USA Today bestselling author LINDSAY MCKENNA brings you another action-packed, emotion-filled story featuring the men and women of MORGAN’S MERCENARIES!

“What’s happening?” Akiva asked unsteadily.

“Nothing that isn’t good, gal,” Joe whispered rawly, holding her hand up in his larger one. “You deserve some goodness in your life, Akiva. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I wish…well, if I’d been there…”

Warmth and happiness suffused her unexpectedly. Akiva pulled her hand free because she was suddenly frightened by how she was feeling. Wrestling with the happiness throbbing through her chest and warming her lower body, she folded her hands deep in her lap. The tender flame burning in Joe’s gray eyes nearly unstrung her. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to dislike about this man. And that scared her badly.

“Lindsay McKenna continues to leave her distinctive mark on the romance genre with…timeless tales about the healing powers of love.”

—Affaire de Coeur

LINDSAY MCKENNA
Morgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

When an earthquake rocks Southern California to the core, it’s up to the men and women of Morgan’s team to save lives, conquer danger—and discover love!

The Heart Beneath

Destiny’s Woman
Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To KaraHand’s Home in Lower Hutt, New Zealand,

and the heart-centered women who care for those in need:

Helen Henderson, RN, homeopath, Deborah Mustard, RN,

Reiki healer, and Cathy Garton, RN, homeopath.

I salute the “Coyote Sisters,” who work with the disabled,

the mentally handicapped, the children who require

twenty-four-hour-a-day attention. Thank you for being

there to help so that the parents of these children can have

a day off from their labors of love. You are truly pioneers

in this area of help for such families. I honor your

compassion toward those in need. Truly, the three of you

are Jaguar Clan members in the finest tradition of healers

for our world. Thank you for being who you are—

great role models for the rest of us to follow.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Maya, you can’t ask me to go on a mission of this type with a male copilot in the back seat of my Apache helicopter,” Akiva said as she sat tensely in the chair before her commanding officer. Her words were low and tortured. Pleading. Without realizing it, Akiva curled her fingers into fists on her tense thighs. Anxiously, she searched her C.O.’s narrowed, emerald eyes for her reaction.

Sighing, Maya sat back in her creaky chair, which had seen better days. Ordinarily, at the Black Jaguar Squadron headquarters, hidden deep in the Peruvian jungle about fifty miles from Machu Picchu, everyone got along with everyone else. Because of the importance of their mission, the U.S. Army had upgraded their facility from a base to squadron status. The change was good for morale, as well. Rarely was there an outburst of dissension such as the one Chief Warrant Officer Akiva Redtail was giving her right now. Propping her fingertips together, Maya leaned back and gave Akiva time to settle down.

“Look,” Maya finally murmured in her husky voice, “the Perseus psychologist, Jenny Wright, came down here earlier this month and interviewed everyone who wanted to volunteer for these upcoming missions. Of all the applicants, she chose you to lead this clandestine jungle mission in Mexico. Jenny lobbied hard for you, Akiva, despite the fact that she’s more than a little aware of your prejudice against Anglo men.”

Akiva’s nostrils flared and her eyes flashed with anger. “I’ve made no bones about my prejudice toward white men, Maya. I never have.”

“Which is what got you in so much hot water when we were being trained to fly the Apache gunships at the army helicopter facility back in Fort Rucker.”

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’m guilty as charged.”

As Maya studied Akiva, who was one of her best combat helicopter pilots, she withheld the bulk of her comments, knowing they would only hurt or inflame Akiva at this point. She knew Akiva well from years of working with the stalwart woman pilot. Akiva was half Chiricahua Apache and half Lakota Sioux, and a warrior of her people. The red headband Akiva wore indicated she had passed all the brutal physical and mental trials the Apache people had challenged her with in order to reach warrior status. Not only that, Akiva proudly wore what was known as the third braid of the warrior, as well. Her waist-length, lustrous black hair was down today, the small braid, which began at the center part, hung down among the thick locks streaming across her proud shoulder. Only an Apache who had fulfilled specific demanding tasks could wear such a braid.

Because Maya wanted Akiva to embrace who she was, as she did every woman pilot at Black Jaguar Squadron, she allowed her to proudly wear the signs of her warrior status. After all, the prejudice against them as women combat pilots had been horrendous enough. Though the army was struggling mightily against old prejudices against women, Maya knew it was a wound that would be long in healing for most of the women pilots. Akiva certainly hadn’t taken to being treated like a second-class citizen at Fort Rucker, where she and Maya and many of the other female pilots on the squadron had trained.

Leaning forward, Maya placed her elbows on her cluttered desk and slowly clasped her hands together. Akiva’s face was filled with anger, hurt and confusion. Not surprising, since she was the most aggressive gunship pilot at the base—she’d bagged a Russian Kamov to prove it. Akiva was Maya’s best pilot. Maybe it was her Apache blood, Maya thought, that gave her that natural aggression that was so needed in air combat. But being a pilot was one thing; being asked to command a small, hidden operation in Mexico was another matter entirely.

Akiva was in her element here at the squadron. She’d thrived as a combat pilot and more than earned her keep. But now she was being asked to step into a command situation, and that was a whole other story. Not every officer had the capability, intelligence, sensitivity or desire to manage a base operation. If Akiva took the assignment, she’d be sorely challenged to develop new skills. Could she? Would she?

Worst of all, Akiva’s prejudice against white men would be the test. Could Akiva lay her prejudice aside and treat everyone fairly, including her second-in-command, Joe Calhoun? Though Joe was half Comanche, Maya knew Akiva thought he was white. However, Maya decided not to bring this point up because Akiva had to learn to deal with not only white men, but men in general. Joe would be a real challenge to Akiva. Maya already knew that Joe realized Akiva would be a challenge to him. He already knew Akiva didn’t like him, but he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t Maya’s job to fix this. It was up to Akiva and Joe to hammer out a truce for the higher goal of the mission.

“Let’s look at this possible assignment another way,” Maya said, purposely keeping her voice low and soothing. Ordinarily, she left the door to her office wide-open; it was one of her policies here at Black Jaguar—an open door to the C.O. so that everyone knew they counted and could walk in and speak to Maya whenever they had a problem. That plan had worked well, but today, Maya had closed the door. She knew about the explosion to come, and did not want Akiva embarrassed by her knee-jerk reaction to what would be asked of her.

Opening her hands, Maya continued, “I’m asking more of you, Akiva, than I’ve ever asked before. This assignment is not about a guy named Joe Calhoun who has been chosen as your copilot and executive officer at this new base ops. It’s really a question of whether or not you want to take on a commanding officer’s role or not. You must rise above your personal prejudice. That is what a good C.O. does. Everyone should be treated equally and with respect.”

Nostrils flaring again, Akiva felt an internal trembling from her gut up to her throat. She was breathing chaotically because she was upset. Her fists tightened on the fabric of her black, body-hugging Nomex flight suit. “I would go to hell and back for you, Maya. Anything you’ve ever asked of me, I’ve tried to do to the best of my ability.” Her voice broke. “If you gave me a woman copilot and X.O., I’d say without hesitation that yes, I’d try my best to be a leader. But you’re throwing this white guy into the equation. Isn’t it enough that it’s going to be damn dangerous, with a lot of stress on the three-person ground crew and two pilots involved? Why throw in white bread?”

Mouth quirking, Maya said, “We don’t always get everything we want in life, Akiva. You know that better than most.”

“No kidding.” Her voice grated as she exclaimed, “I want this assignment, Maya. I know I can do it. I just don’t what an anglo along for the ride and in my rear seat.”

“Joe Calhoun is our best night operations pilot. He taught night ops back at Fort Rucker for the last two years. He’s here now, teaching all our pilots on the Apache Longbow upgrade. You even took training from him. You know how good he is at what he does. This little experiment in a bottle that the Pentagon wants us to undertake in Mexico in order to disrupt drug shipments across the Gulf to U.S. soil, is very important. The government is modeling this mission based on the success we’ve had down here in Peru, stopping cocaine shipments to Bolivia with our Apache gunships. Mexico is home to one of the big drug cartels. The Feds want to set up this base in the jungle—a place near what was once used by drug dealers as a touch-and-go ops to land and take on a lot of drugs. It’s the perfect locale for us to hide.

“I want this black ops experiment to be successful, Akiva. I need you to rise above your own prejudice toward white men and look at the larger picture. Through our work here, we’ve halted fifty percent of the drugs flowing to Bolivia for shipment across the world. That’s fifty percent less on the world market. The Pentagon is finally interested in the plan that I initiated here years ago. At long last they’re willing to invest time, money and coordinated effort to see if they can apply what we’ve learned here elsewhere.”

Maya got up and jabbed her finger at her colleague. “And you’re the best pilot for this, Akiva. I need your aggression, your nose for combat, your fearlessness because we don’t know what you’re up against once we get that Apache helo, that three-woman ground crew and your copilot set up in the jungle. I don’t want to see our years of hard work screwed up because you can’t get a handle on your prejudice.”

Lips flattening, Akiva looked up at her C.O., who stood six feet tall in her black flight uniform. Maya’s ebony hair shone with reddish highlights beneath the fluorescent lights. Maya wore no insignias on her uniform—standard operating procedure for a black ops covert operation, so as not to reveal any hint of who they were or where they came from. Still, Maya was a powerful woman, and Akiva’s respect for her transcended her own anger and frustration.

“Listen,” Akiva growled, “I don’t want to screw up your plans. I agree with them. I want to see what we’ve carved out here in the jungle put to use elsewhere, too. My gun sights are on the druggies. It does my heart good to turn them back or down ’em. Please…I don’t mean to be a pain in the butt about this. I know I am.”

“Yes,” Maya said mildly, “you are definitely being a pain in the butt, Akiva.” She came around her desk and sat on the edge of it, facing the pilot. Placing her hands beside her, Maya let the tension in the room build along with the silence. Akiva’s jaw was set, her full mouth a slash as she struggled to suppress her emotions. One of the many things Maya appreciated about Akiva was that she was always a straight shooter and honest about her thoughts and feelings. That was okay as a pilot. But as a commanding officer, Akiva couldn’t afford to use bald, undiplomatic words with the people on her team; it would cause immediate problems for everyone.

“You know, there’s a big difference between being a gunship pilot and being an officer in command of a base.”

“I know that.” Her mouth puckered, her arched brows knitted, Akiva flashed her a frown as Maya regarded her thoughtfully. “And I feel I can do it.”

Maya had her doubts. Pilots were a fraternity; and although they faced many stresses, not to mention outright danger, Maya knew from her own experience that it was easy to be a pilot than a manager of people.

“You know, when I hatched the plan for the Black Jaguar Base ops at Fort Rucker, I was mad as hell at the army establishment, at the prejudicial way they were treating our company of women training for Apache gunship flight.”

“You took your anger and did something proactive with it,” Akiva agreed in a low voice. She tried to relax. Sitting back, she folded her arms against her chest and crossed her legs. “And every one of us women were with you all the way on your concept for this base.”

“Yes, that made it easy for me to get on with my plans.” Maya saw the defensiveness in Akiva’s body. The intent expression on her oval face and the predatory look in her flashing, gold-brown eyes told Maya that Akiva wasn’t really listening to her; she was still wrestling with the fact that Chief Warrant Officer Joe Calhoun was to be her second-in-command.

“If you think that putting this ops into place was easy, Akiva, you’d be wrong. It wasn’t. I had never thought of myself as a C.O. All I wanted was to be allowed to fly combat and do what I loved most. I never entertained the idea of being here in this capacity, believe me.”

