Till Death Us Do Part
Rebecca York

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Readers,

An author’s heroines and heroes are like her children. They have their faults. And sometimes they give us fits. But we love them dearly, and want the best for them.

Of course, there’s always a lot that happens in a 43 Light Street book before the payoff. You’ve probably noticed that we put our characters through terrible trials—to bring them to an emotional peak and force them to display their heroic qualities under enormous pressure. But we also introduce them to a soul mate—the perfect someone with whom they can live happily ever after.

That’s why we’re so thrilled to be writing Jed Prentiss’s story. In the third Peregrine book, In Search of the Dove, we put Jed through the tortures of the damned. We hoped we’d get to write his story in a fourth Peregrine novel. But he’s had to wait almost ten years for his own book. We’ve had a long time to think about the perfect woman for him. She had to be strong, so she could stand up to him. She had to be spirited to attract him. And she had to be vulnerable to bring out his protective instincts. We think Marissa Devereaux fits the bill. And we hope you agree.

All the best,

Rebecca York

(Ruth Glick and Eileen Buckholtz)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Marissa Devereaux—She’d walked into a deadly trap. Now only one man could save her, if she dared accept the bargain he offered.

Jed Prentiss—The former Peregrine agent had taken an assignment that might get him killed.

Miguel Sanchez—The general had an iron grip on San Marcos. How far could Marissa and Jed trust him?

William Johnson—What was the Texan really doing in San Marcos.

Louis Rinaldo—The tough-looking Minister of Development had worked his way up from street-gang member to cabinet officer.

Thomas Leandro—The balding professor spouted Marxist doctrine, but where were his loyalties?

Pedro Harara—The banker was waiting for Marissa to make a false step.

Madre Flora—How much influence did the wise old woman wield on General Sanchez’s fiefdom?

Clarita Sanchez—Was the general’s daughter jealous enough to kill Marissa?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

It required effort to keep the smile on his face.

With his thoughts in sudden turmoil and his fingers tightening dangerously around a tumbler of planter’s punch, Jed Prentiss stared across the crowded room at the woman with the upswept golden curls. Was that Marissa? Here to screw things up for him—again.

The minister of economic development asked him a question, and he replied automatically in Spanish. At the same time he shifted slightly to the right to catch another look at the blonde through the crowd.

She turned with a graceful motion to put a champagne flute down on a passing waiter’s tray, and he got a glimpse of her face. He was right. It was Marissa Devereaux. He’d recognize that silky hair anywhere. It crowned a heart-shaped face with innocent-looking blue eyes, a petite nose and a mouth that could twist facts and half truths together so adroitly you didn’t know you’d been had until the middle of the next week.

In fact, she was almost as good at undercover work as he was. Except that she took foolish chances. As if she had nothing to lose.

Damn! She was the last person he wanted to see. What the hell was she doing in San Marcos—much less at a party being held at Miguel Sanchez’s town house? What possible reason would San Marcos’s army commander in chief have for inviting her? Jed couldn’t think of one.

After promising that he’d talk with the minister about mining loans later in the week, he excused himself and made his way across the room. The nearer he got to Marissa, the more burningly aware of her he became. He couldn’t possibly be close enough to smell her perfume, yet he imagined the scent of gardenia drifting toward him. She was wearing a little black dress that she probably didn’t think of as sexy. But it emphasized her narrow waist and sassy little hips. He hadn’t seen the front, but he knew it would be clinging to her high, firm breasts.

He scowled. He’d better keep his mind on business.

He could see she was finishing a conversation with Thomas Leandro, the outspoken university professor who’d made his reputation with pie-in-the-sky blueprints for turning the Central American republic into a socialist paradise. The professor was on Jed’s list, too. But he could wait.

When Leandro went off toward the buffet table, Jed stepped into Marissa’s path. Her cheeks took on a hint of heightened color, and her blue eyes widened and darkened: but the momentary lapse was her only betrayal of surprise—or anything else.

No matter how many times they met, he was never prepared for her reaction to him. As if she were suppressing strong emotions she didn’t want him to read—or couldn’t acknowledge. Whenever he’d tried to find out what was going on below the surface of those beautiful blue eyes, they had iced over. The rebuffs had hurt his ego. He’d vowed never to let it happen again.

“Jed. How nice to see you. Are you here on behalf of the Global Bank?”

Smooth, he thought. As if they were nothing more than friendly colleagues who traveled in the same business circles.

“Yes,” he replied, matching her coolness.

They studied each other carefully.

What was she planning for the evening, he wondered. Did she already know he’d be prowling the same turf? Or was she as unpleasantly surprised as he had been? Only one of them was going to leave the capital city with the evidence he’d come to steal. He was going to make damn sure of that.

“You’re a long way from Baltimore,” he remarked.

She hesitated before replying. “Yes.”

“So what brings you to San Marcos?”

“Oh, you know. My usual. I’m scouting out off-the-beaten-track vacation locations for Adventures in Travel.”

“Latch onto anything exciting?”

“I should be able to set up a jungle trip to some partially excavated Mayan ruins. And there are excellent snorkeling and diving opportunities along the coral reef. I think I can guide visitors to a stingray feeding location.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Not when you know what you’re doing.”

“Be careful.”

“Oh, I will.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Miguel Sanchez.”

“I don’t. Ted Bailey at the embassy was kind enough to get me on the guest list.”

“Then you’re on assignment for the State Department?”

“No.”

It was a good bet she was lying. He knew she often mixed undercover work for Victor Kirkland at State with travel agency research. He was about to probe a little further when one of the uniformed staff approached them.

“Señorita Devereaux?”

“Sí.”

“Teléfono para usted.”

She gave Jed an apologetic look. “I’ll see you later.”

“Expecting an important call?”

For a split second she looked as if she weren’t sure how to reply. Then she shrugged and followed the man who had delivered the message.

As Jed watched the servant lead her toward a back hall, he wondered if there was some way he could listen in on the phone conversation.

He’d memorized the floor plan of the house. There was another access to the hall, from a door off the enclosed patio.

As if he had nothing more important to do than get a breath of fresh air, he wandered casually toward the French doors.

When he stepped onto the stone terrace, the tropical night, rich with the scent of flowers, enveloped him. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As they did, he went very still. Marissa had come out the side door he’d been heading for and was walking rapidly toward the far wing of the house where the office complex was located. The office complex that was strictly off-limits to everyone except Sanchez and his handpicked staff. Jed had heard stories of summary executions of suspected spies caught there.

Didn’t Marissa know the risk she was taking? For that matter, didn’t she know there was a guard? Jed’s gaze probed the darkness.

There was supposed to be a guard. He didn’t seem to be in sight. Had Marissa taken care of him? Jed cursed under his breath. This was just the kind of audacious maneuver she was so good at pulling off.

He was about to follow her; then, before he could, he saw a figure ooze out of the shadows like a night creature crawling out from under a rock. Without making a sound, the man padded after her.

The hair on the back of Jed’s neck stood on end as if a cold breeze had blown across the patio. Marissa was in deep banana oil. Unless he could stop her before she reached the office wing.

* * *

ABOVE THE SOUND of the mariachi band playing at the party, Marissa thought she heard a voice nearby. Her whole body went rigid while she waited for a large hand to clamp down on her shoulder. When the blow didn’t fall, she sprinted the rest of the way to the office wing. The heavy door was unlocked. That had been part of the deal. Jerking it open, she threw herself inside and stood with her shoulders pressed against the carved mahogany.

The door at her back gave her only a partial feeling of security. Now that she was here, she wished she’d come up with some other plan to get the information Victor wanted. Even for her, this was taking a hefty chance.

But it should work out all right.

She’d paid enough bribes to supplement the San Marcos military budget for six months.

Still, as she struggled to bring her breathing into normal range she peered down the hallway searching for signs of life. The place was as silent as a tomb. The only illumination came from a pair of ornate sconces that looked as if they held fifteen-watt bulbs. Since the electricity in San Marcos was likely to be off for half of any twenty-four-hour period, the low wattage made sense. Probably Sanchez was using his own generating plant and needed the bulk of his power supply tonight for the party.

Her high heels sounded like a flamenco dancer as she started down the polished tile passageway. Slipping off her pumps, she looked nervously over her shoulder, half expecting to see Jed Prentiss behind her striding down the hall to catch up. If anyone bollixed up things tonight, it would be him!

All she’d needed a half hour ago, as she was psyching herself for this raid, was to glance up and discover him stalking his way toward her like a jaguar about to pounce on a tethered goat.

Her hands clamped down so tightly on her evening bag that her fingernails dug into the expensive fabric. When she realized what she was doing, she loosened her grip. She’d come here to do a job. And she would finish it and reappear at the party before anyone noticed she was missing.

As she began to tiptoe down the hall again, shoes in hand, she cursed herself for not knowing more about Jed’s recent activities. Then again, she hadn’t had time to brush up on every agent who’d worked in Latin America before she’d come to San Marcos. She’d better stop obsessing about him before she made some kind of fatal mistake.

With a quick glance at her watch, she saw that three minutes had elapsed since she’d ducked out of the party. That left only a little more than fifteen to get in and out of here with the goods Victor was paying her to bring home.

