Man With A Mission

She was beautiful.

Without thinking, Jake rose to his feet. It was part of his officer’s training to stand in the presence of women, despite his feeling that no woman was up to the job that lay ahead of him.

“Are you…” he began awkwardly, holding out his hand toward her. Somehow, he wished she wasn’t his team partner. She was too beautiful, too feminine looking to be qualified for such a risky venture.

Ana smiled shyly. “Jake Travers?” His gaze assessed her as if she were stripped naked before him. Girding herself, she tried to cooly return his arrogant gaze.

Jake felt his skin tighten at the sound of his name on her lips. He managed a curt nod. “Yeah, I’m Jake Travers.” He sounded as snarly as he felt.

“Well,” she asked lightly, “do I meet with your approval?”

Jake scowled. “That remains to be seen….”

Man with a Mission

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my editor, Lynda Curnyn. Thank you for all your

help, your support and belief in my plots and characters.

LINDSAY MCKENNA

is a practicing homeopath and emergency medical technician on the Navajo Reservation. She lives with her husband, David, near Sedona.

THIS MONTH

you’ll find bold adventure and passionate romance

in Silhouette Special Edition

as

Lindsay McKenna

continues her popular series,

MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: MAVERICK HEARTS

Morgan’s men are born for battle-

but are they ready for love?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

“Hey! You can’t go in there, Captain Travers!”

Morgan raised his head at the sound of his assistant’s voice. He was in conference with Mike Houston and Pilar Martinez, both of whom had flown in from Peru, and was going over some February reports with them when the door to his office was pushed open. A tall, scowling, dark-haired man, around age thirty, strode into the war room, with tiny, blond-haired Jenny Wright tugging on his right arm in a futile attempt to stop his progress. Morgan’s assistant looked like a gnat attacking a massive Cape buffalo.

Mike Houston automatically rose, unsure who the man who had crashed their conference was. He went on guard, his hand moving to the holstered pistol he wore beneath his dark blue blazer.

Morgan sat back, his gaze sweeping the stranger’s tense, hard features. The look of desperation and apology in his assistant’s wide blue eyes told him everything. Holding up his hand, he murmured, “It’s all right, Jenny. Let him go.”

Jenny released the stranger’s arm. She was breathing hard. Diminutive compared to his bulk and height, she glared up at him, her hands set petulantly on her hips. “I’m really sorry, Morgan. I tried to stop him. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m really sorry….” She brushed several strands of gold hair from her gathered brows.

Morgan turned his narrowed eyes upon the young stranger, who was dressed in camel-colored slacks, a matching blazer and a white shirt open at the collar. There was casual elegance to the man’s attire, but Morgan detected an obvious military bearing in the way he squared his shoulders and stood, feet slightly apart, hands at his sides, as if waiting for a counterattack.

“And you are?” Morgan asked in a deep tone.

“My name is Captain Jake Travers, Mr. Trayhern.” He turned to Morgan’s assistant. There was apology in his low, strained voice. “I’m sorry, Ms. Wright. I have to see Mr. Trayhern. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Jenny scowled up at him, her jaw set, her full lips thinned. “The world wants to see Mr. Trayhern! What makes you think you are better than anyone else and can just bust in here like this? The nerve!”

Morgan squelched a smile. Jenny, the young woman he had hired when his old assistant retired a year earlier, was only five foot two and barely a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she was fiercely protective. Like a willful, loyal terrier, once she latched on to something with her teeth, she didn’t let go. The tiny dynamo had dreams of being a mercenary someday. Morgan hated to break the news to her that she’d never be one. Jenny had no military or police background. But she had a wonderful, romantic side to her, and Morgan sensed that in her dream of dreams, she’d like to be a heroine like the women he already had in his employ at Perseus. Jenny idolized all the mercenaries. She loved working at Perseus, and if the truth be known, she was the best assistant he’d ever had. “It’s all right, Jenny. Why don’t you bring us some coffee? Mr. Travers here looks like he could use a cup.”

Jake nodded hesitantly. “Yes, sir, I could use some coffee about now….” He gave Jenny another apologetic glance. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Wright…I hope you can forgive me?”

