supplies were being kept. The officer bent and kissed her hand twice, smiling provocatively, his brown, almond-shaped eyes alight with invitation. Alanna remembered the Colonel’s warning and smiled politely in return, trying to maintain her dignity regardless of her muddied feet and ankles.
Following the soldier back out into the rain, she noticed more men standing around in huddled groups. There were two helicopters now, and they were both shut down. Looking to the north, she noted low-hanging white clouds that probably signaled fog stealing in for the afternoon. That meant a delay, she supposed, as they slogged through the mire to a series of small shacks surrounded by a barbed wire fence. She thanked him in Spanish as he unlocked and opened the door.
The shack was damp-smelling, the odor of medicine strong in the stale air. It was nearly dark, and Alanna could barely make out the labels which announced the contents of each crate. Taking out a pad and pencil from her purse, she began to write down systematically the necessary information. She lost track of time, engrossed in her activity. Hearing the heavy thud of booted feet, she snapped her head upward.
“You again,” the Colonel growled, coming to a halt. He was dressed in a rubber poncho, looking amazingly dry despite the rain. For a moment, Alanna found herself hating him for his apparent comfort. His gaze roved from her feet up to her head, an unwilling smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I’ll say this for you, you don’t quit regardless of difficulties.”
Her mouth turned down. “I suppose that’s a high compliment coming from you.”
“Yes, it is. You have spunk. I admire that in a woman.”
“Save your compliments for someone who will appreciate them, Colonel.”
Matt walked slowly toward her, pushing the cap back on his head. “I suppose a woman with your good looks is used to getting compliments all the time.”
She gritted her teeth and returned to her work, trying to ignore him. But, God, he was impossible to ignore! Just being around him made her feel edgy. There was something dangerously, vitally male about him. It was in his walk, his easy banter, the way he looked at her…. Alanna felt herself melting inwardly every time their eyes met. The senator had warned her about the Marine’s ability to charm, and she redoubled her efforts to block him out.
He rested his arm against one of the crates above where she was working. “Well, is it true? You happily married to a man that appreciates your good looks and intelligence?”
Alanna pressed her lips together, aware of the pain in her heart. “That’s none of your business,” she hissed.
“I see. Sounds like either a divorce or you got jilted. Which was it?”
She rose from her crouched position after copying the numbers off the last crate. “Don’t you have anything better to do than interrogate me? I thought you were so worried about getting supplies up to San Dolega.”
He took off his hat and scratched his head. “I was until the fog socked us in. Not much we can do at the moment.” His voice lost its mocking quality as he frowned, staring into the darkness above her. “We’re reduced to three operating jeeps, and even those can’t get through. The road is temporarily closed by a large avalanche of mud that occurred an hour ago. The only thing left is for the men to act like pack horses and carry these crates the last five miles on their backs.” He sighed, focusing on her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Miss McIntire. I needed a lift—this day started out rotten, and it’s getting worse by the moment. I’m glad I stumbled onto you.”
She shrugged off his banter. “What do you mean an avalanche? Aren’t the people getting help now?”
“The rains are heavy this time of year, and the earthquake caused a loosening of the topsoil on the mountainsides. The result is an avalanche. The fog is due to cold air mixing with the higher coastal temperatures. This weather system is unusual, so we’re more or less outflanked at the moment. And, to answer your question, no.”
“I’m sure, with your brilliant tactical mind, you’ll come up with something to save the day.”
Matt shook his head, biting his lower lip. “Not always.”
“Is this entire rescue mission run by the military?”
“Why? Do you think a civilian could come up with a better mousetrap under the present conditions?”
“Probably,” she stated boldly. “You’re so typical. If you can’t blow it up, destroy it, or change it, you don’t know how to deal with a problem.”
He stared at her hard, some of the tenseness returning to his face. “I happen to have a degree in engineering, and I’m used to building things, Miss McIntire, not destroying them. You’ve sure got a hate for the military, don’t you? But then, you’re Thornton’s assistant. Did he brainwash you, or did you come prepackaged to his office that way?”
Something snapped inside her, and she struck out at him. He caught her wrist easily, as if he were thwarting a child’s paltry attempt at retaliation. “Let me go!”
Matt’s eyes twinkled with irony. “My little dove is a hawk in disguise. You talk a good line of pacifism, but at the first provocation, you strike out like a cobra. Who’s more aggressive here, lady?” And he suddenly let her go, grinning at her undisguised anger. “How did your boyfriend put up with that temper of yours?”
Alanna backed away from him, her eyes large and her breath harsh. She rubbed her wrist tenderly, feeling the pain from his grip. “We never argued!” she admitted.
“No? Maybe you should have. A volatile argument every now and then is good for the soul. Now, don’t you feel better?”
“No, but maybe I would if I could have hit you. You’re such an—an arrogant bastard!”
He continued to smile, enjoying the moment. “And you’re a vixen. But a very interesting, provocative one.” He picked up the clipboard he had set on a crate. “I’m rather glad you came up. It certainly makes my life interesting.”
“Do you always win, Colonel? I mean, does it make you feel good to know you’re more powerful or stronger than someone else?”
“I don’t always win. But I try my best, and that’s all anyone can expect. And I don’t normally go around exerting physical force on a woman unless she asks for it.” His brows drew together in a downward arc as he watched her. “You don’t look Irish, but you certainly have the Gaelic temper.”
“My mother was from Hungary,” she stated flatly. “They say we Hungarians are pretty volatile, too.”
“That’s okay. I enjoy a hot-blooded woman. Be seeing you around, Miss McIntire.”
She stood there seething for five minutes before her flaring temper subsided back into glowing embers. She felt like a mouse caught between his paws. What was wrong? She had dealt with all kinds of men in her career and held a very prestigious job in political circles. How could a mere officer in the Marine Corps bring her so quickly to defeat? Where had her education failed her? She had always managed to deal with Paul and his intellectualism. But this man—he seemed to know everything about her! That was infuriating in itself, and it strengthened her resolve to prove that he was involved in the smuggling ring linked to Nicaragua.
* * *
Her
