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Angel gulped. She’d always sensed that Maya knew about her mystical background, but it wasn’t ever discussed, at least not openly as they were doing now. Rather, Maya simply accepted it as a part of her, just as Maya had her own mystical traditions.
“Er…ma’am…”
“You’re in a pickle, Paredes.” Maya chuckled indulgently, watching the twenty-eight-year-old paramedic sit there and blush. Angel had copper-colored skin, thick, short black hair and very large, wise-looking dark brown eyes. Like most Quero people, she was short and stocky and strong. Few knew the inner workings of the Quero, the royal bloodline of the Incas of the past. But Maya did. Knew them well.
“Your skill has gained the attention of a general. Now,” Maya drawled, “if it was the sergeant putting in this request, I could blow him off and circular file it. As it is, your reputation for saving lives when the person shoulda croaked has reached General Rutherford’s ears.”
Gulping again, Angel said, “And you can’t blow off a general. Right?”
“Bang on, Paredes. You’re reading this one correctly.”
“But,” Angel sputtered, tapping the letter repeatedly with her index finger, “I can’t teach them what I know! First of all, this guy—”
“Sergeant Gifford?”
“Yeah…him. Well, he wouldn’t believe it, anyway. He’s a paramedic. Undoubtedly dyed-in-the-wool and tied to the traditional Western medicine model.”
Shrugging eloquently, Maya said, “The dude has some pull if he can get a general to write this proposal and request for him. He’s the head medical instructor for all of Special Forces training. So he’s got something going for him.”
Angel snorted softly. “Yeah, it’s called the curiosity of a cat, ma’am. That’s all.”
“There’s a photo of him on the next page. Take a look.”
Unsettled, Angel scowled and lifted the letter, finding a colored photo beneath. The man’s face was square, his jaw hard and set. His gray eyes reminded Angel of a cat’s, and for some reason that bothered her or perhaps drew her. She instantly rejected the latter possibility. Gifford was dressed in his Class A dark green army uniform, the red beret worn by Special Forces members in place on his dark brown hair. She saw the weathered lines at the corners of his eyes, indicating he spent a lot of time out-of-doors. His mouth was thinned and unsmiling. Of course, this was an official army photo, in which no one smiled. Still, she dug into the man’s face, studying his craggy features, with her intuition open.
Gifford was not a pretty boy. She saw a scar above the dark, thick slash of his right eyebrow. His nose, strong and dominating, reminded her of a condor’s beak. It had obviously been broken in the past. The merciless look in his light gray eyes, those black pupils huge and staring back at her, undid her for a moment.
“This dude don’t take no prisoners, does he?”
Chuckling, Maya said, “Doesn’t look like it on the surface.”
“He’s got a face like the Andes.”
“Yeah, all lava and granite. Tough.”
“I don’t see compassion in him,” Angel said, feeling energy drain from her. “I’m looking for something face-saving in this guy. I don’t see it.”
“I think he hides behind that mask in the photo,” Maya said gently. “Don’t panic on me, Paredes. It would be the first time I’ve seen you hit that button.”
Lifting her head, Angel tried to smile. “Sorry, ma’am. I am rattled.”
“Look at it this way,” Maya counseled with a twisted smile. “You need help right now because of your injury. Gifford asked for six weeks, to tail you around to see what you do and how you do it as a paramedic for BJS. Let him be your hands while you train him in to help the doctor. He can be like a puppy following at your heels.”
“What about my, er…other skills, ma’am? I don’t have to show him that, do I?”
“No. Not unless you think it’s right. We’d at least have a pair of hands here to help us while you recover. He’s a trained paramedic. He can stand in for you, Angel, and help Elizabeth. Overall, it’s a good fit for our present predicament.”
Mouth thinning, Angel took another look at Gifford’s stiff, almost defiant expression. The man was like a hungry raptor ready to leap out of the photograph and grab her. Strangely, she felt her heart respond. She was confused. Gifford’s face was not forgiving in any way. He was a professional soldier and there was absolutely no softness in him.
