Enemy Mine (11 page)

His stomach growled. Maybe he should eat, but since dropping Katherine off at the river, his stomach had been tied in knots. He’d never had such a reaction to a woman before. What the hell was going on? Scratching his head, he climbed the stairs to the second level of the terminal. Cuzco had the second largest airport in Peru, and today it was exceptionally busy. Mac made his way through the milling crowds of tourists and dark-haired Peruvians. The noise level was high, the place packed. Cigarette smoke filled the building. There were no non-smoking laws down here, unfortunately.

Thanks to Garcia, Mac had privileges at the airline club. At least there he’d escape the throngs and get a little peace and quiet. His mind turned back to Katherine. He’d called her bright angel. Where had
that
come from? Coulter didn’t have a friggin’ clue. The words had just flown out of his mouth, without planning or thought.

When he sat down at one of the small, round, linen-
covered tables, a waiter in a black-and-white uniform quickly approached to take his order. The club was nearly empty and Mac was glad. He ordered coffee and a sandwich. What he really wanted was a good shot of Kentucky bourbon to clear his head and heart of this Canadian nanny. He didn’t like acting like a love-struck teenager.

At all costs, he couldn’t reveal to her that he was a mole for the ATF. Katherine had no idea what she’d be getting into, working for Garcia, and as much as Mac wanted to tell her, he couldn’t. If he did, she might inadvertently blow his cover. Could she keep a secret? There was no telling, and in Mac’s business, he could trust no one. For all he knew, Lincoln herself could be a spy—for Garcia. She might be there to test Mac’s allegiance to the drug lord. Garcia was known for doing this. The
patrón
was paranoid and often put his employees to the test to make sure they were faithful to him. No, Mac couldn’t say anything more to Ms. Lincoln. He’d already revealed too much.

The coffee came in a white china cup and saucer. After thanking the waiter, Mac took a sip, relishing the smooth espresso coffee. Katherine Lincoln’s face refused to leave him. She was intelligent, confident and, God help him, damn good-looking. Oh, he’d seen her legs that first day, in that prim, conservative little gray suit she wore, not to mention when she was wrapped in that towel. She had fabulous limbs that were firm from daily workouts. They seemed to go on forever. Legs he wanted to slide his hands over, feel their warm, firm quality and follow upward…

What was wrong with him? Disgusted, Mac sipped the espresso again and burned his mouth. Scowling, he set the cup down with a clatter. He wiped his mouth with the crisp, white linen napkin and looked around. Classical music played in the background. Aside from himself and two business executives, who sat at a larger table near the window, the club was empty.

He wrestled with his feelings, which he always had to contain and control. But Mac found himself unable to stop thinking of Katherine and how she was coping in the jungle. She had such arresting blue eyes, with that black ring around the iris. It was a sign of a hunter, of a combat warrior. And yet she worked as a nanny. It just didn’t make sense. He’d spent years undercover as an ATF agent, and one of his skills was reading people’s faces and body language with a high degree of accuracy. Her eyes
were
those of a hunter.

And her mouth. Groaning softly, Mac covered his own eyes with his hand as he pictured her lips softly parted, full and beckoning. Too many times he’d wondered what it would be like to press his mouth against hers. Would her lips be as bold and caressing as he thought? What would she taste like? All women had their own unique taste. And would her response be as bold as her eyes? Christ, he had to stop this! It was driving him loco.

“Your lunch, Señor Coulter,” the waiter said in stilted English. He set down the platter holding a club sandwich, dill pickle and french fries.

“
Bueno.
Thank you,” Mac muttered, pulling the napkin across his lap.
Better focus on the food and eat, you
dumb bastard. You’re letting your horny body override your brain, and it’s going to get you into a lot of trouble if you don’t stop right now. Having a fling with one of Garcia’s employees is the wrong thing to do.

Okay, so he was drawn to Katherine Lincoln. There, he’d admitted it. Mac slathered mayonnaise across the turkey and placed the whole-wheat bread back on top. He was smitten by a blond nanny with the eyes of a hunter, eyes the color of the sky he so loved to fly in. Katherine Lincoln was part warrior, all woman, and drew him like one of the sirens who lured sailors to their death.

He bit into his sandwich, but didn’t taste it. Okay, more admissions: he was worried sick about Katherine out there all alone. Leaving her without his support, without his protection, had been the hardest thing he’d done in a long time.

As he slowly ate his sandwich, he began to realize that he wanted to protect her. It was an old pattern of his, one he thought he’d crushed completely in his work as an undercover agent. But no, his need to protect seemed alive and well.

