Commando
Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my brothers and their families:

Gary, Debby, Brian and Kimberly Gent,

and Brent, Jeanne, Erin and Lauren Gent.

A sister couldn’t get luckier, believe me.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

“Mr. Trayhern, I want my daughter out of the Amazon jungle. Now. No questions asked.”

Morgan Trayhern eyed the man who stood tensely in front of his large desk. Ken Travers, a millionaire real estate developer, wore a Saville Row suit; his black hair was peppered with a few white strands. Right now, he looked angry. Morgan rested his finger against his chin and allowed his instincts to take over. Travers might be rich and influential, but Morgan didn’t like his attitude.

“Mr. Travers—”

“Call me Ken.”

Morgan allowed a brief, perfunctory smile to cross his mouth as he eased forward in his leather chair. He clasped his hands in front of him and rested them on top of his cherrywood desk.

“All right. Ken. Perseus doesn’t do anything without asking a lot of questions first. You come bursting into my office without an appointment, and—”

“Yes, yes, and I apologize.” Travers raked his hand through his short hair, his blue eyes narrowing. “It’s just that my daughter, Shah, has no business being down in the Amazon! She’s headstrong and opinionated.” Travers paced for a moment, halted and pinned Morgan with a glare. “On top of that, she’s half Sioux, and wears it like a damned badge of honor. She calls herself a warrior for Mother Earth. What rubbish! She’s a hellion who goes off half-cocked on ridiculous, fanatical quests.”

“Please, Ken, sit down and let’s discuss this matter intelligently.” Morgan wondered which of his Perseus employees might be available for the assignment. Marie Parker, his intrepid assistant, kept him supplied with a complete, updated list of who was open. Quickly perusing the list, Morgan noted the “not available” status of Wolf Harding, who had recently quit. At least he was happy with his ranger’s job in Montana—and he would be marrying Sarah Thatcher shortly. Marie had penned a date in the margin near Wolf’s name to remind Morgan that he and Laura would be attending that wedding.

Hiding a smile, Morgan’s gaze moved down the list. Killian had requested only American assignments, and low-risk ones at that. Judging from Ken Travers’s agitated state, this potential assignment was probably not low-risk. Besides, Killian was still on his requested three-month leave, working to get his life back together, and Morgan respected that request. With Morgan’s own sister-in-law, Susannah Anderson at his side, and his recent move to Glen, Kentucky, to be with her, Killian’s focus was on the personal right now, anyway.

Morgan was nearly to the end of the list when he noticed that one of his men, Jake Randolph, was due to come in off an assignment today. That meant he’d be checking in with Marie tomorrow morning as a matter of course. Every employee, after coming off an assignment, wrote up a detailed report at the main office to be submitted to Morgan. Then the employee was given two weeks—or more, if he or she requested it—time off to rest and regroup.

Frowning, Morgan sat back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. Jake had been on a brutal assignment in Peru. He’d been responsible for getting all the parties together regarding the contract on Susannah Anderson by José Santiago’s drug cartel. If it hadn’t been for Jake’s brazen approach to Santiago’s estate, demanding that those now in command talk with the Peruvian government, as well as with U.S. officials, the contract would never have been lifted from Susannah’s head. Yes, Jake had clearly been a key to saving Susannah’s life.

Jake would be tired, Morgan knew. He’d risked his life time and again, carrying messages to the drug cartel on behalf of the U.S. government when the cartel officials refused to talk directly. Quickly glancing to the end of the list, Morgan realized that Jake was the only operative potentially free to take this assignment for Travers.

But would he? Morgan looked up at Travers. “I’ve got one of my operatives coming off an assignment tomorrow morning. Why don’t we discuss some of the details of what you want done, and we’ll have a meeting with him tomorrow?”

Travers nodded brusquely. “Fine with me. I just want this thing settled. I want my daughter the hell out of Brazil.”

Chapter One

“Welcome home, Jake,” Marie said with a smile.

Wiping his eyes, Jake Randolph smiled tiredly as he got off the elevator that led directly to the main office of Perseus. “Hi, Marie.” He moved slowly across the thick rose-colored carpeting toward her desk. “Got something you’ve been wanting.”

With a smile, she took his report. “Handwritten, no doubt?”

“Yeah. You know me—I can’t type to save my soul.” He stretched and yawned. “I’m taking that two weeks off. I’m beat.”

“Not so fast,” Marie murmured apologetically. “Morgan left word for you to come directly to him when you came back.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’m afraid he’s got another assignment, and you’re the only person available to take it.”

Jake frowned. “Listen, I’m wiped out from that Peruvian fiasco.”

“I know you are. Just go in and talk to Morgan, will you? There’s a gentleman in there with him. They’ve both been waiting for you to show up.”

Groaning, Jake rubbed his face, which needed a shave. “Okay, but I’m turning it down.”

Marie smiled understandingly and pressed the button on the intercom that sat on her desk.

“Jake is here, Mr. Trayhern. Shall I send him in?”

Jake opened the door to Morgan’s spacious office and entered. Morgan looked up and nodded to him.

“Come in, Jake. Meet Ken Travers. Ken, this is Jake Randolph. Jake’s our Brazilian specialist. He knows Portuguese, the language of the country, and he’s been there on assignment a number of times in the past few years.”

Travers leaped from the couch like an overwound spring and held his hand out.

“Mr. Randolph.”

Jake sized up the lean, restless-looking businessman, taking an immediate dislike to him. It was an intuitive thing, Jake thought as he extended his hand to shake Travers’s manicured one. Intuition had saved his life on a number of occasions, and he wasn’t about to dismiss a gut feeling.

“Mr. Travers.”

Jake turned to Morgan, whose face showed no expression. Not unusual, Jake thought—Morgan knew how to keep his feelings hidden until the proper time. Jake noted Travers’s expensive suit, his perfect haircut, the gold watch on his wrist—and his arrogance. Hiding a wry smile at the thought, Jake realized that he must look like a country bumpkin by comparison. He wore jeans, rough-out boots and an off-white fisherman-knit sweater. November in Washington, D.C., was cold, and there was a threat of snow today.

“Have a seat.” Morgan gestured to a wing chair positioned to one side of his desk.

Jake nodded, his attention still on Travers. There was a feeling of electricity in the air, and it was coming from him. Jake had learned a long time ago to say little and observe a lot. Travers was pacing like a caged animal, his hands behind his back and his brow furrowed. His full mouth was set in a line of decided aversion. But aversion to whom? Morgan? Him? Probably both of them, he surmised.

Marie, dressed in her tasteful and conservative navy suit with white piping, came in moments later bearing a silver tray that contained coffee and a plate of cookies for the three men. She set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Please call my wife,” Morgan told her, “and tell her I have to cancel my luncheon date with her.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I order in the usual lunch from the restaurant?” Marie asked.

Morgan glanced over at Jake. “Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thanks. My stomach’s still on Peruvian time.”

Morgan grinned. “How about you, Ken? Hungry?”

“No!”

“Just bring me the usual,” he told his assistant.

“Yes, sir.” Marie gave Travers a deadly look, turned and left.

Jake was fascinated by Travers’s snappish mood. He was like a pit bull waiting to eat someone alive. Fighting jet lag, Jake got up and ambled over to the coffee table, where Morgan was already helping himself to a cup of coffee. He needed help keeping himself awake. Originally he’d planned to drop his report off at Morgan’s office and then make his way home to his condo in Alexandria, Virginia, not far from the office that he used only when necessary. Jake’s real home was located in Oregon.

Travers paced while the two men got their respective cups of coffee and sat down again. Jake saw amusement in Morgan’s eyes, and he realized the look was for him alone. With a slight nod, Jake spread out his long legs in front of him. Holding the dainty gold-edged white china cup in one of his large, scarred hands, a cookie in the other, he leaned back and relaxed.

“Ken, why don’t you start from the beginning?” Morgan suggested, sipping the black, fragrant Brazilian coffee.

Agitated, Travers came to a halt, his hands planted imperiously upon his hips. “I just don’t like having Mr. Randolph here. This is strictly private.”

“Mr. Travers,” Morgan told him, his voice a deep rumble, “if you want Perseus to help you, we need to know the facts. Furthermore, I’m not sure we can help you. You’re in luck that Jake is here, because, if we decide to take your case, Jake will be the man sent on the mission. So why don’t you sit down and start from the beginning?”

Jake watched as Travers vacillated. The man acted as if he were going to explode.

“Very well.” Travers strode to the couch and sat down, his spine as rigid as the rest of him.

“My daughter, Shah Sungilo Travers, is down in Brazil. She’s thirty years old, and a damned fanatic!”

Morgan tipped his head. “Fanatic? In what sense of the word?”

