Soldier of Fortune Page 6

  He groaned harshly, shocking her. She lifted wide, curious eyes to his.

  "I like it," he whispered huskily. "Do it again." She moved closer, and his hands caught her head, guiding her mouth to the places he wanted it, while the silence lengthened and grew around them and J.D.'s breath came raggedly and in gasps. She learned so much about him all at once. That she drove him wild when she rubbed her cheek across his taut nipples, that he liked

  the curl of her tongue around the tangled hair. That she could nip him gently with her teeth and make him go rigid. That he wanted her badly enough to tremble.

  "This isn't fair, Jacob," she whispered shakily, "I'm making you miserable, I'm..."

  His thumb pressed across her mouth. His face looked strained, but his eyes were blazing. "I want it," he whispered roughly.

  "But I'm hurting you," she said achingly. "Such a sweet hurt," he whispered, bending. "So sweet, so beautiful...let me make you ache like this, Gabby. I won't seduce you, I promise I won't, but let me touch you..."

  His hand moved between them and lightly touched her breast. The gown was thin, and his fingers were warm, and the sudden intimacy was shocking and pleasurable, all at once.

  She gasped and instinctively caught his fingers. He lifted his head and looked down, and he smiled. "Habit?" he whispered.

  Her fingers lingered on his hairy wrist. "I.. .1 haven't ever let..." she began.

  "You'll let me." His face nuzzled hers, his cheek rubbed gently against hers and he found her mouth, cherishing it with a whispery soft pressure that was wildly exciting.

  And all the while, his fingers were shaping, probing, lightly brushing until they caused a helpless reaction in her body. He drew the gown tightly around her breasts and lifted his head.

  "Look," he said softly, directing her eyes down to the rigid peaks outlined under the gown. "Do you know what it means, what your body tells me when that happens?"

  Her lips opened as she tried to breathe. "It means.. .that I want you," she whispered back.

  "Yes." He brushed her lips apart with his, tracing the line of them with his tongue. His teeth caught her upper one and nibbled gently, tugging it, smiling as she reached up to do the same thing to his.

  "Jacob," she whispered. Her hands crept around his neck. "Jacob..." She arched and pressed herself to him, and froze, shocked at what his taut body was telling hers.

  "Body language," he whispered, coaxing her mouth open again. "Now listen. I'm going to strip you out of that gown and hold you to me, just for a second, and then I'm going to get the hell out of here before I go crazy. I don't know what we'll be walking into today. I want one perfect memory to take with me, you understand?"

  She did. Because it was just dawning on her that she was in love with him. Why else would she be doing this?

  She felt his hands unbuttoning the garment and she looked up because she wanted to see his face, she wanted to remember always the expression on it. In case anything happened...

  He eased the gown off her shoulders and she felt it suddenly drop to the floor. She felt the whisper of the breeze against her bare skin. J.D.'s eyes blazed as he looked down at her body. And then he drew her to him, and she felt herself go rigid all over.

  "I won't live long enough to forget how this feels," he whispered. "Now kiss me, one last time."

  And she did, with all her heart and soul, without a single inhibition. And her arms held him and they fused together in a silence gone mad with tangible hunger.

  He groaned as if he were being tortured and his arms

  hurt her, his lips hurt, his tongue thrust into her mouth in a deliriously fierce invasion. Finally he drew back, shaking, and put her from him.

  He bent, picked up the nightgown, and gently drew it back on her without a single word.

  "Worth dying for," he whispered, studying her luminous eyes, her swollen mouth, her flushed cheeks. "God, you're sweet."

  "Jacob, don't go out there," she pleaded.

  "I have to." He bent and retrieved his clothes from a chair where he must have flung them the night before and began to dress.

  "But you're a lawyer," she persisted. She wiped away a tear and sat down heavily on the side of the bed, her green eyes wide and frightened. "You aren't a soldier."

  "But I was, honey," he said as he tugged on his jungle fatigues. He turned, buttoning the shirt, his eyes dark and mysterious as they searched hers. "You still haven't worked it out, have you, Gabby?"

