Captive of Fate (2 page)

“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.

*

Alanna waited impatiently for the phone connection with the senator’s home to be completed. She pushed her damp hair away from her face, still boiling with rage over the impudence of the Marine officer. Thornton’s voice came over the phone line, faraway and slightly distorted by distance.

“He’s everything you said, Senator.”

“Met him already?”

“Unfortunately, yes. What an arrogant—”

“A monster, Alanna. Look, can you start finding out about his supply routes?”

“Yes. I just persuaded the police commissioner to allow me aboard the next helicopter flying to his staging area at the bottom of the mountain. It’s pouring rain here and getting colder. They’re having a lot of trouble with fog in the mountains, and the supplies are backing up at the base. I’ll start my investigation there.”

“Good girl. Give me a call the first time you stumble upon something, and remember, Alanna don’t trust Breckenridge. He can be suave as a fox when he wants to. Don’t fall for any of his tricks. Be on guard.”

“Don’t worry, Senator, I’ll be on my toes. He’s an easy man to dislike.”

“But a clever enemy. I don’t trust him under any circumstances. Remember what he did to Tim.” She nodded, recalling vividly her own clash with the officer.

“I will. Good-bye.”

*

It was early September, the beginning of the rainy season, and San Jose lay drenched in the wake of the tropical storm. Alanna spoke in fluent Spanish to the commissioner’s aide, thanking him. He motioned for her to board the awaiting helicopter. The Costa Rican at the door offered his hand, pulling her aboard. She sat crouched in the doorway, searching for a space to crawl into. There was a small niche behind the pilot’s seat, and she struggled to wedge herself down between it and a large wooden crate. Looking up, she saw Matt Breckenridge staring stonily at her from the copilot’s seat.

“I’m impressed,” he said, raising his voice above the roar of the helicopter. “You’ve managed to twist one of the local officials around your little finger and wrangle your way on board. What did it cost you, Miss McIntire?”

She glared back at him. “Not a damn thing, Colonel. Some people occasionally do nice things for free.”

He grinned wolfishly. “Nothing in life is free, lady. Your senator has influence down here because he was once an ambassador. Don’t kid yourself.”

Alanna crouched back, unable to meet his laughing gray eyes. God, how she wanted to slap his ruggedly handsome face! He was such a know-it-all. But a voice nagged at her. There was an ageless wisdom in his eyes, whether she wanted to recognize it or not. He was probably in his mid-thirties, and from what the senator had said, he had been all over the world. And he had come out of the war highly decorated, a proud symbol of the Marine Corps. She was not half as well traveled, but she had studied and got a master’s degree in political science—the world had opened up to her just as widely in other ways.

Alanna grudgingly found herself watching him as the helicopter flew through the murky mist of rain. At times he conversed with the pilot over the microphone, or consulted the map and plotter which rested across his thighs. There was a sureness in each of his movements: none were wasted or appeared unnecessary. His hands were spare, long and callused, with several small white scars on the backs, and she idly wondered how he got them.

Alanna studied his face, watching his eyes narrow with intensity as he talked on the radio or looked out the cockpit window, staring into space for minutes at a time. He always seemed to be thinking. She found herself secretly smiling when he smiled. There was a noticeable camaraderie between him and the pilot, and she enjoyed watching his mouth lift upward, hearing the resonant laughter that came from deep within his broad chest as they joked with each other. With a set of earphones on and without the cap, he looked younger, more boyish. If he put the Marine cap back on, would he resume his “superman” image?

Alanna watched as the dull green of the jungle below them gave way to the lowlands that skirted the Cord de Talamanca mountain range. Fixing her stare out the cockpit window, she wondered where, in those lush, verdant mountains, San Dolega was nestled. According to her limited knowledge of the topography, Chirripo Grande, a twelve thousand-foot mountain peak, hovered over the important coffee-growing area that surrounded San Dolega. The winds began to pick up, and she braced herself as the pilot wrestled with the treacherous up and down drafts created by the mountain range. Once Matt glanced to his left, watching her through narrowed eyes. She lowered her gaze, not wanting to make eye contact with him. Briefly a flicker of concern had crossed his features, but she forced herself to ignore it. The only thing the Marine respected was an ability to survive; there was no room in him for sympathy.