Akiva looked up at Maya, her eyes flat with confusion. “Who else did you think would do it? You created this place, this idea, out of nothing. Sure, we all helped, but you were the guide. You’re the one who had the vision.”

“Vision…hmm…Yes, that’s the right word to use here, Akiva.” Maya smiled slightly. “Among your people, the Apache, do you have vision quests? A ceremony where you don’t eat or drink for three to four days, and you pray to your spirits for guidance and help to reveal the future?”

“Yes, we do.”

“And you’ve gone on such vision quests?”

“Growing up on the res, I did. Why?” Akiva was becoming uncomfortable. She saw that glint in Maya’s emerald eyes and sensed she was up to something. That got Akiva’s attention, for her superior was a woman of immense mystical powers. Oh, everyone in the BJS—Black Jaguar Squadron—talked about Maya’s secretive background. It was whispered that she was one of the elite Black Jaguar Clan, a group of mysterious and powerful spiritual warriors who kept a very low profile, yet were out there on the leading edge, fighting the darkness. Akiva believed those stories about Maya, because among her own people, the jaguar was a living spirit. At one time, in the Southwestern U.S., jaguars had roamed freely—until miners had killed them all off and made coats out of their beautiful black-and-gold skins. Often Akiva had wanted to ask Maya about her background, for the rumors about her and her healer sister, Inca, were well known at the base.

“When was the last time you were on a quest?”

Shrugging, Akiva muttered, “Five years ago, I suppose. Why?”

“Aren’t vision quests about deprivation? You don’t drink water. You don’t eat. You starve your physical body in order to make it a receptacle so that spirit can come to you and give you a dream…a vision that will help you grow and become an even better warrior than you are now, right?”

“Yes…” Akiva eyed Maya with growing distrust. She felt her C.O. heading toward some unknown goal with this unexpected maneuver in their conversation. She knew Maya’s mystical training had taken place among her people in Brazil, where she was born. Oh, Maya never talked about it, mysticism was not a common topic of conversation on the Black Jaguar Base. Daily combat missions and the interdiction of drug shipments was what their lives revolved around. So it was a big surprise that threw Akiva off balance when Maya started talking to her in an intimate, knowing tone about her own background and belief system. Native Americans had vision quests; it was one of the sacred rites they chose to undertake, sometimes on a yearly basis.

It was a time of cleansing, a time to pray for healing of any bleeding wounds within them. And it was a brutal physical test, draining participants on the physical dimension in order to leave them open for spirit to speak to them—if they were fortunate enough to have that happen. An individual could go on a vision quest for four days and receive no vision, nothing. That was about the worst thing Akiva could imagine happening.

“Where are you going with this little analogy?” she demanded huskily, watching her superior like a hawk. Akiva could feel the energy shift, change and become very solid around Maya. Akiva was not clairvoyant, but she had a kind of all-terrain radar that she called “blind faith knowing.” It had saved her butt many times out on gunship missions when deadly Black Shark Kamov helicopters, flown by Russian mercenary pilots paid by drug lords, had hunted her. She could sense the Kamovs before she ever saw them. Apache helicopters couldn’t pick up the radar signature on the Kamov, so all the pilots in the Black Jaguar Squadron had to more or less rely on their well-honed intuition to be able to feel the enemy out before the drug runners shot them out of the sky.

Raising one eyebrow, Maya said quietly, “I want you to consider this new mission like a vision quest, Akiva. You will go in knowing there’s likely to be physical deprivation and emotional demands placed upon you that you aren’t sure you can deal with adequately or appropriately. In the process, there’s going to be surrender to a higher power, just like on a quest. You have a hatred of white men. You’re going into this vision quest with the opportunity to transcend your wounds by trying to rise above them.” Maya’s eyes glittered knowingly. “You’re going to have to put your people and the mission before your own personal pain. In a vision quest, you are asked to put all your personal feelings aside and concentrate on praying to the Great Spirit for guidance, support and help. This black ops mission is well beyond you in some ways, and we both know it. I’m putting my money on you—that you’ll transcend the fires, become better than you are presently, and grow into the job requirements. I’m not asking you to do anything more than you would in a vision quest, where the demands are just as brutal.”

Akiva stared at Maya as her huskily spoken words went straight to her hurting heart. The truth behind them reverberated through her like an earthquake, and Akiva sensed the greater stage where this conflict was being played out, in the unseen worlds that surrounded them. She felt the importance of Maya’s words.

“Joe Calhoun symbolizes your wound because he is a man,” Maya continued softly. “He didn’t cause your pain or your wounding, but because he’s a man, he becomes that for you, Akiva. He’s innocent in all of this. I’ll be having a similar meeting with him in a little while, to tell him he’s been selected for the black ops mission with you. Try to see him as an individual, not as the man or men who wounded you as a child growing up.”

Akiva’s gold eyes flared with surprise. She’d never spoken to Maya—indeed, not to anyone—about her childhood. As she looked into her C.O.’s deep green eyes, she felt heat flow through her and touch her aching heart. Yes, she was scarred, deeply wounded by white men. But how did Maya know?

Akiva thought better of asking. Maya was a medicine woman of her clan, and one simply did not go up and baldly ask how she knew a person’s mind and heart. Medicine people often knew the unknowable, for they could pierce the veils of mystery and see a person’s past as well as her present and future.

Akiva shifted uncomfortably in her chair now that she knew Maya had seen her ugly, sordid past. Shame flowed through her, for she didn’t want anyone to know the torment and trauma she’d suffered and endured. The gentleness in Maya’s tone ripped off some of the scabs over that festering wound that consumed her heart and spirit. Akiva could better keep her defense in place against someone who yelled at her, than she could against compassion and nurturance. Her life, thus far, had not included such things, so she didn’t know how to deal with them.

“Your entire life, Akiva, has been a vision quest. I know you understand this.”

Wincing, Akiva jerked her gaze from Maya’s face to the tiled floor beneath her booted feet. She stared, unseeing, down at her highly polished combat boots, her black uniform blousing along the tops. Gulping, she gripped the arms of the chair. Red-hot pain gripped her heart. Her breathing deepened.

Maya reached out and placed her hand on Akiva’s tense shoulder. “I know from my own experience that some people volunteer for such a life, Akiva. They are strong, old spirits who have gone through many, many lifetimes in human form, becoming spiritually strong under adverse circumstances that would normally destroy a person.”

Her fingers tightened on Akiva’s shoulder. “Much is asked of us when we volunteer for that kind of life mission, my sister. And I do know what I’m asking of you, Akiva. What I ask goes far beyond any military orders, or even this three-dimensional world. You came into this life like I did—to fight the darkness. To bring light back to the world. We are on the front lines of this war between dark and light. We were born and bred for it. We had to have a very tough beginning in order to shape and strengthen us for what lay ahead. I need you for this black ops, Akiva. I need your heart, your passionate spirit, your fearlessness and your focus. I know I’m asking a lot of you.”

Maya’s voice lowered. “But you must see this mission as a vision quest, one that will be brutal on you emotionally and mentally in ways you’ve never had to deal with before. I know you can handle it. You’re courageous. Your bravery often leaves me breathless.” Maya removed her hand and stood near Akiva, who had bent over in the chair, almost in a fetal position. Maya felt the depth of her pain and closed her eyes momentarily.

“Many are called, Akiva, but few can really answer the call. You’re one who can. My bet is on you…that you’ll pick up the reins of this mission and give it your heart and spirit. The light burns brightly in you, and your jaguar spirit guide from your great-great-grandmother is with you at all times. Jaguar people never flinch from what is racing toward them. We stand our ground, straight and tall, and we prepare ourselves for the assault coming our way. And deep inside us, Akiva, we know without a doubt that the light—the guardians on that other side of the veil—will protect us, work with us and help us to withstand the blows we’re bound to suffer.”

Akiva forced herself to straighten. She felt Maya’s warm, throbbing energy surrounding her, like a mother cradling her child lovingly to her breast. The sensation was so foreign to her that it left her a bit in shock—a good kind of shock. Though she’d hunted all her life, she’d never found such protection, such love and care until just now. Lifting her head, her eyes swimming with tears, she saw Maya’s softened features waver before her as she looked down at her in those moments out of time.

Speechless, Akiva could only absorb what Maya was giving her. She saw the compassion in her superior’s emerald eyes, and the gentle strength that had always emanated from her now filled Akiva. She was starved for such rich and caring emotions, absorbed them hungrily as they flowed through her, touching her wounded heart. Akiva had never talked to Maya of her own spiritual beliefs, or about her jaguar spirit guide, and she was stunned by the knowledge Maya possessed about her. Yet she felt no panic, because Maya had long ago proved that she could be trusted.

Gulping, Akiva forced back her tears as Maya smiled and then quietly moved away. As she stepped back, that warm, loving sensation began to ebb and dissolve, and Akiva grieved its loss. Maya had been energetically feeding her something she had looked for desperately all her life and believed never existed. But it did. Maya had given her hope. Hope that she would not always feel like a person left out on the hill, alone without help or support. For that was what vision quests were all about—facing nature and the spirit world alone, weaponless, vulnerable and open. Akiva never left herself vulnerable, never opened herself up to anyone. And yet, with her compassionate energy, Maya had just shown her that she, too, was deserving of nurturing, of care and protection.

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Akiva sat there for a long time in silence. Maya walked around her desk, sat down and began to look for the set of orders in the piles of paper on her desk.

“A-all right, Maya. I’ll take the mission. All I can say is I’ll try.” She drew in a ragged breath as Maya lifted her head. For a moment, Akiva swore she saw the face of a black jaguar staring back at her with sun-gold eyes and huge ebony pupils. But as swiftly as she’d seen it, the apparition was gone. So much was occurring that Akiva couldn’t quite grasp it all. Something profound had just happened to her, and she knew it had to do with jaguar medicine and healing. Akiva’s own jaguar spirit had been given to her long ago. At the time, she had been told that one day she would be properly trained to know how to work with and utilize the vast, transforming power of the jaguar spirit. Right now, all Akiva received from her jaguar guardian was a keen intuition that helped her sense Kamovs. She sometimes would see apparitions, just as she’d seen the jaguar transpose over Maya’s face, but that was not often. And now, somehow, whatever energy Maya had transferred to her, was giving her the courage to take the mission—Joe Calhoun and all. A white man. Her enemy.

“Joe’s a good person,” Maya said, finally locating the orders. She reached for her pen in the pocket on the left arm of her uniform. “Try to see him as an individual, not as one of the men who hurt you. That is the vision quest you’re taking on, Akiva.” Maya scribbled her signature on the orders and handed them to Akiva. “Here, take these over to logistics, will you? They need to start getting this show on the road. You’re now the commanding officer of Black Jaguar Base Alpha—the first base outside the hub we’ve set up here in Peru. I have every faith that you’ll pull off this mission successfully.”

Rising, Akiva took the papers. Her heart was beating painfully in her breast. She wondered if she could grow into the job as Maya seemed to think she could. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” she rasped unsteadily.

“I don’t want you to disappoint yourself,” Maya whispered, and then gave her a crooked smile. “Learn to trust outside yourself, Akiva. Joe Calhoun is a good person. He’s no two-heart.”

Again Akiva winced. She’d never realized her C.O. knew so much about her people until now. Two-hearts were people who lied, cheated, manipulated or deceived others for their own selfish ends.

“I’ll try to hold that thought,” she said, half joking as she moved to the door and opened it. Outside, women were moving quietly up and down the hall of the second floor of H.Q., where the offices were located.

“It’s not going to be easy.”

Akiva lifted her head and stood proudly in the doorway, as much of her old spirit and strength infused her once again. “Nothing in my life has ever been easy. Why should this be any different?”