Grinding his closed fist into the palm of his hand, Travers snapped, “She’s a damned ecology fanatic. She’s down there in the midst of all the hell breaking loose about the Amazon Basin trees being cut down. Global warming, and all that scientific garbage. Shah could be killed!”

“How long has she been down there?” Morgan asked.

“Three months.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “And you’re just getting around to asking for help?”

Travers scowled, and his gaze dropped to his expensive-looking black leather shoes. “I didn’t know. I—Oh, hell, I’m divorced from Shah’s mother. I happened to be in Rapid City, South Dakota, on business, and I decided to drive out to the Rosebud Sioux reservation to visit Shah, who lives with her mother. But she wasn’t there. That’s when I found out she’d galloped off on another damned windmill-tilting adventure. Only this time it’s to Brazil, and it could get her killed.”

Travers stood up, his voice tight. “I want her out of there. She’s in danger. It’s that Sioux blood of hers. She loves a fight. She sees herself as a protector. A steward, she says.”

Jake sat up, his interest piqued. A woman with Sioux blood and an unusual name like Shah interested him. But the picture Travers was painting didn’t sound quite accurate. He gave Morgan a searching look.

“You can ask him anything you want,” Morgan said, reading the question in Jake’s eyes before he could voice his request.

“Mr. Travers, if your daughter is thirty years old, she’s old enough to realize if she’s in danger or not,” Jake pointed out.

Travers gave him a withering look of pure disgust. “You don’t know my headstrong daughter, Mr. Randolph. This isn’t the first time Shah has been in the thick of things. Her mother named her Shah Sungilo, which means Red Fox in the Sioux language. She’s got a temper to match any fox’s red coat, and she’s as clever as the damned animal she’s named after.” And then, with a snort, Travers added, “You’d think she would pick some worthwhile cause, and not put her life on the line for some lousy trees in Brazil!”

“What’s her educational background?” Jake asked, realizing he wasn’t going to get many facts from Travers under the circumstances. The man was clearly fit to be tied. But who was he angry at? Shah? Jake could understand a father being concerned about his daughter possibly being in danger, but where was this anger coming from? His gut told him there was a hidden agenda here, but could he get it out of Travers?

“Although she was born on the Sioux reservation, my daughter has had the finest education my money could buy. She has a master’s degree in biology from Stanford University in California. I tried to persuade her to go after her Ph.D., but she said there was no time left, that Mother Earth was dying. Hell!” Travers raked his fingers through his hair again. “She’s got her mother’s firebrand temper and stubbornness. She’s bullheaded and won’t listen to anyone!”

He turned away and stared out the windows at the distant city. “Shortly after I divorced Shah’s mother, I went to court to have my ex-wife pronounced an unfit mother. I didn’t want my daughter raised on a Depression-level Indian reservation. Unfortunately, my ex-wife won. Shah spent the first eighteen years of her life on a damned reservation. What kind of place is that? They’re backward there. Shah’s mother is a medicine woman, and she forced Shah to live the old ways of her people. She was raised a heathen—never baptized. I should have—”

“Your daughter is a biologist down in Brazil,” Jake said impatiently. “Is she on an assignment?”

“Yes. For a television station in Los Angeles that has paid her to investigate the destruction of the tropical rain forest in Brazil. Shah is an environmental activist. She thrives on confrontation.” He shook his head. “She just won’t back down.”

Jake cast a look at Morgan, who was listening intently. “In a businessman, those attributes are often applauded,” he noted mildly.

Travers glared at him. “Believe me, I tried to force my daughter to follow in my footsteps, but she didn’t want anything to do with real estate. I tried to tell her it was about land, which she’s so close to, but she said no Indian would ever sell the land, because it isn’t ours to sell. She asked me one time, ‘How can you sell Mother Earth? We’re her children. All we can do is steward, not greedily buy and sell it.’ Can you imagine? My own daughter calling me greedy because I buy and sell land?”

“Sounds like a cultural difference of opinion,” Morgan murmured.

Jake liked Shah’s attitude. He didn’t particularly care for greedy people, whatever their business. “What makes you think your daughter’s in trouble?” he asked.

Travers snorted and came over to them. He put his hands on his hips. “Shah goes out of her way to get into trouble. This isn’t the first time, you know. She married that no-good half-breed Sioux when I told her not to—that it was a mistake. Well, it turned out to be one hell of a mistake. Shah’s divorced from him now, but she had to be put in the hospital by that alcoholic husband of hers before she came to her senses.” He nailed Jake with a dark look. “My daughter lives for confrontation. Being physically attacked doesn’t bother her. It’s almost as if she expects it. Well, I’ve put too much money into her education to let her waste it, or herself, on some damned trees in the Amazon!”

“Calm down, Ken,” Morgan ordered. “Do you know what her exact assignment in Brazil is?”

“No. As I said, I just found out from my ex-wife that Shah left a month ago for Brazil.”

“And what do you want us to do?” Morgan asked quietly.

“Bring her home! Get her out of there!”

“If she has a valid passport, approved by the Brazilian government, and she wants to stay, there’s nothing we can do,” Jake pointed out.

“Kidnap her, then!”

Morgan grimaced. “Mr. Travers, we’re not in the kidnapping business. We’re in the business of providing protection and help to those who ask for it. But in this case, your daughter isn’t asking us for help, you are.”

“I can’t believe this! I’ll pay you any amount of money to bring her out of Brazil! Shah should be home!”

Ordinarily, so soon after returning from a mission, Jake would be falling asleep in his chair, but this time he wasn’t. He liked what he heard about Shah—a woman who evidently believed deeply and passionately in something beyond herself. It was too bad more Americans didn’t have that kind of commitment.

“Maybe,” Jake said, glancing over at Morgan, “I could go down there and be a bodyguard of sorts.” He turned to Travers. “I won’t bring back your daughter against her will. Kidnapping is against the law in every nation in the world. What I can do is be there to protect her if she gets into trouble.”

Morgan nodded. “Okay, that’s what we can do, Mr. Travers. Jake is ideal for the mission, and I don’t see a problem in him being a bodyguard for your daughter. What I want you to understand is, Jake won’t haul her out of Brazil unless she wants to go.”

Looking defeated, Travers spun on his heel. “I guess it’s better than nothing,” he muttered. He halted and turned his head in Jake’s direction. “But I want you to do your damnedest to convince her to leave Brazil as quickly as possible. Can you do that?”

With a shrug, Jake finished off the last of the coffee and cookie. “No promises, Mr. Travers. Your daughter is an adult, mature and educated enough to know what she’s doing. All I can do is wage a diplomatic campaign to try to get her to see your side of the issue.”

“Then,” Travers said unhappily, “I guess that’s what I’ll have to settle for.” He took a photo out of his wallet and handed it to Morgan. “That’s my daughter. You’ll need to know what she looks like.”

Morgan got up and came around the desk. “My assistant will have a number of papers for you to fill out and sign. She’ll take you to another office to complete them. When you’re done, we’ll talk some more.”

“Fine.”

Jake watched Travers leave. Marie entered with Morgan’s box lunch and set it on his desk. When she’d left, Jake stood up and placed his coffee cup on the silver tray.

“That guy has problems,” Jake began seriously. He returned to his chair by Morgan’s desk. Curiosity was eating him alive as he leaned forward to look at the small color photo of Shah Sungilo Travers.

Morgan smiled. “I don’t care for his abrasive attitude, that’s for sure. Go on, take a look at her.”

Jake picked up the photo and studied it intently. Shah looked Native American, from her braided black hair to her light brown eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth and oval-shaped face. The photo was a close-up, but Jake could see that she was wearing a deerskin dress that was beaded and fringed. In her hair was a small eagle feather, along with several other decorations that hung to one side of her head. Her braids were wrapped in some kind of fur.

“She looks like she stepped out of the past,” Jake said, more to himself than to Morgan.

“Doesn’t she?”

“If she’s half-white, she doesn’t look it.”

Morgan nodded and continued slowly eating his sandwich. “You looked interested, Jake,” he noted after he swallowed.

“Maybe.”

With a chuckle, Morgan wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “That’s one of your many traits that I like, Jake—you’re noncommittal.”

Jake had to admit that he was feeling anything but noncommittal as he continued to study the photograph of Shah. She wasn’t smiling; she had a very thoughtful look on her face. Pride radiated from her in the way she stood, shoulders squared, with a glint of defiance in her wide, intelligent eyes. But there was something else, something that Jake sensed and felt but couldn’t put his finger on. What was it? Was that a haunted look he saw in her eyes?

“I wonder how old she was when this photo was taken.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.” Jake laid the photo back on Morgan’s desk. “Travers is hiding something from us,” he said.

“I think so, too.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know.” Morgan offered Jake some potato chips. Jake took a handful and munched methodically, frowning as he considered the question.

