Mac hesitated a moment or two before making a grudging admission. “Maybe I was out of line, pushing at you the way I did.”

“Maybe?”

“Okay, I tend to come on a little strong at times. The point is, I shouldn’t have ragged you. Not about something so important. That isn’t the kind of decision a person should make right before taking off on a mission.”

The comment took Cari completely aback. After that bone-rattling kiss this afternoon, she would have thought he’d be the last one to suggest she’d make a mistake.

“When did my personal life become a matter of such interest to you?”

“Since the first time I laid eyes on you.” He dropped the bombshell so casually that it took a few seconds for the full impact to hit.

“Are you saying you’ve…you’ve…?”

“Had the hots for you since day one? As a matter of fact, I have.”

The Right Stuff
Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MERLINE LOVELACE

spent twenty-three years in the air force, pulling tours in Vietnam, at the Pentagon and at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform, she decided to try her hand at writing. She’s since had more than fifty novels published, with over seven million copies of her work in print. Watch for her next release, Untamed, coming from MIRA Books in September 2004.

To Maggie Price—friend, partner in crime and the world’s greatest writer of romantic suspense.

Thanks for all the quick reads and the great adventures!

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

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Pegasus Control, this is Pegasus One.”

“Go ahead, Pegasus One.”

U.S. Coast Guard Lieutenant Caroline Dunn tore her gaze from the green, silent ocean flowing past the bubble cockpit of her craft. Her heart hammering against her ribs, she reported the statistics displayed on the brightly lit digital screens of the console.

“The Marine Imaging System reports a depth of eighty feet, with the ocean floor shelving upward at thirty degrees.”

“That checks with our reading, Pegasus One. Switch to track mode at fifty feet.”

“Aye, aye, Control.”

Cari whipped her glance from the marine-data display to a screen showing a digital outline of her craft. There it was, the supersecret, all-weather, all-terrain, attack/assault vehicle code named Pegasus. It was in sea mode, a long, sleek tube with its wings swept back and tucked close to the hull. Those delta-shaped wings and their tilted rear engines would generate a crazy sonar signature, Cari thought with grim satisfaction. The enemy wouldn’t know what the hell was coming at him.

Once Pegasus completed testing and was accepted for actual combat operations, that is. After months of successful—if often nerve-racking—land and air trials, Pegasus had taken his first swim at a fresh-water lake in New Mexico, close to its secret base.

Now the entire operation had moved to the south Texas coast and plunged the craft into deep water for the first time. It was Cari’s job to take him down. And bring him back up!

Her palms tight on the wheel, she brought her glance back to the depth finder. “Seventy feet,” she reported, her voice deliberately calm and measured.

“We copy that, Pegasus One.”

Her steady tone betrayed none of the nervous excitement pinging around inside her like supercharged electrons. Pegasus had proved he could run like the wind and soar through the skies. In a few minutes, Cari would find out if the multi-purpose vehicle would perform as its designers claimed or sink like a stone to the ocean floor with her inside.

“Sixty,” she announced.

“Confirming sixty feet.”

The green ocean swirled by outside the pressurized canopy. A coast guard officer with more than a dozen years at sea under her belt, Cari had commanded a variety of surface craft. Her last command before joining the Pegasus test cadre was a heavily armed coastal patrol boat. This was the first time, though, she’d stood at the wheel of a vessel that operated equally well above and below the surface. Pegasus wouldn’t dive as deep as a sub or skim across the waves as fast as a high-powered cutter, but it was the first military vehicle to effectively operate on land, in the air and at sea.

So far, anyway.

The big test was just moments away, when Cari cut the engines propelling Pegasus through the water and switched to track mode. In preliminary sea trials at New Mexico’s Elephant Butte, the craft’s wide-tracked wheels had dug into the lake bed, churned up mud and crawled right out of the water.

Of course, Elephant Butte was a relatively shallow lake. This was the ocean. The Gulf of Mexico, to be exact. With Corpus Christi Naval Air Station just a few nautical miles away, Cari reminded herself. The station’s highly trained deep-water recovery team was standing by. Just in case.

Her gaze zeroed in on the depth finder. Silently she counted off the clicks. Fifty-five feet. Fifty-four. Three. Two…

“Pegasus One, shutting down external engines.”

Dragging in a deep breath, Cari flicked the external power switch to Off. The engines mounted on the swept-back wings were almost soundless. Even at top speed they caused only a small, humming vibration. Yet with the absence of that tiny reverberation, the sudden, absolute silence now thundered in Cari’s ears.

Momentum continued to propel Pegasus forward. Silent and stealthy as a shark after its prey, the craft cut through the green water. The depth finder clicked off another five meters. Ten. The sonar screen showed sloping ocean floor rising up to meet them dead ahead.

“Pegasus One switching to track mode.”

With a small whir, the craft’s belly opened. Its wide-track wheels descended. A few seconds later, the hard polymer rubber treads made contact with the ocean floor.

“Okay, baby,” Cari murmured, half cajoling, half praying. “Do your thing.”

A flick of another switch powered the internal engine. Biting down on her lower lip, Cari eased the throttle forward. Pegasus balked. Like a fractious stallion not yet broken to the bit, the craft seemed to dig in its heels. Then, after what seemed like two lifetimes, it responded to the firm hands on the reins.

The wheels grabbed hold. The vehicle began to climb. Fathom by fathom. Foot by foot. The water around Cari grew lighter, grayer, until she could see shafts of sunlight spearing through its surface.

A few moments later Pegasus gave a throaty growl of engines and broke through to the light. Waves slapped at the canopy and washed over the hull as Cari guided her craft toward a silver van positioned almost at water’s edge. The mobile test control center had been flown in from New Mexico along with most of the personnel now manning it. They’d staked a claim to this isolated stretch of south Texas beach to conduct their deep-water sea trials. Heavily armed marines from the nearby naval air station patrolled the perimeter of the test site. The coast guard had added its small Padre Island fleet to the navy ships that kept fishing trawlers and pleasure craft away from the test sector.

By the time Pegasus roared out of the rolling surf, a small crowd of uniformed officers had spilled out of the van. They hurried across the hard-packed sand as Cari killed the engines. Blowing out a long breath, she patted the console with a hand that shook more than she wanted to admit.

“Way to go, Pegasus.”

Her craft settled on the sand with a little hum, as if every bit as satisfied with its performance as she was. Smiling, Cari climbed out of the cockpit and made her way to the rear hatch. When she stepped into the bright sunlight, a tall blond god in an air force flight suit broke ranks with the rest of the uniformed officers. Ignoring the surf swirling around his black boots, he strode forward, wrapped his hands around Cari’s waist and swung her to the sand.

“You took Pegasus for a helluva swim, Dunn!”

She grinned up at the sun-bronzed pilot. “Thanks, Dave. I think so, too.”

The rest of the officers crowded around her. Army Major Jill Bradshaw shed her habitual reserve long enough to thump Cari on the back.

“Good job, roomie.”

Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave, a senior weather scientist with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Service, hooked an arm around Cari’s shoulders and gave her a fierce hug.

