Commando

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I say something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Money isn’t any object.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Three

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

“You were a few minutes ago, lady.”

“I could have handled Hernandez!”