At least Sanchez’s office was on the ground floor, she thought as she turned the corner and started for the end of the hall. She felt less exposed as soon as she’d stepped into the anteroom and quietly shut the door behind her.

The room was spartan, with a secretary’s desk, a few wooden chairs and some filing cabinets. Marissa gave them only a quick glance. The good stuff was in Sanchez’s private office under lock and key.

Victor had briefed her on the likely places to look, so she went straight to his desk and knelt behind it. His most confidential files were in the two bottom drawers. Willing steadiness into her hands, she extracted a small case from her evening bag. What appeared to be a manicure set was really a set of lock-picking tools. A quick look through the contents of the first drawer told her that she’d struck out. And she only had ten minutes left.

Teeth clenched, she worked the other lock. Then she came across a stack of coded papers neatly filed in manila folders. She couldn’t read the text. But this was what Victor had told her to look for.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she placed the first one in the center of the desk blotter and got out the small camera disguised as a lipstick. Methodically she began snapping pictures of the incriminating letters and other documents.

She was almost finished when a noise in the hall made the hair on her scalp bristle.

Someone was coming!

Sweeping the papers into the folder, she had them back in place and the drawer locked again in fifteen seconds.

Now all she had to do was get out of here. And quickly. A desperate glance at the barred window told her she wasn’t going to escape in that direction. With camera and evening bag clutched in her hand, she bolted for the only other possibility—the general’s private bathroom.

* * *

“ERES TU?”

Jed stopped dead on the path, just managing to avoid crashing into a young Hispanic woman who had stepped out of the darkness to block his progress.

“Let me by,” he answered in Spanish, only half hearing her words as he tried to push past her to get to Marissa.

Her fingers clamped onto the sleeve of his dinner jacket. “Jed. It’s really you. I thought at first I’d made you up.”

She stopped abruptly, looking furtively from side to side as if she were terrified of being overheard. The urgency of her touch arrested him, and he peered at her more closely. There was something familiar about her face. But on the darkened patio he couldn’t place her.

“I must—”

“It’s Clarita,” she interrupted. “Don’t you know me? I’m so glad you came back to see us.”

The features resolved themselves into familiar lines. Clarita. Miguel Sanchez’s daughter. She was more mature now. A girl on the verge of womanhood. She’d been eleven when Jed had been here six years ago helping the general train his troops. He’d recognized her as the neglected child of a rich man who had more important things to do than worry about his offspring’s happiness. When he’d come home from the training camp with Miguel on the weekends, he’d tried to make a small difference in the little girl’s life.

“I heard them talking about you, so I took a peek at the guest list for the party,” she told him. “I knew you would be here. Like old times. When everything was simple.” Her tone was high and wistful, as if she longed for the past.

“Clarita, I can’t stay here and talk to you now.”

She continued as if she hadn’t heard. “It’s all right. Do you remember how you taught my parrot to say ‘no sweat’?” she asked eagerly. “He still remembers. Come see.”

While she prattled on about the fun they’d had together, time was ticking by for Marissa. She had disappeared minutes ago—along with the man who was following her.

He forced a false heartiness into his response. “It’s great to see you again, but I have important business to take care of. We’ll talk later. Okay?” Gently but firmly he disengaged Clarita’s fingers from his sleeve and started toward the offices at a rapid clip, praying he wasn’t too late.

She stayed right behind him. “No!”

The strangled rasp was like fingernails scraping across a blackboard.

“I’ll come right back, niña,” he promised, using the old endearment.

“I’m not a little girl anymore! And you must not go into the office wing. I know the rules. It’s not allowed. They’ll shoot you if they catch you.”

“It’s okay. The general knows,” he lied. Anything to set her mind at ease.

“I don’t think so.” She looked almost frenzied as she reached to grab hold of him again. “Jed, I can’t let you do it.”

He peered into her eyes and knew instinctively that if he tried to wrench himself away she’d start to scream. Then every guard in the place would come charging onto the patio to find out what he was doing to her. And when Marissa came back out, they’d be here waiting for her.

He began talking in a low, soothing voice, telling Clarita it was all right. Telling her that nothing was going to happen to him. That he’d come back to her in a few minutes.

But all the time he was talking, he had the sick feeling that he was already too late.

* * *

MARISSA’S GAZE DARTED around the little room as she locked the door behind her.

There was a small window. But it was also barred.

Someone rattled the knob and began to pound on the door.

“Come out of there!” a voice commanded in Spanish.

“Just a minute,” she answered in the same language, expecting a large fist to splinter the wood.

Sink. Toilet. Medicine cabinet. Tile floor.

Marissa looked down at the camera still clutched in her hand. If she didn’t want to get caught with the incriminating evidence, she’d have to flush it down the toilet. If it would go down the toilet. Or maybe she could just flush the film.

“Come out or I’ll shoot through the door,” the angry voice demanded.

Desperate now, she thrust her hand into her purse to check for the empty film wrapper. Her fingers closed around the small zip-lock container in which she’d stowed the pills that were supposed to keep you from getting Montezuma’s revenge.

It was big enough to hold the camera. Did she dare?

Ignoring the pounding on the door, she emptied the pills into the toilet bowl. Then she slipped her camera and film wrapper into the bag, squeezed out the air and sealed the strip across the top. Working as quietly as she could, she lifted the lid on the tank and thrust the plastic bag inside, hardly able to breathe as she watched it sink to the bottom.

The whole operation seemed to take hours. She knew only seconds had passed as she flushed the pills away and rustled her clothing as if she were putting herself back together after using the facilities.

“You have ten seconds, or I’ll shoot.”

“No. Please.” Marissa didn’t have to fake the panic rising in her voice as she tried to unlock the door. The mechanism stuck, and her fingers stung as she twisted the lever.

As soon as she’d snapped the lock open, the doorknob flew out of her hand. Wide-eyed, she backed away, staring at the man who stood with a gun trained on her chest. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he had the look of a policeman.

“I said come out of there.” With his free hand he grabbed her wrist and yanked her roughly out of the bathroom. “What were you doing in Jefe’s office?” he snapped.

“What a question. You can see what I was doing. The ladies’ room was occupied.” Even as she did her best to look embarrassed, she was evaluating the odds of getting away from an armed man. Not good. “I had to find another quickly. It was an emergency.”

“No one is allowed in this wing of the house.”

“I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How did you get in?”

She gestured vaguely. “I—I just walked through the door.”

“It was locked!”

“No.” She shook her head as if she were a bewildered tourist caught trying to snap a forbidden picture of the treasures in the cathedral. But her heart was pounding so hard that she could hardly catch her breath.

He kept the gun pointed at her while he picked up the phone, dialed a number and spoke into the receiver.

His voice was low, his Spanish rapid. But she caught enough to know that her goose was cooked. He was calling for reinforcements.

When he returned his full attention to her, his eyes were hard.

Marissa tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

Pointedly he looked down at her stocking feet and then at the shoes she’d set down on the desk. “You’re going to give me some straight answers, señorita, or you are going to be truly sorry.”

Chapter Two

Jed heard several pairs of feet hammer against the paving stones. He whirled and cursed as four khaki-clad soldiers moving in tight formation came dashing along the path from the direction of the guard station. They all carried machine guns, and they looked as if they were on their way to the offices to foil an assassination attempt.

“Holy mother!” Clarita whispered a more ladylike version of Jed’s muttered exclamation. Her eyes grew large, and the blood drained from her face. “I told you,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous to go there.”

“They’re not after you.” Jed reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She ducked away from his grasp and ran toward the bedroom wing of the house.

She had the right idea, Jed thought as he watched her disappear into the safety of the interior. He should probably blast out of here, too, while the blasting was good. He knew how Miguel Sanchez treated spies and how his twisted logic could quickly turn a friend into an enemy.

He glanced toward the lighted windows of the reception hall, wondering if anyone else had heard the guards. The guests were all drinking and eating and talking as before. Apparently the mariachi music had drowned out the sounds from the patio. Or perhaps no one chose to acknowledge the disturbance.

He was on his own. And so was Marissa.

His chest tightened as he strode rapidly after the soldiers.

One of them was standing at attention in front of the door of the office wing. Too bad it wasn’t a man he’d helped train.

“Qué pasa?” he asked.

“This area is off-limits, señor.”

“I’m Jed Prentiss, a good friend of General Sanchez.”

The guard shifted the machine gun in his grasp, as if he were unsure about aiming the gun at a good friend of El Jefe. Yet he obviously had his orders. “You’d better go back to the party.”

Jed stood his ground.

The sentry, who’d probably never had his authority questioned before, looked uncomfortable.

The stalemate lasted less than a minute until the rest of the armed contingent returned. The soldiers were escorting a man in civilian clothes who had a firm hold on a woman’s arm.

It was Marissa.

Until Jed actually saw her being frog-marched down the hall, he realized he’d been hoping against hope that some other crisis had prompted the summoning of the guards.

Her face was paper white. It went a shade paler when she spotted him with the sentry, and he knew in that instant that she was thinking he was the one who’d turned her in.

“What’s he doing here?” the civilian snapped.