“I just about choked when the weather-service satellites picked up that squall developing out over the Gulf,” the leggy redhead admitted. “What a relief it blew south, not north.”

“No kidding!”

Doc Cody Richardson, the U.S. Public Health Service representative to the task force, ran an assessing glance over her face. In addition to providing expertise on the chemical, biological and nuclear defenses aboard the craft, the doc also acted as the cadre’s chief medical officer.

“Did you experience any dizziness or nausea?”

“None,” Cari replied, wiping out the memory of those few seconds of belly-clenching fear before Pegasus began his climb up the ocean floor.

Doc nodded, but she knew he’d be poring over the data with the bioengineers later to study her body’s most minute reactions during various stages of the mission.

“Nice going, Dunn.”

The gruff words swung her around. Major Russ McIver stood behind her, a solid six-two of buzz-cut marine. She and the major had locked horns more than once in the past few months. Mac’s by-the-book, black-or-white view of the world allowed for no compromises and tended to ruffle even Cari’s calm, usually un-rufflable temper.

This time, though, Mac was smiling at her in a way that made her breath catch. For a crazy moment, it might have been just the two of them standing on the beach with the surf lapping at their heels and the south Texas sky a bright, aching blue overhead.

Mac broke the spell. “Think you can get Pegasus to swim like that with a full squad of marines aboard?”

The crazy moment gone, Cari tugged off her ball cap and raked back a few loose strands of her mink-brown hair. “No problem, Major. We’ll add some ballast and take him out again tomorrow. Not much difference between a squad of marines and a boatload of rocks.”

Mac started to respond to the good-natured gibe. The appearance of the navy officer in overall charge of the Pegasus project had him swallowing his retort.

Cari whipped up a smart salute, which Captain Westfall returned. His weathered cheeks creased into a broad grin. “Good run, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I could feel the salt water coursing through my veins the whole time you had Pegasus out there, testing his sea legs.”

With the closest thing to a smirk the others had yet seen on the naval officer’s face, Westfall reached out and patted the vehicle’s steel hide. Cari hid a smile at his air of ownership and glanced around the circle of officers.

They represented all seven branches of uniformed services. Army. Navy. Air force. Marines. Coast guard. Public Heath Service. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

Months ago they’d assembled in southeastern New Mexico. Since then they’d worked night and day alongside a similarly dedicated group of top-level civilians to see Pegasus through its operational test phase. Now, with the deep-water tests underway, the end of their assignment loomed on the not-too-distant horizon.

Regret knifed through Cari at the thought. She’d grown so close to these people. She admired their dedication, cherished their friendship. The knowledge that their tight-knit group would soon break up was hard to take, even for an officer used to frequent rotations and new assignments.

Without thinking, she shifted her glance back to Russ McIver. Her stomach muscles gave a funny quiver as she took in the strong line of his jaw. The square, straight way he held himself. The bulge of muscles under the rolled-up sleeves of his camouflage fatigues, known for unfathomable reason as Battle Dress Uniform or BDUs.

Her regret dug deeper, twisted harder.

Frowning, Cari tried to shrug off the strange sensation. She had to get a grip here. This was just an assignment, one of many she’d held and would hold during her years in the U.S. Coast Guard. And Mac…

Mac was a colleague, she told herself firmly. A comrade in arms. Sometimes bullheaded. Often obnoxious, as those who see no shades of gray can be. But totally dedicated to the mission and the corps.

“It’ll take an hour to download the data and run the post-test analyses.” Captain Westfall checked his watch. “We’ll conduct the debrief at thirteen-thirty.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

An hour would give Cari plenty of time to draft her own post-test report. Still exhilarated by the success of her run, she headed for the silver van and its climate-controlled comfort. Early October in south Texas had proved far steamier than the high, dry desert of New Mexico.

Racks of test equipment, communications consoles and wide screens filled the front half of the van. The rear half served as a work and mini-conference area. Captain Westfall went forward to talk to the test engineers while the others filed into the back room. Eager to record her evaluation of the run, Cari settled at her workstation and flipped up the lid of her laptop. A blinking icon in the upper right corner drew her gaze.

She had e-mail.

None of the officers working on Pegasus could reveal their location or their activities. The techno-wizards assigned to the Pegasus project routed all communications with families, friends and colleagues through a series of secure channels that completely obscured their origin. For months, Cari’s only link with the outside had been by phone or by e-mail.

She didn’t have time to communicate with her large, widely dispersed circle of friends and family now, but she’d do a quick read to make sure no one was hurt or in trouble. A click of her mouse brought up a one-line e-mail.

Marry me, beautiful.

“Oh, hell.”

She didn’t realize she’d muttered the words out loud until Kate Hargrave glanced up from the workstation next to hers.

“Are you having trouble bringing up the post-run analysis screen? That last program mod is a bitch, in my humble opinion.”

When Cari hesitated, reluctant to discuss personal matters in such a cramped setting, the weather officer scooted her chair over.

“Oh.” Understanding flooded Kate’s green eyes. “I see the problem. How are you going to answer him?”

Cari frowned at the screen. How the heck was she going to answer Jerry? She’d been dating the handsome navy JAG off and on for almost a year. He was fun, sexy, and up for an appointment as a military judge. He was also the divorced father of three children. He’d learned the hard way how tough it was to sustain a two-career marriage. A bitter divorce had convinced him two careers, marriage and kids made the situation impossible.

Cari didn’t want to admit he was right, but the figures spoke for themselves. The divorce rate among the seagoing branches of the military was astronomical, almost twice the national norm. Long sea tours and frequent short notice deployments put severe strains on a marriage. If she wanted kids, which she most certainly did, something would have to give. Jerry and her parents—not to mention her own nagging conscience—suggested it should probably be her career in the coast guard.

Sighing, Cari fingered the mouse. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell him,” she murmured to Kate. “I have to think about it.”

“What’s to think?” Russ McIver put in sardonically from her other side. With a silent groan, Cari saw that he, too, had scooted his chair over, no doubt to check out the glitch with the troublesome new modification.

“The choice looks pretty clear to me,” he drawled. “It’s either yes or no.”

Irritated that her private communication had become a matter of public discussion, she returned fire. “Why am I not surprised to hear that coming from you?”

Mac’s hazel eyes hardened. Although Cari hadn’t discussed her relationship with Jerry with anyone other than her roommates, there were few secrets in a group as small and tight as this one had become. Mac in particular had expressed little sympathy for Cari’s personal dilemma. She might have guessed he wouldn’t do so now.

“It’s your decision,” he said with a shrug. “Never mind that the coast guard selected you for promotion well ahead of your peers. It doesn’t matter that you were chosen for a prestigious exchange tour with the British Coastal Defense Force. Or that you’ve racked up years in command of a ship and a crew. If pregnant, barefoot and permanent kitchen duty is what you want, Lieutenant, you should go for it.”

Cari’s brown eyes lasered into the marine’s. “Last I heard, Major, it wasn’t a court-martial offense to want to get married and have children. Nor is every woman who chooses to leave the service a traitor to her country.”

The two other women officers present instantly closed ranks behind her.

“Lots of men leave the service,” Jill Bradshaw pointed out acidly. A career army cop, she took few prisoners. “In fact, the first-term reenlistment rate for women is higher than it is for men.”

