She'd missed so much with him. But Lucas had missed even more with Lucia. At least they were all alive. "He's happy with his life and choices?" He frowned as if she were speaking another language, but then even the old Lucas would have winced at discussing emotions. "He's successful. Dean's list grades and he runs cross-country." "Thank you for his new life, for taking such good care of him." "I'm sure there are things that you would have done better. But I did my best." "I knew you would when I asked." Their final minutes together came roaring back, then the horrifying time span after she woke. "I thought I'd caused your death by asking you to take him. That the delay while you went to retrieve him cost you precious time." She stared at her feet trekking across mushy foliage, waiting for him to give the obvious answer she'd probably been subconsciously fishing for. But nothing. He stayed silent, the noise from sweeping aside fronds her only answer. Whack. Whack Whack. Sara attacked the spiky plants with extra force. "Aren't you going to tell me it wasn't my fault?" "Would it make any difference?" Practical Lucas. She welcomed that familiar response even as he left her to find her own absolution. "Not really." Her brain skipped to a thought so obvious she should have considered it right away. "It's not your fault, either, that Lucia and I were left behind." He glanced at her with that almost-smile of his. Would he feel guiltier learning how she'd been held? Or would he even believe her? His jaw flexed, any hint of a smile long gone. They needed to put that subject on hold until Lucia was better settled for the night, rather than now when she could wake at any second. Her daughter had never known their life was anything other than normal.

Which brought new concerns about the transition to a real life on the outside. If they lived long enough. "Sometimes I let myself imagine that Ramon lied to me and that you and Tomas made it out safely, but mostly—" she shrugged "—I feared I believed it because I desperately wanted it to be true." "After the doc told me you'd died, we left in an outgoing helicopter. We were in the States by sunrise." "You thought I was dead that soon? I always assumed you just grew to accept it over time when you didn't hear from me." "You can't have thought I abandoned you," "I told you to take Tomas." He stopped, pivoted, the steely determination shining from his eyes in a matching shade of the silver threading his temples. "I would have made sure he was on that helicopter out of here, but I wouldn't have left without you. They showed me your body. They told me you were dead." She couldn't miss the pain in his voice, the proof that he had cared. She'd hurt him, used him, and he'd de served so much better from her. At that time in her selfish little world, she'd justified holding back from him because he wasn't giving his all. She now wondered if—for him—he'd given so much more. Lucas looked away, up at the sky, sunset splashing tequila hues through tiny holes in the jungle canopy. Fading light and the seclusion fuzzed out the rest of the world until she could only see the strong column of his neck she'd once taken delight in kissing in a path to his surprisingly and wonderfully full bottom lip. She had no business thinking about her heart or tender reunions. Hadn't she sworn to herself she was a more practical woman now? Shifting his attention back to her, he reached behind to secure groggy Lucia and extended his other hand. Toward her. The hard planes of his handsome face went tight, as close to hurting as a man like him would ever show. She held her breath. He plucked something from her hair, a flower, orange spiky leaves drifting to the ground as he flicked it aside without moving away. In spite of wiser intentions, she waited. Wanted. "Lucas?" Was that shaky voice really hers? His throat moved in a long, slow swallow that begged her to taste his neck again. "Time to stop for the night."

Ramon Chavez had survived for fifty-two years by knowing when to abandon ship. And this was one of those times. Taking cover in the dusky shadows of sunset, he crouched low, sprinting around sprays of palms toward

the outer wall of the compound. Gunfire stuttered behind him, screams, explosions that blasted away everything he'd built. The escape tunnel inside his casa had collapsed, which meant someone had sold him out. With luck— Dios he could use some—the camouflaged bunker with a Jeep and supplies remained a secret. Padilla's men had the place surrounded, outnumbering Chavez's troops two to one. A few months ago with the help of his cousin Aliesandro Aragon, he could have fought off the bastard. But not now that the idealists in the Cartinian government had taken out Aliesandro, a pampered mama's boy who couldn't hold on to what his father had built with strength, blood and sweat. There was sweat and blood to spare now, caked to the camouflage he'd donned for battle. His sweat. His men's blood. Why couldn't the officials in place see the value of his brand of leadership steeped in generations of tradition? Like an iron fist in a velvet glove, he nurtured and protected his people from Padilla's cruelty, as well as from the rampant anarchy his government wanted to institute. Or he had. Bitter defeat threatened to slow his steps. He could simply let the rat, tat, tat of the battle cut him in half. His children and his grandchildren were gone, dead in the collapse of the exit tunnels. He'd told his troops to scatter. Some listened, some suicidal fools refused to surrender, their to-the-death resistance echoing futilely as the sun sank. He was beyond grief. Beyond rage or desperation. Numb and focused on only one goal, one reason to live. Where were Sarafina and Lucia? Finding them was the only thing that had kept him from eating the Uzi slung over his shoulder. He couldn't leave them to Padilla's beasts. He eyed the crumbled stone boundary, a heap of rubble from grenade attacks. One last dash from tree to tree took him to the far western wall, the last place Sarafina and Lucia had been seen on surveillance tapes. Hopefully he would find footprints, anything to give him a clue before troops trampled through. He could hide out in the nearby bunker until the gunfire waned, then slip away in the hidden Jeep to track them. Darting behind the piled chunks of wall, he paused. A wicker handle poked from the crushed stone and mortar. It couldn't be. He tore through the rubble, shards slicing his hands until finally he uncovered a mangled picnic basket. Sarafina's. But no bodies, and no time for relief. Where were they? He stepped over the low remaining barrier, inspected the ground, resurrecting skills that had kept him alive during his guerrilla days. The soft, mulchy earth bore three sets of footprints—child size, another size up and finally a large set deeply pressed. An adult male.

Padilla's men had gotten to her first. All the tamped-down emotions threatened to boil. Sarafina was as much his daughter as his own, little Lu cia a granddaughter. His hands shook with a burning drive for revenge—slow, painful vengeance. A rustling sounded from the bushes. Hope kicked hard inside his chest. Still, he couldn't be certain. Anyone could be lurking back there. He eased his gun from his shoulder, aiming it toward the shifting spray of red-and-orange orchids He wasn't the twenty-year-old freedom fighter anymore. Now he spent more time ruling from his office than a tent in the jungle. But his reflexes were sharp, thanks to hours with his trainer and a determination not to go soft. "Agotarse." Come out, he ordered, his voice hoarse from shouting when he watched helplessly as his quarters exploded, his family trapped inside the tunnels. The palms parted to reveal... A woman's face. Not Sarafina, too pale and tall. He suppressed a roar of frustration as he aimed at the young woman around thirty, with short blond hair and wary eyes. "Help me," she pleaded in flawless English. "Please don't let Hector Padilla take me again."

Chapter 4 Sara broke off another waxy palm leaf that Lucas swore he could somehow weave into a shelter for the night. Sleep with Lucas again? The sun was sinking faster than her boundaries. Of course she'd known since the bridge blew that they would spend the night in the jungle, probably more than one. But looking at that tiny lean-to framed with three large branches resting in the crook of a tree, she realized she would rest curled up against him. She could swear her stomach was full of those bubbles she used to love blowing. Not that anything could actually happen since they had Lucia to look after, even if their daughter was already curled up snoozing on a mossy bed with her head on the backpack, an abandoned banana peel next to her. The darkness held too many dangers in the jungle to be anything but alert to the threat of spiders, snakes, dart frogs. All poisonous. So since they wouldn't be having sex, and since she was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to sleep, they would have nothing to do but talk about subjects they'd avoided all day. Their relationship, or lack thereof. And Lucia. That would make for a big enough discussion to eclipse the rest. Silently, Lucas draped the mosquito netting from her backpack over the branches before gathering a

stack of the palm leaves. Starting at ground level, he lined them along the bottom in a row, then lined up the next layer, and the next. He'd told her that by beginning low and building up, water from any surprise rain showers would sheet off, rather than in. Echoing in the distance, gunfire popped from the continued battle, reminding her of mortality. She couldn't ignore the possibility that they may not make it through the night to finish their discussions and find the answers she craved. First and foremost, were her feelings for Lucas still there, nestled deep somewhere in her bruised soul? Certainly the attraction thrived as strong as ever. But beyond the physical, she yearned for some sign of tenderness from him after so long alone, a fanciful notion when she should focus on getting out of the jungle and out of the country alive. Lean-to completed, Lucas scooped up Lucia to carry her inside. Sara soaked in the sight. How often she'd imagined her lover's stark face softening as he looked at the miracle of their child. Except she saw no such softening. In fact, he seemed to be shutting out the world. Lucas had always been a stoic man, but she'd sensed the deep waters beneath his stark exterior and had burned to tap them. Now, she found nothing but darkness behind his blue eyes. Time couldn't have changed him that much, could it? Still she didn't understand this man at all and he gave no peeks into his soul for guidance. Didn't he want to know what had happened to her? Or was he waiting for her to talk? Thoughtful, certainly, and the answer she hoped for because indifference hurt. She'd grieved for him for five years and he hadn't even shown the least emotion at finding her alive. But what emotion had she shown him? Could he be as frozen inside as she felt sometimes? Perhaps she needed to make the first move, a touch that had nothing to do with tending a wound or helping someone over a rotten log. To rest her hand on his and absorb the familiar texture of him again... Just when she'd thought herself completely numb, emotions frothed to life, choking her throat, burning her eyes. Lucas was alive, a stranger or not, he lived. She reached for him, suddenly needing so much more than a touch, instead starving for him to put his arms around her and hold her. "Lucas—" He flinched back. Such a small movement, likely imperceptible to most, but so very telling to her. The rejection slapped over her all the more coming from him. Dreams dissolved into the fading sunlight. She kept her hand extended, refusing to let him see her vulnerability. "I should look at your arm while there's still a little light left." He glanced down at his blood-soaked T-shirt strips as if he'd forgotten the injury. "I have antiseptic and a couple of bandages in my survival vest."

"I brought a first aid kit." She fished the small white box from her backpack, nudging aside her black insu lin case. Thank heavens she'd had the cover of a quick trip to the bushes to check her glucose level and give herself an injection. She needed to be all the more careful with the exertion, sweating and weird diet of bananas and passion fruit. Passion? Great. Now even food was turning her on. She unlatched the first aid case and spread it out beside her to best catch the fading rays. "I'll try to be gentle." "Do you always bring a first aid kit with you for a walk?" What? A walk? He couldn't have really thought she'd climbed through a wall into the wilds with a child for a simple stroll with crocodiles and jaguars? She'd told him about Padilla and Ramon's turf war. Surely he'd realized why she left. She thought back over their conversation...she'd never said she intended to leave. Just that she knew the battle was imminent. "I was leaving the compound for good. Or trying to anyway." Would he believe her about escaping? Or about being stuck there all these years? He seemed so in control of his destiny. Would he even understand how someone could have all choices taken away? Sara peeled the cotton strips from his arm. The bleeding had stopped, at least. She tugged a bit at a time, blood oozing, but not gushing. Still the gaping gash... She swallowed down nausea. Flesh puckered, swollen and angry, the cut deep into muscle most likely since he seemed all muscle. "You need stitches." His face paled under his tan. "Don't you have some butterfly bandages in there or something?" That rare hint of vulnerability in him made it easier for her to spill her story. "Of course I do. I just said you need stitches, not that I would start poking holes in your skin like in some wagon train survival story." "Oh. Right. Go ahead." He set his jaw and looked away from the wound. She unscrewed the cap from a water bottle and dampened a clean cotton strip—there went Lucia's spare shirt this time—and dabbed, gently. "When I woke from surgery after the shooting, Ramon was standing over me with the doctor. As I said before, he told me you were dead, Tomas, as well." When Lucas stayed quiet, she took that as a sign to continue and poured a half bottle more of their precious water supply straight into the wound. "I wanted to die, too. Because of my injuries, I almost did die." The grief gushed over her again like the water down his arm. "My recovery took a long time in hospitals and convalescing at Ramon's compound. I don't remember much about those months." Except for holding her stomach at night and praying her child would be all right. She'd refused pain medi cations, but still feared what the shooting and surgeries could have done to a developing baby: She'd fought hard, though, to keep that remaining part of Lucas alive.

To think she had almost killed him today. She shuddered. "I'm sorry but this next part will hurt." Sara tore open an alcohol wipe with her teeth and dabbed as gently as possible, blowing air over his arm and trying not to think of times she had done the same over other sweaty parts of him during an afternoon siesta. His fists clenched. From pain or awareness? The last sent a shiver over her that made her forget about monkeys cackling overhead and the sweaty grime caking her skin. "Lucia was born prematurely, and she needed so much care, respirators and doctors, all of which Ramon provided with private clinics." She skipped over the time when she'd learned for certain she was pregnant, then that she had diabetes. She'd hoped it was merely the gestational variety. But when the condition persisted after Lucia was born, the surgeons determined that damage to her pancreas during the shooting was the real cause. One blessing emerged from the whole mess. Babies born to diabetic mothers were larger. Those extra few ounces on a premature infant helped save Lucia. Shoving aside thoughts of those terrifying times, she moved ahead, a good plan for her life overall. "Of course the doctors and nurses were completely loyal to their generous benefactor. Now I feel like an idiot. It took me until Lucia's first birthday to realize I wasn't allowed to leave." Muscles bunched in his arm, pulling at the wound and sending a fresh ooze trickling down his arm. She ripped open a corner on a packet of antibiotic ointment and squirted a stream down the center of the split flesh. "Ramon is twisted inside." Lucas went still under her touch. She'd thought he wasn't moving before, but this lethal steel of his tensed body couldn't be missed. "It's all right." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "He didn't abuse me, but he's what you people in the States would call a, uh, total control freak." Oh my. Her fingers flexed into him. She'd forgotten how broad Lucas's shoulder felt, her fingers nearly flat, not long enough even to curve around. Her thumb inched up to his neck, the bristly rasp of his five o'clock shadow so deliciously different from her skin. And he had such a sensitive neck, his one vulnerability. A simple caress or kiss or nip and she could stir a growl of pleasure from him, had done so often after making the discovery. How easy it would be to avoid talking and enjoy... Not now. Even if Lucia weren't snoozing inches away, they couldn't pick up where they left off. Sleeping with him would be like sleeping with a stranger, something she'd never done. It had taken her five months with Lucas before she'd slept with him at all— her first lover. "Hold these." She passed him the butterfly bandages. "Because of his connection to my father, he assumed it was his duty—his right—to make sure I stayed in the family circle." She pinched together the corners of flesh, wincing because he didn't—or wouldn't let himself. One at a

time she lined up five of the white strips. "The women in Ramon's world have no rights or freedom. They landed in one of two categories—family or whore. At least I fell into the first category." She sealed a large pad to his arm with only a second to spare as the sun dropped below the horizon. Dark blanketed them, all the heavier with his silence. Would he believe she'd left as soon as she could manage? Just as he'd changed, so had she. She'd been a selfish brat when he'd known her before, justifying her wants in the name of a quest for adventure once she'd broken free of her father's home. She'd been a twenty-four-year-old adult with a glamorous job in the embassy, a job that was actually far more mundane than she'd expected. Then into a boring old press brief walked the sexiest man ever. Lucas had been wearing a blue uniform on his first day as the assistant air attache, the starched shirt sport ing silver wings that told her he usually wore a flight suit. Even more exciting, he'd been from another country. They'd been introduced. She would translate questions from local reporters. He spoke Spanish, but using a translator smoothed nuances, as well as giving him more time to prepare diplomatic answers. She'd seen the reciprocated interest in Lucas Quade's eyes. Anticipation had spiked through her blood like one of the rich wines served at official embassy functions. Except he hadn't even asked her out for a cup of coffee. Oh, he'd been polite, right up to the second he'd walked away. So she'd asked him to lunch instead— half-certain he would laugh at her. Instead, he'd given her one of those slow, sexy stares as if peering deep inside her soul. He'd said thank you, but he had plans. Her pride stung, but not enough to give up. She'd opted for a more subtle approach and let their paths continue to cross until finally, he bit. Theirs hadn't been an easy romance, but it certainly had been exciting and frequently heartbreaking with passionate reconciliations. They'd both soon realized they were abysmally ill matched, but couldn't keep their hands off each other. The familiar zing crackled between them even now. Dios, he was sinfully attractive. Even in the middle of the jungle, five years and a lifetime of grief later, she still had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching for him. Argh! She was such a loser. And he still hadn't said anything. "I realize this is all a shock to you." And she'd put off long enough discussing the most important thing of all. She smoothed her daughter's damp curls from her forehead. "Lucia is your daughter." His daughter. Sara's revelation ricocheted inside Lucas's head like a bullet in a bunker. He'd known this was coming.

Still he knew better than to question her. On the off chance the little one actually was his, Sara would always remember he'd doubted. Which would make him a first-class ass. Best to bide his time. Besides, he couldn't blame her for doing whatever it took to keep her child safe in such extreme conditions, and he was glad for Lucia that she had such a fierce protector. There hadn't been anyone around to look after him as a kid. He knew how that messed with a person's head, staying on guard 24-7 instead of playing kick ball in the park without worrying about bullets popping the ball. Time to dig deep for some sensitivity. He covered Sara's hand with his, cupping Lucia's head in the dark. "I've been thinking about it most of today. Can't avoid the obvious conclusion." There, that sounded good without lying. Her sigh swirled in the lean-to, followed by a shuffle as she settled back against the tree. "So many times I've wanted to tell you, show her to you, and finally, here we all are and it seems so unreal." He accepted that the odds of the kid being his were slim. He hated that Sara might feel she had to lie, but what did he know about things she may have endured? "I wish I had pictures to show you, but I didn't dare take any and alert Ramon that I planned to leave. But there are so many memories to share, like the time she poured all my shampoo in the garden fountain to make more bubbles than we could blow in a whole afternoon...." Sara's stories about her child spilled from one into the other with such obvious maternal affection, he couldn't help but smile. Not that she could see his reaction now that the sun had finally slipped into the ho rizon. His eyes would finish adjusting in about a half hour, but for now, everything was pitch-black. He needed that anonymity with so much to process. Aside from the fact that Lucia barely looked three to him, much less four and a half, she sure as hell didn't resemble him or anyone in his family. She was one hundred percent her mama's clone. Even if the child was close to the right age, maybe Sara didn't know for certain, either. The thought of her being raped, especially when she was so helpless from her injuries... He couldn't think about that and stay sane. Another thought slithered through his mind. Even if all she'd said about Ramon's nutcase plans proved true, she still could have taken a lover. Five years was a long time and he knew well how deep her passionate nature flowed. Why would Chavez hide her for five years? A child, too. It didn't make sense. Although logistically, a person could exist exclusively inside Chavez's small townlike compound. Lucas's hand inched back to check for the reassuring presence of his gun in his vest. He'd lived in an area smaller than that in inner city L.A., walled in by wire fences and poverty. Choices gone, exposure to the world limited to an eight-block radius, school to home and back again, nowhere safe outside. His parents had done their best, but worked double shifts to keep them out of a shelter during a time when help for the homeless was next to nil.

"Lucas?" Sara's whisper sucked him back into the present. "Are you awake?" "Uh-huh," he grunted, grounding himself in the soft feel of Sara sitting next to him. "I'm sorry to ramble on. I can't expect to cram five years into one night, but after bottling it up for so long..." Her head fell onto his shoulder. She jolted upright. He cupped her head and guided it down again. "You always were better at talking than I am, which works well." "I imagine it's a lot to absorb." Her hot breath teased his neck—ah, hell, he was toast. "I'm having trouble processing everything. But I am so very glad you are alive." "I'd hate to think you wanted me dead." Not much of a stretch given that old scar on his chest. How ironic that he'd been in the Air Force for seventeen years, served in multiple conflicts, but his only two injuries had both resulted from civilian women. At least Sara had only sliced his arm. Dawn had aimed for his heart. Back when he was a junior in high school, Dawn had moved into the next apartment. They'd met hanging out on the fire escape while he studied and fed the birds, and she hid from her hooker-mother's Johns. He didn't trust quickly, but after three months out on that fire escape with her and another month ducking into his bedroom with her—he'd thought he found someone like him. He'd also thought he could save her. He'd been wrong on both accounts. She'd lured him out and delivered him up to a gang leader looking for a new drug mule. Dawn had just been looking for a free hit. When he refused, she'd launched at him with all the strength of a crazed junkie. He'd told Sara the scar came from falling out of a tree when he was a kid. Except there weren't trees in his old neighborhood. Only one incident, sure, but an affirmation of his lifelong certainty that he was better off as a loner. Nothing had made him question that. Until Sara. Now there was a kid tying them together, because no matter who'd fathered the child, she carried his last name and none of this was the little girl's fault. Lucas scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn, he was in over his head, but Sara obviously expected him to say something more about this revelation and he didn't have a clue what he was feeling. He settled for, "She's a cute kid. Tough, too. I like that."

"She's a little tomboy. I think that is the right phrase in English, but I'm a bit rusty. I only get to practice when I'm teaching Lucia, and Ramon's grandchildren." She sighed against his neck again. Waiting? Apparently he hadn't said enough. No surprise. Emotional outpourings weren't exactly his style. "You should sleep. Tomorrow's walk will be a real bitch even if the rain holds off." "Is there anything you want to ask me about the past five years?" Oh, he wanted to know more, all right, but his questions would only drive a rift between them he could never recover from if Lucia truly was his—a mind-blowing thought. For the child's sake, he needed to go through the motions of accepting what Sara had said since he didn't have a clue how to be tactful about asking the questions that lingered. He definitely needed to rein in his emotions and focus or they would die. Steeling himself against feeling too much, he reached, skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. She didn't flinch away or move forward. If he talked to her much longer, he would lose himself in the sound of her voice. So he opted for a safer move and slid his hand to her back, palming her forward against his chest. "You're safe now, free again, and I swear I won't let anything or anyone hurt Lucia." Sara sighed. "Gracias." "De nada." He stroked Sara's back, a sensitive thing to do. What she would expect, right? Not a lame-ass excuse to touch her. Her shuddering breaths eased, slowing into even breaths of sleep echoed by the child's puffy huffs. The irony of the present mirroring the past didn't escape him. Five years ago he'd snuck Tomas out of the country so Ramon Chavez wouldn't get his hands on the boy and indoctrinate him. She'd wanted Tomas out of the country. Surely that meant she wanted out, as well. But old survival instincts were hard to shake. Finally, he gave up and allowed himself to bury his face in her hair and breathe in the scent of her. Alive. He exhaled long, hard, five years of grief crashing up against relief. After so long apart, he should have been able to resist her. As his thoughts winged back to the past, he re alized nothing had changed since that day he'd accepted he couldn't dodge the attraction anymore... So much for a solitary lunch in the embassy courtyard. Lucas gripped a pillar and started an about-face. But Sarafina Tesoro looked over her shoulder. Seated on the garden bench, she smiled, ambushing him far faster than any enemy missile. Not to mention she was blowing soap bubbles into the air. Definitely not what he'd expected when he

stepped out for a quiet meal alone to review a brief for the ambassador. Her hair lifted with the wind and bubbles. "You caught me." Caught her? Funny, since he'd been running like hell since she knocked him on his ass two weeks ago. High-maintenance women weren't his style. He'd made the decision out of fairness to those who fit the profile since he would only let them down. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb your... lunch? " She lifted the small bottle and bubble wand. "I imagine I've ruined my dignified professional look. But, well—" she shrugged "—I love the way the sun glints through them." "I'll leave you to it." He started to turn again, already knowing his chances of escaping her allure were evaporating faster than jet fumes on a windy day. "Wait! You must have come out here for a reason." Ah, crap. He was in trouble. He faced her again. "I was looking for a quiet place to eat and review notes for a briefing." "And I am not a quiet person." He laughed, couldn't help himself—no surprise around the extroverted interpreter. A pampered princess, but still so damn...cute? Sexy. Definitely sexy, with lush curves and the sultriest dark eyes known to mankind. Sarafina cleared her purse from the stone bench. "Sit. I promise you won't even notice I'm here." She teased him with her eyes, her smile and the shared recognition that they were very aware of each other. He'd sure as hell noticed her the minute she'd walked into that press brief. Of course this woman never merely walked. She strolled, swished, stopped to look at heaven only knew what or speak to anyone from the president to a janitor. Floating through life like one of those bubbles carried on the wind that he couldn't stop watching. Of course bubbles eventually burst and the soap stung like hell. So he'd kept his distance from this mesmerizing, high-maintenance lady—with the most amazing eyes, ass and laugh. Damned if he didn't walk across the courtyard anyway and sit beside her on a too-small bench. He stayed silent—his normal ops. He figured if a woman minded the silence, she wasn't his type. His sex life was plenty healthy with other quiet women. And he never ended up with a knife slicing his chest. He reached into his flight bag and pulled out a folder. Birds hopped across the lawn, more circling overhead.

Sara tipped back her head and blew another stream of smaller bubbles toward the flock. "They know you." Already, she was talking. "They're birds with brains the size of a pea. They don't know me." Without looking at him, she dipped the wand in the soap. "They know you because you feed them." His hand fell back to his flight bag where a loaf of stale French bread waited to be crumbled. How did she know? "They make good company. They don't talk." "My, you are so charming." Rolling her eyes, she batted his arm. "How did you ever land a diplomatic job?" The simple brush of her fingers against his bicep shot a bolt of desire straight south. Why was it again that he should stay away from her? Looking into her wide brown eyes, a bubble resting on her head like the crown this princess-type no doubt earned, he couldn't think of a single reason to haul his sorry butt off the bench. "I don't talk much so there's less chance of shoving my boot in my mouth." She extended her leg—damn, the sun overhead was cranking hot—and pointed her toes inside high-heeled strappy sandals. "I chew on my foot quite regularly." A laugh rasped free. Talking wasn't so bad when she amused him. "It's a pretty foot." "That's the oddest compliment I've ever received." "Any woman looking for fawning Romeo crap should probably bypass a guy like me." As close as he would come to warning her off. Her slow sexy smile said she wasn't walking anywhere except right over his resolve to stay clear. "So you have a—what's the phrase?— a foot fetish? " "Not particularly." He swept aside the bubble clinging to her hair, then let his fingers glide down the strand. "But for you, I could see my way clear to cultivating one...."

