A Man Alone
Lindsay McKenna
Wounded and alone, Captain Thane Hamilton came home to Arizona a decorated hero–and a bitter, embattled man.The doctors claimed he would never truly heal, never return to the Marine recon team he'd led and loved. But they'd never met nurse Paige Black. Somehow her determined spirit filled Thane with the will to live, the courage to hope.But what was it that drove this quiet Navajo beauty to stand by his side–and ultimately, to share his bed? Could it be Paige held for him the very feelings he'd long fought against? The kind of powerful love that could destroy his loner vow?
“Lindsay McKenna continues to leave her distinctive mark on the romance genre with…timeless tales about the healing power of love.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“I want to kiss you, Paige.”
Shivering out of need, Paige barely nodded her head.
“Good,” Thane said roughly as he leaned over, his eyes closing.
Paige soaked up his strong, cherishing mouth as it captured hers firmly. She felt the controlled power of Thane, the way he framed her face with his large, scarred hands, the roughness of his skin against her own. How badly she had longed to touch him, to tell him of the love she had always held for him—the love he could never know about.
Breaking the kiss, Thane gave her an unsteady smile. “If I don’t stop now, sweetheart, I won’t stop at all….”
“I know,” Paige said. Yet, as she drowned in his burning green gaze, she felt helpless to deny him anything….
A Man Alone
Lindsay McKenna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all my faithful readers over the years—
you are the best!
LINDSAY MCKENNA
is a practicing homeopath and emergency medical technician on the Navajo Reservation. She lives with her husband, David, near Sedona.
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
Two minutes until contact! The thought raced through Captain Thane Hamilton’s mind, spurring him to run faster. Gasps tore from him. He was damn well going to make it, or else.
“Keep going!” he shouted hoarsely.
Ahead of him, a fourteen-year-old girl stumbled and ran brokenly. The hard desert terrain, the precipitous walls of the canyon surrounding them, were clearly taking their toll on her. And him.
With his desert fatigues, flak jacket and weapons, Thane’s identity as a U.S. Marine was clear. Rifle in hand, he jerked a look over his shoulder. He knew the drug runners weren’t far behind them.
There! Helicopters! Help was coming! Gripping the radio in his other hand, he growled at the floundering teenager. “Move it, Valerie!”
The red-haired girl sobbed and flailed her arms like an off-balance windmill in order to keep from slipping and falling on the unstable surface, strewn with gray and cream rocks.
Thane felt sorry for the senator’s daughter. But it was necessary to keep her going. She was slowing, winded by the mile-long run. The sun was high, making him squint as he watched her in front of him. The canyon they ran in was just inside Bolivia’s borders, and his lungs burned from the brutally high altitude. Sweat rolled down his face. The rest of his Recon team was dead. They’d risked five lives to rescue one girl. Thane was the last of his team. And he might not survive, either.
The sky was blindingly blue. He could hear the approaching “spook”—CIA-owned—helicopters, coming their way. Their rotors punctuated the air like a boxer punching him in the ears, the flat, chopping sounds reverberating through the area. At a prearranged checkpoint, he and Valerie were to be picked up. Up ahead, a desert plain appeared just beyond the mouth of the steep-walled, snakelike canyon. The helos would land only if he signaled them. The crew on the helicopters were expecting to rescue five people—and now there were only two. Thane wanted to cry. His team—his men—were dead, killed in that violent confrontation at a drug lord’s estate.
“Move it!” he snarled.
Valerie sobbed. “I can’t! I’m tired! I want to stop and rest!” She gave him a pouty look and started to slow down.
Cursing softly, Thane jammed the radio into his web belt. Surging forward, he gripped the girl’s thin, flabby arm. She was a soft norte americana used to living the good life. She had a rich and powerful daddy in Washington, D.C. And even at such a young age, she was already a snob. Well, she was in over her head on this one. Oh, it wasn’t Valerie Winston’s fault that she’d walked ignorantly into a drug lord’s carefully planned trap. She’d been with a church group, touring Machu Picchu in Peru, when she’d been kidnapped. Thane couldn’t be angry at her.
“Ouch!” she shrieked, trying to yank away. “You’re hurting me!”
Towering over her at six foot four inches compared to her five foot two, he nailed her widening hazel eyes with his own sharp gaze. “Tough it out, little girl. You and I are making that checkpoint. Now stretch those legs of yours. If you don’t, we’re dead meat. Is that what you want? A bullet in your back? Your brains splattered all over the rocks here?”
Defiant tears shimmered in her eyes. Her hair, long and naturally curly, hung about her shoulders, wild and uncombed. “No!”
Hamilton practically lifted her off her feet, steadied her on the rocky surface, then pushed her ahead of him at a faster clip. “Then move!”
It was June in Bolivia. Winter. And at fourteen thousand feet, colder than hell. His breath exploded out of his mouth in white clouds even though the noonday sun burned overhead. Lake Titicaca was only thirty miles away, the largest lake in the world despite the ungodly altitude. Thane heard the helos laboring mightily, the rotors grasping for oxygen that wasn’t there. That alone made flying up here to rescue them decidedly dangerous.
Thane had no idea who was going to pick them up. He’d been told that a Boeing Apache attack helicopter and an old, antiquated Cobra from the Vietnam era were on this mission. Right now, he thought as he jerked another furtive look across his shoulder, he hoped it was the Apache that he heard in the distance. He needed that kind of firepower to protect them from the oncoming drug runners.
With the echoing shouts of their assailants surrounding them, Thane and Valerie rounded the final bend in the canyon. Above them were naked, barren walls of yellow ocher and gray granite, weathered by the fierce winds that scoured the Andes.
Gasping, his heart feeling like it was going to explode in his chest, Thane kept up the hard, pounding pace. He heard Valerie sobbing. He knew she wasn’t used to this kind of demanding exercise. No one was at this damnable altitude!
Thane saw the end of the canyon bleeding out into a flatter area, a stark moonscape free of rocks, scrub and trees. That must be the landing zone! The punctuating rotors of the rescue helos lifted his hope. Behind, he heard shouts in Spanish. They were coming closer.
Damn!
Turning, Thane saw ten drug runners hightailing it in their direction, less than half a mile away. The drug runners began firing. Turning on his heel, Thane sped toward Valerie. Arms flailing weakly, she continued to run, all the while slipping and stumbling on the rocky ground. He saw the helicopters approaching. Both were black. And both were coming in fast from high above, zeroing in like two attacking hawks on the landing zone below.
Jerking a canister from his web belt, he positioned himself directly behind Valerie. Bullets were whining all around them now, and ricocheting off the rock walls. Ducking as one screamed by his head, Thane kept himself between the girl and the drug runners. Under no circumstances could Valerie be hurt! They’d have to go through him and his Kevlar, bulletproof vest first.
Reaching the end of the canyon, he pulled Valerie against the rock wall.
“Stop,” he rasped. Flipping off the handle to the smoke grenade, he lobbed it expertly toward the landing area two hundred feet in front of them.
The canister sailed through the air and plunked on the flat, yellow earth, which had hardened into a drumlike surface from lack of rainfall over the years. A puff of dust rose briefly as the canister bounced and came to a standstill. And then bright red smoke began to belch from it, forming thin, pinkish colored clouds. That was the signal for the choppers to land.
Turning, his nostrils flared, he brought the rifle up to his shoulder and sighted on the drug runners.
“Valerie, move to the right, but stay along the wall,” he ordered.
The girl nodded jerkily, her eyes huge. She quickly moved away from him and crouched down, her back to the wall for protection.
The drug runners were going to catch up with them just as the helos landed, Thane realized. He squeezed off several shots to slow them, and it worked. Gripping the radio, he jammed the button down.
“Black Jaguar One. Black Jaguar One. This is Checkerboard One. Over.” His breath came in gasps. His chest burned from overexertion. Sweat trickled into his narrowed eyes. He waited impatiently for a response from the big, black Apache that was thundering in toward the landing area.
“Come on!” he snarled. “Answer me!”
“This is Black Jaguar One, Checkerboard One,” came a woman’s low, steady voice. “What’s your status? Over.”
“A hot LZ,” he warned. “I’ve got the package. And I’ve got ten bad guys, less than half a mile from us, comin’ out of that canyon in front of you. I need some firepower. You got it? Over.”
“Roger, we have them in our sights. Suggest you move back.”
Stunned momentarily, Thane realized he’d been talking to a woman. A woman! Not a man, as he’d expected. And then, feeling stupid, he remembered that there were women Apache helo pilots in the U.S. Army. But behind the lines on spook-initiated missions? CIA? That, he’d never heard of. But now was not the time to ask questions or ponder the subject. “Read you loud and clear, Black Jaguar One. Thanks. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Out.”
Relief shuddered through Thane. He gave a tight, vengeful grin. Once that Apache released a deadly Hellfire missile into that bloodthirsty pack of cutthroats who wanted him and the girl dead, it would be all over. He silently thanked Boeing for making the battle-ready Apache. This aircraft, above all others, often made the difference between his team living or dying in behind-the-lines missions like this.