I
t was noon when they finally landed at the base camp. Alanna swallowed hard, airsick from the jolting ride in the helicopter. Her stomach churned threateningly as she extricated herself from the tangle of boxes with help from a soldier. Without a word or much less a glance, Matt Breckenridge slid out of the chopper and was promptly met by his vanguard of aides, a mixture of Marine and Costa Rican police personnel. Alanna jumped to the ground behind him, her feet sinking into ankle-deep mud immediately. She groaned, watching as the red ooze claimed her expensive leather shoes. Rain slashed unrelentingly at her face, and she bowed her head, looking for the closest shelter.

The base camp consisted of ten or twelve sadly thatched huts; some made out of spare wood and rough-cut lumber, others out of grass and twigs and adobelike bricks. A feeling of despair began to shadow her as she continued to stand there. She hated the helpless feeling that came when a situation was controlled by someone other than herself. She had always been in control of her life…at least until she met Paul. Now, the bitterness she’d felt toward him welled up in her once more when she thought of the Colonel. He wanted to run her life, and she would never stand still for that again. Well, she would just have to take charge and go ask some questions. She muttered a curse at Colonel Breckenridge, blaming him for the discomfort brought on by this assignment. He wouldn’t help a sick child, she thought, clumping slowly through the mud to a wooden structure that looked more substantial than the rest.

Alanna walked in, her hair hanging lifelessly about her pale oval face. Her raincoat was no longer shedding water, but soaking it up instead, and she felt damp and miserable. The flurry of Spanish was thick and fast as several enlisted men manned radios and a number of officers hovered above them. A contingent of six men left, and a few more straggled in, looking just as wet and exhausted as she felt. Finally, Alanna spied the commanding officer and made her way across the dirty floor to him.

After half an hour of haggling, showing him her papers and the necessary documents, Alanna made some progress. She managed to get hold of a soldier to show her where the supplies were being kept. The officer bent and kissed her hand twice, smiling provocatively, his brown, almond-shaped eyes alight with invitation. Alanna remembered the Colonel’s warning and smiled politely in return, trying to maintain her dignity regardless of her muddied feet and ankles.

Following the soldier back out into the rain, she noticed more men standing around in huddled groups. There were two helicopters now, and they were both shut down. Looking to the north, she noted low-hanging white clouds that probably signaled fog stealing in for the afternoon. That meant a delay, she supposed, as they slogged through the mire to a series of small shacks surrounded by a barbed wire fence. She thanked him in Spanish as he unlocked and opened the door.

The shack was damp-smelling, the odor of medicine strong in the stale air. It was nearly dark, and Alanna could barely make out the labels which announced the contents of each crate. Taking out a pad and pencil from her purse, she began to write down systematically the necessary information. She lost track of time, engrossed in her activity. Hearing the heavy thud of booted feet, she snapped her head upward.

“You again,” the Colonel growled, coming to a halt. He was dressed in a rubber poncho, looking amazingly dry despite the rain. For a moment, Alanna found herself hating him for his apparent comfort. His gaze roved from her feet up to her head, an unwilling smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I’ll say this for you, you don’t quit regardless of difficulties.”

Her mouth turned down. “I suppose that’s a high compliment coming from you.”

“Yes, it is. You have spunk. I admire that in a woman.”

“Save your compliments for someone who will appreciate them, Colonel.”

Matt walked slowly toward her, pushing the cap back on his head. “I suppose a woman with your good looks is used to getting compliments all the time.”

She gritted her teeth and returned to her work, trying to ignore him. But, God, he was impossible to ignore! Just being around him made her feel edgy. There was something dangerously, vitally male about him. It was in his walk, his easy banter, the way he looked at her…. Alanna felt herself melting inwardly every time their eyes met. The senator had warned her about the Marine’s ability to charm, and she redoubled her efforts to block him out.

He rested his arm against one of the crates above where she was working. “Well, is it true? You happily married to a man that appreciates your good looks and intelligence?”

Alanna pressed her lips together, aware of the pain in her heart. “That’s none of your business,” she hissed.

