Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior (7 page)

“No, not exactly an outcast…Oh, to be sure, some members have been cast permanently out of the clan.” She gave him a pained, one-cornered smile, and then quickly looked away. “My sentence is an ongoing one. Grandfather Adaire says I am walking on the dark side with some choices I have made. And until I can walk in the light all the time, I am not allowed to return to the village as a full member of it.”

Roan frowned. “Light and dark? Familiar words and themes to me.” He opened his hands. “Where I come from, in our belief system, light does not exist without darkness, and vice versa. You can’t have one without the other. And no human being is ever all one or the other.” He glanced over at her. “Are they expecting you
not
to be human? Not to make mistakes?”

She laughed abruptly. “The Jaguar Clan is an honorable part of the Sisterhood of Light. There are rules that cannot be broken…and I broke one of them. It was a very serious thing. Life-and-death serious.” Inca frowned and tugged at the frayed thread on her knee until it broke off in her fingers.

“Mike Houston said you saved his life,” Roan said. He ached to reach out to her now. There were tears swimming in her eyes, although Inca’s head was bowed and
slightly turned away from his in an effort to hide them from him. In her softened tone he could hear the wrenching heartache she carried. She moved her hands restlessly.

“That is why I was asked to leave my own kind, my home…. Michael was dying. I knew it. And yes, I broke the rule and went into the light where the souls of all humans who are dying go. I pulled him back from the Threshold. I gave my life, my energy, my heart and love, and drew him back. If not for Grandmother Alaria, who revived me because I was practically dead after saving Michael, I would not be here today.”

“So, you saved a life? And Grandfather Adaire kicked you out of the clan for that?” Roan had a hard time understanding why.

“Do not be judgmental of Grandfather Adaire. He was only following the code of the clan. You see, we are trained in the art of life and death. Because we have the power, that means we must walk with it in strict accordance to the laws of the universe. I broke one of those laws. Michael had made his choice to die of his wound. I had been caring for him for a week, and for the first time in my life, I felt as if I had met my real brother. Oh, he was not, but that was the bond we had from the moment we met. It was wonderful….” She sighed unhappily. “I saw him slipping away daily. My heart cried. I cried alone, where no one could see me. I knew he would die. I did not want it to happen. I knew I had the power to stop it. And I knew it was wrong to intervene.” Inca smiled sadly as she looked at the shore, which was a half a mile away on either side of the chugging tug.

“I wanted a brother just like Michael. I’d been searching so long for a family—I was so starved to have one—
that I did it. I broke the law. And I did it knowingly.” Gravely, Inca turned her head and met his dark blue eyes. “And that is why I was asked to leave. What I did was a ‘dark side’ decision. It was selfish and self-serving.”

Roan choked as she finished the story. He felt anger over it. “Didn’t Grandfather Adaire realize that, because you were abandoned, family would mean so much more to you than it would to others?”

She hitched one shoulder upward and looked out at the muddy river. “That is an excuse. It is not acceptable to the clan. I broke a law. It does not matter
why
I broke it.”

“Seems a little one-sided and unfair to me,” he groused.

“Well,” Inca said with a laugh, “my saving Michael’s life, in the long term, had its positive side. He asked to become my blood brother. And when he fell in love with Dr. Ann, and she had his baby, Catherine, I became a godmother to their child.” The tears in her eyes burned. Inca looked away. She wanted to wipe them away, but she didn’t want Roan to know of her tears. No one ever saw her cry. No one. Choking on the tears, she rasped, “I have a family now. Michael and Ann love me. They accept me despite who I am, despite what I do for a living.” She sniffed and reached for a pouch on her right side. “Look…here…let me show you baby Catherine….”

Roan watched Inca eagerly fumble in the pouch. The joy mirrored in her face was like sunlight. She valiantly tried to force the tears out of her glimmering willow-green eyes as she handed him a frayed color photo.

“This is Mike and his family,” he said.

“Yes,” Inca replied, and she leaned forward, her shoulder nearly touching his as she pointed at the baby held between them. “And this is Catherine…I call her Cat. She has a male jaguar spirit guide already! That is very special. She is special. Ann and Michael know it, too. Little Cat is my goddaughter.”