He saw the unmarked Apache “A” model helicopter suddenly lift upward and hover, preparing to take a shot at the drug runners. The second one, the old Cobra gunship, was coming in low and fast. Within thirty seconds, it would land. Glancing to his right, Thane saw Valerie crouched down into a ball of fright, her back to the wall, her arms tight around her drawn-up knees. Good, she was out of the way and protected.
His concern was the drug runners, who were moving at full speed toward him. Again, Thane snapped off five or six well-aimed shots. Two of the drug runners fell.
Then he spotted something that made his heart stop. NO!
Thane’s green eyes widened enormously. Ahead of him, he saw that one of the drug runners had a LAW—a hand-held rocket launcher! And the bastard was aiming it directly at the hovering Apache, which was poised to fire.
Damn!
Thane leaped out from behind the wall, the thunder of the Apache deafening him as he exposed himself to his assailants’ direct fire. He had to bring the drug runner down before he could launch that deadly rocket at the Apache! Kneeling down, Thane steadied his rifle. Bullets careened around him. He wore a protective bulletproof jacket, but that wouldn’t stop a projectile from hitting him in the head. Counting on the drug runners’ lack of marksmanship, Thane coolly aimed his rifle at the man who knelt with the rocket launcher pointed upward. No way was that bastard going to take down that helo! Squeezing the trigger, Thane felt the rifle buck solidly against his shoulder.
Before he could take a breath, he saw the bullet hit home, striking the man just as he launched the rocket. The man tumbled forward as the rocket launcher fired—directly at Thane!
Seconds slowed to a painful crawl. Thane gasped and thrust upward to his full height. Escape! He had to—No! No! I’m going to die! His last thought as he twisted to the left and dove for the safety of the rock wall was that he was a dead man.
Everything blacked out. The last thing he felt was a hot, burning pain in his right leg. The last thing he heard was Valerie’s hysterical scream. And that was all.
“Oh, hell!” Captain Maya Stevenson yelled into the microphone against her lips. She instantly gripped the controls of the Cobra helicopter. “Dove, Angel, brace yourselves!” she warned her crew. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she saw the man in the canyon fire the rocket toward them.
And that Marine Recon was right in the way! Maya sucked in a breath, jammed her booted feet on the yaw-control pedals. She held the cyclic and collective in a choking grip. The wildly shot rocket exploded violently against the wall of the canyon. They were less than a quarter of a mile from it. In the danger zone.
The Marine Recon had to be dead!
The Cobra shook violently as the blast from the explosion hit them. They were barely fifty feet above the ground with nowhere to go. Maya tensed. Dove, her copilot, sucked air between her clenched teeth. Angel, their gunner, whooped as the rocket exploded. Off to the left, Maya spotted their pickup, the senator’s daughter. She appeared safe from the explosion. The Cobra skidded sideways from the concussion. Automatically, Maya worked to halt the awkward movement of the helicopter.
Above them, she heard the roar of two Hellfire missiles being released from the Apache’s arsenal. In seconds, the entire canyon was filled with fire, dust and rocks flying in all directions.
“The bad guys are down, Major,” Angel sang out with gleeful satisfaction.
“Yeah, but what about that marine?” Maya muttered. She landed the Cobra on the hard-packed desert floor. Dust whipped up in all directions around them. She shouted to Angel Paredes, “Go get the girl, Sergeant! We shouldn’t receive any more resistance from the druggies. Stay alert!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Paredes leaped out of the helicopter. Short and stocky, she hustled around the nose of the Cobra and headed for the girl.
“Take over, Dove,” Maya told her copilot. “And keep your eyes peeled.”
“Where are you going?” Dove demanded, wrapping her long fingers around the controls.
Jerking at the snaps of her harness, Maya growled, “To look for that poor Recon bastard. He just saved Dallas and Cam from getting blown out of the sky. The least we can do is find his body and bring him home with us.” She yanked out the cord that connected her with the communications system within the aircraft. Twisting around, Maya quickly made her way between the seats to the small cargo bay, past the fifty-caliber machine gun, and leaped off the lip of the shuddering helicopter. Dust was blowing in all directions, a small sandstorm around the aircraft. Maya drew her pistol, just in case she ran into one of the druggies in all the chaos. She made a sharp gesture with her hand toward her sergeant, who now had the girl beneath her arm.
“Get her on board!” Maya shouted above the noise.
Paredes raised her black-gloved hand to acknowledge the order before she hurried the girl toward the aircraft.
Turning, the captain ran toward the rock and rubble that had been left by the rocket’s explosion. Although she had on her black helmet, with its protective black shield across the upper half of her face, the dust kicked up by the helo’s blades whipped into her eyes. Rubbing them as she ran, holding her pistol high with her other hand, Maya tried to locate the marine among the piles of stone and dirt.
There! She saw the man lying on his back, his arms thrown outward from his unmoving body. Slowing, Maya looked ahead. Where the druggies had once been, rubble now covered half the width of the canyon. The bad guys were down and out. Good. Instant burial. No formality.
Kneeling down, Maya saw that the Marine’s right leg, from below the knee, looked like ground, bleeding hamburger. She winced and clenched her teeth. Jerking off her black glove, she placed two fingers against the sweat-covered column of his throat. He was young and strong, but there was no way he could have survived this.
“I’ll be damned,” she breathed. She felt a faint pulse beneath her fingertips. It wasn’t much of one—but it was there! Hurriedly, she assessed him for more wounds. The only place he seemed to be injured was his right leg. Holstering her pistol, she jerked off all his heavy gear and tossed it aside. She’d have to carry him to the helicopter. Judging from the amount of blood spurting from a cut artery in his calf, he was going to bleed to death—and soon.
Grunting, Maya turned him over and then rolled the weight of his body against her shoulder.
“You would have to be tall,” she growled. Well, she was, too. Maya was thankful for her large-boned, six-foot frame because she’d never be able to hoist the marine into a fireman’s carry position across her shoulders otherwise.
Just as she labored to get her feet under her, she saw Sergeant Paredes running full tilt toward her.
“Angel!” Maya yelled. “Get back to the helo! He’s bleeding to death! Get an IV set up! I’m gonna need your help! Pronto!”
The sergeant skidded to a halt, nodded and sprinted back to the Cobra.
Groaning, Maya cursed softly as she placed each booted foot carefully in front of the other. He was heavy! Well, Recons had to be tough and hardy to do the work they did. Gripping him tightly by one arm and one leg, Maya swayed, fighting to keep her balance. Only a few more yards to go!
After setting up a temporary stretcher across the steel-plated deck, Angel reached out from the lip of the helo. Maya groaned as she sat down with her load. When the sergeant angled the unconscious marine off her shoulders, Maya turned and helped to place the man on the awaiting stretcher. She saw the senator’s daughter looking on, terror in her eyes as she sat huddled in one corner.
Leaping on board, Maya quickly slid the door shut. Turning, she moved between the seats and made an upward, jerking motion with her thumb. That told her copilot to get the hell out of here. To get some air between them, the ground and the bad guys. Though the druggies looked like they’d been buried under that rubble, she wasn’t taking any chances.
Plugging the phone jack from her helmet into a wall outlet, she turned to help the paramedic-trained sergeant.
“I need help!” Angel gasped. “He’s bleeding out! Captain…put your hand there! Now!”
Just then, the Cobra powered up, breaking gravity with the earth. Maya wasn’t prepared and lurched downward onto her knees. Cursing in Spanish, she threw out her hands, palms slamming into the cabin wall just above where the marine lay. Despite the jostling and jerking, Angel was expertly pulling an IV from the black paramedic bag she kept on board.
Maya looked at the soldier’s right leg. “Man, this is a mess, Angel,” she said, addressing the sergeant by her nickname. Her real name was Angeline, but they called her the Angel of Death for many reasons, most of all because she was very good at pulling Maya’s wounded crews back from the jaws of death with her paramedic skills.
“I don’t care what he looks like. Just get your hand on that bleeder,” Angel rasped in Spanish. “Do it! Pronto!”
The captain had no trouble finding the artery that was spurting blood like a fountain. Jerking off her black glove, Maya grabbed a protective latex one from Angel’s medical bag and quickly put it on. She hated to touch the marine’s mangled right leg. She could see bone fragments mixed with the torn muscles, and the whiteness of a tendon that had been shredded by the blast.
“Geez, this is bad,” Maya murmured sympathetically as she laid her hand over the exposed and cut artery.
“Yeah, well, if you’d just taken a direct hit from a rocket to your leg, you’d look like this, too.”
Maya grinned darkly as Angel quickly hung the IV and inserted the needle into the marine’s arm. “Don’t get testy with me, Sergeant,” she said, knowing Angel always got this way during a crisis. But Maya also knew Angel was an extraordinary woman, a Que’ro Indian, the last of the Inca bloodlines in Peru. Maya had wanted no one but this young woman, who had joined her top secret mission three years ago, to be on her aircraft with her. The Angel of Death had saved a lot of lives. She fought with her heart and soul to keep them alive.
Growling under her breath, Angel quickly jerked some thick, sterile dressings out of her pack. Paper flew in all directions as she ripped open the containers and got the sterile gauze out for use.
