The Captive's Return

So many small details that could mean nothing. He couldn't figure her out and that concerned him. He hadn't survived this long by ignoring instincts. Training only carried a man so far, and he'd reached the top.



Or almost. He'd been damned close to taking control of the country. He'd been patient in collecting power and cultivating allies. He had a vision for his nation, a return to the true values of his people, one where tiny Cartina would command respect and influence world affairs.



The weaklings in control now were too concerned with winning "friends." He spit to clear the acrid taste of failure from his mouth.



Somehow, he would make Padilla pay. Ramon tossed the empty gas can into the back of the Jeep and hitched his Uzi over his shoulder again.



Heaven help the man who'd dared take what little he had left.



A man could only take so much temptation, and last night had damn near done him in.



Lucas tossed the palm leaves back into the jungle, spreading them out to look like a natural falling and disguise their camp. Sara crouched by the river, waterfall splashing a too-tempting backdrop for an impromptu swim.



Not that they could indulge anyway with their tag-along tot and the ever-present threat of leeches. Lucia sat cross-legged in the shade of an oversize bush eating another banana with scrunch-nosed disgust.



She'd been a real trooper the past couple of days. He would have to reward her with a chocolate-covered bug feast when they made it to the States. He wasn't a big fan of worms or grubs, but ants actually tasted sweet.



Hadn't he even seen some of those gummy worm candy things in a store once? Maybe she'd get a kick out of those.



And what the hell was he doing going off on some freaking tangent about kid candy when he had lives to save? He yanked his eyes off Lucia before he started singing "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" as they skipped their way out of the jungle.



If they hauled ass, they should be able to make the safe house by nightfall. Which brought up a-whole-nother concern.



Did Sara have it in her to keep pace for a full day? He would insist on carrying the backpack and Lucia today. Their need for speed outweighed her prideful refusal to admit her limits. Sleeping in the jungle for another night posed too great a risk to their lives and his sanity.



Which meant tonight he wouldn't be holding her while she slept.



As much as he'd like to lose himself in her, there was too much to settle between them first. They'd been on the verge of calling it quits when she'd been shot, and their lives were only more complicated now.



For the kid's sake, they needed to stay as civil and calm as possible. Crawling back into Sara's bed would blast his objectivity and calm right out of the sky.



He pitched the lean-to bracing branches into a pile of rotting brush, scattering ants and sending a snake slithering into the water.



Yet, in spite of all his logical arguments, he wanted to say to hell with it all. Go for it with his wife anyway.



His focus narrowed on Sara's back as she knelt by the river. Damn it all, his instincts told him she was telling the truth. Her story didn't make a bit of sense factually, and he was certain she was leaving something out, but his gut insisted she'd been held against her will.



He depended on his instincts every day to ensure the safety of the men and women under his command. No one had died on his watch, although there had been some close calls with all the crap going on in the Middle East. Two planes had been shot down but thanks to the top-notch, damn-well-always-up-to-date training of his flyers, they'd managed to bring down the crippled craft safely. No loss of life.



He'd even insisted on post incident counseling for the aviators who'd been captured—Hunt, his copilot, Rokowsky, and the loadmaster, Price. They were all back on flying status and up to speed when captivity could have screwed with their heads for life.



So why not follow his instincts now when it came to Sara? If he didn't get his head out of his ass and start taking care of her, she could be scarred for life by the experience. He would have done twice this much for anyone in his command.



Once they finished breaking camp and hit the trail, he would start making amends. He wouldn't let one crappy experience with a drugged-up teenage girl mess with his head.



He also wouldn't let Sara carry that damn backpack.



Sara eased the insulin pouch from the backpack. She was feeling better today after a more restful night's sleep, but her blood sugar levels were still low.



At least she'd slept well. She'd expected to spend hours tormented by the feel of Lucas's arms around her. Instead, she'd curved against him and relaxed. Five years' worth of on-guard tension slid away as if her body understood better than her brain that this was a safe place to be.



Her body also remembered how very right they could be together. The kiss had been everything she remembered—and more. Because now she knew to appreciate the rare gift of such a beautiful sensation.



He wanted her on at least some level. Certainly that wasn't enough to build a relationship, but she remembered more about Lucas than just the power of his kiss. She also knew to be patient, let him find his pace and feelings.



She thought back to five years ago when she'd done just that and the payoff had been amazing....



She could hardly believe she was finally on a real, honest-to-God date with Lucas Quade. Not just sharing a garden bench during lunch, the birds capturing as much of his attention as she did.



Although when she'd dreamed of their first date, she hadn't envisioned anything like this.



Sara gripped the rails alongside the glider's clear glass canopy. Lucas sat in the seat in front of her, steering them through the endless stretch of sky alongside the mountain ridge. The sleek fiberglass wings sliced through the air, Lucas finessing the craft through updrafts to keep them aloft.