Damn. What was he going to do? Would Katherine survive the test? Would the jaguar leave her alone or challenge her? What would he do if she died? Mac scowled and salted the french fries. As with everything he saw, all he could do was send the name and what happened to his handler in Lima, and that was the end of it. He couldn’t retrieve a body, bury it or send it home. That was the pisser about being undercover. He could do nothing honorable for a person, or for the family who had lost that individual. Not a damn thing.

Well, she’d better survive. That’s all there is to it.
And then what? Mac shook his head, not wanting to explore the possibilities. But he sure hoped to be there for Katherine when she came back to the villa. If she came back at all…

A
S DUSK FELL
, it began raining…again. Kathy blew out a sigh of frustration. Judging by the small pedometer that Mac had thoughtfully given to her, she’d walked twenty miles today. Shortly after she’d made her way across the treacherous rope bridge, it had started to rain. And early in the afternoon, the first of a series of thunderstorms began to roll over the thick, impenetrable jungle. If Mac hadn’t put a plastic poncho in her knapsack, she’d be soaked to the skin.

She was, anyway, from her own perspiration in the high humidity. The baseball cap she wore protected her eyes from the slashing rain. Thunder caromed across the jungle, the sound quickly swallowed up by the thick vegetation. Her legs ached from the brutal punishment of the continuous uphill climb out of the river basin. Her boots were waterproof, so her feet were still dry.

She would need to stop soon. Wiping her face, Kathy began to look for a tree where she could hang the lightweight nylon hammock for the night.

All day, she’d been on edge about meeting the jaguar. The only animals she’d seen were startled monkeys skittering across the tree canopy above her. They’d fol
low her at a distance, screaming out a warning that she was an intruder, and to beware. The only good part about today were the gorgeous, colorful orchids and bromeliads that hung on moss-covered limbs above her. Their fragrance lifted her spirits and made her a bit less pessimistic about what she was doing here.

Unlike her previous jungle survival test, which had taken place in Kauai, Hawaii, years ago, this jungle was impenetrable, a solid wall no one could cross without a machete and hours of work. Coulter was right: one followed the trails animals had created. Most of the paths were narrow, but the jaguar path was wide enough for her to walk with some comfort. Kathy almost chuckled at the irony.

Because the trail was muddy, she slipped for the hundredth time. Tree roots routinely blocked the way, so that if she didn’t pay strict attention, she would fall belly first in the red goo. She’d done so several times already. Luckily, the rain had washed most of the clay off her poncho.

As she rounded a bend in the trail, Kathy spotted a huge, tall rubber tree. It had to be very old because its smooth, spreading arms were numerous and reminded her of an octopus. The climb would be easy, so she chose it as her “bed” for the night.

There was no way to get completely off the trail so as to avoid the jaguar’s nightly foray. Kathy worried about that as she hoisted herself, limb by limb, toward the top of the tree. The huge, leathery leaves provided some protection from the rain. About fifty feet up, she tied one end of the hammock to a sturdy branch near the
main trunk. For the other end she chose a limb that she hoped would allow the hammock to hang level.

As rain ran off her face, she held on to another branch above her and set her butt in her new bed, testing it gingerly several times before trusting it with her full weight. Everything held, although the hammock sank deeply, almost brushing the thick limb just below her.

As quickly as the storm had rolled in, it left. Kathy stayed wrapped in her poncho, figuring it would be pointless to pull it off because, sure as hell, sometime during the night it would rain again. She opened her knapsack and pulled out another protein bar. This would be dinner. She’d taken her fill of water from a liana vine earlier.

Looking down, Kathy saw that she’d suspended the hammock directly over the narrow trail. Could a jaguar leap fifty feet into the air? She didn’t know, but the thought unnerved her. Coulter had said jaguars climbed trees, slept in them and regularly lay on a branch overhanging a trail, so they could easily drop onto unsuspecting prey.

Did the jaguar use
this
tree as an ambush? Coulter had told her to look for scratch marks on the base of the tree, where the cat would sink its claws to haul itself upward. She’d inspected the trunk of the rubber tree and found no such markings. From time to time today, however, Kathy had run into the powerful odor of jaguar urine, where he must have sprayed a tree trunk to mark his territory. She’d smelled cougar urine before while hiking in the Rocky Mountains and was able to easily identify the odor. The smell was so strong that it made her eyes water, and she’d held her breath as she hurried past.