“Put these under your hand,” she ordered Maya briskly. “And press down hard. A lot harder than you’re doing right now. You want this guy to bleed to death on me? No way. He’s mine. I’m not letting him go over yet….”
Blood from the marine’s leg was pooling all over the deck. Maya felt the Cobra leveling out. They were gaining altitude.
“Get us out of Bolivia’s airspace as soon as you can, Dove,” she told her copilot. “And stay low, below their radar. If they find us over here, we’re gonna hear about it at the U.N.” By mutual accord, the U.S. had agreed not to invade Bolivia’s airspace in their quest to stop drug smugglers flying across Peru’s border. Well, too bad. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Besides, Maya thought with her usual sick humor, their job at the Black Jaguar Express was to keep cocaine shipments from leaving Peru. If the effort spilled into Bolivia’s sacred airspace from time to time, too bad.
Besides, they’d have to catch them at it to prove it, and Bolivia didn’t exactly have a modern air force or state-of-the-art radar to prove their precious border had been encroached upon from time to time. Maya glanced down at the marine. Her heart squeezed in sympathy. “Can you save him?”
“Humph. I’m not a doc.” Angel added more thick dressings to the bleeder.
“Stop hedging with me. You know about these things.”
“He’ll loose his leg, but he’ll live. Okay?”
Maya nodded. “Too bad about that leg. He’s a nice looking guy—for a marine.”
They both laughed. Both of them were in the army, and there was always good-natured rivalry between the army and the other military services.
“Yeah,” Angel rasped as she pulled a hypodermic needle from her pack and eyed it closely, “I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating crackers.”
Maya heard Dove laughing along with them. Their jobs were highly dangerous. On any given day, they could die. Dark humor was always their foil against their feelings, against the adrenaline rush pounding through them. It kept the terror they felt at bay so it didn’t overwhelm them or their ability to think clearheadedly in such a crisis. Relief was threading through their fear now, beginning to ease the tension that had inhabited the aircraft moments earlier.
“Somehow, I can’t see you hookin’ up with a jarhead,” Maya drawled.
Everyone laughed—a laugh of relief. Jarhead was a term army folk used to describe a marine—they just never said it to a marine’s face if they didn’t want a punch thrown their way.
“As good-lookin’ as he is,” Dove said, laughing over the intercom, “he’s probably got a wife and a bunch of kids.”
Maya grinned and nodded. They were going home to safety. Soon enough, they would be heading to their mountain base complex hidden deep in the Peruvian mountains. But first they’d have to fly to Cusco, the nearest large city, and have an emergency medical team take this marine into surgery to try to save his life. Maya and her crew had done this so many times before that the hospital staff in Cusco no longer asked who or what they were. Flying around in black, unmarked helicopters, wearing black, body-fitting uniforms, helmets and highly polished leather military boots, these women were an enigma to those who saw them. The hospital officials no longer asked about them, they simply allowed them to offload their wounded, give their names and a contact number of someone in a high government office in Lima, the capital, before they left for parts unknown.
As Maya knelt there, holding the thick, blood-soaked dressings over the marine’s leg, she saw color starting to ease back into his pale, sweaty face. “I think he’s coming to,” she warned Angel.
“That’s okay…I’ve got him on morphine. He ain’t gonna feel a thing. Don’t worry, he won’t put up a fight.”
“Good,” Maya rasped as she watched the man’s dark, short lashes move. Angel didn’t always get painkillers into her patients soon enough, and they came back to consciousness swinging and fighting. And in a small helo like this, there wasn’t much space to dodge flying fists. Maya positioned herself so she could face him. He’d be groggy, in deep shock, and probably not very coherent around his surroundings. Reaching out, she gripped his bloodied, scraped left hand and held it firmly in her own. Angel quickly traded places with her in order to work on his leg, trying to sterilize it as best she could. Maya leaned closer to the marine.
The noise in the cabin of the Cobra was ferocious. Dove had redlined the engine to full throttle. The aircraft was old and shook like an old dog on trembling legs as it flew powerfully toward Cusco. Below them, the green velvet cape of the jungle spread outward. They were down below ten thousand feet and were beginning to wind among the loaf-shaped mountains clothed in green raiment. Wispy white clouds that always clung to the mountains blew like smoke across the windshield of the speeding aircraft.
“You’re alive,” Maya shouted near his ear. “Just take it easy. We’ve got the senator’s daughter on board. You’re both safe.” She squeezed his hand to drive home her words.
His eyes opened slightly, to reveal murky-looking green depths.
Maya held his vacant stare. His mouth opened, then closed. His pupils were huge and black—from the hit of morphine Angel had just shot him up with. Good. He didn’t need to know what had happened to his right leg. The marine blinked twice. She saw more awareness coming back to him. He had a strong mouth, and was used to being obeyed when he spoke, she was sure. There was nothing on his uniform to indicate his rank, but she knew instinctually that he was an officer.
“You’re safe. You’re on board my helicopter. We have your girl with us. She’s safe, too. Hang on. We’re flying you to Cusco, to a hospital there. You’re in stable condition.” That was a lie, but Maya didn’t want the marine freaking out if he learned the truth of his fragile medical state.
There was so much noise in his head that Thane could barely make out what the woman leaning close to him in the black, tight-fitting uniform was saying. Where was he? His mind was spongy and refused to work properly. He felt like he was half out of his body. Floating. She was wearing a helmet. She must be a pilot? Not a soldier, no…His mind searched. What? Yes. That was it. Helicopter. He was in a helo. He could feel a familiar shaking and shuddering going on around him. He could feel the constant sensation all though his back and limbs…except for his leg. His right leg. Why couldn’t he feel anything there? He could feel the shivering everywhere else.
Looking up into her face, Hamilton saw the grim set of her full mouth, the narrowed look in her eyes. She was a warrior, no doubt. There was a dangerous glint in her emerald eyes, too. The look of a hunter. Yet, for a moment, Thane saw something else in those slitted, feral eyes. What? He opened his mouth to speak.
“Captain Hamilton…” he croaked. The taste of mud was in his mouth.
She nodded. “Okay…good…we know who you are now.” On missions like this, the Recons wore no identification of any kind, not even their dog tags. “We’ll contact the proper authorities, Captain. I’m Captain Maya Stevenson, army spook pilot. You just hang on. We might look like a ragtag bunch, but believe me, you’re in the best of hands.” She grinned a little.
He tried to smile. He felt the strength of her hand around his. She was surprisingly strong—a big-boned woman, at least six feet tall, who was strong and confident. Right now, he needed that kind of reassurance. Thane became aware of another person. His eyes widened a bit. There was another woman, dressed in a similar black uniform, bent over his legs. She was putting white bandages on him. Funny, he couldn’t feel anything down there. What was going on? When he tried to lift his head, the captain gently pressed her hand on his shoulder and kept him lying down.
“Whoa, Captain. You’re in no shape to go anywhere. We want you to lie still, hear me? That’s my paramedic down there, Sergeant Angelina Paredes.”
His mouth was so dry it felt as if it would crack. He was thirsty. Barely moving his head to the left, he saw the red-haired girl. It took long moments to place her. His mind wasn’t working worth a damn. Closing his eyes, Thane let out a trembling breath of air from between his bloody, bruised lips.
“Thank God, she’s safe….”
Maya smiled and nodded. “You did good, Captain. You’re a real hero. None of us thought you’d survived that direct rocket hit. You’re one tough son of a bitch, for a marine.” Maya saw one corner of his mouth rise at her teasing comment. She felt heartened. Maybe this guy was going to make it, after all. Still, his blood loss was horrific. And her sergeant was working like a wild woman over his mangled, continually bleeding leg. Right now, the last thing Maya wanted this heroic officer to know was that his leg looked like hell and there was every reason to believe that, once they reached Cusco, the surgeons would remove it.
That was heartbreaking to her. A man like this, who had incredible courage, would now became an amputee. He didn’t deserve such a reward, Maya thought. Looking up at the girl who huddled in the corner, her eyes huge with tears, Maya felt for her, too. Life was nasty sometimes. Valerie Winston would never forget this. And Maya hoped she would never forget the men who had given their lives to rescue her. People like Captain Hamilton made the world a little better place to live in. A safer place for people like Valerie.
Leaning down, her lips close to his ear, Maya said, “Just try to rest, Captain. We’re going to be landing in Cusco in less than thirty minutes. I’ve got the best paramedic in the world taking care of you.”
Thane forced out the words. “Thank you…for everything.”
Angel looked up momentarily, her lean, angular, dark brown face tense, the corners of her full mouth pulled flat. Her hands were bloody as she wrapped his injured leg.
Maya looked down at the marine once more. He had lost consciousness again. That was good. “It’s sad, Angel. This guy deserves medals and it looks like he’s going to lose this leg instead as a reward for what he just did.”
“I dunno,” Angel rasped as she reached around Maya and dragged her paramedic pack toward her. “If Dr. Del Prado is the bone surgeon on duty there at the Cusco hospital, he might try and save this dude’s leg. He’s got the ability to do it, but he’s the only one in Peru who could pull it off.”
“Better hope our best bone doctor is on duty, then,” Maya said grimly.