  "Worked what out?"

  He tucked in the shirt. "I served only three years in the Special Forces. I joined when I was eighteen."

  She was trying to do mathematics with a mind still drugged by pleasure. "You were twenty-one when you got out."

  "Yes. But I didn't start studying for my degree until I was twenty-five."

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. "That means.. .you did something else with those four years."

  "Yes." He met her searching gaze levelly. "I was a

  mercenary. I led First Shirt and the others for the better part of four years, in some of the nastiest little uprisings in the civilized world."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GABBY STARED AT HIM as if she'd never seen him before. J.D., a mercenary? One of those men who hired out to fight wars, who risked their lives daily?

  "Are you shocked, honey?" he asked, his eyes searching, his stance challenging.

  Her lips parted. "I never realized...you said you served with them, but I never realized...I thought you meant in the Special Forces."

  "I was going to let you go on thinking that, too," he said. "But maybe it's better to get it out into the open."

  Her eyes went over him, looking for scars, for changes. She'd noticed the tiny white lines on his stomach and chest, partially hidden by the hair, but until now it hadn't dawned on her what they were.

  "You have scars," she began hesitantly.

  "A hell of a lot of them," he said. "Do you want to hear it all, Gabby?"

  "Yes."

  He rammed his hands into his pockets and went to stare out of the window, as if it was easier to talk when he didn't look at her. "I stayed in the service because it meant I made enough to keep Martina in a boarding school. We had no relatives, you see. Mama was gone."

  He shrugged. "But when I got out of the service, I couldn't get a job that paid enough to get Martina through school. I wasn't trained for much except combat." He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it. "I thought I'd given this up until the kidnapping," he said absently, holding the cigarette to his lips. He drew in and blew out a cloud of smoke. "Well, Shirt was recruiting, and he knew I was in trouble. He offered me a job. I took it. I spent the next four years globe-trotting with my crossbow and my Uzi. I made money, and I put it in foreign banks. But I got too confident and too careless, and I got shot to pieces."

  She held her breath, waiting for him to continue.

  "I spent weeks in a hospital. My lungs collapsed from shrapnel and they thought I was going to die. But I lived through it. When I got out, I realized that there was only one way I could go from there, and it was straight downhill. So I told Shirt I was quitting." He laughed mirthlessly. "But first I went on one last mission, just to prove to myself that I still had the guts. And I came out of that one without a scratch. I came back to the States afterward. I figured that someday the guys I'd served with might need a lawyer, and I needed a profession. So I got a job and went to school at night."

  "You aren't a fugitive?" she asked.

  "No. In one or two countries, perhaps, if I were recognized. But not in the States." He turned, studying her through narrowed eyes. "That's why I guard my past so meticulously, Gabby. And it's why I don't like reporters. I'm not ashamed of the old life. But I don't like being reminded of it too often."

  "Do you miss it?" she asked, probing gently.

  He sighed. "Yes. Part of me does. Life is so precious when you've touched death, Gabby. You become alive in a way I can't explain to you. Life is pretty damned tame afterwar
d."

  "This is why you came after Martina, isn't it, Jacob?" she asked, fitting the puzzle pieces together. "Because you knew that you and the group could succeed where a larger group might fail."

  "We're the only chance she has, honey," he said quietly. "In Italy I might have stayed out of it. But down here...the government has its hands full just trying to keep the economy from failing, and there are other factions fighting for control as well. Besides all that, damn it, she's my sister. She's all I've got."

  That hurt. He might want Gabby, but he didn't care about her. He'd made that perfectly clear. She lowered her eyes to the skirt of her nightgown.

  "Yes, I can understand that," she said in a subdued tone.

  "I had a long talk with Laremos last night," he said. "I told him that if he touched you, I'd kill him. You'll be safe here."

  Her head jerked up. "I'm not afraid for myself," she said. "Only for you and the others."