“He says he’s a good friend of El Jefe, sir.”

“Go back where you belong,” the man in charge said in clipped tones.

All at once the perfumed air of the tropical night was suffocating. This wasn’t the good old U.S. of A. where you were presumed innocent until proven guilty. This was the sovereign republic of San Marcos where a two-bit official could slap you in jail and throw away the key on the word of an underworld informant.

Hands resting easily at his sides, Jed summoned up his most guiltless look. “My name’s Jed Prentiss. I helped the general set up his training program at Conquista Fuerte.”

“So you say.”

“You can check it out easily enough.” Jed risked shifting his gaze from the man to Marissa. Her body was rigid, her breath shallow. He suspected that if she unstiffened her knees, she’d topple to the ground. His green eyes locked with her blue ones, and he saw how hard she was struggling not to fall apart. He could feel her terror. It cut through his vital organs like a machete blade. And he knew that until a few moments ago she hadn’t dreamed how much trouble she could get into in the nominally democratic republic of San Marcos.

He wanted to tell her she’d been a damn fool to raid the office of a general who wielded power with the zeal of a medieval king. At the same time he wanted to wrest her from her captor, fold her into his arms and spirit her out of danger like the hero of an action-adventure film. It was an exceedingly fleeting fantasy. Even with the element of surprise, all he’d get for the grand gesture was a bullet in the back.

“If she’s a spy, I’m a Saudi Arabian sheikh,” he said. “I was talking to her a few minutes ago at the party. She’s a scared-stiff travel agent who wandered into the wrong part of the house.”

“Perhaps.” The undercover man didn’t sound as if he gave the explanation much credence.

“Please. I didn’t do anything. Please let me go,” Marissa implored.

Jed’s mind scrambled for any sort of leverage he could use. If he claimed Marissa was a friend of his, he’d probably get himself detained for questioning. But maybe he still had enough influence with Sanchez to save her. “Let me speak to the general.”

“He’s in a meeting.”

“I’ll wait.”

“No. You will stop poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“The general will want—”

“I will arrest you along with this female spy if you’re not out of here in five seconds.”

Marissa’s eyes were bleak. “You’d better leave,” she murmured to Jed.

“Silencio! You will not speak to each other.”

Jed hated to abandon her like this. But he’d run out of options. The only thing he could do was offer her a word of comfort. “Everything will be all right. I’ll tell the American embassy what’s happened.”

She acknowledged the help with the barest of nods, but her expression was starting to glaze over.

The man holding her arm jerked her sharply. She winced as he led her toward a door on the far side of the patio. The last view of her he had was of her rigid back and the blond curls he’d first spotted across the crowded reception.

* * *

AS THE GUARDS TROTTED Marissa away, one of the guests from the party pressed back into the foliage of the bird of paradise tree where he was standing. Eyes narrowed, he’d been watching the scene on the patio with acute interest.

He’d seen Prentiss slip out of the reception room minutes after Devereaux had also disappeared. And he’d made a silent bet with himself that the two events were no coincidence. It was gratifying to confirm that he was right. Also a bit unsettling.

Devereaux had told everybody who would listen that she was a travel agent. Prentiss was supposed to be on a fact-finding mission for the Global Bank. But it appeared the two of them had more compelling reasons to be in San Marcos. Also, it seemed they knew each other, although neither one had admitted as much. Probably they were working together. And it looked as if Devereaux had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar, so to speak.

His lips thinned. Had she discovered anything incriminating before they’d bagged her? He’d have to find out quickly. And make sure she didn’t get a chance to talk.

For several seconds he enjoyed watching Prentiss stand with his hands clenched at his sides. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing the bastard was sweating. But the man in the bushes didn’t let the pleasure show on his face.

Deep in thought, he left his hiding place and strode toward the mansion. He’d never met Prentiss, although he’d heard of him. He was a once-top agent who was now washed up in the intelligence business. The rumor was he’d lost his nerve. But he’d toughed it out just fine with Sanchez’s man.

Too bad. Prentiss and Devereaux were another problem he’d have to solve before he made any final decisions about Sanchez. But right now he’d better get in touch with his man in Junipero Province to make sure nothing out of the ordinary was happening out there.

* * *

JED STUDIED C ASSANDRA Devereaux, noting the strain etched into her profile. She looked so much like Marissa so much that it was painful.

“Would you tell the others what you told me?” she asked in a strangled voice.

It had been three days since Marissa was taken away by Sanchez’s guards. Jed had arrived at Cassie’s renovated East Baltimore row house at five in the afternoon, given her a summary of her sister’s predicament and collapsed into bed for a few hours of badly needed sleep. While he’d been conked out, she’d made half a dozen phone calls, and he was damn impressed with the group of people she’d so quickly assembled.

He looked around the living room at the circle of faces.

He knew Jason Zacharias, of course. They’d worked together on a number of undercover assignments, including the time he’d come to rescue Jason and his wife Noel from a Scottish megalomaniac and Jason had ended up saving him. The other women of 43 Light Street and their husbands were strangers. But he knew they were Marissa’s friends. He’d always thought of her as so cold. But he could see from the faces around him that they were all deeply concerned about the turn of events in San Marcos. And they’d do anything they could to get her out of this mess.

He was especially struck by the couple sitting close together on the couch. She was Jo O’Malley, who’d been introduced as a private detective. He was Cameron Randolph, an electronics genius. Jo was expecting their first child, and it was obvious how happy they were about the pregnancy. Still, Jo had cancelled a prenatal appointment to attend this meeting.

“Start at the party,” Cassie requested.

Jed did, skipping over his personal reactions to Marissa and sticking with the facts, “I went straight from Sanchez’s to the American embassy, but they couldn’t do anything until nine the next morning. By then it was already too late to complain that an American citizen named Marissa Devereaux was being held incommunicado by General Miguel Sanchez.” He shifted in his chair.

“Too bad the embassy didn’t get right on it. I checked with the San Marcos Department of Immigration the next day and found out that no one named Marissa Devereaux had entered the country in the past three weeks the legal limit for a renewable tourist visa.”

Jo’s eyes narrowed. “Somebody must have been working overtime searching for her entry visa. But it paid off. If she’s not legally in the country, there’s no way to lodge any kind of official complaint.”

“You’ve got it,” Jed agreed.

“I’ve been burning up the phone lines to the State Department,” Cassie added. “Marci was on an undercover assignment for our old boss Victor Kirkland. He was willing to speak off the record because I’ve still got my security clearance. He says he’s sorry, but he can’t do anything to help her because State can’t acknowledge her mission.

“Can the U.S. State Department really operate that way?” The question came from a woman sitting in the corner. Small and delicate, she had curly brown hair and big brown eyes that seemed to stare right through Cassie. Her name was Jenny Larkin, and she was blind. Jed had wondered at first what she was doing at the meeting, since it was obvious that she had less experience than the others with the unofficial workings of government or with detective work. But he’d quickly discovered that her analytic mind and phenomenal memory were an asset to the group.

“I’m afaid they can do whatever they want to, as long as they don’t get caught,” Cassie explained. “But I’m not going to let Victor get away with stonewalling me.”

Jed admired her defiant posture, but he didn’t hold out much hope from that quarter. He knew the rules. And so did Marissa. She’d taken a job where it was understood she was on her own if there was trouble.

Until now, Abby Franklin had been silent. “What else have you got for us?” she asked him.

“After the scam at Immigration, I didn’t expect to find a record of a Marissa Devereaux checking in to a hotel. But I put it around that I’d be at the Café Primo and that I was willing to pay for information about a blond gringa travel agent who might have been in Santa Isabella within the past few days.

“I got lucky with a portero from El Grande who remembered commenting on Marissa’s snorkeling equipment. He took her to room 345.”

“So you let yourself in and had a look around the premises,” Jo guessed. Jed was pretty sure she’d have done exactly the same thing. Before her pregnancy, anyway.

“Right. The room had been ragged out. But the maid had forgotten to replace the notepad by the phone. The top sheet looked clean. But I could make out the impression of the previous message, which was the name of a taxi company and Miguel Sanchez’s address.”

“I couldn’t go into court with that,” Dan Cassidy muttered. As an assistant state’s attorney, he knew the rules of evidence.

Cassie slammed her fist against the arm of her chair. “I’ve been begging Marci for years not to keep taking these assignments. I told her this one was too dangerous. Damn her. What’s wrong with her? Does she want to get herself killed?” She shot Abby a pleading look.

The woman shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “There are reasons why she takes risks other people would consider unacceptable.”

Startled, Jed stared at the attractive brunette. She’d been introduced as a psychologist. And, like most headshrinkers, she’d shut up and let everyone else do the talking. It sounded as if she’d been seeing Marissa professionally. Remembering the way Marissa had always struggled to hide her emotions from him, he was seized with sudden regret that he’d never tried to understand her; he’d only reacted to what he perceived as her cold arrogance.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Cassie persisted, her voice fierce. “Won’t anybody stick their neck out for Marci?”

“It’s not a matter of sticking my neck out,” Abby said gently. “You know it would be a breach of professional ethics to talk about the things Marissa and I have discussed at her therapy sessions.”