“Captain?”
It was her copilot, Dove Rivera.
Maya lifted her head and looked toward the cockpit. “Yeah?”
“I’m receiving a top secret message for you, Captain. It’s from Rolling Thunder. You expecting something from them?”
“Yeah…” The mission they were currently on was run by Perseus, a covert agency that often collaborated with the government. “That has to be the head of the organization, Morgan Trayhern. This mission was his ops—operation.” She had never met Trayhern, but had worked with other officials within Perseus because it, too, operated in conjunction with the CIA, as did her base and operation in Peru.
“Oh, okay. Want me to patch it through to you over the private intercom?”
“Yeah, do it, Dove.” Maya didn’t care if her sergeant heard the message or not. They all had top secret clearances. Releasing the marine’s limp hand, Maya pressed her fingers to the ear of her helmet to listen closely to the incoming message. Sometimes, such satellite transmissions were broken up, particularly in the mountainous regions of Peru where they were presently flying like a bat out of hell to save the marine.
“This is Kingbird to Rolling Thunder. Over,” Maya said. Kingbird was their call designation indicator when satcom messages of this type had to be broadcast. In the event that anyone was able to capture the encrypted message, that person would have no idea of the caller’s true identification or position at the time of the transmission.
“Rolling Thunder. Kingbird, have you got the goods? Over.”
The “goods” meant the girl, and Maya knew the code language. “Roger, we have the goods. Alive and well.”
“Roger. And Checkerboard? What is their status?”
Grimly, Maya knew that Checkerboard was the marine Recon team sent in to rescue Valerie. “Rolling Thunder, we have one survivor of Checkerboard. Right now, we are heading for the nearest hospital, where we have an emergency team on standby. Over.”
“Roger. I will contact you when you arrive at your destination. Be on standby. Over.”
“Roger that, Rolling Thunder. I’ll await your call. Over and out.”
“Rolling Thunder, out.”
Maya watched as Angel placed a very tight tourniquet bandage around the bleeder, which seemed to have stopped leaking for the most part.
“That means we have to hang around for a call,” Dove lamented.
Maya didn’t like being on the ground wherever there were people and prying eyes. Especially in the second largest city in Peru. Because their mission was one of utmost stealth, top secret to everyone except two Peruvian government officials, she didn’t like to draw attention to herself or her crews. “Yeah, I know. But Rolling Thunder wants the ID on this marine. He’s going to have to contact his family and get him some medical help stateside. It’s gotta be done.”
“We’ll stay with the Cobra,” Dove said unhappily. “You gonna take the call inside the hospital?”
“Thanks,” Maya said dryly, with a smile. She saw Dove’s own smile as she turned her head briefly and met her eyes. Her copilot was also Que’ro Indian, from the highlands of Peru. She was only the second woman pilot in the Peruvian Air Force. Dove had turned into a fine helicopter pilot, thanks to training she’d received at Fort Rucker, Alabama, many years earlier. Now she was back in her own country to help the Peruvian people eradicate the drug trade. Nearly all her family had been murdered by drug lords, and she’d barely escaped with her young life. Dove Rivera had an ongoing vendetta against them, and with good reason. She lived to fly. She lived to kill every last one of them she could set her gun sights on. Maya didn’t blame her.
“This guy’s pressure is slowly dropping,” Angel reported unhappily as she studied the reading on the blood pressure cuff. “Man…this isn’t good. I was hoping he’d stabilize…. Del Prado isn’t going to like this. The question is can we get him there in time or not?”
Maya slowly eased into a crouched position, because no one could straighten up fully within the tight confines of the helicopter. “Do the best you can,” she soothed, and patted Angel’s slumped shoulder. Picking up a nearby blanket, Maya made her way over to Valerie. The teenager was white-faced and scared looking. She needed to be held. The paleness of her freckled face, the darkness in her eyes, told Maya that much. Maya would play nursemaid until they landed, and then Valerie would be turned over to awaiting U.S. government agents, who would whisk her into a private jet back to the U.S. and into her anxious father’s waiting arms, no worse for wear—at least on the outside.
Smiling gently as she approached, Maya slowly opened the blanket and slipped it around the girl’s huddled form. She knew that she looked dangerous and threatening to the teen in her black uniform with the pistol at her side. A smile helped to ease the panic she saw in the girl’s eyes. Valerie wasn’t hooked up to the communications system, so she was unaware of what was being said or what was going down. The teenager was like a stranger in a strange place—a place where she had almost died.
As she knelt down in front of the girl and wrapped the blanket around her, Maya introduced herself and said, “Valerie, you’re going home. You’re safe now. We’ll be landing in less than half an hour in Cusco.”
Sniffing, Valerie wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. “Th-thanks. But what about Captain Hamilton? H-he saved my life. Will he live?”
Maya nodded and gave her a gentle smile. “I hope so.”
“And his leg…oh, God…will he lose it?”
“Probably,” Maya said, “but I don’t know for sure.”
Breaking into sobs, Valerie buried her face in her arms, her knees drawn up tightly against her thin, trembling body. All Maya could do was slide her arm around the girl’s shoulders, pat her gently and let her cry.
Maya’s thoughts drifted back to Hamilton. Maybe Rolling Thunder could do something to save this heroic marine’s leg. She hoped so.
Chapter Two
“Is Captain Hamilton going to lose his leg?” Morgan Trayhern kept his voice low, but even he could hear the fear in it as he spoke with the bone surgeon, Dr. Jose Del Prado, in his office at the hospital in Cusco.
The physician, a wiry man in his early fifties, stood behind a simple mahogany desk in the spare white room. He was dressed in a long white coat, a stethoscope hanging out of his left pocket, and the report on Hamilton between his thin fingers. With a shrug, he said in stilted English, “I do not know…yet, Mr. Trayhern.” He frowned, stroking his thin gray mustache.
Morgan grimaced. As soon as he’d heard the cryptic message from the spook helicopter rescue crew that had Hamilton and the senator’s daughter safely aboard, Morgan had boarded the Perseus jet in Washington, D.C., and made a beeline for Cusco. Even though Captain Thane Hamilton was in the U.S. Marine Corps, and technically not working for him, the undercover assignment Hamilton had been on had been coordinated by Morgan and his company. Besides, Hamilton was a marine, as Morgan had once been himself. One never left a marine in the field. Not ever.
“I see….”
“No, señor, you do not.” Del Prado’s narrow face became intent. “I did not cut off his leg. I probably should have, to save him the agony he will surely endure not only physically, but emotionally. In the long term, it is my opinion that the officer will find that his leg is too painful to walk on. Right now, I am worried about long-term infection in his bones. If infection cannot be eradicated, he will lose his leg, anyway. Come, I will show you his X rays, so that you have a better understanding of what I did.”
Morgan glumly followed the surgeon down a crowded hallway. The hospital, which was located in the second largest city in Peru, was busy. Every social strata intermixed within the polished halls of white tile flooring and dull green walls—from personnel clothed in white uniforms and lab coats to visitors dressed either in the native costume of the Que’ro Indian people or in the silk suits and fashionable winter dresses of the wealthy.
In the X-ray room, Del Prado quickly put up a series of pictures in front of the light boxes.
“These show Captain Hamilton’s right leg.” He pointed a slender finger at one X ray in particular as Morgan, who was much taller peered over his shoulder.
“You can see, we have placed ten pins to try and get the bones to fuse back together.”
His mouth in a grim line, Morgan stared at the X ray. “Looks like a damned mess in there.”
Del Prado smiled a little. “Not exactly the medical terminology for it, but a good assessment, Señor Trayhern.”
“So, what’s next? May I transport Captain Hamilton in my jet, to continue his recovery at a stateside hospital?”
“Of course. He is stable now. You have a doctor on board to monitor him?”
Morgan nodded. “A trauma-trained emergency room physician. Yes.”
“Then my suggestion would be to wait another twelve hours. He just came out of surgery three hours ago. We have him in a private room, as you ordered. He has just come out of anesthesia and is semiconscious. Give him time to adjust first.”
“Would you suggest a bone specialist for him?”
“Of course. The infection in his bone, if it spreads, must be aggressively followed with antibiotics. And if the antibiotics do not oust it, then the infected part of the bone must be amputated. Otherwise, the infection will spread up his leg and eventually kill him.”
Morgan nodded and sighed. Then he straightened and looked down at the prim doctor. “If he were your patient, what would you do for him?” When Morgan saw the doctor’s blue eyes twinkle with laughter, he wondered what he’d said that was so amusing.
Del Prado’s thin mouth puckered. “How we practice medicine here in Peru is a little different than what my colleagues practice in the U.S.A., señor.”
“Humor me, Doctor. What would you prescribe? They say you’re the best hereabouts, so I’m very interested in your opinion and any ongoing therapy you’d recommend for Captain Hamilton. I’d like to see the man keep his leg. What’s your secret to doing just that?”