Chapter 5 Splashing her face in the jungle stream, Sara blinked against the bright morning sun blasting spikes of light through the leafy canopy. Rustling sounded behind her as Lucas erased signs they'd slept under the cover of palm branches. Or rather she had slept against his chest. She somehow doubted he'd let down his guard long enough. Guilt pinched, reminding her how easy it would be to slide back into her old dependent ways. She needed to carry her own load, for everyone's sake, especially for her daughter still sleeping curled on her

side. Which meant taking care of herself. Sara rifled through her knapsack, careful to shield her hands from Lucas's sight, and unearthed the small black insulin pouch from the side. Thank God she'd decided to pack an extra case. Another quick glance reassured her Lucas couldn't see her. She considered telling him. Certainly it was nothing to be ashamed of, but she feared he wouldn't let her pull her own weight. He'd lost so much blood from a stab wound she had inflicted. He was leading the way, working harder in setting up camp and carrying Lucia. No. If she told him, he would snatch the backpack from her hands and carry it, as well. She pulled out the glu cose monitor, pricked her thumb, watched for the results. . .sixty milligrams per deciliter. Low. But not as bad as she would have expected given her erratic diet. She would keep her peppermints within easy reach today. Hitching up her shirt, she inched her waistband down and swabbed an alcohol patch along her stomach. With a speed born of practice, she drew the insulin into the syringe and pierced her skin with barely a wince. Done. She cleared up the supplies, zipped the case closed again and stuffed it down into the backpack. As long as the temperature stayed constant, her insulin did not need refrigeration. A twig snapped behind her. Clutching the bag to her chest, she jerked around — eyes drawn to the opened front of their lean-to. Lucia stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn, grubby fists scrubbing the sleep from her eyes. Sara stifled the urge to dunk her daughter in the stream. Lucas had already warned her about leeches. Cup the water and check it first, as much bathing as they could risk. "Morning, chica." Sara smoothed a hand over her daughter's smudged brow. "Are you all rested for more walking?" "Yep." She rolled up to sit. "But it's just us today, right?" "Uhmm." Her face scrunched with the early warning signs of a tantrum. "Does he—" she pointed to Lucas "—have to come with us? I just want my mama." How could she have forgotten to talk to Lucia about Lucas being her father? They'd been so concerned with escape, staying quiet, and then setting up for the night, Lucia falling asleep. Her daughter had been told plenty of stories about her father, but that he was dead. Would Lucas want to explain together? She glanced at him washing his hands a few steps farther downstream and found him staring back, wait-

ing. He'd heard. Her heart pinched all over again. What a sad father-daughter beginning. He should have been there to count her precious pink toes. Except they hadn't been pink. They had been a frightening gray color, so unbelievably tiny she'd been terrified her three-pound daughter wouldn't live to breathe on her own without the help of a respirator. She was so damn sick of hospitals and medicines and guarding every word that came out of her mouth. She wanted to crawl up against Lucas's chest and cry all the tears she hadn't allowed herself then because she'd wanted her baby girl to see only smiles for however long she lived. But she'd given up whining a long time ago. Buck up. "Lucas, do we have a minute or two to talk with Lu cia before we go?" He nodded, picking his way through the undergrowth along the stream bank to stop beside them, dropping to sit on a small boulder. So as not to tower over his daughter? Sara prayed so as she continued to pray he would be sensitive enough to handle this moment—and their child—with care. Heaven knew he'd been a taciturn man before, but beyond aloof, he'd grown harder over the years. Surely only because of the survival situation. Sara looped an arm around her daughter's too-tiny shoulders and placed a hand on Lucas's knee to establish a family sort of link, even if only a symbolic one. "Lucia, chica, this is your padre." "My papa?" Frowning, she studied Lucas with confused brown eyes, then looked back at her mother. "My papa lives in heaven with God." "That's what I was told. But it wasn't true." "Well, where's he been?" Lucia asked, risking only quick looks at Lucas while inching closer to her mother. "He thought I died years ago. He never even knew about you." Please don't let this turn into an awkward discussion of how babies were made. Lucia's forehead furrowed deep. "You both think wrong a lot. I thought grown-ups was supposed to know everything. Are you sure you got it right this time?" The night they'd made this precious child came blazing back to mind in sensual detail, tingling along nerves and bringing the remembered scent of him, them together. She'd known in her heart they'd made a baby, even if she wanted to wait to be certain before she told him. Whispering her certainty to the priest that day of the embassy attack had persuaded the father to perform the bedside ceremony. "I can assure you, he is your father." The weight of Lucas's eyes drew her attention to him. Was he remembering those steamy Latin nights— and afternoons—spent together in his flat, at hers, even on a secluded beach, the reticent man totally unre strained when it came to lovemaking?

And wow, was he ever looking reticent at the moment. He'd always been one to erect barriers the minute anyone came too close. Lucas must be scared to death. Still the child should come first and if he didn't scrounge up a smile soon... Ahh. The man did have the most amazing smile, even more precious for its rarity. Lowering to one knee, he moved closer to Lucia, meeting her at eye level. Watching the two of them settle into their first acknowledged moment as father and daughter...Sara swallowed down tears and slid her arm from Lucia to let them bond. He rested a hand on Lucia's little shoulder, his pat a bit awkward, touching coming from such a confident man. "I'm sorry I didn't know about you sooner. I would have come to get you right away." "What would you have done with me?" "I would have taken you home with me, back in the United States." "What if I don't wanna go home with you?" Her bottom lip thrust out. "I like Tio Ramon. You're gwumpy." His eyebrows slammed together. "Grumpy?" Lucia inched back against Sara, ducking from under Lucas's hand. His face smoothed, eyebrows pulling apart again with as much studied concentration as a major weight-lifting feat. "Sorry. I don't know much about being a dad. I'm more used to being the boss, and sometimes that means I have to be grumpy. Maybe, uh, you could teach me what papas do." Lucia clung to her mother's shirt. Sara struggled to suppress the urge to tuck her child under her arm, away from anyone who might step on her tender baby feelings, even inadvertently. She wasn't used to sharing her child, but she'd better get used to it. Lucia peered up at Lucas from under her lashes, toes of her hiking boots turning in to touch. "Papas are supposed to buy toys and give their kids candy and read stories and play horsie." Well, hell. Sara checked those cute little toes angled in. No doubt deliberately. Her Machiavellian daughter wasn't so scared she couldn't manipulate a battle-hardened veteran. Could Lucia's acceptance of the changes in her life be that easily accomplished? She hoped so, for all their sakes, but she would still have to hold strong for both of them, because she refused to see her baby girl hurt ever again. Scratching his forehead, then plowing his fingers through his stream-dampened hair, he finally nodded. "We can shop for candy when we get out of the jungle. I read pretty well, but I've never played horsie." "I guess we kinda played horsie yesterday when you carried me. You didn't even get tired." She looked up at Sara. "I gotta go."

"What?" "I gotta go use the bushes." Of course. She'd only just woken. Still the conversational jolt jarred her in the middle of such an intense moment. Standing, Sara extended her hand. "I'll take you, then we can start our walk. You'll get to play horsie all day long."

Ramon whipped off the camo cover shrouding the Jeep inside the bunker where he and the woman had hidden through the night. Gunfire still sputtered sporadically, frightening even the monkeys silent. And the woman. After startling from the bushes, she hadn't spoken beyond saying that she'd been Padilla's captive, that she'd stowed away in one of the trucks when Padilla's troops had left to launch their attack—and she would do anything to survive. He believed the last part at least. If she'd lied about the rest, he couldn't let her leave and alert Padilla. If she spoke the truth, then he couldn't turn his back on her. His enemy might sink to abusing women, but Ramon would not allow himself to live like an uncivilized animal. He'd busted his ass, sacrificed years of his life living on the run and fighting for the right to protect what was his in the guerilla days. He wouldn't turn his back on all he'd fought for by ignoring a woman's plea. He refused to be less of a man for the sake of his own survival. However, if she was a traitor, she could make a valuable bargaining tool to exchange for Sarafina and Lu cia. If Sarafina and Lucia were dead, then the woman would also offer a means with which to strike back at the bastard who'd massacred his family. Rage threatened to pierce his thin veneer of calm. He wouldn't surrender. His gun weighed heavier in his hands these days, but he couldn't let the enemy—or this woman—see signs of age or weakness. He needed to keep his eyes on her at all times so she wouldn't knife him in the back. He'd trained his Uzi on her and led her to the bunker where they'd hidden through the night. He recognized the survivor spirit in her, stirring unwilling respect. The woman was toned, young and fit, a long-legged blonde in running shorts and a black T-shirt. Barefoot. But that wouldn't pose a problem as long as his stored Jeep started. Still, she needed to be ready to run on his order. Reaching under the backseat, he unearthed the duffel stored for just such an emergency. He unzipped, not even needing to check the inventory—a change of clothes, dried food, water purification tablets. A knife and gun. He passed her an oversize pair of sandals. "Do you have a name?" he finally thought to ask, not that it mattered. She was simply a means to an end, Padilla's whore, willingly or not. Although she didn't look abused. Health hummed from her.

Her lips pursed so tightly he wondered if she would answer, found that anger seethed within him in spite of his resolution to stay numb and in control. He thought about slapping her—but knew his rage was misdirected, and he prided himself on being fair. She reached for the shoes, careful not to touch him. "Nola." "All right, Nola. Do what I say and you will live. Hesitate for even a second and you will die. Is that understood?" She nodded, taking the shoes and following his every move with those wide wary eyes. Again he studied her flawless skin. He'd seen Padilla's handiwork before. The man enjoyed pain, knives, cigars. Padilla also used electrodes, which left no marks. Ramon swallowed down rage, and even relief that his family hadn't been captured. He couldn't think over-long about Sarafina or he would go insane. Financing her expensive, difficult pregnancy had delayed work completing his compound for almost six months, a sacrifice he would make again and again to save a woman who was like family to him. He couldn't let her and Lucia suffer for his sake now. "Get in the Jeep." He hauled himself into the driver's seat. "Buckle up. The ride will be bumpy." Once she settled inside, he tugged a bandanna from the bag and tied her wrists to the armrest, tight. She didn't even wince. Her submissiveness spooked him. He had women of his own, always willing and never mistreated beyond a simple slap if they forgot their place. He was better than Padilla after all. He considered telling the woman she was safe with him, but then fear could keep her docile. Best to let her wonder. Cranking the ignition, he pumped the gas pedal until the vehicle roared to life. He wouldn't resort to rape. He'd never needed to, and right now with the grief and loss surging through him, sex was the last thing on his mind. Midway through the night he'd realized survival and revenge weren't enough. He owed it to his country to regain power. He had money stashed away. As long as some of his troops escaped, they could lead additional fighters he would hire. He had a two-way radio to use when the time was right. First, he had to find Sarafina and Lucia. That old book was right about the whole "best of times, worst of times" dichotomy.

Lucas hitched the wriggling kid higher on his back and tried not to think too much about their "family" conversation earlier. He'd officially taken on the role as the father of the restless human backpack currently drooling through the shoulder of his flight suit. Like a little more moisture even mattered after the morning of tropical rain showers. The makeshift kiddie carrier from his survival vest helped distribute her weight better and when she slept, he didn't have to worry about her sliding off. Blisters on his shoulders from the vines were a small price to pay for keeping the kid happy.

Once he'd let Sara tell Lucia he was her father, that was it. No going back, because there wasn't a chance in hell he would damage a child's trust that way. There was also the possibility Sara was telling the truth. Stop thinking, damn it. A fat striped snake slithered under a rotting log and into the stream alongside them. He needed to focus on getting out of the jungle alive. They still had at least one more night in the elements before they reached the CIA safe house. Once they were in the States, he could deal with the rest. On the positive side, the gunfire had stopped. But that could also be bad news if Chavez was now free to roam. One hurdle at a time. They had to get through today first and by the looks of Sara, he could be carrying her before much longer. She'd refused to let him cart her backpack as well as Lucia because of his arm. While she was on a bushes break, he'd taken the water bottles out of her sack and shoved them inside his vest. When she'd confronted him, he'd dared her to fish inside his soaking wet clothes to get them back. Her smile would have made him grin, too—if the curve of her mouth hadn't been so weak. Maybe he could set Lucia down to skip along for a while and carry the backpack. The kid could use some exercise and he would put his arm around Sara's waist, her pride be damned. Lucia wriggled again, clamping for balance on his injured arm—holy crap! He bit back a longer stream of crewdog-worthy curses. "Try to be still. Okay?" "I don't wanna walk anymore," she whined. "Well, kid, technically you're not walking," he mumbled. "Huh?" "Never mind." "I wanna go home." Sara drew up alongside them, steam rising from her drying clothes. "We will, chica, very soon. When we get there, you'll have all your favorite things to eat and fresh clothes." "And a pool? I'm hot. I wanna swim." "As soon as possible," Sara reassured her, taking over the conversation, thank God. "How much more? Are we there yet? You said one day." He prepped for another Lucia litany of grown-ups are sure wrong a lot. Instead, Sara pressed a finger to her daughter's mouth. "Remember when our bridge broke?"

"Uh-huh." Her voice quivered. "That means we have to take a longer way," Sara explained for the thirty-seventh time. Yet her voice stayed patient, even if her eyes looked weary. In fact, every inch of her appeared dog tired. He studied the sun, took a quick navigational reading. They hadn't made it as far as he would like, and they still had at least an hour's daylight left. Did Sara have sixty seconds, much less sixty minutes, of energy left? She'd been a dynamo before, wearing him out on more occasions than he was comfortable remembering at the moment. But maybe he had unrealistic expectations. Heat, rain and stress could take its toll, too. "Lucas," she huffed, "don't even think about stopping for me. You need to see a doctor for your arm before it turns green and rots off." He'd forgotten that uncanny knack of hers for reading his mind—and for making him laugh. "Turns green, huh? What do you think of that, Lucia?" "Ewwww," the imp groaned. Sara's mouth pulled tight. "Don't you laugh at me, Lucas Quade." "I wouldn't dream of it." God help them if she saw into all of his thoughts since she could lynch him for any number of them— ranging from how he wanted to peel off her damp shirt or kiss the tight pucker from her lips, even though he wasn't sure he trusted her anymore. He whacked a protruding bush, scattering butterflies and lizards. "I wouldn't be stopping for you. I'd be stopping for the chatterbox on my back." "Uh, chatterbox has fallen asleep." No way. That fast? He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, he found a tiny face tucked into the curve of his neck, even though her arms stayed locked tight around him. Her eyes were closed, bow mouth open just a little, puffy sleep breaths gusting. A fresh pool of drool spread on the shoulder of his flight suit. "Lucas!" Sara called. "Look out." He jerked around—just in time to keep from running smack into a low branch. "Damn it. Thanks." Regaining his footing, he knocked aside palms with extra force. A toucan squawked. Sara continued to cruise alongside him. He slowed, even though she insisted she didn't need it. They wouldn't get anywhere if she gave out.

Sara smiled up at him. "I do that a lot, too." "Do what? Trip over logs? Run into trees?" he asked, not really caring since he was enjoying seeing Sara's smile. "Watch Lucia sleep and marvel at how perfect she is. She was too tiny for so long after being born prematurely, I was afraid she would break if I touched her. So I watched her sleep a lot more in those days." Babies scared the crap out of him like that, too. Some grown-ups, too. One in particular. Sara looked too small and fragile for his peace of mind. He should keep her mind off her exhaustion since waking the chatterbox wasn't an option. "Tell me about Lucia." "My favorite subject. You don't know what you've let yourself in for." Sara's Madonna smile stretched wider. "She's tough, like you noticed, in spite of how small she is. She likes to be outdoors, running, swim ming, climbing trees." "She seems to talk well for her age." Something he hadn't thought of before. How well did a three-year-old talk versus a four-year-old? She was also bilingual, a sign of age perhaps. Or genius. Her sentences mixed languages, but he barely noticed anymore since he understood both and somehow her jumble always made sense. "But of course I don't know much about kids." "Being a preemie slowed her down at first with motor skills, but she has more than caught up now, even though she's still naturally petite." That could explain the size. For the first time he allowed himself to admit how much he wanted it to be true. Beyond wanting Sara to have stayed safe, the thought of his kid growing inside her... Except hadn't she said the pregnancy was difficult? Of course it was. She'd been shot multiple times. If she had been pregnant, then it was a wonder all the surgery and medication hadn't harmed the baby or made her miscarry. While Sara had been recovering, he'd been back in the States moving on with his life. "What about you?" "What do you mean?" "Are you okay? Do you have any lasting problems from being shot?" She paused to sweep aside a jutting cluster of palms, taking extra care to dance around the scurrying insects before looking at him again. "Ramon thought of himself as my savior, watching over me for my father and making sure I didn't betray his memory by turning my back on the family. He treated me like a pampered niece, took care of me, set me up as nanny to his grandchildren. Lied to me and wouldn't let me go, but I guess it could have been so much worse." Something about her answer niggled at him. She was quibbling on an element. Which one? There was a lot of subject matter to cover over five years. "That must have been hell."

"It's going to be all right. I'll see my brother. You've met Lucia. This is much more than I dared dream." Sporadic gunfire popped again in the distance. The fighting resuming? A hunter? Hunting for them? He couldn't know for sure until it would be too late. He wouldn't let it be too late. Not only did he have to worry about Sara and Lucia, but he was responsible for two flight crews back at the Cartina National Airbase. God only knew what had happened to the Delta dudes earmarked to do a smash and grab for a woman who wasn't there any longer. "I will get us out of here." "I know." "I won't look at your dead body on a stretcher again." "You mentioned that before. How could that have happened?" He needed to scrub a hand over his face to pull himself together, but had his hands full of kid. "Damn. The doctor who assisted must have lied to me. Who knows what he pumped into you to make you appear lifeless." She shivered, rubbing her hands along her arms. "A quarter of this country is on Ramon's payroll." "I even paid a priest to give you a proper burial." Her feet faltered to a stop. "That must have been horrible for you." It had been hell—no other word fit for the black hole he'd fallen into. Taking care of Tomas had pulled him back out. He didn't ever want to step near that edge again. "I am so sorry." "It's not your fault." "Then why are you being so distant?" She held up a hand. "Never mind. Forget I said anything." "No. You have a right to ask." They were married, for God's sake. "I've never been good with showing —" "Feelings? I remember." Sweat trickled into her T-shirt, likely trekking right between her breasts. "I guess I fell into an old pattern there that led us to too many arguments in the past." "I am sorry." He pulled his eyes off the path of perspiration beads chasing each other into her clothes. "But I can't afford to think about anything except getting us out of here alive." "Of course." "I wish I could say I'll be more what you're looking for afterward. You were wise not to marry me." "But I did."

Eyes forward. Watch the landscape ahead and keep marching, dude, because he wanted a taste of Sara's skin more than he wanted a shower and a real meal. "Let me rephrase. You were right to turn me down when I asked, because I definitely wasn't the right sort of man for you."

Chapter 6 Sara held her spine as straight as the towering trees lining their path—in spite of the thousand-pound backpack and weighty pain of hearing Lucas say he regretted marrying her. It shouldn't hurt. She'd turned him down three times, after all. But it did, because she'd only told him no in hopes that he would listen and change. Then they could have everything. She could still recite every word of each proposal. The first, he'd worked into an offhand discussion after they had sex for the first time. The second panted into her ear during sex. The final proposal came in an ultimatum during their fight on the embassy lawn the day she'd been shot. She hadn't even realized how foolish she'd been until it was too late. Regret stole her breath faster than the exertion. She slowed to a stop, slumping against a trunk as big around as the pillars she'd once lured Lucas behind to steal a kiss. "You feel used, of course." "We did the practical thing at the time." He stopped, as well, without comment, confirming she must really look tired for him not to press on when their lives depended on speed. "I understood that then and now." At least Lucia was still napping peacefully on his back. "I was never much of a practical woman, with my silly bubbles and supply-closet ambushes for a quick make-out session." "You used to drive me crazy." He swayed from foot to foot in a rocking motion guaranteed to soothe Lucia into sleeping longer. Did he even notice? His instincts for children were better than he thought. "I liked driving you crazy." Yet she found his paternal sway tugged at another corner of her heart with an equal, if different, strength. "Oh, did you?" "Did you really think I forgot my underwear beneath your pillow? Or that my perfume spilled inside your top desk drawer by accident?" "I couldn't open the thing without getting turned on." "I know." They had shared some wonderful times together. She'd lost sight of that joy buried so deeply under her guilt and grief.

His silvery-blue eyes glinted with more than a hint of arrogant surety. "Actually I was thinking more of the time at the ambassador's dinner when you—" "Shhhh! What if Lucia wakes?" Their daughter didn't need to hear the details of gropings under a banquet table. "You didn't seem to mind one bit by dessert." "You always were more woman than I could handle." "I seem to recall you handled me just fine once we got back to your quarters that night," she retorted smartly—and vaguely in case her drooling daughter woke without notice. His eyes snapped to hers, held, the humid air between them full of memories of what happened after that dinner—falling clothes and boundaries. They'd stayed awake all night and watched the sunrise together. She'd told him she loved him. He'd kissed the top of her head and breathed in deeply as if catching the scent of her hair. At the time, she'd grieved because he hadn't echoed her words. Now she wondered why she hadn't cherished the intensity of his actions. Again, here she was, needing his help. "Thank you for saving my brother five years ago and for saving us now." "Did you really think I would walk away?" "Of course not." He was too honorable. He straightened, securing Lucia higher. "Come on, we need to get moving." She pushed away from the tree and followed his broad shoulders again. She couldn't change the past, but she could set some parts of it straight again. Sure, her feelings still stung from his earlier comment about them being wrong for each other, but she couldn't do something childish like snap at him. She was woman enough now to know she owed him better than that. Sara pulled up alongside him so she could see his face. "I wanted to say yes to your proposals." He stopped blinking, a small gesture, but enough for her to know she'd surprised him, not that he said anything. Okay, so her stinging pride burned a little hotter, but she'd made up her mind to see this through. "Don't you want to know why I turned you down?" "You told me before." He hiked down a slight slope. "You loved your job, your country, your freedom." "I was an immature idiot then." She grabbed a vine for balance down the small hill which felt more like a mountain, thanks to her now ten-ton backpack. "I wanted you to chase me." "What?" His head jerked toward her. So she'd finally shocked a real reaction from him. Wow. It had only taken five years, a mistaken death and a surprise kid. She deserved to savor the moment. "I had to chase you so blasted hard, I wanted a sign that you felt the

same frenzy." "Good God, woman." He walked faster, boots stomping harder, trampling a patch of pink orchids. "You damn near brought me to my knees every time you I walked into a room." Now that, she didn't believe. "You've never been on your knees in your life." "Then you weren't looking very hard." Further confirmation that she'd been an idiot. Her heart ached from more than exertion. She stepped ahead of him and stopped, forcing him to look at her full-on. "So you were really blown away for me." "By you," he corrected. "Blown away by you. Yeah." His jaw flexed. "I was." She touched his beard-stubbled face. A simple stroke over his hard, high cheekbone, but his choppy admission flowed like poetry over her heart. They may not have a future together, but for what they'd shared in the past, she appreciated hearing those starkly spoken words. His unshaven skin rasped along her oversensitive fingertips. He might act different, more distant than before, but he felt so very familiar. Her hand crept up to the silver flecks that marked all the years they'd spent apart. "If we shouldn't have married then, where do we go from here?" "I'll take care of you and Lucia." Ah, a practical, honorable answer. He hadn't changed so much at all. She wanted to laugh and maybe cry a little, too. Instead, her arm dropped to her side. "I may not be the silly twit I was then, but I still want more from life than to be taken care of. For that matter, I've been taken care of for the past five years." He hitched slumping Lucia higher and brushed past Sara. "I'll help you until you get your feet under you then. But when it comes to Lucia, to hell with independence. The child won't go without." The child? Our daughter, she wanted to retort. She shook off the prickly sensation. "Of course. What about the fact that we're married?" "What about it?" He fished into his survival vest and pulled out a water bottle, passing it to her. She sipped to clear her throat more than to rehydrate her weary body. "Do you want to dissolve the mar riage?" "We may have slept together, but we never consummated the vows." "Oh. Of course." She recapped the bottle, wondering why she was pushing this now when they had days, weeks, a lifetime to sort through the mess they'd made. "You only married me because you had to." "I think you've got that backward."

She passed the bottle to him. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for the way I played with your heart." "I said you brought me to my knees, but I never said I had a heart for anyone to play with." Hooking an arm back under Lucia's bottom, he used his free hand to tip the bottle and drink, his throat moving. His mouth placed right where hers had been seemed somehow intimate, even though it surely had more to do with survival than sex. "What a clean shot at my presumptuous ego, Lucas. I was young and silly, totally caught up in the romanticism of everything. I should have been more up-front with you about—" "Sara." He swiped his wrist over his mouth to dry a trickling drop of water. "What?" He tapped her shoulder with the bottle they'd shared. "We were both so hot for each other, neither of us was particularly concerned with talking." "We certainly were." She could see her desire echoed in his eyes, the urge to kiss, connect again. "We still are." "You're right." "But we shouldn't do anything about it." "Right again." "We have so much more to talk about." Was that her voice going all breathy? "Things to settle, become reacquainted. We moved too fast before." Dios, had she just admitted that maybe, just maybe, she wanted to try again? Exhaustion must be running deeper than she'd thought for her to make such a foolish confession. She straightened. "Thank you for the break. I'm ready to go." So much for being a more levelheaded woman, because any further encouragement and she would throw herself at Lucas all over again.

Something was wrong with Sara. Lucas couldn't avoid the obvious any longer. She'd almost drifted off to sleep walking. He'd stopped early for the night by a waterfall, and she had gone to sleep sitting up, halfway through brushing her teeth. She looked so damn cute with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. He'd tugged the toothbrush out and gently lowered her onto her side. Luckily, two bananas later, Lucia curled up against her mother, content to rest quietly rather than talk to him. Fair enough. He had plenty to do setting up camp— which gave him more time to think and worry about Sara.

A trek through the jungle was tiring, no question, but her exhaustion went beyond that. His job as a com mander honed his instincts in watching others for signs of nearing the end of their reserves. She'd been a dynamo of energy before. Not just in the bedroom, but she'd loved to dance at embassy functions until the band shut down. Or after working late into the evening, corral him into a midnight meal in downtown Cartina. She'd mentioned a difficult pregnancy and slow recovery from her injuries. But it had been five years. An itchy sensation prickled along the back of his neck. Like a niggling thought? Or the sense of eyes watching him. Scanning the perimeter of their small camp, he reached for his gun strapped to his waist. Using the weapon would be a last resort since the sound would announce their location to Chavez—or worse yet, Padilla. But he didn't plan to wrestle a jaguar. He inched to his feet, crouching. A pair of eyes glowed a few inches away. He blinked, his vision adjusting to the dark. Lucia. His exhale of relief only lasted a second before his brain keyed him into a more serious crisis. The kid was awake and Sara needed her sleep. How was he supposed to keep a child occupied in the jungle? He could fly a military cargo plane in combat, command an entire squadron of aviators, trek through this jungle for months on end if need be. But he was seriously deficient in the fairy-tale department. Be logical. She was just a little person, right? Think about what anyone would need. "Do you need to use the bushes?" "Nuh-uh." "How about something to eat?" He scooped up a mango, pulled his knife from his boot and sliced off a wedge. She scrunched her nose—ah crap—no tantrums, kiddo. Maybe he would do better wrestling that jaguar after all. Lucia popped the fruit into her mouth and chewed, swiping her wrist over a trickle of juice at the corner of her mouth. "I like bugs." Huh? Maybe he could think up a bug fairy-tale. Wasn't there even some kid movie like that? He needed to invest in some serious DVD rental time when he got back. "Yeah, I like them, too." "I like to eat'em most of all." Well that sure surprised a smile out of him. He passed her another slice of mango. "I'll bet your mama

doesn't like that much." "Not much," she agreed, her mouth full. "You ever eat bugs?" "Yep." He carved another slice for himself. She stopped chewing. "Really? Did your madre get mad?" "I was twenty-three years old. My mama didn't know." "Wow!" she gasped. "You ate bugs when you was a grown-up? Wow! Mama says I'm too old to eat bugs, but wait'll I tell her." Great. "You should listen to your mother." Leaves rustled as she inched away from Sara, closer to him. "Why did you eat'em?" "I work for the military." "What's military?" "Soldiers," he explained, but even in the dark he could see her brow was still furrowed, so he continued, "army men, with guns." "Oh." She scooted toward Sara again. Guns. Of course she was afraid of them after the past two days. Good God, the kid had nearly been blown up more than once. He slid his gun back into the harness, grateful for the cover of night that hopefully masked the dark weapon. "There are good guys with guns and bad guys. Bad ones try to hurt people, like yesterday. Good guys with guns try to protect people. I'm one of the good guys." Still, she didn't move nearer again. Smart kid not to believe everything somebody told her. "So why do military peoples eat bugs like little kids do?" "For survival training." "Huh?" Her brow crinkled again. He needed to remember that just because a kid was smart didn't mean she had his vocabulary yet. He had a lot more to learn than could be found in a few cartoon flicks, and far more than when he'd brought Tomas to the States. "Guys like me eat them for food when we're away from home." "Like now?" "Exactly." Rustle. Rustle. She inched her way back over to him. "So I can eat bugs'stead of those icky yellow nanners off the tree?"

