Captive Of Fate

“Are you McIntire?” he demanded.

She opened her mouth and then closed it, blinking. Why did she feel like a child reporting to a teacher? Rapidly, she regrouped her forces, noting the black insignia on the collar of his uniform. Unfamiliar with the military, she had to search her memory for what the symbol meant. “Yes,” she answered, her voice softer than usual.

“Just what the hell is going on here? Where’s Sergeant Haskell? Who gave you permission to bump my man? Don’t you realize we’ve got three thousand people up on a mountainside who are starving and in need of medical attention? Who in the hell are you, some damn reporter?”

She groped to find her voice.

“Show me your papers,” he ordered tightly.

“Papers?” she repeated stupidly. Her heart pounded like a caged bird. She cringed inwardly at the utter masculinity of the man who stood over her with his hands resting tensely on his hips. She could smell the dankness of the jungle around him, the musky scent of his body, and realized his uniform was drenched thoroughly by the rain. Muddy red clay clung to his black, booted feet, and the lower part of his bloused trousers. Despite the harshness of his features at that moment, she saw dark circles of exhaustion beneath his eyes. His hair was a raw umber color, typically short in keeping with the military fashion. The cap he wore rested low on his forehead, the bill half-concealing his fiery, silver eyes. As she stood there for those long, interminable seconds, she saw his mouth lose its imperious line and soften somewhat. Idiotically, among all her colliding thoughts at that moment, Alanna found herself thinking it was generous and well shaped. She had expected his mouth to dip harshly at the corners, but to her surprise the lines there curved upward, indicating that he laughed or smiled a great deal. It made the planes of his face less threatening, and she sighed inwardly, realizing on a gut level that he might be human after all.

“Papers,” he repeated levelly, taking great pains to control the obvious anger in his voice. “Your passport, for instance. Because if you’re a reporter, I’m hauling you—”

“I’m not a reporter,” she blurted out, becoming used to his abruptness. She dug in her purse, searching for the letters of authorization, her hand trembling as she found them.

“What, then? A photographer? God, I’ve got enough of you damn people up there at the base camp right now. I don’t need a woman on top of everything else.”

Alanna felt a sliver of courage returning. This man’s abrasive manner was like a bucket of cold water, and she was beginning to come alive beneath his blistering salvo of demands. She opened the letters of authorization and showed them to him. “I’m Senator Thornton’s special assistant, Alanna McIntire, and I’m down here at his express direction. Who are you?”

He looked up from the papers, studying her with a renewed intensity that made her shiver. What was happening? She felt lightheaded and at the same time panicky beneath his glare. His mouth thinned.

“I’m Colonel Matt Breckenridge.”

Alanna’s eyes widened. So, this was the man. The Marine who caused Tim’s death by allowing his company to be overrun. But he didn’t look inept. He exuded confidence and masculine authority. No one could possibly mistake him for anything less than a man who was very much in control of the situation. And other people’s lives. Hers, for instance. She quickly jammed the papers back into her purse.

“You’re the person I want to see, then,” she explained.

“Lady, as far as I’m concerned, you can make an about-face and return to Washington on this bucket of bolts. Your friend the senator obviously pulled a hell of a lot of strings to get you aboard this plane because my radio communications specialist was the one you bumped from the flight.” He sucked in a deep breath, gripping her arm and giving her a little shake. “Do you understand what that means, Miss McIntire? Without Sergeant Haskell I’m going to continue having radio transmission problems between San Jose, the base camp, and San Dolega. That sergeant is a genius. He could establish communications despite this perpetual rain and fog. And he could find a way to train these imbecile police officers as radio operators. Let me put it in terms you politicians up on the Hill might understand a little more clearly: numbers. Not numbers of voters, granted. But numbers of wounded and sick people who need to be med-evacked out of that Godforsaken village. I have sporadic radio relays. I might as well fly carrier pigeons. At least they’d stand a chance of getting through.” He released her, taking a step back. “Dammit!” he snarled. “Haskell also speaks Spanish, and I desperately need an interpreter.”

Her arm tingled from his grip. Somewhere in the back of her confused, stunned mind, Alanna realized he could have hurt her. Instead, he had monitored the amount of pressure he’d exerted. She gulped, the importance of Sergeant Haskell sinking in. Maybe Colonel Breckenridge had a right to be upset under the circumstances. A wave of guilt surged through her, and she felt her face grow warm with a blush. She frowned, uncomfortable that, despite her twenty-nine years, a blush could give her away. More than anything, she wanted to hide all her reactions from this man.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Civilians and politicians never know before they act. I don’t accept your lame apology, Miss McIntire. You are unessential personnel as far as I’m concerned. Excess baggage. Useless.” He jerked off his cap, running his long fingers through his hair. Alanna had expected a crew cut. After all, Senator Thornton had painted him as a gung-ho Marine officer. Instead, his hair was neatly tapered to the base of his neck, and a rebellious strand dipped momentarily down across his forehead.

Alanna compressed her full lips. “I said I’m sorry, Colonel. I’m as confused about all this as you are. I had no idea I was coming down here until the last minute….”

Breckenridge jammed the cap back on his head, exhaling and glancing out the open bay at the continuing pall of rain. “Yeah, I bet you are, but not half as sorry as those poor souls up there on that damn mountain.”