With a flourish, Del Prado said, “I would combine standard medical treatment with alternative intervention. Maggots will eat away any gangrenous flesh that is bound to occur, create new blood vessel beds and bring oxygen into the tissue so it will live instead of die. Here in Peru we also utilize homeopathy, an alternative medicine widely known in Europe as well. I would, if he were to stay here, call in one of our staff homeopaths to work with me on the captain’s behalf. We have found that homeopathy is an excellent support to traditional drug treatment, and the patient receives the best of both worlds. I would also suggest physical therapy along with massage. I know in your country that homeopathy and massage are not part of normal protocol for treating such a patient.” He shrugged his thin, proud shoulders, his eyes gleaming. “But you did ask me what I would do, señor.”
“So I did. Thank you, Doctor. You gave me the information I needed. I want Captain Hamilton to have the best chance of saving his leg.”
“Would you care for a referral to one of my norte americana colleagues who studied for a year down here with me on just such cases?”
Again, Morgan saw the twinkle in the man’s eyes. Realizing now that the doctor wasn’t laughing at him, but rather introducing him to knowledge he knew to be foreign to most Americans, Morgan grinned a little in turn. “Absolutely. Who do you suggest?”
“Dr. Jonathan Briggs, a doctor of osteopathy in Arizona who studied with our department a number of years ago. He’s familiar with our protocols in a case such as your friend Captain Hamilton. He is a miracle worker of sorts in complex cases such as this. I can give you his address, Señor Trayhern. He practices out of the Red Rock Hospital in Sedona, Arizona.”
Nodding, Morgan said, “This Dr. Briggs—will he use the same protocols you use?”
“Si.”
“You’re sure?”
With a terse laugh, Dr. Del Prado said, “Dr. Briggs is the man who created this protocol for us in the first place.”
Grin widening, Morgan said, “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll see to it that Captain Hamilton ends up in Dr. Briggs’s hospital.”
“Bueno. Good. You can go see Captain Hamilton now, señor. When you are ready, come to me and I will sign the captain’s release forms.” Del Prado escorted him out of the X ray room and into the hall. “Captain Hamilton is on floor four, post-op. You will find him in room 404.”
Morgan shook his hand and thanked him. Turning, he strode down the hall to the elevators carefully dodging swiftly moving nurses and orderlies.
Damn. Losing his leg will force Hamilton out of the Corps….
Morgan knew Hamilton’s personnel jacket by rote. He made it his business to know the background of any person working on one of his operations. Morgan had never met the captain personally, or any of his Recon team, which had come out of Camp Reed, California, but that didn’t matter. He knew the officer was a hard charger with an exceptional record of success on behind-the-lines missions. A man of action. Despite the fact that he was only twenty-seven years old, Hamilton was a marine of incredible accomplishment. And he was up for early promotion—major’s leaves, too. As Morgan got off the elevator on the fourth floor, he wrinkled his nose. The smell of antiseptic was strong here. Almost overpowering. The scent always got to him, reminding him of the time he had spent healing in a hospital in a foreign country.
Fueled by that miserable memory, Morgan swore to get Hamilton out of here and somewhere familiar—somewhere he could heal surrounded by those who supported and loved him, if possible. As he walked down the empty hall and viewed the brass numbers on each wooden door he passed, memory of his injuries and the difficult time he’d had dealing with them alone convinced him that he did not want the same scenario for Hamilton.
Finding the correct door, he quietly nudged it open. The private room was small, whitewashed, the blinds on the one window closed giving the room a grayish, depressing look. He saw the young Marine Corps officer lying on a bed covered with white blankets, his face almost matching the material that surrounded him. His eyes were closed. His right leg was in a removable cast, lifted up by a series of pulleys and hung about a foot off the bed.
The odor of antiseptic made Morgan’s throat tighten. Closing the door, he went over to the window, pulled open the blinds and swung the window outward. Fresh air from the city drifted in, though there was a hint of car pollution in it. He could hear the endless honking of horns below, but the sound was muted because the room was on the fourth floor. Despite everything, Morgan preferred a little fresh air to the choking smell of the hospital.
Turning, Morgan saw IVs in each of the officer’s limp arms. As he moved toward the marine’s bed, he saw his dark, spiky lashes flutter, his lids barely lifting to reveal murky green eyes with huge black pupils. From the way his eyes appeared, Hamilton was still coming out of the surgery anesthesia.
“Take it easy, Captain Hamilton,” Morgan said as he approached the bed. “I’m your contact, Morgan Trayhern. I got down here as soon as I could when I found out you’d survived the mission.” He lifted his hand and gently placed it against the white gown across the officer’s shoulder. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Son. You’re in Cusco, Peru, and you’ve just come out of surgery, three hours ago. How are you feeling? Any pain?”
Thane stared up at the tall man, noting vaguely the concern written across his broad, tense features. The silver gray at his temples shouted of his age, but to Thane, he looked a lot younger and very fit in the charcoal-gray pinstripe suit, impeccably pressed white shirt and conservative, dark blue silk tie. His brain still slow at processing, it took long moments for Thane to understand everything the man had said. The warm grip of the man’s hand on his shoulder, though, translated instantly, and Thane felt genuine care radiating from this stranger.
Opening his mouth, he realized it felt dry, like the Bolivian desert itself.
“Thirsty?”
He nodded slightly, feeling incredibly weak.
Morgan reached for a pitcher of water on the nearby stand, poured some into a cup and placed a straw into it. “Nurses been by to check on you yet?”
Thane sucked noisily on the straw. His mouth wasn’t exactly in working order. Grogginess and a floating feeling made his thoughts tumble loosely. Whispering his thanks for the glass of water, he lay back, exhausted by the simple act of drinking and swallowing.
“Don’t—remember…sir….” he said, his voice hoarse. His throat hurt. It was painful to swallow. Frowning, he looked around. There was an ache drifting up his right leg toward his thigh. What was wrong with it? Automatically, he weakly lifted his right arm to touch his right thigh beneath the thick blankets covering him. Frowning, he saw that his leg was lifted slightly and hanging from a series of pulleys at the end of the bed. It took him long moments to realize why his leg was hanging there like that.
And then, slowly, the reason for his leg injury came back to him. As the man beside his bed stood quietly, images of the mission formed before Thane’s shut eyes. The sounds. The loss of his team. The girl, Valerie. And…a woman’s face. She was dressed in a tight-fitting black flight uniform with absolutely no insignias anywhere on it. She hovered over him, a worried look on her beautiful face. A helicopter…yes, he remembered being in a shaking and shuddering helo. And his leg. No…. Somewhere in his drugged, spacy mind, Thane recalled another woman in a black uniform saying he was going to lose his leg. No! Panic surged through him. As it did, it began to wipe away his semiconscious state. The floating sensation was erased by the surge of adrenaline now flooding his bloodstream.
“Easy, Son….”
Thane opened his eyes. His leg was still attached. Wasn’t it? He was breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling with effort. Reaching out with his right arm, alarmed at how weak he was, he clawed at the covers near his knee.
“You still have your leg.”
Relief shuddered through him and Thane ceased his efforts to see if his heavily swathed and bandaged limb was really there or not. He couldn’t feel his leg, just the ache throbbing upward from it. A groan emitted from his parted lips as he fell back on the pillows. Heart pounding heavily in his chest, he knotted his right hand into a fist.
“My leg…” Thane felt Trayhern’s hand tighten briefly on his shoulder, as if to reassure him. He desperately needed that small act of kindness right now.
“From the after-action report I received, Captain Hamilton, they said a rocket launcher was fired. Apparently, according to the approaching helo rescue team, you dived behind a wall just in time. The rocket exploded into the rock just in front of you. I’m sure you don’t have memory of that—yet.”
Thane weakly moved his head from side to side. All he cared about, all he wanted, was to know that his right leg was still a part of him. The person on the helo had been wrong, thank goodness. He couldn’t stand the thought of not being whole. Not being able to go back to the Corps and be a career officer.
Nostrils flaring, he tried to settle down. His emotions, he discovered, were like the wild horses of Arizona that he’d once seen on the ranch where he’d grown up. Focusing his eyes on the somber looking man named Trayhern, he held his dark blue, penetrating gaze.
“My leg? What else?”
“According to the surgeon, they’re worried about infection.”
“Don’t let them take it….”
Morgan squeezed his shoulder again and felt the powerful muscles beneath the gown Hamilton wore. The man was in top shape. As a Recon Marine, he’d have to be. “We’re going to do everything in our power to see that you keep your limb, Captain.”
Panic seized Thane. “You mean…I might lose it?” No! No, that can’t happen! His heart raced with anguish as more and more of his drug-induced state was wiped out by another surge of adrenaline.
Morgan held up his hand. “I’ve got an idea, Captain. I need to make some phone calls. When I come back, I’ll have more answers and a plan of action for you. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you keep that leg.”
Thane closed his eyes. Pain was now drifting up his leg into his thigh, and knotting his gut. He bit back a groan. “I won’t lose my leg—sir,” he declared between clenched teeth. “Hell will freeze over before I allow anyone to cut it off….”
Morgan saw the dangerous glint come into the younger man’s eyes, the black pupils constricting and a look of stubbornness entering. Lifting his hand, Morgan said, “No one wants to see you walking on two legs more than me. I’ll be back, Captain.”