"If it's the right kind of bug. But you know to stay away from the frogs, right?" Tree frogs in the region were almost always poisonous. "Mama told me. Frogs make you sick. But what about the bugs? Do we gots the right kind?" She scooched closer until her tiny knee bumped against his. "Yummy kinds that crunch." Crunch? He could imagine Sara shuddering over that. "I'll check around in the morning for a yummy bug. Although I'll still need to ask your mother first." "If you're my padre then you could say it's okay." He should probably do something, like pat her back. Yeah, that sounded right, so he patted, got her shoulder instead, but she didn't screech or anything so he must have done it right. God Almighty, she was so small. The awesome responsibility of keeping her alive and safe in the middle of a damn jungle crashed down on him. He was so in over his head. "We should still ask your mother in case you've got allergies—foods that make you sick." "If you ask her, I'll never get to eat'em again. She thinks bugs are icky." If he didn't watch out, he'd lose all of his objectivity around this kiddo fast. He'd better do a little maneuvering of his own before she had him rolling logs at midnight to unearth a bedtime snack. "I'll make a deal with you. If you'll try to go back to sleep, and be really quiet during our walk, I'll see about talking your mama into a bug feast." "Gracias! That's better than a horsie ride. Buenas noches." She slid away and curled against her mama again. Huffy sleeping breaths soon reassured him he could relax with nothing more to do than stay on guard for prowling animals. She may not have hugged him goodnight, but he could still feel the imprint of her sitting beside him. She was real. A kid he would know for the rest of his life. What did he understand about parenting? He didn't have any example to follow of playdates in the park or bedtime stories with prayers. "Gracias." The repeated whisper threw him for a second...until he realized this thanks came from Sara. Did these two ever sleep? Or were they both hell-bent and determined to chew on his emotions all night long? "For what?" "For making her happy while I napped. For figuring out ways to keep her quiet without making her afraid." Her soft voice in the night brought back too many memories of other nighttime whispers between them. He'd been with other women, but never one who shook him up as much as Sara. Damn, he was raw right now, scared as hell something might happen to these two females on his watch, wondering how he would carry them both out of the jungle.

"It's all a matter of survival." Speaking of survival... "Are you feeling okay now?" "I only needed a nap. But I can't believe I fell asleep without even taking off my shoes." She wriggled beside him, her shoes thud, thudding onto the ground. "Although I do feel much more rested now." The trek would have been rough on anyone. Maybe he was imagining the excess exhaustion. She certainly sounded better than the woman who'd fallen asleep sitting up with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth. For a minute—a minute only—he let himself think about what he would do if everything she said was true. Lucia was his. She'd never lied to him. Using him for Tomas was understandable. Forgivable. So if all of that were true, there would be nothing to stop him from kissing her. Funny how she could feel his intent before he even moved. Sara dug her fingers in the soft earth to keep from launching herself into Lucas's arms. She knew he wanted to kiss her. She wanted the same thing. Lucia was asleep. So why not? Nothing more could come of it tonight. She would simply enjoy the warmth of his mouth. Perhaps she would even discover she'd imagined the electricity between them all those years ago. Or that it had faded, and they would both be free of the complicating mess of sorting out their past. They could go about the business of raising their child and start fresh lives for themselves. But first, she had to kiss him. Or rather, she wanted him to kiss her. Maybe a small part of the old Sara lived after all, because her pride dictated that since she'd chased him so hard before, this time she wanted him to come to her. "Sara?" He groaned her name. "Si." She whispered her consent, meeting him halfway as they both tipped forward. He tasted of toothpaste and mangoes and a hint of sweat, and oh, she hadn't imagined a thing. If anything, no memory could do justice to the spark that first second their mouths brushed, held, then finally opened. She rediscovered the feel of his hard body under her hands, the way she fit against him when his arms gathered her closer, his broad shoulders curving to cradle her. The kiss could only go so far. She knew it as well as he must. But there was a certain freedom in being able to savor the moment because they didn't have to make any decisions about whether or not to take things further. She'd missed this, missed him. After five years without a man's touch, without his touch, her body craved the comfort as much as the passion. Although the passion was about a second from nosing ahead in the race. Lucas eased from her, his ragged breaths reassuring her he was suffering, too.

Gasping, she sagged against the tree supporting their lean-to. "So you eat bugs?" His surprised snort of laughter tickled her ears and made her smile in return. She loved making this solemn man laugh. He slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side, his chin resting on her head. "You heard all of that, too?" "I certainly did." His fingers played up and down her arm, his hot breath in her hair. "Then I'm surprised you still wanted to kiss this mouth, knowing what's gone into it." His muscles rippled against her, reminding her of his honed strength that had carried them through the past two days. She'd never considered before now that he only relaxed during sex. Even when they'd gone on dates, he stayed on alert, always watching as if for threats. Perhaps a by-product of his military training combined with his already intense personality. Having lived a constant vigil against danger for five years, she now respected how exhausting that could be. "I was thinking more about what came from your mouth, how you put Lucia at ease, beyond just getting her to go to sleep or be quiet during our walk. You helped her smile during what could have been the most frightening time of her life." "A fluke. I'm not good with kids. No experience." "I beg to differ. Just because you aren't into reading The Three Bears and playing hide-and-seek doesn't mean you're not good with children. You listened to her, talked to her. Children sense and appreciate sincerity." His rippling muscles went harder against her. "Don't romanticize me." "I know you better than you think, or at least I used to. I guess we've both changed over the past five years." "I'm just glad you're okay." Well, she was glad to hear that. She'd almost forgotten what a master of the understatement he could be. "Where do we go from here?" "We have to get out alive first." Night bugs hummed in the silence between them. "Do you want to come to the States?" "I want Lucia to get to know her father." His stroking fingers paused as did his breathing. When he didn't answer, nerves pattered up her spine like a thousand tiny caterpillars. "You want that, too, don't you?" He resumed caressing her arms—breathing, too. "She's my kid. Of course I want you both near me."

"Where do you live now?" How strange not to even know something so basic about his daily life. Asking felt like the early days of dating all over again. "I'm stationed at Charleston Air Force Base in South Carolina. Lucia will have beaches there, as well." "What do you do in Charleston?" "I'm flying again, C-l 7s now." "You started in the C-141 before you took the assistant air attache job at the embassy, right?" "Good memory." "I remember everything we said to each other." "We're not going to be able to pick up where we left off." So much could have changed over the years. He'd thought she was dead, which would have left him free to date other women. Sleep with other women. Oh, she did not like this jealousy clawing inside her. Dios Mio, what if— "You didn't marry someone else while I was dead, did you?" His chest shook with another surprised snort. "God no." Not much of a testimony for positive feelings about marriage. Still she would think of that later because right now she was too busy wallowing in relief that he hadn't committed to someone else. "I'm glad. That would have made things very complicated." "We're both different people now." His stroking hand slowed, cupping her arm and snuggling her closer against him. "So I guess that means we're starting from scratch." Hmm. Such a wonderful pillow. "Starting from scratch, but with a brother and child and history." As well as an intimate knowledge of what made the other scream with pleasure. She wriggled to get comfortable again, leaves rustling under her, although her current itch remaining from their kiss couldn't be eased by shifting around. Lucas's grunt stilled her. She hadn't elbowed him or hurt his arm, had she? She forced herself to relax, which melded her back against his chest, her bottom nestled between his legs — Her wonderful pillow was also wonderfully hot and turned-on. Heaven help them, it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 7 After another night spent in the Jeep, Ramon emptied a gas can into the tank. Only four more left. If he didn't find Sarafina and Lucia before sundown, he would be on foot with this strangely silent woman in tow instead of tied to the front seat.

Damnation, he'd expected to overtake them on the first day. But the bridge had blown, a tire went flat and then their tracks disappeared. His instincts told him he was on their trail. After all, it made sense that they would follow the river into town, a shorter route. He considered taking off after them on foot since the road wound far longer, but the risks of abandoning the Jeep far outweighed the benefits. If he followed the road, eventually their paths would merge. Worst-case scenario, he would come out ahead of them and wait in town. He untied Nola's wrists from the armrest. "Fill the canteens and then you can take a minute alone in the trees." Nodding, she obeyed. She always did, silently obedient, as if cowed into submission. Or biding her time. Either way, she was helpful as hell, which left his hands free to keep the gun raised and his eyes alert. Her silence was eerie, but Padilla was a sick bastard. He thought about his dead family and swallowed down the need to howl out his grief and blaze through the jungle. Later, he would have time to mourn them as they deserved. Now was for the living. Checking the oil, his gun always close at hand, Ramon struggled with images of what could be happening to Lucia or Sarafina. She'd once raged at him for keeping her secluded. Why couldn't she have understood he was only protecting her from twisted evil in the world, from bastards such as Padilla? Soft Sarafina didn't have half the steel of this woman, Nola, clearing away their camp with quiet efficiency. Watching her in action, though, he couldn't escape the sense that she'd picked up survival training somewhere. She always scooped water from where it was moving. She even filtered it through her shirt. She watched the sun as if gauging their location. So many small details that could mean nothing. He couldn't figure her out and that concerned him. He hadn't survived this long by ignoring instincts. Training only carried a man so far, and he'd reached the top. Or almost. He'd been damned close to taking control of the country. He'd been patient in collecting power and cultivating allies. He had a vision for his nation, a return to the true values of his people, one where tiny Cartina would command respect and influence world affairs. The weaklings in control now were too concerned with winning "friends." He spit to clear the acrid taste of failure from his mouth. Somehow, he would make Padilla pay. Ramon tossed the empty gas can into the back of the Jeep and hitched his Uzi over his shoulder again. Heaven help the man who'd dared take what little he had left.

A man could only take so much temptation, and last night had damn near done him in.

Lucas tossed the palm leaves back into the jungle, spreading them out to look like a natural falling and disguise their camp. Sara crouched by the river, waterfall splashing a too-tempting backdrop for an impromptu swim. Not that they could indulge anyway with their tag-along tot and the ever-present threat of leeches. Lucia sat cross-legged in the shade of an oversize bush eating another banana with scrunch-nosed disgust. She'd been a real trooper the past couple of days. He would have to reward her with a chocolate-covered bug feast when they made it to the States. He wasn't a big fan of worms or grubs, but ants actually tasted sweet. Hadn't he even seen some of those gummy worm candy things in a store once? Maybe she'd get a kick out of those. And what the hell was he doing going off on some freaking tangent about kid candy when he had lives to save? He yanked his eyes off Lucia before he started singing "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" as they skipped their way out of the jungle. If they hauled ass, they should be able to make the safe house by nightfall. Which brought up a-whole-nother concern. Did Sara have it in her to keep pace for a full day? He would insist on carrying the backpack and Lucia today. Their need for speed outweighed her prideful refusal to admit her limits. Sleeping in the jungle for another night posed too great a risk to their lives and his sanity. Which meant tonight he wouldn't be holding her while she slept. As much as he'd like to lose himself in her, there was too much to settle between them first. They'd been on the verge of calling it quits when she'd been shot, and their lives were only more complicated now. For the kid's sake, they needed to stay as civil and calm as possible. Crawling back into Sara's bed would blast his objectivity and calm right out of the sky. He pitched the lean-to bracing branches into a pile of rotting brush, scattering ants and sending a snake slithering into the water. Yet, in spite of all his logical arguments, he wanted to say to hell with it all. Go for it with his wife anyway. His focus narrowed on Sara's back as she knelt by the river. Damn it all, his instincts told him she was tell ing the truth. Her story didn't make a bit of sense factually, and he was certain she was leaving something out, but his gut insisted she'd been held against her will. He depended on his instincts every day to ensure the safety of the men and women under his command. No one had died on his watch, although there had been some close calls with all the crap going on in the Middle East. Two planes had been shot down but thanks to the top-notch, damn-well-always-up-to-date training of his flyers, they'd managed to bring down the crippled craft safely. No loss of life. He'd even insisted on post incident counseling for the aviators who'd been captured—Hunt, his copilot, Rokowsky, and the loadmaster, Price. They were all back on flying status and up to speed when

captivity could have screwed with their heads for life. So why not follow his instincts now when it came to Sara? If he didn't get his head out of his ass and start taking care of her, she could be scarred for life by the experience. He would have done twice this much for anyone in his command. Once they finished breaking camp and hit the trail, he would start making amends. He wouldn't let one crappy experience with a drugged-up teenage girl mess with his head. He also wouldn't let Sara carry that damn backpack.

Sara eased the insulin pouch from the backpack. She was feeling better today after a more restful night's sleep, but her blood sugar levels were still low. At least she'd slept well. She'd expected to spend hours tormented by the feel of Lucas's arms around her. Instead, she'd curved against him and relaxed. Five years' worth of on-guard tension slid away as if her body understood better than her brain that this was a safe place to be. Her body also remembered how very right they could be together. The kiss had been everything she remembered—and more. Because now she knew to appreciate the rare gift of such a beautiful sensation. He wanted her on at least some level. Certainly that wasn't enough to build a relationship, but she remem bered more about Lucas than just the power of his kiss. She also knew to be patient, let him find his pace and feelings. She thought back to five years ago when she'd done just that and the payoff had been amazing.... She could hardly believe she was finally on a real, honest-to-God date with Lucas Quade. Not just sharing a garden bench during lunch, the birds capturing as much of his attention as she did. Although when she'd dreamed of their first date, she hadn't envisioned anything like this. Sara gripped the rails alongside the glider's clear glass canopy. Lucas sat in the seat in front of her, steering them through the endless stretch of sky alongside the mountain ridge. The sleek fiberglass wings sliced through the air, Lucas finessing the craft through updrafts to keep them aloft. After snagging churrascos from a street vendor, Lucas had taken her to a small airfield where he'd rented a glider for the afternoon. At least he'd warned her ahead of time to wear shorts and gym shoes. So much for a more sophisticated look to impress her date, who happened to be ten years older than she was. She'd hoped to wear high heels because he seemed to think she had pretty feet. Wasn't she pathetic that she lapped up praise for her feet? Although the way his hot, hot, Dios-mio-hot eyes seared over her, she thought perhaps he liked the rest of her, too. Thank heavens, because she was liking him more and more every day and this reticent man gave little encouragement. But she couldn't complain about the casualness of their date. What an amazing view of her

countryside, towering mountains covered in vegetation. A person could get lost for months inside those lush jungles, any straight path cut by the winding rivers and streams. "Do you want to try flying?" he called over his shoulder. She stared at the stick in front of her and the rudders at her feet, moving in tandem with the set Lucas controlled up front. The airspeed indicator on her simple control panel read fifty knots. "I believe I'll leave the flying to you." He laughed low. "Fair enough, but feel free to hold the stick and follow if you'd like." "Maybe next time." "Next time we can try a hot air balloon." "And you also fly military cargo planes." "Just call me Chuck Yeager. There's nothing I can't fly." "Chuck who?" He chuckled. "Never mind. Forget it." Oh, she wouldn't forget it. In fact, she would find out about this Chuck Yeager fellow and anything else that might give her hints about Lucas. Silence in the engineless craft surrounded her as completely as the crystal-blue sky. Would his eyes turn as crystalline when he kissed her for the first time? Silly, frivolous thoughts. But damn it all, she'd worked hard to make this man notice her. She deserved a little fanciful reveling. After meeting him in the press brief—and nearly dropping her steaming cup of Colombian roast right down the front of her dress—she'd been determined to find out more about him. Which would take some work since he'd barely spoken two words to her that didn't have to do with translating for the reporters. She'd learned where he lunched, in the garden with his birds, away from people. Just when she'd been ready to make her move and join him, he'd suddenly skipped lunch there three days in a row. She'd almost exhausted her bubble supply waiting for him every afternoon. Then finally, success. A whole month of lunches later—but sheesh, he was worth the wait—he'd finally asked her out. "Tell me about your family." His question—or command—made her grin as they skimmed over the jungle ceiling. Finally he was instigating a personal conversation rather than discussing work. "I have only my father and brother." She lost herself in the endless blue sky. "My mother died of complications from a surgery when I was a teenager." "I'm sorry."

"As am I." She could have used a woman's advice to figure out this man. "Your father was the overprotective type?" "He spoiled me rotten." Smothered her. "Didn't he have family to help?" He dipped the left wing, angling around a jutting mountain. She grabbed the rail for balance to settle her tumbling stomach, an unsteadiness she suspected had more to do with the man than the sky. "Not really. But he and Tio Ramon—his childhood friend, not an actual brother—are both widowers. They supported each other through the loss of their wives and commiserated over bringing up children alone. They even shared nannies for us, since Tio Ramon's wife was bedridden for a long time before she died." "Sounds as if your families are close." A chill settled over her in spite of the warmth of the sun steaming through the clear glider canopy. She knew of Tio Ramon's criminal reputation, most if not all of it true. Was Lucas merely on a fishing expedition for further information? That he might lie to her, even use her for his government... Her stomach lurched again. Harder. "The embassy did a thorough background check on me." "I know." "You saw it?" Nerves smoothed with the first hints of anger. "Then why ask me these questions when you already know everything about me?" "I like the sound of your voice." Oh. And how she liked him. Anger and pain floated away as easily as her bubbles. This man was so much better at compliments than any poetic player rambling on about her eyes or face. "Sara? Hold up your hand." What? "I really don't want to fly this time." "That's not what I mean. Just reach forward. Trust me." She did—both trust and reach. He clasped her hand and kissed her wrist, holding for seconds until her eyes slid closed. Not that she had a bit of interest in opening her eyes anytime soon. She would worry about how to learn more about reticent Lucas later. Because one thing was certain. She definitely wanted to keep flying.

Lucas considered walking up behind Sara at the stream and simply kissing her. Why not? He'd decided to follow his instincts and believe her story about the captivity. They'd kissed the night before and it had been...well...damn. She'd rocked his world as much now as she had five years ago. But he couldn't instigate a sure-to-be passionate kiss, not with a kid around. Still he and Sara could begin getting comfortable with each other again, like with simple touches. No hardship for him. Lucas crossed the small clearing, his boots padding softly against the layers of vegetation. She didn't seem to hear him coming as she continued to lean over her backpack and some kind of black leather vanity kit. Hmm. He wouldn't mind tasting her toothpaste again. Rein it in, he reminded himself. Keep it low-key. Kneeling, he angled forward, his face close to her ear. "Good morning." He stroked down her arm just as she jolted under his touch. "Lucas?" She pivoted, toppling back to fall on her butt. Not the sort of reaction he'd been looking for, but they were all on edge. He should have remembered that. Plus she'd had five years of watching her back. The reaction came close to a PTSD move. Except what was up with the guilty expression on her face? And why were both her hands tucked behind her back? All those instincts he trusted blared to life. Something was off. He squeezed her shoulder gently, sensitivity not his long suit, but he knew how to listen. "Is something wrong?" "You startled me." "Really? What's that you're hiding behind your back?" She laughed. Tight. High-pitched. She brought one hand around, a peppermint in her fist. "You caught me. I should have checked with you first to make sure we weren't running low on food. Must be near my time of the month because I was craving sugar like a fiend." "Sweets?" "My weakness." "All right." Sounded logical. Too bad his instincts wouldn't shut off that infernal blaring. "Sorry for being an ass." "You're forgiven." Her smile almost quieted the noise in his head roaring louder than the waterfall behind

her. He hated himself for what he was about to do, even though he knew he had no choice. He couldn't help her if he didn't have all the facts. Lucas started to turn away, just enough that through his peripheral vision he could see her start relaxing. Her defenses and arm lowered. With lightning reflexes, he pivoted. His hand clamped down around her wrist. Tightening. Her fist opened. The syringe plopped onto the leafy floor, empty except for one last drop on the tip of the needle. Instincts quieted. His brain refused to register what he was seeing. He knew, but didn't want to accept. Then his mind revved full speed ahead in logging facts from the past two days. Sara had been gripped by sweats and shakes. She'd been beyond exhausted and so tied to keeping that damn backpack with her at all times. He'd seen enough drug users in his old neighborhood, not just Dawn, to recognize the signs of someone hiding a habit. Rage heated his gut, working its way up to sear his brain. At least half of that anger directed itself right back at him. He'd known something was wrong. His instincts had screamed that loudest of all. He needed to quit thinking with his libido and fully engage his IQ again. Sara scooped up the leather case and tucked the syringe back inside, her hands trembling, her face flush ing. "Oh, uh, I should explain about that." "I know what I'm looking at. There." He pointed to the pouch, then up to her face. "Here. The profuse sweating. The shakes. You just couldn't wait any longer for a hit."

Chapter 8 A hit?" Sara repeated the words, certain she couldn't have heard Lucas correctly. She'd been concerned with him finding out about her diabetes, but she'd never imagined he would think... what? Eye level and on one knee, Lucas pressed a hand to the ground, his jaw flexing. His other hand landed on her shoulder. In comfort? Or to ensure she didn't run? "It makes such sense now, I can't believe I didn't think of it on my own. I wondered what could keep you in Chavez's compound for five freaking years and now I know." He really couldn't believe she was hiding a drug habit from him. She wanted to be wrong, prayed she was wrong, and gave him one last chance to prove it. "You think you know, do you?"

His grip on her shoulder tightened, almost painfully. "He hooked you on drugs, didn't he? Maybe when you were recovering from the surgery?" Tears burned behind her eyes. Perhaps she could pass them off as more sweat trickling down her face be cause she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Since finding him alive, she'd allowed herself to nurture hope and tiny dreams. She couldn't even find words to express her regret, grief. Anger. Thank heavens Lucia was occupied finishing her banana and scratching patterns on the ground with a stick, because Sara didn't want her child to witness the confrontation no doubt about to explode. Lucas's face pulled tight, some of her pain staining his eyes. "I'm so damn sorry. But we can get you help as soon as we're back in the States. You don't have to live this way any longer." Even seeing her regret echoed in him didn't help ease the disillusionment. "You think I'm a drug addict?" He brushed his thumb along her collarbone with comfort given far too late. "I'm trying to be sensitive, and believe me, it doesn't come easy." She jerked the zipper closed and tossed the case aside. "You think you're invincible. Well you're not. Your decisions and instincts aren't always the best because you never factor your feelings into the equation." His own calm slipped. "What the hell does this have to do with anything?" "You believe you're thinking rationally, but there's something going on in your head that's making you draw false conclusions." "Then tell me the truth." Something broke inside her. Blame it on tension five years building—losing Lucas, losing her brother, fear ing she would lose her child, losing her freedom. So many horrible losses. "Would you even believe me?" "Damn it, Sara, let's be civil," he hissed low, jerking his head toward Lucia as if it mattered what she heard. "It doesn't matter whose kid she is, I will not let her grow up with a drug addict mother." Whose kid? Her racing mind screeched to a halt on those two words. And she'd thought he couldn't hurt her any worse. "What did you say?" He didn't fidget or even blink this time, but his incredible stillness betrayed him nonetheless. He knew he'd screwed up and he was scrambling to cover. "I said Lucia deserves better than a drug addict mother." Nice try. "Not that part. The other part about you not caring whose kid she was."

He still didn't look away, but he stayed quiet for five seconds too long. "I meant that no kid should have a drug addict parent." "No, you didn't." The full, horrible reality of his slip swelled through her. "You bastard." She shoved his rock wall of a chest. She shoved again, even in her anger careful of his injured arm and somehow that awareness hurt her all the more because she didn't want to harbor even the smallest tender emotion for this man. Again she thumped his chest, and again, not that he bothered to block her blows, which proved more effective in stopping her. Her hands fell to her sides. She may not be the silly young woman looking for flowery romance, but she was damn well woman enough to expect more from a man than cold duty. "I am not a drug addict. I have diabetes, and you, Lucas Quade, can go straight to hell." Go to hell? It felt pretty much as if he was already there. Diabetes? Lucas stifled the urge to kick himself for being an idiot. He had simply reacted and dug himself into a deep pit with a tiger at the bottom. Their past. And right there in the middle of it was a syringe of insulin, this child and whatever had happened to Sara in the past five years. None of which could be taken care of here and now. Commanders also knew when peace was more important than fighting, and God knew, he needed some peace to quiet the frustration roaring inside him over wanting... what? Wanting to be the kind of man who could handle this with more diplomacy than he had in his whole freak ing arsenal. He scratched the back of his neck, itchy from sweat, bug bites and the sense that something was about to go way wrong. Talking wouldn't accomplish anything today except delay their departure. Footsteps sounded behind him. Damn. He definitely needed to get his head out of his ass and focus on the here and now. His hand went to his waist, curved around his M9 as he twisted to look behind him at... Lucia. Relief jetted through his veins, along with a hefty dose of what-the-hell-was-I-thinking. He'd all but forgotten the kid was there. "Mama?" Lucia dropped to sit beside her mother, her narrowed eyes clearly broadcasting an us-against-him alignment. "What, chica?" Sara thumbed a hint of banana from the corner of Lucia's mouth as the little girl poked her tongue against the inside of her cheek. Lucia picked up the small black leather case from where it had fallen into a pile of moss. "Is somethin' wrong with your die-a-beasties?" Die-a-what? Lucas tried to decipher the sometimes garbled syntax of kid-language, doubled by the occa sional bilingual blends.