“Travers seems more angry than anything else,” Morgan offered.

“Not exactly what I’d call the concerned-parent type,” Jake agreed dryly.

“He’s posturing, that’s for sure,” Morgan said. “It’s obvious he’s a real controller and manipulator.”

Jake chuckled. “Yeah, and it sounds like his daughter rebelled very early on and leads her life the way she sees fit.”

“Travers is also prejudiced against Indians.”

“Noticed that, did you?” Jake rolled his eyes.

“I know you’re a walking encyclopedia of knowledge….” Morgan said.

“I prefer to think of myself as a philosopher,” Jake corrected, “despite being an ex-marine.”

“And a mercenary,” Morgan added. “So how much do you know about Indians?”

“Native Americans is the preferred term,” Jake noted. “A little. Enough to realize that Shah is like some of the younger generation of Native Americans who are trying to reclaim their heritage. Her fierce pride isn’t unusual.”

“Ever been on a reservation?”

“Once, a long time ago. I had a marine friend who was Navajo, and I went home with him for Christmas one year. His folks lived near Gallup, New Mexico, and they had a hogan made out of wood and mud. I stayed with them for nearly two weeks, and learned a hell of a lot.”

“You had a good experience?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like Travers didn’t.”

“Travers,” Jake intoned, “would hate anything or anyone who disagreed with him or got in his way.”

With a grin, Morgan finished off his sandwich. “Once Travers fills out the papers, I’m going to have a security check run on him.”

“Good idea. He looks a little too slick to me—one of those greedy eighties business types.”

“Sounds like his daughter is just the opposite of him—clear ethics, strong morals, and decided values.”

“I agree.”

“So, if all of our info comes back in order on Travers, do you want to be a bodyguard for a while?”

Jake shrugged. He tried to appear nonchalant, but his protective feelings had been aroused. He looked down at the photo. “Yeah, I’ll go to Brazil and see what’s going down.”

“She’s a very pretty young woman.”

“The earthy type,” Jake agreed.

Jake sat there for a long time, simply feeling his way through the photo of Shah. There was an ageless quality to her, as if all the generations of the Sioux people were mirrored in her classic Indian features. She didn’t have a common kind of model’s prettiness, but Jake never went for that cookie-cutter type, anyway. He liked women who had their own special and unique features. Character, as far as he was concerned, should be reflected on a person’s face, and Shah’s face intrigued him.

Unconsciously he rubbed his chest where his heart lay.

“Memories?” Morgan asked quietly, breaking the comfortable silence of the office.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Jake loved Morgan like a brother. They had both served as marines, and that bound them in an invisible way. Once a marine, always a marine—that was the saying. Even though they hadn’t served together, they’d come from the same proud service. Marines stuck together, and supported each other and their families. Maybe that was why Jake liked working for Morgan so much—he understood Jake’s tragic loss, and, like any marine brother, supported him as much as possible.

He gave Morgan a quick glance. “Bess was always spunky, too,” he whispered, his voice strained. “Shah kinda reminds me of my wife in some ways.”

“You always want me to give you assignments that deal with drugs,” Morgan said. “This one won’t involve drug trafficking.”

“It’s okay.” Jake tried to shake off the old grief that still clung to his heart. “Maybe I need a change of pace. Something different.”

“I feel this assignment may be more than it appears to be on the surface,” Morgan warned him.

“What else do I have to do with my life?” Jake said, pretending sudden joviality. “Go home to an empty log house? Sit and watch a football game and drink a beer? No plants in the house. No animals…” No family. No wife. Not anymore. The grief grew within him, and he got up, rubbing his chest again. He saw Morgan’s face, which was no longer expressionless. Morgan knew about personal loss as few men ever would. Jake stood there, unable to put into words the feelings unraveling within him.

“Well,” Morgan said softly, “maybe it would do you good to have this kind of assignment, then.” He attempted a smile.

“Where you’ll be going, there’ll be plenty of plants and animals.”

Jake nodded and moved to the windows. The November sky was cloudy, and it looked like either rain or the first snowfall of the year for the capital. “Brazil is having their springtime,” he said, as much to himself as to Morgan. “It’ll be the dry season down there, and the jungle will be survivable.”

“Just make sure you survive this mission,” Morgan growled.

Jake rubbed his jaw. “I always survive. You know that.”

Morgan nodded, but said nothing.

Jake turned toward him. “You’ve got a funny look on your face, boss.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah.”

With a slight smile, Morgan said, “Well, maybe I’m hoping that Shah and her situation can lighten the load you’ve been carrying by yourself for so long, that’s all.”

Jake halted at the desk. “Well, time heals all, right?”

Morgan sat back. “Time has been a healing force for me, Jake. I hope it will be for you, too.”

With a grimace, Jake ran his finger along the highly polished surface of Morgan’s desk. “You know what William Carlos Williams said about time? He said, ‘Time is a storm in which we are all lost.’ I agree with him. I’ve never felt so lost since Bess’s and the kids’ deaths.”

“I know.”

Jake forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Well, who knows? Maybe this storm surrounding Shah will be good for me. It can’t get any worse.”

Chapter Two

Manaus was the Dodge City of Brazil, Jake decided as he left the seedy-looking gun shop. Less than an hour ago, he’d stepped off the plane into the sweltering noontime heat that hung over the city. Now, standing on a cracked and poorly kept sidewalk outside the shop, Jake looked around. Disheveled houses, mostly shacks, lined both sides of the busy street. Odors in the air ranged from automobile pollution to ripe garbage to the muddy scent of the two mighty rivers that met near the city.

Sweat was rolling off Jake, but that wasn’t anything new to him. Manaus sat at the edge of the Amazon Basin, home to one of the largest rain-forest jungles in the world. Rubber trees had been the cause of Manaus’s rise to fame—and its downfall. Once chemical companies had learned to make synthetic rubber better than what the trees of the Amazon Basin provided, the city’s boom had ground to a halt, leaving Manaus destitute.

Jake flagged down a blue-and-white taxi and climbed in.

“Take me to the docks. I need to hire a boat to take me down the Amazon,” he said in Portuguese to the old man who drove the cab.

Nodding, the driver grinned and turned around.

Jake sagged back against the lumpy rear seat as the cab sped off. The asphalt highway leading to the docks was bumpy at best. Not much had changed in Manaus, Jake decided. Skinny brown children with black hair and brown eyes played along the edge of the road. Dilapidated houses lined the avenue. Although Manaus was struggling to come out of the mire of depression that had hit it so long ago, it had remained intrinsically a river town, filled with a colorful assortment of characters, greedy money-seekers willing to turn a quick dime and the now-impoverished “wealthy” who had depended upon their income from the rubber trees to keep them that way.

The docks came into view after about half an hour. Up ahead, Jake could see the wide, muddy ribbons of the Solimoes and the Rio Negro coming together to create the enormous Amazon. A number of boats—some small, some fairly large—dipped and bobbed, their prows either resting on the muddy river bank or tied off with frayed pieces of rope to some rotting wooden post on one of the many run-down wharves. As the taxi screeched to a halt, Jake paid the driver in cruzeiros, Brazil’s currency, and climbed out. His only piece of luggage was a canvas duffel bag that was filled, though only partially, with clothes and other essential survival items.

Standing off to one side where the asphalt crumbled to an end and the muddy slope began, Jake reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a large knife encased in a black leather sheath. He put the scabbard through his belt loop and made sure it rode comfortably behind his left elbow. Tying a red-and-white handkerchief around his throat to use to wipe the sweat from his face, Jake rummaged in the duffel bag again and came up with a few badly crumpled American dollars that he’d stuffed away in a side pocket.

Recession had hit Brazil big-time, and over the past few years inflation had risen from three hundred to six hundred percent. One American dollar was worth hundreds of cruzeiros, and Jake knew he’d have no trouble finding a willing skipper to take him where he wanted to go if he showed he had American money.

Jake also had a huge wad of cruzeiros stashed in a hidden leg pouch. Americans weren’t common in Brazil, and those who did come were seen by the local populace as being very rich. Jake wasn’t about to become one of the robbery or murder statistics on a local police roster. Manaus was a wide-open city, and it paid for any foreigner to be watchful and take nothing for granted. All of Brazil’s large cities held areas of homes surrounded by huge wrought-iron fences, sometimes ten feet tall, to protect them from thievery, which was rampant in Brazil.

Pulling the leather holster that contained a nine-millimeter Beretta out of his bag, Jake strapped it around his waist. He wanted the holster low, so that he could easily reach the pistol. Because of the constant high humidity, Jake wore khaki pants and a short-sleeved white shirt, already marked with sweat.

