“One more thing,” Maya called.
Ana halted at the door and turned. “Yes?”
“You’re in charge of this mission. Even though he’s an ex-captain, you’re the boss. He does what you say. I understand from our resources that Travers isn’t real happy having a woman for a boss. So if he gets out of line, I want to know about it pronto. Got it?”
Tucking the helmet beneath her left arm, her Nomex gloves in her right hand, Ana murmured, “Not a problem. I’ll handle it.” She flipped the gloves to her brow in a mock salute to Maya. “I’ll take the civilian helo in on the mining side and fly into Agua Caliente. Who do you want to have fly me in and out?”
“Have Dallas do it. She’s on collateral duty today,” Maya said. “And good luck. Keep your iridium phone on you at all times. If you need backup and protection, call us. We’ll be on standby for you.”
“Roger, Captain Stevenson. Read you loud and clear.” Ana grinned widely, then turned and moved into the busy hall, toward the exit. With every step, she felt lighter and lighter. Why? It made absolutely no sense. Was it because of the unexpected assignment? It was true they worked like dogs at the base, with no downtime, no rest, no liberty. Ana had been working this arduous flight schedule for three years now.
She pushed open the door and took the metal stairs down to the first floor where another door led out into the massive cave. Then she headed for an aluminum Quonset hut at the rear, where the officers had their quarters. A quick shower, a jump into civvies and she’d be ready to go!
Smiling a little, Ana felt her heart lifting. The fact that it was Roberto’s birthday today, their wedding date, had made her feel sad. It had taken an effort to fly this morning and keep her concentration sharp and focused. Her heart ached with old grief. Yet, for some reason, just seeing Jake Travers’s unsmiling photo had lifted her spirits.
“Silly girl,” she admonished herself as she walked through the shadowy cave. Everywhere she looked, women were working, either on the Apaches or the Cobra helicopter in maintenance, or driving the electric-powered golf carts that moved ceaselessly across the smooth, black lava surface, carrying supplies. The base reminded her of a beehive. Work went on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Their mission was crucial. And they were on a wartime footing all the time.
Opening the door to the Quonset hut, Ana moved inside and down the narrow hall. Makeshift plywood cubicles had been built, each containing a small bed, a dresser and a lamp. It made for a spare, economical existence. Entering her room, Ana hung her helmet on a hook and closed the door behind her. Suddenly, she was looking forward to this unexpected mission. It would be nice to get some time off from the brutal demands of the dangerous flight missions.
As she shimmied out of her black, Nomex uniform and prepared to take a quick shower, Ana’s thoughts turned to Jake Travers. What was he really like? Did the photo lie or tell the truth? Her heart whispered that he was a caring man with a heart. Maybe. Ana would determine that soon enough. Miraculously, though, as she hurried down the hall to take a shower, an olive-green towel wrapped around her, she was looking forward to meeting this man. After Roberto’s death, Ana had given up all hope. Love like she’d found with him could never be duplicated. She knew that. At twenty-seven, she was old enough and wise enough to know that love—deep, wonderful love—would never happen twice in a person’s life.
Fatigue lapped at Jake as he sat in the restaurant. The square table before him was covered with a white linen cloth and decorated with a spray of purple orchids with red lips, set in a vase at one corner. The chef, a casually dressed man named Patrick, had had the waiter show Jake up the elegantly carved mahogany staircase to the privacy of the second floor.
Jake looked at the watch on his dark, hairy wrist. It was 11:00 a.m. Anytime now he was to meet Lieutenant Ana Lucia Cortina. Anger riffled at the edges of Jake’s tiredness. He didn’t want any damn woman being his commanding officer. Compressing his lips into a thin line, he sipped the fragrant and delicious mocha latte that Patrick had made for him while he waited for his contact.
Out the large windows to his left, he could see the main street of Agua Caliente, which meant “hot water,” and the busy, bustling plaza beyond. The women, who were dressed in colorful skirts that hung to their ankles looked like bright tropical birds to Jake. Their hair was braided and they wore dark brown felt hats. The Peruvian men were more modern looking, although the Que’ro men wore bright red leggings and pointed, heavily beaded white caps with ear flaps. There were plenty of well-fed mongrels skulking around the plaza looking for scraps.
The plaza was rectangular, with a Catholic church of gray and black granite stonework at one end. Tourist shops that sold T-shirts, alpaca sweaters and other items, and a number of other restaurants, completed the square. Even out here, in what Jake considered the middle of nowhere, there was a pizza place! Inka pizza. With a shake of his head, he grinned a little. Amazing. Free enterprise flourished vibrantly here in Agua Caliente, from what he could see.
He heard faint footsteps on the mahogany stairs. Lifting his head, Jake set the china cup down in its saucer. He waited. It had to be Lieutenant Cortina. A hundred questions whirled through his fatigued mind. He had a black-and-white faxed photo of her, a profile shot of her in U.S. Army uniform—not really a good likeness due to the transmission difficulties of telephone lines between Peru and the U.S. Would she be a hard-ass? One of those strong, competitive women types that were in the army now? Probably.
He saw a woman, her hair black and slightly wavy as it fell around her shoulders, peek above the second floor landing. She was darkly tanned, her coloring shouting of her Peruvian heritage. Jake sucked in a breath as she turned her head and continued up the stairs, her slender hand on the rail. As she turned her oval face toward him, her cinnamon-colored eyes settled questioningly upon his. Her lips were slightly parted as if in anticipation. She looked nothing like the faxed photo of her in uniform. She was beautiful.
Without thinking, Jake rose to his feet. It was part of his officer’s training to stand when in the presence of a lady. Still, he felt no woman was up to the job that lay ahead of them. Countering his irritation over Morgan’s decision, he moved around the table and pulled out the chair next to his as she hesitated at the top of the stairs, looking at him. She was dressed in dark green canvas shorts, well-worn and badly nicked hiking boots, a red T-shirt that said Machu Picchu, and she wore a dark green knapsack across her shoulders. Her hair, slightly curled by the humidity, softly caressed her small breasts. Her cheeks were flushed and gave her wide, intelligent eyes even more emphasis, if that were possible.
Jake’s gaze moved to her mouth. What a beautiful one she had. Her lips were full, the lower lip slightly pouty and provocative looking. A mouth made for sin. A mouth made to stir any man’s fantasies. She wore absolutely no makeup, but she didn’t have to, in Jake’s opinion. He liked women au naturel, and she was all of that.
“Are you…?” he began awkwardly, holding out his hand. Somehow, he wished she wasn’t his team partner. She was too beautiful, too feminine looking, in his judgment, to qualify for such a risky venture.
Ana smiled shyly as she stood there, her hand resting tentatively on the curved mahogany banister. “Jake Travers?” She saw him scowl as his gaze assessed her. He practically stripped her naked with his eyes. It wasn’t a sexual thing, either. Ana could feel his unhappiness toward her. Like most men, he probably thought a woman couldn’t do a “man’s” job. Girding herself, she tried to coolly return his raking gaze, which was filled with judgment because she was a woman.
His name rolled off her lips like a lover’s caress. Jake felt his skin tighten.
