Destiny's Woman

USA Today bestselling author LINDSAY MCKENNA brings you another action-packed, emotion-filled story featuring the men and women of MORGAN’S MERCENARIES!

“What’s happening?” Akiva asked unsteadily.

“Nothing that isn’t good, gal,” Joe whispered rawly, holding her hand up in his larger one. “You deserve some goodness in your life, Akiva. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I wish…well, if I’d been there…”

Warmth and happiness suffused her unexpectedly. Akiva pulled her hand free because she was suddenly frightened by how she was feeling. Wrestling with the happiness throbbing through her chest and warming her lower body, she folded her hands deep in her lap. The tender flame burning in Joe’s gray eyes nearly unstrung her. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to dislike about this man. And that scared her badly.

“Lindsay McKenna continues to leave her distinctive mark on the romance genre with…timeless tales about the healing powers of love.”

—Affaire de Coeur

LINDSAY MCKENNA

Morgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

When an earthquake rocks Southern California to the core, it’s up to the men and women of Morgan’s team to save lives, conquer danger—and discover love!

The Heart Beneath

Destiny’s Woman

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To KaraHand’s Home in Lower Hutt, New Zealand,

and the heart-centered women who care for those in need:

Helen Henderson, RN, homeopath, Deborah Mustard, RN,

Reiki healer, and Cathy Garton, RN, homeopath.

I salute the “Coyote Sisters,” who work with the disabled,

the mentally handicapped, the children who require

twenty-four-hour-a-day attention. Thank you for being

there to help so that the parents of these children can have

a day off from their labors of love. You are truly pioneers

in this area of help for such families. I honor your

compassion toward those in need. Truly, the three of you

are Jaguar Clan members in the finest tradition of healers

for our world. Thank you for being who you are—

great role models for the rest of us to follow.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Maya, you can’t ask me to go on a mission of this type with a male copilot in the back seat of my Apache helicopter,” Akiva said as she sat tensely in the chair before her commanding officer. Her words were low and tortured. Pleading. Without realizing it, Akiva curled her fingers into fists on her tense thighs. Anxiously, she searched her C.O.’s narrowed, emerald eyes for her reaction.

Sighing, Maya sat back in her creaky chair, which had seen better days. Ordinarily, at the Black Jaguar Squadron headquarters, hidden deep in the Peruvian jungle about fifty miles from Machu Picchu, everyone got along with everyone else. Because of the importance of their mission, the U.S. Army had upgraded their facility from a base to squadron status. The change was good for morale, as well. Rarely was there an outburst of dissension such as the one Chief Warrant Officer Akiva Redtail was giving her right now. Propping her fingertips together, Maya leaned back and gave Akiva time to settle down.

“Look,” Maya finally murmured in her husky voice, “the Perseus psychologist, Jenny Wright, came down here earlier this month and interviewed everyone who wanted to volunteer for these upcoming missions. Of all the applicants, she chose you to lead this clandestine jungle mission in Mexico. Jenny lobbied hard for you, Akiva, despite the fact that she’s more than a little aware of your prejudice against Anglo men.”

Akiva’s nostrils flared and her eyes flashed with anger. “I’ve made no bones about my prejudice toward white men, Maya. I never have.”

“Which is what got you in so much hot water when we were being trained to fly the Apache gunships at the army helicopter facility back in Fort Rucker.”

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’m guilty as charged.”

As Maya studied Akiva, who was one of her best combat helicopter pilots, she withheld the bulk of her comments, knowing they would only hurt or inflame Akiva at this point. She knew Akiva well from years of working with the stalwart woman pilot. Akiva was half Chiricahua Apache and half Lakota Sioux, and a warrior of her people. The red headband Akiva wore indicated she had passed all the brutal physical and mental trials the Apache people had challenged her with in order to reach warrior status. Not only that, Akiva proudly wore what was known as the third braid of the warrior, as well. Her waist-length, lustrous black hair was down today, the small braid, which began at the center part, hung down among the thick locks streaming across her proud shoulder. Only an Apache who had fulfilled specific demanding tasks could wear such a braid.