Looking around from his position just above the muddy bank of the river, Jake smiled faintly. The cottony white clouds, heavy with moisture, barely moved above the jungle that surrounded Manaus. The noontime sun was rising high in the pale blue sky, shafting through the fragments of clouds. As Jake zipped up the duffel and slung it across his shoulder, he knew that for the next couple of days he’d be adjusting to the brutal combination of ninety-degree temperatures and ninety-percent humidity.

He heard cawing and looked up. A flight of red-and-yellow macaws flew across the river, barely fifty feet above the surface. They looked like a squadron of fighter jets, their long tails and colorful feathers in sharp contrast with the sluggish brown headwaters. Watching his step, Jake gingerly made his way down to what appeared to be the most seaworthy craft available, a small tug. The captain was dressed in ragged cutoffs. His legs were skinny and brown. His feet were large in comparison to his slight build, and he wore no shirt, pronounced ribs showing on his sunken chest. He was balding, and his brown eyes turned flinty as Jake approached.

“I need a ride,” he called to the captain, “to a Tucanos village about three hours down the Amazon. Think that tub will make it that far?”

The captain grinned, showing sharp and decayed teeth. “This boat of mine isn’t called the Dolphin for nothin’. She floats even when we have the floods!”

Jake stood onshore, haggling with the captain over the price of such a trip. In Brazil, everyone bargained. Not to engage in such efforts was considered rude. Finally, when Jake flashed a five-dollar American bill in the captain’s face, negotiations stopped. The captain grabbed the money and held out his hand to Jake, a big, welcoming grin splitting his small face.

“Come aboard.”

With an answering grin, Jake hefted himself onto the small tug. It had once been red and white, but lack of care—or more probably lack of money—had prevented upkeep on the paint. With a practiced eye, Jake slowly walked the forty-foot tug, checking for leaks.

“You know the name of this village?” the captain called as he slid up onto a tall chair that was bolted to the deck in front of the wooden wheel.

“Yeah, they call it the village of the pink dolphins.”

Nodding sagely, the skipper waved to the children onshore, who, for a few coins, would untie the tug and push it away from the wharf. “I know the village. There’s a Catholic hospital and mission there.”

Jake dropped his duffel bag on the deck and moved up front as the tug chugged in reverse. The hollow sound of the engine, and the blue smoke pouring from it, permeated the humid air. Narrow strips of wooden planking served as benches along the tug’s port and starboard sides. Jake sat down near the captain and looked out across the bow.

“What else do you know about the village?” Jake asked.

The captain laughed and maneuvered the tug around so that the bow was now pointed toward the huge expanse of the headwaters, which were nearly a mile in width. “We hardly ever see an American who speaks fluent Portuguese.” The man eyed the gun at Jake’s side. “You go for a reason, eh?”

“Yeah.” Jake decided the skipper wasn’t going to answer his question—at least not on the first try.

The crystal-clear tea-colored water of the Solimoes was beautiful in its clarity. Its color was caused by the tannin contained in the tree roots along its banks, which seeped out and tinted the water a raw umber. The Solimoes’s temperature was far lower than the Rio Negro’s. As a result, the river’s depths were clear, icy and pretty in comparison to the milky brown waters of the warmer Rio Negro, which Jake could see beginning to intersect it up ahead. Soon, the water surface around the tug mingled patches of tea-colored water with lighter, muddied water, reminding Jake of a black-and-white marble cake Bess used to bake.

“They say there’s trouble at that village,” the captain said as he maneuvered his tug against the powerful currents of the two rivers mixing beneath them.

So the skipper was going to answer him, if obliquely. Jake was pleased. “What kind of trouble?”

The captain shrugged his thin shoulders, his hands busy on the wheel as he kept the tug on a straight course for the Amazon River. “Pai Jose—Father Jose—who runs the Catholic mission there at the village, is said to have trouble. That’s all I know.”

Rubbing his jaw, which needed a shave, Jake nodded. He knew that the Catholic missionaries had had a powerful influence all over South America. The Indians had been converted to Catholicism, but the numerous missions along the rivers of the Amazon Basin were places not only of worship, but also of medical help—often the only places such help was available.

“You know this priest?” Jake asked.

“Pai Jose is balding,” the skipper said, gesturing to his own shining head, “like me. He’s greatly loved by the Indians and the traders alike. If not for his doctoring, many would have died over the years.” The skipper wrinkled his nose. “He is a fine man. I don’t like what I hear is happening at the Tucanos village where he has his mission.”

Jake ruminated over the information. Communications in this corner of the world were basically nonexistent outside of Manaus, except by word-of-mouth messages passed from one boat skipper to another. Few radios were used, because the humidity rusted them quickly in the tropical environment. Was Shah involved with Pai Jose? Was she even at the village? Jake didn’t know—the information Travers had provided was sparse.

“They doing a lot of tree-cutting in this area?” Jake wanted to know.

“Yes!” The man gestured toward the thick jungle crowding the banks of the Amazon. “It brings us money. My tug is used to help bring the trees out of the channels along the Amazon to the Japanese ships anchored near Manaus.”

It was a booming business, Jake conceded—and the money it supplied could mean the difference between survival and death to someone like the skipper.

“Besides,” the man continued energetically as he brought the tug about thirty feet away from the Amazon’s bank, where the current was less fierce, “the poor are streaming out of the cities to find land. They must clear the trees so that they can grow their own vegetables. No,” he said sadly, “the cities are no place for the peasants. They are coming back, and we need the open land. Manaus no longer needs the rubber trees, and the farmers need the land. So, it is a good trade-off, eh?”

Jake didn’t answer. He knew that the terrible poverty of Brazil, both inside and outside the cities, was genuine. Here and there along the muddy banks he could see small thatched huts made of grasses and palm leaves. Curious children, dressed in ragged shorts or thin, faded dresses, ran out to stare at them. He looked out across the enormous expanse of the Amazon. It made the Mississippi River look like a trickle.

“Look!” the skipper shouted with glee. “Dolphins!”

Sure enough, Jake saw three gray river dolphins arc into the air then disappear. They were playful, and soon they saw many more.

“This is a good sign,” the skipper said, beaming. “Dolphins always bring luck. Hey! If you are truly lucky, you may get to see a pink dolphin near that village! They are very rare.”

“What do the Indians say about pink dolphins?” Jake was enjoying the antics of the sleek, graceful gray animals that were now following the tug, playing tag.

“There is an old legend that if a pink dolphin falls in love with a beautiful young village girl, he will, at the time of the full moon, turn into a handsome youth. Once he has legs and lungs, he leaves the river to court this beautiful girl. He will lie with the girl, get her with child, then walk back into the water to become a pink dolphin again. A girl who has such an experience is said to be blessed.”

Jake wondered about that legend, but said nothing. The legend could have been created to explain a young girl’s sudden and unexpected pregnancy. Heaving a sigh, he allowed himself to relax. There was nothing to do for the next two and a half hours, until they reached the village. Stretching out on the narrow wooden seat, Jake decided to see if he could catch some badly needed sleep.

“Hey!” the skipper called. “We’re here!”

Groggily Jake sat up. He was damp with sweat. He untied his neckerchief and mopped his face and neck. The tug was slowing, the engine’s forward speed checked as they aimed at a dilapidated wooden dock where several Tucanos children waited.

Wiping sleep from his eyes, Jake stood up and rapidly sized up the small village huts thatched with palm fronds. The tall trees of the Amazon still lined the riverbanks, but just inside them the land had been cleared for homes for the Tucanos. He counted roughly fifty huts, and saw a number of Indian women near fires tending black iron cooking kettles. The women were dressed in colorful cotton dresses, their black hair long and their feet bare. The children raced around, barely clad. The short, barrel-chested, black-haired men held blowguns. Machetes hung on belts around many of their waists.

The odor of wood smoke combined with the muddy stench of the river. As the tug gently bumped the dock, Jake could also smell fish frying. About a dozen Tucanos children gathered, wide-eyed as Jake leaped from the tug to the dock. He set his duffel bag down on the gray, weathered surface of the poorly made dock.

“How can I get a ride back up the river to Manaus?” he asked the skipper.

Grinning toothily, the skipper pointed to the village. “Pai Jose has a radio. He knows the name of my tug. He can call the wharf at Manaus, and someone will find me.”

That would have to be good enough, Jake thought. He lifted his hand to the skipper and turned to find the Indian children looking solemnly up at him, curiosity shining in their dark brown eyes. They were beautiful children, their brown skin healthy-looking, their bodies straight and proud. He wondered if Shah, because of her native ancestry, felt at home in the village.

“Pai Jose?” he asked them.