“He doesn’t look like he’s got a drop of sensitivity in him,” she moaned. “The women aren’t gonna like that. We get along better with more responsive types.”
“Well,” Maya said, “if Gifford tries to strong-arm anyone here, I think they’ll straighten him out pronto, don’t you?”
Angel saw her C.O. grinning like a jaguar, her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s true, we don’t take guff from anyone—especially men.”
“Bang on, Paredes. You’re the one who’s gonna be saddled with him, and so you’re the one whose gonna take it on the chin, so to speak. You’re tough, though, and my bet’s on you to stop this guy in his tracks should he decide that just because you’re a woman—and petite—he can ignore you or run over you.”
Snorting, Angel growled, “He’d better not try.”
“Yeah.” Maya chortled softly. “Or he’ll be asking for a transfer sooner rather than later. Try to be a bit kind to him? We need him around for at least four to six weeks, until you climb back into the saddle, okay?”
Feeling a little better, Angel closed the folder, stood up and handed it back. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do my best.”
“Go tell the doctor what’s comin’ down, will you? And tell her if she has any other questions, to come see me.”
“I will. I think she’ll be relieved.”
“I’m sure I’ll hear a whoop and holler from that direction. Gifford’s good at what he does, so he’ll be able to fill your shoes, medically speaking, up to a point.” Maya flashed her glittering, pantherlike smile. “But he’s not the Angel of Death. That’s why I need you to shepherd him around, use his skills, while you get yourself back on your feet ASAP. Okay?”
Heartened by her C.O.’s belief in her, Angel came to attention. “Yes, ma’am. Music to my ears.”
“Get out of here, Paredes. Go get some rest and take care of that shoulder like the doc ordered.”
Angel nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I will, now that we’ve got some help coming our way. I was just worried for the doctor. She’s really busy.”
“I know.”
Of course she would know, Angel thought as she saluted.
“Dismissed, Sergeant. Thanks for dropping by. And try to be kind to Gifford the first couple of days. I’m sure he’s not used to a nearly all-women squadron.”
Chapter Two
Where in the hell am I being sent? It was a question Sergeant Burke Gifford asked himself many times as the Bell helicopter moved toward the narrow hole in the lava wall that would allow them entrance to the Black Jaguar Base in the jungle mountains of Peru. He was the only passenger, and had been picked up at the Cuzco airport along with a hefty load of supplies, which were anchored all around him by nylon netting.
It was early morning, the mists thick and swirling as the chopper hovered, slowly approaching the gaping hole in the black lava wall. Looking between the two front seats, occupied by women pilots, Burke glimpsed the “Eye,” as they called it, for the first time.
Automatically, he tensed, reaching for the nylon netting around him and gripping it hard. The hole looked too small for the Bell helo to pass through. Yet as Burke sucked in a sudden breath and held it, the pilot maneuvered through it deftly as if it was nothing. Burke stared at the black rock wall as the helo moved through, noting how it glistened wetly from the mist—that’s how close they’d come to it.
It was only when the chopper began to land on a rough slab of black lava inside the cave that Burke let out that breath of air. He had on a set of headphones, so he was privy to the chatter between the pilots and the ground crew. From their conversations, he could tell they weren’t at all concerned about flying through that hole like he was. Marveling at the size of the cave, he felt his eyes widen even more as he looked around and grasped the enormity of this operation. What an incredible place! His respect for the base, and the people who ran it, mushroomed.
“Okay, Sergeant Gifford, you can breathe now,” the pilot said with a chuckle.
Gifford managed a sick smile. “Thanks, Chief Mabrey,” he said to the woman they called “Snake,” as she twisted around to look at him with a huge grin.
“Our pleasure, Sergeant. I warned you that the Eye would get your attention.”
“It did, ma’am. My undivided attention.”
Chortling with delight, Snake unharnessed herself as the Bell helo powered down. The blades were turning more slowly now. No one could leave the helo until they stopped spinning.