Grinning like a jaguar, Maya said, “That’s the spirit. That’s what I want to hear from you. Get out of here. I need you down in logistics to initiate this mission at 1030 today. Start packing.”

Akiva nodded, waving the orders in her hand. “I won’t let you down, Maya. I promise….”

As she turned and moved down the hallway, Akiva felt her whole reality begin to slowly disintegrate around her. How was she going to make this work? How was she going to stop herself from ripping off Calhoun’s head? How was she going to stop that violent, destructive anger she held toward all men?

Chapter 2

“Major Stevenson, I feel like a fox that’s been given access to the henhouse,” Joe Calhoun admitted, excitement in his deep Southern drawl as he sat in front of her desk. Joe had arrived promptly at 0930, unsure why the commanding officer wanted to see him. Now he knew: he was being offered a plum assignment to Black Jaguar Base Alpha. As executive officer, no less! For a U.S. Army chief warrant officer like him, this was an unheard of gift.

Warrant officers were in that gray area of army ranks—they were no longer enlisted, but weren’t full-fledged officers, either. They played an important role in the army, but were outcasts of a sort, accepted neither above nor below them. No one really appreciated what they did militarily, and yet without them, the army helicopter program would die.

Maya smiled. “You Texas boys have a language all your own, Chief Calhoun. But I’m glad you’re willing to give this black ops a whirl.”

He had a tough time sitting still in the dark green metal chair. “Yes, ma’am, I sure am.” Joe felt like he was in a dream. As a half-breed Comanche who’d grown up in Texas, he’d long been an outcast. Joe had had a hardscrabble life as a child, and been the victim of jeers and taunts throughout twelve years of school, where prejudice followed him mercilessly. He felt the army was giving him a chance to prove he was better than the names he’d been called, and he worked longer and harder than anyone else, trying to prove his self-worth.

All his life he’d been told he was worthless, except by his family, who loved him. That love had given him hope to cling to when things got bad at school. Joe worked hard at never making a mistake, because to make one, in his books, was the worst thing he could imagine. It would prove he was a “dumb redskin” who was too stupid to learn. He never told anyone of his heritage—ever. Now, as he sat there hearing words he’d never thought possible, it seemed as if all his hard work was going to pay off—he was going to be X.O. of a base! That was mind-blowing to Joe. He could barely sit still because of the happiness exploding through him. Finally, someone was going to give him a chance to prove himself!

“Now…can you tell me a little of how the night ops training went between you and Chief Redtail?”

Furrowing his brows, Joe avoided the C.O.’s penetrating gaze. Clearing his throat, he opened his large, square hands. “Ma’am, she caught on the quickest of all the pilots when we trained her on the night scope we wear on our helmet to see in the dark.”

Smiling to herself, Maya continued to hold his candid gaze. Just as she’d thought, Joe Calhoun—who had seemed from the start to be a throwback to a kinder, gentler time when women were put on pedestals and treated like ladies—was showing his warm, amicable nature. Maya had seen Calhoun’s carefully written reports on the women pilots he’d trained. Oh, he’d been specific about weaknesses and strengths in night ops activities, but nary a word had been said about possible personal problems between himself and Akiva Redtail.

“Joe,” Maya said, her voice ringing with authority, “it’s very important for me to get the gist of the chemistry between you and Chief Redtail. After all, she’s going to be your C.O. at this new base. I have more than a passing interest in how you two might get along.” Maya’s mouth twisted wryly. “There’s a great Texas saying I heard from one of my pilots, who was born there—‘you don’t drop your gun to hug a grizzly bear.’”

Maya’s meaning wasn’t lost on Joe. Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his jungle-fatigue pants. “Yes, ma’am, I’m familiar with the phrase.”

“Good.” Maya pinned him with her narrowed gaze. “So, does it clarify the relationship between you and Chief Redtail?”

Joe pushed his long, thick fingers through his short black hair, as he did whenever he was nervous. There was a lock that always rebelled and dipped across his brow. Nervously, he pushed it back. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I really admire Chief Redtail. She’s the best combat pilot you’ve got here at Black Jaguar Base, in my opinion.”

Maya heard the respect and admiration in Calhoun’s soft drawl, but she also saw his struggle to remain positive. Maya knew it was important to get all the cards laid out on the table, to have all the possible problems addressed now—not later, when they were in Mexico, fighting like two cats in a dogfight. Joe’s easygoing Texas style made it hard for Maya to think that even Akiva’s acidic temper could rile this good ole boy. Joe had, in her assessment, the patience of Job. He was infinitely tolerant, which would well work for him in this upcoming project, as Akiva was none of those things. Maya hoped Joe could provide the necessary balance to make this operation successful.

“I’m in agreement with you, Chief Calhoun, about Akiva’s skills. She’s the best we’ve got, which is one reason we’re earmarking her for this mission. The other is that in your reports on the pilots, she scored consistently highest on night-scope trials with the Apache. We are in need of two pilots, the best two, because a lot of missions are going to be at night, out over the Gulf. You know as well as I do that flying over a large expanse of water poses potential problems with pilot disorientation. And flying at night, with the scope, is twice as tricky.”

Nodding, Joe saw her expression remain hard. He could feel the C.O. casting around for something, and he knew what it was. Joe just didn’t want to give it to her. He didn’t want to paint Akiva in a bad light. It wasn’t his nature to talk negatively of people; rather, he was always upbeat and positive about their strengths, never shooting them down for what they didn’t do right, or what their weaknesses were.

God knew, he had his own set of problems to work on, and he wouldn’t appreciate someone disemboweling him in public. His father, who was full-blood Comanche, had taught him to speak well of a person, that if he did so, energy would come back tenfold to him as a result. It was easy to eviscerate people, to tear them apart verbally, to shame or humiliate them. Joe had found that out early in his life. And he didn’t ever want what had happened to him at school, to happen to others. The stubborn part of him, which was considerable when tapped, was rising to the surface as Major Stevenson continued to stare at him.

He felt like she was looking inside him and reading his mind. Lips pursed, he waited. What did she want? Why did she want to hear that Akiva Redtail practically hated the ground he walked on? Joe had never figured out why, exactly, Akiva disliked him so openly; he had chalked it up to a clash of personalities. Given his easygoing nature, he let her venomous comments and glares slide off him like water off a duck’s back, and he didn’t take it personally. At least, he tried not to….

“How do you feel toward Chief Redtail?” Maya asked in a low tone.

Brightening, Joe grinned. “She’s an incredible combat pilot, ma’am. I really enjoyed teaching her the upgrade on the night optics. She was a pleasure to work with.” Joe was, in fact, very drawn to Akiva, but she sure didn’t like him, so he kept his desire for her to himself.

“So—” Maya fiddled with the pen in her fingertips and frowned down at it “—you have no problem going on this mission with her?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Not one problem, Chief?”

Joe shook his head. “No, ma’am. She’s all guts and glory, as we say in the trade. She’s already bagged a Russian Kamov. And she’s aggressive. That’s what it takes out there—we both know that. I’m looking forward to being her back seat, to tell you the truth. I can learn plenty from her.”

Smiling thinly, Maya raised her head and stopped thumping the pen against the desk. Joe’s expression was so damned easy to read. The guy hid nothing in that square face of his. His gray eyes were wide and earnest. “I don’t think it’s telling any stories out of school, Chief, that Akiva rides roughshod on some people.” Mainly white, Anglo men, but Maya swallowed those words.

Shrugging, Joe said, “I think most combat pilots are perfectionists, ma’am, and they get sour milk real fast when things aren’t right. Their lives depend upon the equipment workin’ constantly and the crew doin’ their job like they’re supposed to do. I don’t fault her on that in the least. Do you?”

Maya smiled to herself, liking Joe’s ability to stress the positive. “I agree with you, Chief.” Still, Akiva would wear him down, and Maya wondered how thick Joe’s hide really was. How long could he handle her acidic responses to him before he reared up on his hind legs and fought back? That was the fly in the ointment on this mission. It all hinged on Joe’s patient, plodding personality, his ability to get along with her, no matter what.

“Ma’am, I feel you’re like a huntin’ dog sniffin’ around for a bone of contention or somethin’ here. Are you worried about me bein’ able to get along with Chief Redtail?”

“I’m not concerned about you getting along with her,” Maya said drolly. “It’s the other way around. Akiva has a lot of knives in her drawer, and she’s real good at pullin’ them out and slicing and dicing, Chief. I just don’t want you to be chopped up by her when she gets in one of those moods, is all. And I think you know what I’m talkin’ about?”

Joe’s mouth curved into a friendly smile. “My daddy always said that makin’ it in life is like busting mustangs, ma’am. You’re gonna get thrown a lot. You gotta expect it. But the key is you get back up, dust yourself off and get right back in the saddle again.”

“Well,” Maya said with a chuckle, “that about says it all when it comes to interfacing with Akiva. She’s got some…weaknesses, Chief Calhoun. And it’s my job to make damn sure you know them going into this black ops, so you’re not surprised at the other end.”

“Okay,” Joe said, stymied. What problems? Akiva had a strong personality, one he admired, but he never considered her penchant for thoroughness and perfectionism to be a problem. It took a strong man or woman to be a combat pilot—that was part of the required package. And he had no problem with strong, confident women. So what was the major hinting at here? Granted, Joe had been at the base only a couple of months and didn’t run into Akiva every day, although he wished, on a personal level, he did. Just getting to look at her tall, proud, powerful figure and those penetrating gold eyes of hers made his heart pound with silent need. But this was a busy place, and the training was grueling and ongoing. Joe had his hands full as an instructor pilot on the night optic upgrade training missions, so rarely saw Akiva.

“We have another sayin’ in Texas, Major—‘Never grumble, it makes you about as welcome as a rattlesnake in camp.’”

“Hmm, I see. Well, you need to know that Chief Redtail isn’t all sweetness and light. She’s going to need your help and I’m going to need you to roll with a lot of punches she’s more than likely to throw your way. Don’t take them personally, Chief Calhoun. If the heat in the kitchen gets to be a little much, sit her down with your diplomatic, good ole boy style and talk it out. Akiva can be reasoned with.”

“I’ll remember that, ma’am.”

“Good.” Maya looked at her watch. “Let’s get down to logistics. Morgan Trayhern has just arrived with his second-in-command, Mike Houston, and Akiva should be in the planning room with them about now. We need to go over the assignment.”

Leaping to his feet and coming to attention, Joe said, “Yes, ma’am. I’m more than ready for this. Thank you for the opportunity. I never expected this promotion.”

As Maya got to her feet and grabbed the clipboard and pen from her desk, she gave the aviator a dark look. “Keep your positive attitude, Chief. You’re gonna need it where you’re goin’. And I feel you’ve more than earned this position.”

Akiva sat on one side of the planning room and leaned back in the chair, her legs crossed. In the center of the room an overhead projector sat on a table, flashing the first diagram on the white wall in front of them. Two men—both civilians, although she knew they’d both been in the military at one time—stood talking in low tones to one another next to the projector. They’d introduced themselves to her earlier. Akiva had seen them on other occasions at the base, but had never been formally introduced until now. Though she’d arrived right on time for the planned meeting, now that she was here she found her heart beating in panic. Could she really command this mission? More than anything, Akiva didn’t want to disappoint Maya. That one fear gave her the resolve to try and make the mission work.

Hearing the door open, Akiva turned to see who had come in. She saw Maya move briskly into the room, clipboard in her left hand. As Chief Warrant Officer Joe Calhoun followed, Akiva’s brows knitted and her pulse accelerated. Akiva wanted to hate him. He was a white man. And right now, Calhoun represented all Anglo men to her. Working her mouth, she found a bitter taste in it. Reaching for a paper cup that sat next to her folding chair, Akiva took a quick gulp of the tepid water. When she looked up, she saw Joe Calhoun standing right in front of her, his large, square hand extended.