Because Maya wanted Akiva to embrace who she was, as she did every woman pilot at Black Jaguar Squadron, she allowed her to proudly wear the signs of her warrior status. After all, the prejudice against them as women combat pilots had been horrendous enough. Though the army was struggling mightily against old prejudices against women, Maya knew it was a wound that would be long in healing for most of the women pilots. Akiva certainly hadn’t taken to being treated like a second-class citizen at Fort Rucker, where she and Maya and many of the other female pilots on the squadron had trained.

Leaning forward, Maya placed her elbows on her cluttered desk and slowly clasped her hands together. Akiva’s face was filled with anger, hurt and confusion. Not surprising, since she was the most aggressive gunship pilot at the base—she’d bagged a Russian Kamov to prove it. Akiva was Maya’s best pilot. Maybe it was her Apache blood, Maya thought, that gave her that natural aggression that was so needed in air combat. But being a pilot was one thing; being asked to command a small, hidden operation in Mexico was another matter entirely.

Akiva was in her element here at the squadron. She’d thrived as a combat pilot and more than earned her keep. But now she was being asked to step into a command situation, and that was a whole other story. Not every officer had the capability, intelligence, sensitivity or desire to manage a base operation. If Akiva took the assignment, she’d be sorely challenged to develop new skills. Could she? Would she?

Worst of all, Akiva’s prejudice against white men would be the test. Could Akiva lay her prejudice aside and treat everyone fairly, including her second-in-command, Joe Calhoun? Though Joe was half Comanche, Maya knew Akiva thought he was white. However, Maya decided not to bring this point up because Akiva had to learn to deal with not only white men, but men in general. Joe would be a real challenge to Akiva. Maya already knew that Joe realized Akiva would be a challenge to him. He already knew Akiva didn’t like him, but he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t Maya’s job to fix this. It was up to Akiva and Joe to hammer out a truce for the higher goal of the mission.

“Let’s look at this possible assignment another way,” Maya said, purposely keeping her voice low and soothing. Ordinarily, she left the door to her office wide-open; it was one of her policies here at Black Jaguar—an open door to the C.O. so that everyone knew they counted and could walk in and speak to Maya whenever they had a problem. That plan had worked well, but today, Maya had closed the door. She knew about the explosion to come, and did not want Akiva embarrassed by her knee-jerk reaction to what would be asked of her.

Opening her hands, Maya continued, “I’m asking more of you, Akiva, than I’ve ever asked before. This assignment is not about a guy named Joe Calhoun who has been chosen as your copilot and executive officer at this new base ops. It’s really a question of whether or not you want to take on a commanding officer’s role or not. You must rise above your personal prejudice. That is what a good C.O. does. Everyone should be treated equally and with respect.”

Nostrils flaring again, Akiva felt an internal trembling from her gut up to her throat. She was breathing chaotically because she was upset. Her fists tightened on the fabric of her black, body-hugging Nomex flight suit. “I would go to hell and back for you, Maya. Anything you’ve ever asked of me, I’ve tried to do to the best of my ability.” Her voice broke. “If you gave me a woman copilot and X.O., I’d say without hesitation that yes, I’d try my best to be a leader. But you’re throwing this white guy into the equation. Isn’t it enough that it’s going to be damn dangerous, with a lot of stress on the three-person ground crew and two pilots involved? Why throw in white bread?”

Mouth quirking, Maya said, “We don’t always get everything we want in life, Akiva. You know that better than most.”

“No kidding.” Her voice grated as she exclaimed, “I want this assignment, Maya. I know I can do it. I just don’t what an anglo along for the ride and in my rear seat.”

“Joe Calhoun is our best night operations pilot. He taught night ops back at Fort Rucker for the last two years. He’s here now, teaching all our pilots on the Apache Longbow upgrade. You even took training from him. You know how good he is at what he does. This little experiment in a bottle that the Pentagon wants us to undertake in Mexico in order to disrupt drug shipments across the Gulf to U.S. soil, is very important. The government is modeling this mission based on the success we’ve had down here in Peru, stopping cocaine shipments to Bolivia with our Apache gunships. Mexico is home to one of the big drug cartels. The Feds want to set up this base in the jungle—a place near what was once used by drug dealers as a touch-and-go ops to land and take on a lot of drugs. It’s the perfect locale for us to hide.