“You’ll get used to it after a while,” the copilot said.
Gifford saw the other woman remove her helmet and fluff up her blond hair, which had a red streak running through it. Snake called her “Wild Woman.” That fit. Again he wondered what kind of crazy world he was entering. This was an essentially all-female black ops. He knew there were a few men assigned, but not many. For once, he was in the minority. Not something he’d encountered in his well-ordered world at the U.S. base where he taught. This was a complete turnaround.
“Ah,” Wild Woman said, pointing through the cockpit window, “there’s the Angel of Death, Sergeant. She’s waiting for you. See her? Over there? She’s the one with her arm in a sling, looking very unhappy. Can’t miss her.”
Unhooking his seat belt, Burke moved forward, bracing his hands on the metal walls behind the pilots’ seats. Eyes narrowing, he studied the bustling activity on the lip of the cave below. Though the lighting was poor, he noted a woman in camouflage fatigues and black boots, her arm in a dark green sling, standing to one side with a frown on her coppery face.
“Yes, ma’am, I think I see her.”
Wild Woman smiled, taking her knee board off her thigh and tucking it into the oversize pocket on the right leg of her uniform. “Sergeant Angel Paredes. She’s saved more lives than we can count. You’re lucky to be working with her for the next six weeks, Sergeant. She’s an incredible person. She’s got that sour look on her face because of her shoulder injury, which she got by lifting too heavy a box. Angel doesn’t like being sick.” Wild Woman laughed. “She’s a lousy patient, believe me.”
“That’s what I heard,” he murmured, trying to see her more clearly.
“She’s a legend in her own time,” Snake agreed, pulling off her own helmet.
“That’s why I’m down here—to learn from her.”
Snake grinned at Wild Woman. “Well, Angel is a pistol, Sergeant. She shoots straight from the hip and takes no prisoners. Treat her right or you’ll find yourself on her bad side.”
“Not a good thing,” Wild Woman said seriously. “A pit bull without a muzzle or leash.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Burke saw that, under Angel Paredes’s army cap, her short black hair framed her oval face. He knew from her personnel jacket that she was a Peruvian Indian, and her high cheekbones testified to the fact. She was short and compactly built, although even the bulky fatigues she wore could not hide her womanly assets. He could see she was curved in all the right places.
“Nope, you don’t mess with the Angel of Death,” Snake murmured good-naturedly as she sized up the Special Forces sergeant. “Respect her and you’ll live another day.”
The blades stopped turning. Immediately, a crew hooked up the nosewheel of the helo to a transport vehicle and pulled the craft deep within the cave. Once the helo was taken to the revetment area, the blades were tethered and tied down. Burke heard the door on the cargo bay slide open. One of the crew women looked inside.
“Welcome to BJS, Sergeant. Want to come with me?”
“Sure.” Thanking the pilots who’d transported him, Burke turned and made his way through the stacks of supplies to the door. When he’d leaped lightly to the cave floor, the crew woman pointed toward Angel. “That’s her, Sergeant—your sponsor. Take off and we’ll see that your duffel bag is brought to your quarters.”
“Thanks.” Burke nodded and headed where she’d pointed. Focusing on Sergeant Paredes, he felt his heart suddenly begin to clamor—a completely unexpected reaction, as far as Burke was concerned. As he approached, he realized that Angel Paredes, although short, didn’t really seem to be. She seemed larger than life to him. Maybe because he’d read so many of her mission reports.
More than anything, he liked her large, dark brown eyes, which seem to glimmer like a moonlit night. They were slightly tilted, giving her an exotic look he hadn’t expected. Her face was broad, her eyes wide set, with a fine, straight nose that gave her an aristocratic look. She was probably no more than five foot six, Burke realized, towering over her from his own six-foot height. His gaze dropped to her mouth—a lush, full mouth, the corners tucked upward, indicating she laughed a lot.