“Sim! Sim!” Yes! Yes! The oldest, a boy of about ten, gestured for Jake to follow him.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Jake followed the boy through the village. The ground consisted of a whitish, powdery clay base that rose in puffs around his boots. Most of the village was in the shade of the trees overhead, and the smoke purled and made shapes as it drifted through the leafy barrier. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the trees here and there, and Jake’s skin burned. Tropical sunlight was fierce.

A well-worn path through the vegetation wound away from the village and up a small incline onto a rounded hill that overlooked the river, and Jake could see a rectangular adobe brick structure near the top of it. Palm trees, both short and tall, bracketed the path. The calling of birds was nonstop, and sometimes, Jake would catch sight of one flitting colorfully through the brown limbs and green leaves of the thousands of trees.

The path opened into a small, grassy clearing. At the other end was the mission. It wasn’t much, in Jake’s opinion—just a grouping of three or four structures with a white cross on the roof of the largest building. That had to be the church. The place was well kept, and the path obviously had been swept, probably with a palm-leaf broom. Pink, white and red hibiscus bloomed around the buildings in profusion. Orchids hung down from the trees, turning the air heady with their cloying perfume.

Just as the Indian boy stopped and pointed at the church, Jake heard angry, heated voices. One was a woman’s. He turned, keying his hearing to the sound. Giving the boy a few coins in thanks, Jake set his duffel bag on the ground and followed the sound. Turning the corner, he spotted a small wooden wharf down by the river, with several canoes pulled up onshore nearby. Five people stood on the wharf.

Frowning, Jake lengthened his stride down the sloping path. As he drew closer, he recognized Shah Travers in the center of the group. His heart started to pound, and it wasn’t because of the suffocating humidity or because of fear. Shah was tall—much taller than he’d expected. Her hair hung in two black, shining braids that stood out against the short-sleeved khaki shirt she wore. Mud had splattered her khaki trousers, and she wore calf-high rubber boots that were also covered with the thick, gooey substance.

What was going down? Jake saw the Catholic priest, an older man with wire-rimmed glasses, dressed in white pants and a shirt, plus his clerical collar, standing tensely. The other three made Jake uneasy. Two of them looked like goons hired by the well-dressed third man. Shah’s husky voice was low with fury, and he couldn’t catch what she said, but she was squaring off with the man in the light suit and white panama hat.

“I will not stay off that land!” Shah told Hernandez heatedly. “You can’t make me!”

Hernandez’s thin-lipped smile slipped. He touched the lapel of his cream-colored linen suit, where a small purple-and-white orchid boutonniere had been placed. “You have no choice, Miss Travers! That is my land, and I can do whatever I please with it—and that includes cutting down the trees!”

Shah tried to control her anger over the confrontation. She saw both of Hernandez’s bodyguards come forward, trying to intimidate her. Well, it wouldn’t work! She was aware that Pai Jose was wringing his hands, wanting to make peace. Her own heart was pounding with fear. She dreaded this kind of conflict. She’d been raised in a family of screaming and shouting, and she hated it.

“Look,” she said between gritted teeth, “you can’t stop me from going onto that land! I know my rights, and I know Brazil’s laws!”

Hernandez glowered down at her. “You are impertinent, Miss Travers. You Americans think you can come down here and cause trouble. Well, you can’t! I forbid you to come into the area where we are going to log.” He turned and looked at his men. “And if you so much as set foot on my land, I can assure you, my men will take care of you!”

Permanently, Shah thought. Before she could respond, the larger of the two men, a blond, German-looking hulk, moved forward. He gripped her by the collar of her shirt. Gasping, Shah froze momentarily. She heard Pai Jose give a cry of protest.

“Please,” Pai Jose begged, “this isn’t—”

Suddenly a hand appeared on the hulk’s shoulder. “Now, where I come from, you treat a lady like a lady,” the new man growled, pinching the man’s thick muscles enough to let the lout know he meant business.

Shah’s eyes widened considerably. Who was this man? Confusion clashed with her shock. He was tall. Taller than any of them, and bigger, too, if that was possible. Momentary fear sent a frisson of warning through her. He looked like an American, yet he’d spoken in fluent Portuguese. Her heart pounding hard in her chest, Shah gulped. His face was rugged and lined. When her gaze flew to his, something happened. Her heart snagged, a rush of wild feelings tunneling through her. His gray eyes were narrowed and nearly colorless, and for a brief second, Shah saw them thaw and felt an incredible sense of safety.

Instantly her heart and head denied those feelings. Men didn’t protect, they abused. “Get your hand off me!” she snapped at the blond man, and started to take a step back.

Jake jerked the hulk’s shoulder just enough to force him to release Shah. The other bodyguard, a leaner, meaner-looking man, whirled toward him, his hand on the butt of the machete he carried in a long leather sheath at his side.

“Now,” Jake drawled in Portuguese, “I don’t think any of us should behave like ruffians, do you? This is a lady, and we have a priest here. I know you boys have manners. How about showing them to me?” Jake stepped away, his hand moving to the butt of his Beretta in a not-so-subtle warning that didn’t go unnoticed.

Hernandez hissed a curse and spun around. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Jake smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Both goons were statues, waiting for orders from their thin Brazilian boss. “I’m Ms. Travers’ bodyguard,” he said levelly.

Shah’s mouth fell open. “You’re what?” The word came out like a croak.

“Darlin’, you stay out of this for now. This is male business.”

Shah’s mouth snapped shut. Fury shot through her. “Why—”

Jake barely turned his head. “Pai Jose, why don’t you take Miss Travers back to the mission? I’ll finish the conversation with these boys alone.”

Hernandez jerked a look toward Shah. “A bodyguard?”

“Well, you’ve got a couple, from the looks of it,” Jake pointed out mildly, giving Hernandez a lazy smile. “Why shouldn’t she have one?”

“Well—” Hernandez sputtered, then glared at Shah. “It won’t do you any good! You hire this, this American pig, and—”

“Hernandez, I didn’t hire him!” Shah protested, straightening her shirt and collar. Who was he? Too much was at stake, and she wasn’t about to get away from the point of Hernandez’s unexpected visit. “And even if I did, I would still go onto that parcel of land where you’re going to cut down the rain forest trees. It’s my right to film anything I want. You can’t stop me.”

Jake saw Shah’s cheeks flush. Her skin was glistening from the humidity, and she was simply breathtaking. Her body was ramrod-straight, her shoulders were thrown back proudly, and he wanted to applaud her courage. Still, under the circumstances, it obviously was a foolhardy stance to take. This character Hernandez clearly hated everything Shah stood for. In Brazil, he knew women were frequently considered second-class citizens. Too many Brazilian men viewed women merely in terms of how many children they could bear, proof of a man’s macho ability.

“Let’s call an end to this discussion,” Jake suggested amiably. He opened his hands and gestured toward Hernandez and his henchmen. “What do you say, gentlemen?”

Intimidated by the hardware Jake was carrying and by his size, Hernandez snarled, “Come!” at his goons, and they moved back into a dugout canoe with a small motor attached to the rear.

Shah remained tensely beside Pai Jose, breathing hard. She was still shaking inwardly from the man grabbing her by the collar.

“Thank God,” Pai Jose whispered. He clasped his hands in a prayerful gesture and nodded to Jake. “I don’t know who you are, senhor, but you have surely saved Shah.”

Shah watched as Hernandez’s canoe sputtered noisily away from the dock, heading across the wide river. Then she turned to the American. “Who are you?”

Jake held up his hands. “Easy, I’m a friend. Your father sent me down here to—”

A gasp broke from Shah. “My father! Oh, brother, this is too much!” She leaped from the wharf. Once on the bank, she shouted, “Stay away from me! Just leave!” and hurried up the slope.

Nonplussed, Jake watched Shah head for the mission. He turned to the priest.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“My son,” Pai Jose said in a sorrowful voice, “you just broke open a festering wound in her heart.” He mustered a sad smile and offered his thin hand. “I am Pai Jose. And you?”

Disgruntled, Jake introduced himself. He noticed that the priest’s hand was not only thin, but frail, as well. Pai Jose was probably close to seventy years old. His hair was silvered, and his small gold-rimmed glasses slid down on his hawklike nose. There was a kindness to the man, and Jake was glad he wasn’t angry with him, too.

“Mr. Randolph, may I ask the nature of your visit?” the priest asked as he walked slowly off the dock with him.

“I’m here to take Shah home. Her father doesn’t want her down in the Amazon. He’s afraid she’ll be hurt.”

With a soft chuckle, the priest shook his head. “My son, Shah Travers is committed to saving our precious rain forest. God help her, but she isn’t about to go home with you. And certainly not because her father sent you.”

His mouth quirking, Jake followed the unhurried priest up the path toward the mission. “What do you mean, Father?”