“And in case you’ve forgotten,” Kate Hargrave snapped, “the military is like any other organization. It’s a pyramidal structure that requires a large base of Indians, with increasingly fewer chiefs at the more senior ranks. The services don’t want everyone to stay in uniform.”

Doc Richardson arched a brow and exchanged glances with USAF Captain Dave Scott. They were too wise—and had each grown too involved with one of the women now confronting McIver—to jump into this fray. Russ, however, appeared undaunted by the female forces arrayed against him.

“You’re right,” he agreed, refusing to retreat. “The military doesn’t want everyone to stay in uniform. Only those who are good at what they do. So damned good they’re hand-picked to field test a highly classified new attack/assault vehicle that could prove critical to future battlefield operations.”

Cari clamped her mouth shut. She had no comeback for that. Neither did Kate or Jill. Like the male officers assigned to the Pegasus project, they’d been chosen based on their experience, expertise and ability to get things done. They were among the best their services had to offer and darn well knew it.

Still, she wasn’t about to let the marine who alternately irritated, annoyed and attracted her have the last word.

“If any of us want to stay in uniform,” she said tartly, “we’d better get off the subject of my personal life and onto the task at hand.”

Swirling her chair around, she clicked the mouse to save Jerry’s e-mail. She’d answer him later, when she figured out what the heck her answer would be. Another click brought up the analysis program. Wiping her mind clear of everything but the task at hand, she began drafting her preliminary post-mission report.

She was still hard at work when Captain Westfall wove his way through the racks of equipment to join his crew some time later. His expression was unexpectedly somber for a man who’d watched his baby perform flawlessly.

“Let me have your attention, people.” His steel-gray eyes swept the crowded area, dwelling on each of his officers. “I’ve just received a coded communiqué from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Pegasus test cadre is being disbanded effective immediately.”

Shock rippled through the group, along with a chorus of muttered exclamations.

“What the hell?”

“You’re kidding!”

“Why?”

Captain Westfall stilled the clamor with an up-raised hand.

“Our cadre has been redesignated. We’re now the Pegasus Joint Task Force. Our mission is to extract two United States citizens trapped in the interior of Caribe.”

The announcement burst like a cluster bomb among the stunned officers. Cari’s mouth dropped open, snapped shut again, as her mind scrambled to switch from test to operational mode.

A map of Caribe flashed into her head. It was a small island nation, about sixty nautical miles off the coast of Nicaragua. Its internal political situation had been steadily worsening for months. The island’s president for life was battling ferociously to hold on to his sinecure. In response to his repressive tactics, rebels had stepped up their action and the fight had turned bloody.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff had alerted Captain Westfall weeks ago about the possibility of using Pegasus to extract U.S. personnel, if necessary. As a result, he’d compressed the test schedule until it was so tight it squeaked. Evidently the deep-water sea trial Cari had just completed would be the final test. From now on, it was for real.

But two hours! That was short notice, even for a military deployment. Westfall made it clear they were to use that time to draw up an op plan.

“The U.S. began evacuation of its personnel this morning,” he advised. “All are accounted for and are in various stages of departure except two missionaries. A squad of marines has gone into the interior after the missionaries and will escort them to a designated extraction site.”

“I’ve flown over Caribe,” Dave Scott commented grimly. “The jungle canopy is two or three hundred feet thick in places. Too thick to permit an extraction by air.”

“And rebel forces now hold the one road in and out of the area,” Captain Westfall confirmed. “The only egress is by river.”

“Pegasus!” Cari breathed. “Now that he’s demonstrated his sea legs, he’s the perfect vehicle to use for an operation like this.”

“Correct. Captain Scott, you’ll fly Pegasus on the over-water leg from Corpus Christi to Nicaragua. Their government is maintaining a strict neutral position with regard to the political situation on Caribe but has given us permission to land at an unimproved airstrip just across the straits from the island.”

Dave gave a quick nod. “I’ll start working the flight plan.”

“Once in Nicaragua, Lieutenant Dunn will pilot Pegasus to Caribe and navigate up the Rio Verde to a designated rendezvous point. Major McIver, your mission is to make contact with the marines and bring out the two stranded missionaries.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be operating under strict rules of engagement,” Westfall warned. “To avoid entangling the U.S. in the internal political struggle, you’re not to fire lethal weapons unless under fire yourself. Questions?”

Her blood humming at the anticipation of action, Caroline joined the chorus of “No, sir!”

The steel-eyed navy officer turned away, swung back. His glance skimmed from Mac to Cari and back again.

“Things could turn ugly down there. Real ugly. Make sure your next-of-kin notification data is up-to-date. You might also zap off a quick e-mail to your families,” he added after a slight hesitation.

He didn’t need to explain. Since 9/11, Cari had participated in enough short-notice deployments to know this might be her last communication with her folks for a while. Or her last, period.

Cari followed the captain’s orders and zapped off one quick e-mail. Pumping pure adrenaline, she swung back around to find Mac contemplating her with a tight, closed expression.

“You didn’t bat an eye at the prospect of going into Caribe.”

“Neither did you,” she pointed out.

He hooked a thumb toward the now blank screen. “What about Jerry-boy?”

Her shrug made the question irrelevant. This was what she’d trained for. This was what wearing a uniform entailed.

“Jerry isn’t your concern. We’ve got work to do.”

Chapter 2

Mac couldn’t believe it. Here he was, stuffing spare ammo clips into the pockets on his webbed utility belt, less than twenty minutes away from departing on a mission to extract U.S. citizens from a potentially explosive situation.

Yet for the first time in his life Mac couldn’t force his mind to focus solely and exclusively on the task ahead. Every time he thought he’d crowded everything else out, the damned e-mail Cari had received a while ago would pop back into his head.

Marry me, beautiful.

What kind of a jerk proposed to a woman via e-mail? Particularly a woman like Caroline Dunn.

Mac had worked alongside a lot of professionals in the corps, male and female. The small, compact brunette currently frowning over a set of coastal navigational charts left most of them in the dust.

Hell, who was he kidding? Cari left all of them in the dust. He’d never met any woman with her combination of beauty and brains, and he’d tangled with more than his share. Particularly in his wilder days before the United States Marine Corps started him down a different path thirteen…no, fourteen years ago.

Fourteen years! Shaking his head, Mac shoved another spare clip into his belt. Hard to remember now how close he’d come to ending up on the wrong side of anyone in uniform. Harder still to remember the woman who’d almost put him there. He’d had no idea the thrill-seeking blonde who’d climbed on the back of his beat-up Harley was married to a California state senator. And he sure as hell hadn’t known the woman was carrying a stash of Colombian prime in her fanny pack.

When the cops hauled the still underage Mac into her husband’s office, the wealthy politician had given him a choice. A trumped-up possession charge and jail time or the United States Marines. It wasn’t much of a choice. Mac had been staying just one step ahead of the law since flatly refusing to let the state put him in yet another foster home. He figured the marines would kick him out fast enough, just as his series of foster parents had.