He liked her. More than he should, he realized. She was exotic. Mysterious. And in the Peruvian army, presently on loan to the U.S. Army. An eclectic mixture that drew Burke strongly. Instantly, he slammed the door on his heart’s interest. His personal feelings had no place in this formula. Nor did his burning curiosity to know everything about her.
Angel looked up into Gifford’s craggy, cold features as he approached. The sight of him in civilian clothes—a pair of well-worn Levi’s and a dark blue polo shirt that clearly outlined his powerful chest and firmly muscled body—made her gulp. Why on earth was she being drawn to him like this? Was it his cool gray eyes, assessing her like a predator might its quarry? That mouth, so thinned in the picture, but now relaxed and surprisingly strong? In person, this man had dynamic charisma, something that hadn’t been obvious in his photo.
Tensing, Angel felt her pulse race erratically. He moved like a jaguar, his body lean and tight. He missed nothing with those alert eyes of his. She saw his gaze flit around, felt him absorbing the energy and atmosphere of the cave and the ops activity going on around him. Her own radar was working flawlessly, and she sensed he was curious and eager. His curiosity made her feel a little too vulnerable at the moment.
Two days ago, she’d injured her tendon once again in a silly movement. This time, Elizabeth put her arm in a sling to protect her from herself while it healed. Though she was relatively pain free, so long as she didn’t move her arm much, Angel hadn’t expected to be overwhelmed by this Special Forces guy. But she was. And he was approaching her far too quickly for her to make sense of the array of feelings and sensations moving through her. Confused, Angel tried to pretend she was at ease and casual.
“Sergeant Paredes? I’m Burke Gifford.” He stopped and held out his hand to her.
“Welcome to BJS, Sergeant.” Angel proffered her own. His hand was large, lightly furred with dark brown hair on the back and thick calluses on the palm, along with a lot of small scars here and there. Gulping, she slid her much smaller hand into his, hoping he wouldn’t give her a bone-crushing shake. He didn’t. To her surprise, Gifford monitored the amount of pressure he exerted. He knew she had a shoulder injury, and simply squeezed her damp fingers warmly before releasing them. That implied he had some sensitivity. That was good.
“Thanks. This is quite an operation. I’m really impressed. I had no idea….” Burke liked, too much, the feel of her strong, soft hand in his. Her fingers were cool and damp. Was she nervous? He perused her upturned face. She was arrestingly attractive in that exotic way. Sternly, he told himself he shouldn’t care what Angel looked like. He was here on a scouting mission. To learn from her. That was all.
Angel nearly jerked her hand away when wild tingles started running up her hand, jolting her. Surprising her. She saw his straight dark brows gather at her obvious reaction.
“Thanks, Sergeant.” Quickly, Angel tucked her hand into the pocket of her coat, her fingers burning like fire itself. Stymied, she said, “Let’s go to the mess hall. They got hot coffee brewin’ and it’s a lot warmer in there than it is out here.” Even though the temperature was hovering in the low fifties, for Angel, who was acclimatized to the tropics, it was cold.
“Sure, a cup of coffee sounds great,” he answered with enthusiasm. Burke fell into step at her side, feeling giddy, elated and excited, in spite of his resolution to keep his emotions in check. Because she was short, he slowed his stride to match hers.
Looking around as they walked toward the back of the cave, Burke shook his head. “This is an incredible facility.” There were a number of Quonset huts set in the back of the cave. To one side, he saw the mouth of a tunnel, disappearing off into the mountain. Battery-powered golf carts carrying supplies and personnel zoomed in and out of it like bees from a hive. The clinks and clanks of crews working on Apache gunships and two Blackhawks echoed through the area. Everywhere he looked, he saw women. Only once did he spot a couple of men working with an otherwise all-women flight crew.
Looking down, he studied Angel’s strong profile. From this angle, she reminded him of Incan reliefs he’d seen carved in stone. He wondered how personal to get with her. Tamping down his desire to ask her a hundred personal questions, he cautioned himself to go slow and let her open up to him—or not, as the case may be. Inwardly, Burke hoped she would. He was dying to know more about the woman, the person, on whom this legend was based.