Diabetes. Even the kid had known. If he performed this piss-poorly at work, his squadron would be wiped out in a week. But with Sara, he never could hold on to his objectivity for more than five seconds. "Lucia Maria Carmelita." Sara's stern tones, unlike any he'd ever heard from her, yanked Lucas back to the moment. "What is that in your mouth?" Her tiny tongue poking against her cheek slid away. "Nuffin'." Lucia gulped. Parental instincts he hadn't even known he possessed went on full-scale alert. He forced his voice to stay soft, unthreatening. "Lucia, did you eat a bug?" Her feet turned in until the toes of her hiking boots touched. Staying too silent, she glanced away. Guilt stamped all over her heat-flushed face. Knuckle under her chin, he tipped her face toward him. "Didn't I tell you that I like bugs, too? I only want to be sure it's the right kind of bug that won't make you sick." Finally, Lucia met his eyes, hers wide and dark and heartbreakingly scared. "You're not gonna get gwumpy?" Foreboding kinked tighter around his gut. She had eaten a bug. But what kind? "I promise—if you tell me what it was." Please God, let him be able to ID it from a kid's description in a jumbled mix of English and Spanish. She fit her hand in his. "I can show you 'cause there's lots more of 'em over here. But I stayed away from the frogs, just like you told me." "Good girl. Now let's look at the bugs." He followed as she led him back over to the tree where he'd left her eating her banana—left her unattended because he'd wanted to romance her mother, damn it all to hell. Sara's quick footsteps sounded behind him, but he couldn't let himself think about her fear right now. He couldn't let himself think about her at all, or how badly he'd been off the mark about the syringe. Lucia pointed to the base of the tree, to a notch where tiny brown pellet-size balls lay scattered, which unless he missed his guess were... Snatching up a stick, Lucas rustled deeper into the crevice. Spiders fanned free, some crawling up the trunk, others curling into a pellet and dropping to the ground in their instinctive hiding mechanism. He tamped down dread that would only slow him when he already suspected they were running out of time. He studied the creatures scampering up the trunk. God, he wanted to be wrong...but there it was. A minuscule orange hourglass on the arachnid's body—a poisonous brown widow spider.

"Lucas?" Sara's shaky voice behind him reminded him that somebody needed to stay in control. He knelt in front of Lucia. He even managed a smile. "Did the spider tickle you anywhere before you swallowed it?" She grinned back and held up her wrist. "I let him climb up my arm, but he bited me. I got mad. So I smooshed him and then I ate him." A bite. Already swollen and red on her too-damn-tiny arm. The pain, sweats, paralysis would come later. "Thank you for telling me the truth." "And gracias, for not getting gwumpy." He was too damn scared to be grumpy. "Sara, could you get the first aid kit?" She bolted into action. He'd do what he could to clean the site, but time was precious. "Are you ready for another horsie ride, kiddo?" "I wanna walk." "Not today." They couldn't risk pumping the venom through her system any faster. "But soon, I promise." Lucia shrugged. "Okay, long as we can share a mango instead of those icky bananas." "Deal." To hell wasting time to hide their camp. He reached for the first aid kit and finally let himself look at Sara, so pale he wondered if he would have to carry her, too. What a time to remember she needed to take things slower because of her own health concerns that he'd been too much of a bastard to realize. Her lips pressed tight before she nodded. "I can keep up." She had to, and they knew it. "We need to make tracks and get to the town before nightfall. Best-case scenario, we have twelve hours. Since she's a kid, with a faster metabolism... We need to move. Now." Her trembling jaw told him he didn't need to articulate the rest. They both knew. Children were at a greater risk. They had twelve hours before the spider's toxin could kill Lucia.

They were alive. Ramon was certain. Kneeling by the idling Jeep, he studied the baked footprints in the fading sunlight filtering through the jungle canopy. A solid trail. For some reason they'd broken from their covert jungle trek.

Another few seconds and he would be back in the Jeep, following them full out. He hadn't actually seen Sarafina, but knew in his gut the smaller set of footprints belonged to her. If she was still on her feet then whoever had taken her hadn't hurt her yet. Someone must be carrying Lucia, which worried him. Sara didn't have the strength to cart the child and he hated to think of the little one terrified in the arms of a monster. He grieved for his country that men like Padilla gained power. They needed a strong hand, but not a brutal one. Hadn't he proven himself in the way he took care of Sara even though she'd tried to leave? And again with this woman who could very well be out to kill him? He wasn't heartless. He prided himself on his humane treatment of prisoners, like now. Hadn't he let the Nola woman make a trip into the brush alone as long as she sang the whole time? Not a bad voice. But how strange hearing her hum when she stayed silent otherwise. The gunfire had finally faded. Calls on the two-way radio while Nola took her breaks had reassured him at least some of his men had survived. How many, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd given them instructions to meet him at the small town at the end of this road where people loyal to him waited. Once there, he could find out whatever he needed. Soon. "Nola? Finish. We need to leave." The humming stopped. "Nola?" Gun raised hip level, he strode toward the brush. "Don't make me hurt you." She stood, breathless. Tucking her head, she rushed past, long bare legs blotched from bug bites and bramble scratches. "Sorry." He watched her through narrowed eyes. He'd been out of the field for over twenty years, but he'd staged training ops to keep himself sharp. Ramon whacked the brush aside with the nose of his gun. He found simple broken limbs, as he would expect. And sticks jabbed into the ground beside a knotted palm in a precise pattern. In a code. She'd been leaving signs, and these weren't just rudimentary markings. Damn right, she had survival train ing. And she'd been playing him all along.

Chapter 9 Sweat as thick and gritty as her fear, Sara wished she could wake from this nightmare—it was a hint away from dark after all. She would open her eyes to find herself playing with her daughter. While she was at it, the past five years could turn out to be some horrible dream, too. Except her eyes were already open, the burning in her exhausted legs very real as she raced beside

Lucas with Lucia in his arms. He'd told her the "safe place" he'd mentioned earlier was actually an American-kept "safe house"—which had stunned her to the roots of her hair, but she would grasp the blessing with both hands for her daughter. His supposed "safe house" waited a couple hundred yards ahead. The sounds of a small town already mingled with the monkeys and bugs, adding a symphony of church bells, vehicles, even a nearby Jeep distinguishable from the rest. She squinted in the fading light at the old homestead ahead divided into apartments at the edge of town. He swore the safe house was active as of three days ago. If the personnel had moved, then he would have to gamble that the locals weren't in league with Ramon or Padilla. With Lucia unconscious and twitching in her father's arms, it wasn't as if they had any other choice. How had the world gone so insane? She was quite finished with excitement, thank you very much. She wanted a normal place to bring up her child, a place without fences or stone walls. Please, please just let her child be all right. Three hours ago, Lucia's screams of agony had dwindled to whimpers. Then she'd gone terrifyingly limp and silent, but for the occasional convulsive jerk. Lucas kept her cradled to his chest, blood soaking through his bandages as his wound reopened. They'd spent two days worrying about Ramon and Padilla, watching for snakes, jaguars and heaven knows what else. Lucas had been prepared to shoot wild animals and criminals. Yet none of those threats ever materialized. Instead, a stupid little spider had attacked. The sun dropped the final inch into the horizon with tropical speed. Humid night blanketed them, the dim lights filtering from their orange stucco destination offering an unwavering beacon. "How will we know if this is the place?" "We're told a certain phrase to say that sounds innocuous—" "But is actually a code?" "Right. I know what the answer should be to verify this is indeed a safe place." What kind of life did Lucas lead? Not the everyday flyboy life she'd once thought. Perspiration trickled down her chest, itching. What an odd thing to notice now as they charged up the walkway to the arched side entrance. With each outside step up to the second-floor apartment, she could sense Lucas growing more brusque. He transformed from the man who gently promised chocolate-covered bugs to a child into a distant soldier. "Knock," he ordered, his arms full with their limp daughter. She rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. Twice. Hard. Trying not to sound as desperate as she felt in case anyone watched.

The door creaked open, a local in ratty tennis shoes lounging against the frame. "Quepasa?" She stifled her groan of disappointment. This couldn't be right. This man looked more like a scruffy hoodlum than some safe house agent. "Is Jorge back from the dentist yet?" "Yes, he's recovering from his root canal in the back room," the man said without the least hint of a Cartinian accent. "Come inside. He'll be glad of the distraction of a visitor." He opened the door wider. Lucas brushed past and into the sparsely decorated flat. A second man with spiked blond hair and eye-shocking flowered shorts ambled from the back room. "Rodriquez? Who's—" He stopped short. "Jesus, Colonel, we'd about given up hope. Where the hell have you been?" This man knew Lucas? That had to be good. She hoped. Lucas shouldered past to the first of three open doors in the hall, two bedrooms and a room packed with high-tech computer equipment. "We can talk about that later, Keagan. The kid needs medical attention." He lowered her onto the empty single bed, Lucia too vulnerable in the middle of the stark white spread, a crucifix over the headboard. "Spider bite. We're counting minutes here." Sara trailed after, her eyes taking in the ramshackle apartment providing cover for these people Lucas worked with. Her months at the embassy had taught her enough to know this place housed more than weary soldiers. Undercover agents worked here and somehow Lucas was connected, all things she couldn't think about now with her child in danger. The beach-bum-looking man he'd called Keagan un-clipped a cell phone from his waistband. "Roger. We've got a doctor on our payroll for emergencies." This definitely qualified. Sara dug her fingers into the cool plaster wall behind her and watched the strangers gather around her daughter. Intellectually she knew they'd arrived in time. Their race through the jungle had gotten them here in less than twelve hours. Spider venom was slow. Still she couldn't stop the dull roar in her ears, the surreal sense of it all. After five years she had her wish to be free of Ramon. Lucia was free to enjoy a normal childhood. Lucas and Tomas were alive. Her head thunked back against the wall. She should be rejoicing. So why couldn't she escape the sensation that something was still horribly wrong?

Lucas combed back his damp hair. The borrowed khaki cargo shorts and black T-shirt didn't fit as well as his flight suit, but at least they were clean.

The safe house kept changes of clothes for agents on the run. He'd just never expected to need them when the CIA had briefed his crews on the place's location in case of an emergency. He stepped from the lone bathroom and studied the three doors. Lucia and Sara were behind one of those doors, but he couldn't speak to them yet. Not until he took care of business with Keagan back in the computer room. At least he didn't have to worry about Lucia. The local doc had declared her on the mend, not that they could peel Sara from her bedside even though the damn-fool-stubborn woman was weaving from exhaustion. Lucas resisted the urge to check on them both again. He'd been reluctant to leave, but the doc had insisted on stitching up his arm even though he'd barked at the man to treat Sara first. Washing with his bandaged arm hanging out of the shower had been awkward, but his head was clearer now that he knew the doc was with Sara, hopefully giving her whatever meds she needed to take care of herself. For his part, he needed to find out about his people at the Cartina National Air Base. Stopping in the kitchen nook, he snagged a cup of coffee on his way to the makeshift office to find Max Keagan, a former CIA agent, now a civilian employee for the Air Force's OSI—Office of Special Investigation. Keagan's new job enabled him to move from base to base with his Air Force pilot wife, one of the crew members currently in Cartina. This way of life was tough on relationships, but somehow they'd made it work. Lucas tipped back his mug, the Colombian roast infusing a much-needed jolt of caffeine. Odd how even when he'd proposed to Sara before, he'd never given much thought to day-to-day life and stresses of a military marriage. Especially strange since he was such a methodical planner in every other way. Only with Sara did he offload logic like cargo out the back ramp. Good God, had he really accused her of being a drug addict? Worse yet, how could he have let his doubts about Lucia fall out of his mouth? Work, damn it. He had work to do. The office hummed with running computers and a rattling air conditioner that actually helped muffle conversation. Keagan and two others from the CIA sprawled at desks, studying data and satellite feed on screens, a standard setup to provide shelter and a comm point in the shadows of an operation. Nothing about bringing down Chavez and Padilla was turning out to be standard. Keagan glanced up. "Are you okay, Colonel?" "Fine." He settled in a spare office chair beside Keagan's computer. "A few stitches and a tetanus booster. What about my people? My crews? Have you spoken to your wife?" "Yes, sir. She's fine. Hunt assumed command in your absence as the senior crew member here." Keagan tipped back his own coffee. "The crews are waiting until everyone's accounted for before they fly out." Good. Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose until the relief faded enough for him to think again. Keagan's wife was fine. They'd already worked hard for their own peace since Keagan had been undercover on Carson Hunt's flight that had been shot down in the Middle East. He'd handled the fallout better than the rest of the crew, given his intense CIA training.

But damn, telling Keagan's then fiancee, Darcy, about the crash, their prisoner status, had been one of the toughest things he'd ever done. He knew the hell of losing someone and those front-door visits to all the families of the downed crew had catapulted him back to losing Sara. Just remembering had his feet itching to see her again. Watch her breathe. Hold her. Not thoughts conducive to keeping his mind on business. Keagan forked his fingers through his spiked hair. "Your people were pretty freaked out when you left and didn't return." Now that surprised him. He knew he wasn't a popular leader. "You are respected." "Do you read minds on the side?" "Only at carny shows." Lucas laughed, soft, hoarse, but damn welcome. Tension unkinked in his shoulders. "Update me. What the hell happened that everything blew up so fast?" "Padilla launched an attack on Chavez's compound hours ahead of our planned insertion time. While they battled it out, the Delta boys moved in and of course didn't find the target for the smash and grab. So they exited, let the two factions kill each other off, then moved in to clear up the mess at the end. We found enough evidence of drug and arms trafficking for the Cartinian government to lock Chavez away for the rest of his life." "So we can all breathe easier." Sara and Lucia especially. Tio Ramon could go straight to hell as far as Lucas was concerned. "Once we find him." Crap. "We didn't get him." Keagan shook his head, thudding his empty coffee mug on the desk. "He slipped out before we could se cure the compound. He's got panic rooms and underground tunnels that would blow your mind." Lucas jerked a thumb toward the closed door. "About the smash and grab, she is the woman from the satellite images." "I figured as much. She looks like the photo of the target." He creaked back in the chair. "So? Is she your wife?" "Yes. It's Sara. Sarafina Tesoro." He rubbed the empty ring finger that had never sported a band but somehow he still felt the phantom weight of one anyway. "Quade." Keagan waited, undoubtedly curious about Lucia. As an agent, he had every right to question him, but still he waited for Quade to offer up the info. The guy wasn't all about blabber like some gossipy types. Keagan understood the value of silence and giving a person a chance to pull his head together.

Odd that they would be alike in temperament when they couldn't be outwardly any more different—the agent with tattoos, spiked hair and bleached tips. Lucas finished his coffee. He'd learned long ago not to judge a person by appearances. "The child is hers." Time to make it official and reservations be damned. "And mine. Sara was pregnant when I left the country." "You didn't know." Keagan stated the fact rather than asked. He was good at this. "No." "Must be a helluva shock." Lucas scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "Not the easiest work week I've ever had." "Work?" Really good. Keagan had a way of picking up on that one word. Lucas narrowed his eyes. Keagan raised his hands in surrender. "What's your read on her situation?" "You trust my take?" Keagan eyed the bandage on Quade's arm with deliberate focus, then looked up again. "Not completely. It's tough to work when your wife's involved. Emotions run high, perceptions are clouded by... well, you know. I have a little experience in that arena." The agent had met his future wife on a mission when Darcy Renshaw—now Keagan—flew him on a covert op to Guam. While they hadn't been married then, Keagan's point was still made. "All right. I'll tell you what I know and hope you can make more sense out of it all than I can." Lucas detailed the compound explosion from his angle and their trek through the jungle—minus his major idiot moments of weakness around Sara. Keagan probed for nuances, leading him through with skilled interrogation techniques. Damn, the guy was adept at twisting a conversation right from the start — Wait. Keagan had never fully answered the question about his crews. And what was that about waiting for everyone to be accounted for? "Keagan?" Clear blue eyes gave away nothing. "Yes, sir?" "I asked you about my crews and you only said that you'd spoken with your wife and Hunt had assumed command." "You're good, sir. We could use your attention to detail over in the OSI." "Answer my damned question." Tension overrode exhaustion with the certainty that Keagan had held something back to ensure the interview went smoothly first.

The agent's chair creaked as he leaned forward, closer as if nearing to brace him for bad news. Lucas knew the studied technique well. "We got wind of the imminent attack by Padilla and you still weren't back from your walk. One of your crew members slipped out to look for you." No. Damn it all. Hell, no. Weights slammed down on his shoulders, the weight of lives depending on him, people he'd let down because he couldn't keep his head together when it came to Sara. His worst fear unfolded in front of him. He couldn't lose another person on his watch. His mind raced through the crew rosters—the pilots, Hunt, Keagan, Rokowsky, Seabrook. Loadmasters, Tag and Gabby. In-flight mechanics, too. "Not Hunt." Because he'd assumed command. "Not your wife, either." Or the guy wouldn't be sitting here so calmly. He would be out there tearing apart the jungle personally as any man would do for his woman. Keagan inched forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. "No, sir. Captain Seabrook didn't come back."

Sara rubbed Lucia's back, soothing her daughter even though she slept soundly. The doctor swore Lucia would be fine. She'd received the spider anti-venom in time. But Sara still needed the comfort of contact like during those early days with her baby in neonatal ICU. The door creaked open across the room. Lucas stood in shadows, backlit by the hall bulb. Lean and tall, he filled the open doorway, his head nearly skimming the top of the frame. He'd showered, changed into someone's khaki cargo shorts and a plain black T-shirt—far too tempting when she still felt so shaky. "Did you take care of your debrief?" He nodded, stepping into the room, the dim bedside lamp dispersing the shadows to reveal a man as weary as she'd ever seen him. "I've done everything I can for my people until morning." "Waiting is difficult." He nodded again, only half with her. What had happened in that debrief? "Lucas? Are you sure everything's all—" "How's she doing?" he interrupted, subject closed. He could comfort but heaven forbid he accept any. "Restless, but sleeping." "I can sit with her now." Of course he could. He could do anything. "I'm okay."

"You need to take a break, snag a shower or get something to eat." "I'm fine." She stared at her child rather than the overburdened man tempting her to wrap her arms around him. "You smell." Ouch. So much for vanity. "Gracias, but that won't be a problem if you leave." "You should watch what you eat." His footsteps thudded on the wooden floor, the chair on the other side of the bed creaking as he sat. "We haven't had the best of diets the past couple of days." "You're suddenly an expert on diabetes?" "Cheap shot, but I figure you're due one, probably a dozen if you want them." Surprised at his admission, she looked away from her daughter over to Lucas sprawled in the spindly chair. His shoulders slumped, head hanging, elbows braced on his knees while his hands rested on the back of his neck. "Are you all right?" "What did the doctor say about your diabetes when you saw him?" He threw his shoulders back, ignoring her question. No surprise there. "My blood sugar was a little low, but everything is under control now." Of course with hindsight, she saw that she may have been reckless in not telling Lucas about her condition. But he'd been injured because of her and she'd worried that he... Time to stop making excuses. "How is your arm?" "Stitched. No permanent damage." "Then everyone is well and accounted for." He winced and somehow she knew it had nothing to do with his arm. What was wrong with him? Would he ever talk to her, really talk? Leaning forward, he took one of Lucia's hands, studying it like a mystery. "I'm sorry, Sara," he said low, still fixated on Lucia's hand. Now that stunned her silent for a heartbeat. She continued to rub her snoozing daughter's back. "For say ing I was a drug addict or doubting Lucia's your child?" "Both." As much as he'd hurt her, he'd always been fair, and oh how that made it difficult to fight with him. "I apol ogize for not telling you about the diabetes. That was shortsighted of me. I'm used to downplaying it to keep Ramon from becoming more protective and taking away what little freedoms I had."

She breathed past the insidious smothering sensation. "I was also afraid you would insist on carrying the backpack as well as Lucia and reopen the wound on your arm. I worry about you, too." His eyes shut tight, his head hanging again. "I shouldn't have said what I did about Lucia, and I shouldn't be barking at you now." She deserved the apology, and she knew he was honorable enough to deliver it, but something about his stillness bothered her. "You were only saying what you thought, which I wish you'd done in the first place." "Why?" A dark smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "You would have been just as pissed off then." She rose and skirted around the bed to kneel in front of him so she could read his eyes, what little he would let her see. "It's not about me being angry. It's about Lucia. I wouldn't have told her you're her father if I'd thought for a second you were having doubts about taking responsibility for—" His head snapped up. "I never said I wouldn't take responsibility, damn it. I'll support her and y—" She pressed a finger to his mouth. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I meant taking responsibility for her heart." He gripped her wrist. "Help me believe it." A part of her wanted to list the explanations again. Maybe he would hear and listen this time. But she knew better. There were no new details to relay. He never forgot a thing, he just wasn't ready. This was about more than wanting a man full of romance. This was about trust. "I can't do that for you, Lucas. You can't take responsibility for someone else's heart when you're not even ready to admit you have one of your own." He didn't answer, much less look at her. He was as closed up as she'd ever seen him. She rocked back onto her heels with a sigh and shoved to her feet. "I believe I'll take you up on your offer to sit with Lucia while I shower." She backed from the room, her eyes pinned on Lucas's hunched back. She had reason to be angry with him, every right. So why was it so hard to keep from wrapping her arms around him to take on burdens she knew he would never share? No heart? Lucas wished that was true, because then he wouldn't be sitting here by Lucia's bed feeling as if somebody had detonated a bomb right in the middle of his chest. Lucia would be fine. Relief threatened to knock him on his butt, this kid somehow immeasurably important to him when last week he hadn't known she existed. Except in the middle of that relief, he'd still hit rock bottom. He'd almost lost Lucia. Sara had been shield ing him. And one of his pilots, Nola Seabrook, was missing.

They'd found her flight suit and combat boots wadded up in the brush outside of Chavez's compound. They had reason to believe she was on the move with someone else, given markers found along the main road out. There wasn't a thing he could do to help her. Although he'd been over and over the possibility of tracking her himself. But reason and logic had gotten him this far in his career, and despite the personal need to account for every member of his squadron, logic told him the best course of action now was to follow the protocol for this kind of situation. Something he damn well wished Seabrook had done in the first place. Why had she left to search for him? He'd never been the kind of team-player commander that crews em braced. God knows he made it a point never to connect personally with the people in his command. Yet this woman he barely knew beyond her personnel file had taken a foolish risk to bring him back before the compound started exploding. A humbling thought he didn't quite know how to process. Search-and-rescue teams had been deployed. They knew their job. In this case, to fix what he'd screwed up. He'd lost one of his people on his watch. It didn't matter where he'd been or what he'd been doing, he was in charge. And who knew how close Seabrook and her captor had been? While Lucia snoozed on, he studied the little hand clasped in his. She still didn't look a thing like anyone in his family. In movies or books, the surprise proof of heritage was some bizarre crooked finger or matching birthmark on the butt of both the baby and the dad. Except he didn't have a birthmark on his ass, and so far as he knew, neither did anybody else in his family. Not that he'd been lurking around in the showers to check. Uncurling his hand around hers, he counted fingers and the tiniest thumb he'd ever seen. Sara had said Lu cia was small because she was a premature baby as well as naturally petite. That made sense. It should have made sense right from the start, if only he'd listened. No matter how much they'd changed, Sara knew him well enough to understand he wouldn't turn his back on her or Lucia. She had no reason to lie to him about being Lucia's father. Lucia. He looked at those little fingers again, touched his pointer to her palm. Reflexively in her sleep, she closed a fist and held on. His chest clenched so tight he damn near couldn't breathe. This was his daughter. He didn't need butt birthmarks or preemie proof. He knew this child was his. God help him, Sara may have thought he couldn't feel his heart, but he could have sworn Lucia's small fist was squeezing it in half right now.

This was scary, scary crap. Her lashes drifted open, groggy and slow. "Sorry I ate the bug." So was he. "Next time, call me first and we'll eat them together. Roger?" "Gotcha." "In fact, we'll have chocolate-covered ants for your birthday." She giggled, and wasn't that the cutest sound? Even more so given how close they'd come to losing her. "Do you know when your birthday is so I can order ahead?" Maybe that was too tough a question for a kid. What did he know? "I was borned near Easter time. Next birthday I'll be'dis many." She held up five fingers. Five. The answer had been here all along. Why had he never thought to ask? Because he hadn't been ready to know. God, he was such a coward. "Get some sleep, kiddo. You're going to fly in a big airplane tomorrow." Lord willing, Seabrook would have been found by then so they could all leave, because he wasn't setting foot on that plane until he had his squadron complete again. "How big?" "As big as a small house. I'll let you come up front and fly with me sometime." She grinned, her eyes going droopy. "That's better than a horsie ride." He clicked off the bedside lamp. "Sleep." She snuggled under the covers. "Gotcha." Got him? Yeah. She did.

Chapter 10 Sara jolted awake, catching herself just before she fell out of her chair by Lucia's narrow bed—alone except for her sleeping child. No surprise. Lucas probably didn't want anything to do with her after their argument. Sara braced a steadying hand on the mattress. She still wanted to kick herself for making the heartless comment. He wasn't heartless at all. The man had a huge heart that for some reason he tried his best to hide behind his "gwumpy" facade. Saints above, he'd donned that somber face earlier.