Jenny looked at Morgan. “Okay,” she muttered with defiance, “I’ll get the coffee.” She jerked her tiny chin up at Jake. “And no, I don’t forgive you!” Then she turned on her heel and stalked out, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Morgan felt Mike move from his tense position, though he never took his eyes off Jake Travers. Pilar, who was on his right, was studying the intruder intently, too.

“Well, Captain Travers, now that you have our full, undivided attention, would you like to come and sit down over here,” Morgan said, pointing to a chair near where they were sitting, “and tell us what’s so important that you breached all my security to get here?” There was amusement in his tone.

“I’m no longer a captain, sir.” Jake stood watching the wary-looking man to the left of Morgan Trayhern. He knew him. He was Major Mike Houston, a legendary figure in the U.S. Army, a special forces officer who had made a big difference in Peru by chasing down and stopping the drug cartels in that country.

“Oh?” Morgan said mildly.

Jake opened his hand. “I resigned my commission yesterday, sir. The army wouldn’t let me go after my sister, who has been kidnapped by a drug lord in Peru. I told them to go to hell. I’ll move heaven and earth to find her…and I need your help….”

“Whoa, slow down, Son,” Morgan said. “Come on, sit down. Let’s talk this out.”

Mike relaxed once he realized Jake Travers was an officer in the U.S. Army, just as Mike himself had been at one time. A lot of people had a price on Morgan’s life, which was why the head of Perseus kept his main office hidden deep in the Rocky Mountains of Montana. No one, except for this petulant upstart of an army officer, had ever found Morgan, or been able to get through all the tight security set up for Perseus employees who worked at the Philipsburg office. Until now. That said something about Jake Travers’s cunning and abilities. He deserved time with Morgan based upon his daring.

“Yes, sir.” Jake gave Mike and the woman a penitent glance as he moved toward the long, oval table and the chairs surrounding it. “I apologize for my lack of manners and appointment.”

Chuckling, Morgan gave Houston a bemused look as Jake sat down. Jenny entered with a tray bearing white china cups, a coffee dispenser, cream, sugar, and cinnamon rolls for the four of them. She set it down near Travers. Giving him a dark look of disapproval, she quickly poured everyone coffee, then left.

Morgan reached for one of the small cinnamon rolls, which were baked on the premises every morning for himself and his employees. When he saw Travers giving them a longing look, he said, “Have some, Captain? You appear a little hungry around the edges.”

Jake didn’t hesitate. He was starving. “Thank you, sir. And, as I mentioned earlier, you can dispense with my title. I’m no longer in the army…I’m a civilian now.”

Houston folded his hands and watched the young officer. “You’re a ranger, aren’t you?”

Jake looked up, startled. “Is it written all over me, despite my civilian clothes, sir?”

Houston smiled a little. “It takes one to know one. Your stance. The way you carry yourself. Your alertness.”

Jake gobbled down three of the small cinnamon rolls, then sheepishly drank most of his coffee and poured himself more.

“I think Señor Travers needed this breakfast,” Pilar noted, smiling gently. “How long has it been since you’ve last eaten?”

Jake felt heat moving up his neck and into his face. The three of them were studying him with kindly looks; they weren’t laughing at him. Sitting back, the delicate white cup decorated with purple and yellow violets looking tiny in his massive hands, he muttered, “About twelve hours, ma’am. I left Fort Benning, Georgia, and have been patching together transportation across the U.S. to get here.”

“You were with the 75th Ranger Regiment?” Mike asked mildly.

“Yes, sir, I was.” He sipped the hot coffee with relish, his gaze darting from one to the other. Jake had no idea how he would be received. Morgan Trayhern, the man he had to see, seemed slightly entertained by his impromptu entrance. Houston was more assessing. And the beautiful black-haired woman, whose cultured voice had a distinct Spanish accent, had a look of compassion in her sparkling eyes. Still, his stomach was knotted and tense.

Mike nodded. “Good outfit. So why’d they let you resign your commission to come out here and see us?”