“I want this black ops experiment to be successful, Akiva. I need you to rise above your own prejudice toward white men and look at the larger picture. Through our work here, we’ve halted fifty percent of the drugs flowing to Bolivia for shipment across the world. That’s fifty percent less on the world market. The Pentagon is finally interested in the plan that I initiated here years ago. At long last they’re willing to invest time, money and coordinated effort to see if they can apply what we’ve learned here elsewhere.”

Maya got up and jabbed her finger at her colleague. “And you’re the best pilot for this, Akiva. I need your aggression, your nose for combat, your fearlessness because we don’t know what you’re up against once we get that Apache helo, that three-woman ground crew and your copilot set up in the jungle. I don’t want to see our years of hard work screwed up because you can’t get a handle on your prejudice.”

Lips flattening, Akiva looked up at her C.O., who stood six feet tall in her black flight uniform. Maya’s ebony hair shone with reddish highlights beneath the fluorescent lights. Maya wore no insignias on her uniform—standard operating procedure for a black ops covert operation, so as not to reveal any hint of who they were or where they came from. Still, Maya was a powerful woman, and Akiva’s respect for her transcended her own anger and frustration.

“Listen,” Akiva growled, “I don’t want to screw up your plans. I agree with them. I want to see what we’ve carved out here in the jungle put to use elsewhere, too. My gun sights are on the druggies. It does my heart good to turn them back or down ’em. Please…I don’t mean to be a pain in the butt about this. I know I am.”

“Yes,” Maya said mildly, “you are definitely being a pain in the butt, Akiva.” She came around her desk and sat on the edge of it, facing the pilot. Placing her hands beside her, Maya let the tension in the room build along with the silence. Akiva’s jaw was set, her full mouth a slash as she struggled to suppress her emotions. One of the many things Maya appreciated about Akiva was that she was always a straight shooter and honest about her thoughts and feelings. That was okay as a pilot. But as a commanding officer, Akiva couldn’t afford to use bald, undiplomatic words with the people on her team; it would cause immediate problems for everyone.

“You know, there’s a big difference between being a gunship pilot and being an officer in command of a base.”

“I know that.” Her mouth puckered, her arched brows knitted, Akiva flashed her a frown as Maya regarded her thoughtfully. “And I feel I can do it.”

Maya had her doubts. Pilots were a fraternity; and although they faced many stresses, not to mention outright danger, Maya knew from her own experience that it was easy to be a pilot than a manager of people.

“You know, when I hatched the plan for the Black Jaguar Base ops at Fort Rucker, I was mad as hell at the army establishment, at the prejudicial way they were treating our company of women training for Apache gunship flight.”

“You took your anger and did something proactive with it,” Akiva agreed in a low voice. She tried to relax. Sitting back, she folded her arms against her chest and crossed her legs. “And every one of us women were with you all the way on your concept for this base.”

“Yes, that made it easy for me to get on with my plans.” Maya saw the defensiveness in Akiva’s body. The intent expression on her oval face and the predatory look in her flashing, gold-brown eyes told Maya that Akiva wasn’t really listening to her; she was still wrestling with the fact that Chief Warrant Officer Joe Calhoun was to be her second-in-command.

“If you think that putting this ops into place was easy, Akiva, you’d be wrong. It wasn’t. I had never thought of myself as a C.O. All I wanted was to be allowed to fly combat and do what I loved most. I never entertained the idea of being here in this capacity, believe me.”

Akiva looked up at Maya, her eyes flat with confusion. “Who else did you think would do it? You created this place, this idea, out of nothing. Sure, we all helped, but you were the guide. You’re the one who had the vision.”

“Vision…hmm…Yes, that’s the right word to use here, Akiva.” Maya smiled slightly. “Among your people, the Apache, do you have vision quests? A ceremony where you don’t eat or drink for three to four days, and you pray to your spirits for guidance and help to reveal the future?”

“Yes, we do.”

“And you’ve gone on such vision quests?”