The pride was unmistakable in Inca’s passionate voice. It took everything for Roan not to respond to her excitement. She was so close he could smell her. There was a wonderful, fragrant scent to Inca. It reminded him of the bright pink Oriental lilies that grew behind his cabin, where Sarah had planted them. Looking up, he smiled into Inca’s glimmering eyes as he handed her the photo.

“You should be proud of Catherine. She’s lucky to have you as a godmother. Very lucky.”

A sweet frisson of joy threaded through Inca’s heart at his huskily spoken words. When she met and held his dark blue gaze, Inca’s heart flew open. It caught her by surprise. A little breathless, she quickly put the photo back into the protective plastic and snapped the pouch shut.

“In my mind,” she said, “what I did to save Michael’s life was not wrong. It hurts to think I can never go home, but now my home is with him and his family, instead.”

The sweet bitterness of Inca’s past moved Roan deeply. “I don’t know how you handle it all,” he admitted. “I’d be lost without my family, my parents…. I don’t know what it’s like to be an orphan.”

“Hard.”

He nodded and saw that she was frowning. “I can’t even begin to imagine….”

Inca found herself wanting to talk more to Roan. “You are a strange man.”

He grinned. “Oh?”

“I find myself jabbering to you, making my life an open book to you. Father Titus was such a talker. He would tell me everything of what lay in his heart and feelings. Being Indian, we are normally quiet and reserved about such things. But not him. He made me laugh many times. I always thought he was a strange old man with his bird’s nest of white hair.”

“He was vulnerable and open with you.”

Sobering, Inca nodded, “Yes, he was…and still is, even though I do not visit him as often as I would like because my duties are elsewhere.”

“So…” Roan murmured, “am I like Father Titus?”

“No, I am! I blather on to you. As if I have known you lifetimes. I bare my soul to you, my heart—and I do not ever do that with anyone.”

Wanting to reach out and touch her hand, Roan resisted. Instead he rasped, “Inca, your heart, your soul, are safe with me. Always and forever.”

Regarding him gravely, Inca felt his words. She was afraid of him for some unknown reason, and yet, at the same time, drawn to him just as a moth is driven to dive into the open flame of a campfire. “You are of two worlds, Roan Storm Walker. One foot stands in the white man’s world, the other in the Indian world. Yet you are not a two-heart. Your heart belongs to Mother Earth and all her relations.”

“Judge me by my actions,” he cautioned her. “Not my skin color.”

Inca gazed at him raptly, before she suddenly felt the pull of the jaguar’s warning.

Danger!

“Something is wrong.” Inca was on her feet in an instant. When her spirit guide jaguar gave her such a warning, her life was in danger. “Get up!” she ordered Roan. Running around the stern of the tug, Inca grabbed her rifle.

Roan struggled to his feet. The soft, vulnerable Inca was gone in a heartbeat. Shaken by her sudden change, he stared at her. Secondarily, he felt the stinging, burning heat of the blue stone at the base of his neck throbbing in warning—only he hadn’t felt it until now because he was so taken with Inca.

“What’s wrong? What is it?”

“My guardian has warned me. We are in danger.”

Before Roan could say another word, he heard the heavy, whapping sounds of a helicopter approaching them at high speed. He turned on his heel. Coming up the river, directly at them, was an olive-green, unmarked helicopter. It flew low, maybe fifty feet off the water’s surface. His eyes widened. This was no tourist helicopter like the one he’d seen plying the skies of Manaus earlier. No, this was a helicopter, heavily armed with machine guns and rockets. The lethal look of the dark, swiftly moving aircraft made his heart rate soar with fear.

“Captain Ernesto!” Roan called. Before he could say anything, the blazing, winking lights on the guns carried by the military helicopter roared to life. Roan cursed. He saw two rows of bullets walking toward them like soldiers marching in parallel lines. The tug was right in the middle of the two rows.

“
Jump,
Ernesto!” Roan roared.

Inca positioned herself against the cockpit. She aimed her rifle at the charging helicopter. The first bullets hit the
tug, which shuddered like a wounded bull. Wood splinters exploded. Crashing, whining sounds filled the air. The thick thump, thump, thump of the blades blasted against her ears. Still she held her ground. Aiming carefully, she squeezed off a series of shots. To her dismay, she watched them hit the helicopter and ricochet off.

“Inca! Jump!”