Thane was completely conscious the next time Morgan Trayhern came in, an hour later. The nurse had him sitting up, and had given him an IV drip of morphine for the after-surgery pain, but he was much more alert. The nausea in his stomach had abated, for which he was grateful. His gaze kept going back to his right leg. Dr. Del Prado had come in less than fifteen minutes ago and given him the prognosis. He didn’t leave much hope that he’d keep it in the long term. That scared Thane. Scared him a lot.
He looked up eagerly as Trayhern walked toward him. The man was ex-military, no question. And Hamilton knew the legend about him. Every marine did. The fact that Morgan had been a marine was a godsend. Marines always took care of their own, and it was apparent that Trayhern was going to do the same for him. That gave Thane hope despite the brutal words of the Peruvian doctor.
“Things are set into motion, Captain Hamilton,” Morgan informed him as he halted at the side of his bed.
Thane felt a semblance of relief and released a breath of air from between his tightly compressed lips. Somehow, Trayhern’s husky words, the look in his dark blue eyes, reassured him. “What’s in motion, sir?”
He smiled a little. “Several things. Just lie back and relax, Son, and I’ll fill you in on what we’re going to do.”
Morgan saw the hope in the man’s tense features. There was more color flooding into his face, making his cheeks look ruddy. The eaglelike alertness in his dark green eyes settled directly on him. Hope filtered through Morgan as he laid out the plan.
“I’m taking you stateside on a Perseus-owned jet that’s being readied at the Cusco airport. I have a trauma physician on board who will monitor you all the way back. We’re landing at the Sedona, Arizona, airport, where you’ll be met by an ambulance. You’ll be taken directly to the Red Rock Hospital. I’ve talked to their head bone doctor, Jonathan Briggs, who’s one of the best in the nation, according to Dr. Del Prado.” Morgan smiled a little, triumph in his tone. “I talked personally to Dr. Briggs just a little while ago and he’s willing to take you on as a patient. Not only that, but I’ve talked to your mother, Judy Hamilton, to let her know that you’re all right and you’re coming home. At this same hospital, they have one of the best physical therapists in the state. And a masseuse who works with this therapist. I’ve also contacted a local homeopath, Rachel Donovan-Cunningham, who has agreed to work with you on your case. Dr. Briggs has no problem using alternative medicine right along with standard treatment. He’ll be reviewing your records and X rays as soon as we get you to the hospital.”
Morgan saw the man’s eyes flare with shock, though he didn’t understand why. He added, “Dr. Briggs is one of the best bone surgeons in the U.S.A. The very top. I wanted you in the best of hands, Captain Hamilton. I didn’t want you put in a military hospital somewhere. I know you were probably expecting that, but since you’re on our payroll and it was our mission, you’re not obliged to go to military hospital. We pay for everything, if that’s what has you worried. I take care of my people, Captain. They get the best. And wherever the best are located, that’s where you go to heal. The fact that your hometown is Sedona, is a lucky stroke. But it doesn’t take away from the fact that Dr. Briggs is there and that’s where I’d put you, anyway.”
Morgan smiled a little, pleased with the way things were falling into place. “Besides, your mother was thrilled with the idea that you would be so close to home. In my experience, having family around, people who love you, is an asset in a long-term war of recovery, Captain. No one can guarantee you’ll keep your leg—yet. And I know the importance of family, loved ones and friends in a battle like this. All it can do is help you in the long run.”
Stunned, Thane lay there taking it all in. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. What the hell was he going to do? Knotting the material beneath his hands, he stared straight ahead. Hurt pumped through his chest with every beat of his heart. Home. Not exactly a word that he jumped up and down with joy over. And his mother…
His throat constricted as he rasped, “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need home in order to keep my leg.”
Scowling, Morgan heard the edge in the man’s low tone. He saw a flicker of emotion in his narrowed green eyes. Sensing something was wrong, Morgan stood there for a moment digesting the officer’s tightly spoken words.
“Captain, I was once badly injured. When I came to, I was in a foreign hospital surrounded by people who spoke a language I didn’t understand. I had no one. No family. No friends. I remember how alone I felt. How I cried at night in the darkness of that ward. For me, the pain of that was a helluva lot worse than the pain in my head and the rest of my body from the wounds I sustained. Looking back on that period of my life, I’m sure I’d have recovered far more quickly than I actually did, if I’d had people who loved me around.”
Thane swallowed hard. Pain was arcing through his heart. It felt like a fist was surrounding the organ and squeezing it to death. His nostrils flared. He tried to squelch his feelings. It was no use. “There’s got to be another bone doctor in the U.S. Isn’t there, sir?”
Morgan heard the desperation in the officer’s tone, saw it clearly in his taut expression. “Dr. Briggs is the best in the country. I want you in his hands.”
Dammit! “Then, sir, I’ll remain at the military hospital at Camp Reed, instead.”
Tipping his head slightly, Morgan tried to ferret out the truth behind the marine’s tautly strung words. “When you have a home? A ranch to go to?” There was disbelief in his tone. He saw Hamilton struggle mightily with anger that flashed momentarily in his eyes. His mouth thinned considerably.
“You spoke to my mother, sir?”
The words were icy.
Disgruntled, Morgan said, “Yes. Why?”
“And she was ready to receive me with open arms?” Thane couldn’t help the sarcasm dripping out of his mouth.
Uneasy, Morgan said, “Yes. She was, first of all, relieved that you were alive. And when I told her of my plan, she was the one who suggested that she could have your room turned into a makeshift hospital room once you are released from the Red Rock facility. In fact, she said her part-time housekeeper is working on the room as we speak. Clearly, you’re upset, Captain. Care to clue me in on what’s going down here?”
Anger drifted through Thane. His fists unknotted. He wiped the gathering beads of sweat from his furrowed forehead with a weak swipe of his right hand. Breathing hard, he glared up at Trayhern.
“Family differences, sir.”
Morgan knew that whatever the problems, they weren’t any of his business. “Your mother gave no hint of any ‘problems,’ Captain. And based upon that, one of my assistants is working directly with her to get your old bedroom ready to receive you when you get out of the hospital.”
“Sir…I’ll go anywhere other than home when I get out of the hospital.” Thane nailed Morgan with a deadly look. “Anywhere but there.”
Morgan grimaced. Great. He hadn’t anticipated this. “I’ll see what I can do, Captain. No guarantees, however. Dr. Del Prado made it clear to me that you were going to need twenty-four hour care once you were out of the hospital. I happen to think that home is a helluva lot better place than some apartment. Besides, you’re going to need a lot of help. Your mother said that the woman who works for her part-time also works at the hospital.”
“Who’s that?”
Morgan grimaced. “I think she said her name was Paige.”
“Paige?” Thane closed his eyes. He remembered that name from his high school days. A beautiful, shadowy, mysterious girl named Paige Black. She was half Navajo and half Anglo. A scared little rabbit of a girl with long, black, shiny hair, a thin, graceful body. As he recalled she was so excruciatingly shy that she always walked with her head down so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone.
“Paige Black, by any chance?” he demanded.
“Yes…I think that’s her last name.” Morgan cleared his throat. “Paige would be charged with your daily care, Captain. She’s a registered nurse and a licensed masseuse. Your mother would not be in charge and she understands that. She approved of Paige taking up residence in her home while you are there. She said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Opening his eyes, Thane stared glumly up at the man. “Anything would be better than my mother, sir.”
“I see….”
No, he didn’t, but that didn’t matter to Thane. He wasn’t going to air his family’s dirty laundry in front of Morgan Trayhern. Thane also knew he didn’t have enough money to rent an apartment in Sedona for any length of time, as it was expensive real estate. Morgan was being more than patient and generous about this, and fortunate to get him a bone specialist like Briggs. Right now, keeping his leg mattered more to Thane than having to live under the same roof with his mother.
“I can tolerate the situation if Paige Black is going to be my nurse and take care of me,” he growled.
Morgan sighed internally. “I’m glad to hear that, Captain. Like I said, it has been my experience that home is the best place to heal.”
Not in his view, Thane thought, but he didn’t argue. “Thank you, for everything. I’m tired now, sir. I need to sleep.”
“I understand. Take a nap, Captain. My assistant is getting everything ready for a departure at 0600 tomorrow morning. We’ll be landing back on U.S. soil five hours after takeoff.” He squeezed the officer’s shoulder. “You’re in good hands, so just relax.”
After Trayhern left, Thane opened his eyes. He was tired, but he wasn’t sleepy. His heart in turmoil, he looked out the window and heard the noise from the traffic below. The sky was a deep blue, with a few wispy clouds. It was around noon, from what he could make out.
“Dammit…”
His softly whispered words, filled with pain, drifted eerily around the room. Home. He was going home. The last place he wanted to be. What kind of twisted fate did he have?
Moving his gaze angrily around the quiet room, Thane felt panic. He wanted to run. And then he laughed bitterly. Hell, he didn’t even have two useful legs to run anywhere on! And now he’d have to face his mother. That prospect made his gut clench and knot. For years he had avoided his mother and the ranch where he’d grown up. Even though he craved to have someplace to call home, he knew that place wasn’t with his mother. Oh, she had tried to instill the love of her family’s ranch and the land into him, but he’d ferociously resisted it. And yet in times of quiet, which weren’t frequent in his hectic life, his foolish heart would crave that place known as the Bar H. Home. And he’d catch himself and instantly deny he had any such longing. The Corps was his home, he reminded himself sternly.