Instead, the corps had molded a smart-mouthed punk into a single-minded, razor-edged fighting machine. In the often painful process, Mac found the home he’d never had. He’d also finished high school, earned a college degree, learned to lead as well as follow, and been chosen for Officers’ Candidate School.

He’d never forget that crystal bright April morning at Quantico, when he’d raised his gloved hand to be sworn in as a commissioned officer. He took his oath to protect and defend the United States against all enemies very seriously. So, apparently, did Lieutenant Dunn. She’d served for more than ten years, had several command tours under her belt, and had played a key role in the war against terrorism during the coast guard’s transition from the Treasury Department to the new Department of Homeland Security.

Yet here she was, actually debating whether to give up her career and her uniform to marry a smooth-talking JAG who’d probably never seen the business end of an assault rifle. The idea torqued Mac’s jaws so tight he wasn’t sure he’d ever get them unscrewed. They stayed locked the whole time Kate Hargrave and Cari pored over the charts.

“I’ve updated Pegasus’s onboard computers with Caribe’s tidal patterns, riverine data and predicted climatic and atmospheric conditions,” the weather officer was saying. “You might see some swells from that squall on the way in, but rough weather shouldn’t hit until you’re on your way out.”

“How rough?”

“Better pack some extra barf bags for you and your passengers.”

“Oh, great!”

Shaking her head, Cari bent to stuff the charts in her gear bag. Her green-and-black jungle BDUs stretched taut over a trim, rounded rear. The enticing view had Mac grinding his teeth. Wrenching his glance away, he jammed another clip into his belt.

Okay. All right. He could admit it. The idea of Lieutenant Caroline Dunn marrying anyone, including a pansy-assed JAG, rubbed him exactly the wrong way. The woman had tied him up in knots more than once in the past few months. If he hadn’t learned the hard way to avoid poaching on another man’s territory—or if Cari had given the least hint she was interested in being poached on—he might have made a move on her himself.

But he had, and she hadn’t.

With a little grunt, Mac reached for his assault rifle. He was checking the working parts when a low whine brought his head around.

Pegasus was spreading his wings. Like the mythical beast he’d been named for, the craft fanned out its delta-shaped fins. When they locked in place, the engines slowly tilted upright. Another whine, and the propellers unfolded like petals. In this configuration, Pegasus would lift straight up like a chopper. Once airborne, Dave would tilt the engines to horizontal and fly it like a fixed-wing aircraft.

The air force pilot was in the cockpit, clearly visible through the bubble canopy. Hooking a glance over his shoulder, he gave Captain Westfall a thumbs-up. The captain nodded and turned to Mac.

“Ready, Major?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant?”

“All set, sir.”

Cari’s calm reply did nothing to loosen the knots in Mac’s chest. He’d been air-dropped into Afghanistan by a female USAF C-17 pilot. Had a bullet hole patched up by a particularly sexy navy nurse. Had relied on enlisted female marines to provide ground support and combat communications. He valued and respected the vital role women played in the military.

But this was the first time he was going into harm’s way with a woman at his side. If she’d been anyone other than Caroline Dunn, the prospect might not have put such a kink in his gut.

Shouldering his assault rifle, he followed her through the open hatch.

Four hours later Pegasus was once again in sea mode—wings swept back, engines tilted rearward, propellers churning water like a ship’s screws. Nicaragua lay well behind. Caribe was a gray smudge on the horizon. In between was a big stretch of open sea.

An increasingly turbulent sea, Cari noted.

“Kate was right on target,” she commented, pitching her voice to be heard above the engines as she steered her craft through rolling green troughs. “Looks like we’re starting to pick up some of the swells from that squall.”

Mac responded with a grunt that earned him a quick glance. He didn’t appear to appreciate the craft’s agility to cut through the deepening troughs. In fact, he was looking distinctly green around the gills.

“The seas will probably get higher and rougher when we hit the barrier reef around the island,” Cari advised. “You’d better pop a couple of those Dramamine pills Doc put in the medical kit.”

“I’ll make it.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Major.”

The deceptively mild comment slewed Mac’s head around. Cari could feel his gray-green eyes slice into her, but didn’t bother to return the stare. He might outrank her on land. Aboard this craft, she was in command.

She kept her gaze on the gray smudge ahead as Mac dragged out the medical kit. Only after he’d downed the pills as ordered did she slant him another glance. Like her, he was dressed for the jungle—web-sided boots, black T-shirt, black-and-green camouflage pants and shirt. Instead of a ball cap, though, a floppy-brimmed “boonie” hat covered his buzz-cut brown hair.

He looked leather tough and coldy lethal. Not someone you wanted to suddenly come nose to nose with in the jungle. Cari had to admit she was glad they were on the same side for this operation.

“Is this freshening sea going to slow us down?” he asked with an eye to the digital map displayed on the instrument panel.

Their course was highlighted in glowing red. It took them straight across the fifty-mile stretch of open water, through the outer reef encircling Caribe and into a small bay on the southern tip of the palm-shaped island. Once inside the bay, they’d aim for the mouth of the Rio Verde and head some twenty-six miles upriver.

“Pegasus can handle these swells,” Cari said in answer to his question. “We should arrive right on target.”

“Good enough. I’ll confirm with Second Recon.”

He’d already established contact with the six-man reconnaissance team that had been sent into the jungle to retrieve the American missionaries. Luckily, they were equipped with CSEL—the new Combat Survivor/Evader Locator. Not much larger than an ordinary cell phone, the handheld radio provided over-the-horizon data communications, light-of-sight voice modes, and precise GPS positioning and land navigation. The handy-dandy new device was state-of-the-art and just off the assembly line. Neither the rebel nor government forces in Caribe could intercept or interpret its secure, scrambled transmissions.

“Second Recon, this is Pegasus One.”

“This is Second Recon. Go ahead, Pegasus.”

The marine in charge of the reconnaissance team sounded so young, Cari thought. And so grimly determined.

“Be advised we’re twenty nautical miles off the coast of Caribe and closing fast,” Mac informed him. “We’re holding to our ETA.”

“We copy, Pegasus. We’re about five klicks from the target.”

Five kilometers from the mission put them about eight from the river, Cari saw in another quick glance at the digital display. The marines still had some jungle to hack through.

“We’ll bundle up our charges as soon as we reach the target and proceed immediately to the designated rendezvous point,” the team leader promised.

“Roger, Second. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Frowning, Mac took a GPS reading on the team’s signal and entered its position with a few clicks of the keyboard built into the instrument console. His frown deepened as Pegasus plowed into another trough. The hull hit with a smack that sent spray washing over the canopy.

“The swells are getting heavier.”

“They are,” Cari agreed.

He shot her a hard look. “Can’t we put on a little more speed? I don’t want to leave those marines sitting around, twiddling their thumbs with the rebel forces combing the jungle for them.”

“We won’t.”

The calm reply brought his brows snapping together under the brim of his hat. “Are you that sure of yourself or is this the face you put on when you’re in command?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she answered, “and what you see is what you get.”

For the first time since they’d departed Corpus Christi, Mac relaxed into a grin. “From where I’m sitting,” he drawled, “what I see looks pretty good.”