Cassie looked down at her hands.

“You think someone betrayed Marissa?” Jenny asked Jed.

“I know she wouldn’t have crossed the patio unless she’d been assured it would be empty. There could have been a backup security system only Sanchez knows about. Even a silent alarm,” Jed observed. “Or someone at the party could have spotted her heading for forbidden territory and alerted security.”

“Who?” Cassie snapped.

“Any of over a hundred guests. She was talking to Thomas Leandro just before she left. But there were a lot of other people there. One of them might have jumped at the chance to do the general a favor. Or it could be someone with his own ax to grind. Pedro Harara, the president of the Banco Nacional, doesn’t much like American women.”

“Why not?” Cassie asked.

“He married one who caught him in bed with his secretary and took him for several million dollars when she moved back North again.”

The laughter around the room cut some of the tension.

Jed answered more questions, gave more opinions and assessments, all the while trying to keep certain pictures out of his mind pictures of what could be happening to Marissa. He couldn’t allow emotion to cloud his judgment. And he dared not let his private fears show on his face because that might panic the group.

Jason had been silent through most of the discussions, letting the others ask questions. Then he began to formulate a plan.

“Too harebrained,” Jed snapped when the security expert had finished.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Give me a little time to think.

* * *

“MARISSA SHIFTED uncomfortably on the narrow bunk. It was made of wooden planks and topped with a straw tick that prickled where it touched her skin. Not very comfortable, but at least the mattress wasn’t resting directly on the unwashed stone floor.

She shuddered. She’d been in this tiny cell for three days, and she knew she was in danger of coming unglued. After the scene on the patio, two women had strip-searched her before she’d been locked up.

It had been humiliating, but thank God they hadn’t found anything incriminating. Now she was praying that her hasty addition to Sanchez’s toilet tank didn’t gum up the works.

At first she’d huddled on the bunk, expecting the general to interrogate her as soon as possible. But minutes of waiting had turned into hours. Was he researching her background before he called her upstairs to give himself an advantage?

That theory had gone out the window as hours dragged into days. She still hadn’t seen the general. Or anyone else, since the guards were shoving her meager meals of rice and beans through a slot in the door.

Some of her clothes and her bag of toiletries preceded the food on her second afternoon. Wondering if anyone was watching on a hidden camera, she changed out of her rumpled black dress into cotton slacks and a T-shirt. The knowledge that someone had been in her hotel room wasn’t comforting. Nor was the lack of response to any of the pleas and questions she’d shouted through the door.

What kind of mind game was Sanchez playing, anyway?

It was hard not to feel completely abandoned, but she didn’t allow herself to lose hope. Still aware that someone might be spying on her, she furtively took some of the items from her cosmetic kit and slipped them into her pocket. If she was very lucky, she’d get a chance to use them.

Then, for as long as she could keep moving, she did what exercises she could manage without getting down on the squalid floor in her tiny cell. After fatigue claimed her, there was nothing to do but lie on the bunk and think.

First she tried to figure out how she’d gotten caught. Most likely the dirty rat who’d taken her money to unlock the door to the office complex and disappear for twenty minutes had turned her in. Or he could have gotten nailed himself. Or someone else at the party besides Jed might have figured out what she was doing.

Thomas Leandro? The balding professor who spouted Marxist doctrine and combed what hair he had in a swirl around his glossy dome. In a strong wind, he looked like a bird’s nest that had blown out of a tree.

Pedro Harara? The five-foot-three banker who dressed like a character in a thirties gangster movie and wore a girdle to hide his paunch. He’d almost put her to sleep standing up with his scintillating discussion of international fund transfers.

Louis Rinaldo? The tough-looking minister of development who’d worked his way up from street gang member to cabinet officer. He wore three gold rings on his fingers to prove he’d made it.

Or what about the man who called himself William Johnson, the one with the horse face and the drawl that stretched all the way to Texas? She had no idea who he was or what he was doing at the party, but she’d had him on her list to check out. Too bad she’d never gotten a chance.

The only guest she was sure hadn’t given her up to El Jefe was President Juan Palmeriz. San Marcos’s elected leader hated Sanchez and was praying for an excuse to get him out of power. But his fear of a coup was so great that he didn’t go to sleep at night without first looking under the bed.

After hours of fruitless speculation, Marissa felt as if she’d go insane if she didn’t have someone to talk to. Maybe that was what Sanchez wanted. And she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking her. So she began to make up long silent conversations with various friends and enemies.

She mentally discussed with Abby the character defects that had gotten her into this mess. Abby kept saying it wasn’t her fault; she wished she could be as sure.

She railed at Victor Kirkland for sending her on a mission that, in retrospect, had been foolhardy.

She tried to rehearse plausible answers to the questions Sanchez was eventually going to ask her. If he wasn’t simply planning to let her rot here.

But when she felt most alone and terrified, she talked to Jed Prentiss. Particularly at night when it was dark and he couldn’t see her face.

She knew that was a silly contrivance. He wasn’t even in the cell with her. She wasn’t sure she could trust him. She didn’t even know whether he was still in San Marcos. Yet it was somehow very comforting to lie in bed and mentally whisper to him in the dark, as if they were lovers instead of uneasy rivals.

Somebody turned me in. Was it you? She posed the question to him in her mind for the dozenth time, holding her breath as if she really were waiting for his answer.

I wouldn’t do that, honey bee.

She wanted to believe him with all her heart. For the time being, she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

You’re the only one who knows what’s happened to me.

Yeah.

Are you doing anything to get me out of here?

She waited in the blackness, her mind forming the answer she wanted to hear: he was moving heaven and earth to spring her from this cell. But it was hard to have much faith in wishful thinking. Or anything else.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine that he had shifted to his side, that he had put his muscular arms around her so that they lay on the bunk spoon fashion. She sighed and scooted a little closer, almost swearing she could smell the spicy after-shave he wore, feel the hard wall of his chest against the back of her head. She pictured his broad shoulders and the sun-streaked hair that always made him look as if he’d climbed out of a lifeguard’s chair. It was so good to delegate some of the fear and uncertainty to him. To let him give her his protection.

She longed to ask more of him. Gently she touched her finger to her lips, stroking back and forth with a feather-light touch, imagining what it might be like to kiss him. A little shiver went through her. She’d wanted to taste his mouth. A couple of years ago she’d finally admitted that to herself. Almost every time they met, she looked at his lips. But there was no such thing as sharing a chaste kiss with a man like Jed. He would want more.

Vivid images invaded her mind, and she could feel her body trembling. In the darkness she struggled for control for the calm center of her soul where she was in charge of her life. It took longer than usual. Her emotions were in too much turmoil, her nerves too raw. But finally her will prevailed the way it always did.

Years ago she’d figured out what was necessary for her survival. Like the way she’d acted to keep Jed at arm’s length. She knew he’d been puzzled at first. The perplexity had changed to a mixture of anger and hurt. That had made her ache inside. She’d wanted so badly to erase the wounded look from his eyes.

But he frightened her too much. He was too male. Too assertive. Too much a creature of the tough, aggressive habits he’d developed during long years as an undercover agent.

He was too dangerous for her. The wrong kind of man entirely. If she was going to dare a relationship with anyone, it should be with a mild, unthreatening guy who wouldn’t make demands. Who’d let her set the pace. Yet fate kept throwing her into Jed’s path in various Latin American countries where they were both doing undercover work. And every time they met, she felt like a moth being drawn to a flame.

But it was different now. Here, in this cell, where she was so defenseless and alone, she was too weak to give up the small amount of comfort she gained by pretending he was lying in back of her, his body shielding hers, ready to overpower the guards when they finally opened the door. With a soft sigh she closed her eyes and hugged her arms around her shoulders.

* * *

JED LEANED BACK in the comfortable wing chair in Abby Franklin’s office at 43 Light Street. The setting was tastefully soothing, and he tried to fit in by crossing his legs easily at the ankles and sipping at the mug of coffee she’d offered him. Probably he wasn’t fooling Dr. Franklin. This crack-of-dawn meeting was his last stop in Baltimore before he decided whether or not to risk his life on a mission that had about a fifty-percent chance of succeeding.

“I appreciate your getting together with me so early,” he said, setting down the mug.

“I appreciate your volunteering to get Marissa out of San Marcos.”

“I’m not exactly working for free.”

Abby ignored the clarification. “Now that we know for sure that the State Department won’t do a damn thing, you may be her only chance.”

“You might have to come up with another alternative. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to take the job.”

“Jason thinks you’re the one who can do it.”

He ignored the vote of confidence and sprang a question on her. “Is Marissa just a danger to herself? Or to others, as well?”

“She’s not a danger to herself,” Abby retorted.

“You told Cassandra her sister takes crazy chances.”

“That’s a loose interpretation of what I said.”

“You have to tell me what’s going on in Marissa’s head before I make a commitment.”

Abby looked regretful. “Jed, she trusts me not to talk about our sessions. I can’t betray her confidences to you.”

“Not even to save her life?”

Abby paused before replying. “Let me put it this way. If you go back to San Marcos knowing certain things about her that she hasn’t chosen to reveal to you, she’ll sense it and react negatively. And she’ll never trust either one of us again.”