“It’s not really my place to speak of Shah or her personal problems.” At the top of the knoll, huffing slightly, Pai Jose pointed to a small white adobe house that sat on the other side of the mission. “Shah is working with me on cataloging many of the medicinal plants used by the Tucanos shamans of the village. She has a hut down there, but it’s my guess that she went back to the lab to work on some more plant specimens. Why don’t you speak to her? I’m sure Shah can answer all of your questions.”

But would she? Jake had his doubts. He nodded to the old priest. “Any chance of paying you to put me up here at the mission?”

“Of course, my son. You may stay with me at the cleric house.”

“Money isn’t any object.”

“A donation would be satisfactory, my son, with our thanks. Red Feather, a dear Tucanos boy who helps me at the hospital and mission, will take your luggage and place sheets on a spare cot for you.”

“Thanks, Father. Look, I’ve got to talk to Miss Travers.”

“Of course.” The priest smiled, his face wrinkling like crisp, transparent paper. “Dinner is at 8:00 p.m.”

Jake nodded. He placed his duffel bag in front of the door the priest had indicated, then walked down another cleanly swept path toward the lab. He couldn’t shake the image of Shah’s face from his mind’s eye—or his heart, to be brutally honest with himself. The photograph of Shah completely failed to do her justice. She had an earthy beauty. And beautiful was a word that Jake would use to describe her. Although their meeting had been fleeting, her facial features were forever branded on his memory. Her eyes were a tawny gold color, more intriguing than the light brown indicated in the photo. The Amazonian sunlight gave her eyes the color of the expensive golden topaz that was found and mined in Brazil. Her hair, thick and black, held captive in two braids that nearly reached her waist, was the inky bluish color of a raven’s wing. Was it her mouth that intrigued him the most, that made him feel hot and shaky inside? In the photo, her lips had been compressed, but in person her mouth was full and lovely, reminding Jake of the luscious beauty of the orchids that hung in profusion around the mission from the tall, stately pau trees.

He slowed his step as he approached the lab. Shah was a strong-willed woman, there was no doubt about that. She hadn’t screamed, fainted or backed down when that goon grabbed her. No, she’d stood her ground, her chin tilted upward, her mouth compressed and her eyes defiant. Jake had been in Brazil three other times, and on one occasion he’d come face-to-face with the most feared of all predators—the jaguar. He’d never forgotten that cat’s golden eyes widening, the ebony pupils shrinking to pinpoints. The power he’d felt as he’d momentarily locked gazes with that cat was similarly etched in his memory. Shah’s eyes were like the jaguar’s: huge, alive with intelligence, and containing a spark of fierceness that he was sure was a gift from her Sioux heritage.

Shaking his head, Jake placed his hand on the lab’s doorknob. Suddenly this was more than an assignment. It was an adventure—an adventure called “life.” For the last four years he’d been living in a barren desert of grief. Now, with Shah impacting him like a hurtling meteor filling the night sky with its overwhelming brilliance, Jake felt guarded and uneasy. And, simultaneously, he was afraid—afraid that Shah would hate him and ask him to leave. Would she? He knocked on the wooden door with his knuckles to let her know that he was coming in.

Chapter Three

As Jake stepped into the lab, he heard the click of a pistol being cocked. The telltale click made him snap his head to the left. Shah stood behind a table covered with plant specimens, both hands wrapped around a deadly-looking .45.

“I told you to leave,” she gritted out, glaring at him.

Jake’s mouth fell open. Her voice was as low as a jaguar’s growl. Her golden eyes were narrowed, just like the jaguar’s.

“But—”

“I’m surprised my father was stupid enough to send someone else down to try to kidnap me.”

His eyes widening, Jake slowly raised both his hands. Shah wasn’t kidding around, he decided. She was fully capable of pulling that trigger. “Look,” he told her, “we need to talk. Why don’t you lower that gun, and we can—”

“Oh, sure,” Shah said sarcastically. “Last time, Father sent two jerks who threw a gunny sack over my head and started dragging me toward the river, to a canoe they had hidden in the brush.” She pressed her lips together and fought a desire to lower the gun. The man, whoever he was, looked genuinely upset and contrite. She was drawn to his eyes, whether she wanted to be or not. They looked terribly sad, and there were haunted shadows in their recesses. Whoever this hulking giant of a man was, something very painful must have happened to him. Angry at herself, at her tendency to always fall for the potential underdog, Shah hardened her voice. “My father sent you. That’s all I need to know! Now get out of here, go back to Manaus, and leave me alone!”

Jake heard the real distress beneath the hardness that she was trying to bluff him with and slowly lowered his hands. “Where I come from, we introduce ourselves. I’m Jake Randolph. I work for Perseus, an organization based in Washington, D.C. It sends people around the world to help those who are in trouble.”

With a twist of her lips, Shah moved carefully, the gun still pointed at Jake. “As you can see, Mr. Randolph, I’m not in trouble.”

“You were a few minutes ago, lady.”

“I could have handled Hernandez!”

“That big goon of his was going to pick you up by your collar and probably throw you into the Amazon. Then what would you have done? Gotten eaten by piranhas?” Jake was teasing her, hoping she’d lower the gun.

Scowling, Shah kept the long wooden table covered with plant specimens waiting to be cataloged between them. The lab had no electricity and had to rely on the natural light that filtered through the three large windows. “I swim in the Amazon and the channels all the time, and the piranhas don’t attack me.”

Allowing himself a bit of a grin, Jake said, “Because you’re the meanest junkyard dog in the neighborhood?” He liked Shah. He sensed she was trying to bluff her way out of the situation. But in her eyes he could see a gamut of very real emotions bubbling close to the surface. He saw fear, real fear, in her eyes, a little anger, and a whole lot of wariness. More than anything, he liked the soft fullness of her lips and those flawless high cheekbones. Her wide, lovely eyes took on a slightly tilted appearance in her oval face. Jaguar eyes.

Jake Randolph’s teasing lessened some of Shah’s primal fear of him. She ignored his smile and tried to pretend she didn’t like the strong shape of his mouth. Despite his craggy features, there was a gentleness to him that threw her off guard. How could anyone who looked that harsh have a gentle bone in his body? Her experience with men had taught her that none of them were to be trusted, anyway—regardless of their looks. “Sit down. Over there, in that wooden chair. And don’t try any funny stuff.”

Jake nodded, moving unhurriedly so as not to alarm her. He quickly scanned the lab. It was swept clean, and the walls were whitewashed, but green mold still clung stubbornly to the corners near the ceiling, speaking eloquently of the tropics’ high humidity. The building held many tables, as well as a microscope and other scientific equipment. He saw a small glass of water with a lovely pink-and-white strand of small orchids in it. It gave off a faint perfume that was light and delicate—like Shah. He sat down.

“Now, with your left hand, very slowly take that gun out of your holster and place it on the floor. Kick it away from you with your foot.”

“I’m a southpaw,” he offered, giving her a slight smile.

Irritated, Shah moved closer, always keeping the table as a barrier between them. “Then use your right hand.”

Jake unsnapped the leather safety, withdrew the Beretta and laid it at his feet. “See? If I was really out to get you, I wouldn’t have told you that, would I?”

“On the other hand,” Shah snapped waspishly, “you could be lying. You could really be right-handed. Most people are.”

He straightened and laughed. It was a deep, rolling laugh that filled the lab. “Your logic is faultless.” He held her distrustful gaze. “You know, you ought to think about working for Perseus. They could use someone like you. You think like a marine.”

Shah fought to shake off his sudden and unexpected laughter. She saw the light dancing in his gray eyes, as if he truly enjoyed their repartee. Her hands were sweaty, and the gun was heavy. Shah hated guns, but they were a way of life down here in the Amazon. “If that’s supposed to be a compliment, then I don’t accept it. Now, push that gun away with the toe of your boot.”

Jake gave the Beretta a healthy shove, and the pistol slid across the wooden floor. He watched as Shah started to move toward it. If he was going to get her to realize he wasn’t her enemy, he had to earn her trust.

“Don’t you want me to put my knife on the floor and kick it away, too?”

Shah halted and frowned. “Yes—I guess so. Do it—please.”

“Right or left hand?”

There was amusement in his eyes, and Shah knew he was playing her for a fool. “When you get done laughing at me, you can use your right hand.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Really?”

Jake placed the knife on the floor. “It’s rude to laugh at people. At least that’s what my mother taught me.”

“Then what did I see in your eyes?”

“Admiration.”

Shah watched him kick the knife away. It landed near the pistol. This Randolph stymied her. “Now you stay still while I pick up your weapons,” she told him. “One move and I’ll blow your head off.”

Jake didn’t believe Shah’s blustering. To disarm her distrust of him, he said, “I admire your courage under the circumstances. Not many women would be living in the Amazon jungle alone.” She was shaken, he could tell, and he saw the pistol tremble in her hand. Carefully she moved toward his weapons, all the while keeping her gun trained on him.