His mind moved swiftly to thoughts of Paige Black. Instantly, his stomach unknotted. When Thane closed his eyes and pictured her soft, oval face, her skin that sunset-gold color that belied her mixed heritage, the thick, long folds of shining black hair that emphasized her high-cheekboned face, his heart settled a little. The panic he felt began to ease, too. In high school, Paige had been a shadow. Everyone had teased her and her two older sisters about being shy little rabbits. Oh, it wasn’t right that they had been treated like that, but Thane knew why it had happened. The Navajo people too often suffered from prejudice, and since Paige and her sisters were part Navajo, they had been branded by the white kids.
Sighing, he realized that during his high school years, he’d always been more than a little aware of Paige’s quiet, unobtrusive presence. He’d been too fearful to approach her, afraid she’d reject him outright because he was an Anglo. Not that he’d ever made fun of her. No, Thane’s prejudice didn’t run in that direction. Her large, liquid eyes had always reminded him of a beautiful, graceful deer, and he’d never forgotten them. He’d wondered, from time to time, what had happened to her. Well, now he’d find out because of fate. His life…his leg were being entrusted to her care.
She must have gone on to Yavapai College to become a registered nurse, he mused. He knew it was a nice little college with a satellite in Cottonwood, which was only thirty minutes away from Sedona. He was glad she’d made something of herself. In a way, he was surprised, because Paige had always been passive and shy. Four years of college required a lot of persistence. Somewhere beneath that quiet, graceful demeanor, she had a backbone of steel, and that made him grin with pleasure.
The Blacks had a small ranch, he recalled, a struggling one where they raised sheep to produce wool for their large extended family, most of whom still lived on the reservation. The Black family was renowned for their Navajo rugs, which were sold for very high prices around the world. Those rugs brought money so the whole family could survive. But a Navajo family was large and extended, and the money never went far enough. Everyone had made fun of Paige’s parents having a ranch off the res. But conditions in the Sedona area were perfect for raising sheep. Back then, it wasn’t accepted that Navajo could survive off their reservation. But the Blacks had, out of pure guts and perseverance. Thane respected the hard-working family for that. They worked twelve hours a day, a hardscrabble existence, but they had succeeded.
What did Paige look like now? Thane wondered. Life had taken them in very different directions. He’d gone on to Annapolis at age eighteen and into a career as a marine officer. He had wanted to follow the illustrious footsteps of his father, who had been a Marine Corps general.
Scowling, Thane remembered how his mother had divorced his father when Thane was only twelve years old. She’d wanted to go back to her family’s ranch to raise him. She’d wanted a steady place for him to grow up and become a young man rather than be shunted like a Ping-Pong ball from one Marine Corps base to another every two years. Bitterly, Thane recalled the nasty divorce and the judge making a decision that, yes, he would go to Arizona to live with his mother until he was eighteen.
Thane had always hated that decision. Hated his mother for divorcing his larger-than-life father. Thane felt once more the white-hot grief of being separated from his dad, whom he adored and took after in every way. He hated the years spent at the cattle ranch because he had only been able to see his father once a year—if he was lucky. His dad had been overseas for three of those painful years of separation, and during that time Thane never saw him at all. It left a big wound in him, a lot of anger toward his mother. She had no right to do what she’d done. Thane could never understand her reasons or her dreams. Or her.
But then, he reminded himself bitterly, he didn’t exactly have a great track record when it came to understanding women, anyway. Too many of them reminded him of his mother in one way or another, and that scored the still-open and bleeding wound deep within him.
Home…I’m going home. What a hell of a fix. What was he going to do? His mother was fifty-eight years old now. He hadn’t seen her in ten years. Then, two years ago, his father had died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Thane had seen her at his funeral in Washington, D.C. and had spoken stiltedly to her. She had pleaded with him to settle their differences and be a family once again, but he’d steadfastly refused. His father had died a lieutenant general in the Marine Corps, a man widely respected and well loved by those in his command. Thane tried to mirror him in every way. He’d loved his father deeply. And seeing his mother at the funeral only exacerbated his grief over his father’s passing.
“Damn….” he rasped.
The word echoed weakly around the silent room.
Only the fact that Paige Black would take care of his needs on a daily basis made going home anywhere near palatable. Thane felt like he had been thrown from the skillet into the fire. And yet his only objective while riding this emotional maelstrom was saving his leg and getting the hell out of his mother’s house as soon as possible, going back to work as a marine. Above all, he wanted his old job back. And one way or another, he was going to accomplish it. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.
Chapter Three
Thane spent his time on the Perseus jet that flew him back toward the States writing letters of condolence to the wives and families of the men he’d lost on the mission. It was a task demanded of him because he was the officer in charge of the Recon team. Even if it hadn’t of been, he’d have written. These men were his friends; they were like younger brothers to him. His handwriting was shaky and his eyes filled with tears again and again, until he was done. Sometime after that, with his hands folded over the last letter he’d written, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
At some point, someone gently removed the heartfelt letters from beneath his hands, which rested on his blanketed stomach. It might have been Jenny, the trauma physician, or Morgan himself. Thane wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. Both were from the military and he knew they understood.
When he awoke, they were within an hour of their destination. Morgan was up in front, speaking on a phone, at a makeshift desk with papers surrounding him. The rear of the Lear jet had been revamped to make it easy for patients like Thane, who lay on a gurney with tubes hanging out of him, to ride with relative ease. Pain had awakened him. Jenny, who was in her mid-thirties, with short red hair and sparkling green eyes, adjusted the IV drip to give him more painkiller to ease his discomfort.
As soon as she did, Thane lapsed once more into a deep, almost comalike sleep. He was sure his need to sleep was due to many things: his injuries, the trauma of the surgery, his escalating emotions and grief over the loss of his men, his concern over what these losses were doing to the families, among other things. And, beneath it all, lay something he didn’t look at very closely: the fact that he was going home to a mother who was more a stranger to him than a parent. And to a house he’d hated growing up in because he’d considered it a prison. The weight of all those emotions raged through him, unchecked.
The next time Thane woke up, he found himself in a pale pink room. It took him a few minutes to realize that he was in a hospital—more than likely Red Rock Hospital, in Sedona, Arizona. It was a far cry from the Cusco hospital. This room was cheery in comparison, with fuschia venetian blinds, green plants hanging near the window and several paintings of flowers and landscapes. His leg was suspended, once again, with a set of pulleys and he noticed he wore a pair of light blue pajamas. The bed covering was a deep fuschia color and matched the venetian blinds. To his left was a huge set of windows, and he could see he was on the ground floor. There were shiny-leafed pyracantha bushes along the bottom edge of the window. Beyond that, he saw the gorgeous spires and buttes of Sedona.
New emotions filtered through him as he gazed upon the red rock country where he’d grown up, noticing once more how the red sandstone was sandwiched between layers of white rock as it spiraled high into the dark blue sky. Turning his gaze from the late evening dusk that hung over the small community, he saw there were a number of bouquets of flowers in the room—bright red, rust-colored, yellow and pale lavender wildflowers from around the area. He would recognize these flowers anywhere and he welcomed their sweet scent over the antiseptic odor he’d encountered in the Cusco hospital. There was no mistaking that it was June in Sedona, for summer had come to this tourist town in all its colorful splendor.
The door to his room cautiously opened. Thane turned, his heart thudding hard in his chest. A young woman dressed in a pale blue smock and loosely fitting dark blue slacks, a stethoscope around her neck and a chart in her hands, moved quietly into the room. She gave him a shy, hesitant smile.
Thane recognized her at once. It was Paige Black. The fear that had knotted his stomach when he’d thought his mother had come to visit him dissolved instantly. A warmth flowed through him at the sight of her. How had she grown so beautiful? Her eyes were large and damp looking, as if she’d been crying recently. Yet the look in them welcomed him with undeniable warmth and recognition.
“Hi. I’m Paige Black, Captain Hamilton,” she said uncertainly. “I was just coming to check on you, to see if you were awake yet. Your mother wanted to know so she could drive over and welcome you home.”
Thane’s eyes traveled over her from her head down to her toes, and back up to her face. Paige could barely hold his narrowed green gaze. She could feel his intense look sweep over her like a fire suddenly out of control, creating a burning sensation. Inwardly, she was trembling with joy as well as trepidation.
Thane swallowed convulsively. Paige was more beautiful than ever. He remembered her in high school, when she hadn’t been half as pretty as she was now. Perhaps it was her height that gave her such a magnetic presence, for she stood about five foot seven inches tall. Her shining ebony hair was drawn back with a large sterling silver, turquoise-studded comb at the back of her head. She wore no makeup, but that didn’t matter. Her thick, arched eyebrows set off her very large, cinnamon-colored eyes. When he saw her dip her head and avoid his eyes, he recalled belatedly that Navajo did not like to make eye contact with strangers. They felt it assaultive. Disrespectful. And he’d been staring at her like a starving wolf. Still, she stood there, her hands crossed in front of her, and patiently endured his inspection.