Akiva choked on the water that was halfway down her gullet. Coming up and out of the chair, she coughed deeply, her hand pressed against her throat. Damn! Moving away from him, she finished coughing and turned. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she met his smiling gray eyes. His hand was still extended toward her.

“I just wanted to congratulate you, Chief Redtail.” Joe saw her gold eyes narrow with fury. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment. He saw her gaze drop to his hand and then snap back up to his eyes.

“Thanks,” Akiva mumbled. She ignored his hand and sat back down, crossing her arms belligerently. She wished mightily that Calhoun would go sit down in one of the chairs on the other side of the room. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Joe tempered his disappointment as Akiva refused to shake his hand. Okay, that was fine. He introduced himself to Morgan and Mike, who gripped his hand warmly with obvious welcome. Searching around, he saw a chair nearby and reached for it. As he sat down, he noticed Morgan Trayhern, Mike Houston and Major Stevenson studying them. Feeling heat crawl up his neck and into his face, he saw the quizzical look on the two men’s faces, the worry banked in Major Stevenson’s eyes. Everyone had seen Akiva snub him. Embarrassed, Joe felt as if he’d done something wrong, but there was nothing he could do to rectify it.

“Okay,” Maya said crisply, “let’s get this mission planning on the road. Chiefs Redtail and Calhoun, I think you already know Mr. Trayhern and Mr. Houston? Good. Morgan, do you want to start this briefing?”

Morgan Trayhern shrugged out of his dark green nylon jacket and placed it on the back of one of the chairs. Dressed in a pair of jeans, hiking boots and a dark blue polo shirt, he turned and opened up a briefing file. “Mike? You want to give Chiefs Redtail and Calhoun the dope, here?” He handed two sets of information packets to him to give to the warrant officers.

Houston, who was dressed similarly, nodded. He quickly handed out the twenty-page packets on the planned mission. Joe nodded and thanked him. Akiva’s belligerent look faded and she actually softened the line of her mouth as he handed the papers to her.

Morgan stood at the projector. On the wall was a map of southern Mexico. “We were able to use satellite infrared to locate this little airport facility. It’s hidden deep in the jungle and is completely surrounded by old-growth trees.” Flashing his laser penlight, Morgan circled what appeared to be a small pinprick in the map. “This is the exit-entrance point. Many years ago druggies cleared this thousand-foot-long dirt runway for light, fixed-wing aircraft, as well as helicopters. They were using the aircraft to haul cocaine shipments.”

Akiva sat up. “You said helicopters? What kind?”

Joe glanced at her. She was now in combat mode, tense and alert, her huge gold eyes narrowed on the map in front of them. Despite her prickliness, Joe couldn’t help but admire Akiva. She was six feet tall, big boned, and her womanly body was firmly muscled beneath her tight-fitting black uniform. Joe would never admit it to anyone, because it would be considered sexist by the U.S. Army today, but by damn, she was a good-lookin’ woman, with curves in all the right places. She was easy on the eyes, as his fellow Texans would say.

Joe’s problem was that he wanted to stare like a slobbering fool at Akiva. She commanded everyone’s attention whenever she strode into a room. He liked the fact she wore the bright red scarf of her Apache heritage around her head. Her high, sharp cheekbones and large, slightly tilted eyes gave her the look of a lone wolf on the hunt. That excited him. And yet she’d rebuffed his friendly overtures at every turn. Joe figured she didn’t like him at all. Though disappointed, he still absorbed her intense beauty and dynamic energy as she sat up in the chair and pointed to the map.

Mike Houston, who stood next to Morgan, responded to her question. “All civilian types, Chief Redtail. No armed military rotorcraft that we can find.”

“Good,” Akiva muttered defiantly, “because if we’re moving in, we need to know what’s out there and around us.”

“The closest town, San Cristobel,” Morgan said, pointing to the north of their base of operations, “is here. It’s a village of about a thousand people, all farmers. The jungle begins just outside their little community. Your base is fifty miles away, so there’s no chance that they’ll discover you. Few farmers penetrate the jungle, so it’s your fortress of protection.”

Houston grinned slightly and looked at Akiva and Joe. “I wouldn’t bet that people in the village don’t know this airport is here, however. So you need to keep on your guard in case someone wanders in someday while hunting for medicinal herbs or whatever.”

Akiva nodded and, picking up the clipboard she’d leaned against her chair, she began to make notations on the mission. She respected Mike Houston. He was part Quechua Indian. And from what she had seen of him, his blood was decidedly more Indian than Anglo, which made her trust him more than she would most white men. Though Morgan Trayhern was Anglo through and through, Akiva gave him grudging respect as well. The man owned a black ops company known as Perseus, and he’d done a lot of good for people in trouble around the world. He was one of the few white men she’d seen who was truly good-hearted.

Most Anglos were bastards, in her experience. Sending Joe Calhoun a glance as she lifted her head, Akiva found her heart pounding briefly. Why did she feel so out of sorts around him? she wondered as she watched him write down information on a notepad he held in his large hands. His profile was strong, and for some reason reminded her of the White Mountains on the Apache reservation in Arizona where she’d grown up. The res was a craggy, windswept piece of land, baked by the brutal heat of the sun in summer and freezing cold in winter. Joe’s face was craggy, too, with high cheekbones, a chiseled, full mouth, and strong chin.

He was six feet tall, like her, and medium boned, with more of a swimmer’s body than a weight lifter’s. Most Apache helo pilots were lean and mean looking. Joe was lean and tightly muscled, but he had a kind-looking face, not the face of an aggressor. He didn’t fit the normal mold of a warrior, and that stymied Akiva. And yet the army had promoted him to instructor pilot, so he must have the goods or he wouldn’t have made the grade to the Apache program. The old maxim of her grandmother—never judge a book by its cover—must apply to Joe, Akiva thought.

She remembered the warmth she had seen in his gray eyes when she’d met him that first day of training in the Boeing Apache Longbow helicopter. Normally, combat pilots had predatory eyes, reminding Akiva of an eagle in search of its next quarry.

Not so Joe Calhoun. He’d completely thrown Akiva off guard with his friendly, good ole boy smile and demeanor. He was soft-spoken and gentle with her at all times. And unlike most pilots, Joe never cussed. That was a surprise to Akiva, because cursing in the heat and stress of battle was as common as breathing among combat people. And Joe had treated her like a lady, being solicitous and sensitive to her needs as a person, rather than a faceless soldier.

It hadn’t taken Akiva long to realize Joe Calhoun was a man of the past, thrown into the present. In her mind he did not fit the combat or instructor pilot mode—at all. And because she couldn’t pigeonhole him, he kept her off balance. Only when Akiva could label someone was she able to react in a way that protected her from that person. With Calhoun, there was no slot to place him in, and that unsettled Akiva completely. He’d always treated her with deference and respect. In fact, the admiration in his voice during training was wonderful—but Akiva tried to throw off his praise and warmth just as quickly as he dispensed it. Anglos were not to be trusted under any circumstance.

Yet the worst part was, she was drawn to him! Few men had stirred the flames within her as Joe did. Akiva tried to ignore her quickening heartbeat each time he gave her that gentle smile. Her yearning to know what it would be like to kiss his smiling mouth really shocked her. For all Joe’s gentleness, which in itself was a powerful beacon that drew Akiva, he stirred her womanly nature, too. Akiva didn’t like being drawn to an Anglo. No matter how personable Joe appeared to be, somewhere within him was the darkness all Anglo men carried. She knew it lurked within him, even if she hadn’t experienced it.

She glared at him for a moment. Why did he have to be so damned different? Was it because he was from Texas? She would feel a helluva lot less jumpy if she could only figure him out. Then she’d know what tact to take with him, her well-ordered world would once again fall into place and she could relax.

“And who’s the drug lord in the area?” Akiva demanded in a dark tone.

Morgan’s brows knitted. He replaced the map with a color photograph of an older man with silver hair. “Javier Rios. He’s the kingpin of drugs in southern Mexico. His son, Luis, is a helicopter pilot, and they have four civilian helos that Luis and his mercenary pilots use to fly. The helos have a fixed fuel range and Luis takes his helos to dirt airstrips in various areas along Mexico’s Gulf Coast, to fixed-wing planes that load it on board and fly it into the U.S. So Luis’s job is as a middleman on these flights.”

Akiva stared at the silver-haired gentleman, who stood against a background of whitewashed stucco arches overhung with hot-pink bougainvillea. It was a beautiful villa, the red-tiled patio behind him filled with several pottery urns holding blooming flowers.

Rios’s heritage was clearly Castilian, Akiva noted. He was dressed like a patron of old in a wine-colored, short-waisted jacket embroidered with gold thread, a starched white shirt, and a maroon neckerchief held by a gold-and-amethyst clasp. The man’s face was wide, and Akiva was sure that in his youth he’d been extremely good-looking. Now his silver hair was neatly cut and a small mustache lined his upper lip. But his eyes made Akiva shiver; a dark brown, they reminded her of the hooded look of a deadly viper getting ready to strike at its prey. Rios’s thin lips were smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was the lethal smile of someone who knew he had ultimate power over others. A chill worked its way through Akiva, though she tried to ignore it.

“Rios is well regarded in the archeological world,” Morgan noted. “He’s donated millions to a number of projects over in Italy and is on the board of a number of internationally famous museums. He has a penchant for Rome and loves all things Roman.

“The villa where this photo was taken is just outside San Cristobel. There is an airport near the town, and he routinely flies in and out.

“Javier Rios is a man of old world traditions. Those who know him say he’s a throwback to the days of Queen Isabella, when Columbus was searching for the New World. He’s highly educated, with a doctorate in history, and he sponsors worldwide workshops on Roman antiquity. His latest project is saving a number of mosaic walls and floors found in old Roman villas in northern Italy that are being threatened by rising waters from a nearby dam.”

“What a nice guy he is,” Akiva growled sarcastically. “The world probably looks up to him with admiration.”

Joe grinned over at her. He liked Akiva’s testy humor. Most combat pilots had a black sense of humor; it served to reduce stress during tense situations they often found themselves in. “My daddy always said that if it looks like manure, smells like manure, then it probably is manure.”

A sour, unwilling grin pulled at Akiva’s mouth. She met Joe’s smiling gray eyes, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop from grinning at his comment. “I like your daddy. He’s a smart dude.”

Nodding, Joe felt immediate warmth, soft and velvety, slip around his heart. It was the first time Akiva had actually been spontaneous with him. Maybe being a C.O. was going to change how she related to others. That possibility made him feel good inside.

“My daddy had a sayin’ for every occasion,” he assured her with a chuckle. Again, Joe saw a spark of warmth in her eyes. Joy deluged him unexpectedly. What would it be like to see that look in her eyes as he kissed her? The thought had heated promise. Joe carefully tucked that desire away in his heart, for now was not the time to pursue it—or her.

Morgan grinned over at Houston. “The world might see Javier Rios as an educated man of immense wealth who supports the arts, but beneath, he’s a drug dealer, pure and simple. So, Joe, I think your assessment has cut to the core here. Manure is manure—even if you dress it up and hide it under expensive clothes.”

Houston rubbed his chin and studied the two pilots who would be taking the mission. “Rios is a cultured man of letters and principles. He loves bullfighting, and supports the sport financially all over Mexico. At this villa he raises bulls that will be trained for the arena, not only in Mexico, but Spain as well.”