“I see. Sounds like either a divorce or you got jilted. Which was it?”

She rose from her crouched position after copying the numbers off the last crate. “Don’t you have anything better to do than interrogate me? I thought you were so worried about getting supplies up to San Dolega.”

He took off his hat and scratched his head. “I was until the fog socked us in. Not much we can do at the moment.” His voice lost its mocking quality as he frowned, staring into the darkness above her. “We’re reduced to three operating jeeps, and even those can’t get through. The road is temporarily closed by a large avalanche of mud that occurred an hour ago. The only thing left is for the men to act like pack horses and carry these crates the last five miles on their backs.” He sighed, focusing on her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Miss McIntire. I needed a lift—this day started out rotten, and it’s getting worse by the moment. I’m glad I stumbled onto you.”

She shrugged off his banter. “What do you mean an avalanche? Aren’t the people getting help now?”

“The rains are heavy this time of year, and the earthquake caused a loosening of the topsoil on the mountainsides. The result is an avalanche. The fog is due to cold air mixing with the higher coastal temperatures. This weather system is unusual, so we’re more or less outflanked at the moment. And, to answer your question, no.”

“I’m sure, with your brilliant tactical mind, you’ll come up with something to save the day.”

Matt shook his head, biting his lower lip. “Not always.”

“Is this entire rescue mission run by the military?”

“Why? Do you think a civilian could come up with a better mousetrap under the present conditions?”

“Probably,” she stated boldly. “You’re so typical. If you can’t blow it up, destroy it, or change it, you don’t know how to deal with a problem.”

He stared at her hard, some of the tenseness returning to his face. “I happen to have a degree in engineering, and I’m used to building things, Miss McIntire, not destroying them. You’ve sure got a hate for the military, don’t you? But then, you’re Thornton’s assistant. Did he brainwash you, or did you come prepackaged to his office that way?”

Something snapped inside her, and she struck out at him. He caught her wrist easily, as if he were thwarting a child’s paltry attempt at retaliation. “Let me go!”

Matt’s eyes twinkled with irony. “My little dove is a hawk in disguise. You talk a good line of pacifism, but at the first provocation, you strike out like a cobra. Who’s more aggressive here, lady?” And he suddenly let her go, grinning at her undisguised anger. “How did your boyfriend put up with that temper of yours?”

Alanna backed away from him, her eyes large and her breath harsh. She rubbed her wrist tenderly, feeling the pain from his grip. “We never argued!” she admitted.

“No? Maybe you should have. A volatile argument every now and then is good for the soul. Now, don’t you feel better?”

“No, but maybe I would if I could have hit you. You’re such an—an arrogant bastard!”

He continued to smile, enjoying the moment. “And you’re a vixen. But a very interesting, provocative one.” He picked up the clipboard he had set on a crate. “I’m rather glad you came up. It certainly makes my life interesting.”

“Do you always win, Colonel? I mean, does it make you feel good to know you’re more powerful or stronger than someone else?”

“I don’t always win. But I try my best, and that’s all anyone can expect. And I don’t normally go around exerting physical force on a woman unless she asks for it.” His brows drew together in a downward arc as he watched her. “You don’t look Irish, but you certainly have the Gaelic temper.”

“My mother was from Hungary,” she stated flatly. “They say we Hungarians are pretty volatile, too.”

“That’s okay. I enjoy a hot-blooded woman. Be seeing you around, Miss McIntire.”

She stood there seething for five minutes before her flaring temper subsided back into glowing embers. She felt like a mouse caught between his paws. What was wrong? She had dealt with all kinds of men in her career and held a very prestigious job in political circles. How could a mere officer in the Marine Corps bring her so quickly to defeat? Where had her education failed her? She had always managed to deal with Paul and his intellectualism. But this man—he seemed to know everything about her! That was infuriating in itself, and it strengthened her resolve to prove that he was involved in the smuggling ring linked to Nicaragua.

*

Her feet were numb with cold as she snapped the padlock back on the door of the shed. The blanket of darkness had fallen quickly, and she turned, blinking as the rain stung her face. Had she ever been so utterly disconsolate? A thought crossed her mind in answer: yes, living with Paul the last year of their torturous four-year relationship. Bowing her head, she slogged back through the mud toward the headquarters cum communications center.