After their argument and her shower, she'd gone straight back to her daughter, Lucas predictably silent when she'd entered the room. His steamy eyes, however, had spoken volumes. To think in the past she'd spent hours dressing to dazzle him, and yet his eyes flamed over the sight of her in borrowed running shorts and a T-shirt. She'd been ready to throw her arms around his waist and apologize. Lucas had wordlessly risen and returned to the computer room with his agent buddies. His silence hadn't fooled her. She'd felt the weight of his intense stare and his thoughts. Felt that heaviness even now. She twisted to look over her shoulder. There he was again, silhouetted in the doorway, and likely the reason she'd startled awake. He must have come to send her off to bed for a nap while he sat vigil, when she knew full well he'd barely slept since finding her outside Ramon's walls. Had Lucas lost sleep before that, wondering if he would find her inside? A bittersweet thought. Striding into the cubicle, he reached for the second chair and dropped to sit, his eyelids heavy, the dark circles underneath deep purple. Did he ever let anyone take a shift? Her heart hurt. Just that fast her frustration and anger disappeared. Didn't they have enough to worry about? Starting with getting Lucas to consider his own needs. "Have you eaten?" "I'm fine." Not an answer. She wanted to shake him. But she also wanted to pull his head down to rest on her chest, soothing a hand along his back as she'd done for Lucia. His weariness seemed deeper than mere exhaustion tonight. She prepped her arguments for why he should sleep instead of her...only to be cut short by another shadow stretching as the spiky-haired agent filled the doorway, a laptop tucked under his arm. "You two need rest." The agent—wasn't his name Keagan?—stepped deeper into the room, flip-flops slapping the wood floor. "Sir, no disrespect, but you've been up for two nights already." Lucas didn't move, but he also didn't argue. Maybe Keagan could help with the persuasion. She stayed si lent and let him talk. "You'll have plenty to keep you busy when word comes in tomorrow from the rescue teams. I'm pulling night shift anyway. It's no big deal for me to type up my reports in this room." Sara watched Lucas's set face and knew if she didn't move, he wouldn't, either, and how strange to realize she actually did have the power to do something for him. She rose, her achy legs complaining. The trek had taken more of a toll than she'd realized now that adren aline wasn't fueling her feet. "I confess. I'm human and need to sleep." Slowly, Lucas stood, resting a hand on Lucia's head. "Keagan? Watch her like she's your own." "Of course." The agent sprawled into Sara's vacant chair. "I owe you one for slotting Darcy to fly the mis

sion down here." Lucas shrugged off the thanks. "I wouldn't have scheduled her if she wasn't the best qualified." "I know, but there are other qualified pilots and we're apart so damn much." A grin kicked a dimple into Keagan's face. "It's mighty tough for Darcy and me to make a munchkin of our own if we're never in the same vicinity." Right then, Sara envied the man and his wife. The normalcy of their hopes and dreams left her a little weepy, surely a by-product of the intensity of the past few days, today in particular. She had so much to be thankful for. How frivolous, silly—selfish—to wish for more. She had what mattered. Sara pressed a kiss to her daughter's head before smiling her thanks at the unconventional operative cur rently firing up his computer. And why was she delaying leaving the room by pondering the contradiction of a driven agent who wore casual flowered shorts and flip-flops? Because in a few more steps, she and Lucas would be completely alone for the first time since she'd climbed through the stone wall at Chavez's compound. Deep breaths. They would both be asleep in seconds anyway. She joined Lucas in the dim hall, the quiet of night oddly loud, heavy. Intimate. What now? "Where do I...? What am I supposed...?" Exhaustion rolled over her so hard and fast she couldn't string words together. Lucas guided her to the next door down. "We both stay in here. There's a double bed, and it's the only other bedroom." He held up a hand. "Before you argue about the 'we' part, consider this. If you sleep in a room on your own while I sleep on the damned uncomfortable sofa, then I'll have to tap someone to guard you. Which pulls another agent away from his work." Ah, the real reason he'd come with her—to guard her while she slept. She was too tired to be disappointed. "Because you and your people do not trust me?" "Because we want to keep you safe." "I'm too sleepy to argue." He must be even more exhausted, and the longer she talked, the longer before he erased those dark circles under his eyes. She crossed into the room with him, a simple double bed in the corner covered by what looked to be a handwoven blanket with rusty red and gold geometric designs, a reminder of her heritage she would soon leave behind. Shutters on the outside fit over bars and glass on the inside. Bulletproof? Probably. She shivered. He jerked a thumb toward the footstool and cane rocker with his survival vest and grimy flight suit hooked over the back. "I'm not offering to sleep in the chair." "I did not plan to ask." She sat on the edge of the bed, toeing off her shoes. Memories of how hot they'd

been for each other, always hungry for more, tingled through her until her breasts tightened in response. "We've slept together before, many times. It would be ridiculous to claim modesty." The mattress creaked and dipped on the other side from Lucas's weight, and she realized they'd never slept together as husband and wife. How strange was that? They'd shared a bed and more, even through the night, but somehow this felt different, strange. Frighteningly wonderful. He stretched onto his back, on top of the covers, his feet hanging off, his eyes closed and breathing steady. But he wasn't asleep. She couldn't be sure how she knew, yet she did. His arm extended—the uninjured arm—thumping to rest and reaching across, broadcasting a temporary truce by inviting her to curl against his side. He'd said he was sorry and she believed he meant it. She could even look past his assumption she'd used drugs since he'd never suggested it was her fault. Actually, she could envision her pseudo-uncle resorting to addiction if she hadn't been so easy to manipulate through her child's health. Yes, she could forgive Lucas for that assumption, but even with her heart softening, she wasn't sure she could forgive him for doubting her about Lucia. Still, he waited with his arm out, his other arm cradled against his chest. Where she wanted to be, needed to be, in case this was their last chance. Swinging her feet onto the mattress, she sank down to rest beside him, fit her body to his as his arm curved around and he cupped her shoulder. She let her head rest on his chest, too tired to talk or even cry. But not too tired to notice the whipcord strength of the hot, honed body against hers. For five years Sara had haunted his dreams. Sometimes laughing with him while blowing bubbles at his birds. Sometimes crying in shadows where he couldn't reach her. Sometimes naked and very much within his reach. Those last dreams too often woke him with a raging erection and no relief in sight. But right now, wide awake after his two-hour power nap, he wasn't dreaming and relief was in his arms for the taking, soft Sara asleep against his side, her head on his chest, her hair teasing his along his neck. She needed her sleep and she certainly didn't need him hitting on her with some kind of lame-ass, hey I know you're pissed at me and I accused you of being a drug addict, then capped it off by denying my own kid...but would you mind if we took a time-out for a quickie? Yeah, it would most definitely be a quickie. Because after five years without her—hell, without anybody — he was sure to be one trigger-happy dude in the sack. He'd be lucky to make it inside her, and ah crap, if he started thinking about being inside her again while they were already conveniently in a bed, then he'd lose it here and now. He inched away, easing his pillow under her head. He spread the edge of the covers over her before ducking into the hall to Lucia's room where Keagan sat vigil with a laptop on his legs. Even though Lucia had been given a clean bill of health and he had only been asleep for a couple of hours, he would feel

better after seeing for himself that she still rested peacefully. The agent gave him a quick thumbs-up and waved him away. Lucas nodded silently and padded back to the other bedroom, locking the door behind him. Locking him inside with Sara. Freudian slip? Not hardly. He should pivot his ass right out of the room again and scavenge for food instead of staring at her like some lovesick adolescent. Except, damn. She still took his breath away. What a hokey phrase—taking his breath away. Yet it fit, because his chest went tight whenever he saw her. Always had, from the first time he'd checked out her luscious-mouthed smile and even more luscious behind that he'd later found fit perfectly in his hands. She'd changed in subtle but unmistakable ways. She wasn't as lighthearted, and overall she appeared smaller, more angular than before, either from stress or the constraints of her diabetic diet. He didn't like his inability to stay levelheaded around her. He didn't want anyone to have that much power over him, and he couldn't even let himself think about losing her again. So why should he lose her? They were married. She was his wife. They even had a child together. Her brother was the closest thing to a sibling he'd ever had. She would have a tough transition in the coming months, Lucia, too, after her strange, secluded start in life. They needed him. He was good at taking care of people's basic needs— protection, shelter, providing for them. Finally he could see his role and their future. He would take it slow with her, of course. He didn't expect to pick up where they'd left off. Since they'd been fighting then, it was probably best not to start there. But he could slide in bed next to her, hold her while she slept, let himself forget about the mess with Seabrook, a mess he couldn't do a thing about, and how he hated feeling helpless. He knelt on the edge of the bed, lowering himself slowly until he stretched beside Sara. Sighing, she shifted, her head on his chest again as if by instinct. Where she belonged. Where she fit so damn well. How could a two-hour nap have left him so wideawake? Very awake and aware of the woman beside him. As if he wasn't ready to snap with frustration over his life and job, now his body had gone traitorously hard. Her hand slipped under his T-shirt, fingers splaying over his chest. The touch seemed benign enough, but she may as well have grabbed him a little farther south because the simple brush over his chest had him battling back a groan. Patience, he reminded himself. This wasn't five years ago. His body disagreed.

He stayed motionless, waiting for her to settle again. Her lashes fluttered open, confusion fogging her eyes, slowly clearing with fast blinks. She bolted upright from her pillow. "Lucas?" She jerked her hand from under his shirt, clasping it in her other. "How long did we rest? Is Lucia all right? What time is it?" "You were only out for a couple of hours." He angled up on an elbow. "She's fine, still sleeping when I checked. And it's two o'clock in the morning." "It's difficult to believe everything will be fine after so long fearing the worst." She swept a twist of jet-black hair from her face, longer hair now. Perfect for tangling his hands through during sex. Perfect for draping over his chest as she draped herself over him. Damn. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, driving to the base, debriefing, prepping to leave. You should go back to sleep." "I thought I was so tired, and now I'm wide-awake." Ditto. A part of him was far more awake than the rest of him. Still, he kept himself reined in, only looking, his hands flat on the scratchy spread. "We could scrounge through the kitchen for something to eat." "Honestly, if you don't mind I'd really like to talk to you. I've missed our talks out in the garden." Hang out in bed and talk? Spending another night in the jungle sounded less dangerous. Not that he could bring himself to roll his sorry butt off the mattress and out the door. "I missed our talks, too." She sagged back on her pillow, her head turning toward him. "You were good with Lucia this morning in the jungle, keeping her calm and discovering details about the spider." "I'm pretty much winging it, but I'm trying." While he was trying, he needed to clear up the ungodly mess he'd made when he'd stumbled on that syringe. "I know Lucia is my daughter." Stilling, she stopped blinking even, before looking away to pick at the wooly pills on the blanket. "You couldn't have had time to run a paternity test, so what changed your mind?" This answer would be important for the rest of their lives. He had to get it right this time, because he sensed there wouldn't be another do-over. "It wasn't one thing in particular. I just stopped being a first-class ass long enough to think it through and realize you wouldn't lie to me about something so important. And I am so damn sorry for taking this long to figure it out." He waited for her verdict—and waited longer while she plucked at the fuzz balls on the cover. Her face went so sweet-sad it poured more guilt over him like alcohol over his stitched skin.

She shifted her hand from the bed to just below his bandage. "You had less than three days to absorb ev erything in the middle of a shoot-out and race through the jungle. I also stabbed you, so I can see where trust issues could get muddled." He should have known Sara would be fair. Her innate goodness was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place. Her glow still drew him. She'd deserved more from him then. She deserved better from him now, as well. "There's no excuse for what I said. I don't allow my people to make excuses and I'm not going to make them, either." "Excuses and reasons are different." "Not in my book." She sat upright, crossing her legs and leaning forward on her knees. "Linguistically, there are nuances to the words. An excuse implies you're justifying guilt by shifting the blame to someone else." Her hair swung forward, a lock brushing the top of his hand now digging into the mattress to keep from reaching for her, peeling her clothes away and tucking her underneath him. "Lucas?" "Uh, yeah. Convince me. I'm listening." As well as enjoying the sound of her voice as much as the feel of her hair on his skin. He'd been too long without both. "About six months ago, Lucia snuck a cookie out of the kitchen. When I caught her stuffing it into her mouth, she said Teresa shouldn't have left the cookie jar out on the table where a kid could reach it if she didn't want those cookies eaten." He gave up the fight and flipped his hand over to tug the strand of hair lightly. "Reasons still sound like ex cuses to me." "Reasons don't necessarily make it right, either, but they help us understand. Such as how I didn't tell you about the diabetes because I was afraid you would insist on carrying the backpack, too, and reopen your arm wound. I already felt so, so guilty for cutting you." "You were protecting your—our—child." He half smiled, understanding. "Reasons." "Reasons." She tapped his temple. "Now please tell me your reasons for not trusting that Lucia could be your daughter." "I told you already. I'm a first-class ass." He continued to stroke the lock of hair between two fingers, stir ring memories of her hair teasing down his chest as she kissed her way south. "An ass, huh? I'm not buying your brush-off answer. Since you aren't going to volunteer, perhaps I could suggest some reasons why I suspect you have difficulty trusting. Then you can tell me if I am right or wrong." "I've never been any good at games." He wrapped her hair around his hand, his wrist, until he cupped her head.

She didn't object or even acknowledge the touch beyond a glance at his arm, a quick nibble on her bottom lip before looking back into his eyes again. "Because you don't play games?" "Never have." So what was he doing playing with her hair? "Never?" Suddenly they were talking about a lot more than his approach to life, and he wasn't sure he liked that dig ging much at all. Except he did owe her for what he'd said in the jungle, for denying his own daughter. He freed his hand from her silken hair before he did something stupid, like gather her against his chest and bury his face in her neck. "Even when I was little, I wasn't much of a kick-the-can kinda kid." "You told me once your parents weren't well off." "We had food and a roof over our heads." "I've learned during the past five years that a full life is about a lot more than financial security." He wanted better for Lucia than he'd had and already her start had been so far from normal. Something they would have to deal with once they set up housekeeping, a thought that popped a cold sweat. What did he know about building a family? "My parents were good folk, Irish descent. Dad was a cop shot in the line of duty. He lived through the injury, but twenty-percent disability didn't cover much and he didn't have any other skills. So they both worked minimum wage jobs." "Worked? Past tense? Are they dead?" "Dad is. The depression from the shooting finally took its toll. Mom went into a nursing home a few years ago." "You're only thirty-nine so she can't be old." Sara was only twenty-nine. So damn young. And hot. And in his bed. Talk, damn it. "She's seventy-four, but her health's not great, emphysema..." God, he hadn't strung this many words together at once since...ever. Or the last time Sara picked around inside his brain. At least conversation would offer a distraction from thinking about Seabrook out there somewhere. "Where are you going with this?" "Trying to figure you out since you don't give excuses or reasons." She reached to cover his hand with hers. "You're a tough man to get to know, Lucas Quade." O-kay. He could see where this was going. If he wanted to get back in her good graces, he would have to spill his guts as a peace offering. "I grew up in a rough inner-city neighborhood. People didn't trust cops—or a cop's kid—even an

ex-cop." She skimmed her fingers along his chest, right where the scar rested under his T-shirt. "So you didn't fall out of a tree." "No." His pecs contracted beneath her featherlight caress, her touch searing. Sara drew circles on his chest, her eyes trained on her spiral path rather than his face. "Was a woman involved?" "You're a good guesser." Damn it was hard to talk with Sara's fingers searing through his skin and the past burning through his brain. "Were you defending her honor?" "Hardly." He would have, though, and that bit his pride worst of all. He'd been an idiot. "She was the one holding the knife." "Where is she so I can scratch her eyes out?" Well damn. Sara hadn't even assumed for a second that he deserved to be cut. She trusted him that com pletely. He was humbled. And shamed. She deserved the same level of trust from him, and he'd failed her. He owed her more than an apology, but all she'd asked for were a few words. He turned to kiss her palm. "Sorry, but you can't scratch her eyes out. Dawn overdosed at nineteen." After a beating from her pimp of eighteen months. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to label Dawn a hooker out loud, even after what she'd done to him or however much Sara wanted confidences. She gasped. "How awful." Yet how common where he'd lived. "When you grow up where I did, it's tough to trust other people no matter who your father is. Simple mistakes had major repercussions in my building. Somebody down the hall talks about a new color television—break-in happens. Guy on the floor above forgets to lock the door—his sister gets raped." "No mistakes? You can't expect yourself to be perfect." "Believe me, I know better than anyone that I'm far from perfect." Five years ago when he and Sara had argued on the embassy lawn, he'd been too caught up in his pissed-off frame of mind to take note of his surroundings in a country at least as dangerous as his old neighborhood. Sara had paid a horrible price for that lapse. Lucia, too. Three days ago, he'd again been too distracted to do his job and now one of his crew members was out there somewhere—and he hoped like hell she was still alive.

"Is something else wrong?" He thought about brushing aside her concern. But hadn't he sworn he would try harder this time to get closer, slower, build something with her? Angling up, he swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge, his back to her. "One of my crew members came looking for me shortly before the attack broke out back at the compound. She's missing." "Dios." Her horrified gasp echoed the horror swelling inside him. "Padilla?" "We don't know. Search-and-rescue teams are combing the area and there's not a damned thing I can do except wait." Looping her arms around his waist, she rested her cheek against his back. "I'm so sorry. If you hadn't been there looking for me..." "It's not your fault." "It's not yours, either." He clasped her hands folded over his stomach rather than answer and start an argument. "You're never going to believe that, are you?" He raised her hands up to kiss them without answering. "That must be a heavy burden on your shoulders — being perfect and responsible for everyone." Well hell, that wasn't the sympathy he was expecting when she'd hugged him. Here he was, trying to get closer and she was being sarcastic—and diverting him from the subject by reminding him not to take himself too seriously. He peered over his shoulder at her. "You're not gonna cut me any slack tonight, are you?" "Is that a problem?" She stared back with brown eyes full of mischief—and yeah, sympathy, too. And hey, weren't those her breasts pressed against his back? He needed to move away from her when he was feeling so raw, but after the day from hell, he couldn't make himself leave the comfort of her body against his. Sara always seemed to know just how to glide under his skin in a way no one else ever had. "I'm glad you're here with me tonight." One part of him more visibly glad than others. Her face was so close he could angle back a couple of inches and kiss her. He shook with the restraint of holding himself in check. Her eyes went smoky-brown. Then looked straight down to his lap. He winced. "Adrenaline plays tricks with a guy's system."

The stroke of her gaze proved as potent as if she'd wrapped her fingers around him. He twitched in response. Her fingers twisted in his T-shirt, her tongue peeking to dampen her lips. "What should we do with that impressive abundance of adrenaline?"

Chapter 11 Her vision full of impressively aroused Lucas, Sara waited for his verdict on her question. She knew he still wanted her...gracious, did she ever know at the moment. But he was such a practical, somber soul and their past days together hadn't been easy. He would undoubtedly need persuading to take what they both needed. "Sara, it's damned obvious what I want." She smiled. He didn't. "But for five years you've had choices stolen from you. So the more important question is, what do you want?" Ohhhh, he was good. She breathed against his ear. "I want that door locked. I also want to be on the Pill, or have my backpack suddenly fill with condoms." A low growl rumbled his chest. "You're sure that's what you want tonight?" Tonight? Not forever? If only she could ignore semantics. Either way, she was certain what she wanted, needed, deserved to have. "Absolutely positive." Still he didn't move. "Lucas?" His head dropped, his eyes closed. "I swore to myself we would take this slow. If we're going to do this again— when we do this again—I don't want you to have regrets." "Could you quit being the perfect protector long enough to listen to me?" Thumping him on the shoulder, she rocked back on her heels. "I've spent five years thinking you were dead. No matter what our problems were, losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me." Sara slid from the bed to kneel in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs. "Right now, we're here, we're together. Our child is safe in the next room, well and healthy. There's so much to celebrate and I want us to have that now, before all of those other troubles we need to work out intrude." She couldn't be any clearer than that. His shoulders rose and lowered with a heavy sigh. Her insides clenched with the fear that he would say no. Logic told her once he set his mind to something...

He shook his head slowly. "I'd planned to give you more time to adjust. But I guess I'm very much human and imperfect after all, because I can't stay away from you any longer." Her fingers unfurled like the heat smoking through her veins, gathering inside her. "The door?" He met her gaze, straight on and sexy-lidded. "Already locked it." "I do so adore a man who thinks ahead." Then she remembered they still didn't have birth control. He grinned. "A survival vest comes with condoms." Relief flooded her—along with confusion. "In your survival vest? How very, uh..." "They're used as water containers in a survival situation. Unlubricated condoms are the most compact and lightweight container to carry prior to use." "Lucky for us." How soon could they forage through his vest? "The doctor is certain you're okay?" He would spend all night with questions and concerns if she didn't make a move. "Totally healthy." Standing, she hooked her arms around his neck and stepped between his knees. She lowered her mouth to his and oh, her lips parted with her sigh. The familiarity of his kiss melted through her like the chocolate addiction she couldn't indulge anymore, which seemed to double her craving. Although her appetite for this man had been insatiable before, and she suspected now wouldn't be any different. Moving closer—could she get near enough?—she clung to his shoulders, reveled in the breadth of his hands cupping her bottom with gentle pressure. She canted forward, angling Lucas backward, not that she could move him anywhere he didn't want to go. He thudded against the mattress, and she let herself sprawl on top. The mattress groaned. Or was that her? Her toes curled as her fingers dug into his shoulders. They rolled to their sides. The mattress creaked so loudly this time she knew the sound hadn't come from her throat or his. "Damn it," Lucas hissed. "We'll be quiet," she whispered against his mouth, and yum, he'd shaved with that shower. "You can kiss me quiet which will double the pleasure." He smoothed her hair from her face with hands that shook. "I wish I could take you somewhere special." She hitched her leg over his hip. "Simply having you is far more special than any setting." "I may not be able to do anything about the setting. But I can damn well improve the squeaky conditions." He inched from under her leg, stood and tugged the rumpled spread from under her.

"Lucas!" she whispered. He fluttered the red-and-gold blanket over the rug, pitching pillows haphazardly. Lowering to one knee in a classic proposal pose that stung her eyes with tears, he extended a hand for her. For a few precious seconds she let herself soak up the sight of him, lean and dark with an angular strength that would age well. Relief swelled again. She would have the joy of seeing him at fifty, even seventy. He was alive, and no matter what happened between them as a couple, they were linked by Lucia. Somehow she knew he would be just as appealing with even more gray in his hair. His innate honor and character would stay with him, stamped on his face that was currently so serious and intent on making their time together special. How could she not be totally... Entranced. Clasping his hand, she sank to her knees in front of him. She kissed his bandaged arm carefully. "I'm sorry." He buried his face in her neck. "Losing you hurt worse." She cupped his face and kissed him hard, tongues and emotions rasping hot and raw before she eased back to pant against his mouth. "How did we make such a mess of things?" His hands skimmed down her shoulders to cover her breasts, his mouth against the base of her neck. "Is that really what you want to talk about?" "I'm not sure I want to talk at all unless it's to tell you how excellent..." He brushed his thumbs in light circles. Her breath hitched, "...how excellent...that feels. Don't stop." "As long as we can last." He lowered her to the floor, side by side, the blanket and rug more cushioning than their jungle bed the past couple of nights. Plus the floor didn't squeak. The dim glow from the bedside crystal lamp provided more romantic lighting than any candles—quite possibly because she'd learned the importance of the emotions, the moment. The person. She let herself savor the feel of his hands under her clothes, against her skin. The never-to-be-underestimated pleasure of simply kissing. Except kissing wouldn't be enough tonight. "You should probably find one of those condoms before we take this any further and forget." Lucas smiled against her mouth, kissing her quickly, then slower, before backing away. "Smart lady."

She flopped onto her back and allowed herself the indulgence of watching him. Unhooking his survival vest from the rocking chair, he tugged a small packet from one of the many pockets. A condom. Of course they needed birth control with so much unsettled between them. But a small corner of her heart couldn't stop thinking of the miracle of having his baby inside her and what it might be like to savor that miracle together. He returned to her side, frowning as he looked down at her. "Sara? Second thoughts?" She shook her head. "Not second. Just thoughts." He must have seen the memories in her eyes or felt them in the air, because he knelt beside her and splayed his hand over her stomach. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you when you carried Lucia, and I will regret until the day I die, missing those first years with her." The hoarse emotion in his voice washed over her. She covered his hand with hers, her throat too tight to push words past. What would have happened if there hadn't been an attack on the embassy that day? She would have still been pregnant and Lucas would have insisted they marry. She wouldn't have been able to hold out against his insistence then. Would they have lasted? They'd been on their way to breaking up that day as she pressed for more from him, some proof of intense love as her panic grew over possibly being pregnant. Now their arguments seemed small in comparison to the grief they hadn't known was waiting for them that day in a rebel's gun outside the gate. Sara arched closer, flattening her breasts against the hard wall of his chest. She didn't want to think about the past. She didn't want to think about the future, either. They had this moment where the world stopped. What were the odds of the planets lining up for a time like this again? She wasn't willing to risk it. Sara peeled his shirt up and over his head. Tanned skin called to her fingers. She could envision him run ning along the beach with his shirt off as he used to do when they'd been dating. And while she was staring at his chest and sketching her fingers over the hard stretch of muscles her shirt went fluttering to the ground and she couldn't even remember him taking it off. Some things definitely stayed the same. She smiled. So did he, and suddenly the rest of their clothes were disappearing, tossed aside until she was naked and so was he and wasn't that conveniently wonderful? He pulled her flush against him, skin to skin, her breasts tightening to a near-painful tingling against him. Carefully, he lowered her to recline on the quilt, keeping his weight on his elbows, off her, trailing kisses down her neck, her shoulders with such sweet and tender attention. She ached for a firmer touch. He eased away without breaking contact. What? Threading her fingers in his hair, she urged him against her. She might as well have been pressing against a brick wall. She'd felt the unrestrained passion of Lucas. Why was he holding back now?

Hmm... Hadn't he always said to tell him what she wanted? "Touch me." "Oh, I will." "No. I mean touch me. Really touch me." She pressed his hand firmer against her. "I don't want to hurt you. You're so damn fragile, and you've been sick." He palmed the scar high on her stomach where she'd been shot, damaging her pancreas. There were other bullet scars, as well, and if she let him explore them all the mood would spoil. She moved his hand back to her breast over her hammering heartbeat. "What we're doing here is about feeling alive, and I am very much alive, as are you. Please don't cheat either of us of the full pleasure we can have together." His jaw flexed, his hands shaking. Damn it, he was stubborn. She was more stubborn. Sara nipped kisses along his collarbone, down his chest, circling his nipple with her tongue on her way down, down. She wrapped her fingers and her mouth around him, his low groan thrilling her as much as she seemed to be thrilling him. His hands went to her shoulders massaging for a moment before he gripped under her arms, hauled her up and flipped her on her back. He stroked with his hands and tongue over her body until she wasn't thinking anymore. She languished in the magic of an intensely intimate Lucas Quade kiss, flowing tingly champagne bubbles through her veins, fizzing and popping in microbursts of pleasure. She shivered, every inch of her skin oversensitive to the least touch, even the brush of air from the ceiling fan clicking overhead. Lucas eased from her, reaching to snag the small packet from the corner of the blanket and sheathing himself. He rolled to his back, his hands gripping her hips as he guided her over him. More of his protecting her by keeping her off the hard floor? She would let his protectiveness go this time since it came with the payoff of being on top. Thank goodness he didn't ask again if she really wanted this. Smart man. Kneeling, she straddled him and stared into his eyes, watching him watch her, tendons tight in his neck in a tension she understood since it echoed the need inside her. He inched her down slowly, the heat of him stretching her after so many years of abstinence. Her brain short-circuited at the onslaught of emotion from having Lucas alive and inside her again. The pure rightness of it all. Tears stung her eyes. Tears? She blinked fast, praying she wouldn't start crying and ruin this moment by sending Lucas into over protective macho mode where he pulled away to comfort her. She wasn't sure there could ever be enough comfort to erase the grief and anger over what had been stolen from them. Move, damn it. Or at least say something to let him know she was okay. "Lucas—"

He traced her lips. "I know. Me, too." His hand trailed from her mouth to her jaw, teasing along her skin, calluses rasping over her chest before he tugged her hair lightly. "Your hair's longer now. I like it." Lucas and his simple statements, far more potent than some overplayed rambling. With a new insightfulness that came from age or a wisdom born of suffering, she understood what he'd meant. Longer hair translated into passage of time which urged them to live for the moment, not the past. Her tears dried as quickly as the ache in her heart. She grided down to rest over him, her hips rocking once, twice. His answering. Their bodies remembered and reclaimed. She bit her bottom lip to hold back the moans building as they moved together. Staying quiet to keep their lovemaking private stretched tension tauter within her. Her body tingled to life again. If anything the pull between them was stronger, deeper, more mature. The need for release swelled inside her like the most perfect bubble, floating her higher and higher, fuller until it stretched so tight there was nothing left for it but to...shatter into an umbrella of sparkling refracted lights behind her eyes. Except her eyes were open as she watched Lucas fly apart in her arms. Tears welled again, and this time she let them flow.

Reclining against the pillows with Sara draped over him, Lucas tangled his fingers in her hair, telling himself he stayed in bed so she could sleep longer. He should have been more careful with her, but they'd both been so damn out of control. Five years was a helluva long time to go without, although he'd never consciously decided to be abstinent. The encounters just never happened because Sara always intruded in his head. Now he wondered if on some freaking whoo-hoo level he'd known Sara was still alive. And didn't that sort of intuition go against everything he'd ever believed? Being with her always messed with his head in a way nothing else ever had. She stirred him even now when he should be too drained even to twitch. Rein it in and let her sleep, damn it. She needed to recharge for all the changes in store for her. He couldn't process how fragile she looked now. A result of the injuries or stress, he didn't know for sure. Although her outpouring of tears certainly leaned the scales heavily to the latter. Either way he was determined to pamper her. She'd wanted more romance before, after all. About time he figured it out. Although she hadn't wanted much to do with tender pampering a half hour ago as the scratches on his back proved. Remembering the feel of her moving over him, under him, then over him again... He gritted his teeth to regain control before she woke. Reasonable thought was tough to find with the heat of her all around him. Sara, so familiar and perfect, no wonder he hadn't been with anyone since her. All of it hammered through him—the gut kick of seeing her for the first time. Finally realizing he couldn't stay away. Something that hadn't changed. His hands shook from the fear of losing her a second time.