After snagging churrascos from a street vendor, Lucas had taken her to a small airfield where he'd rented a glider for the afternoon. At least he'd warned her ahead of time to wear shorts and gym shoes. So much for a more sophisticated look to impress her date, who happened to be ten years older than she was.



She'd hoped to wear high heels because he seemed to think she had pretty feet. Wasn't she pathetic that she lapped up praise for her feet? Although the way his hot, hot, Dios-mio-hot eyes seared over her, she thought perhaps he liked the rest of her, too.



Thank heavens, because she was liking him more and more every day and this reticent man gave little encouragement.



But she couldn't complain about the casualness of their date. What an amazing view of her countryside, towering mountains covered in vegetation. A person could get lost for months inside those lush jungles, any straight path cut by the winding rivers and streams.



"Do you want to try flying?" he called over his shoulder.



She stared at the stick in front of her and the rudders at her feet, moving in tandem with the set Lucas controlled up front. The airspeed indicator on her simple control panel read fifty knots. "I believe I'll leave the flying to you."



He laughed low. "Fair enough, but feel free to hold the stick and follow if you'd like."



"Maybe next time."



"Next time we can try a hot air balloon."



"And you also fly military cargo planes."



"Just call me Chuck Yeager. There's nothing I can't fly."



"Chuck who?"



He chuckled. "Never mind. Forget it."



Oh, she wouldn't forget it. In fact, she would find out about this Chuck Yeager fellow and anything else that might give her hints about Lucas.



Silence in the engineless craft surrounded her as completely as the crystal-blue sky. Would his eyes turn as crystalline when he kissed her for the first time? Silly, frivolous thoughts. But damn it all, she'd worked hard to make this man notice her. She deserved a little fanciful reveling.



After meeting him in the press brief—and nearly dropping her steaming cup of Colombian roast right down the front of her dress—she'd been determined to find out more about him. Which would take some work since he'd barely spoken two words to her that didn't have to do with translating for the reporters.



She'd learned where he lunched, in the garden with his birds, away from people. Just when she'd been ready to make her move and join him, he'd suddenly skipped lunch there three days in a row. She'd almost exhausted her bubble supply waiting for him every afternoon.



Then finally, success. A whole month of lunches later—but sheesh, he was worth the wait—he'd finally asked her out.



"Tell me about your family."



His question—or command—made her grin as they skimmed over the jungle ceiling. Finally he was instigating a personal conversation rather than discussing work.



"I have only my father and brother." She lost herself in the endless blue sky. "My mother died of complications from a surgery when I was a teenager."



"I'm sorry."



"As am I." She could have used a woman's advice to figure out this man.



"Your father was the overprotective type?"



"He spoiled me rotten." Smothered her.



"Didn't he have family to help?" He dipped the left wing, angling around a jutting mountain.



She grabbed the rail for balance to settle her tumbling stomach, an unsteadiness she suspected had more to do with the man than the sky. "Not really. But he and Tio Ramon—his childhood friend, not an actual brother—are both widowers. They supported each other through the loss of their wives and commiserated over bringing up children alone. They even shared nannies for us, since Tio Ramon's wife was bedridden for a long time before she died."



"Sounds as if your families are close."



A chill settled over her in spite of the warmth of the sun steaming through the clear glider canopy. She knew of Tio Ramon's criminal reputation, most if not all of it true. Was Lucas merely on a fishing expedition for further information? That he might lie to her, even use her for his government...



Her stomach lurched again. Harder. "The embassy did a thorough background check on me."



"I know."



"You saw it?" Nerves smoothed with the first hints of anger. "Then why ask me these questions when you already know everything about me?"



"I like the sound of your voice."



Oh. And how she liked him.



Anger and pain floated away as easily as her bubbles. This man was so much better at compliments than any poetic player rambling on about her eyes or face.



"Sara? Hold up your hand."



What? "I really don't want to fly this time."



"That's not what I mean. Just reach forward. Trust me."



She did—both trust and reach.



He clasped her hand and kissed her wrist, holding for seconds until her eyes slid closed.



Not that she had a bit of interest in opening her eyes anytime soon. She would worry about how to learn more about reticent Lucas later. Because one thing was certain.



She definitely wanted to keep flying.



Lucas considered walking up behind Sara at the stream and simply kissing her.



Why not? He'd decided to follow his instincts and believe her story about the captivity. They'd kissed the night before and it had been...well...damn. She'd rocked his world as much now as she had five years ago.



But he couldn't instigate a sure-to-be passionate kiss, not with a kid around. Still he and Sara could begin getting comfortable with each other again, like with simple touches.



No hardship for him.



Lucas crossed the small clearing, his boots padding softly against the layers of vegetation. She didn't seem to hear him coming as she continued to lean over her backpack and some kind of black leather vanity kit.



Hmm. He wouldn't mind tasting her toothpaste again.



Rein it in, he reminded himself. Keep it low-key. Kneeling, he angled forward, his face close to her ear. "Good morning."



He stroked down her arm just as she jolted under his touch.