Akiva shivered. “The bastard,” she whispered tightly. “Treating those poor animals like that…”

“The bulls don’t have a chance,” Houston agreed. “If one is a little too frisky in the bullring, they drug it to slow it down, so the matador can plunge his sword into the animal’s heart.”

“And Rios does the same thing,” Maya told them grimly. “This dude may look nice on the outside, but he’s got a murderous heart. Morgan? Show them a picture of the son, Luis. He’s a piece of work, just like his daddy.”

Akiva’s eyes narrowed as a picture of Luis Rios flashed up on the screen. It was a color photo of him standing next to his civilian helicopter, decked out in a leather bombardier jacket, starched red shirt, a white silk scarf and tan chinos.

“Chip off the old block, I’d say,” Akiva growled, and she gave Maya a knowing look. Luis Rios was drop-dead handsome, with black wavy hair, wide brown eyes, a long, angular face, patrician nose with flaring nostrils and a thin, smiling mouth. In Akiva’s opinion he looked every inch the spoiled only child of a superwealthy family.

“This dog’ll hunt,” Joe muttered, more to himself than anyone else as they studied the photo.

Akiva turned and frowned. “What?”

Joe tipped his head toward her. “Texas sayin’. It means that the son is a sniffer-outer of the first degree.” He punched his index finger toward the photo. “I wouldn’t trust this guy at all. He’s a real predator. I see it in his eyes.”

Akiva agreed. “And he’s flying a helo. Weapons or not, it still makes him dangerous.”

“And,” Houston warned them darkly, “he’s got three other helos in his little ‘squadron.’ We don’t have any dope on him. The last person the Drug Enforcement Agency tried to put in the Rios camp was discovered. We never found his body. So we don’t know that much about Luis or his helicopters and pilots. That’s something you’ll be finding out as you go along. The Pentagon wants Luis’s movements charted. We need to know where he goes, where he sends these choppers along Mexico’s Gulf Coast and what kind of schedule he’s got worked up for them.”

“So he’s usin’ them to haul drugs out of the jungle,” Joe drawled, “and then off-loading them to fixed-wing aircraft sitting on dirt strips near the Gulf Coast on the eastern side of Mexico? He’s pretty sharp for a weasel.”

Grimly, Houston nodded. “Yes, he is, Joe. But a helo, if equipped for a larger fuel load, could fly into the Texas border area. And he may be doing that. You’re going to try and find this out.”

“A helo can dip in and out of a jungle pretty easily,” Akiva said. “Just chop trees in a fifty-foot radius and damn near any rotorcraft can drop down, pick up the cocaine and lift it out.”

“That’s what we think,” Morgan said, giving Akiva a look filled with approval. “And that’s part of your mission—find the holes chopped in the jungle. That means low-level reconnaissance.”

Maya stood up and went over to the two pilots. “You’re going to be given one Boeing Apache Longbow gunship and a Blackhawk. You’ll use the Apache for interdiction efforts. Use the Blackhawk to start mapping, snooping and finding out what you can around the southern part of Mexico. We expect you to update your maps weekly, via satellite encryption code. You can send them by Satcom to us here, at the main base. The information you begin to accrue will be sent to the Pentagon, as well. With your efforts, we’ll start building a picture of Rios’s drug trade in southern Mexico.”

“And every time he sends a shipment over the Gulf,” Morgan said, “you’ll be notified by an American submarine crew that’s sitting on the bottom of the Gulf, on station, that there is an unidentified flight in process. They will alert you on a special Satcom channel and give you the coordinates so you can intercept that bogey.”

Akiva’s brows raised. “Extreme, dude.”

“I thought you’d be impressed,” Morgan murmured with a grin.

“I didn’t know the U.S. Navy was involved like that,” Joe said, amazed.

“Yes, they are. More than you know,” Houston said. “The navy sub lies on the bottom for three months at a time. We’ve been doing this for a couple of years and have a pretty accurate picture of who, what, where and when on every drug-initiated flight. If an American submarine picks up radio traffic or Satcom info, they’ll notify you.”

“Is every flight a drug flight?” Akiva inquired.

“No,” Morgan answered. “There are legitimate civilian flights into and out of Mexico over the Gulf.”

“But they file flight plans with the Federal Aviation Agency,” Joe pointed out. “And druggies don’t.”

“Exactly,” Mike said with a smile. “Our submarine on station has an hourly updated FAA flight plan file on every aircraft coming out or going into that area of Mexico, so that when they make a call to you, you can be pretty damned sure it’s a drug flight.”

“What do we do?” Akiva asked. “Shoot ’em down?”

Chuckling, Morgan shook his head. “I wish, but no. First, you’re going to follow the same operating procedure you do here—you must identify the aircraft or rotorcraft by the numbers on the fuselage. Your Apache has been downloaded with all the fixed-wing aircraft numbers for Mexico, the U.S.A. and nearby Central and South American countries. If none of them match, then you can assume it’s a drug flight.”

“At that point,” Houston said, removing the picture of Luis Rios and putting in another photo that showed a single-engine aircraft dropping a load of what looked like plastic bags into the ocean hundreds of feet below, “you are going to scare the hell out of them and make them do one of a couple of things. First, most drug runners don’t want to fight. They’ll drop their drug shipment in the water and make a run back to Mexico if pressed. If that happens, a Coast Guard cruiser in the area will steam toward that area and pick up the evidence, if it hasn’t sunk to the bottom by that time. Secondly, if the plane won’t drop its drugs, then it’s your responsibility to persuade it to turn back toward Mexico. Do not allow that plane to hightail it across the Gulf toward U.S. waters.”

“And what do you specify as ‘persuasion,’ Mr. Houston?” Akiva stared at him.

“Your Apache is equipped with hellfire missiles, rockets and cannon fire. You persuade them to turn by firing in front of their nose.”

“Under no circumstance are you to shoot them down,” Maya warned. “Same SOP as we practice here, Akiva.”

“And if they fire back at us?”

Maya grinned. “Well, then, the game plan changes. If you’re fired upon, you are authorized to fire back.”

“Good,” Joe said with pleasure. “Just the kind of job I’ve always wanted—defensive countermeasures.”

“I hope to hell they fire back.”

Joe gave Akiva a knowing look. There was satisfaction in her husky voice when she spoke. He saw the predator’s glint in her eyes and knew it well. She was a hunter of the first order, and he found himself more than a little excited at the chance to be in her back seat on these missions. With her three years of combat experience, she could teach him a lot. She was a master at combat tactics.

“That might happen once or twice,” Morgan warned, “but they’ll get the message real quick and not fire. There are no parachutes in those civilian planes, and Rios won’t want to lose them and his pilots like that. No, they’ll learn real fast not to fire on you.”

“What we have to be careful of is Rios finding our base,” Joe said. “Once he sees us interdicting his shipments and turnin’ them back, he’s gonna be one pissed-off dude.”

“Yes,” Maya warned, “Rios is a man of action. In all likelihood, he’ll send his son, Luis, to do the dirty work. And with four helos, they can do a helluva job trying to locate your base. One thing in our favor is that they are civilian helos and don’t have the equipment or instruments to easily follow or find you. From the air, your base will be tough to find, which is why we chose it. There is an opening in the trees, but it’s about half a mile from your actual base, and you’ll have to fly low, under the canopy, to get in and out. Even if Luis spots that hole, all he’ll see from above is more jungle, not the base itself.”

“But,” Akiva said, “if it was an old drug-runner’s base, why wouldn’t he know about it?”

“Luis can’t know everything,” Mike said. “There are dirt airstrips all over southern Mexico, hundreds of ’em. Finding your base will be like trying to find the needle in the haystack.”

“Still,” Morgan cautioned, “you are going to have to stay alert. If Luis ever does find you, he’ll come in and kill everyone.”

“Worse,” Akiva said, “he’ll get his hands on the Apache. That could be disastrous.”

“Right,” Maya said. “So most of your flying is going to take place at night. Both helos are painted black, without insignias of any type. With the Blackhawk, you’ll perform daylight combat missions. Combat with the Apache will be night activity only. You fly when the drug runners fly—in the dead of night.

“You don’t want to fly near San Cristobel. You’ll want to stay out of sight as much as possible. I’ve worked up a number of vectors that you will fly to and from your secret base, so that no one can get a fix on you and follow you home.” Maya handed them each a manual. “Study it. Your lives, and the lives of your ground crew, depend upon it.”

Akiva settled the manual in her lap. She felt the thrum of excitement, like a mighty ceremonial drum of her people, beating within her. The more she heard of this mission, the more she knew she was exactly fitted for it. She was the eagle stooping to dive, a sky predator, and with her flawless steed, an Apache Longbow, she knew she could wreak hell on earth in Javier Rios’s neighborhood. She salivated at the opportunity. The only glitch in this mission was Joe Calhoun.

Risking a quick glance in the pilot’s direction, she noticed that he sat relaxed and at ease in his chair. She saw no predatory excitement in his face or his eyes. He wasn’t the kind of combat pilot Akiva wanted. No, she’d rather have had Wild Woman or Dallas or Snake; any of those women had the killer instincts that Akiva herself had honed to such a fine degree. And in their business, they stayed alive because of that steely combat readiness.

Joe Calhoun was an enigma to Akiva. He just couldn’t be labeled, didn’t easily fit anywhere in her world as she knew it. And yet he was going to be her back seat, the person she had to rely on to keep her safe on these missions. How was she going to trust an Anglo who looked more like he ought to be flying a cargo helicopter than a combat gunship?

Chapter 3

Joe felt like he’d stepped into a hill where rattlers lived, as far as Akiva was concerned. He’d seen the flash of irritation in her eyes when, after the two-hour briefing, Major Stevenson had ordered them to Akiva’s office to work out the details of the base operation. Primarily, they were to choose the personnel who would be going with them, three enlisted people who would provide support for them in all respects.

As he followed Akiva into her tiny office on the second floor of the H.Q., he realized it was the first time he’d been in it.

“Close the door,” she told him as she pushed several flight reports aside on her green metal desk, dropped her new manuals there and sat down. “Sit over there,” she said, pointing to a green metal chair in the corner that had at least a dozen files stacked on it.

Closing the door quietly, Joe walked over to the chair, picked up the files and set them on the floor. He moved the chair to the opposite side of the desk from where she was sitting. Joe sensed her brittleness and distrust toward him. He could tell by her abruptness that she was stressed. But more than anything, he wanted this liaison to work between them.

Joe had to keep himself from staring at her. Akiva could have been a model in some chic Paris show, wearing designer clothes. Her face was angular and classic, with high cheekbones, wide intelligent eyes and a soft, full mouth.

Giving her a lopsided smile, he sat down and said, “You’ve been here at Black Jaguar Base for three years. I’m sure you’ve got some ideas of the personnel you’d like to have come with us?” Even as he asked the question, Joe wondered why he’d been chosen to be Akiva’s X.O. She wasn’t easy to work with—except in the cockpit, where she was all business.

He saw her gold eyes narrow speculatively on him. “Yes, I do have a list of people I want.” Her nostrils flared as she waited for his reaction.

Joe sat there relaxed, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. He was darkly tanned, the color emphasizing his large gray eyes. A lock of ebony hair dipped rebelliously across his wrinkled brow. She wished she could ignore him, but she’d promised Maya to try and make this work. “I’m new at this,” she muttered defiantly.

“What? Being a C.O. instead of a pilot taking orders?”

She ignored his teasing demeanor. “Yes.” The word came out like a trap snapping shut.

“When Major Stevenson told me I was going to be X.O., I wondered if I had the right stuff to do it.” Opening his hands, Joe sat back and said, “It’s one thing to be a pilot. Someone’s always giving you orders and setting the tasks up for you. It’s another to be figuring out the tasks and handin’ them out.” He gave her an understanding smile.