Night fell amid the cacophony of crickets, screaming monkeys and hooting of owls. Exhausted, Kathy tucked the knapsack beneath her knees for support, wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. Her adrenaline had been pumping all day in anticipation of meeting the jaguar, and she felt nakedly vulnerable. A pocketknife was no match against a fierce, muscular cat, the lord of this jungle. As added protection, Kathy had picked up a limb the size of a baseball bat and carried it with her all day. It rested beside her in the hammock, poking uncomfortably against her ribs and hip, but she didn’t care. If the cat climbed, her only defense would be to swing the branch like a club and try to hit the animal in the face. She knew from training that hitting any animal in the nose was a surefire deterrent. The flashlight, small though it was, was tucked in her left pocket, beneath the poncho. If she needed it, she could grab it in a hurry.

Her mind refused to shut down, although her aching, fatigued body screamed for her to fall asleep. Soon the darkness was complete. There would be no moon tonight, Mac had told her. It was the dark of the moon, or what Peruvians called the Jaguar Moon, a time of magic, danger and possibility.

Scrunching her eyes shut, Kathy sighed. The distant rumble of thunder caught her attention for a moment. The monkeys never stopped chattering or screaming, near or faraway. Didn’t they
ever
sleep? The jungle was not the quiet place Kathy thought it would be. She kept swatting at mosquitoes and God knew what other kind of creepie-crawlies wandering along her skin.

Her mind veered for the hundredth time toward Mac Coulter. He’d done all he could to help her survive this test. He’d warned her to hide the pack about five miles from the villa, so no one could ever discover what he’d done for her. Kathy was glad to have the pedometer, which she wore around her waist. Why had he done this? Why? The question whirled in her mind.

Her heart gave her the answer: Mac was drawn to her, as she was drawn to him.
Impossible.
They’d just met. Kathy had never been drawn to a man like this before. Even her love of Curt Shields, the U.S. Navy SEAL officer who’d been her fiancé, had not had the heat or crazy yearning she felt toward Coulter. She supposed she’d felt a quiet love for Curt—not that she was an expert on romance. When Curt had died in an ambush a year ago, Kathy had stopped living. Maybe she was coming back to life? Maybe Mac was just reawakening her hormones? Hell, she didn’t know for sure. She blew out an exasperated breath. Coulter was different. Her body sure knew it. And so did her heart. She wondered who he was—the man, not the helo pilot in the employ of her enemy.

Kathy rubbed her face and pulled the poncho hood as low as she could to discourage the hungry, buzzing mosquitoes. The scent of vanilla wafted toward her. It was from an orchid, she was sure, and the fragrance relaxed her.

Her mind swung to her family. She’d been gone more than two weeks now. On other black ops she had never contacted the family. But if her father got worried, he’d start making noise and sending out his feel
ers to find out more about her present mission. Her dad was highly instinctive. She’d had the good luck to inherit that gene, but if Morgan became worried about her, he could blow holes in the cover Patrick had put into place. And that would not bode well for her or her objective.

Sleep finally came to Kathy as she thought about her mother. Laura always gave her a sense of safety in a world gone mad….

T
HE PIERCING SHRIEK
of a wild pig woke Kathy with a jerk, and she nearly fell out of the hammock. The night was black. Seeing nothing, disoriented, Kathy fumbled and the hammock swung dangerously. As the pig shrilled right below her tree, she heard a cat growling—a low, menacing sound. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

What time was it? What was happening? For precious moments, Kathy was flummoxed. Her sleep-drugged mind refused to work. The grunts, screams and sounds of struggle shot adrenaline back into her bloodstream. Heart pounding, Kathy sat upright, her legs dangling outside the swaying hammock. She dug for her bat and the flashlight at the same time.

The screams of the wild pig were hideous and it sounded like a young child being mauled and bitten by a dog. Switching on the light, Kathy shone it downward. Gasping, she saw a male jaguar, his gold coat spotted with black crescents. A huge hundred-pound boar struggled in its massive jaws. The cat had seized the pig by the throat and blood spurted everywhere. Watching in horror, Kathy saw the jaguar’s tail switching from side
to side. For an instant, he lifted his head and his large yellow eyes rested directly on
her.

Oh, God!
Snapping off the light, breathing raggedly, Kathy gripped the stick at her side and brought it up—just in case she had to hit the animal. Her mind whirled. She was trapped! The pig’s squeals became fainter and fainter as it stopped struggling. Finally, there was silence.
Real
silence.