Her hands almost slid off the throttle. “Good grief! Is that a compliment?”

“It is.”

A tiny dart of pleasure made it past the butterflies beating against Cari’s ribs. After all these weeks of butting heads with the stubborn marine, she hadn’t expected any warm fuzzies just moments away from entering a potential hostile fire zone. Her brief pleasure took a back seat to business when she checked the displays and saw they’d entered Caribe’s territorial waters.

“We’re within twelve miles of the island. We’ll hit the coral reef in a few minutes. You’d better get ready for a bumpy ride.”

Bumpy didn’t begin to describe it.

Waves pounded the sunken coral reef. The swells that had kept Mac’s stomach churning became monster waves. The huge walls of green curled and crashed and roared like the hounds of hell. He clamped his jaw shut and tried not to wince at the vicious battering Pegasus took.

Cari, he noted, didn’t so much as break a sweat as she worked the throttle and wheel. Somehow she managed to dodge the worst of the monsters while keeping her craft aimed straight for the calmer waters inside the reef.

Finally, Pegasus broke through the pounding surf. Mac mouthed a silent prayer of relief and swiped the sweat off his forehead with a forearm. Squinting through the canopy, he searched the vegetation fronting the beach for some sign of an opening.

“We’re right on track according to the GPS coordinates,” Cari confirmed after another read of the instruments. “The river mouth should lie dead ahead.”

“Bring us in closer.”

Keeping a wary eye on the depth finder, she took Pegasus into the bay. “The ocean floor’s shelving fast. If we don’t find the mouth soon, I’ll have to switch to track mode and take us…”

“There it is.”

The narrow gap in the tangled vegetation was almost invisible. Mac would have missed it if not for the rippling water surface where the river eddied into the bay.

Getting a lock on the ripples, Cari swung the wheel. Moments later, Pegasus was fighting his way against the powerful current. Before the green gloom of the river swallowed them, Mac needed to advise the recon team they were on their way up the Verde.

“Second Recon, this is Pegasus One.”

He waited for a reply. None came. Frowning, he keyed his mike again.

“Second Recon, this is Pegasus One. Acknowledge please.”

Long, tense seconds of silence passed. Cari pulled her gaze from the instruments. Mac saw his own mounting worry mirrored in her brown eyes. His jaw tightening, he was about to try again when the unmistakable rattle of gunfire came bursting through the radio. The patrol leader came on a second later, his voice sharp-edged but remarkably calm given the stutter of small arms fire in the background.

“Pegasus One, this is Second Recon. Be advised we’ve run smack into a heavily armed rebel patrol.”

“Do you have them in your sights?”

“We do, but our orders are to avoid returning fire unless under extreme duress.”

The sergeant broke off, cursing as another loud burst made extreme duress sound a whole lot closer than it had a few seconds ago. Mac’s fists went white at the knuckles. Those were marines taking fire. He didn’t breathe until the team leader came back on the horn.

“We can give these bastards the slip, but we’ll have to fall back. We’ll try to lead them as far as possible away from the target. Sorry, One. Looks like you’re on your own from here on out.”

“Roger that.”

“Good luck, sir.”

“You, too.”

The transmission cut off. The sudden silence drowned out even the muted whine of Pegasus’s engines. His jaw locked tight, Mac took another GPS reading from the radio signal and noted the team’s position on his map. They were still a good four klicks away from the mission.

“We’ve entered the river channel. I’m going to take us under, then power up to full speed.”

The calm announcement brought Mac’s head snapping around. Cari’s profile was outlined against the dark vegetation lining the riverbank. She kept her attention divided between the instrument panel and the view outside the bubble canopy, now narrowed to a fast-flowing river crowded above and on both sides by jungle.

She had every intention of pushing ahead, with or without fire support from the squad of marines they’d planned to rendezvous with. Evidently, it hadn’t occurred to her to abandon their mission. It hadn’t occurred to Mac, either, until this moment.

“Listen up, Lieutenant. We need to take another look at our operations plan. I…”

“Don’t even think it.”

The flat comeback snapped his brows together, but she didn’t give him time to respond. Slewing around, she raked him with a wire-brush look.

“This is a two-person operation, McIver. If you go in, I go in.”

He bit back the reminder that he was in command of the land phase of this mission. He knew damn well she’d remind him he hadn’t yet set foot on dry land.

Satisfied she’d made her point, Cari prepared to take Pegasus under the river’s green surface.

Twenty-six torturous miles later, she brought her craft up from the murky depths. Cari had seen more than her fill of submerged tree stump, twisting roots, slime-covered boulders and darting water snakes.

Once above the surface, the jungle reached out to envelop them. When the water sluiced off the canopy, Cari got the eerie feeling she and Mac were alone in a dark, still universe. Only an occasional stray sunbeam penetrated the dense overgrowth hundreds of feet above. Strangler vines drooped down like ropes from entwined branches. Giant ferns fanned out to cover the riverbanks.

Carefully, Cari navigated the last few yards to their designated rendezvous point. No one was waiting on the riverbank. No marines. No missionaries. No rebels or government troops.

Mac swept both banks with high-powered Night Vision goggles. The goggles could penetrate the gloom beyond the banks far better than the human eye.

“It looks clear,” he said tersely.

Cari nodded. “Hold tight.”

Repeating the process she’d tested only this morning in the Gulf waters just off Corpus Christi, she switched Pegasus from sea to land mode. The outer engines shut down and tucked against the hull. The propellers folded. The belly doors opened and the wide-track wheels descended.

Like some primeval beast crawling up out of the swamp, Pegasus clawed his way up the riverbank. The wheel tread ate up the giant ferns and spit them out. But even a high-tech, all-terrain, all-weather assault vehicle was no match for the impenetrable jungle.

Mac would have to hoof it from here. Killing the engines, Cari hit the switch to open the rear hatch. Smothering tropical heat instantly rushed in. So did an astonishing variety of flying insects. Swatting at a winged critter in a particularly virulent shade of orange, Cari climbed out of her seat and followed Mac to the hatch.

“I’ll bring out the two Americans,” he told her. “You stay with Pegasus.”

She swallowed her instinctive protest. With her craft secured and on dry land, the baton had passed. She was no longer in command. From now until Mac returned with the missionaries, this was his show.

Feeling a little deflated, she watched as he hunkered down on his heels and dug through his pack. A few, quick smears decorated his face in shades of green and black. Thin black gloves covered his hands. He performed a radio check, chambered a round in his assault rifle, and slung the weapon over his shoulder. His gray-green eyes lasered into her as he confirmed their communications pattern.

“I’ll signal you at half-hour intervals. If I miss one signal, wait another half hour. If I miss two, get the hell out of Dodge. Understand?”

“Yes.”

His gaze speared into her. “I mean it, Dunn. No stupid heroics. They could get us both killed.”

He was right. She knew he was right. Yet her throat closed at the thought of leaving him in this smothering heat and darkness.

“Two missed signals and you’re gone. Got that, Lieutenant?”

She gave a tight nod. He returned it with a jerk of his chin and started off. He took two steps, only two, and swung back.

“What the hell.”

The muttered oath had Cari blinking in surprise. She blinked again when he strode back to her and caught her chin in his hand.