“Sir, it’s about my sister, Talia Travers.” Jake sat up, his back rigid with stress. Setting the cup aside, he said in an emotional, strained voice, “You’ve got to help me find her. Please…”

“Slow down, Son,” Morgan murmured, wiping his hands on a linen napkin. “Start from the beginning, will you?”

Chastened, Jake nodded. “My sister, Talia—Tal—is two years younger than me. She’s a hydrologist. She looks for water and tells people where to dig a well, basically. She’s one of the best and brightest out of Ohio State University. She’s always wanted to help the poor and the underprivileged. Last year she quit a very high-paying job with a U.S. firm and took a position for one-quarter of the money, with the Wiraqocha Foundation.”

Mike’s brows rose. “I know of them.”

Morgan glanced at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Mike murmured. “They’re a legit nonprofit organization out of California that works with the Que’ro Indians, the last of the Inkan bloodlines, up in the mountains of Peru. Last I heard, they were sinking water wells up in the Rainbow Valley area, which is about a hundred miles northwest of Cusco, near the gateway to Machu Picchu Reserve.”

Relief flooded Jake. “Yes, sir, that’s them. That’s who my sister went to work for. She just went down there on her first assignment, to find six places to sink wells, at different Que’ro villages in that region.” He was so glad someone knew the area.

“Go on,” Morgan murmured.

“Tal went down there two weeks ago. We spoke just before she left from Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport to hop a flight down to Lima. She was really excited. She was to head up a team of hydrologists and other water experts from Peru, who were going to meet her in Cusco and make plans to put in the new wells. You see, sir, sixty percent of the children in those villages die because of bad water.” Jake shook his head and frowned. “Sixty percent, sir. Well, Tal has a big, soft heart, and when she found out little babies and young children were dying at those rates, she went to the Wiraqocha Foundation and offered her services to try and turn those numbers around. I mean—” he opened his hand helplessly “—if it was your child that died because of bad water…”

Morgan nodded. “I understand,” he said softly. “Your sister is to be commended for her courage in helping those people.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake swallowed hard. “The Wiraqocha Foundation just contacted me to tell me my sister had gone missing and they suspect kidnapping. The last time I heard from Tal was last week. She called from Cusco to say she was going out in the field, near what she called the Inka Trail. There’s a village located nearby, and that’s where I believe she was when she was kidnapped.”

“The Inka Trail,” Mike told Morgan, “is an ancient route about a hundred miles long that connects the Rainbow Valley to the temple site at Machu Picchu. It’s about a thousand years old, paved with stones that were laid by the Inkan people so that runners from the empire’s main temple at Cusco could send messages to different sites in the valley, all the way to Machu Picchu.”

“And today,” Pilar added, “it’s considered one of the most beautiful and challenging trails in the world. People from around the world walk it just to say they did it and survived.” She smiled a little. “The trail goes from fourteen thousand feet down to six thousand. And it’s not for wimps.”

Houston chuckled. “No joke.” Then he became somber. “That area you’re talking about has never had drug activity—until now. Did your sister know of any activity before she went down there?”

Shaking his head, Jake muttered, “No, sir. She didn’t say anything about it, and frankly, I didn’t think about it, either. This foundation has been working in Peru for over a decade and never heard of drugs being traded through Rainbow Valley. They are just as shocked and upset over Tal’s disappearance as my parents and I are.”

Houston nodded. “Drug lords move around. They never stay in one spot too long. They keep alive by remaining on the move.” He got up and went to a wall map of Peru, which had a number of small red flags pinned to it. He picked up the flag near the Rainbow Valley region. “Just as I thought,” he muttered, reading the tag, “the last report of drug activity we received from this area implicates a small-time drug lord who’s trying to enlarge his territory.” Mike pinned the flag back on the map and came over and sat down.

“By any chance is it Javier Rojas?” Pilar asked, looking up at Mike.

“Yep, that’d be my bet,” he answered. “A mean little snake with tiny, close-set eyes and a personality to match. He’s well known for kidnapping foreigners and then demanding money for them. It’s how he does business, getting more money to set up his little drug-smuggling kingdom.”

Jake scowled. “There’s been no word from anyone on Tal’s disappearance. The Wiraqocha Foundation has received no demands for money for her release, either. And neither have my parents. Is that bad?”

