Morgan's Rescue (26 page)

     
After taking a refreshing drink of water, Pilar passed her canteen to Culver. She watched as the container nearly disappeared within his huge, callused grasp, and he tipped his head back to drink. His neck was thick and strong, his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. His face was bathed in
a sheen
of sweat that accentuated his rugged features, and dark strands of hair lay plastered against his brow. As he finished drinking, he looked directly at her, and Pilar felt herself melting inwardly beneath his pale blue gaze as he studied her in the intervening silence. A tingle spread deliciously through her as his careful look seemed to caress her face, lingering on her mouth, then moving down to embrace her breasts. But he turned away abruptly, frowning, and capped the canteen.

     
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Culver reached inside his knapsack. Drawing out a holstered pistol, he strapped it about his waist. The time was upon them. He eased his leg over the log, straddling it so that he faced Pilar. Tension was evident in the set of her full lips and the worry she couldn't hide in her expressive eyes.

     
Taking her hand and easing her around so that she, too, straddled the log facing him, Culver gave her an intense look. "From here on out, things are going to get dicey," he said softly.

     
"I know," Pilar
whispered,
her voice barely audible. She tightened her fingers around Culver's strong hand. He seemed so confident, she thought, and she felt so helpless.

     
"I may not get to say too much from here on out," he murmured in a low voice. He lifted his head and surveyed the jungle around them critically. Swinging his gaze back to Pilar, he continued in a roughened tone, "Dammit, I wish this wasn't going down. I would much rather walk into Ramirez's snake pit than send you. I know it's not possible, but that's what I wish, Pilar." His hand tightened on her slender one. "Whatever you do, don't take chances." He stared at her hard. "I want you alive. Do you hear me?
Alive.
"

     
Looking away, Culver fought the tears that pricked the backs of his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was raw with undisguised emotions. "I know there's a lot of pain and hurt between us. Eight years ago everything seemed so simple. We met, we…loved each other." He wanted to say, "We fell in love with each other," but he didn't. He had no idea any longer whether Pilar had seen him as her only fling before submitting to a marriage cast for her since childhood, or if she had truly loved him as he had her. The point was moot now anyway, wasn't it?

     
"I just want to say I'm sorry I took my anger out on you, Pilar. I understand better why you left me. I can even accept it. . . ." His mouth flattened and hegazed into her luminous, tear-filled eyes. "You've got a beautiful little girl. Rane's the spitting image of you. I guess the main thing I hope for out of this is that you survive to live your dream of taking Rane back to your grandparents' village to grow up."

     
Pilar wanted to sob. She could see glittering moisture in Culver's eyes. Understanding just how hard it was for him to say these things nearly ripped her heart in two. But she didn't have the time to discuss things as she might want to. How could Culver ever really know why she'd left him? Just talking out loud was a risk to their lives right now, and she knew it.

     
Gripping his hands in hers, Pilar leaned forward, her voice soft and trembling. "Promise me one thing, Culver. I swear I'll never ask anything of you again—only this."

     
Shaken by her quiet intensity, he stared at her. "What is it?"

     
Swallowing against a lump forming in her throat, Pilar whispered, "Promise me that if I die, you will take care of Rane. Care for her as if she was your child. . . .
Dios,
this means so much to me. Take herback to the village and live with her and my grand parents. I know what I'm asking of you, but you're the only one I can trust with this. Love Rane and be her father in my absence. She needs a father." Her voice cracked with desperation as she said, "Promise me you'll do this, Culver?
For Rane, if not for me?"

     
Anxiously, Pilar searched his stoic expression and saw the tears gathering in his eyes. Up until this moment, she'd had no idea how much sway she still had with Culver, but she saw it now. His expression grew vulnerable at her pleading, and she was thankful. Nothing was more important than this last request. Pilar knew she might have ruined her own chances, but Rane had a whole life stretching out in front of her. With Culver's guiding hand, beneath his care and nurturing her daughter would blossom.

     
Looking away, Culver fought the tears. He'd never cried in front of anyone before. For some unknown reason, Pilar's request touched his aching heart as nothing else ever had. He felt her fingers gripping his, sensed her anxious gaze on his face as she waited for his answer. Agreeing could mean leaving his job as a mercenary and living in the village for at least a decade of his life. His gut wrenched, and he felt a powerful attachment toward Rane coming to life within him. He had no explanation for the feeling, but it was undeniably there, vibrant and alive.
As alive as his love for Pilar.

     
Culver's heart twisted in his chest. Part of him wanted to go into denial and tell
himself
that of course Pilar would survive this mission and fulfill her dream for her daughter on her own. Another part of him—the hardened realist—recognized that she could very easily die. Meeting Pilar's gaze once more, he saw pain, love and hope burning in her guileless, golden eyes. How could he deny her anything?
Even this?

     
"All right," he rasped, "I promise."

     
All the tension bled out of her, and she sank back, her shoulders sagging.
"
Dios!
Thank you,
mi querido.
Thank you. . . ."

     
"There's a possibility I'll get killed, too, you know."

     
Pilar nodded. Battling her tears, she covered her face with her hands momentarily. "I know," she rattled hoarsely. Allowing her hands to drop from her face, she looked up and absorbed Culver's vulnerable expression. How could she ever have doubted that he would fulfill her last request? Blindly reaching out, she wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders and pressed her cheek against his.
"Th-thank you,
miquerido.
I will never forget your love for me. I…I promise you that." Swiftly, she kissed his lips, tearing her mouth from his and moving away before he could react. The burning desire that flamed instantly in Culver's eyes made her tremble. Pilar wanted nothing more than to love him fully.
Completely.
But their time was up.