“Let me put it this way,” he countered. “Your group of conspirators has hatched a very flaky plan. And when I get to San Marcos, I’m not going to be able to clue in Marissa. She’ll have to take my opening moves on blind faith. Then the two of us are going to have to pull off a performance worthy of the stars in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. Is she up to that? Or will she get both of us killed?”

Abby knit her fingers together in her lap. “Jed, I can’t tell you very much. But perhaps you’ve sensed that she has strong feelings for you.”

“Yeah. She hates me.”

“Hardly.”

“Then what?”

“You have to work that out for yourself.”

“I may not get the chance. From the way she looked at me when the guards took her into custody, I’d be willing to bet she thinks I’m the one who turned her in to Sanchez.”

“You’re describing a situation in which she was under a great deal of stress. She’s had some time to think things through.” Abby leaned forward. “Jed, some very rough things have happened to Marci in her life. Things she hasn’t even been able to discuss with her sister. She’s done what she had to do to survive, and she’s come a long way. I’ve thought for several months that you might be able to help her.”

“She’s discussed me with you? What the hell did she say?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that slip out.” Abby flushed. “I’m not going to answer any more questions about my patient. What else did you come here to talk about?”

Jed shifted in his chair, looking from the tasteful prints on the wall to his hands and then toward the window. Everywhere but at Abby’s face. He could get up and leave on cue. Or he could make a grab for the brass ring. “You’re too perceptive.”

“That’s what they pay me for. But this session is free of charge.”

He forced a laugh. It sounded strained and nervous. “You mentioned that everything that’s said here is strictly confidential.”

“Yes.”

“So if I wanted to discuss something about myself and I wanted to keep it quiet, it wouldn’t go any further.”

“That’s right.”

He almost cut and ran. Then he figured he didn’t have anything to lose. If he didn’t want to, he never had to see Abby Franklin again. “There’s a reason why I might be putting Marissa in danger by taking this assignment. I mean, something in my background that might make me a risky choice.”

When Abby’s expression remained neutral, he continued. “Did Marissa tell you I used to be hooked up with a supersecret spy organization?”

“Yes. She didn’t tell me the name,” she added.

“She probably doesn’t know I was asked to resign.” He heard his voice turn gritty as he struggled to keep his face from betraying the depths of his humiliation.

“That was rough on you,” Abby murmured.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“So did you really come here to tell me you’re no good at your job?”

“I am good at it!”

“But you’re the wrong man for the rescue mission?” Abby persisted.

“Maybe.”

“I’m willing to give you my professional judgment.”

“I found out seven years ago.”

“Found out what?”

He clenched his hands on the arms of the chair so he wouldn’t bolt from the room. With his emotions under equally rigid restraint, he told Abby Franklin the secret that had been eating him alive.

* * *

ROUGH HANDS shook Marissa awake, and she couldn’t hold back a startled scream.

“Let’s go,” a gruff voice ordered in Spanish.

“Wh what’s going on?” she answered in the same language.

“El Jefe has sent for you.”

Marissa’s heart began to pound. With no warning, she was going to be interrogated by the man whose office she’d been caught burglarizing. Had he found the camera in the toilet tank? Was that why he was finally sending for her? She ran a nervous hand through her hair. “Would you let me have a minute alone?”

He shrugged and stepped outside the door, giving her some privacy.

Quickly she used the toilet in the corner of the cell and washed her hands and face, wondering how unkempt she looked after three days in a cell. She expected to be escorted upstairs to the general’s office, and braced herself accordingly. Her eyes widened as she was led outside to a gray Chevy van parked by the delivery entrance. Two guards hustled her inside. Yanking her foot to the right, they cuffed her ankle to a ring that had been welded to the floor. Hardly standard equipment from Chevrolet.

“You said El Jefe.”

“Silencio!”

She pressed her lips together as the man slid onto the bench seat beside her. He kept a machine gun cocked under his arm. His companion climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. After ten minutes it was clear they were heading out of the city. Going west, according to a road sign.

Marissa knew that Sanchez had a finca in Colorado Province. Calling it a farm was an understatement, since it occupied more than twenty thousand acres. Despite the heat and humidity, she shivered. In the capital El Jefe was a powerful man but not entirely above the law. At his outlying estate he was the lord of the manor. He could do anything with her that he wanted, and no one would ever dig up the facts.

A cold sweat broke out on her skin. Involuntarily, her foot jerked against the cuff.

“Sit still,” the man with the gun muttered.

She went rigid.

The scenery changed from overcrowded urban to jungle in almost the blink of an eye. However, she knew from her extensive research on Sanchez and the local area that the two-lane road they took was one of the best paved in San Marcos, undoubtedly for the general’s benefit. Marissa had come this way a few days ago on the trip she’d told Jed about to visit some newly discovered Mayan ruins being excavated by a team from the University of New Mexico.

What would Jed do if he were in a spot like this, she wondered. Somehow, on all the dangerous missions she’d undertaken for the State Department, she’d never pictured herself getting captured. Shot, maybe; put out of her misery with one clean bullet. But not abducted. She shuddered, admitting for the first time that she should have known better.

Every ten or fifteen miles the jungle gave way to a village of thatch-roofed, bamboo huts strung out along the road. More than once a stray cow or goat wandered onto the pavement, and the driver honked furiously. Each time Marissa tensed as she entertained the guilty hope that the speeding van might collide with one of the animals. If the vehicle was forced to stop, she might have a chance to escape.

There were no such fortunate incidents with the livestock. But Marissa’s lucky break came about a mile and a half past one of the villages when the van blew a tire. Cursing, the driver had to wrestle the vehicle to the far right side of the blacktop, since there was no real shoulder. When he opened the back door, he discovered there was no jack. He cursed again.

The two men who turned out to be named Jose and Jorge argued in rapid Spanish, each accusing the other of being responsible for getting them into this fix. Jorge, the one who’d sat with her in the back seat, lost the shouting match and ended up trotting back to the village. Jose climbed out and ambled into the shade of a kapok tree. Nearby several goats grazed.

It was only about eight in the morning, but the temperature in the disabled van was already rising to steam-bath proportions.

“You’re not going to leave me in here, are you?” Marissa called through the open window.

“He’s got the key.” Jose pointed in the direction of his retreating companion before pulling his cap over his face and settling down for a nap.

Thank God they’d been too confident to search her, Marissa thought as she slipped her hand into her pocket and extracted one of the items she’d hidden her spare manicure set. And thank God she knew a lot about the terrain, both from several previous jungle expeditions and extensive reading.

Working quietly and stealthily, she began to probe at the lock on the cuff that secured her ankle to the floor of the van. Every so often she glanced up at Jose. He looked as if he were asleep.

Her hands were shaking so badly that it took several tries to open the lock. Finally it yielded.

Her breath slowed as she looked through the window of the van. Was this whole thing a setup? An excuse to shoot the prisoner attempting to escape?

She didn’t know. But she’d made her decision. Considering what could be waiting for her at Sanchez’s estate, she had to try to get away while the getting was good.

After one last furtive glance at the guard, she ducked low and slipped out the open door.

The moment her feet hit the pavement she was crouching and running toward the safety of the trees.

Chapter Three

Marissa muffled her sob of relief as she reached the concealing foliage on the other side of the road. Quickly she slipped farther into the shadows.

She’d gotten free. But that was only the first step. Not a living soul in this part of San Marcos was going to risk Sanchez’s wrath by helping her. Her only hope was to reach the American archaeologists at the Mayan ruins, explain what had happened and hope they had the resources to get her out of the country.

That meant she’d have to get far enough away from the van to risk crossing the road, then head north. Going back seemed like a bad idea, since she might run into Jorge. So she continued toward Sanchez’s estate and tried to stay more or less parallel to the blacktop.

However, she soon found it was impossible to travel in a straight line without a machete to slash her way through the dense foliage. In addition, she had to move carefully, since she was trying hard not to leave a trail the guards could follow.

The jungle was alive with other dangers, too. The archaeologists had told her about killing a coral snake near the ruins. Since there was no antidote for their venom, a bite meant death within minutes. All she could do was break a dead branch from a small tree to use as a defensive weapon.

Her clothing was soaked with perspiration, but she kept moving at a steady pace, detouring around tarantula holes and the huge hills of the leaf-cutter ants, who could make mincemeat of human flesh as easily as they denuded trees.

When she judged she was half a mile from the van, she sprinted across the road. Then she headed north, using the position of the sun as a guide. Every time she heard a noise in the underbrush, she expected Jorge or Jose to lunge from behind a palm tree. But so far so good.

Marissa pushed herself as hard as she could through the bugs and heat and plants that seemed to grab at her clothing as if they had an agreement with the soldiers to slow her progress. Eventually she had to stop and rest. Wishing that she had a hat and some insect repellent, she reached out a hand to steady herself against a slender tree trunk.

It was an unfortunate move. The bark was covered with thorns. She yelped in pain, and high above her in the trees a colony of howler monkeys reacted. Mortally offended by what they considered the invasion of their territory, they began to protest loudly. She might as well have been standing next to an air raid siren.