“Mac, what are—?”

His mouth came down on hers, hard and hot and hungry. Stunned, she stood stiff as an engine blade while his lips moved over hers. A moment later, he faded into the jungle. She was left with the tang of camouflage face paint in her nostrils and the taste of Mac on her lips.

Chapter 3

“That was smart, McIver. Really smart.”

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Mac moved through the dense undergrowth. He’d made some questionable moves in his life. Tangling with the senator’s wife had been one of them. Laying that kiss on Caroline Dunn was another. What was this thing he had for married—or almost married—women?

Calling himself an idiot one more time, Mac forced his thoughts away from the woman, the kiss and the heat that brief contact had sent spearing right through his belly.

The mission lay some three kilometers from the river. Five or six kilometers beyond that Second Recon had run smack into a heavily armed rebel force. The marines had said they’d fall back and draw the rebels away from the mission, but Mac wasn’t taking any chances. He kept his tread light on the damp, spongy earth and his assault weapon at the ready as he pushed through the giant ferns.

Once away from the river, the ferns thinned and the going got easier. The overhead canopy was so thick only the occasional stray sunbeam could penetrate. It was like moving through a dim, cavernous cathedral with tall columns of trees spearing straight up to support the vaulted ceiling. The deep shadows provided excellent concealment for him and, unfortunately, for potential enemies.

He pushed on, using the GPS built into his handheld digital radio to check his position and send Cari a silent signal at the prearranged times. With each step, his jumpy nerves steadied and his concentration narrowed until there was only Mac, his weapon and the gloom ahead.

As swift and stealthy as a panther, he cut through the jungle. Every sense had moved to full alert, every flutter of an orange-winged butterfly and slither of a spotted lizard sent a message. So did the sudden, raucous screech of a parrot.

Mac spun to his right, dropped into a crouch, and caught a flash of scarlet as the bird took wing. Peering into the gloom, Mac tried to see what had spooked it. Nothing else moved. No leafy ferns swayed.

Forcing the knotted muscles at the base of his skull to relax, Mac came out of the crouch. Without warning, something hard and sharp smacked into his forehead just above his right eyebrow.

Cursing, he ignored the blood pouring into his eye and aimed his assault rifle at the base of a hollow-trunked strangler fig. When the shadows moved, his finger went tight on the trigger.

“Whoever’s in there better show yourself. Now!”

He repeated the warning in Spanish and was searching for the few words of Caribe he’d memorized when another missile came zinging at him. This one he managed to dodge. It ricocheted off the tree behind him and landed at his feet.

A rock! Mac saw in disgust. Damned if he’d hadn’t taken a direct hit from a rock.

“You’ve got five seconds to show yourself,” he shouted, blinking away the blood. “Four, three, two…”

The shadow burst out of the tree trunk. With a frightened look at the gun aimed at his chest, the attacker whirled and ran.

With another muttered curse, Mac eased the pressure on the trigger. His assailant was a kid. A scrawny, barefooted kid in a Spider-Man T-shirt, of all things. Judging by his size, the runt couldn’t be more than six or seven.

“Hey! Hold on! I won’t hurt you!”

Fumbling for the Spanish phrases, he hotfooted it after the kid. He couldn’t have him spreading the word that there was an armed Americano roaming loose in the neighborhood. Not until after Mac had departed the scene with the two missionaries, anyway.

His longer legs ate up the ground. He caught the kid by the back of his ragged shirt and swung him around. The little stinker put up a heck of a fight, grunting and kicking and jabbing with his bony elbows. Keeping well clear of those sharp elbows, Mac held him at arm’s length.

“I’m a friend. Amigo.”

The kid twisted frantically. He wasn’t buying the friend bit. Considering the violence now ripping his country apart, Mac couldn’t exactly blame him. He gave the boy a quick little shake.

“Where’s your village? ¿Dónde está su, uh, casa?”

Still the youngster wouldn’t answer. His lower lip jutted out and his black eyes shot daggers at the marine, but he refused to speak so much as a word. Instead, he made some motion with his hand that Mac strongly suspected was the Caribe version of buzz off, pal.

“Stubborn little devil, aren’t you?”

Well, no matter. He had to be from the village where the Americans had set up their mission. It was the only settlement in this vicinity.

Bunching his fist, Mac kept a firm grip on the boy’s shirt with one hand while he slung his weapon over his shoulder and probed the cut above his eye with the other. The skin was tender and already rising to a good-sized lump, but the blood had slowed to a trickle. He’d clean the cut when he got to the village. Unless the navigational finder in his radio was sending faulty signals, it couldn’t be much farther.

It wasn’t.

Another ten minutes brought Mac and his sullen, squirming captive to the edge of a clearing. Although the boy hadn’t as yet uttered a single sound, Mac clamped a hand over his mouth. Eyes narrowed, he surveyed the scene.

It didn’t take him long to determine the village was deserted. No dogs yapped. No pigs snuffled in the dirt. No goats were tethered to stakes beside the huts. Nor could Mac discern any sign of human habitation…until an unmistakably female figure in a sleeveless white blouse and baggy tan slacks emerged from the clapboard building at the far end of the dirt track that served as the village’s main thoroughfare. Obviously agitated, the woman thrust a hand through her cropped blond hair.

“Paulo! Where are you?”

The woman repeated the shout in Spanish, then Caribe. Mac was congratulating himself on having located at least one of the missionaries when his attacker gave a strangled grunt and renewed his frenzied attempts to escape.

This time, Mac let him go. The little squirt shot off, his skinny legs pumping.

“Paulo! There you are!”

Her shoulders sagging in relief, the woman dropped to her knees and opened her arms. The boy charged straight into them. The woman hugged him fiercely, rocking back and forth.

Mac decided he’d better make his presence known before the kid painted him as an enemy. But when he stepped out from behind the tree, the woman’s horrified glance whipped from his black-painted, blood-streaked face to his assault rifle. Before Mac could identify himself and assure her he meant no harm, she let loose with a piercing yell.

“¡Los soldados!”

“Lady, it’s okay. I’m…”

He started toward her, then stopped dead as the shutters covering the windows of one of the huts banged open. In the ominous silence that followed, he heard the snick of a weapon being cocked.

Impatiently, Cari swatted at a persistent mosquito and searched the towering ferns lining the river.

Where the heck was Mac?

Why hadn’t he contacted her in… She drew another bead on the functional black watch strapped to her wrist. In fifty-two minutes?

After he’d missed his last signal, she’d waited ten endless minutes before trying to raise him on his radio. When another ten had crawled by, she’d tried again. Each time she’d received nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Now she was eight minutes away from the point where he’d insisted she get out of Dodge.

Could she abandon him?

She was no closer to an answer now than she’d been for the past fifty-three minutes. She glowered at the leafy ferns, willing them to part.

Dammit, where was he?

And what the heck had that kiss been all about?

She didn’t have an answer for either question.

Grinding her back teeth in frustration, Cari pulled out her sidearm and released the magazine. A quick check verified the clip was full. She snapped it back in, holstered the Beretta, and swiped her damp, sweaty palms down the side of her BDU shirt.