They'd been so in synch together tonight, he could almost hope... But he knew better. He'd been overly confident after their first time, certain she would marry him...because he'd been her first... "You should have told me you were a virgin." Lucas combed his fingers through Sara's shoulder-length hair, the sheet doing little to disguise what was now imprinted in his memory. But while she'd been uninhibited during sex at her flat, he couldn't miss her shyness afterward. She traced his collarbone. "'Were' is absolutely right. I am now thoroughly and happily no longer a virgin." "You should have told me." Snorting on a giggle, she thumped his chest. "So you could decide we shouldn't be together?" He wasn't laughing. "You've waited for twenty-four years. Why now?" Another question hammered harder in his head. "Why me? I know I'm not—" "That is bull." "Excuse me?" His hand stopped midcomb through her hair. "You heard what I said." She shook her hair free, shoved him to his back and straddled his hips while somehow still holding on to that sheet in a sexy dichotomy of shy temptress. "Don't even think about listing some silly excuses of why we should not be together. Such as how you're ten years older than I am. How you're from another country, and we're opposite personalities—" "Now that you mention it..." She kissed him, quick and so damn sweet. "I decided for myself and I chose you. I like to think you would have wanted me, regardless, but I wasn't willing to risk it." Lucas stilled her hips with his hands. Damn, she was a quick study. All the same his brain was still reeling from that moment he'd realized he was her first, and before he could pull back she'd surged up. "If I'd known, I could have been more careful." He was thirty-four years old, for God's sake. He should have read the signs, been prepared for the possibility at least, and given her more of a night to remember rather than their out-of-control tangle of arms and legs in their mad dash the second they'd entered her front door. At least he'd made it to her bed rather than taking her against the wall. "You were perfect. It was perfect." As if she had anything to compare him to? Nope, he wasn't feeling any better, and the thought of her finding someone else for comparison made him feel a lot worse. "Marry me." Huh? Where had those words come from? He almost looked over his shoulder. Except he knew

he'd said it. Asked her. Couldn't wait to hear her answer. She laughed, tumbling onto her back, holding her sides. And ah hell, seeing her bare breasts made it tough for him to think. Then yeah, he remembered he'd just proposed, by God, and she was laughing her ass off at him. That really bit—harder than she had, actually. He rubbed the small nip bruise on his shoulder. "What's so funny about me proposing?" She rolled onto her side facing him, the sheet slithering farther and, saints be praised, she didn't seem in the least concerned with modesty right now. "You are so adorable." What the—? "Adorable?" "Absolutely—" she kissed the tiny bruise on his shoulder "—adorable." She blew along his neck. "You think because you have 'deflowered' me, you should offer a wedding ring." She licked up his ear. "While I thank you for the adorable offer, again I say to you...you are so full of bull." He may have been full of bull, and he may have been losing his grip on rational thought since the blood supply to his brain was being seriously compromised by a certain hot woman in his bed.... But he hadn't forgotten his question and how, for five chest-tight seconds, he'd wanted her to say yes...

Chapter 12 Blinking awake, Sara kicked her feet free of the tangled sheets around her legs. Chilly air blasted over her bare skin. Bare? Memories of being with Lucas tumbled through her mind. How they'd made love on the floor, then against the wall after she'd woken as he moved her. She reached across the mattress—the empty mattress—and stifled disappointment. There were a thousand reasons why he could have needed to leave instead of being there to kiss her awake with sleepy slow, good-morning sex. Yes, a thousand reasons. Like checking on Lucia. Sara bolted upright in bed. What kind of mother was she? She jerked to look at the clock. She'd actually only been away from her daughter for five and a half hours total, with Lucas checking on her and likely with her now, but guilt still stung. She wasn't used to sharing parenting responsibilities.

Springing to her feet, she yanked on her borrowed clothes—jogging shorts, a loose T-shirt and flip-flops. She reached for the door just as the knob twisted. Stumbling back, she grabbed a chair for balance. Lucas filled the doorway as he angled in with a tray of food. Ohhh, how sweet. He'd been making breakfast for her, not forgetting about her after all. His thoughtfulness, his understanding of her needs as a mother— as well as a woman—tugged at her heart, blowing away any lingering upset over waking alone. Where had her objectivity gone? Or perhaps it wasn't gone. Perhaps she was thinking clearly for the first time. She wanted him, and not just for one night. "You're forgiven." "Glad to hear it." He set the tray on the bedside table, stopping inches from her, intimately close without touching. His eyes, however, held her totally. "For which offense?" "For not being here when I woke." A hint of a smile played with his mouth before he plucked a rolled tortilla from the tray. "I figured you would be hungry and I wanted to check on Lucia." "And?" He tapped the tortilla against her mouth until she opened, bit, cheese melting over her wide-awake senses that craved a kiss more than food. "Lucia's still asleep. The doctor will stop by in about two hours after his hospital rounds." He fed her another bite before popping the rest into his mouth, the sharing of food nearly as intimate as sharing each other's bodies. The bed called to her, and from the hard length of him pressed to her stomach, it likely called to him, as well. But she needed to see her child. Would he understand? "Is it okay with you if we eat in her room while she sleeps?" "I'm one jump ahead of you." Backing away, he nodded toward the door. "A pitcher of juice is already by her bed, and Keagan has debrief questions he wants to ask if you're feeling up to it." Real-world concerns intruded, but she knew better than to mourn the loss. "Of course I want to offer whatever help I can." Speaking of real-world concerns. "I, uh, need to check my blood sugar and take my insulin shot first." How strange to feel shy about that after everything else they'd done together. Shuffling aside the strange unease, she pricked her finger for a reading, then reached for the fresh supply of insulin the doctor had given her the night before. "Do you want me to step out?" Si. "No." She did, however, turn her back to him as she filled the syringe, inched her shorts waistband down and slid the needle under her skin, too aware of Lucas watching. She shook off the uneasy sensation. Discarding the empty syringe, she reminded herself she needed a clear mind before speaking with the

agent. Lucas hadn't believed her at first about her time in the compound. His friend Max Keagan had even less reason to trust her. Shards of uncertainty, fear even, prickled. As she started for the door, Lucas flattened his hand to the panel. "Sara?" "What?" "It's going to be okay. I won't let it be anything but okay." He leaned to kiss her once fast, then again slower—buenos dias hormones—before he inched back. "I'll join you both in a minute when I'm, uh..." He stilled her rocking hips with a groan. "When I'm not so visibly turned-on." She arched up on her toes to brush her lips against his tensed jaw. "Gracias." "You're not helping," he growled. Laughing, Sara retrieved the breakfast tray and backed out of the room, wanting to savor every second of their time together before she entered the real world again. And no question, there were very real-world concerns piling up outside their temporary haven. Crossing into her daughter's room, Sara set the metal tray on the bedside table by the pitcher of orange juice. "Thank you for staying with her." Keagan glanced up from his laptop with piercing blue eyes, discerning eyes at odds with his casual beach bum facade. "No problem. I enjoyed the quiet." Sara tucked already perfectly smooth covers under her daughter's chin, pressed a hand against her forehead—cool, thank heavens—and leaned to rest her cheek against Lucia's baby-soft skin. She whispered a brief prayer of gratitude in Spanish before straightening. Keagan closed the laptop and retrieved his half-empty coffee mug. "The Colonel filled me in on the gist of things about the past few years and your escape. Are you up for some more discussion so I can hear your take?" "Of course. But could we stay in here please? I don't want to be away from her any longer than I have to." "No problem." He pulled two chairs side by side in a corner of the room where they could talk quietly, but she could still see Lucia. "What made you decide to leave Chavez's place after so long?" "A couple of things actually. Ramon was beginning to tighten his security, more and more as he grew para noid after his cousin died—Allesandro Aragon." The drug-running bastard had committed suicide by blowing up his yacht rather than surrender to the authorities. "Ramon ranted about how the local government's unfair targeting had driven Allesandro over the edge." "How do you know this?" Keagan peered over his coffee cup. "I thought you were secluded?" More fear stung along her skin as if a hundred of those brown spiders attacked her. For so long, Ramon had watched her, dissecting her every word and move. Shaking free of paranoia that was totally justified proved difficult even when she knew people were looking out for her best interests. "I wasn't completely cut off from information in his compound, simply fed news filtered through Ramon

while trying to evaluate its worth based on old knowledge." A niggling new fear teased through, worries about what she might have missed or misinterpreted? What other things could Ramon have kept from her? What kind of world would she be returning to? Potential land mines could be all around her and she would never know. Panic weighted the air, every dragging breath more difficult than the last. For so long she'd dreamed of escaping, and now she wanted to stay in this safe house with Lucas and Lucia where it was, well, safe. The room narrowed, the edges pulling in darker. "Mrs. Quade?" Mrs. Quade? Keagan's call snapped her back, the edges of the room lightening again. She'd been married for five years and never once used her new last name. Ramon had stolen too much from her. She wouldn't let him have even a second more. "Si. I am sorry for drifting off for a moment. There is much to process." She gripped the arms of her chair and continued, "Ramon also grew less careful in keeping secrets. I began to hear things, which brings me to my second reason for leaving. After Aragon's death, Padilla gained power since Ramon lost his major ally. Padilla decided the time had come to launch an attack." She breathed, in, out, slowly, carefully to stop the panic attack from returning. "I'd given up waiting for a miraculous rescue—ironic, isn't it, how close you were? But I still do not understand why, after so many years of turning a blind eye to men like Aragon, would local officials decide to clear the snakes from the jungle? And the United States is helping?" Would Keagan even answer her? Perhaps she should have asked Lucas, but he seemed so bent on cosseting her, she doubted he would discuss any of this in detail. Keagan hooked an ankle over one knee, flip-flop dangling from his jostling foot. "Cartina doesn't want to become another Colombia, so overrun with crime that tourists avoid the place like the plague. The crime stakes upped a notch with the infiltration of terrorist factions into South America demanding a piece of Aragon's drug money." "Why not eliminate Aragon, Ramon and Padilla all at once?" Even though the thought of reentering the world set off nerves in her stomach, she couldn't stem her overflowing curiosity after so long having her mind stifled. When she'd worked in the embassy, she'd been privy to world secrets. That long-suppressed side of her clamored to be fed. "That's a mighty large undertaking and terrorism is already spreading our people thin all around the world. Sometimes it pays to let folks clean up their own messes when possible. Think about it." The pieces slid into place. "With Aragon out of the picture and no longer in Ramon's camp, his power lessened, which emboldened Padilla. So you sat back to wait for them to kill each other." "We didn't exactly 'sit back.' They're being watched."

"Which is how you finally found me." "Yes, and that's enough for now." He waved toward the breakfast platter. "I should let you eat. I'll tell the Colonel we're through. Have a nice breakfast, Mrs. Quade." Mrs. Quade. The panic and excitement churned inside her all over again. The marriage was official now, consummated. To end things required more than an annulment. So go for it. Right? Of course. That made total sense. She didn't even need to think about it. She should enjoy her breakfast with Lucas while they watched over their daughter together. She walked to the breakfast tray and looked at the assortment of foods Lucas had put together. More of the tortillas filled with cheese. Some simple toast with a fruit salsa in a small crock. Another couple of tortillas with what looked like sausage and eggs inside—and thankfully no more bananas. He'd gone to so much trouble for her. Which did she want? The tickle of panic returned. How silly. She only needed to pick which to eat. One tiny choice in light of all the decisions she would make in resuming her life. Panic swelled higher at what waited for her outside. For years, she hadn't been allowed to make a decision on her own, even what to eat. Every meal had been prepared and served with Ramon controlling her diet "for her own good." And the decisions to come were far more important than cheese versus eggs in the morning. A knock sounded at the door. "Lucas?" No one answered. The pounding continued. She frowned. The hammering was muffled, distant, not on the bedroom door at all. Someone was beating on the front door outside the apartment. Lucas snatched his M9 off the bedside table and sprinted for the hall, the pounding outside echoing through the apartment. He ran smack into Sara dashing from Lucia's room. "Back inside. Keep the door shut and stay away from the windows." He gripped her shoulders, spinning her away and into the bedroom, trying like hell not to think about how delicate her bones felt under his hands. He struggled to come to grips with the airy Sara he'd known before and the woman who'd knifed him outside the compound with a strength that defied her size. "Stay behind the bed. Don't come out until I tell you all's clear." He regretted his brusque tones, but she seemed to understand there wasn't time for niceties. Best of all she seemed to realize the importance of watching over Lucia. The woman who'd drawn a knife in

defense of her daughter had returned and damn, she was mesmerizing. Shaking his head clear, he ducked into the living room where Keagan, Rodriquez and two other agents were positioned around the perimeter, out of the direct line of fire of the entrance. Rodriquez stood to the left of the door, weapon drawn. "Si?" he called through the door. "Jorge?" a muffled female voice gasped. "His dentist appointment. How did it go?" Recognition clicked a second ahead of relief. Lucas bolted around the sofa. "It's Seabrook, my missing pi lot. Let her in." Rodriquez opened the door to reveal that yes, Seabrook stood outside, whole and seemingly unharmed in spite of the mud, scratches, bug bites. A vivid handprint bruise on her cheek. His grip tightened around the M9. Gasping, the willowy pilot stumbled across the threshold and stopped short, eyes widening. "Colonel?" "You're all right?" "Yes, sir." She grabbed the back of the chair for balance, short blond hair clinging to her sweat-soaked temples. "But everyone needs to leave. Fast. Ramon Chavez is heading this way, and he's gathering troops for a last-stand attack."

Jostling in the backseat of a dusty old Humvee, Sara hugged her daughter tight against her. Keagan drove, Lucas in the front passenger seat, Nola Seabrook sitting on the other side of Lucia. There wasn't time to fear entering the real world anymore. She was too busy watching out the back window to make sure Ramon hadn't caught up with them yet. Apparently he'd been tracking them almost from the start. She had to pull herself together for her child. Her daughter had survived the spider bite without incident, but being yanked from her bed and a sound sleep had her clinging to her mother as she hadn't done since toddler days. Lucas's missing pilot—Nola Seabrook—had spilled her explanation quickly, in succinct and horrifying de tail. When Ramon had stumbled on her outside the compound, she'd pretended to be an escaped prisoner of Padilla's. She'd had three choices. Kill Chavez, but all his information would die with him. Or she could risk a fight to overtake him and even if she won, she would have to keep him prisoner during their trek to safety. She'd decided her best bet lay in playing along until they reached town when she would choose her time to fight. Problem was, just when she'd overheard his plans to gather remaining troops, Chavez had seen through her story and had attacked her. No rape, but she'd barely escaped and couldn't overtake him. She could only race to the safe house.

Everyone in the apartment would have to scatter, fast. The CIA operatives went in different directions, while Max Keagan took care of everyone else. Sara, Lucas, Lucia and the returned pilot were going with Keagan to a nearby private airfield where he promised transportation waited for them. They would only have to fly for ten minutes since they could cross the winding river, whereas Keagan and the others would travel by boats. In actuality, Ramon's compound wasn't far from the base, but Padilla had taken out so many bridges he'd crippled land travel. Ten silent and tense minutes later, they reached the tiny rustic airfield on the edge of the jungle. How strange to be flying with Lucas again, but in such radically different circumstances than their first date in the glider. She stopped watching behind them—and looking into the past—long enough to assess what lay ahead. The parking lot was empty except for an abandoned truck she doubted would run and an old man lounging in a rocker on the front porch with a newspaper and a bottle of tequila. Parked to the side waited a lone, ancient plane—small, silver and rusty. As long as it flew, she wouldn't complain. Humvee screeching to a stop less than ten feet from the aircraft, Keagan put the vehicle in Park, the engine idling. "That should get you to base if you fly low enough to stay out of Padilla's radar. I've already cleared it with the old man. He says it's ready to roll, and it's faster than the water route the rest of us are traveling. There's a chart on the front seat." He extended a hand. "Be safe." Lucas shook his hand and clapped him on the back with the other. "You, too. And thank you." Sara pried Lucia's vice grip from her waist so she could reach for the seat belt, her eyes still scanning. Was the old man staring at them too intently? She tensed. Was he reaching inside his shirt pocket for a gun or a simple cell phone? She started to call out— The man tucked a cigar between his lips before striking a match. Relax, and move. Sara unbuckled her daughter, bracing for the last leg of their journey. She threw open her door, outside noises increasing—the hum of the engine, a dog barking on the porch. Gunfire stuttering in the distance. She couldn't get Lucia out of Cartina fast enough.

Chapter 13 Damn. Damn. Damn. Lucas wrenched open the rusty door on the tin-can aircraft Keagan swore would take them the rest of the way to the Cartina National Airbase. Seabrook dived inside and began assessing the controls. He scooped Lucia from Sara's arms and shoved her into the craft then lifted his wife by her waist. He couldn't miss the barely banked fear in her eyes—only a fool wouldn't be afraid. But he also saw her trust. He gave a quick squeeze of reassurance, all he could take time for with sporadic gunfire sputtering in the distance. Could be nothing. Could be Chavez.

Lucas climbed into the miniscule cockpit with none of his usual anticipation. He enjoyed the hell out of flying, becoming airborne like the birds he'd fed and watched since childhood. Although this ancient bird might not make it off the ground—a 1950 Cessna 195, high wing, taildragger. Behind him, Sara and Lucia settled into the small bench seat, Captain Seabrook buckled into the copilot's seat beside him. "Papa?" Lucas jolted. Talk about a cold splash reminder of the stakes here. "Yeah, beetle?" he answered while orienting himself with the archaic control panel of a craft he'd never seen before. "I thought you said your plane was as big as a little house. This looks like a doggie house." God, he loved the kid's spunk. Not many children would still be holding strong after all they'd been through. Of course Lucia would have a warped sense of normal after her bizarre upbringing. The drive to protect doubled, surging through him. What unseen scars would she and Sara carry? Something he wouldn't be able to fix if he didn't get them out of here alive now. "This isn't my plane. It's one we're borrowing to get us to my plane." He gripped the throttle. "You need to buckle in, first, though, so I can fly." "Gotcha," his daughter chimed. His daughter. His grip on the yoke tightened, his fingers damn near as numb as his brain. Shake it off. "Hey, Seabrook, do you remember how to start one of these?" She shook her head, sweat tracking down her grimy face and darkening her normally blond hair to muddy brown. "Sorry. The last time I ran emergency procedures on a Cessna 195 was like...never." She skimmed her hands over the panel and controls. "My father was only a kid when this plane was made. But hey, I'm sure you'll have the whole squadron studying these, too, at our next safety summit." Ah, a dig at what the squadron called his micromanaging at safety briefs. Normally she wouldn't have made such a comment, but these weren't normal circumstances. "A capital idea, Captain. Are you volun teering to lead the discussion?" "Sorry, sir." A smile dented her exhausted, grubby face, in spite of the increasing gunfire, not closer, but more frequent. Even the old man was packing up his tequila and heading inside his wooden office. Time to get this rust bucket off the ground. "No problem." He couldn't help but think the comment was actually damned funny—more of Sara's influence that he be human. "Let me study it for a second."

Seabrook pointed. "I remember that's the throttle." "Yeah, I got that." More gunfire stuttered. Closer? He couldn't be sure. "If there was a key, you'd think the old man would have given it to us." "Uh, is that a start button?" She pointed again. "Well, look at that. It certainly is. All right, let's see if we can remember how to do this. We need to open the gas tank. That must be this here." Training and instincts took control of his hands as he sank into routine. "Then we make the mixture rich by pulling out this knob. So we've got gas and air, and now we need spark." Lucas pressed the start button. The engine coughed twice and finally roared to life. He pushed the mixture knob in...waited...prayed.... The engine smoothed. He increased the throttle. The engine revved, yes, louder, yes, until with a tiny jolt the aircraft rolled out of its parking spot, rattling. Yesss. Only fifty feet to get a feel for the craft before he reached the dirt stretch. Since he couldn't see over the nose of a taildragger aircraft, he swung the tail back and forth so he could look out the side windows for a view of the end of the runway, increasing speed. Thirty knots. The vibration increased, harder until he wondered if the whole thing would shake apart in his hands before they left the ground. He held the plane together with the force of his will and finessing of the yoke. Fifty knots. Come on. Come on, damn it. No one spoke. He regulated his breaths, in and out. The tail lifted off before the nose, finally giving him a clear view forward. Seventy knots. Now! He lifted the nose. Prayed again. The Cessna soared upward, skimming over brush, higher over an adobe steeple, then cresting above the tree line. The exhales from his passengers swirled in the dusty cockpit. Behind him, Sara snorted with laughter. Was she hysterical? Adrenaline overload? She was certainly due a meltdown, but he didn't want her to spook Lucia. "Everything okay back there?" "Wonderful. Simply wonderful." She laughed harder, then lowered her voice to male decibels. "Oh, I can fly anything. Just call me Chuck Yeager, oh, and is that the start button?" His mind winged back to their first date in the glider. His mouth twitched. "I'm flying this plane, aren't I?" Seabrook chuckled beside him. "You told her that?"

He shrugged. The Captain turned to look over her shoulder. "We're pilots. We brag. It's what we do." She pivoted back to the front. "You were trying to impress her, weren't you?" "Duh." Trying to impress her in the past and present. Although it hadn't escaped his notice she still hadn't said yes to staying with him now, either. Except this time, he damn well wouldn't let anyone harm a hair on her head. Seabrook shook her head, eyes forward on the tree-filled horizon. "The Colonel said 'duh' like a regular dude. They're never going to believe this one back at the squadron."

Ramon kicked aside a rocking chair in the living room of the abandoned apartment. He'd arrived too late. They'd wasted valuable manpower and blasted their way into this village for nothing. After that blond bitch Nola had jumped him—a blow to his ego he couldn't afford to share with his men — she must have alerted everyone here. At least she hadn't taken him down. Still her fighting skills weren't average. He recognized a warrior when he fought one. If she'd come here then she was everything he'd suspected and more. She wasn't with Padilla. She was some sort of spy or soldier. But where was Sara? Padilla's people hadn't been the only ones in his compound and they swore they didn't have Sara. Those old instincts of his that had kept him alive in early days insisted that his contacts in Padilla's camp were telling the truth. Padilla didn't have her. But the U.S. government had been looking for her recently. The logical assumption? Somehow word had leaked that she was still alive. More proof that his country needed a return to the old days when traitors weren't just shot. They were tortured as an example that Cartina's business stayed inside Cartina's borders. Ramon lifted the half-empty coffee cup, stomping through the abandoned apartment. Two bedrooms and an empty office. Things looked normal enough. Perhaps his tip-off could have been wrong about this being a safe house belonging to the United States, but his source was rock solid. Search deeper. Ramon stepped into the first bedroom, a single bed, dent in the pillow small, covers askew, a food tray on the bedside table with a half-eaten meal. He sniffed. Not rancid. He touched the remains of the burrito —cold. Could mean nothing, perhaps a bad housekeeper. Rage simmering low, fueling him past normal endurance, he checked the bathroom next. The washrag was damp. Whoever had been here left within a few hours.

He spun on his heel to leave...and hesitated. He searched the small bathroom looking for a trash can or hamper. Yanking open cabinets one after the other, he found only basics—toothpaste, toothbrushes still in the boxes—the shelves otherwise empty except for towels I and a bucket of cleaning supplies. Behind the door? Nothing. The other bedroom looked much the same except for a double bed this time, with the spread tossed in place. Not even stray dirty clothes to offer a clue as to who I lived here. No laundry? Odd. He started toward the door again, pivoting. His foot hooked on the small rubbish basket. Pissed, he punted it out of his way. The wicker container ricocheted off the rocker, tumbling across the floor, trash scattering. A syringe rolled free. A syringe? For Sara's diabetes? Could be a coincidence. But he hadn't lived this long by believing in coincidence. Sara had been here in a safe house reputed to belong to the United States government. If she was a prisoner, she needed rescuing. If she'd gone willingly? Even considering such disloyalty threatened what little reason he had left after losing his family. She and Lucia were all he had left. If she'd betrayed him, he had no reason left to live. He would know for certain either way when he looked into her eyes. His openhearted Sarafina had never been good at deception. And he knew where they were heading. Lucky for him, because of his old days as a freedom fighter, he also knew a well-kept secret he had been saving for just such a time. The time had come to once again travel the underground tunnels leading into the Cartina National Air Base.

Finally, she was safe at the Cartina National Air Base. Sara cuddled her daughter in her lap while Lucas was reunited with his squadron—or at least some of his crew members. From her viewpoint in a squeaky office chair in the operations center, she watched him rule in his element. She yearned for any extra hints for figuring out this man who gave away so little about himself. Apparently, she wasn't the only one he shut out. He was in charge of these aviators currently gathered around him. Their relief at seeing him was obvious — yet they kept a deferential distance. Seabrook had been dead right about the squadron's shock if Lucas acted like a "regular dude." They'd all been reunited an hour ago, the base on the lookout after the alert was sent from the safe house before they'd evacuated. Sara studied the flyers. Some names she couldn't remember fully from the emotional introductions—call signs like Bo or was that Beau or Bow? Some strange ones, too—Tag, Gabby and Mako. The others in the group, she recalled better from discussions with Lucas. Nola Seabrook, of course, steely strong after an ordeal that would have shattered most. Carson Hunt, the squadron's third in command, with a blond godlike air of wealth and assurance.