     
"We must go," she said unsteadily as she stood. "It is time. . . ."

     
Ramirez's fortress was large. Culver hunkered down beside Pilar as they watched the movements of the guards at the wrought-iron gate to the hacienda-style home, situated in a clearing in the jungle. The pale pink stucco seemed out of place amidst the greenery. A dirt road, rutted deeply with the tracks of four-wheel-drive vehicles, led to the fortress, connecting it to surrounding villages.

     
Dusk was upon them. Night would fall within half an hour. They had been crouching here for the past two hours, timing the guards, noting the vehicles that come and went. Several men, dressed like farmers, wore bandoliers of ammunition across their chests and carried submachine guns.

     
During the hours of waiting, Pilar's heart had settled down. The fear that had swept her like an ocean tide had eased a bit. She had changed into the costume of a village woman—a dark blue, cotton skirt hanging to her ankles, a white blouse and bare feet. She had braided her hair and put on several native necklaces. To anyone passing by, she was simply another Indian from one of the nearby villages.

     
Pilar wasn't sure how well Ramirez's guards knew the villagers. It would be impossible to recognize them all, she hoped; she would be taking that chance when she walked up to the gate. Though only the guards and Ramirez's staff lived within the fortress, food and water were supplied daily by villagers. She hoped the guards would see her as just another housekeeper come to fulfill part of her village's expected duty to Ramirez.

     
If they did doubt her, she could be taken prisoner at that point and interrogated—just as Morgan had been. But then their mission would fail. . . . No, shehad to get into the fortress, confirm that Morgan was alive and make her way back to Culver, who would alert his contact, Major Mike Houston.

     
The Peruvian Special Forces helicopters would come flying in like the cavalry when Culver called. But first Pilar had to get back into the fortress at three in the morning, when the guards were at their least alert, and the household would be sleeping as well. It would be up to her to free Morgan and lead him out of the enclosure.

     
The plan had many ifs, Pilar acknowledged, but it was their only chance of saving Morgan. Well, first things first. She had to get inside the fortress. Nervously, she adjusted her blouse and looked up at Culver. Wordlessly, he gripped her and swept her into his arms. The breath escaped her in a near gasp of surprise as she felt herself pressed against his hard, male body. Tilting her chin, Pilar parted her lips and knew he was going to kiss her one last time.

     
Her eyelashes drifted closed as she felt Culver's breath wash across her face. She ached for contact and wasn't disappointed. His lips brushed hers with a demanding force. This kiss, she realized, was one of claiming, telling her how much he loved her—still. Lifting her arms, she slid them around Culver's neck, pressing herself wantonly against him as his mouth plundered hers and she drowned in the resulting splendor. His lips branded hers and she felt his tongue enter her, stroking her, letting her know she was the only woman for him.

     
Their breathing grew ragged as Pilar offered herself upon the altar of love. Culver tasted male, the saltiness of perspiration mingling with the sweetness of a mango he'd recently eaten. Hungrily, Pilar returned his ardor, and wanting to leave him indelibly touched by her lips, as proof of her unspoken love for him. Finally, tearing her mouth from his, she gripped his arms to steady herself. Her knees felt like jelly, and she was gasping for air as she met the full intensity of his narrowed, predatory gaze.

     
"I must go. . . ." Abruptly she turned, hurrying away from him, because if she didn't leave that instant, she knew she'd burst into tears of grief, of loss. Oh, if only she could turn the
clock back
those eight long years and have a second chance at her tragic decisions. But, it was too late. Shifting her focus to the danger that lay ahead, she hurried through the jungle, moving swiftly and silently toward the edge of the clearing that held the fortress.

     
She did not look back. She didn't dare. Gripping her skirt, she raised the material above her knees and leapt to avoid small roots blocking the path before her. Her heart was pounding with fear as she saw a large, meaty guard moving lazily back and forth in front of the main gate. She prayed to the spirit of the jaguar to give her the cunning she needed to gain entrance.

     
Culver crouched, well hidden by the jungle. His mouth still tingled wildly in the wake of Pilar's heated response to his kiss. His body throbbing with unsated desire, he watched her approach the guard. It was so dark now that he couldn't see more than their silhouettes. Whatever Pilar was saying, the guard did not lower his deadly submachine gun from his shoulder. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Culver held his breath. Would the man let her by?

     
They'd noticed a lot of activity—frequent comings and goings of villagers as night approached. Culver wondered if Ramirez was having some sort of feast or celebration. He'd also heard some singing, guitar playing and shouts coming from inside the compound. Now he saw Pilar lift her skirt and twirl in front of the guard. Despite his anxiety, Culver noted the elegant grace of her movement. At last the sentry lifted his arm and pointed, and Pilar disappeared through the wrought-iron gates.

     
Swallowing hard, Culver looked down at his watch. It was nine o'clock. Relief swept through him; she had been given access to the fortress. But she still had so many barriers to clear. Would she find Morgan? Would someone blow her cover? Keying his hearing, he heard several shouts, followed by laughter, the sounds happy and celebratory rather than threatening. Several jeeps drove up carrying armed guards.
More of Ramirez's goons, Culver thought as he watched them being waved through.