Approaching the door to the mess hall, Burke opened it for her out of habit. He saw her look up at him, her eyes narrow briefly, and then a sour smile touch her lips.
“Thanks,” she said as she entered.
“You’re down one arm,” he said. “I thought opening a door for you wouldn’t make a gender statement.”
Grinning, Angel moved on into the warm facility. When he came to her side and stood patiently, she looked up and said, “We’re a pretty independent lot down here, Sergeant. My left arm might be in a sling, but I still have a good right arm that can open doors, too.”
“I’ll remember that, Sergeant Paredes.”
Angel heard the wry tone in his voice and saw the glimmer of humor in his gray eyes, too. She turned her attention to the chow hall. The long rows of picnic tables were nearly deserted now that breakfast was over. A few pilots on duty, dressed in black flight uniforms, were huddled at one table over a last cup of coffee, but that was about it.
“Hungry, Sergeant?”
“Yeah, I am.” He rubbed his belly. “The flight down here served food that would kill a dog. I didn’t eat much.”
Chuckling, Angel pointed to the line of aluminum trays at one end of the table. “I haven’t had breakfast yet, either, so let’s belly up to the bar.”
Burke did not make the mistake of rushing ahead to get her a tray. He reminded himself of what she’d said—that she had one good hand to work with. Allowing Angel to precede him, he saw two women cooks, dressed in white, with white caps on their heads, waiting to dish up whatever they wanted from the warming trays in the chow line.
Angel was trying to balance her tray and curse her injured arm simultaneously. After her outburst about him opening the door for her, she figured she’d better ante up and do this by herself. She didn’t like feeling weak or inept. But the tray was getting heavier as the cooks piled on fluffy scrambled eggs, four pieces of whole wheat toast, a rasher of bacon and some citrus fruit.
Reaching the other end of the line, Angel chose a table and set the tray down before she dropped it and embarrassed herself. Gifford’s tray was piled three times as high as hers. Once he reached the table and set it opposite hers, she pointed to the coffee and tea dispenser at the end of the cooks’ line.
“We get our java here.” Angel went over, grabbed a thick white mug and held it under the appropriate nozzle. When Gifford followed and stood nearby, it made her nervous. He was like a big shadow looming over her, she wasn’t used to someone dogging her heels like that. Filling her coffee cup, she quickly stepped away and went back to the table.
As she did, Angel noticed the women pilots covertly watching Gifford. She saw the looks on their faces and grinned to herself. He was good-looking, in a rough kind of way. Well, it never hurt to look, did it? Sitting down, she poured cream and sugar into her cup. When Gifford sat down opposite her, her pulse raced momentarily.
“Smells real good. Better than regular army chow,” he said with a grin. Picking up his fork, he dived into the scrambled eggs.
Angel ate delicately, studying Burke between bites. He ate like a hungry wolf. She liked his short, neatly cut hair. His ears were large and flared away from his skull slightly. All the better to hear with, she was sure. He had a large Adam’s apple and his neck was thick and strong. His broad shoulders made Angel think that this man could carry a lot of responsibility very easily.
She decided that she needed to take the lead, because he was basically a guest on the base. Over the course of the meal, she shared with him why he was here: to be her hands when she needed them. Blushing a bit as she told him how she’d injured her shoulder, she saw him smile fully for the first time. It was a boyish smile, relaxed and unguarded, and as Gifford’s icy expression melted away, she was privy to the man beneath the facade. The enormity of the change surprised her, and again she felt confused by the array of feelings just looking at him produced in her heart.
“I’ve never had tendonitis,” Burke said with sympathy, slathering strawberry jam over one of the pieces of toast on his tray. “Broke my ankle in a parachute jump, though.”
“I broke my ankle once, too,” Angel said, “though not in a chute jump. I can tell you the pain in a tendon is worse than a break.”