  "We're a good team," he said. "The way you and I have been for the past two years. Do you want to quit now, Gabby? Are you disillusioned?"

  He sounded coldly sarcastic. He lifted the cigarette to his lips with a short laugh.

  "Are you firing me?" she threw back, angered by the unexpected and unwarranted attack.

  "No. If you leave, it's up to you."

  "I'll think about it," she said.

  He crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray. "You'd better get dressed. I want to go over those codes with you one last time before we get under way."

  "Yes, of course," she murmured. She got up and went to find her clothes. Before she could turn around, the door opened and he'd gone out.

  She got dressed and sat down on the bed and cried. To go from dream to nightmare in such a short space of time was anguish. And the worst thing was that she didn't even know what had happened.

  It didn't matter to her that he'd been a soldier of fortune, she thought miserably. How could it, when she loved him?

  Loved him. Her eyes pictured him, dark and solemn and strong, and a surge of warmth swept over her like fire. She would have followed him through that jungle on her knees without a single complaint. But despite his obvious hunger for her, he didn't want anything emotional between them. He'd pretty well spelled that out for her. Martina was the only person on earth he loved or would love, and he'd said so. What he felt for Gabby was purely physical, something he couldn't help. She was a virgin and she excited him. He wanted her, but that was all. And he could have had her that morning, without a protest on her part. He must have known it too. But he hadn't taken her, because he was strong. He didn't want her getting involved with him, so he'd told her all about his past.

  That was the final blow, that he'd shared his past with her, only to put a wall between them. She hid her face in her hands and tried to hold back the tears. How was she going to manage to work with him day after day now, when he couldn't help but see how she felt?

  But that wasn't the worst of it. He was going out into the jungle after kidnappers who could kill him. Her heart froze in her chest. She couldn't stop him. All she could do was sit there and pray for him.

  All the pleas in the world wouldn't hold him back, not when Martina's life hung in the balance. If there was a chance of any kind, he would take it. But if he died...oh, God, if he died, there would be nothing of worth left in Gabby's life. Tears welled up in her soft green eyes as she tried to imagine a world without him. She wanted to go with him, to risk her life at his side, to die with him if that was what lay in store. But even as she thought it, she knew that nothing would convince him to take her along. He might not love her, but he was fiercely protective of her. He wouldn't allow her to risk her life. And she couldn't fight him.

  With a resigned sigh, she got up, combed her hair, and went into the living room where the men were assembled. It took the last ounce of courage she possessed to smile at them. She couldn't meet J.D.'s searching gaze at all. It would cut her to the quick to see indifference in his eyes.

  There was a new face in the room. It belonged to a dark, lithe man with pale blue eyes.

  "Semson," J.D. told her, indicating the newcomer. "He's been out scouting for the past day or so."

  "Gabby?" the new man murmured and grinned at her. "How do you stand working for this dude?"

  She smiled wanly. "Oh, it has its moments," she confessed, but she didn't look at J.D. as she said it.

  J.D. had picked up an automatic weapon something like a machine gun and slung it over his shoulder, but

  he was carrying the crossbow. Gabby stared pointedly at it and suddenly realized what it was for.

  She looked up, and he seemed to read the thought in her mind.

  He nodded. "Sentries," he said, confirming her suspicions. "If there are any."

  She felt her throat go dry. She'd never been in a situation like this, and she could have kicked herself for coming along. It was one thing to watch an operation like this in a fictional TV show. But to realize that any one of these men, especially J.D., might never come back from the rescue attempt.. .that was altogether different.

  "Hey, Gabby, don't look so grim," Apollo chided. "I won't let this big turkey get himself hurt."

  Gabby laughed despite herself. "Thanks, Apollo," she said. "I've gotten kind of used to him."

  "That works both ways. Laremos, take care of her," J.D. told the other man.

  Laremos nodded. "Be assured that I will. Now, shall we double-check our coordinates and codes?"

  They did, and Gabby felt her palms sweating as she rattled off the codes from memory. She knew how important they were, and that made her more nervous than ever.