She started off again at the fastest pace she could manage. But she was a whole lot less optimistic than she’d been a few minutes ago. She’d been counting on her pursuers not knowing where to look for her. The monkeys had given them a road map.

* * *

JED TRIED TO RELAX in the airline seat. At least he was flying to San Marcos first class this time, so there was enough room to stretch his legs.

Of course, there would be plenty of space to stretch out if he and Marissa came home in wooden boxes.

He grimaced. Abby Franklin could pay the funeral expenses, since she’d listened to his story and then made him believe he’d be okay if he took certain precautions. He’d left her office feeling better about himself than he had in years. After a little reflection, he realized how good she was at her job. What she’d really done was the equivalent of patching up a combat soldier and sending him back into battle. But he’d understood her motives. She was convinced that he was the only person with the right set of qualifications to extract Marissa from Sanchez’s clutches.

The flight attendant came by and asked him if he wanted a drink. He ordered a bourbon and water. Maybe the liquor would help him sleep—like the rest of the passengers on the red-eye flight to Santa Isabella. Most of them looked as if they were going to San Marcos to visit relatives or relax in an unspoiled tropical paradise. He was flying into one of the trickiest assignments of his undercover career.

And he might have to change the rules as he went along if things didn’t work out the way Marci’s friends thought they would.

Marci. Ever since he’d heard her sister use the nickname, he’d started to think of her like that. It was part of his changing image of her, as if he were dealing with two different women. Marissa was cold and aloof, tough and sophisticated. She’d taken plenty of undercover jobs, and she knew the risks.

Marci was another matter entirely. His face softened as he considered her. She was fragile and vulnerable, shy and a bit naive. She pretended she knew all the rules. In fact, she’d conned him pretty well over the past few years, and he was a damn good judge of people. But all along she’d been hiding behind Marissa’s tough exterior, hoping no one would notice her.

He pressed his knuckles against his teeth. Now that Abby and Cassie had given him the right clues, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t recognized the symptoms. She was like him, hiding some shameful secret she didn’t want anyone to know. Something so bad that it made her reckless—even a little foolhardy—as if she didn’t believe her life was worth much.

Too bad for her Abby had slipped and revealed more than she should. Or had she? His eyes narrowed as he went back over the scene in the psychologist’s office, examining the nuances. Abby had told him she thought he’d be good for Marci. Had that been a calculated maneuver? Part of her plan to get him on her side?

He sighed. Whatever it was, it had worked. It had even starting him wondering if he and Marci could help each other, since neither of them felt there was much to lose.

Of course, Marci was one thing. Marissa was quite another. Getting close to her could be a disaster. He’d always known that Marissa Devereaux and Jed Prentiss would be an explosive combination. Either it would be damn good or they’d end up tearing each other apart.

Still, he felt a sense of tingling anticipation that made it difficult to sit still in the airplane seat. One of the reasons he was going back to San Marcos was to find out once and for all what would happen if he let her know he was attracted to her. This time Marissa wasn’t going to be able to duck away from him or give him that cold look he now realized was a protective mechanism. Not if she was going to follow the script that the Light Street group had written for her. No, if she wanted to save her hide she was going to have to work with him—up close and very personal.

* * *

MARISSA KEPT PUTTING one foot in front of the other even though she’d long since reached the point of exhaustion. Yet she knew she had to put as much distance as she could between herself and the spot where she’d stirred up the howler monkeys.

So far Sanchez’s goons hadn’t shown. But she wasn’t going to breathe easy until she reached the relative safety of the archaeological dig.

She hoped she could get there before nightfall. The jungle during the day was dangerous enough. When the sun went down, it would be pitch-dark and twice as perilous. She’d have to find a tree she could climb and wait for morning before she could risk moving around again. And that wouldn’t save her from poisonous tree frogs or snakes. Or the predators that would smell her fear or hear her shivering. Aside from the dangers, when the temperature dropped, her perspiration-soaked clothing was going to feel like a cold compress.

But that was hours away. Her immediate problems were heat and thirst. She’d had nothing to drink but a few gulps of water in her cell that morning. And even with the high humidity, she was getting dehydrated from the jungle heat.

She hadn’t crossed any streams, and she knew they would be a risky proposition out here, where she could pick up some nasty parasite while slaking her thirst. But there were hollow vines that were full of water. When she found one, she slashed it off with her penknife and gratefully tipped the cup end to her lips.

She’d taken several swallows when the sound of a branch snapping behind her made her whole body go rigid. Dropping the vine, she made a dash for a nearby thicket. But she didn’t get more than a few feet before a muscular arm hooked itself around her neck.

Before her scream had died away she felt the point of a machete pressed against the small of her back.

“Be still, and you won’t get hurt,” a harsh voice she didn’t recognize instructed in Spanish. She’d been caught, but not by Jorge or Jose.

He was in back of her, so she couldn’t see his face or gauge his resolve. As she breathed in the acrid scent of his sweat, she struggled to keep a lid on her fear. It helped a little to remind herself of her martial arts training. He wouldn’t be expecting any fancy maneuvers on her part. And the first thing to do was make him think she was completely at his mercy. “What are you going to do to me?” she croaked.

Instead of answering, he called out loudly, “I’ve found the woman they’re looking for.”

Moments later he was joined by a friend dressed in the faded cotton trousers and shirts that San Marcos’s peasants wore. He, too, was carrying a machete.

“I’m nothing to you. Please, let me go,” she begged.

The one who held her began to march her toward the road.

“I just want to get back—home.” The last part came out as a choked cry.

“The soldiers want you,” he said, as if that settled the matter. “Vámonos.”

“I’ll pay you,” she tried in desperation.

“We don’t want your money,” the second one answered. “They will be angry with the village if I don’t bring you in. They might burn us out or kill our animals.”

She understood then that there was no use pleading with these men or trying to bribe them. If they didn’t obey the wishes of the soldiers, they would be inviting the wrath of El Jefe.

Her captors gave her no opportunity for escape.

In minutes they emerged from the shade of the jungle onto the hot surface of the road. The van from which she’d escaped was parked a hundred yards or so farther on, and she saw immediately that the soldiers had repaired the flat tire. Jose and Jorge were lounging against the vehicle, one on either side. It did nothing to lift her spirits to find out she’d been slogging through rough terrain half the morning, and they’d been riding along in comfort.

When the villagers delivered her up to Jorge, he gave her a look that was equal parts relief and anger.

“Puta,” he growled, his hands balled into fists. “What the hell do you think you’re doing causing so much trouble? You’re going to be sorry.”

She braced herself for a blow, but none came. Maybe he didn’t want to have to explain how the prisoner had gotten injured. Pivoting away, he honked the horn several times in rapid succession.

When he turned back to her, his anger was under better control. Methodically he began to search her, his hands lingering on her body in a way that made her want to throw up. When he found her knife and the other tools, he gave her a thunderous look.

“This will make the general very angry.”

She raised her chin. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell him your prisoner got away, would you?”

“Why not?” The question was from Jose, who had come around the van to stand behind her.

“Because he won’t be angry only at me. He’s going to wonder why you were careless enough to let a woman in a leg iron slip out of your hands.”

The two men exchanged a quick, whispered conversation. At least Marissa had the satisfaction of knowing she’d rattled them badly. And maybe her ploy would keep them from talking about the morning’s misadventure.

Jorge cuffed her wrists behind her back before he shoved her into the van. The vehicle lurched away in a cloud of exhaust that enveloped the villagers who were standing several yards away watching the spectacle.

* * *

AS JED pressed his foot down on the old Land Rover’s accelerator he was thinking about the two best features of the road to El Jefe’s finca. There were no potholes. And there weren’t any cops on motorcycles who were going to stop him for speeding. Which was a damn good thing, because he was driving as if the devil was in pursuit.

He slowed marginally as he approached a village, alert for cows with a death wish. But at this time of day they were all lazing in the shade while the egrets picked the bugs from their hides.

As soon as he’d cleared the populated area, Jed accelerated again. He’d shown up at Sanchez’s offices in Santa Isabella that morning pretending that he wanted to get together with his old buddy, since they hadn’t connected at the party the other night. He’d been told that the general was at his country estate.

Determining the whereabouts of the female prisoner being held incommunicado had been a little trickier. But he’d been lucky enough to run into one of the men he’d trained six years ago. The fellow had made lieutenant, and he attributed much of his military success to Jed’s guidance.

As they talked about old times and present duties, Jed asked if the general was loading them up with special assignments. He found out that two guards had taken a good-looking blond woman out to the hacienda the previous morning.

With his heart pounding, he’d gotten out of the conversation as quickly as possible. Five minutes later he had hit the road to Sanchez’s estate, trying like hell not to think about what he might find. But he couldn’t stop some pretty vivid pictures from jumping into his mind. He’d once walked into a session when El Jefe had been demonstrating interrogation techniques on prisoners captured from the revolutionary army.

As he sped west the sky turned to navy blue, and the wind began to blow. A tropical storm was rolling in. He hoped it held off until after he arrived at the finca, or the driving rain might slow him to a crawl.