“Growing up on the res, I did. Why?” Akiva was becoming uncomfortable. She saw that glint in Maya’s emerald eyes and sensed she was up to something. That got Akiva’s attention, for her superior was a woman of immense mystical powers. Oh, everyone in the BJS—Black Jaguar Squadron—talked about Maya’s secretive background. It was whispered that she was one of the elite Black Jaguar Clan, a group of mysterious and powerful spiritual warriors who kept a very low profile, yet were out there on the leading edge, fighting the darkness. Akiva believed those stories about Maya, because among her own people, the jaguar was a living spirit. At one time, in the Southwestern U.S., jaguars had roamed freely—until miners had killed them all off and made coats out of their beautiful black-and-gold skins. Often Akiva had wanted to ask Maya about her background, for the rumors about her and her healer sister, Inca, were well known at the base.

“When was the last time you were on a quest?”

Shrugging, Akiva muttered, “Five years ago, I suppose. Why?”

“Aren’t vision quests about deprivation? You don’t drink water. You don’t eat. You starve your physical body in order to make it a receptacle so that spirit can come to you and give you a dream…a vision that will help you grow and become an even better warrior than you are now, right?”

“Yes…” Akiva eyed Maya with growing distrust. She felt her C.O. heading toward some unknown goal with this unexpected maneuver in their conversation. She knew Maya’s mystical training had taken place among her people in Brazil, where she was born. Oh, Maya never talked about it, mysticism was not a common topic of conversation on the Black Jaguar Base. Daily combat missions and the interdiction of drug shipments was what their lives revolved around. So it was a big surprise that threw Akiva off balance when Maya started talking to her in an intimate, knowing tone about her own background and belief system. Native Americans had vision quests; it was one of the sacred rites they chose to undertake, sometimes on a yearly basis.

It was a time of cleansing, a time to pray for healing of any bleeding wounds within them. And it was a brutal physical test, draining participants on the physical dimension in order to leave them open for spirit to speak to them—if they were fortunate enough to have that happen. An individual could go on a vision quest for four days and receive no vision, nothing. That was about the worst thing Akiva could imagine happening.

“Where are you going with this little analogy?” she demanded huskily, watching her superior like a hawk. Akiva could feel the energy shift, change and become very solid around Maya. Akiva was not clairvoyant, but she had a kind of all-terrain radar that she called “blind faith knowing.” It had saved her butt many times out on gunship missions when deadly Black Shark Kamov helicopters, flown by Russian mercenary pilots paid by drug lords, had hunted her. She could sense the Kamovs before she ever saw them. Apache helicopters couldn’t pick up the radar signature on the Kamov, so all the pilots in the Black Jaguar Squadron had to more or less rely on their well-honed intuition to be able to feel the enemy out before the drug runners shot them out of the sky.

Raising one eyebrow, Maya said quietly, “I want you to consider this new mission like a vision quest, Akiva. You will go in knowing there’s likely to be physical deprivation and emotional demands placed upon you that you aren’t sure you can deal with adequately or appropriately. In the process, there’s going to be surrender to a higher power, just like on a quest. You have a hatred of white men. You’re going into this vision quest with the opportunity to transcend your wounds by trying to rise above them.” Maya’s eyes glittered knowingly. “You’re going to have to put your people and the mission before your own personal pain. In a vision quest, you are asked to put all your personal feelings aside and concentrate on praying to the Great Spirit for guidance, support and help. This black ops mission is well beyond you in some ways, and we both know it. I’m putting my money on you—that you’ll transcend the fires, become better than you are presently, and grow into the job requirements. I’m not asking you to do anything more than you would in a vision quest, where the demands are just as brutal.”

Akiva stared at Maya as her huskily spoken words went straight to her hurting heart. The truth behind them reverberated through her like an earthquake, and Akiva sensed the greater stage where this conflict was being played out, in the unseen worlds that surrounded them. She felt the importance of Maya’s words.

“Joe Calhoun symbolizes your wound because he is a man,” Maya continued softly. “He didn’t cause your pain or your wounding, but because he’s a man, he becomes that for you, Akiva. He’s innocent in all of this. I’ll be having a similar meeting with him in a little while, to tell him he’s been selected for the black ops mission with you. Try to see him as an individual, not as the man or men who wounded you as a child growing up.”

