Make Mine a Marine (38 page)

Maybe his lungs weren't working properly, because Sarah began to pet him. She brushed her fingertips along his chest, his face, his neck and shoulders. They were gentle, apologetic strokes, as though she wanted to soothe a restless beast.

Did she see him that way? A primitive man-beast who couldn't control his wants or temper? Hadn't he behaved in exactly that way?

"Honey
…"

The endearment dipped out, but he quickly snatched it back with silence when the caressing stopped and she clenched her hand into a fist between them.

"You must think I'm a terrible, mixed-up, teasing, prudish spinster."

She spoke the apology to his chest, and a flash of anger aimed at the men who had made her believe such garbage mingled with his own regret. "I think you're an incredibly courageous, first-class lady who's been through hell today."

She tipped her chin up and met his gaze, looking surprised by the vehemence in his voice.

"I apologize for taking advantage of that. But I don't for one minute believe that you're a tease or a prude." He shook his head, not sure how to make her understand. "A man doesn't get turned on like that by an unresponsive woman. You make me crazy with the way you touch me. Being shy doesn't make you a tease, and being unmarried sure as hell doesn't mean you're a prude."

He tightened his fingers around her shoulders to emphasize his sincerity. "I'm only sorry I pushed you into this today. I wanted you, and I didn't take into account how you might be feeling."

"I wanted you to kiss me." Her quiet voice stunned him into silence. "You weren't taking advantage. I needed to be held like that. I needed you. You brought me back to reality. I'm sure I'm through this yet. But I have to be strong for the girls right now, and you helped me. You made me feel almost
…"

Her eyes rounded, big as saucers, then shuttered again.

"Almost what?" Hawk prodded.

She smiled, but the sweet curve of her mouth didn't reach her eyes. "I'm glad you're with us. I'll try to be a little less crazy from now on, okay?"

"Sarah?"

But she had already left him, slogging her way through the water toward the shore. She covered herself as the water got shallow. Exposed to her hips, she stopped. "I don't have any clothes."

She kept her back to him, and Hawk bit down on the urge to tell her that her reticence came too late. He'd already seen and felt most of her. But he didn't think of her as a lady without good cause.

With a gut-deep sigh that revealed the remnants of frustration, anger, caring and desire, Hawk quickly waded to shore and picked up the black T-shirt he had discarded earlier. "Here. You can wear this until you get back to your tent and change."

She stared at the material dangling from his hand and then looked up at him expectantly. Then she did the damnedest thing and twirled her finger in the air, asking him to turn around. His initial reaction to her belated modesty cooled into something bordering on possessiveness and protection. If she wanted to cover herself, then he wanted her to be covered.

With his back to her, he heard the water dripping from her skin as she climbed out, and the squish of her footsteps on the muddy beach. She snatched the shirt from his grasp, and he imagined he could hear the whisper of soft cotton settling over her softer skin.

"Thank you," she whispered, then darted around him down the path, carrying her boots.

Hawk stood where he was, transfixed, breathing deeply, or maybe not even breathing at all. She'd wound her hair into a cord and pulled it over her shoulder, giving him a clear view of her backside scurrying down the path. His shirt engulfed her slender figure, hanging to her thighs. But it clung to her wet skin, hinting at the graceful length of her back, the slim nip of her waist, and the seductive flare of her hips.

Hawk dove back into the water and prayed for the self-discipline his body couldn't seem to remember around Sarah. A cold shower would have been a greater blessing than this warm bath. But he reckoned that a man who couldn't do his job right and couldn't remember his place got what he deserved.

Chapter Eight

I am He who commands the sun.

All others of this earth are but ants that swarm at My feet. I provide all that is needed. I take all that is due Me.

I am He.…

The royal litany, first spoken by the gods for Him, obeyed by peasants and soldiers alike, rang through His consciousness like a war cry.

But why was He at war? Had He not brought peace to the land, and ruled with Prini at His side for long, fruitful years? Long enough to build a great city from the black rock from the far side of the island. Long enough to secure the tribute of the native tribes. Long enough to see His people know him for a god and make His will their own.

What had disturbed Him? Who had dared to invade His kingdom? Why had He been summoned from the land of the gods?

He focused His mind and tried to make sense of His surroundings. He traveled quickly, like a canoe manned by eight powerful slaves. But He did not hear the silent rhythm of their matched strokes. These noises were uncommonly loud, not the natural sounds of the jungle. The whining cacophony was a cruel attack on His ears, and difficult to ignore.

He wished for the blessed peace He had once known. But the sounds were not new. They had first come to Him like the distant rumble of thunder, the faint, incoherent stirrings of a gathering enemy. Now His enemies were close at hand, close enough to touch, close enough to make out words of a language He did not understand.