Morgan heard the carefully concealed terror in the young officer’s voice. He saw it in his pale blue eyes, in his huge black pupils. Jake leaned forward, his hands balled into fists on the table, the desperation and worry for his sister obvious.

“Look, Son, I think Pilar and Mike will agree with me that when you’re dealing with a small fish like Rojas, a phone call or demand for money at this point may be a bit premature.” Morgan looked to his people. “Am I correct?”

“That’s right,” Pilar said. She reached across the table and patted Jake’s hand gently. “You must remember, señor, that Peru is not like Norteamérica. In Peru we do not have superior roads.”

“No roads at all, most of the time,” Mike added wryly. “A lot of llama, alpaca and cow trails, though.”

“Sì. And telephones are a luxury. Especially anywhere outside of Lima, the capital, or Cusco, the second largest city in our country.”

“Translated,” Houston growled, “that means that Rojas doesn’t have an iridium satellite phone, which he could use to call anywhere in the world, because he can’t yet afford one. He can’t use a cell phone up there in those mountains, either. So he’s got to get back to Cusco, would be my guess, to get to a phone to make a call. Which—” Mike smiled a little “—can be difficult at best. If he’s the struggling little upstart of a drug lord I think he is, he doesn’t have the money, the means or the people to do this. It’s probably too soon to expect a call.”

“But what about Tal? What will he do to her?” Jake choked back the emotion rising in his chest and jamming his throat. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Rojas’s scrawny little neck and choke him to death if he was the one who had kidnapped Tal. What would the man do to her? Rape her? Bitterness coated Jake’s mouth. Jake couldn’t stand the thought of such a thing happening to his vibrant sister, who was like sunshine in his life.

Houston sighed. “What kind of a personality does Tal have?”

“She’s outgoing. Spirited. Vibrant. She walks into a room and everyone turns to look at her.” Jake smiled a little, his voice softening. “She’s such a warm person, Major Houston. Very caring.”

“Is she a pushover?” Pilar asked.

Jake shook his head. “No, just the opposite. She’s a fighter. She can confront the meanest bastard and look him in the eye and stand toe-to-toe with him and win.”

Houston nodded approvingly. “Good. Because mealymouthed tyrants like Rojas are usually afraid of big, bruising norteamericana women, who are seen as Amazon warriors. South American men are used to passive females who do their bidding.” He glanced past Morgan and gave Pilar an apologetic look. “There are exceptions, of course.”

Pilar nodded deferentially. “Thank you, Mike.”

Jake looked at them. “You’re saying that if she stays strong, he won’t…hurt her?”

“That’s right,” Houston murmured. “She probably scares the pants off Rojas.” He chuckled.

Pilar laughed softly. “South American men have not learned how to deal with a strong, self-empowered woman yet.” Her dark eyes sparkled mischievously. “But they are learning.”

Jake leaned forward. “That leads me to why I’m here, Mr. Trayhern. I need to get down there. I need help, though. The kind only you can give me. Can you send me with one of your mercenaries as a guide? So I can find Tal? My parents are Iowa farmers. They don’t have any money at all, but I’ve got about ten thousand dollars saved and—”

“Save your money,” Morgan murmured. He looked at Mike. “Who do we have in from a mission that we could send down with him?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “No one. We’re stretched thin right now, Morgan.”

Scowling, he said, “Are you sure?”

Mike nodded glumly. “Very sure.”

Pilar sat up. “Then you need someone from inside Peru to assist you. Mike, what about Captain Maya Stevenson? She’s got a spec ops—special operations—base near Machu Picchu, right?”

Snapping his fingers, Houston sat up. “That’s right! She’s got Apache helicopter pilots from various countries working under her command. And if I recall, there are two Peruvian pilots among them. Home grown. The kind we need right now.”

Pilar grinned a little. “What are the chances of persuading Captain Stevenson to loan out a pilot who might know not only the area, but the Quechua language as well? The Rainbow Valley is mostly made up of Quechua Indian villages, where Spanish is a second language, not the first, as it is in the rest of the country.”