Two miles from the main gate he was stopped at a checkpoint. Again he was damn lucky. It still wasn’t raining, and another of his old comrades was on duty. He was passed through on the assumption that Sanchez knew about the visit. He hoped he didn’t get the guard in too much trouble.

If things were the same as they’d been six years ago, an electrified fence and another guard station were ahead. Jed’s hands tightened on the wheel. Even if they were best buddies, it was doubtful that the sentry up ahead would allow him to pass without authorization from El Jefe.

But what if the general was interrogating his prisoner? If he was busy with Marissa, he’d probably left strict orders not to be disturbed because he wouldn’t want to break the rhythm of the session.

A sick feeling rose in Jed’s throat. Too bad this Land Rover wasn’t armor plated so he could steamroll the guardhouse and hope that Sanchez would come out to investigate the disturbance.

As it turned out, the sentry’s attention wasn’t focused on the road but on the nearby field that El Jefe used for disciplinary action. The trees at the edge of the parade ground bent and swayed. The wind tore at the shirts and trousers of soldiers in the field marching in formation as if preparing for a formal drill. Not likely in a gale condition. No, this was no practice session. He recognized the configuration. It was a firing squad.

His blood turned to ice when he spotted the prisoner being marched to a stake facing the troops. It was Marissa.

Chapter Four

Jed gunned the engine of the Land Rover and barreled through the checkpoint. The wooden arm on the barrier snapped like a fence rail in a hurricane. Behind him he heard the sentry bellowing in surprise, then anger.

“Basta! Or I’ll shoot.”

Jed didn’t stop. Half expecting a volley of machine gun bullets to plow into the vehicle, he kept his foot pressed on the gas. A few seconds later he decided the guard was no fool. El Jefe himself was in an open car on the field. Any shots would endanger the general’s life.

However, Jed was taking no chances. As quickly as he could, he put the troops between himself and the sentry. When the vehicle zoomed onto the grass, their precise formation dissolved into disarray. Some men stopped in their tracks, a few kept marching. Most broke into a run as if they’d been scattered by the rising wind. It would have been comical if Jed had been watching it on a movie screen. But this wasn’t make-believe. It was Marissa’s life.

The only soldiers who weren’t aware of the disturbance were the ones escorting her toward the wooden stake about fifty yards away. Marissa walked between the uniformed men with her head held high and the breeze blowing the hair back from her face. She made it look as if she was the one in charge, not they. What was it costing her to march to her death with such composure?

As he watched, he felt a hard knot of anxiety inside his chest burst into sharp pieces, sending pain stabbing through his lungs. Lord, what if he’d been a few minutes later?

Behind him he could hear Sanchez snapping out angry orders. Then a troop of running feet hammered toward the Land Rover. Jed didn’t wait for the squad to reach him. Screeching to a stop, he jumped out of the vehicle. Marissa wasn’t out of danger yet. Neither was he. But he proceeded with what he hoped looked like unswerving confidence.

“Change of plans,” he barked in Spanish.

At the sound of his voice, the men holding Marissa dropped her arms and whirled.

She was thrown off balance. Swaying in the gale, she turned on shaky legs and stared around uncomprehendingly as if she’d suddenly awakened from a nightmare and wasn’t sure she was really conscious or where she was.

He saw her eyes snap into focus and zero in on him. He wasn’t surprised as they widened the way they always did when the two of them first met. Yet this time he knew there was more behind the look than usual. He saw panic, relief and disbelief all warring with each other.

“Jed?” His name was a mere wisp of sound on her trembling lips.

“Come to get you out of this mess, honey bee.” He was surprised to be struggling with the rough quality of his own voice. Momentarily, he was as shaken as she.

Tottering on shaky legs, she took a step toward him. At the same time she made a tiny, muted sound that was half sob, half exclamation.

Chaos swirled around the two of them. But it seemed to fade into the background. Marissa was the sole focus of his attention. And she was looking at him with the same intensity.

Closing the distance between them in a few sure strides, he caught her in his embrace and held her tightly, achingly aware of how small and fragile she felt. Like a fluttering bird he’d freed from a trap.

She slumped against him. He wasn’t sure when she took hold of his shoulders, but he felt her fingers digging into his flesh so hard that he knew he would see the marks when he got undressed that night. Then her whole body began to tremble.

He bent his head and spoke low and urgently in her ear, glad that the wind gave them a measure of privacy. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he told her, his hands stroking through her hair and up the icy flesh of her arms as he tried to warm her with his touch, tried to project a sense of absolute confidence that he wished he could feel. He’d pictured a dozen harrowing scenarios. But not this. “I’ve got a way to protect you, honey.”

His name sighed out of her once more, drawing his attention to her mouth. It looked so soft, so vulnerable, so exposed that he had to kiss her. Seeing his intent, she stiffened and made a startled exclamation. Afraid she was going to push him away, he tried to hold on to her with his gaze. This was the moment of greatest danger, the moment she could give away the whole shooting match.

“Marci, no.”

She stared up into his eyes, hers so large and questioning that he could have gotten lost in their blue depths. Perhaps he was as dazed as she, because something strange happened. He knew where he was—on the parade ground, surrounded by uniformed soldiers. But the men and their surroundings had faded into the background so that he was conscious only of Marci. He sought something vital from her as his lips moved against her. At the same time he felt his own vulnerability rise to the surface as if he were the one in need of aid and comfort.

In that instant everything changed. The stiffness left her spine, and she went soft and pliant in his arms. In reaction, his emotions changed from protective to hungry. He drank in her sweetness even as she swayed against him, clinging to him like a lost kitten trying to grasp something solid. But he was as lost as she.

Later he realized that it all must have happened in mere seconds. On the field it felt as if they had stepped out of time into a private space of their own. As they clung together, nothing existed for him besides Marissa and the contact of his mouth against hers. His body against hers. The urgent movement of her hands up and down his back.

Her lips opened under his, and he took advantage of the surrender. He tasted passion, heard a low murmur in her throat that made the blood in his veins run hot.

Then in the space of a heartbeat he sensed her change, as he felt her remember who she was and who he was and that there was a reason—whatever it was—that she had never allowed him this close before.

He longed to bring her back to him. Longed to use every lover’s trick he’d ever learned to recapture her heady response, but he realized with a start that they weren’t alone and that a harsh voice had intruded into their reality.

The voice rose above the wind. “Arrest this man.”

Jed’s attention snapped instantly back to the here and now. Marissa went taut in his arms.

Soldiers with guns moved into position around them, cutting off any avenue of escape. But then, Jed had never thought this rescue was going to be easy. Ignoring the troops, he turned and focused on the man who had given the order.

Miguel Sanchez had the grace to look astonished. “Jed?”

“Sé, mi amigo.”

Some of the squad had recognized him, and he heard his name whispered in the circle of startled faces as he shifted Marissa to his side.

“What is the meaning of this?” El Jefe demanded. “What are you doing here interfering in my private business?”

“I apologize for arriving unannounced. But I can’t allow you to execute an innocent woman. Particularly when she’s my fiancée.”

“Your what?” Sanchez bellowed, any pretense of calm vanishing.

Marissa’s reaction was no less violent. Her body jerked in Jed’s arms. Raising her head, she searched his face, her eyes wide and startled. And so tantalizingly beautiful that he was almost undone. But he managed to remember why he was here and why it was so important to hang on to his wits.

“My fiancée. The woman I’m going to marry.” He repeated the words very slowly and very evenly, and not only for Sanchez’s benefit. Marissa needed time to take in the information.

“That’s impossible. She’s a spy!” the general growled. “She escaped into the jungle, and my men had to recapture her.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Do you know who sent her?”

“Nobody sent her. There’s obviously been some kind of mistake,” Jed countered. He’d been acting on pure instinct when he’d driven headlong in front of the troops. Now he looked at the stake that had been waiting for Marissa and was unable to keep from shuddering. “This is no place for a civilized discussion. Why don’t we go back to the hacienda and talk about it before we all get drenched.”

Sanchez nodded—a single, curt movement of his head—and began striding toward his jeep. Jed started to lead Marissa to the Land Rover, but the general’s voice stopped him. “No.” El Jefe spoke over the wind, his voice raised so the assembled troops could hear. “I insist you ride with me, amigo. One of my men will bring your vehicle and put it in the garage.”

Jed didn’t bother to argue. His life and Marissa’s depended on their getting a chance to communicate. But defying Sanchez at this moment was an even surer ticket to destruction.

Marissa still looked dazed as he helped her into the jeep’s back seat. At first she nestled against him like an injured animal. But he felt her coming back to life as El Jefe barked orders to the squad. He sensed her struggling to pull herself together, but there was only so much he could do to help without giving away the story line to their attentive audience. When the jeep lurched forward she sat up straighter and squirmed in the seat, trying to put some distance between them. Jed suspected that his leg pressed to hers was making it difficult for her to think. But he held her firmly, aware that Sanchez kept shifting his gaze from the road to glance with interest in the rearview mirror at the engaged couple in the back seat.

“I was worried about you, honey,” Jed murmured, keeping Marissa close to him and stroking his lips against her temple.