She could still taste him on her lips. Still feel the scrape of his bristly chin on hers. With all her years in uniform, she would never have imagined she’d be feeling this kind of prickly, itchy, physical awareness smack in the middle of a mission!

Or at all, for that matter.

She was no nun. She’d dated her share of smart, sexy men. Had drifted in and out of several heavy relationships before meeting Jerry. And he was certainly no slouch when it came to stirring her senses. Yet Cari was darned if she could remember ever experiencing such a severe reaction to a single kiss.

She’d be a fool to attach too much significance to it, though. It could only have sprung from tension, that peculiar combination of nerves and adrenaline that came at times like this. Mac had no interest in her outside the professional. None he’d demonstrated during their months in the New Mexico desert, anyway. And she found him almost as irritating as she did attractive.

So why the heck couldn’t she lick his taste from her lips? Scowling, she slapped a palm against the side of the hatch.

Where was he!

“Pegasus One, this is Two.”

The sharp, clear communication almost had Cari jumping out of her skin. Gulping down her relief, she keyed her radio.

“Go ahead, Two.”

“Be advised that I’m en route back to your position, approximately fifty meters out. Prepare to cast off as soon as we get our passengers on board.”

“Roger.”

He’d done it! He’d located the missionaries and brought them out. Cari would have a word with him later about the grief his missed signal had put her through. Right now, she had to power up her craft.

The engines were humming and she was back at the open hatch when the ferns began to shake. Seconds later, Mac popped through the leafy wall. He was carrying something on his back. Not something, Cari saw in surprise when he turned to hold aside the ferns. Someone. A child.

A woman pushed through the greenery after Mac. She was followed by a boy in sneakers and scruffy, white cotton pants. Another child poked through a second later, this one a scrawny girl in pigtails and tattered, pink sneakers.

Her jaw dropping, Cari watched as several more children emerged. A tall, lanky man with a wide-eyed little girl on his shoulders brought up the rear of the column. Mac hustled them all toward the waiting craft.

The woman reached the vehicle first. Cari stretched down a hand, grasped her wrist, and helped her up the steps.

“Thanks.” She raked a hand through short, sweat-spiked blond bangs. “I’m Dr. White. Janice White.”

“Glad you made it, Doc.”

Nodding, the missionary stood back as Cari reached for the child Mac lifted up. He was a tousled-haired boy of three or four. He was also blind, Cari realized when his groping hands failed to connect with hers. Gulping, she took a better stance and stretched out her arms. His chubby fingers found her sleeves and dug in.

“Okay, I’ve got him.”

To her consternation, she soon discovered each of the children possessed some form of physical disability. One dragged his right leg. Another had a cleft palate that left his young face tragically disfigured. The merry gap-toothed girl had a spine so twisted she couldn’t stand upright. Dismayed, Cari waited for Mac to climb aboard.

“I had to bring them,” he said in response to her silent query. “The Whites wouldn’t leave them.”

Dragging off his boonie hat, he swiped an arm across his sweat-drenched face. Only then did Cari see the vicious-looking cut on his forehead. Someone—Dr. White, she guessed—had added a few neat stitches. Before Cari could ask Mac what he’d run into, the tall, lanky missionary grabbed her hand and pumped it.

“I’m Reverend Harry White. I can’t tell you how grateful we are to you for coming after us. The fighting in the area drove off the villagers weeks ago. We had no one to help us bring the children through the jungle.”

“Yes, well…”

“Our church has arranged adoptions for them, you see. My sister and I have been trying to get them to the States for almost two years.”

“Sister?”

Cari’s glance cut to the doctor. She’d assumed—they’d all assumed—the Whites were husband and wife. Obviously the intelligence supplied for this hastily mounted operation had missed a few minor details.

“We’ve paid a fortune in bribes,” Janice White put in, picking up on her brother’s comment. “Obviously not to the right people.”

“No matter,” the reverend said with a smile. “We’re on our way now.”

“Hang on a minute!”

Cari shot a quick glance at Mac. His shrug indicated he’d already covered this ground once with the Whites. Biting her lip, she faced the minister.

“Are you suggesting we smuggle these kids out of Caribe?”

“Yes,” the man of God replied simply.

Cari pursed her lips. She was an officer in the United States Coast Guard. A major portion of her job was to prevent the kind of illegal emigration the missionary was suggesting. She’d lost count of the number of vessels crammed with refugees she and other coast guard crews had been forced to turn back. Small boats carrying whole families across miles of open sea. Fishing trawlers trying to slip fifty or so desperate souls past coastal patrols. Container ships with hidden compartments stuffed with starving, suffocating cargo.

“Smuggling them out is our only recourse at this point,” Reverend White said earnestly. “As Janice said, we’ve been working on their papers for more than two years. Finding a responsible official to deal with was difficult enough before the fighting erupted. Now, it’s well nigh…”

“Harry!”

His sister’s frantic cry jerked the missionary around.

“Where’s Paulo?”

“Isn’t he with you?”

“No.”

“Dear Lord above!” The reverend spun back to Mac, his face contorted with panic. “He was right ahead of me. I can’t imagine how… When…”

“I’ll find him,” Mac said grimly. His glance cut to Cari. “You’d better get Pegasus ready to swim. I picked up some radio chatter a while back. It sounded close. So close I didn’t want to risk using my own radio until I knew I could get the kids safely aboard.”

Well, that explained why he’d skipped an interim signal. Unfortunately, the explanation didn’t particularly sit well with Cari. The idea that the bad guys were poking around nearby upped her pucker factor considerably. Climbing over kids and backpacks, she made her way to the cockpit.

Scant minutes later she had Pegasus ready to plunge back into the river. He sat nosed half on, half off the bank. Cari kept the engines churning gently in reverse, with just enough power to keep her craft from being dragged along with the current. The rear hatch remained open. All the while her heart pounded out the seconds until Mac returned.

She hated this business of being left behind. She was used to sailing her ship, her crew and herself into action, not sitting at the controls while someone else took the lead. She wanted in on the action.

Mac had been right, she thought grimly. She wasn’t the barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen type. As much as she ached for a child of her own, she knew she belonged right here, right now. No one else could have maneuvered Pegasus up this narrow, twisting river. No one else could get it back down.

Which she hoped to do.

Like, soon!

They only had a few hours of daylight left. She didn’t relish navigating the Rio Verde in the dark, even with all the sophisticated instrumentation crammed into Pegasus. It was time to make tracks.

Where the heck was Mac?

He came crashing through the ferns several heart-pounding minutes later. He had a scruffy little boy tucked under one elbow and his assault rifle tight in the crook of the other. Cari’s breath wheezed out on a small sigh of relief.

The next instant, she sucked it back in again. Right before her eyes, the fronds above Mac’s head began to dance wildly. A heartbeat later, she heard the deadly splat, splat, splat of bullets tearing through the leaves.

He was taking fire!

Twisting in her seat, Cari shouted a terse order. “Dr. White! Reverend! Get the children down flat on the deck! Now!”

She waited only long enough to see Mac and the kid come diving through the rear opening. Slewing back around, she hit the switch to close the hatch, wrapped her fist around the throttles and thrust the engines to full forward.