Joe had long dealt with his own fear of not living up to his assignments. He supposed that had had to do with his childhood. None of his peers had ever expected much of a half-breed. To this day, he lived in terror of someone finding out he’d made a mistake and marking it down in his military personnel jacket, where it would be counted against him later on.

Akiva grabbed a piece of paper and frowned down at it. Joe had a lot less pride than she did. She wasn’t about to admit to him her reservations about being a C.O. His sincere humility was a powerful draw to her. He wasn’t one of those testosterone-filled studs who snorted and stomped around, beating their chests and proclaiming they were the best pilots or leaders in the world. “You were chosen because of your night optic background.”

The words were like an insult being hurled at him, but Joe allowed it to slide off him. “You sit tall in the saddle,” he drawled. When he saw her head snap up, and she gave him a confused look, he grinned a little. “Another Texas saying. I guess now that we’re gonna be workin’ close, you’ll get a gutful of ’em. It means that you’re the right person to be chosen to head up this mission. It’s a compliment.”

Why couldn’t he be just as nasty and snarling as she was toward him? It would make Akiva’s life a helluva lot easier. Anger, prejudice and hatred were things she knew how to battle. His laid-back nature in the face of her prickliness made her panicky inside.

Maya’s advice about Akiva’s need to leave her prejudice behind in order to make the transition to a C.O. droned in her head. Damn, forgetting her past hurts was going to be the hardest thing in the world. As she searched Joe’s friendly gray eyes and dropped her gaze to his full, mobile mouth, Akiva decided he must have led a rich and spoiled existence. No, he hadn’t had life hurled at him like she had. Would he be able to handle this mission as her X.O.?

Wrestling with her anger and anxiety, she choked out, “Thanks…I think…for the compliment.”

“You rode horses growin’ up, didn’t you?” Joe decided that maybe the best tact with Akiva was to get to know her on a more personal level. If he could disarm her prickly nature, it would serve all of them.

“Yes, I did.” She scribbled some words at the top of the paper, trying to ignore his gaze.

“My daddy drives an eighteen-wheeler, a big rig, for a living. When I was a tadpole, he said I needed a horse. I remember he bought me this old fifteen-year-old quarter horse called Poncho. The horse had arthritis bad in the knees, but I was five years old and thought I’d died and gone to hog heaven.”

Akiva’s hand poised over the paper. Whether she liked to admit it or not, she enjoyed Joe’s stories; she had since she’d first begun training with him. Even in the cockpit, while he was teaching the upgrade features of the optic night scope to her, he’d told her stories. They always served to relax her, and even now she could feel the tightness in her neck and shoulders beginning to dissolve at the sound of his soft Southern voice.

“Now, old Poncho, as my daddy called ’em, was an old ropin’ horse of some repute. But for me, well, I was a greenhorn five-year-old who’d never thrown a leg over a horse before. Every self-respectin’ Texan learns how to ride. Texas is a proud state with a long tradition of cowboys and cattle. My daddy was bound and determined to initiate me into Texas ways.” Joe saw interest flicker in Akiva’s shadowed eyes as she stared across the desk at him. She’d stopped writing to listen. Somehow, his storytelling was a connection with her that was good and healthy. It made his heart swell with unexpected happiness. Still, he knew Akiva would probably take that war ax she wore on her belt to his skull if he even breathed the possibility that he was drawn to her, man to woman.

“Apaches rode horses until they died under them,” Akiva said. “My great-great-grandmother rode with Geronimo and was one of his best warriors. I remember stories about her passed down through the women in our family. Apaches have endurance, Chief Calhoun. They would ride up to fifty miles a day, escaping the cavalry. Most of the time there were no horses around. If they found any, they’d steal them and ride them into exhaustion, then get off and keep trotting on foot in order to stay free of the white men chasing them.”

“Impressive,” Joe murmured, leaning forward. He saw the pride reflected in her aloof face, in the way she held her chin at an arrogant angle. “I don’t know that much about your people, but I’d like to learn.” And he would, only for other reasons—personal ones. Again he saw her eyes grow more golden for a moment. He was learning by reading her body language what impacted her positively. She was a woman who held her cards close to her chest, giving little away of how she might be feeling inside. Of course, Joe understood why. A combat helicopter pilot couldn’t be hanging her emotional laundry out to dry in the middle of a dangerous flight mission.

“I come from very tough stock.” Akiva said, then scowled and jabbed her finger at the paper in front of her. “We need to get to work here, Chief.”

“Could you call me Joe when we’re alone? I don’t usually stand on protocol unless I need to.”

Her mouth tightened. They were both the same rank. His request wasn’t out of line. “Yeah…I guess…”

He was pushing her and he knew it. There was anger in her eyes now, and her mouth was a tight line, holding in a lot of unspoken words he was sure she wanted to fire off at him. “Thanks,” he said genially, but with a serious look on his face.

Exhaling loudly, Akiva muttered, “These are the women I want coming with us,” and she turned the paper around and shoved it in Joe’s direction.

As he slowly read down through the list, Akiva sat stiffly, as if expecting him to fight her on the choices. Yet even as she did so, she realized there was nothing to dislike about the warrant officer; indeed, of the three men who had been assigned to their squadron to train the pilots on the Apache Longbow gunship, Akiva had felt most at ease around Joe.

“This is a mighty good list of people,” he murmured, giving her an approving smile. “I’ve only been here a couple of months, but I’m familiar with all of them.”

“Then…you approve?”

“Build the coop before you buy the chickens.”

Akiva stared. And then she got it. A half smile threaded across her mouth as she took back the list of people she’d handed him. “It’s a good thing I’m a country girl or I wouldn’t have a clue as to your country sayings, Chief—er, I mean, Joe….” It disturbed Akiva to say his first name, made her feel too familiar with the kind of man she didn’t want to be familiar with.

Akiva saw Joe’s eyes lighten considerably as she tried to be somewhat pleasant—which wasn’t her forte, certainly. Maya would be proud of her, she realized.

“I knew you were a country girl,” he said. “I’ve seen you down at the mining side of this place, workin’ in the garden with Jake Travers and his wife, Ana, whenever you get a chance. Only that kind of woman would be down on her hands and knees, fingers in the warm, black soil. Not a citified type.”

“You don’t miss much, do you?” The words came out sharp and nasty. Akiva mentally chastised herself. Maya never used such a voice or harsh words with anyone. Akiva had to struggle to learn how to be more like her, since she was a C.O. now and not just a pilot in the squadron.

With an easy, one-shoulder shrug, Joe said, “I like to think I keep my ear to the ground and my eyes peeled.” He saw the confused expression in Akiva’s face. She really didn’t know what to do with him or how to respond to him. That was okay; at least she wasn’t spitting bullets at him—yet. Somehow, he had to find the key to Akiva, a way to turn off the venom and nastiness and reach her as a human being.

Without a doubt, Joe knew she had a big heart, because he’d seen it in some situations. Like when she was with the children of the villages that lay around the base of the mountain where their operation was hidden. Akiva would hike down to the villages at least once a week to help the Angel of Death—aka their paramedic, Sergeant Angel Paredes—make her rounds to help the people. The villages were in the middle of the Peruvian jungle, and there was no medical help, no clinic or hospitals, available if someone fell sick. Joe had once gone with Sergeant Paredes, not knowing that Akiva would be joining them. Akiva almost didn’t go because he’d tagged along, but he’d cajoled her into staying. He was glad he did, because he got to see the positive, healthy side of Akiva on that day.

She loved kids, big or small. When he had stood back, out of sight, he’d seen her open up to them in a way he’d never seen her do with the squadron. Joe had never seen Akiva smile, joke, gently tease or extend herself as she did with the many children who’d surrounded her the moment they walked into each village. She had hard candy in bright, colorful wrappers in her pockets, and she would hand a piece to each begging child.

Later, Joe had seen her hold babies and children whom Paredes had to work with medically. How gentle and tender Akiva had been with those little ones. Joe had mentally photographed that day into his heart. He was glad he’d seen Akiva let down her armored barriers; it served to remind him that beneath that warrior’s facade was a vulnerable woman of immense ability to reach out and love others. And it also told him that her toughness was a protection. He had held back a lot of personal questions he wanted to ask her about her growing up years. Based upon his own struggles as a kid, he knew that events, good or bad, shaped each person during the formative years. His instincts told him that Akiva had had a hellacious childhood, probably one that would have shattered another child. He figured it was her tough Apache blood that had helped her to survive it.

“What are we going to do about medical emergencies?” Joe wondered aloud. He held her stare. “You got any ideas about that?”

“No…I haven’t even thought about that….” she admitted. Akiva was proud of Joe for remembering such an important detail. At least he was thinking for the good of all, which Akiva knew wasn’t typical of a white male.

“Do you want me to talk to the doc at the medical facility?” he offered.

“Yes, why don’t you? We have Sergeant Paredes, but she’s the only paramedic here. I don’t think Major Stevenson wants to give her up to us.”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, I understand why she wouldn’t. If a crew member on one of the Apaches gets wounded, Paredes needs to be here to help the doctor do what she can for them.”

Akiva sat back and felt herself relax. It had to be due to Joe’s quiet demeanor, she decided. Of all the white men she’d ever met, he somehow helped her to let go of most of her protective armor. But Akiva would never let all that armor dissolve. Not ever. White men hurt women; it was that simple. “See what you can find out.”

Nodding, Joe said, “Yes, I will, and then I’ll let you know what the doc suggests.”

“I hate the idea of being out there in the middle of that jungle with no medical resources. Any of us could get hurt. One of the ground crew could get sick…. This is something we need to plan an SOP for.”

Joe raised his brows and gave her a hopeful look. “How about if I do the legwork on this problem? Can you trust me to come up with a game plan?” He knew from working with Akiva before that she did not trust him. Trust was something she didn’t hand to a man under any circumstances, Joe knew. He watched her wrestle with his request. A good C.O. knew how to delegate. Would she allow him to tackle this one, small element without her micromanaging it?

“Yeah…okay. Do it. I’ve got my hands full with other stuff right now.” Akiva felt a ribbon of heat flow through her when she saw his mouth pull into a smile. She didn’t want to feel good because he smiled, but she did.

“What’s the ETA—estimated time of arrival—on leaving for Alpha?”

“One week, if we get our stuff together on this.”

“Good, I can hardly wait.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Alpha Base was a terrible disappointment to Akiva. She’d flown the Apache Longbow down into the hole in the canopy, skimmed among the towering trees and landed on the overgrown, dirt airstrip near several buildings built out of corrugated tin and poles strung together haphazardly with nails and wire. Sergeant Mandy Cooper, the crew chief for the ground personnel, had flown the back seat with her.

Joe had flown the Blackhawk helicopter, setting it down two rotor lengths away from the Apache. The rest of the base personnel had flown in with him, along with a lot of supplies. He’d joined Akiva as they walked to their new home.

“Not much to it, is there?” Akiva said as she strode across the long, tangled grass, which grasped at her booted feet.

Joe eyed the main building, a hangar. “Bubble gum, paper clips and a lotta prayers, from the looks of it.” He purposely walked at Akiva’s speed, which was a fast stride. Today she wore that war ax on the belt around her waist, along with a leather scabbard on the other hip that contained a very old bowie knife. From Joe’s understanding, Maya had allowed her to wear the weapons that had been passed down through her warrior family. Like him, Akiva wore a side arm in a black leather holster, along with a flak vest, known as a chicken plate, on the upper part of her body. As they crossed the grassy strip, he shrugged out of his own chicken plate and held it in his left hand as he surveyed their surroundings.