The caress made her shiver, and he wondered if the melting moment in his arms had been a figment of his imagination. No, for a few incredible seconds she’d kissed him like a lover. But he could put that down to disorientation—and a spontaneous reaction to the man who’d snatched her from the jaws of death.

He ached to find out if her surge of emotions had come from more than fear and gratitude. But that discovery would have to wait for another time and place. “I hope you’re feeling more like yourself,” he murmured, knowing the statement was only partly true. Lord, what he wouldn’t give for a few hours with the woman who had come alive in his arms.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” He patted her knee, anticipating her response to the intimate gesture. She jumped, and he knew he had gotten her full attention. As much for Miguel’s benefit as hers, he began to speak in a half amused, half worried voice. “So I leave you alone for a couple of hours and you get yourself in a real mess again. Cassie and Abby and Sabrina and everybody else are going to be worried sick when they hear about this. Or maybe we shouldn’t even tell them.”

Her head whipped toward him. “How do you know—?”

His hand tightened on hers, and he clamped down on her sentence before she could give anything away. “How did I know you were here, honey bee? A combination of detective work and luck.” He raised his voice and addressed Sanchez. “You weren’t really going to shoot my lady love, were you, you old devil?”

“I was still weighing the pros and cons.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“There was always the chance that a last-minute reprieve might loosen her tongue.”

Marissa made a strangled sound.

They were approaching the stretch of jungle that separated the hacienda from the military complex. Miguel turned onto a hard-packed dirt road that wound past banana trees, tall ferns and countless jungle plants Jed couldn’t name. They were all swaying wildly, raining leaves down on the jeep. And the sky was black as midnight. Jed expected the rain to begin pelting them any second.

When Sanchez leaned forward and picked up a portable phone, Jed pressed his fingers tightly over Marissa’s.

She looked at him and nodded. And he knew she was functioning on a higher level. She understood that while the other man’s attention was focused on giving orders for their reception, they had partial privacy. Still, Jed took the precaution of keeping his tone light and garrulous. “Don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s harmless.”

She glanced toward the front seat. “I won’t.”

In the dim light he turned her face toward him. “Did he hurt you?” he whispered.

“Not physically.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “You were in the prison complex in Santa Isabella?”

“Yes. In solitary confinement. I didn’t see a living soul until two men brought me here yesterday.”

Jed glanced up to see that Miguel was staring at them intently in the mirror again. Probably he’d only used the phone call to see what they would do when they thought his attention was elsewhere.

Just then they emerged from the forest. The wind suddenly died and the sun came out again. A good omen, Jed told himself, wishing he believed in omens.

They headed for a high adobe wall softened with festoons of blooming purple and orange bougainvillea. But the metal gate was all business. Jed watched as Sanchez pressed a remote control that slid the barrier open, interested to find that security had become more automated since his time. The modernization could be helpful if they had to make an unexpected getaway. Electronic devices could be disabled.

However, when they passed the dog kennel, his hopeful thoughts turned gloomy. Electronics were one thing. The pack of Dobermans that patrolled the grounds at night was another thing altogether.

The barking of the Dobermans stabbed through the last of the fog shrouding Marissa’s brain. She gave Jed a quick sideways glance, marveling that he could appear so calm. Trying to follow his example, she sat up straighter and looked around, aware of her surroundings with a sudden aching clarity. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, and the whitewashed walls of the hacienda were bathed in the warm afternoon light. The wind had died to a gentle whisper. And she wasn’t dead.

When she shuddered, Jed’s arm tightened around her, and she had the uncanny sensation that he understood what she was feeling.

She looked down, hoping he wasn’t reading everything in her mind. For her own equanimity she struggled to rationalize what had happened between them out there on the field—or more specifically what had happened to her. His part was easy enough to grasp. He was a normal man. She’d tumbled into his embrace, and he’d taken advantage of the situation.

But she’d behaved in a manner that was so totally alien that she could only explain it one way: she’d been living in a nightmare that would end with her own death, and just when she’d lost all hope, Jed had come charging to her rescue. She’d been so off balance that she’d let herself feel things she’d been afraid of for years. Particularly with him. Convulsively, she knit her hands together. Perhaps holding tight to her own flesh could bring back the perfect control she’d relied on for so long.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, and she wondered if he was still following her thoughts.

“Umm.” With Jed’s thigh pressed against hers and his grip firmly on her shoulder, it was impossible to think clearly, but she clamped down hard on her instinctive urge to pull away. She knew Sanchez was watching, and they had to keep playing by the script Jed had tossed her.

He’d told the general that they were engaged! How were they ever going to pull it off? How could they possibly act as if they were madly in love? As if they were lovers? Contemplating that led to memories of his kiss, which made her heart lurch inside her chest. Perhaps the most disturbing thing of all was that she still felt a tingle of awareness between them like a humming electric current. It had started when he’d kissed her, and she wanted to pretend it wasn’t there. But she was coming to realize she couldn’t wish it away.

Jed’s arm was around her shoulder, but he was leaning forward responding to a question from the general. As she switched her focus to the conversation flowing so easily in Spanish, she realized for the first time how close the two men must have been.

“So why didn’t you come to me when Marissa was first apprehended?” Sanchez asked.

“I tried. Ask that undercover man who took her into custody on the patio. He wasn’t letting anyone through to you.”

“He had his orders. But you should have let me know she was your woman.”

Jed laughed. “I remember how you close ranks when you think you’ve been crossed. For all I know, you were going to assume I was part of a plot against you. Then you would have arrested me as well as her. And we’d both be up the creek without a paddle.”

“You’ve got a point,” El Jefe conceded.

The give-and-take between the men continued. Marissa missed a number of allusions that must have referred to events they both remembered well. She didn’t much like being excluded, but she had enough sense to keep her mouth shut and let Jed remind the general of their old bond. She’d rather have the State Department on the job. But Victor Kirkland wasn’t the one who had shown up to win her freedom. It seemed that Victor had tossed her to the wolves, and Jed had stepped in. Perhaps his friendship with the general might be the only thing that would get her out of here.

Or was that what was really going on, she wondered with a sudden little jolt. Jed had appeared out of nowhere like a knight in shining armor. But the rescue could have been staged, too. And he could be counting heavily on her vulnerability.

She swallowed painfully. Were Jed and Sanchez putting on a performance for her? Was this all part of some diabolical plan to get her to talk about what she’d found in the general’s office? Did they think that if she wouldn’t tell Sanchez anything, she’d spill the beans to Jed?

But if he was here to trick her, what about the familiar way he’d mentioned Cassie and Abby and Sabrina? He’d met her sister when they’d all been on an assignment together in Colombia. But he’d never met any of the other women from 43 Light Street. He’d made it sound as if they were all working together to get her out of here. Yet that could be faked, as well—when there was no way to get in touch with anyone whose name he’d mentioned so casually.

She had sense enough to know she was too off balance to make any coherent judgments. Her head swam with plots and counterplots as the jeep pulled up in front of the hacienda, where two guards in dress uniforms snapped to attention. She saw the curtains move at one of the windows and wondered who was watching. Jed helped her out of the jeep and kept his arm around her, guiding her toward the house.

Before they reached the front door, it opened. A teenage girl with long dark hair and liquid brown eyes came hurrying out. She had Miguel’s features, and Marissa remembered that his dossier had mentioned a daughter and a long-dead wife. But there had been hardly any information about either one.

The girl stopped a few feet from the group.

“Clarita, you’re not supposed to be out here,” Sanchez said in a voice that raised the hairs on the back of Marissa’s neck. If he could speak that way to his daughter, what might he do to a female prisoner?

The girl merely shrugged, clearly accustomed to his intimidating manner. “I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t have to follow orders.”

“Everyone in this house follows my orders.”

“Yes. And unfortunately everyone in San Marcos, too.”

It was a dangerous response, Marissa thought as she waited to see what El Jefe would do. She couldn’t imagine he was enjoying this little scene. His face contorted. “We’ll discuss it later.”

The girl looked as if she were about to say something more. At the last moment she turned toward Jed, her expression softening. “You came back to us. I knew you would after I saw you the other night.”

“I have business with your father.”

As the girl’s gaze swung from Jed to Marissa and back again, she went through another rapid change of mood. This time her eyes held a mixture of bewilderment and hurt. “I’m sorry I ran away from you on the patio. I thought you came to see me, and we’d have fun together again. Like in the old days.”

Jed seemed perplexed, no more equipped for this scene than Sanchez. “I do want to see you.”

“Then why do you have your arm around the woman prisoner? Why are you protecting her from my father?”

“Marissa is my fiancée.”

The girl’s expression went from questioning to fury in the space of a heartbeat. “She can’t be.”

“I fell in love with her. And I came here to bring her home.”

“Oh.” Several seconds of silence ticked by before Clarita tipped her head toward Marissa. “Are you good in bed? Is that what he likes about you?”

“That’s enough,” Sanchez roared. “Go to your room this instant before you embarrass yourself further.”

Marissa stood with her cheeks burning while the girl turned and flounced away. Before she reached the house she pulled a hibiscus blossom off a nearby bush, crushed it in her hand and tossed it onto the pavement.

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