At the urgency of his tone, she jerked a look toward Roan. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her by the arm and threw her into the water.

Choking, Inca went under. She was heavily weighted down with the bandoliers of ammunition she always carried. Panicked, she gripped her rifle. Wild, zinging, whining bullets screamed past her as she floundered, trying to kick her way back up to the surface. Impossible! She had to remain cool. She had to think. Think! If she could not focus, if she could not concentrate, she would drown and she knew it.

Kicking strongly, her booted feet also weighing her down, Inca felt the current grab her. The water was murky and opaque. She could see nothing. Bubbles streamed out her open mouth as she lunged toward the surface.

Where was Inca? Roan looked around as he treaded water. The helicopter was blasting the tug to bits. Ernesto had not gotten off in time. Roan suspected the man did not know how to swim, so he’d stayed with his tug. Jerking at his boots, Roan quickly got rid of them. Inca? Where was she? He saw some bubbles coming to the surface six feet away from him. Taking a deep breath, he dove, knowing she was in trouble. She was too weighted down by the ammo she wore and she’d drown. Damn! Striking out in long, hard strokes, he followed the line of
bubbles. There! He saw Inca, a vague shape in the dim, murky water.

Lunging forward, his hand outstretched, Roan gripped her flailing arm. Jerking her hard, he shoved her up past him to the surface.

Inca shot up out of the water, gasping for air, but still holding on to her rifle. Roan surfaced next to her and immediately wound his arm around her waist.

“Get rid of the boots!” he yelled, and he took the rifle from her.

Struggling, Inca did as he ordered. She saw the tug in the distance, a blazing wreck. The helicopter was mercilessly pummeling it with bullets.

“Now the ammo!”

“No!” she cried. “Not the ammo!”

“You’ll drown!”

“No, I will not.” Inca flailed and pushed his hand away. “Swim for shore,” she gasped.

Roan wasn’t going to argue. He kept the rifle and slung it over his shoulder. They struck out together. The Amazon River might look smooth on the surface, but the currents were hell. He kept his eye on the chopper.

“It’s turning!” he yelled at Inca, who was ten feet ahead of him. “It’s coming for us! Dive!”

Inca saw the military helicopter turning, its lethal guns trained on them. She heard Roan’s order. Taking a huge breath into her lungs, she dived deeply and quickly. It was easy with the extra weight of the ammo around her upper body. At least twenty bullets zinged around her. Roan? What about him?

Worried, Inca halted her dive and turned around. Roan? Where was he? She could hear the helicopter’s shattering
sound just above them, the reverberation pulsating all around her. It was hovering over the water, very near to where she treaded. Roan was wounded! She felt it. No!

Anxiety shattered Inca. She kicked out violently and moved in the direction she knew Roan to be, even though she could not see him. The helicopter moved away, the dark shadow leaving the area. Concentrating, her lungs bursting for air, Inca kicked hard and struck out strongly. Roan? Where was he? How badly was he shot?

Her heart beat in triple time. Inca didn’t want to lose Roan. She’d just found him! He was so much like her blood brother, Michael. Men like Roan were so rare. And she wanted—no, demanded of Mother Earth—that he be saved. She was lonely, and he filled that lonely space within her.

Yes, it was selfish, but she didn’t care. Inca struck out savagely. She felt Roan nearby now. Well, selfishness had landed her in hot water with the clan before. Inca knew she was being tested again, but she didn’t care if she failed this test, too. She would not let Roan die!

Blood and muddy water moved by her in thin, crimson and brown strips. She saw a shadow up ahead, striking toward the surface. Roan! Inca followed and, with her hand, pushed him upward. She could see blood oozing around his lower leg. He must have taken a bullet to the calf. Was his leg broken? Could he swim?

Unsure, Inca moved up, slid her arm around his massive torso and urged him upward.

They broke water together, like two bobbins coming to the surface. Water leaked into her eyes. She shook her head to clear them. The helicopter was moving back down the river, leaving them. Relief shuddered through Inca.

“Roan! Roan, are you all right?” She held on to him as he twisted around. His lips were drawn back from his clenched teeth. His face was frozen with pain.

“My leg…” he gasped, floundering.

“Can you use it to swim?” Inca cried. Their bodies touched and glided together. She kicked strongly to keep his head above water.