There were four buildings, the hangar being the largest. It could easily house both helos, effectively hiding them from prying eyes in the sky. The week before they’d flown to their new home, the Blackhawk had been the workhorse, bringing all the equipment and food that the crew would need to set up housekeeping.

Joe saw the three enlisted women hurrying to catch up with them. The looks of excitement and curiosity on their faces as they trotted across the thick green grass in their camouflage uniforms mirrored how he felt inside. As he glanced at Akiva’s profile, he saw the same look on her face, too.

“I’m feelin’ like a kid in a candy store,” he said with a laugh.

Giving him a sidelong glance, Akiva tried not to allow Joe’s laughter to affect her. But it did, in a good way. “We need to split up, take inventory, and then get back together later, wherever my office is going to be. We need to assess what’s missing or what has to be done next.” Akiva had been told they had a week to come online, ready to start interdiction missions. That wasn’t long.

Nodding, Joe erased his smile and closeted his thrill over the assignment. Akiva was all business. He could see the cloak of command settling over her proud shoulders. It wasn’t an easy cape to wear, he was discovering, even as X.O. His own job would be to handle the day-to-day workings of the three-woman crew, plus the scheduling of flights. As he saw it, he was to leave Akiva free to do planning and strategy for the missions. More than anything, he didn’t want to be one more thing she needed to worry about. The past week, he’d seen the awareness in her eyes of just how much responsibility she was charged with on this mission. In one way, it was good, because that didn’t leave her much time or energy to snap and snarl at him. She was too busy with planning.

Approaching the hangar, which was just three walls and a roof of corrugated tin, Joe stopped and looked at it more critically.

Akiva moved onto the hard-packed dirt floor of the building. Spotting several doors on one side, she went over and opened them. Good. Behind each, she found a small office. Each held a green, military-issue desk, paper, pens and the necessary things to make paperwork flow. The other crew members would each have an office to work from as well. She left Joe to look around, and continued her inspection of the new base by heading through another door into an alley between the hangar and the next largest building. It would serve as living quarters, mess hall and offices for the three enlisted women, Akiva realized. The sleeping quarters weren’t much to rave about, she discovered as she opened a recently erected door in a plywood wall. There were three metal cots with green army blankets and a pillow on each, and that was it. A shower had been built at one end. Spartan was the word that came to mind. She noted her and Joe’s quarters were at the front, a plyboard cubicle for each.

Moving out of that building, Akiva keyed her hearing to the excited voices of her crew. They were laughing, oohing and ahhing over the facilities. She felt a little of their excitement, but her mind was humming along, assessing, judging and planning. As she left the second building for the smaller one, across the alleyway, she laughed at herself. Maybe Maya was right; maybe she really did have what it took to lead a squadron. Her focus was on keeping her personnel safe, dry and fed.

In the third building, she found all their radio and satellite communications equipment, plus several computers, maps and boards on which to do planning for missions. This was where she would be spending much of her time. Stepping outside the rickety building again, Akiva spotted their electric generator. It had been put into a fairly well-built wooden structure that had a lot of padding to prevent the noise from being heard. An opening for the exhaust had been cut into the top of it. The gasoline needed to run it was in another tank near the edge of the jungle, which was slowly encroaching on the old airport facility. The tank had been painted camouflage colors so it blended in with their surroundings.

Turning, Akiva saw another, much larger storage tank, which held the fuel for the helicopters. Once a week, a Blackhawk would fly in with fuel bladders and refill it so they could keep flying their missions. That helicopter would come from a secret CIA base to the north of them. The CIA would become their main supplier for anything they needed to keep Alpha Base going.

“I’m happy as an armadillo diggin’ for grub worms.”

Akiva turned and couldn’t help but grin. Joe ambled around the corner, his hands in the pockets of his camouflage pants, a pleased look on his face.

“Armadillos?”

“Yeah, those critters that live in Texas and are worse than prairie dogs, leavin’ holes all around so folks can stumble into ’em and break a leg. And they’re always diggin’ for worms and grubs, their favorite dessert.”

Joe halted about six feet from Akiva. She was happy; he could see it in the sunlight gold dancing in her eyes as she met and held his gaze. Her hands rested on her wide hips and she had long ago gotten rid of the uncomfortable chicken plate vest. In the black, body-fitting uniform, her womanly curves and stature were obvious. She was a woman of substance, of pride, strength and confidence. Best of all, her full mouth was no longer pursed like it usually was, he noted.

“You like our new home, then.” Akiva turned, tearing her gaze from Joe’s smiling face. The man’s positive outlook on life was diametrically opposed to hers. He was always smiling and joking. She never did either.

“Shore ’nuff,” he murmured. “I’ve got Sergeant Cooper whippin’ the women into order over at that second building. I told her to set up housekeeping and unpack their duffel bags.”

“Good.” Akiva continued studying the way the jungle was hugging the base. She tried to stop her heart from opening up to Joe’s sunny presence. Trying to avoid looking up again at his well-shaped mouth, Akiva wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would Joe be as gentle as he seemed? Or hurtful like every other Anglo man she’d had the sorry misfortune to tangle with? Forcing her mind back to the present, Akiva was unhappy that she was evaluating Joe on such an intensely personal level.

Joe moved to where Akiva was standing with her back to him. He was getting used to how she tried to ignore him. Her thick black hair had been woven into one large braid, tied off with a piece of red yarn and then coiled at the back of her long neck so that it fit beneath her helmet when she flew. Now, as he approached her, she took out the pins holding her braid in place and let it roll down her long, strong spine. The urge to reach out and touch that frayed, silky rope was almost his undoing. He forced his hand to remain in his pants pocket, knowing she’d probably deck him if he tried to touch her. Frustrated, Joe wondered what made her so defensive.

“This is a good place, strategically speaking,” he confided to her in a low voice. “The jungle is close enough to really hide us.”

“Yes…” Akiva moved away from him. She didn’t like Joe’s intimacy with her. Giving him a hard look that said Back off, she announced, “I’ll be in the tack and strat building,” and she pointed behind them. “Ask Spec—Specialist—Bradford to get over here and get the computers and communications online.”

Joe nodded. “Right away.” He turned and headed back toward the hangar. Once again Akiva was all business. But the panicked look in her eyes told him she didn’t want him getting that close to her in future. As he made his way with long, easy strides through the tangle of grass, Joe sighed inwardly. What was it about him that Akiva hated so much? She rarely tried to hide the fact she couldn’t stand being in the same room with him.

As he stepped into the hangar to hunt down Iris Bradford, their radio communications specialist, Joe tried to stop the ache he felt in his chest. More than anything, he wanted others to like him, to think well of him. He wanted to make up for his youth, spent as an outcast because he had Comanche blood flowing through his veins. He felt a driving need to always look good to his superiors. As a result, he was a hard charger from a career point of view. He saw this X.O. opportunity as a possible gateway to becoming an officer in the U.S. Army someday soon, not just a warrant officer. However, his career was now in Akiva’s hands. If she put a bad report in his personnel jacket, she could torpedo his career goals in a heartbeat.

And why? What was wrong with him? he wondered as he poked his head into the first office, where he found blond-haired, blue-eyed Iris Bradford. She was twenty-three years old and a computer geek from the get-go. Five foot three inches tall, she was slightly chunky, big-boned and, he had learned, of Swedish background. She brightened when she saw him enter the office.

“Sir, I’m looking for the comms. You seen them?”

Joe nodded. “They’re over in the last building, Bradford. Why don’t you hightail it over there and get that stuff hummin’? Chief Redtail’s over there, too.”

Flushing with excitement, Iris said, “Yes, sir! This is so cool! I love this place! I’m so glad I was asked to be a part of the team.” She flashed him a toothy smile, moved past him and then trotted out of the hangar toward the last building in the row.

Joe smiled and looked around the office. He saw a laptop computer on the desk, a printer, a telephone and a small gold plate on the front of the desk that said C.O. This was Akiva’s office. Figuring his must be nearby, he left the office and closed the door. The next office over was indeed his. Standing there in front of his desk, where the small gold plate saying X.O. sat, he got chills. Excitement thrummed through him. Finally, the army was giving him a chance to show what he could do. Now his only problem was Akiva.

Chapter 4

Joe wondered where Akiva was. It was 2330, nearly midnight, of their first full day at Alpha. Everyone was in bed in the second building, each in her own plywood cubical containing a cot and metal locker. The C.O. and X.O. cubes were at the front, on either side of the aisle, the enlisted people’s to the rear. The light had been doused a long time ago and thin filaments of moonlight threaded through the windows, which were covered with years of grime. As he walked quietly down the aisle toward the door, Joe mentally put cleaning the windows on his to-do list. Just because Navy Seabees had come in here and built them rough living quarters didn’t mean the place was livable. From a cleanliness perspective it was a disaster.

Exhaustion pulled at him. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his camouflage jacket, he headed out the door. Overhead, foglike clouds were gathering, due to the high humidity. The scream of monkeys and the hooting of owls drifted out of the darkened jungle as he walked across the flattened grass between the living quarters and the communications building. He had a hunch Akiva was still over there in the planning room, working out the myriad details of their upcoming flights, which would start as soon as they could get organized at the base.

Opening the rickety door as quietly as he could, he entered and stood just inside it. The Seabees had divided the room into three sections—the comms center, a meeting space where flight planning could be held, and a small cubicle with a desk in it. There were no doors on the partitioned-off areas, and he saw dim light flooding out of the smallest cube.

He moved to the office, stood in the doorway and felt his heart wrench. Akiva was sleeping over the flight maps, one arm beneath her cheek, the other spread across the table, a pencil hanging limply in her long, thin fingers. At some point she’d unraveled her braid, and her hair cloaked her shoulders like an ebony coverlet, the reddish highlights glowing in the light of the fluorescent lamp on the plywood table that served as a desk.

Hungrily his gaze swung back to her face. In sleep, Akiva looked incredibly vulnerable and beautiful. Joe was sure she had no idea how attractive she was to men. Although she never wore makeup, just the chiseled, patrician quality of her features would make any man look at her twice. Her full lips were soft now, and parted in sleep. Black strands of hair flowed down her temple, covering her ear and curving along her clean jawline. The bright red cotton scarf she wore across her brow highlighted her copper skin and black hair, presenting a dramatic picture.

Whether he wanted to or not, he needed to wake her up. Akiva had to get her sleep in order to keep going, and napping like this wasn’t very restful. Gingerly, Joe slid his hand along her proud shoulder, the black uniform felt smooth beneath his fingers.

“Akiva?” he whispered. He squeezed her shoulder gently.

Akiva’s brows moved slightly. Her mouth closed and then opened.

Heart speeding up, Joe found himself mesmerized by her soft, lush-looking mouth. What would it be like to lean down and caress those lips with his own? The thought was like a lightning bolt of fire and heat coursing through him and settling hotly in his lower body. Grinning to himself, Joe knew if Akiva had read his thoughts, she’d deck him. Rightfully so. Again he squeezed her shoulder, and deepened his voice.

“Akiva? Come on, time to wake up. You’ve got to get some good shut-eye, gal.” The endearment slipped from his lips before he could stop it. Consarnit! Joe knew Akiva wouldn’t take kindly to such familiarity. Had she heard him?