With the toe of her boot, Shah kicked the weapons beneath the table. Finally she lowered the gun. There was a good ten feet between the two of them. “Father must have really gotten lucky snagging you. His last two tries failed miserably, so he must have put up a lot of money to hire the best kidnapper he could find—you.” She allowed the pistol to hang at her side as she wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her left hand. “Too bad he couldn’t have put all that wasted money into a nice donation to save the rain forest here, instead. But then, he wouldn’t do that.”

“He’s sent two other teams down here to kidnap you?” Jake asked. There was indignation in his voice—and anger, too. He and Morgan instinctively hadn’t trusted Travers. Now he was beginning to understand why.

Wearily Shah leaned against the wall, tense and on guard.

“I don’t know why I’m wasting my time talking with you. I’ve got a million things to do. Just stand up and go back down to the wharf. I’ll have Red Feather take you by canoe to the nearest village where the tugs dock when they’re working for Hernandez, pushing the logs down the river.”

“I don’t want to go.”

Her spine stiffened, and she glared at him. “You don’t have a choice!”

“Sure I do.” Jake held up his hands in a peace-making gesture. “I’m not here to kidnap you. Your father hired me to try to talk you into coming home.”

With a bitter laugh, Shah said, “Sure he did! He’s a cold, hard businessman, Randolph. Anyone who gets in the way of his greedy progress is a liability, and he gets rid of them pronto. I’m a liability.”

“Why would he want you out of here?” Jake asked reasonably, purposely keeping his voice low and soothing. Every minute spent with Shah convinced him that he should stay around. For the first time, Jake saw the slight shadows beneath her glorious golden eyes. There was tiredness around her mouth, too. Even the clothes she wore seemed a size too big for her. Was she working herself to death down here?

“Because,” Shah said wearily, “he probably wants to protect his investment. I’m fighting a one-woman war to stop the destruction of the rain forest. Not that I’m the only one. There are other groups. But this area is especially important. Hernandez is particularly adept at slash-and-burn techniques.”

Jake gave her a long look. “That’s a hell of an indictment against anyone, especially your father.”

Just the roughened tone of his voice soothed Shah’s frayed nerves. He had a way of defusing her, and it made her relax.

She straightened, making sure the pistol fit snugly in the palm of her hand. She couldn’t trust this giant of a man. He could jump her if he got her off guard. His size alone would overwhelm her ability to defend herself and escape.

“Unfortunately, I am his daughter, but that’s where any connection between him and me ends,” Shah told him tightly. “My mother divorced him when I was twelve years old, and I couldn’t have been happier.”

“Why?”

Shah gave him a wide-eyed look. “Why would you want to know?”

“Because I care.”

He did. It was on the tip of Shah’s tongue to deny Randolph’s words, but she saw genuine caring in his eyes, and felt that same powerful sense of protection emanating from him that she had on the dock when Hernandez’s bodyguard grabbed her. Fighting the feeling, because it was foreign to her, Shah resurrected what little anger was left and snapped, “You care because he’s paid you some fantastic sum of money! I know your kind, and I’m not about to trust you, so forget it! Now stand up!”

“I’m telling you the truth, Shah.” Jake purposely used her first name to defuse her intent. It worked. He saw a startled expression momentarily flit across her features.

“Truth!” Shah spit out. “The only truth I see is you’re a hired gun of my father’s!”

“What was it someone said? Truth hurts, but it’s the lie that leaves scars? Why can’t you believe me? I’m not here to kidnap you. Your father asked me to try to persuade you to come home, but if I couldn’t, then I was to become your bodyguard instead.”

Rolling her eyes, Shah moved behind the table. She placed the heavy gun on the wooden surface. Her hand had grown tired from holding it. Wiping the sweat from her upper lip, she glared at him. “Don’t quote philosophy to me. The most dangerous kind of lie is the type that resembles the truth!”

“Who said that?” Jake asked, truly impressed by her philosophical bent. He was delighted with the discovery; it was just one more amazing facet to Shah Travers.

“Oh, please! I had six years of college. Don’t you think I took a course or two in philosophy? Kant? Descartes?”

“Great, we have a lot more in common than even I thought. We’ll get along fine.”

“You aren’t staying!”

“Now, Shah, I told you the truth. It’s obvious to me you need me to stay. Fine. I’ll just hang around like a big guard dog and protect you from the likes of Hernandez and his goons.” Jake grinned, but inwardly he felt sorry for Shah. She appeared unsettled and exhausted. And why shouldn’t she feel that way? Hernandez had been ready to have her beaten up if Jake hadn’t arrived in the nick of time. She knew it, too, he suspected. Shah was nobody’s fool.

“You can’t stay because I don’t want you to stay.”

“I can be of help to you.”

“I suppose you have a degree in biology?”

“No, but I have a degree in philosophy.”

“That doesn’t get these plants identified and cataloged.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

“You’re impossible!”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, Randolph, so don’t sit there preening about it.”

He tilted his head. “Are you mad at all men, or just your father?”

The question, spoken so softly, caught Shah off guard. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Hernandez was wearing off, and she felt shaky, mushy-kneed. She pulled over a four-legged wooden stool and sat down. What was it about Jake Randolph that threw her off-balance? Maybe it was his grave features, which looked carved out of granite, or his powerful physical presence. One look into those light gray eyes and Shah had realized she was dealing with a highly perceptive man. She had no experience with his type, so she didn’t know how to react to him. Instinctively, she felt him trying to get her to relent and trust him.

Rubbing her brow, Shah muttered, “My track record with men isn’t great. I don’t trust any of them farther than I can throw them.”

“Beginning with your father?” Jake needed to know the truth about Shah’s background. It would give him understanding of her distrust toward him.

“I don’t owe you my life story.”

“That’s true.” The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “I was born and raised in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but it’s one of the most beautiful places on the face of Mother Earth.”

Shah’s eyes narrowed. He’d used the term Mother Earth. What was Randolph up to? No one used that term unless they were Native American or some of the ecologically responsible people who believed in the Gaia theory, which held that the planet was indeed, a living being.

Ah, success! Jake mentally patted himself on the back for using the term Mother Earth. Shah had sat up. He had her full, undivided attention. Perhaps the more he revealed of himself the more she’d learn to trust him. Inwardly Jake laughed at the thought. He had been a typical male bastion of silence before marrying Bess. He’d been unable to communicate, unable to share what he was feeling with her. However, Bess wouldn’t stand for the one-way communication system, and she’d insisted he open up. He was glad, because their marriage had deepened with joy and sharing as a result. Still, he wasn’t used to baring his soul to just anyone, and on one level Shah was a stranger to him. On another level, however, Jake sensed, with a knowing that frightened him, that they were very much alike.

“I grew up on a small farm in a valley where my dad made a living for us by growing pears. We had a huge orchard, and my two sisters and I worked with him when we didn’t have school. Dad was a real philosopher. He saw everything in terms of seasonal changes, the earth being alive, and respecting the environment. We never dumped oil on the ground, threw away a battery in the woods or put fertilizer on the soil. Instead, we had a couple of cows for milk, three horses because we kids liked to ride, and plenty of rabbits and chickens for food. He used to compost all the garbage from our household and spread it through the orchard twice a year as fertilizer. Dad had the finest pears in Oregon.”

“You said ‘Mother Earth,’” Shah growled, uncomfortable.

Jake nodded, placing his hands on his knees. He saw the curiosity burning in her eyes and realized he’d struck a responsive chord in Shah. Jake hadn’t felt so excited in years. Shah was a challenge, yet he sensed a fierce, caring passion lurking just beneath her prickly exterior. She had a passion for living life, Jake realized, and that excited him as little had since Bess’s and the children’s deaths.

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you Native American?”

“No, just a combination of Irish, Dutch and English.”

“Then why did you use that term?”

“Because my parents always spoke about the planet that way.”

Shah sat back, trying to gauge whether Randolph was giving her a line or was really telling her the truth. “Oh…” she murmured.

Pleased that Shah was softening toward him, Jake continued in his rumbling voice. “I think Mom might have had a little Native American in her. Cherokee, maybe, somewhere a long ways back.”

“Then that would give you some Native American blood.”

Chuckling, Jake held up his hand. “Darlin’, I’m about as white as a man can get. No, if I’ve got a drop of Cherokee in me, it’s so washed out that it wouldn’t matter.”

Shah pointedly ignored the endearment that rolled off his tongue. It had felt like a cat licking her hand. “But it does,” she said fervently. “It’s a gene type. Even if you have just a drop of Cherokee blood, it would be enough. Genes have memory, and it’s possible that your Cherokee gene is a dominant gene, which would give you an understanding that our planet is more than just a planet. She’s alive. She communicates, and she breathes, just like us.”