Her heart wrenched as she heard a note of anguish in his tone. For a brief instant, the official mask of the Marine Corps slipped away from his features, and she saw a man who was beyond fatigue…beyond hope. Alanna chewed on her lower lip, suddenly at odds with herself. Senator Thornton had accused him of being a machine. A ruthless automaton bent upon destroying anything and anyone who got in his way. But he didn’t appear to be that robot right now.

“Look, maybe I can be of some help. I do speak Spanish quite fluently and—”

He shot her a flat look of disgust. “An aide to Senator Thornton offering help? I’d rather take a peace offering from an enemy carrying a grenade.”

Alanna’s temper flared. “I’m not your enemy!”

“Aren’t you?” he asked wearily, standing with his shoulders slumped forward, his head down for a moment. “God, this is all I need.” He gave a helpless, bitter laugh. “Well, I guess I should be thankful that the old man didn’t come down here himself. At least you’re beautiful. You’re the only thing I’ve seen in the last two rotten days that makes me feel like there’s still some hope left….”

She bridled, confused again by his sudden change in manner. One moment he was ripping her apart; the next, complimenting her. The man was unfathomable. Alanna gripped her bag tightly and muttered, “You’re stuck with me, Colonel, whether or not you or I like it.”

Matt looked at her. “What?”

“I’m down here to investigate reported losses of medicine and supplies from the relief efforts.”

He shook his head, a cold smile replacing his sadness. “There’s always some pilferage, Miss McIntire. That’s to be expected.”

Alanna steeled herself. “I’m not talking about petty theft, Colonel.”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck in a weary gesture. “Yeah, I’m sure the senator would like to pin my hide to the wall by accusing me of some stupid black market ruse. Well,” he said, “you’re barking up the wrong tree. Whoever told him we were losing substantial amounts of supplies is inflating numbers.”

“That’s for me to decide,” she answered firmly.

“Not on my time it isn’t.”

“I’m not asking for your time.”

“Good. Then be a smart girl and stay in the capital here for a few days, go shopping, and then take a jet back to D.C. I don’t have time for a meddling woman in any way, shape or form. Especially one that thinks she is a detective out to prove I’m somehow involved in peddling relief supplies needed by those poor earthquake victims.”

Alanna inhaled sharply. “I didn’t say that.”

He came forward, standing scant inches from her to examine her closely. “The senator has an ax to grind with me. Our quarrel goes back a long way, and I’m sure you’re just as aware of it as everyone else is. He sent you down to do his dirty work, Alanna. I don’t think you realize what he’s handed you. He hates me enough to concoct stories to try to get me court-martialed or publicly embarrassed.” His voice became husky, coaxing, an invisible balm to her shredded composure. He had used her first name, and it sent an unbidden shiver throughout her tense body. “I wouldn’t have been without sleep for the past thirty-six hours if I didn’t care what was happening to the survivors up there on that mountain. Every case of medical supplies is being delivered, I can promise you that. No one knows better than myself the value of morphine and penicillin in this kind of situation, and I wouldn’t jeopardize people’s lives for a little cash on the side. Money doesn’t mean a damn thing to me when it’s measured against people’s lives. Now, why don’t you do us both a favor and find a hotel, get some sleep, and take the next flight home? There’s no story down here.”

She was mesmerized by the sudden change in him: from tyrant to warm, responsive man whose virility seemed to affect her like a heady wine. Gone was the anger in his gray eyes, his mouth more relaxed, and a hint of a tired smile had replaced his earlier grim look.

For an instant, she was caught within his web. But Senator Thornton’s voice reverberated through her head: “He’s a hawk, Alanna! A cold-blooded monster who feeds on war and chaos.”

She fixed an icy smile on her lips. “The answer is no, Colonel Breckenridge. The senator’s sources are impeccable. You are going to take me along with you, one way or another.”

A cold, impenetrable mask dropped over his features. Alanna shuddered at the ease with which he resumed his military bearing. “Have it your way,” he whispered. “You’re out to slit my throat for your misdirected boss. All right, Miss McIntire, the ball is in your court, but just stay out from under foot.” He turned to leave and then halted, turning slowly back toward her. “If you get in a jam with Costa Rican officials, don’t come crying to me. I have no authority down here except for delivering medicine and supplies.”

“I have a letter from the senator, Colonel. I’m sure no one will give me any trouble except you.”

“Don’t be so sure. A beautiful woman up in the mountains with a bunch of men. You’re taking your chances. I’m afraid they may not take time to read your precious letters. That’s if they can read it all.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. He was deliberately trying to scare her into not going! “I’d rather take my chances with them than you,” she flung back.

Matt grinned momentarily. “Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t rape women.”

“I’m afraid your Marine image leads one to expect something of that sort, though,” Alanna retorted.

“Typical civilian remark. I can’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you under the circumstances. Too bad we never met in D.C. before this. It would have been interesting….”

She blushed scarlet at the innuendo. How dare he! She called him a few expletives in her mind as she watched him stride down the ramp and back out into the rain, issuing crisp orders to his men.

“Damn you, Colonel. You’re going to get everything that’s been coming to you. I promise. God, how I promise.” She pulled her coat tighter, walking quickly out of the plane and heading with determination toward the customs building.

* * *