Groaning, Akiva heard a male voice somewhere in the folds of her fuzzy awareness. She also felt a hand—a man’s hand—on her shoulder. Ordinarily, she wanted no one to touch her, for as an Apache woman, her body was sacred and not privy to idle touch by anyone without her permission. In her sluggish sleep state, however, her protective walls were no longer in place. The low, husky tone of the man’s voice seemed like a warm stream flowing into the cold winter of her heart. He’d called her “gal,” in a deep, intimate, caressing tone. The sensation was delicious—and surprising. Akiva had never felt such warmth flowing through her and she wanted badly to languish in the feeling. The man’s touch was nurturing. Akiva had never experienced that with any man.

Again she heard her name called. This time she snapped awake out of habit. Sitting up, she blinked.

Joe released her shoulder and stepped back, knowing full well that Akiva would not like him touching her. Her eyes were slightly puffy with sleep, and half-open, with a drowsy look in their gold depths. Her black hair slid around her shoulders like a soft, silky shawl, and he ached to reach out and touch those vibrant strands to see what they felt like between his fingertips.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Whoa, nothing’s wrong,” Joe said, holding up his hands as she swung around. He could see the sleep leave her abruptly. Her eyes were narrowed and alert now, the gold depths penetrating. Inwardly he longed for the woman who had seemed so innocent and approachable while she slept. That woman was now hidden away once again beneath Akiva’s massive armor plating.

Blinking rapidly, Akiva stared at Joe, who stood relaxed before her. His head was cocked to one side, his gray eyes hooded, with a look in them Akiva could not decipher. One corner of his mouth hitched upward.

She sat back in the creaky chair. “Everything okay?” she croaked, then cleared her throat. She tried desperately to shove the sleep away from her in order to think clearly.

“Everything’s fine, Akiva. I just found you over here. I’m hitting the rack. I think you should, too.” Joe gestured toward the table with maps spread across it. “This is no place to sleep. We need good, restful sleep. Come on, let’s go.”

Ordinarily, Akiva would have fought him. But Joe’s voice was low and coaxing, like a hand caressing her in a very gentle and nonthreatening way. He was right: she needed a good night’s sleep.

“Yeah, okay…Thanks…” She rose to her feet and rubbed her face tiredly.

Joe stepped aside and said, “I’ll have Spec Dean wake us at 0600.”

Feeling vulnerable because she was still wrapped in the last remnants of sleep, Akiva nodded. She watched Joe give her a slight smile, turn and leave. For a moment, as she stood there in the silent room, she missed his quiet strength and gentleness. Shaking her head, Akiva sternly told herself he was an Anglo and few of them ever had such attributes. Yet as she stood there alone, she realized that she hungered for Joe’s nurturing nature, now that he was gone. Never had she felt such a driving urgency. At a loss to explain it, she sighed in frustration. How could she be so drawn to Joe? He was Anglo. Her enemy.

Turning, Akiva switched off the light, not wanting to waste electricity. Stumbling from the darkened room, she let her eyes adjust before walking to the door. The moonlight was like thin, diluted milk as it filtered through the glass panes of the grimy windows. As she sighed and rubbed her eyes, Akiva knew she had to get some decent sleep. Being a C.O. was hard work. Much harder than she’d ever anticipated. And tomorrow was another day with Joe…a man she did not want to work with or be around. Yet one she was beginning to need with the hunger of a lone wolf wanting a mate. It was a terrible cosmic joke—on her.

“Well,” Joe said as he knocked lightly on the planning room door, a cup of coffee in hand, “what do you think?” It was late afternoon and Akiva was sitting at the planning table, several flight maps spread out in front of her. She was in her usual uniform, the bright red headband in place, her hair black and straight around her shoulders. Joe was glad she wore her hair down; it made her look incredibly beautiful.

Akiva turned. Her eyes narrowed. Joe was in his black flight uniform and was holding out a cup of coffee toward her.

“Dean got the coffeemaker going?” she asked, hope in her voice.

“Yeah. How about that? Would you like some?”

Akiva wanted coffee. But she didn’t want to accept it from him. She saw the hope burning in his eyes. All day, in small, subtle ways, Joe had tried to be helpful, and yet stay out of her way. He wasn’t dumb; he knew she really didn’t want him around. Akiva eyed the coffee, wanting it desperately. But if she took it, Joe would think it was a sign of peace between them, and that’s not how she felt.

“No…thanks. You go ahead and drink it.” Again, that sense of incredible nurturing cloaked her. It was from Joe, Akiva realized, without a doubt. Her heart dropped with anguish. She desperately wanted that warmth from him, but wavered when she remembered her past experiences. She was torn, knowing that if she reached out for that warmth she craved, she’d be reaching out for him. Akiva could not have what he offered without accepting Joe’s presence in her life. The realization was paralyzing to her. It filled her with a fear she could not sneer at, run from or face. At least not yet.

Joe shrugged and sipped the coffee. “Dean makes a mean cup of java.”

“Smells good,” Akiva admitted hoarsely. She turned her back on him and looked at the maps. Hearing him come closer, she tried to tell herself to stop soaking up his presence like a thirsty sponge. Was she so hungry for intimacy? So empty that even the remotest human warmth touched some dark, frightened part of her and made her feel almost out of control? Akiva had never experienced the overwhelming emotions she experienced now. It was as if Joe was creating a tidal wave of powerful, surging need in her—need that only he could fulfill. How was that possible? Akiva had always felt herself impervious to men and whatever crumbs they offered. Joe, however, was offering such a rich banquet, vital and nurturing energy that she wondered how she was going to stop herself from reaching out and consuming it like a starving wolf.

“How is the planning going? You’re looking at potential flight routes from here, over the Gulf and back?”

Sighing, Akiva nodded and picked up the plastic protractor, tapping it against one of the colorful maps. “Yeah. Trying to figure out flight routes. We can never take the same one twice. Someone might be watching us. I’m trying to devise five different flight strategies, depending on where we meet up with a druggie, and how to fly that pattern back here to the base.”

Joe stood quietly. “Mind if I take a look at what you’ve come up with so far?” His heart thumped hard in his chest. He knew Akiva was a hands-on manager, not one to give up territory or duties to others unless she absolutely had to. Oh, she’d been more than happy to have him, as X.O., handle all the things that needed to be reckoned with in setting up Alpha. But when it came to the serious stuff of planning interdiction, she’d made it clear she didn’t want him nosing around.

Mouth thinning, Akiva scowled and put her hands over her notebook, where she’d been scribbling ideas. Damn. The last thing she wanted was Joe here. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? The more mature side of herself said, Because he’s the X.O. He has a right to be here.Besides, he might have some good ideas that you could use. The immature part of her, the wounded side, won out. Her voice became clipped. “I’ll let you see them when I’m done. Don’t you have other duties that need attending to?”

Wincing inwardly, Joe tried to tamp down his impatience and frustration. In an instant, he had seen Akiva put up her defensive guard; it was in her voice and in her stiffening body. Looking around, he saw that Iris Bradford had left the building. They were alone.

“Tell me something,” Joe said in a low, soothing voice. “Am I green lookin’, with scales and a set of horns on my head?”

Stunned, Akiva twisted around and stared at him, her mouth falling open. Joe was leaning languidly in the entranceway, his brows furrowed, his eyes dark and searching. “What?”

“Did I grow horns and a tail? Is that why you don’t want me within ten feet of you at any time? Am I some virus you’re afraid will infect you through casual contact?”

Akiva was shocked by his brazenness. Maybe she had misjudged him; she had thought Joe was a beta male, not an alpha one. She stared up at him, stunned speechless. The silence thickened between them. Gulping, she realized that if she spoke the truth, he could, by military regulations, have her strung up for dereliction of duty because of prejudice. And she wasn’t about to let that occur. But if that was Joe’s intent, she didn’t sense it. There was nothing in his face or his voice that indicated he intended malice toward her. No, what she heard from him was hurt. Hurt that she was leaving him out of the loop, that she didn’t need him around at all. And also, there was a gentle persistence in his tone clearly meant to create dialogue to get past the defensive anger on her part.

Her heart twinged with guilt…and another emotion that she refused to look at. Her gaze snapped away and then back to Joe.

“We’re alone,” he told her. “I would never bring this up within earshot of anyone, Akiva.”

Lips pursed, she growled, “Look, I’m new at this…being a C.O. I don’t know how to lead, I guess. And right now, all my attention is on our mission and flights.”

“Understandable,” Joe rasped. “And I haven’t had any training to be an X.O., either, so maybe we’re both floundering around, unsure and on shaky legs with our new assignments?” He saw her eyes fill with fear and uncertainty. “I know I’m feelin’ that way.” Well, that wasn’t really true, but Joe decided the white lie might create some camaraderie between them—and perhaps create an opening with Akiva. There was no sense in accusing her. She’d only shut down and retreat inside that cool, icy tower. That was the last thing Joe wanted.

“Uh, yeah…” Akiva searched his hooded gray eyes. Her ability to read men was deadly accurate; she could smell them intuitively a mile away. And if her all-terrain radar was working correctly, she felt Joe trying to offer her an olive branch of peace. Her heart said to take it. Her mind screamed no. Torn, she shrugged.

“Let me…I’ll be done with my preliminary flight paths probably by tonight. How about you look at them then?”

Nodding, Joe sipped the coffee, though he no longer tasted it. “That would be fine. Thanks. I gotta go. Spec Dean and Ferris have got the helos in the hangar, and they’re going to begin working on the big rig for us. They have to go through normal pre-mission checks on it.”

“Good. Fine…fine…”

Joe saw the indecision in Akiva’s gold eyes. He saw her being pulled between her desire to be civil toward him and something else. What was that other thing? He sensed it more than saw it in her body language. It was as if she wanted to explain herself to him for some reason. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and turned on his heel.

“Better catch your sun rays today to keep that tan,” Akiva called, trying to be friendly. “There’s a lot less sun here, I think, than what we had back in Peru.”

Stopping, Joe twisted around and gave her a quizzical look. She’d already turned her back to him and was bent over the maps once more. Confused by her words, he took a sip of coffee and then headed to the door. What had Akiva meant by that statement? Was she just trying to be pleasant? Maybe she was feeling bad about the way she was treating him and was trying to be social. Heartened, he took her off-the-wall comment as a white flag of truce—at least for now. His heart lightened with each stride, because Joe felt as if they’d taken a step together, in the same direction, for the first time.

Joe had asked the enlisted women to share the mess duties, taking turns being responsible for each day’s meals. Spec Susan Dean, their ordnance person, had been given extra duty as chef today. She hailed from the Bronx, and had a distinct nasal twang to her voice. As they sat at the benches and tables in the dining area, she quickly served them their first dinner at Alpha. Dressed in her camos, her olive-green T-shirt damp with sweat, she zoomed around, passing out aluminum trays filled with the delicious smelling spaghetti she’d whipped up.

Joe sat on one side of the officers’ table and Akiva sat opposite him. She was smiling at Susan, who was singing an Italian song in high falsetto as she served them their meals. It was 1800 hours, and Joe was glad to see everyone pulling together. This was going to be a tight team, and he was proud of the enlisted women, each of whom had pulled double duty today serving outside their trained area of expertise.

Susan set trays in front of Akiva and Joe. Her green eyes danced with pride. “There you go, Chiefs. My mama, who is a killer cook, gave me this recipe. Enjoy!” She turned and quickly went back to the makeshift kitchen for trays for the others.

Akiva grinned and picked up her fork. She risked a glance across the table at Joe. The black uniform he wore accentuated his black hair and darkly tanned features, making him look dangerous to her. Akiva couldn’t pin down exactly what it was about Joe Calhoun that drew him to her, only that her silly heart was always thumping a little when he was in the vicinity. A rebellious lock of black hair dipped over his broad brow. She had the maddening urge to push it back into place. Stunned at her spontaneous feelings, Akiva scowled and forked the fragrant spaghetti into her mouth.

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