Morgan looked from Mike to Pilar. “Sounds good to me. What you don’t know is that I’ve been in contact with her already. I got wind, through an army general friend of mine, of her needing upgraded Apache helicopters. She indicated that she might be willing to work with us in order to get those upgrades. I haven’t told her how we might work with her.”

Jake frowned. “I don’t understand. You don’t have a team or a person from Perseus who can help me find Tal?”

“No, Son, we don’t.” Morgan smiled slightly. “But we have other contacts that might work out just as well. Maybe better. Mike, you want to contact Captain Stevenson on the iridium scramble sat com? Tell her I want to trade one of her Peruvian women pilots for those Apache upgrades she’s been wanting.” He scowled. “She won’t be easily convinced, Mike, so hang tough with her. She’s shorthanded as hell and isn’t about to let one go unless we wave those much-needed upgrades under her nose. She’s a savvy negotiator.”

Rising, Mike said, “You bet. Hang around, Captain Travers, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Nonplussed, Jake looked at Morgan. “Who’s this Captain Stevenson?”

“She’s a shadowy spec ops figure who is under spook supervision. We don’t know a whole lot about her, as her work is on a need-to-know basis. The general I talked to put me in touch with her about a month ago.”

Spooks were the CIA, Jake realized. “A woman helicopter pilot down in Peru and working for the CIA?”

“Actually,” Pilar added proudly, “she’s a U.S. Army captain, an Apache combat helicopter pilot. One of yours. How about that?”

“She’s army?”

Morgan looked amused. “Why does that surprise you, Captain Travers? Women make just as lethal warriors as any man ever did. In fact—” he smiled over at Pilar “—my women mercenaries, most of whom are from one of the four military services, are equal to or better than any man in my employ. There’re no weak sisters among them. And I like teaming up a man with a woman because women see things men often overlook. And in our business, the devil’s in the details. You overlook a detail and you’re dead. So, yes, my women are like big guard dogs, with senses far better honed than any man’s probably ever will be. Men and women each have their strong points. Together, they’ve got the best chance of carrying out a mission successfully and coming home alive.”

“You’ve made quite a few sexist statements there, Morgan. And for a change, most of them favor women,” Pilar said, her grin widening, pride in her eyes.

Morgan shrugged. “I’ve learned it the hard way over the years, Pilar. Never underestimate a woman who’s doing spy duties. She sees all the colors and has finely honed instincts.” He grinned at her. “You were a spy down in Peru for quite some time.”

Pilar nodded. “Yes, I was. And I was very good at what I did.”

“Men have just as good an ability to see details as any woman, sir,” Jake said.

Morgan studied him across the table. Jake was scowling now, as if he didn’t want to hear that a woman was as good—or better—than any man.

“Captain, I dare say you’re young and inexperienced. If you were a ranger, you have no women in your outfit—yet. And that’s a pity, in my opinion, because they bring skills and abilities to the table none of us males have ever gotten in touch with. They can teach you a lot if you’re open to learning from them.”

Jake throttled his defensive response. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but no woman can do the job a ranger does. Ever.”

Pilar sighed. “Oh, Captain, you are so young and wet behind the ears.”

Chuckling, Morgan said, “If you don’t value what a woman brings to the table, Son, then it’s your loss. Captain Stevenson has single-handedly carved out a spec ops in the Peruvian jungle in the last three years, with a small group of women U.S. Army pilots and women technicians to service the crafts. She’s cut drug running from Peru to Bolivia’s border by fifty percent. Just she and her women. Major Houston was down there for ten years trying to do the same thing, but he didn’t have near the success rate she’s had. Captain Stevenson is a bold, brilliant woman. A strong tactical planner and a visionary way ahead of her time.”

“She’s also a pit bull when it comes to drug runners,” Pilar added grimly. Studying Travers, she said, “Captain Stevenson is a legend in her own time down there. She’s feared by every drug lord in Peru. Her Boeing Apache combat choppers confront Russian Kamov Black Shark helicopters daily in the skies over Peru, stopping the cocaine from being taken over the border to Bolivia. She and her pilots are the bravest we know.”