Darcy Keagan, a coltish girl-next-door type and also the wife of the agent they'd met at the safe house. She tossed sunflower seeds into her mouth with a jittery excitement no one could miss. Her husband was already on base, as well, due to join her any second now. Thank heavens they wouldn't endure the pain of losing each other. Lucia wriggled, eating tortilla strips while Sara cradled the phone to her ear, waiting for the call to go through. Again Lucas's thoughtfulness tugged at her heart. He'd simply passed her the phone and said a call would be patched through in another few seconds to— Tomas. Lucas had tracked down her brother earlier while she'd been checked out by yet another doctor. "Sarafina?" Was that deep, adult voice really her little brother? She clutched the phone tighter to her ear as if to bring him closer as she swallowed down the emotion clogging her throat and nose. She wanted to talk to him, which she couldn't do if she was crying. "Si, Tomas." She sniffled. She could have sworn she heard him swallow just as hard even with all the activity in the conference room, crumbling stucco walls providing little soundproofing. Soldiers bustled outside, some guarding, others going about their regular duty as they prepared for possible retaliation from Ramon's remaining men. "I still can't believe..." he continued in lightly accented English rather than Spanish, and a small part of her ached that he'd left that part of himself behind. "But I'm so damn grateful." He cleared his throat again. "I hear from Lucas that I'm an uncle?" "You are—" she cuddled her daughter closer "—and she's smart and beautiful. Her name's Lucia, and we have so much to catch up on I'm not even sure where to start. I want to know everything, every detail of your past five years. Please say that you have pictures, lots of them." "Uh, Lucas is a great guy, but can you really envision him running alongside the soccer field with a video camera in hand?" Actually, she could, except he wouldn't be out there where people could see him. He would hide his goodness where no one noticed until someday they had a whole library of tapes and photos. "It's a fun image." "He always bought the sports picture package, the big one with the team shot and individual in a banner thing. He spent the games just watching." "He came to your games?" Her eyes trekked to Lucas giving his undivided attention to each crew member. She owed this wonderful man so much more than she could ever repay. "Whenever he could. A lot of times he was out of the country on TDYs and deployments. He's been over in the Middle East and helping with the tsunami destruction in Indonesia. Do you know what's been going on over in those regions?" He hesitated, a chair squeaking in the background. "I mean, did Tio Ramon—" "Did he keep me locked up in a cell with bread, water and no television?" She tried for levity. It didn't

work for either of them. "I had access to newspapers, magazines and a limited amount of television. Computers, but no Internet or phones out." He whistled low and long. 'That's so freaky weird." She wanted to hug him and reassure him as she did with Lucia. The best she could offer were words for now—words Lucia probably shouldn't hear. "Hold on a moment," she said, before clutching the receiver to her chest and whispering to her daughter, "Go see Papa for a minute, chica." Shoving a fistful of chips into her mouth, Lucia clambered down. Sara watched until her daughter reached Lucas's side and tugged on his hand. He glanced down, his face softening as he reached to scoop her up. He returned his attention to the discussion with his aviators, his face serious again, but his hold on Lucia gentle. Her daughter was in good hands, even if those airmen were gawking at their commander as though he'd suddenly sprouted a third arm. They'd obviously never seen the tender man who discussed bug cuisine with a frightened and confused child. She'd spent so long wondering why he didn't reveal more of his heart to her, never fully realizing how much more of himself he gave to her than to anyone else. Sara pressed the phone to her ear again. "Ramon didn't hurt me. Physically I'm fine. It could have been so much worse." "Sure." Sarcasm dripped through the phone lines. "He only stole five years from you, from all of us who love you. Just because he didn't beat you up or—uh— abuse you, that still doesn't make any of this okay," her brother barked with hoarse gruffness that cut new wounds on her heart. "I'm mad as hell and want somebody to pay." His gasping breaths filled the phone lines. "Tomas, hermano—" brother "—I'm all right—" "Stop. This is not okay, and if you think it is, then I'm even more worried about you. You really need to be careful. You know? Go to some of those decompression sessions, find a support group, like Alcoholics Anonymous. Or even one for all of us to attend together." Her chest went tight, breathing constricted again. "We can talk about that later." A shuddering breath echoed. "You're right. I shouldn't be ragging on you now." "You're sweet to worry about me." "Hey, you're the one who married a guy to keep me safe." Partly. She'd also married Lucas because she'd loved him. And now? How did she feel? Back to all of those decisions again. "I married Lucas because I wanted to." "What happens with you and Lucas now?"

"I'll let you know as soon as we figure it out." "Sarafina?" "Yes?" "Since you, uh, died—or we thought you died—I never saw or heard of Lucas dating anyone. I even asked him about it a couple of times, and he always said he was too busy with work. I just thought you would want to know that." No one? She couldn't help but stare at Lucas with a fresh perspective. He'd said he grieved for her, but she would have thought he would move on to other relationships. Even if jealousy stung, she understood it was unrealistic to expect him to be faithful to marriage vows when she was "dead." But he hadn't dated anyone? Of course Tomas hadn't been with him all the time. Either way she didn't want to care about the answer so much. She didn't want to be so totally swept away by how right Lucas looked holding Lucia and shifting from foot to foot in that universal lull-a-child rocking motion. Such a precious contrast to the stoic leader. Apparently she didn't have any more control over her feelings now than she'd had over her life recently. She prayed that with her currently messed-up mind she could get past this panicky sense of foreboding that Ramon would burst into the room at any moment. That he would snatch Lucia or shoot Lucas. Dlos mio, she needed air, fresh air. Couldn't someone open a window? She gripped the phone tighter. Surely she was being paranoid. After all Tomas's talk about needing counseling and her own fears that she couldn't make a decision, she should leave protection from Ramon in the hands of the experts.

Chapter 14 Damn, it felt good to be in an Air Force flight suit again. Lucas strode down the narrow corridor at the Cartina National Air Base after mission planning tomorrow night's return flight to Charleston. His clothes had been exactly where he'd left them, in his room. How full circle to be here again. Yet because of a blown-up bridge, he'd been forced to take such a roundabout route back. Sara had been close to help for so long and no one in this godforsaken country had looked farther than their noses to help her. Scratch that. The Cartinians had been making strides to clean up their boundaries, the Aragon situation and this op, both a case in point. He only wished the local government had taken care of the problem years ago.

Rounding the corner in the dilapidated billeting hall, he took reassurance in the guards at both ends and an extra outside his room—where Sara and Lucia would sleep. Where they waited inside for him. Throughout most of the day escaping and the evening mission planning, he'd done a damn fine job of pretending his heart wasn't jackhammering in his ears. But now, in the silent corridor with only his boots thudding, he could hear his heart just fine. And he would be spending the night in the same room with Sara—and their four-year-old kid. Quarters were limited and no way would he or any of his people bunk downtown in Cartina's capital even if the accommodations were more spacious. So they'd doubled up for the night, their last in Cartina before taking off after dark tomorrow. As much as he wanted to leave in the morning, he preferred an after-sundown takeoff with NVGs—night vision goggles. Those hulking gray C-17s made too large a target for some rebel with a shoulder-held missile launcher. Not much longer and this would be behind them. He knocked twice, softly in case Lucia slept. "Sara? It's me." "Entre," she answered low. Twisting the knob, he nudged open the door. Lucia was already tucked in asleep on a cot against the wall, a stark sheet over her. Sara sat cross-legged on the bed by an open window. He thought about cautioning her to move away, but they were on the inside of a quadrangle layout—safe enough for her to enjoy fresh air from the enclosed courtyard since the air conditioner was on the fritz. He imagined she might feel claustrophobic for a while to come. He'd spoken with Tomas after the boy's conversation with Sara. Her brother was worried about her and the adjustments ahead. Tomas hadn't doubted for a second what happened to her, a gift of trust Lucas still wished like hell he could have given her from the start. Sara had been so emphatic when they'd made love about not being pampered. She'd wanted all-out pas sion, no restraints. He hadn't been difficult to persuade—and damn, he needed to quit thinking about that or he would be hitting the cold shower. Instead, he leaned in the doorway, amazed at how this woman with her bubbles and strong will had grabbed hold of her fate and broken free for their daughter. Sara had always dazzled him, but in their time apart, she'd matured into one helluva steely woman. He, however, had lost too much of himself over the past five years to be a better man, when he hadn't been enough for her in the first place. How could he offer her the sensitivity she needed to get through this transition time? Sara herself had said he couldn't be responsible for someone else's heart when he couldn't find his own. Except he could have sworn he was hearing his in his ears again. Her head tipped to the side as she watched him watch her. He could feel the heat of her gaze grazing over him, finally pulling from his eyes, down his flight suit to the tips of his boots and up again. "You're

you again." That was good? "I'm sorry about the lack of privacy." "Me, too. You know I would like to be with you tonight, but, well..." Waving a hand toward their sleeping daughter, Sara shrugged. "Ditto." Definitely ditto. He may not have much to offer her emotionally, but at least in bed he gave her all she wanted, needed. Demanded. He grinned. Then winced, willing down the twitch of arousal. Lucas pointed to the bowl and straw in her lap. "If that's supper, I think I'll pass." "Not supper. Although I did eat, I promise. I've been checking my glucose levels faithfully and even received a total okay from the doctor." Smiling, she leaned over the bowl, put the straw between her lips, sucked lightly, straightened.... Blowing a long stream of small, perfect bubbles out the open window. He shoved away from the door and toed it closed quietly to keep from disturbing Lucia, not thai the little one seemed likely to stir even if a bomb detonated outside. "Where did you find that on a military base?" "I made it from kitchen dish soap." Straw to her lips again, she launched a barrage of bubbles lofting out the window skyward. "I wanted to make a test batch before trying them with Lucia tomorrow to keep her entertained until it's time to leave." "Good idea." He scratched the back of his neck, closing the distance between them. "There's a Base Ex change store here, too, where we can pick up clothes for you both." "The copilot, Darcy, mentioned that. She offered to escort us around." Sara passed a small bag to him. Huh? He took the bag and peered inside. "Sunflower seeds?" "I noticed Darcy chews them all the time. When I asked where she got them, she was generous enough to share hers with us. I thought you would like to feed your birds." The bag gained ten pounds in his hand. In the middle of a crappy day running from maniac gunmen, Sara had thought he would enjoy feeding birds? She was right. He could use the stress reliever. Did she know that, too? Embarrassment and more than a little unease sent his voice gruff. "You didn't tell her about my hobby, did you?" "Of course not. That's our secret." She puffed a big teasing bubble toward his face. "What a wonderful coincidence for Darcy and her husband that they're both working here at the same time and sharing a room, as well."

The "practicality" of the sleeping arrangements had brought matching big, goofy-ass grins from both Max and Darcy Keagan. The squadron would probably be celebrating another baby shower in about nine months. Someone had actually hinted at having a belated shower for Lucia after she'd called him papa. He would have to make formal announcements soon. Although the way the gossip mill churned in a squadron, he suspected everyone would know before they touched down. "Max Keagan was already here and when the rest shook down for our crews to fly..." "You put her on the roster so she could see her husband, you softie." He leaned by the window, staring out into the stark patch of lawn illuminated by security lights, no manicured gardens here. Just utilitarian grass and a few scraggly rose bushes along the wall. "If my flyers are happy at home, they're stronger at work." "Admit it. You are a softie inside." "I'll show you soft, lady." He winked, enjoying the lightness she brought to his life even when they couldn't pursue anything beyond flirting. He pitched a handful of seeds out the window even though the birds wouldn't feed en masse until morning. They'd all be there in the morning when he woke up, though, thanks to Sara. "My squadron's going to think I've lost it." "Maybe you don't lose it near enough." "Like never?" "You said it, not me." He tossed another handful without commenting. What could he answer after all? She was right again. "I've always loved bubbles. At first I enjoyed the way they glistened like clear diamonds back when I had all these airy dreams of a glamorous life." She dipped the straw in the soapy solution. "Then I envied them their ability to float away." She whispered a tiny trail out the window. Realization spiraled through his brain much like those soapsuds scattering to the sky. "You blew bubbles at Chavez's?" "All the time." She kept her face toward the window as if only half with him. "I told him they were for the children, but they were really for me. So I could leave." The image of the whimsical woman with an indomitable spirit subdued—caged—stabbed through him, hard, unrelenting, until it burned behind his eyes with tears he could never let himself shed but felt all the same. He understood the depth of her helplessness. He knew firsthand how tough it could be for a strong will to be vulnerable. "When I was a teenager, I used to sit on the fire escape outside our apartment. I fed the birds then watched them glide away."

Her head cocked to the side, hair hanging until it just missed dipping into the bowl. "Our glider date." "What?" "You said the birds glided away, which made me think of our glider date when you told me that was the first craft you flew. You fly like your birds." He'd forgotten how insightful she could be. "I guess I do." "To leave the rest behind like I did at Ramon's." Maybe more insightful than he liked. He crumpled the empty bag. "You're reading too much into what I said." "Am I?" She set aside the bowl and joined him by the window. "Who came out there with you?" "Sara—" "You sat there alone to be safe in your neighborhood?" "Ditch the sympathy." He lobbed the wadded bag into the trash. "I would have been antisocial in a big family in middle-class suburbs. That's the way I'm wired." "Of course," she said to pacify him, no doubt. She leaned her head against the window frame, staring out side and inhaling. He sniffed and, damn, the rose bushes outside scented the air. He wouldn't have noticed if not for her. The rise and fall of her chest as she savored the smell proved hypnotic. He reached through the window and plucked a bloom, ignoring a thorn prick, a fair price to pay. When Lucas pulled his arm inside, her eyes were still closed. "I wanted you to know that if a hard-ass like me could watch birds fly away, then you probably shouldn't feel silly about blowing bubbles with your kid and making a few wishes of your own." He stroked the rose down her cheek. Her lashes fluttered open, her lips parting with surprise, then a sigh as she closed her eyes again. Her head fell back, which he took as an open invitation. He skimmed the flower over her collarbone and wondered why he'd never thought to do this before. The woman adored flowers and he loved... Whoa. What? Yeah. He loved Sara. He'd been scared as hell of loving her before, more so since losing her. But no one grieved as hard as he had without strong emotion, the strongest. Which brought him full circle. Here he was, loving her, wanting her, and he still wasn't certain how she felt. Sure she needed him, but there were plenty of people who could take care of her.

Not this way though, damn it. He teased the rose down her arm, an innocent touch in comparison to oth ers they'd shared. He thought of her tears when they'd made love. He knew now how strong she was. But whether she wanted to admit it or not, all Chavez's crap would have left marks on her. Lucas guided the rose like a paintbrush over each finger on her left hand, lingering on the spot he intended to put his ring someday. He would never take simple pleasures for granted again. For now, he wanted to pamper her as she deserved. Of course they couldn't have sex while a child slept a few feet away. He would just have to show Sara they could feel alive in a variety of ways.

Sweeping aside the plastic curtain in the tiny shower stall, Sara reached for a towel in the empty bathroom. Empty? She stifled disappointment. After the way Lucas had teased her with the rose, she'd half expected him to join her. But of course Lucia was in the next room, and even with guards posted, Ramon's threat loomed. Still she wouldn't have minded one stolen kiss to carry her through the rest of the night. Not that she looked particularly alluring with her straggly wet hair and jogging shorts and T-shirt, both in drab gray with USAF stamped on them in dark blue letters. Borrowed from the taller Darcy Renshaw, the clothes hung loosely, but at least they were clean. She shrugged off silly vanity. She and Lucas were beyond that, right? They were both more practical souls these days. Or rather, he had always been pragmatic and she'd finally caught up. She would enjoy the gift of sleeping in his arms, replaying in her mind the things he'd shared with her, more in a few minutes than during the months they'd dated and made love. Sara swung open the door to their shared room, blinking to adjust to the dark. Was he already asleep? It was after one in the morning, and he'd already pushed himself beyond normal human endurance. She creaked the bathroom door wider to slant enough light through to make her way across without kicking something over and disturbing Lucia or Lucas. Illumination slanted over the double bed. A bed scattered with rose petals. A lean, gorgeous man stretched out in the middle, apparently uncaring that his flight suit and boots would smell like flowers. "I know we can't do anything much with the kiddo nearby. But I figured, hey—" he shrugged "—I still owe you some 'morning after' romance." "This is lovely. Gracias." She strolled toward the bed and hitched a knee on the edge of the mattress. "De nada. Now come here." He reached for her, gripping her by the waist and lifting. What was he...? He plopped her in the middle of the bed and situated himself behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He fit her between his legs, which brought her bottom resting snug right against...

"Lucas?" "More of the 'morning after' romance pampering stuff." His fingers massaged the base of her neck, grazing lower until his palms pressed along her aching back. Ahhh, what she would have given for the magic of his touch during her pregnancy. "You're... That's... Amazing." Heat shooshed through her veins, melting away tension. "Truly, though, you do not owe me a thing. You already gave me the most precious gift ever—Lucia." A precious gift that snored, but what a reassuring sound. "Do you want me to stop?" He kneaded muscles between her shoulder blades. Her head lolling forward, she groaned. "I'll take that as a go-ahead to continue." She managed a nod with the next moan, wondering if she was selfish for lapping up the glorious feel of his hands that knew her body so well. "Are you sure your arm's all right to do this?" His thumbs worked down the edges of her spine. "Totally okay." Of course. He was invincible. Although now that he was letting her see the human side of him as well with confidences, she found herself more drawn than ever. "I'm sorry to have added another scar to your beautiful body." "You've already apologized. But, uh, beautiful?" He hesitated rubbing for a heartbeat, then slid to cup her waist. "That's not a word men prefer to hear describing them." "You work out, don't you?" He grunted. "You're fit. But you don't strike me as a team sports sort of man, so I assume you work out." "I still run." His hands massaged up her waist, his fingers grazing the sides of her breasts. She shivered. "Usually at the beach. I like open spaces." "Plus the solitude?" She struggled for words to keep from falling too deeply under the spell of his hands. "For a loner, you chose a strange profession. Even your plane is a crew aircraft. I would have expected you to fly a single-seat fighter jet." "Seems more logical, doesn't it?" So why had he made the choice? A subconscious yearning for something different? That gave her pause. "Are you happy with your current assignment?" "Charleston has amazing beaches and barrier islands, not as mountainous as the seaside here, but no less awesome. I think you could like it in South Carolina."

Thank goodness for his relaxing touch because her muscles were kinking again. Not that there was any real decision to be made. Of course she would go to the States and Charleston was the logical location to settle. Lucia needed to know her father. Tomas had roots there. She and Lucas were married and she loved him. Totally. In a world swirling with turmoil and decisions, she couldn't hide from that very clear reality. So why did things still feel strangely…off? "I guess the time has come to discuss the future in concrete terms." "Yeah, here we are again, sitting in bed together talking about being married." He rubbed down her arms, his hot breath drying her damp hair. "Are you going to call my marriage discussion 'bull' again?" She winced. Could she have really been that heartless? Or so selfishly heart-hurt by his duty proposal that she'd brushed off his words as if they didn't matter. Sara turned in his arms, her hand to his chest. "I wish I had treasured you more then." His forehead creased. "I don't know what to say to something like that." "You don't have to say anything." She tapped his mouth. "Why not just let me love you?" He blinked twice then nipped her finger. "You know we can't do anything here tonight. But I promise you can have your way with me after we land in Charleston." "That's not what I meant." Maybe she should have held off on deep discussions until they were no longer exhausted and vulnerable. She wasn't sure what she planned to say or even how to articulate what she hadn't been able to understand in five years. But at least they were communicating. "You are an amazing man. You've made opportunities for yourself with little or no help. You take care of the world, clearing up other people's problems and mistakes without ever allowing yourself the least human foible." His brow trenched deeper. "Is this a more sophisticated way of saying 'bull'?" "Not at all. I used to envy that about you. I've worked very hard to be a stronger, better person—for our child, for me, and also because you deserve the best. I refuse to be anything but my best." The rest crystallized in her mind like one of her bubbles in flight. "The problem is, if we are to be a truly committed couple, I need to be allowed to love you as much as you love me. I need to care for you as much as you care for me." She smoothed her hands over that broad chest in uniform, so capable and strong it would be easy to rest her head against it for a lifetime. But she wasn't the selfish girl any longer. Her love ran deeper. "I know there's nothing you can't handle on your own, so it's difficult for you to need anyone." She tapped his temple. "But it must be a very lonely place in there." She tapped his chest, over his heart. "In here, as well."

"You're saying if I don't... what? Cry at your feet or cut open my heart for you, then we can't be together?" His chest pumped with each ragged—angry?—breath. "That's not who I am and you know it." Frustration frothed higher along with disappointment. She'd been so hopeful with the flowers and his opening up at least a little. "Lucas, I just want y—" He stood abruptly, scattering petals over the floor, much like her fragmented thoughts as she scrambled to put the pieces of her world together again. "You should be relaxing. That's what tonight was supposed to have been about for you. We have time to work through the rest." He didn't dodge looking at her, but he may as well have. His face blanked, the expressionless commander in place again, taking control and shutting out the world—including her. "I need to check on scheduling for tomorrow night's flight out." Pivoting on his heel, he tugged open the door and left. That was it? He'd walked out? She bit back the urge to jerk open the door and shout for him to march his fine-looking self back into their room. Wouldn't that surprise his flyers? Except he was right that they had plenty of time to talk later. A whole life of days now. Why push this hard to clarify things between them, rather than simply reveling in their reunion? But she couldn't escape the now-or-never sensation. Here, they were on an even footing of sorts. Once they landed in the States, she would need so much from him while acclimating to a new country, re-learning to make choices, wiser ones this time. Even looking into what Tomas had said about professional help to "decompress." If she didn't settle things with Lucas now, how long would it be before she had another chance to be his partner? Something she wanted with every fiber of her adult soul. Something he deserved. He would have needs, too, during this transition. She knelt on the floor, sweeping her hand over the scattered petals as if to rebuild the evening and handle things better this time. She sifted the scented bits between her fingers, such tiny scraps to give off such a potent scent. The whimsical notion tugged at her. She almost discarded it as a frivolous bit of tripe the old Sara would have considered. Instead the thought flowered inside her mind—even her heart—all those little red satiny bits coming together. She'd been so clueless. She'd accused Lucas of expecting perfection from himself, when she had been ex pecting the same from him. He was such a capable man of huge accomplishments, she had been looking for the same from him on the emotional front. Except he wasn't invulnerable after all. Reaching out was difficult for him, something he rarely did and therefore she should have paid far more attention to the smaller details when he did. Spreading rose petals on the bed for her in a tender romantic gesture would have been tougher for him than whacking through a hazardous jungle or leading a squadron.

She plopped onto her bottom, cradled the petals in her cupped hands and knew she wasn't being whimsi cal or silly in the least to think she held Lucas's heart. Wasn't that an earthshaking, amazing realization? The reality of it rocked her until she could have sworn the floorboards moved beneath her. Again? She inched to the side to stare at the pine slats in the dim moonlight, her brain refusing to process what she saw. Boards slid aside, a man emerging, large, lethal. Machine gun aimed. Ramon had come for her, with a hardened glint in his eyes that shone through even the dark. "You seem very comfortable here, Sarafina, not at all an unwilling prisoner." He jacked the weapon up higher. "Make a sound and I will shoot your brains all over Lucia."

Chapter 15 Lucas strode down the hall away from his room, away from Sara and the guards posted at her door and window. For the first time in his life, he had no idea where to go next. He'd always had a goal along with a plan for how to achieve it. Well, he had the goal—plant a ring on Sara's hand. But he had no idea how to go about making that hap pen. So he'd made tracks for the door when her questions grew more pointed. He could probably persuade her to stay at his house for Lucia's sake. Except, damn it all, he wanted her to move in for him. Given his rotten mood, he should level out before attempting to make his case. Better to review tomorrow night's flight plan again. The dingy hall echoed with his boot steps, all the doors closed except for one open slightly, a slice of light knifing across the floor. He paused outside, finding Carson Hunt alone with a cup of coffee and his laptop on the desk. Lucas rapped his knuckles on the molding frame, not totally sure why, but unwilling to keep walking. Hunt glanced up. "Oh, hello, sir. Is something wrong?" "Does something have to be wrong for me to speak with you?" An odd notion he'd never noticed before, but come to think of it, he rarely shot the breeze. Lucas leaned a shoulder against the frame. "Where's everyone?" "Enjoying a taste of tequila." He closed his computer and spun his chair away from the desk. "Tequila?" Lucas straightened. What the hell? "We have a flight tomorrow night—" "They know when crew rest starts. It's one bottle that both crews are sharing with a couple of Cartinian

crews, which doesn't come out to more than a shot each. They're celebrating Seabrook's safe return. They're due that." Hunt stroked his blond mustache while he studied Lucas as if waiting for something...like his reason for stopping since Lucas wasn't known for making polite chitchat. Lucia was right. He was a hard—sometimes grouchy—commander. "Good job taking care of things while I was away." Hunt quirked a brow. "Thank you, sir. You've trained us all well." "Have I?" Both brows shot up this time. "Excuse me?" Sara and Lucia both had him thinking, looking deeper and reevaluating. "Part of leadership is mentoring. Quite frankly, I suck at all that warm-fuzzy teacher stuff. I'm more the hard-ass instructor type." "Maybe so," Hunt conceded slowly, as if waiting for the explosion, and when it didn't come, he continued, "but when it came time to pick folks for positions like mine, you chose mentor types to round out the picture. Together, we get the job done." "I hope so." He certainly hadn't gotten the job done when it came to a relationship with Sara, then or now. What the hell was he looking for here? Apparently he didn't know much of anything tonight. "Well, that's all I wanted to say. Good night, Major." Lucas started to pivot away. "Sir? Would you like a cup of coffee?" Damn. He would. What was up with that? Still, it would give him a chance to pull his thoughts together before going to bed with Sara. Lucas turned back. "Yeah, thanks." Hunt filled a second mug beside the coffeemaker. "Nothing like a good Colombian roast." Small talk. This night was getting stranger by the second. Might as well go for broke since he sure could use some advice. "Have you ever done anything you regretted?" Hunt jerked in his seat as if shot, then stared at Quade as if he'd grown an extra head or two. Damn. He wasn't that antisocial. Okay, he was. But you'd think a guy could be more polite in hiding his surprise. "Forget it. I need to—" "Hang on." He passed the mug to Lucas—to give himself time to think? Or recover from the shock, more likely. "Yeah, sure. We've all done things we're sorry for later. Maybe the feeling's a little more alien for you, sir. No disrespect meant." "None taken." Sort of. But the jab was well deserved. He'd ridden the squadron hard during his command, demanded perfection.

"I've got boatloads of regrets." He stroked his mustache again even though his Ivy League appearance was smooth as ever after a full day of work. "But the one that bit the worst came from hurting a friend." "I was talking about woman regrets." "So am I." "Oh, uh. Right." Of course. Why hadn't he thought of that himself? Hadn't Sara been his friend? The only real one he could ever remember having. Except she'd said they weren't even friends, that he was too busy taking care of her, or whatever the hell she'd meant. Hunt reached for his mug again. "When a woman's your friend but sex screws it up—so to speak—it's im possible to go back if you're not interested in going forward. Does that make sense?" Sort of, in a jumbled way. "Are you sure you didn't have some of that rotgut tequila?" "Positive." The pilot topped off his mug. "I'm just dead on my feet tired. Didn't sleep much while waiting for word on if you'd made it or not." "Hell, sorry." He should go anyway. So why wasn't he standing? "You should sleep." "Can't do that now that you've made me start thinking about her again."' That he understood well. "Did you ever fix things with this friend of yours?" "Tough when she won't talk to me." "Sounds like her fault then." Wasn't that a lightbulb moment? He should be in there discussing this with Sara rather than Hunt. But it would be rude to bolt out. Rude? Now he was going all sensitive, too. Next thing he knew he'd be a softie as Sara said. "The problem is, sir..." Hunt turned his mug around and around on the desk, sloshing a film of coffee along the sides like a fine liquor. "I neglected to talk to her first for a while after we, uh...after I ruined the friendship." Hunt had slept with a woman and didn't call her afterward? Hell, even he wasn't that clueless. "Remind me again why I chose an apparent moron as my third in command?" "Beats me." He stared down into the coffee mug as if it held answers. "I'd give my left nut for a chance to fix things with her." "If you have feelings for her—" "I didn't say I'm in love with her or anything." He bolted back a gulp of Java like the shot he wasn't sharing with the rest of the crewdogs. . "Right. You didn't." But being one of the walking wounded of an ambush from Cupid, Lucas recognized the signs.