Then Kathy heard the cat’s gruff breathing. Mac had told her that jaguars were the only members of the cat family that never roared. They would growl sometimes, but that was it. The cat’s breathing was labored and quick. What was it going to do? Crouch there and eat the pig?
God, what should I do?
Biting her lower lip, Kathy looked around, and found the night was as black as a cave. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, but she could see the radium dial on the watch she wore. Holding it close to her eyes, she saw it was 0300 hours.

The silence of the jungle amazed her. Nothing croaked, screamed, twitted or howled. Nothing. It was as if all creatures knew that the jaguar had killed, and didn’t want to become its next victim. Shaking with fear, Kathy tried to take several calming, deep breaths. If the cat had food, it wasn’t going to come after her—or was it? Unsure, she keyed her hearing to the ground below. The crunching of bone and flesh sent shivers through her. Feeling sorry for the pig, Kathy wondered how the drama had played out before she’d been rudely awakened. The thought that the cat had been sitting under her tree, waiting for its quarry, sent renewed fear zigzagging through her.

Gulping several times, her mouth dry, she waited in silence. Could the cat smell her? He’d seen her when she’d flashed the light on him—a stupid thing to do, she realized belatedly. She’d given away her hiding place to the jaguar. Would he think her an even bigger prize, leave the hapless, dead boar, climb the tree and come after her? Her mind whirling with questions and no answers, Kathy sat unmoving, breathing through her mouth and trying not to draw the attention of the jaguar, which was devouring his kill just fifty feet below.

After a while, the sounds of eating convinced Kathy that she was safe. Well, as safe as she could be under the circumstances. If the cat had his fill of wild pig, he wasn’t going to be hungry for her. Exhaustion from the brutal trials she’d undergone began to seep into her being. Leaning back in the hammock, her legs still dangling over the edge, she closed her eyes. Without meaning to, she immediately fell asleep, the stick of wood gripped in her hand.

T
HE SHRILL SCREECH
of a monkey made Kathy jump into a sitting position. The animal had apparently come to the old rubber tree, seen her and cried an alarm. Jerking upward, Kathy gasped and saw the furry gray mammal disappearing into a nearby tree.

The jaguar!

Breathing hard, her sleep-ridden mind barely functional, Kathy looked below her. Nothing. She saw no sign of the jaguar or the wild boar on the muddy, vine encrusted trail. All that remained was a dark pool of blood that had soaked into the soil. Blinking several
times, Kathy scrubbed her eyes. She must have fallen asleep. God, that hadn’t been smart! What was wrong with her? What if the jaguar had decided to climb the tree and go after her? She’d have been a sitting duck. Fear sizzled through her and the surge of adrenaline made her wake up in a rush.

What time was it? Looking at her watch, she saw it was 0700. Time to get up and get going. Cottony clouds lay atop the tallest trees above her. The drip, drip, drip of water falling off the leaves was constant. Wiping her face, Kathy decided she’d better eat another protein bar before she climbed out of the tree.

Where was the jaguar? Where was his lair? Had he dragged the pig off while she slept? He must have. Was he sated and sleeping now? Would that mean the trail was safe? She wanted to make another twenty miles today. Quickly digging into the pack, she found a raspberry granola bar and consumed it with unaccustomed pleasure. If she made it through this hellish test, she promised to buy Mac Coulter a steak dinner in Cuzco and thank him properly. Without him, she knew she would not have lasted. She owed him her life….

T
WO AND A HALF DAYS
and still no sign of her. Mac tried to curb his worry over Katherine Lincoln. It was noon on the third day and he’d just landed at the villa, after taking several drug lords from the Caribbean back to Cuzco to catch their flight to Lima and onward. After the blades stopped turning, the two-man ground crew quickly scurried up to the Bell helicopter to place
chocks around the wheels. As Mac shut down the helo, he saw Carlos Garcia strolling toward him.

Today was a rare day, weatherwise. There had been no low-hanging clouds this morning. The sun had risen full and bright over the jungle. Taking off his sunglasses and sliding them into the pocket of his light blue, short-sleeved shirt, Mac disembarked. His boss was dressed in casual dark brown slacks, his white silk shirt open at the collar to show off the many gold necklaces he wore. One that evoked Coulter’s disgust had a huge gold crucifix hanging from it—outside his shirt.
Yeah, right. A real Christian, this bastard.
Swallowing his rage and keeping his face unreadable, Mac met the
patrón
at the skirt of the landing pad.