Clearing his throat nervously, Thane lifted his hand, though he was still very weak. “Call me Thane, Paige. It’s good to see you again.” And it was. He hungrily absorbed her soft, placid looking features. Her skin was golden, her cheekbones high, her eyes slightly tilted to give her a look of mystery and intrigue. More than anything, her mouth looked delicious to him. Her lips parted in surprise when he talked to her in such a friendly manner. She lifted her head like a startled deer caught in headlights. Why?
“Y-you…remember me?”
Just the soft, husky tone of her voice soothed his jangled nerves and raw emotional state. Her eyes were huge with shock as she stared across the room at him.
He managed a brief, hoarse laugh. “Remember you? Sure I do. Why wouldn’t I?” And indeed, why wouldn’t he? Thane felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He found himself helplessly devouring the sight of this quiet, tranquil beauty. Everything about her spoke of peace and calmness.
Paige smiled gently and touched her cheek, which felt hot. “You have a wonderful memory, Captain—I mean, Thane….” Awkwardly, she clasped her hands again. How handsome he was! Paige tried to stop the old pain in her heart from leaking through her joy at seeing him once more. She’d never expected to see Thane Hamilton again after he’d left for Annapolis. If he knew that she’d had a crush on him in high school, he’d laugh himself silly. Now he was back here—with her. But not of his own free will.
Thane lay back, feeling suddenly joyous for no discernible reason. Even the fear of his upcoming meeting with his mother melted away beneath Paige’s warm brown gaze. “I never forgot you,” he stated. And he hadn’t. For him, she’d always been a mystery—an ethereal creature who was more a shadow than a reality in his life.
The huskily spoken words riffled across her aching heart. Paige tried to sternly tell herself that Thane was her patient, someone she would care for during his convalescence, but that was all. More heat rolled into her face. She placed her hands against her cheeks and looked away.
“I’m blushing like a teenager,” she admitted, laughing breathlessly. “I guess our school days follow us around, after all.”
His eyes narrowed speculatively at her. A part of her was still a child, even though she stood before him as a tall, graceful woman. “We have a lot in common,” he told her, giving her a wan smile. “We went to the same high school for four years. I’m glad someone I knew then is taking care of me now, instead of a stranger.”
Trying to gather her scattered, joyful emotions, Paige forced herself to take a more businesslike stance with him. She hadn’t expected Thane to remember her. Or for him to say such wonderful words to her. Moving briskly, she came to his bedside.
“That’s true, we did. But you were the superstar of Red Rock High School. I was a nobody.” She was still a nobody, she thought as she checked the drips on the IVs feeding a painkiller and liquid nutrients drop by drop into an artery in each of his arms. “I work here full time as a registered nurse. I assist Dr. Malone, who is going to be your physical therapist. I’m also a licensed masseuse.” She looked at the IVs closely, pretending to be busy with them. Paige couldn’t stand the powerful masculine energy that surrounded Thane, energy as potent to her as sunlight. It always had been. Only now he seemed ten times more male, more powerful, to her. Paige felt panicked beneath his continuing stare. Was she so unattractive that he couldn’t tear his gaze from her? Johnny had been abusive to her in every way. He said she was dog ugly, that her face was misshapen. Once he’d pointed out that one side of her mouth moved up more at the corner than the other side, that her left eye was slightly larger than her right one. Everything about her was out of balance, and according to the Navajo way, the beauty way, harmony and balance was the goal of life. Maybe that was why Thane was staring at her like that. He saw the disharmony of her features, too.
“I’m impressed with your credentials,” he murmured. Paige was so close. So wonderfully close. He could smell the fresh outdoors on her, a slight, clean scent of sage. Her skin was a flawless dusky color, proudly proclaiming her mixed heritage. Her black lashes were thick and framed her sparkling eyes, which carried flecks of gold in their depths.
“Are you comfortable?” she asked, moving back a step from his bed.
Thane nodded. “As much as I can be. When did I arrive here? The last thing I remember is falling asleep on the plane about an hour from our projected landing time.”
“You got here an hour ago.” Paige glanced at the practical-looking watch on her slim wrist. “It’s 4:00 p.m. now.”
“And Morgan Trayhern? Is he still around?”
Paige shook her head. She was nervous around Thane. He was a large man, heavily muscled, and so very good looking. But, what had drawn her to him so many years ago was his sensitivity and care of others. He’d never been an egomaniac just because he was the star of the football team and had led their team to two state championships. Instead, he’d always talked about how each member on his team was a hero, how it was teamwork that allowed them to win. No, Thane had treated everyone equally. He never ran with a clique. And he’d been busy in several clubs at school as well, organizations that helped the poor and the elderly. Paige had loved him fiercely for his humanity, for his kindness to others who had less than he.
Realizing she hadn’t answered his question, she stammered, “Uh, n-no. Mr. Trayhern left, but—” she turned and quickly moved to the dresser opposite his bed “—he left this for you.” She picked up a thick manila envelope. Bringing it to his bedside, she said a little breathlessly, “And he said to tell you that the letters you wrote would be sent off tonight to the families, and not to worry about the details. He’d take care of everything, including sending flowers for the funerals, which will be held shortly.”
Thane frowned and took the envelope. “I see. Thanks….”
Paige saw the pain and grief in his eyes. His mouth moved into a thin line. She fought the urge to touch him, to comfort him as he grieved at the terrible loss of his men. “I…I heard what happened. Mr. Trayhern said you’re a hero. I’m sorry for the loss of your team, Thane.” It was impossible not to reach out, and so Paige risked everything, tentatively placing her fingers across his muscular forearm, covered with soft, dark hair.
Just the soothing, cooling contact of her fingers on his skin eased some of his pain. Thane saw her eyes fill with genuine care and sadness. He knew Navajo custom was that once someone died, that person was never spoken of again. Of course, in his world, things were different. But right now he didn’t want to talk about his friends. Maybe the Navajo had the right idea, after all. “Thanks,” he said, his voice rough with tears, despite how he fought the emotion he felt. Overwhelming grief surged up through his chest, creating a huge lump in his throat. He swallowed repeatedly and tried to contain his feelings.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
Thane shut his eyes. Her soft voice penetrated the wall of pain he was barely holding on to. The firmness of her cool fingers was steadying to him. Taking in a jerky breath, he opened his eyes and stared straight ahead.
“No.”
The word came out flat and controlled. Paige’s hand left his arm. He felt bereft. Idiotically, Thane wanted to cry out, throw his arms around her and hold her tight against him, sobbing and screaming out his pain against her soft, rounded breasts.
Stunned by that reaction, he withdrew deep inside himself. He saw Paige step back. The look on her face told him he’d hurt her with his blunt refusal of her help. Damn. She was the last person he meant to hurt right now. Moving his mouth, he tried to apologize, but nothing came out. All he could feel was the grief that was ready to avalanche downward.
“Let me call Dr. Briggs. He wanted to know when you awoke.”
“Wait!”
Paige jerked to a halt. She turned. Thane’s eyes were filled with darkness. The grief, the need to cry, was etched in every line of his face. It took everything Paige had not to automatically wrap her arms around him, hold him and let him cry. That was what he needed, she realized. The tears glimmered in his eyes. He looked away, as if ashamed that she’d seen them.
“Yes?”
“Paige…I…hell, I’m feeling pretty upset right now. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
The forgiving smile that blossomed across her full lips was more than he deserved in the aftermath of his apology, Thane realized as he watched her hungrily. Paige was the only person he knew here. The only person he wanted to know. She represented a safe harbor to him, emotionally. The only safe one.
“I’m used to people being in pain and barking like angry dogs, so don’t worry about it. Pain makes a person grumpy. Okay?”
Thane ruthlessly looked her up and down. Did she mean it? Or was her response just empty words designed to make him feel better? No, Paige was telling the truth. Thane could see how every emotion she felt could be read in her face. In that way, she hadn’t changed much, from what he recalled. She was one of those people who couldn’t hide her true feelings. Even now, she didn’t try to. Thane marveled at that. Life had taught him to hide beneath a mask most of the time.
“Okay,” he said, his voice raspy with emotion. “You’re the only friend I’ve got here. I don’t want to chase you away by being a grump.”
Touched, Paige felt her lips curve deeply. “I’m honored to be considered your friend.” And she was. Johnny had said no one would ever want her—not even as a friend. Maybe he was wrong? Her heart rose with hope.
Thane knew that the Navajo valued friendship a lot more than most people. Being considered a friend was like being adopted into the family. He managed a broken smile. “From what I understand, you’re going to have to put up with me when I get out of this place, until I can get back on my feet.”
She placed her damp, cool hand on the doorknob. “Yes. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid. Judy has fixed up the guest bedroom for me to stay in. I work part-time over at her house, anyway. She’s so busy with the ranch that she needs me to take care of the house for her on weekends.” She didn’t add that Judy needed the help and couldn’t afford a cowhand. Because Judy had been tireless in her efforts to help the Navajo poor, this was Paige’s way of thanking the woman for her generosity toward Paige’s people.
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