  "Calm down," J.D. said quietly. "You're okay."

  She smiled for him. "Sure. You guys take it easy out there, okay?"

  "We're sort of used to this kind of thing," First Shirt said with a wink. "Okay, guys. Hit it."

  And just that quickly, they left. Gabby stood at the front door with her wide, unblinking gaze riveted on J.D.'s broad back. He didn't turn or say anything to her. It hurt terribly.

  "How long will it take them to get there, Diego?" she asked the man at her side.

  "At least an hour or two, Gabby," he replied. "The terrain is rugged, and they require much stealth."

  She glanced up to see that his eyes were concerned. "Are you worried?"

  "Of course not," he said, but he was lying and she knew it. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

  "I'll get a cup of coffee, if I may, and sit beside the receiver."

  He studied her closely. "Archer—you care very much for him."

  "Yes," she said simply.

  "Will you believe me if I tell you that of all the men I have known, he is the most capable under fire?" he said gently. "I have seen him come back from the grave. And their opponents have traveled far, senorita, and are already decimated in numbers. They will not expect such an attack here. We have seen to it that their intelligence is distorted."

  "But what if something goes wrong?" she burst out.

  He sighed. "Then it is in the hands of God, is it not?"

  She thought about that for the next three hours, pacing and sweating and worried out of her mind.

  "Shouldn't we have heard something?" she asked finally, her face contorted with fear.

  Laremos frowned. "It is rugged terrain," he reiterated.

  "Yes, but...listen!"

  The radio broke its silence, and Gabby made a dive for it. She gave the correct identification and waited.

  "Panther to Red Rover," J.D.'s voice said curtly. "Bravo. Tango in ten. Out."

  She keyed the mike. "Red Rover here. Alpha. Omega. Out."

  The code words meant that the group had arrived undetected and would make their play in ten minutes. She'd radioed back that the message was understood and that there was no new intelligence to convey.

  She looked up at Laremos, feeling her heart go wild as she realized how close the danger was. "Ten minutes," she said.

  "The waiting is the hardest, is it not?
" he asked quietly. "I will have Carisa fix us another pot of coffee."

  He strode away, and Gabby prayed and chewed her nails and stared at the microphone as if it held the key to salvation.

  Long, agonizing minutes later, the static came again. "Panther to Red Rover," J.D. said tightly, as gunfire and an explosion of some sort sounded in the background. "Charlie Tango! Heat up the coffee. Out!"

  Her fingers trembled as she returned, "Red Rover to Panther. Bravo. Omega. Out!"

  She'd just signed off when Laremos came tearing into the room, eyes flashing.

  "Raise them quickly! One of my men just reported that he's sighted a large guerrilla force moving toward Archer's position!"

  She grabbed the mike. "Red Rover to Panther. Red Rover to Panther. Come in, Panther!"

  But there was no answer. Frantically she tried again and again, and still there was no answer. Her frightened eyes went to Laremos.

  "They must be under fire," he said heavily, "or they

  would answer, we can only pray that they spot the newcomers in time."

  She stared at the mike, hating it. Her cold fingers keyed it again, and again she gave the message. There was no answer.

  Her mind went wild. J.D., answer me, she pleaded silently. I can't lose you now, I can't!

  As if he heard her, somewhere miles away, the radio blared. "Red Rover, we're cut off by guerrillas, lots of them," J.D. said sharply. "Going into the jungle coordinates two clicks from position Delta. Gabby, get the hell out of there, they're heading in your direction...!"

  The radio went dead. Gabby stared at it helplessly and then at Laremos.

  "Madre de Dios," he breathed. "I should have realized. . .Carisa!" he yelled. A stream of Spanish followed, and Laremos grabbed one of the weapons J.D. had called an AK-47. He thrust it into Gabby's numbed fingers.

  "Carry it. I will teach you to use it when I must," he said curtly. "Come, there is no time. Aquilas!" he yelled, and the short man who'd driven in from the airport with them came running in. There was another stream of Spanish.