There was such burning hope in her eyes that Jake couldn’t bring himself to argue with her. Then again, she was a biologist, and she knew all about genes and such, so she could be right. If that meant something important and vital to Shah, then Jake was willing to go along with her logic. “Well, I feel what matters is what we do on a daily basis,” he demurred.

“Your walk is your talk. That’s a Lakota saying.” Thrilled that she was actually communicating with him, Jake heaved an inner sigh of relief. The gold in Shah’s eyes danced with sunlight now, as if she’d met a brother of like mind. However, Jake didn’t want to be her brother. Far from it.

“Lakota?” he asked, fighting back his less-than-professional thoughts.

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

“Whites call us Sioux, but that’s an Iroquois word that means ‘enemy.’ We call ourselves Lakota, Nakota and Dakota. There are three separate tribes, depending upon where you were born and the heritage passed down through your family. My mother is Santee, and that’s Lakota.”

“I see.” Jake smiled. “I like learning these things.”

“In Brazil,” Shah went on enthusiastically, “the people are a combination of Portuguese, African and native. Brazil is a melting pot, and they certainly don’t worry what color you are. And on top of that, the largest concentration of Japanese outside of Japan live in SÃo Paulo. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“I like Brazil because of that. You aren’t judged on your skin color down here.” Shah held out her hand. “My skin looks tan in comparison to yours. But a Brazilian wouldn’t care.”

“You have golden skin,” Jake told her. Her skin was a dusky color, and he wondered what it would be like to lightly explore its texture—to slide his fingertips along her arm. The thought was so powerful that Jake was stunned into silence. There was such innocence to Shah, to her simplified outlook on life in general.

Heat fled into Shah’s face, and she looked away from his kind gray eyes, momentarily embarrassed by her reaction to his statement. “Well,” she muttered, more defensively, “you know what I’m saying. Lakota people judge others by their walk being their talk.”

“It’s a good philosophy,” Jake said, meaning it. “So why don’t you let me prove myself to you the same way?”

Shah frowned. “What do you mean?” Why did she have the feeling that behind this man’s dangerous looks there was a steel-trap mind?

With a lazy shrug of his shoulders, Jake said, “I’ve already told you the truth about why I’m here. I accept that you don’t want to go home. So why don’t you let me be your bodyguard? It’s obvious you need one, with Hernandez around.”

Getting up, Shah began to pace nervously back and forth. “No!”

“I can’t go home,” Jake told her reasonably, opening his hands. “Your father has paid me for a month’s worth of work down here. I’m not the type to gyp someone out of work they’ve already paid me to do.”

“You should have been a lawyer,” Shah charged heatedly.

“Thanks. Was that a compliment?”

“You know it wasn’t!”

His grin was broad and forgiving. “Calm down, Shah. I’m not your enemy. If I was, why didn’t I side with Hernandez earlier? You know, I took a hell of a risk by entering that lopsided fray. If your father really wants you out of here, I could have stood aside and let Hernandez do his dirty deed.”

Halting, Shah ruminated over his observation. She eyed him intently, the silence thickening in the lab. “Why should I believe you?” she asked him heatedly.

He held her golden gaze. He could see that she was fraught with indecision. Everything was so tenuous between them, and Jake had never wanted anyone’s trust more. He wanted this woman’s trust so badly he could taste it. “You’re right,” he told her quietly. “If your father has had others try to kidnap you, then you’ve got reason to be paranoid. But I can’t prove myself to you except on a minute-by-minute basis, Shah. You’ll have to be the judge and jury on whether I’m for real or not.”

“I hate men like you!” she gritted out. “They say all the right things. You confuse me!”

“Truth is never confusing.”

“Actions are a far better barometer of whether someone’s lying,” Shah snapped. Worriedly she paced some more. “I don’t need you around. I’ve got enough responsibilities, Randolph. Tomorrow morning I’m going to take my video camera and canoe down the river. I’ll make a landing on the parcel where Hernandez has a permit to cut down the rain forest trees. I need that film for the television station that’s funding my work.”

“Let me go along, then.”

She stopped pacing and wrapped her arms against her chest. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you could throw my video equipment into the river and—”

“I wouldn’t do that, Shah,” he told her sincerely. “I know you’re jumpy about my presence, but I can’t go home.” He didn’t want to, either. Shah fascinated him. She was an amalgam of fire, spirit and passion—all linked with innocence.

“Pai Jose said I could stay at the mission,” Jake told her in a soothing tone, “and I’ll do that. He said you live in the village. Let’s take this relationship of ours one day at a time. I’ll be your gofer. I’ll do whatever little odd jobs or piddly tasks come up.” Looking around, he added, “And judging from the way this lab looks, you need about five biology assistants helping you.” Indeed, there were at least a hundred plant specimens in open plastic bags on the four tables. “I’m a pretty quick learner. Just see me as your right-hand man for a month.”

Shah sat down, weary as never before. She didn’t know what to do or say. Her heart was pleading with her to believe Randolph, while her head was screaming nonstop that he was lying, despite that roughened tone of his voice that sent a tremor of some undefined longing through her. And his eyes! She sighed. The man could melt icebergs with those eyes of his. There was such seemingly sincere gentleness contained in them that Shah had the ridiculous urge to throw herself into his arms and let him hold her.

Of all things! Shah berated herself. Men meant hurt, that was all. Lies and hurt, and not necessarily in that order. Randolph was too smooth, and far too intelligent, and Shah felt she’d more than met her mental match.

“We have a lot in common,” Jake said, breaking the brittle silence. “I probably have Indian blood, however little it might be. My parents raised my family to respect Mother Earth.” He gave her an imploring look, because her face mirrored her indecision. “What do you say? A day at a time? Let my walk be my talk?”

She glared at him. “A day at a time? Randolph, I’m going to be monitoring your every move one minute at a time.”

“No problem.”

Pointing to his gun and knife, Shah acidly added, “And these weapons stay with me!”

“Fine.”

The man was infuriating! He was unlike any man she’d ever met. He didn’t try to argue with her or belittle her decisions. “Just who are you?” Shah asked irritably, sliding off the stool. She holstered her gun, picked up his weapons and stalked around the table. Jerking open the door, she turned and added, “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Just leave me alone, Randolph, and we’ll get along fine. Stay up here with Pai Jose. The Great Spirit knows, he needs all the help he can get. He’d love to have a hardworking American around for thirty days.”

She was gone. As Jake looked around, the lab suddenly seemed darker. Shah reminded him of blinding sunlight; her presence was riveting and undeniable. Rising slowly to his feet, he rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants. A slight smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. Well, their first skirmish had ended in a decided victory for him. As he ambled out of the lab and quietly closed the door behind him, Jake whistled softly. Yes, the world was suddenly looking brighter. Shah was like sunshine on water; scintillating, ever-changing. There was an underlying tenderness to her, too. He hadn’t been wrong about her earthiness, either—not judging from all the plants and flowers in the lab, and her work to catalog them and save the valuable information for the world at large.

Shah Travers had many fine qualities, Jake decided as he walked over to the mission. His duffel bag was gone, carried inside by Red Feather, the Tucanos boy who worked with Pai Jose. He stopped in the center of the small yard enclosed by the mission buildings and looked around. The profusion of color, the songs of the birds and the many scents mingling in the humid air made Jake smile broadly. The Amazon could be a cruel killer, he knew. But right now, the area was clothed in a raiment of beauty, because Shah Travers cared—deeply, passionately—for something outside of herself.

Whistling merrily, Jake decided to take a walk around the place. His mercenary side was always close at hand. He didn’t trust Hernandez. Although he didn’t know the local politics, he wanted to map out the village for his own satisfaction. He felt naked without his knife and pistol, but he was convinced that sooner or later Shah would trust him enough to give the weapons back.

But first things first. Reconnoitering the village like the recon marine he had once been was at the top of his list. Were these Indians friendly? Were they used to white men? Or would they use blowgun arrows tipped with deadly curare to kill him? There was a lot to discover, Jake conceded with a frown. Maybe the Tucanos accepted Shah because she carried native blood in her veins. Maybe Pai Jose was allowed to stay here because of his unceasing humanitarian work with them. He wasn’t sure at all.

The dangers of the Amazon were many and real. Jake knew that from his other missions, although he’d never before spent so much time in the rain forest. On guard, he tucked away the warm feelings lingering in his heart regarding Shah. He was astonished by those emotions, because for the past four years he’d felt nothing, numbed by the loss of his family. Shah’s unexpected entrance into his life had been responsible for that change. But what was he going to do about it? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything right now.

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