Akiva’s gold eyes flared with surprise. She’d never spoken to Maya—indeed, not to anyone—about her childhood. As she looked into her C.O.’s deep green eyes, she felt heat flow through her and touch her aching heart. Yes, she was scarred, deeply wounded by white men. But how did Maya know?

Akiva thought better of asking. Maya was a medicine woman of her clan, and one simply did not go up and baldly ask how she knew a person’s mind and heart. Medicine people often knew the unknowable, for they could pierce the veils of mystery and see a person’s past as well as her present and future.

Akiva shifted uncomfortably in her chair now that she knew Maya had seen her ugly, sordid past. Shame flowed through her, for she didn’t want anyone to know the torment and trauma she’d suffered and endured. The gentleness in Maya’s tone ripped off some of the scabs over that festering wound that consumed her heart and spirit. Akiva could better keep her defense in place against someone who yelled at her, than she could against compassion and nurturance. Her life, thus far, had not included such things, so she didn’t know how to deal with them.

“Your entire life, Akiva, has been a vision quest. I know you understand this.”

Wincing, Akiva jerked her gaze from Maya’s face to the tiled floor beneath her booted feet. She stared, unseeing, down at her highly polished combat boots, her black uniform blousing along the tops. Gulping, she gripped the arms of the chair. Red-hot pain gripped her heart. Her breathing deepened.

Maya reached out and placed her hand on Akiva’s tense shoulder. “I know from my own experience that some people volunteer for such a life, Akiva. They are strong, old spirits who have gone through many, many lifetimes in human form, becoming spiritually strong under adverse circumstances that would normally destroy a person.”

Her fingers tightened on Akiva’s shoulder. “Much is asked of us when we volunteer for that kind of life mission, my sister. And I do know what I’m asking of you, Akiva. What I ask goes far beyond any military orders, or even this three-dimensional world. You came into this life like I did—to fight the darkness. To bring light back to the world. We are on the front lines of this war between dark and light. We were born and bred for it. We had to have a very tough beginning in order to shape and strengthen us for what lay ahead. I need you for this black ops, Akiva. I need your heart, your passionate spirit, your fearlessness and your focus. I know I’m asking a lot of you.”

Maya’s voice lowered. “But you must see this mission as a vision quest, one that will be brutal on you emotionally and mentally in ways you’ve never had to deal with before. I know you can handle it. You’re courageous. Your bravery often leaves me breathless.” Maya removed her hand and stood near Akiva, who had bent over in the chair, almost in a fetal position. Maya felt the depth of her pain and closed her eyes momentarily.

“Many are called, Akiva, but few can really answer the call. You’re one who can. My bet is on you…that you’ll pick up the reins of this mission and give it your heart and spirit. The light burns brightly in you, and your jaguar spirit guide from your great-great-grandmother is with you at all times. Jaguar people never flinch from what is racing toward them. We stand our ground, straight and tall, and we prepare ourselves for the assault coming our way. And deep inside us, Akiva, we know without a doubt that the light—the guardians on that other side of the veil—will protect us, work with us and help us to withstand the blows we’re bound to suffer.”

Akiva forced herself to straighten. She felt Maya’s warm, throbbing energy surrounding her, like a mother cradling her child lovingly to her breast. The sensation was so foreign to her that it left her a bit in shock—a good kind of shock. Though she’d hunted all her life, she’d never found such protection, such love and care until just now. Lifting her head, her eyes swimming with tears, she saw Maya’s softened features waver before her as she looked down at her in those moments out of time.

Speechless, Akiva could only absorb what Maya was giving her. She saw the compassion in her superior’s emerald eyes, and the gentle strength that had always emanated from her now filled Akiva. She was starved for such rich and caring emotions, absorbed them hungrily as they flowed through her, touching her wounded heart. Akiva had never talked to Maya of her own spiritual beliefs, or about her jaguar spirit guide, and she was stunned by the knowledge Maya possessed about her. Yet she felt no panic, because Maya had long ago proved that she could be trusted.