Pegasus sailed off the bank. His belly hit the river’s surface with a smack that would have rattled Cari’s teeth if she hadn’t already clenched them tight. Her jaw locked, she aimed her craft for the dark, rushing channel in the middle of the river.

She expected to hear bullets pinging off the canopy at any second. The bubble was made of some new composite that was supposed to be able to withstand a direct hit from a mortar, but she wasn’t particularly anxious to test the shield’s survivability.

She made it to midstream without any bullets cracking against the canopy. As soon as the depth finder registered enough clearance, she took Pegasus under.

The water closed around them. The view ahead became one of swirling currents, darting fish and dark, fuzzy shapes. As she had during the torturous journey upriver, Cari kept her gaze locked on the sonar screen. All she needed to do now was ram a jagged stump or slimy green bolder.

She didn’t relax her vigil until Mac slid into the seat beside her and assumed duties as navigator. Blowing out a ragged breath, Cari slanted him glance.

“Is the kid okay?”

“Yeah. He’s a tough little runt.” A rueful smile flitted across Mac’s face. “He’s the one who put this crease in my forehead.”

“How’d he do that?”

“He beaned me with a rock.”

Despite the tension still stringing her as tight as an anchor cable, Cari had to laugh. “That’s going to make a great story at the bar when we get back to base. So what happened? How did you lose him?”

“My guess is he fell back and couldn’t call out to us to wait for him.”

“Couldn’t?”

Mac’s smile faded. “When I first collared the kid, I tried to get him to tell me his name and where he’d sprung from. He got stubborn and clammed up. Or so I thought. It wasn’t until Doc White was stitching me up that I found out he can’t talk. He was born without a larynx.”

“Oh, no!”

“The most he can manage is an occasional grunt.”

Cari slumped back against her seat. Her stab of pity for the little boy battled with practical reality.

“You know the crap is going to hit the fan big-time if we take these kids out of Caribe without authorization from their government.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. Remember the international furor over the Cuban kid, Elian Gonzales?”

“There’s a difference here. Elian Gonzales had a father who wanted him back. These kids are orphans. Throwaways, as Janice White described them, probably because of their disabilities. If their government had bothered with them at all, they would have been shuffled into some institution or foster home.”

A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw. For a moment his expression was remote, closed, unreadable. Then he tore his gaze away from the screen. The hard edges to his face softened and he gave Cari a quick, slashing grin.

“I say we take them out with us.”

She fell a little in love with him at that moment. Here he was, the all-or-nothing, you’re-in-or-you’re out, gung ho marine, putting his military career on the line for a boatload of kids.

Only belatedly did she remember she’d be putting her career on the line, too.

Oh, well. If she’d learned nothing else during her years of service, she’d discovered it was a whole lot easier to ask for forgiveness after the fact than obtain permission beforehand.

“Seeing as they’re already on board,” she replied with an answering grin, “I say we take them with us, too. But I’ll let you advise Captain Westfall of our additional passengers,” she tacked on hastily.

Chapter 4

Cari was actually starting to believe she’d get her craft and its passengers safely away from Caribe when disaster struck. Unfortunately, she didn’t realize that hazy blur dead ahead represented disaster until it was too late.

“What the heck…?”

That was all she got out before Pegasus plowed into what looked very much like a net. It was a net, she discovered as the prow pushed hard against the barrier. Made of thin, loosely woven vines. No wonder it hadn’t returned any kind of a sonar signature.

The vines snared Pegasus like a giant fish, held him for a moment, then yielded to his powerful forward momentum. The net ripped apart. The vessel’s prow poked through. A long length of the hull followed. The swept-back wings and rear-tilted engines, however, snagged on the tangled remnants of the netting.

“Hell!”

Cari yanked the throttle back and reversed thrust, but it was too late. Dangling vines had wrapped tight around the propeller shafts. The twin engines gave a little sputter and died.

For a moment there was only silence.

Dead silence.

Cari felt a bubble of panic rise in her throat. Sailors the world over had nightmares about just this kind of a situation. She was trapped underwater. With her boat experiencing total engine failure.

As quickly as it rose, her panic evaporated. She shot a glance at the depth finder and confirmed they were less than ten feet below the river’s surface. Even without engines, she could float Pegasus up enough to pop the canopy and check out the situation.

“We’ll have to surface,” she told Mac.

“Not until we figure out what the heck snared us,” he returned, craning his neck to peer through the gloom at the entangling vines.

“My guess is it’s a fishing net.”

“Why didn’t we hit it coming upriver?”

“Could be the locals only string it in the afternoon, when the river’s running with the tide.”

“Or it could be a trap set specifically for us.”

The same possibility had occurred to Cari. “I don’t think so,” she said, chewing on the inside of her lip. “We swam upriver underwater. As far as we know, no one observed us going in.”

“Someone sure as hell observed us coming out. Those weren’t bees buzzing around my head back there.”

“They saw you, but I don’t think they saw Pegasus. We got you aboard and went under before whoever was taking potshots at you charged through the ferns.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “All anyone needed was a glimpse. Just a glimpse. They could have radioed to their buddies downriver, had them string a net.”

The terse exchange helped resolve some of the awful doubts gnawing at Cari. “Their buddies couldn’t have chopped down vines and strung something this elaborate in an hour. My guess…my considered opinion,” she amended, “is that we’ll soon come face-to-face with some local fishermen who are going to be very surprised at what they’ve netted.”

By now the questions were coming at her from the Whites as well. “What’s happened?” the reverend called anxiously from the back.

“Why are we stopped?” his sister wanted to know.

“We hit a net,” Cari called back. “A fisherman’s net I think, and fouled the engines. We’ll have to surface and try to clear them.”

Slowly, foot by foot, Cari floated Pegasus up from the murky depths.

The canopy broke the surface first. Eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, Mac twisted around and did a swift three-sixty. The only signs of life he spotted were two red-furred monkeys hanging from a branch extending over the river. The creatures ceased their antics and gaped at the monster rising from the depths before emitting high-pitched shrieks of alarm and scrambling away.

Pegasus pawed his way up inch by inch. Still tethered by the net, the craft remained caught in midcurrent. The swift moving river flowed past, rushing over the wings, swirling just a few inches below the canopy.

Cari assessed the situation once again and saw only one option. “I’m going to pop the canopy and try to cut through the vines.”

Mac shot her a swift look. “You sure opening the canopy won’t flood us?”

“Pretty sure.”

The possibility she might be putting the children at grave risk generated a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She saw no other way to free her craft, however. It was either pop the canopy and cut the vines or drift at the end of this tether indefinitely.

“Go back and tell the Whites what we’re doing,” she instructed Mac. “Stay with them and be prepared to pass the children up through the cockpit if we start to take on water. Worst-case scenario, we swim them to shore.”

He nodded, not questioning her decision or authority, and climbed out of his seat. When he signaled that they were ready in the rear compartment, Cari hit the button to raise the canopy.

The hydraulic lift pushed the nose down a few inches. River water rushed in, soaking her from the waist down. After a heart-stopping second or two, the nose bobbed upward again and the flood ceased.

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