"It's just awkward seeing her around." "I can see how that would be tough." He could use a shot himself tonight. "And her family." Lucas paused middrink. "They know you, uh, did what you did?" Hunt's head jerked up. "Hell, no! Her father would kill me. Slowly. Painfully. Staked out with buzzards to pick at my remains. And I'd deserve it." "Wish I had some advice for you." "I don't expect any. She's moved on anyway, so there's nothing to do." Moved on but she still wouldn't speak to Hunt? Lucas scratched the back of his neck. He wasn't a romance expert by a long stretch, but it seemed that neither one of them had moved on. And he was an expert on being stuck in the past. Footsteps sounded in the hall, pulling Lucas back to the present and duties. Thank God for all the guards on base, inside and out, so he didn't have to worry as much about Sara and Lucia. The doorway filled as Bo Rokowsky charged though with his ever-present guitar slung over his back, more crewdogs straggling after him. The copilot had even stayed behind in a craft after an emergency landing once to pick up his guitar. Rokowsky slung the instrument onto his bed, back to the room. "Does anybody besides me smell roses?" Crap. Lucas checked his flight suit for stray petals. He'd forgotten all about lying around in those flowers with Sara. Before he could say anything—not that he had an idea what—Rokowsky turned toward the room. And screeched to a halt. His eyes locked on Lucas and went wide, his shoulders bracing. "Hello, sir." "Hello, Captain." Lucas stood. "I'm heading out so everyone can sleep." They also needed to unwind, something that wouldn't happen with a commander around. Even if the commander magically turned into a true softie, he was still the boss. "Good night." Lucas nodded to the other crewdogs, not surprised to find them hanging out together. The whole squadron had been through a lot with deployments to the Middle East, some more bonded than others because of the shoot down—Hunt, Rokowsky, Price and Max Keagan, who'd gone undercover on a flight with them. Price leaned closer to share a joke with Hunt. The pilot's smile was tight, his eyes not holding.

Good God. Hunt had slept with Price's college-aged daughter? If the loadmaster found out, Hunt would be lucky to get off with just buzzards. No wonder Hunt felt so guilty. Lucas ducked into the hall. Hunt's words about friendship rattled around in his head along with what Sara had said about letting her care for him, too. That made for scary crap, opening himself up for her. If he was in charge, no one could get too close. He'd been scared as hell of letting her crawl under his skin five years ago. The more she meant to him, the more it would hurt if he screwed up and lost her. Now he knew exactly how much it hurt, which had turned him into even more of a coward. Rather than dropping to his knees in gratitude over having a second chance with her, he'd tried to lock her out of his heart. As if he'd ever had any luck with that before. He wasn't just a coward. He was a bigger idiot than Hunt. But he was trainable. Time to do his best to fix the mistake because he absolutely would not lose Sara again. He did an about-face away from the briefing room full of charts, back toward his quarters where Sara and Lucia— and his future— waited for him. Nodding to the guards, he reached for the door, opening quietly so as not to wake them. Light from the hall cast a muted glow over the stark space and Sara's empty bed. Was she in the bathroom? The door was closed. He checked Lucia, the kiddo on her side under the sheet, her eyes squeezed shut tight. Too tight. He grinned, kinda proud of himself for this parental insight of catching his kid fake sleeping. "Hey, beetle." He crossed to sit on the edge of her bed. "Do you need a drink of water or something?" Please, though, not a fairy tale request yet. He needed to go to the library first. "Just want my mama." She sidled closer to him, big brown eyes open and sad. Man, was that his heart flipping over? He glanced at the bathroom door. "She should be out soon." "Nuh-uh." Lucia shook her head, tangled curls swishing. "She went for a walk and she didn't even ask me to go. I'm mad, but I didn't eat a bug." A walk? Leaving Lucia alone? Even with the guard outside, he seriously doubted Sara would leave Lucia by herself in the room. "Where did she walk?" Lucia rocked forward on her knees and pointed down. "Through the floor with Tio Ramon."

Sara squinted in the dark tunnel, Ramon's machine gun in the middle of her back a persuasive reminder to keep marching. Their only light gleamed from a miner's lamp on his head, casting a thin stream through the pitch nothingness. Seemingly endless with no way to tell how much longer until they reached an exit. At least she'd persuaded Ramon to leave Lucia behind. She'd vowed she would scream if he took one step toward her daughter. He would have to blow her brains out as he'd threatened, which would alert the guards. The only way she would go peacefully was if Lucia stayed behind. At least Lucia had pretended to stay asleep through it all. Thank heaven they both hadn't been asleep when he'd come through the floor or he would have almost certainly gagged her. For a moment, she'd thought he would kill her anyway and blaze his way out with Lucia. Was this the man he'd been back in his guerrilla fighter days'? She shivered at the thought of Nola Seabrook on the road with him, shuddered to imagine this element of his personality had been lurking, ready to snap free at any time. Some sanity must have remained in his twisted mind, because he'd accepted her bargain. She'd known by then that Lucia was faking sleep, but her daughter didn't wince. She grieved that her child had to witness her mother's kidnapping, especially after an already bizarre childhood. But she also prayed Lucas would check in soon and Lucia could explain well enough. Sara wanted to confront Ramon with his years of deception in letting her believe her husband and brother were dead. Wanted to scream at him for the pain he'd brought her, for robbing Lucia of her father. But she wouldn't indulge impulsive emotions and risk upsetting him. Bottom line, she had to delay their journey down this dank earthen tunnel long enough for her daughter to alert Lucas. "Tio Ramon..." She hoped calling him uncle would remind him of softer emotions, the pseudo-family-tie that had bonded all of them together for years. "My father would not want this for me, or for you. You have your own family. Please let me build mine." "In the United States?" He seemed to already know anyway, so she allowed herself a small nod. His sigh racked long and hard behind her. "I had already suspected, feared, but crawling around under the floor place to find your room, I heard much about your joyous reunion with your husband." He'd been listening? Hope of reasoning with him faded away. "Puta." He spit. "You betrayed your family when you left with these people. And the rest of my family..." His voice cracked on the last word, his steps faltering. "They are gone." "Gone?" All of them? Her mind reeled with flashing images of his grandchildren, his adult children, too, all pawns in his perverted control games. "The whole compound has been destroyed, my family with it." Grief chilled her even more than the underground iciness. Ramon's grandchildren had been Lucia's only playmates. Sara's charges in her nanny duties.

What-if scenarios chilled her further. If she hadn't left, Lucia would have been in the room with them when Padilla's bombs and bullets hit. In Ramon's fanatical attempt to "protect" them from the outside world, he'd left them all defenseless. Except she wasn't defenseless any longer. She'd defied him by escaping once. She could—and would— do it again. He prodded the steely barrel of the gun against her spine again. "Walk, damn it." She hadn't even realized her feet had stopped. "Of course. I'm sorry, I'm just..." She swallowed down emotions she couldn't afford to indulge at the moment if she expected to live long enough to see Lucas again. "I can't believe they're all dead." "I have nothing left but the hope of returning my country to its former glory." "Then why risk that by coming in after me?" She willed Lucas to hurry, her fist closing around the few remaining rose petals she'd snuck from the room. She'd been dropping them when she dared, praying Lucas would see and understand. Follow through the crawl space under their room, into the bomb shelter with a hidden door to an old drug runner's tunnel. Heaven help them. He would need a map, not a pathetic few dead petals that blended with the murky mud of the damp floor. But she didn't even have a knife for protection this time. Only her mind and the flowers she'd scooped into her pockets. Ramon steered her forward, the light strapped to his head streaking ahead. "Hostages make powerful bar gaining tools when dealing with the United States. They cared enough to come after you once, and that caring makes them vulnerable. That, I understand very well." "They won't bargain with a criminal." "One country's criminal is another country's freedom fighter. Regardless, they'll tread warily when they know there's a gun to your traitorous head." Dios mio, he didn't care if she lived or died. Any tender feelings he may have once harbored in his twisted mind were gone now. She was nothing more than a traitor, a pawn to him and she knew full well what happened to traitors in his world. She blinked through her shock—and saw him circle to face her, gun leveled at her chest. No! Not yet. She wasn't ready. She needed to tell Lucas how much she loved him. Shock stunned her still. Wasn't Ramon going to wait? This didn't make sense. The scars on her body throbbed a reminder of bullets tearing through her flesh. The blinding pain that would come afterward. The sensation of her blood pumping free until the world went blurry except for Lucas's face over her, his voice all around her. Ramon's gun rose higher, his actions silhouetted in shadow as she started toward him, the miner light glar

ing back at her. Higher? Over her head.

The butt rammed forward against her head. Her world went fuzzy, except this time she saw only Ramon's face, heard his voice. "You thought you were so smart. But I will not trust that any woman is weak again." She braced a hand on the moist muddy wall. Slippery. With her blood? No. Wet with humidity. As she slid to the ground she saw two men, the second dressed in camouflage like Ramon. Or was that only Ramon? And if so, which one? If she chose wrong, her arm would slice through the image as easily as through a bubble. But she had to try. She struggled to lurch to her feet, but her body wouldn't obey and she collapsed to her knees. Ramon knelt in front of her, his gun in her face. "Do not make me use this again to subdue you." He tucked his shoulder in her stomach and hefted her up. Blood rushed to her head, the ground swaying. Then he walked. Sara stifled a groan at each jarring step, battling waves of nausea. Now wasn't the time to fight, not while Ramon had his weapon so close and her head was swimming with vertigo. With Lucas and Lucia counting on her, she couldn't afford to be impetuous and waste a precious opportunity. Because she wouldn't leave Lucas, her husband, her love, alone ever again. Even as consciousness faded, she vowed that unlike five years ago on the embassy lawn, this time she would get it right.... "Why the hell won't you marry me?" Lucas demanded. She blew a stream of bubbles to give herself a chance to think, exhaling slowly to keep from hyperventilating. Keep from flinging her arms around his neck and shouting that of course she would marry him, even though he offered for the least romantic of reasons... Today's reason? To make her a citizen of the United States so they could take her orphaned brother out of the country before Tio Ramon assumed custody. No one married for those sorts of reasons anymore, did they? This wasn't a century ago when arranged marriages were the norm. Her own emotions were in such a turmoil, grief from losing her father still so fresh. Mixed with that grief was guilt over all her resentment of her papa's overprotective ways. She was definitely in no condition to make permanent decisions. Besides, she wanted Lucas to love her as much as she loved him. She wanted him to live and breathe to be with her—as she felt for him. Only while making love did he shake off restraints and she thought maybe, just maybe... But then perhaps all men behaved that way during sex. What did she know? She did know, however, that time was running out. Her period was late. Only a couple of days,

but enough for a regular-cycle person to sweat. These next few weeks would set the course for their relationship for the rest of their lives. "I didn't say I wouldn't marry you. Only that I wouldn't marry you because you were my first lover. And not because you were having an amazing finish during sex which led you to say something in the heat of the moment. And not because my brother needs to go to the United States." "So what would make you marry me?" He gripped the stone bench until his knuckles went white. "If you don't know or feel it, then what's the use in my telling you?" She set aside her bubble wand so he wouldn't see her hands shake. "You want me to say I love you? Well fine, Sarafina. I love you." He barked the admission with so much frustration she resisted the urge to dump the whole container of bubbles on his head. But she also couldn't resist the urge to stay and listen. His chest pumped. "I can't think of anyone else but you. It's a struggle to concentrate on work. You've turned my world upside down. It's not a feeling I particularly enjoy and I can't imagine living my entire life this way." He let go of the stone bench long enough to bury his hand in her hair and cup her neck. "I can't imagine living my life without you, either." "Oh." Her anger melted along with almost all of her reservations. Perhaps she could forget about the rest. "That was good?" "Very good." His fingers tunneled into her hair, his thumb on her cheek as he leaned nearer. "So does this mean you'II marry me? Come to the States with your brother and let me take care of you both?" So close to a romantic declaration—and then he'd gone back to the duty card again. Was she being greedy? He'd said he loved her, even coughed up those beautifully intense words about how she moved him. Except she wanted more than to be "taken care of." Her father had almost smothered her with his sheltering, although thinking such negative thoughts about him felt disloyal to his memory. Her world was in such turmoil. She could wait to be sure she was pregnant—and to give Lucas more time to see her as an independent woman, able to stand by his side as a partner. She turned to kiss his palm. "I'm not saying no. I'm just not ready to say yes yet." He looked skyward, his curse riding a long exhale, before he met her eyes again. "You don't know what the hell you want, but I'll be damned if I'll jump through hoops like some trained poodle." "That's not fair." Was it? "Welcome to the big leagues, lady, because life is rarely fair." He shoved to his feet, snatched up

his bag of birdseed and stalked toward the embassy. Regret stung like soap in her eyes. Tears fuzzed the edges of her vision. The rest of the world faded until she could only see his broad shoulders, the lean strength of him as he left her with long-legged strides. He seemed so invincible. Could he be as vulnerable as she felt? Just thinking of losing him for good burned her chest with a pain so intense she stumbled and could have sworn it was a real physical wound. Then Lucas was pivoting back to her. But the fiery pain didn't ease. He was trying to tell her something, except she couldn't hear him over the dull roar in her ears and the mad flapping of all his birds as they flew away simultaneously. He was sprinting back to her. Surely the ache would ease if he put his arms around her. She tried to reach for him, but the simple movement threw her off balance. She lurched forward, stumbling. Something was wrong. Lucas caught her, cushioning her fall with his body then rolling her beneath him. His heart stuttered in her ears.... But no. Wait. That wasn't right. His heart sounded like gunfire. Gunfire. The embassy was under attack. She forced her eyes open, battling the lethargy sweeping through her veins. Blood stained the grass. Lucas's? No. Please not his. "Lucas?" "Yeah, Sara. I'm fine, but this isn't going to let up. I have to get you out of here." "You go." His curse wasn't pretty. "Put your arms around my neck and do it now, because I'm not leaving without you." She must have put her arms around him since suddenly they were running and she was cradled against his chest. But she couldn't think of anything but the agony coursing through her veins. Was she dying? She groaned at the thought of losing Lucas. He sprinted faster toward the embassy. She bit back a scream. The jolting of his steps, the torturous pressure against her side turned her vision spotty as she fought unconsciousness. She couldn't pass out. She had to think logically about... Her baby. Her brother. Her deep-seated yearning to be Lucas's wife. She moistened her cottony-dry mouth. "Marry me...please...."

Chapter 16

Where the hell was his wife? Lucas paced from wall to wall of the dank cellar beneath the Cartina National Air Base. An empty cell— other than the security personnel who were currently as bemused as he was. No more than an hour had passed since he'd stalked off from Sara. He'd spent a half hour with Hunt, then twenty-seven and a half more minutes since he'd found her bed empty. He'd alerted the guards, shoved Lucia into the protective custody of all of his crew members, ordering each of them not to leave her alone for even a second. If the base came under attack, take her and get the hell out. Worst-case scenario, if he and Sara didn't make it back, take Lucia to her Uncle Tomas. The boy was young, but levelheaded and capable of caring for her. Lucas studied the opening overhead that led to a crawl space under base billeting. He'd damn near torn the planks free with his hands, shouting for the security police. Finally they discovered loosened boards that opened into the crawl space. The crawl space eventually fed into a holding chamber, a bomb shelter. Where the hell was Sara? Rescue teams were combing the jungle perimeter around the base. Helicopters were circling overhead with infrared cameras. Time was ticking away and he couldn't think of a thing more to do. He resisted the temptation to slam his fist into the dirt wall. Damn it all, he needed to keep his head together, but he couldn't tamp down hellish images of Sara dead. The scent of roses taunted him, reminding him of his plans to romance her. Instead, he'd been an idiot and walked out. Fate could not, absolutely could not be this cruel. Fate? He'd always believed a man controlled his own destiny. That belief had pulled him out of his old neighborhood. That same belief had led him to blame himself when Sara was shot by rebels. He'd made a mistake. Hell, he knew that better than anyone. He'd never been able to accept that some things were beyond his control through fate, or the cosmos, or other people's free will at work. Standing in a dank dungeon of a room, he realized there was absolutely nothing he could have done differ ently. Even if he'd stayed with Sara, who's to say he wouldn't have been asleep and knocked out? Or killed. They were on a base with guards posted, for God's sake. No one could have foreseen this. Being totally helpless scared the crap out of him. And Sara had felt this way for five years. Head falling forward against the chilly wall, he closed his eyes to focus his thoughts, search for an answer, any option other than just waiting. In and out he forced his breathing to regulate with his heart but the damned smell of roses kept teasing his senses. He opened his eyes, ready to haul out of the enclosed space so the scent could dissipate. A small shadow—or dead bugs?—on the ground stopped him. He frowned, kneeling. Not a shadow or bugs at all. A cluster of rose petals lay at his feet. If there had only been one, he may have written it off as having clung to his flight suit and dropped later.

But a pile of petals? Sara had been here and left them as a message to him. A message he'd only been able to see once he stood still long enough to look. He would think more on that revelation later. For now, he had a wall to tear down.

Sara shook off the past, difficult to do with her head nearly exploding and her stomach screaming from the jarring torture of being slung over Ramon's shoulder. Only the miner's light on his forehead pierced the opaque passageway. All of it felt too much like the day she'd been shot. The hammer of Ramon's boots on the soft earth thudded in time with Lucas's boots in her memory. Echoing louder, doubling like her vision. Except the second set of footsteps were faster. Second set? Someone was coming. Lucas. She almost didn't dare hope. Did Ramon hear? She didn't want to alert him, but certainly hoped to be heard. Talking might also cover the person's approach. She knew in her soul that Lucas was following. She could feel his presence, closer. Not a delusional thought. "Tio Ramon? Could you put me down, por favor? I'm having trouble breathing. My stomach hurts and if I do not take my insulin shot soon...well, I will not make much of a hostage if I die." A valid point she thought it prudent to bring up. "Anyone who can talk that much is breathing fine. Shut up," he growled, huffing from the exertion of carrying her. He wasn't as fit as he liked to think with his gym workouts and high-vitamin smoothies. That vanity could help save her. More important, she wouldn't let anything happen to Lucas. "But, Tio Ramon, shouldn't you—" "Silencio." He flung her off his shoulder and slammed her against the ground. Her head cracked against the wall. The world went dark.

Lucas lunged toward Chavez, adrenaline kinked tight after hellish dark minutes of following in the shadows, not daring to use his flashlight, waiting for the best chance. And now Ramon Chavez had tossed Sara like a rag doll against the ground. The bastard would die. Lucas didn't intend to wait for backup. God only knew how long it would take to find the right demolition team to search a tunnel they considered unstable. They'd sworn it would only be a few minutes. He'd feared Sara didn't have minutes left.

He'd been correct. Lucas slammed into Chavez, crashing them both to the ground. He hammered his fist into the man's face, dodged a blow. Chavez's Uzi skated across the tunnel floor, skidding to a stop against the wall. Out of reach. Evening the odds. Chavez had stolen five years from Sara, robbed him of a chance to hold his daughter as a newborn. This debt could never be repaid. But he would make damn sure Chavez never hurt anyone again. He arced his fist back again— "Stop." Sara's voice reached to Lucas through the narrow focus of his rage, clearing his vision enough for him to see she was awake—and had Chavez's machine gun. She jacked the weapon higher. "I swear I'll shoot and I might hit both of you, but the fight will definitely end." Chavez froze for a split second, all Lucas needed to break free and give Sara a clear shot. He didn't know how she'd fought off unconsciousness, but he was grateful she had. And he knew without question, this woman could and would do whatever it took to get them out of this alive. Damn. He'd always been dazzled by her. Now, he was freaking mesmerized by his wife standing with her legs planted, gun at her hip. She might be swaying in the shadowy dark, but there wasn't a chance she would fall. A flash snagged his attention. Chavez reaching to his waistband. A heavy silver handgun drawn. Hell. He should have predicted the guy would have an arsenal strapped to him. Lucas kept his eyes locked on that gun in Chavez's steady hand and willed Sara to keep the Uzi level in a standoff. They had him outnumbered—and their judgment wasn't hampered by fanaticism. They could do this together if they stayed calm. "Chavez, it's over. We found evidence in your compound. Nola Seabrook told us everything we needed to know about your plans." He saw uncertainty flicker and continued to push. "She was watching and listening to every word you said." The old man was tough, but not tough enough anymore. Chavez had to know he was near the end. This whole kidnapping had "desperate last stand" written all over it. There were a thousand different tactics an experienced fighter could have chosen other than this. Convincing Chavez he was seconds from the end shouldn't be difficult. The tougher part would be ensur ing Sara stayed alive. Both of them, in fact, because he and Sara deserved a future together. "We've got troops on the ground and in the air outnumbering and outgunning your men. The base has been secured, and teams are searching for Sara. The tunnel has soldiers at the entrance and exit." Or it would soon, but he'd once been told his stone face could out-bluff a psychic.

"Nola couldn't have known about the tunnel exit," Chavez insisted even as his hand wavered. "Are you sure?" Lucas tensed every muscle, prepping for the right second to— Chavez raised his gun. Lucas sprang forward. Chavez shot. In the air? And smiled. Dirt rained from overhead, pattering down faster and faster, dust filling his nostrils, choking him. Crap. The old tunnel was seconds away from a cave-in. "Run," Lucas ordered, yanking Sara by the arm and turning back toward the cellar. The ceiling collapsed on top of Chavez. No more time to think. He could only hope the soldiers hadn't ventured into the tunnel after all. The damn thing was every bit as unstable as the Cartinian security forces had warned him. His hold tight on Sara, Lucas raced in the opposite direction. In total darkness, no choice but to dash blind and pray they wouldn't trip. He tried to grapple for his flashlight tucked in his vest... but it must have fallen out during the fight. He glided his free hand along the wall as a guide. No telling how long they would have to run or whether the whole thing would smother them first. But there wasn't another option as dust chased them, the earth still shuddering behind them. . . "Lucia?" Sara gasped for breath as she sprinted alongside him, holding tight to his hand so they wouldn't risk losing each other in the dark. Her head had to be throbbing from that fall. But he also knew she wouldn't give up as long as she had a heartbeat. "Lucia's safe. With the crewdogs. All of them. And I was telling the truth when I said the base is secured." Dirt pattered on his head in an ominous premonition. She squeezed his hand. "Gracias." They would make it out of here together. Sara was every bit as determined as he was. Every bit as strong— even stronger perhaps because, hell, she was the first person to stand up to him. A rumbling sounded again. Followed by a thud. More collapsing tunnel. Then silence. Dusty air, but no smothering weight of dirt. A respite. He wouldn't delay telling her how he felt any longer, especially when the roof could cave in on them any second now. He didn't have to scavenge for the words he hadn't been able to give her in the past. Love for Sara— his wife—was the only thing that mattered to him right now. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Her breathless vow echoed along with their pounding footsteps and thumping clods of dirt. He followed by touch around a corner and God, were those stars ahead? Not straight ahead, but above. A wave of fresh air filled his lungs. "Lucas!" Her voice echoed with hope. "Got it. Hang on." They reached the end of the tunnel and the opening about six and a half feet overhead. "Up you go, wife." He planted a hand on her perfect bottom and shoved upward. She hooked her elbows on the dirt and hefted. With a final boost, he propelled her out. She scrambled around to extend a hand for him. Lucas started to tell her to back up, that his weight might pull her down. But he knew better now. He could never down this woman. She wriggled her hand. "I'm not an idiot. I'm holding on to a vine with my other hand." Of course. Smart and strong. He was a lucky man. Lucas clasped her hand in his, braced a boot against the wall and walked up the hard-packed earth. Her face and arm went taut but he didn't even consider letting go. Damn straight, she was strong. He slapped his arm over, then hooked his knee, vaulting up and out. Looping his arms around Sara, he rolled away from the tunnel along the soft jungle floor, the ground above the passageway sinking until the opening sealed with a final poof of dirt. They slammed to a stop against a bush, showering petals over them. Panting for air, she wrapped her arm tighter around him. "What do we do now?" "This." He angled over and kissed her, hard, nothing gentle about the way he was feeling at the moment. After only an instant of surprised hesitation, she gave equal measure. Open mouths, emotions, passions. The sky opened, as well, overhead, rain tapping through the trees, drenching them as they lay in the small clearing. Her arms locked around his shoulders and held, even when he rested his face in her neck. Water slicked her face, soaking their clothes, sealing them together as if nature echoed their commitment. And wasn't that a sappy thought for a crusty old aviator like himself? More of Sara's whimsical influence. She shook in his arms. Ah damn. He flipped from her onto his side. "Sara? Are you okay?" "Uh-huh," came her muffled answer as she laughed. Laughed? "I'm fine. Completely fine and alive and yes, I am probably verging on hysteria, but that's all

right because we are alive." "Yeah, we sure are." He plucked a soggy flower from her luscious hair, glistening even darker when wet. "What do we do now?" "We wait. I was also telling the truth in there about the troops looking for you." He cocked his head into the wind. "If you listen closely, you can even hear the approaching helicopter. They'll be able to spot us in this clearing without any problem—far safer than plunging into the jungle at night." She tipped her face skyward. "I think I do... Yes, I hear it." "We only have a few more minutes alone so I'd better talk fast." He wished he'd prepared the perfect speech to win over this woman of linguistic nuances. But he hadn't. So he spoke from his heart that, thanks to Sara, he couldn't deny having any longer. "I've said more than once that I'm a loner by nature and that's still somewhat true, but even a loner has a mate. We're already married, so that question is moot. But I want to ask you to be my wife, my lover, my partner. My friend." His hand slid to her stomach where that amazing kid of theirs had grown. "You're already the mother of my child, but I also hope you'll be the mother of our children, if your health permits. And if not we'll adopt, because I want to build a family and a life with you so very much." She blinked fast, tears mingling with the raindrops. "Si." "Si? Yes?" This lady of languages had only one word to offer? She nodded, the chop, chop, chop of helicopter blades growing louder. Almost as loud as his heartbeat in his ears. "That's all you have to say to the biggest outpouring of my whole life? Yes? To what?" "To everything." She angled up to press her mouth to his, fingers tracing his shoulders up to his overly sensitive neck. "Yes, I want to be your wife, lover, partner, friend." She punctuated each of the last four words with a kiss. "I will gladly be the mother of as many children as we can have, and yes again. I can have more babies as long as I'm careful and monitored. So again, I'll say simply, si." The MH-53 Pave Low helicopter roared overhead, bringing the conversation to an end. But they had for ever. "Si." He hooked one arm around his wife's waist and stood, raising his other hand skyward to gesture to the hovering crew. A spotlight strobed over them, loudspeaker squawking from above before a voice from above filled the air. "Hang in there, Colonel. We're on our way." His arm still locked around Sara as firmly as hers locked around him, Lucas backed toward the line of

trees to clear the landing patch for the descending Pave Low. Sara rested her head on his shoulder. "Hey, Chuck?" "Chuck?" "Chuck Yeager." She grinned up at him, memories of their first date filling her eyes. "Do you think you could fly me around in one of those someday?" He looked forward to dreaming up endless ways to romance this hot-as-hell wife of his—for the rest of their lives. "Sarafina, I believe I really could fly anything, anywhere if you're by my side."