Alanna shook the water off her raincoat after stepping inside. Her throat constricted as she looked up to see Colonel Breckenridge, studying her from where he was standing. He tilted his chin, appraising her thoroughly. The radioman at the desk looked up, calling his name, and he turned away from Alanna’s glare.

She waited until, he was done and then walked over to him, gripping her briefcase tightly in her hand. “I hate to bother you, Colonel, but I need a place to get cleaned up and sleep tonight. “Where are the facilities?”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t your friend the commissioner tell you? There are none.” He shook his head, amusement evident in his shadowy gray eyes. “I told you to stay in the capital. Up here it’s blankets, sleeping bags, or just huddling up into a corner on the dirt floor of a thatched hut. Take your pick.”

She gave him a stricken look. “No water? No bathing facilities?”

“No. I tried to tell you before, this is out in the middle of nowhere. We don’t cater to civilians or anyone unessential to the rescue efforts. What little water we have is being chlorinated for use by the injured we’re receiving off the mountain. Press people and other such personnel have to fend for themselves. There’s a barrel of fresh rainwater right outside the door. You might get your hands and face washed there….”

Alanna felt anger coiling inside her. “I’ll bet you just love these conditions.”

Matt shrugged, walking back to a makeshift desk composed of wood crates that had official-looking papers strewn around on the top of it. “I’ve had my share of sleeping in jungles,” he agreed amiably, “but I prefer a bed when I can get one.”

She stood helplessly in front of him. “When is the next flight back to San Jose then?”

“There isn’t any. I told you earlier that we’re socked in with unseasonable fog conditions. I can’t lift a chopper to get to the village, much less to the capital. Everything is at a damn standstill at this moment.”

She pursed her lips, the anger draining from her. She was so incredibly tired she felt dizzy. Her feet ached, and she could feel the grit of the soil between her foot and the sole of her ruined shoes. Six years at a university did not prepare one for this, and she felt bitterness toward Senator Thornton. He should have planned this expedition with less haste.

“Look,” he said, more gently, “there’s a side room over there where I sleep. It’s a wood floor, and it will keep most of the insects from biting you. I’ll give you half my blankets, and you can use my sleeping bag as a mattress. There’s a basin of water in there and a towel.”

It sounded heavenly, and Alanna raised her head, meeting his gaze. She felt an inexplicable warmth radiating from him, and she responded to his friendly overture. “You’re serious?”

Matt smiled tiredly. “I told you before, I don’t say or do anything I don’t mean.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, suddenly distrustful, remembering the senator’s words of warning.

“Do you think the military is without a heart, Miss McIntire? That I can’t take pity on people that are less well off than I am? You look bushed, and I have a weak spot in my heart for women anyway. So, if you want to share my room for tonight, you’re welcome. Simple as that.”

She gave him a measuring stare. There was nothing simple about this man, her instincts told her. She tried to probe beyond the honesty expressed in his face and voice. “What do you mean ‘share’ your bedroom?”

He shrugged lazily, picking up several papers and perusing them. “What do you want it to mean?” he retorted coolly.

“Damn you!” she hissed under her breath, her eyes blazing with the green fire of anger. “I have no intention of sleeping with you!”

“You could do a lot worse. Besides, with the temperature dropping like it is, it’s going to get awfully cold before morning. Two bodies make more heat than one. It’s simple logic.”

“You’re out of your mind, Colonel! I wouldn’t sleep with you if hell froze over!”

He seemed to enjoy her explosive tirade, smiling as she stood there trembling visibly with fury. “Too bad,” he murmured, putting the papers back down. “But since you can’t stand the military and hate the sight of me, I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble sharing the same floor, Miss McIntire. I like to think that the women I sleep with look forward to the experience, and I don’t feel like getting my throat slit by you. Rest assured, we’ll have a line of demarcation between us tonight. Fair enough?”

Alanna drew in a deep breath, still distrusting that glint in his gray eyes. “Marines have a reputation as far as women go,” she accused.