He'd been fast asleep when the first disturbance had jarred Him into a level of dreamlike slumber. In a dimly remembered passage of minutes, or perhaps eons, he heard the sounds again. Over and over. It had taken Him a long time to awaken. A long time to acknowledge the presence of an enemy.

And an even longer time to understand that He was alone.

They'd left Him alone for all eternity.

Fools!

The petty fools had defied His wishes. They had taken it in their small mortal minds to disobey His final request.

Rage boiled within Him. Glimpses of dreams became clear-minded purpose. He sped along under a power not His own, carried in a land canoe with thunder captured in its prow. Inspecting the cargo beneath him, He realized these thieves carried booty that was rightfully His. He moved into a container, felt the familiar warmth of things cherished. He hovered there, absorbing the bold-spirited heat of a gold icon. It was set atop a staff of carved, polished teak. Men had cowered before that symbol of power.

Marriages had been bestowed. Harvests blessed. Men had been killed by the one who had wielded that staff.

He surfaced, feeling stronger now. The abhorrent sounds receded, and He could sense the presence of another. This one was weak, not like the warrior's mind He had first touched, then trailed from the tomb.

He passed through walls, following the peculiar stench as much as the simple mind. A peasant. He could tell at once, hovering in the small confines beside the man. His clothing might look different, but the sun-weathered skin and small-minded expression were the same.

This peasant held a circlet of gold in his right hand while he steered the land canoe by a round, black rudder in his left. He recognized the golden gift and watched how this rank peasant defiled the gold by touching it and fondling the garnets and emeralds once worn by His beloved.

He gathered Himself, focused on His rage. The peasant glanced around nervously, like a small animal sensing the presence of something much larger about to spring upon it for dinner. He watched the telltale beads of sweat break out on the peasant's upper lip. And like the victorious hunter, He knew the prey was His.

He reached out.

Pitiful little man.

The peasant saw Him with his mind and screamed.

He gave a little nudge, laughing inside at the small man whose screams jarred the air in the tiny land canoe. The man jerked and He pulled away, freeing Himself from the acrid smell of imminent death.

The canoe careened into the trees like hunted prey cornering itself. It smashed through the trunks and leaves and sailed into the air, soaring for a moment like the great harpy eagle. Then it plummeted to earth and burst into flame.

A common peasant was hardly a worthy sacrifice, but the burning pyre at the foot of the cliff soothed the obsessive quest for vindication.

He gathered Himself after the exertion of the hunt, savoring the victory, enjoying the semblance of silence.

But He turned when He sensed others coming. Others who had violated His sanctuary and denied Him the one thing He wanted most.

He would find them.

He would find them all and punish them for what they had done.

I am He who commands the sun. Bow down before Me.

Or know My wrath.

Sarah stared at the toffee-colored plait of hair she held in her fist and remembered her father's sad words when she'd cut it short back in college.
You don't look like my little girl anymore.
He'd meant it as a compliment, a signal that he knew she was growing up. But shortly after that, her mother had been diagnosed with cancer. And other than a regular trim to keep it looking neat, she hadn't cut it since. Her father had found great comfort in familiar things.

She'd found comfort in them, too.

But little in Tenebrosa felt familiar. And nothing about today left her feeling like a little girl.

She flung the braid behind her back, knowing what she must do. But it wasn't easy. Dear Lord, it wasn't easy.

Hawk had bathed her and calmed her and comforted her with his gentle hands and voice. He had washed away the touch of another man, but he couldn't reach inside and cleanse her of what she herself had done.

She'd selfishly taken five innocent children away from their homes and families just so she could experience the adventure of a lifetime.

Some adventure.

She'd killed a man. While he’d ripped at her clothes and put his hands on her, she’d reached into the foliage for his gun.   When he sat back to unzip his pants, she’d raised the barrel and pulled the trigger.  Just like that.  A man was dead.

She'd involved the girls in covering up a crime against Tenebrosa.  Tomb-raiding.  There were probably international laws against that sort of thing.

And now, because of her, they'd been left to die.

Sarah studied the pile of drab, shapeless clothes she'd been told to leave behind. The tans, whites, and browns represented a lot more than her safe, boring taste in clothing. They symbolized the woman she'd always been. Reserved, predictable, responsible. She'd always done what was expected of her.

Until this trip.

Until running up against the enigmatic wall of Hawk Echohawk and his strange, beautiful ways.

She didn't know herself anymore. Had she hit some sort of midlife crisis? Her experience with Walter had left her feeling embarrassingly ancient and past the point of being of any use to anybody. Looking back on the miserable end to that relationship, she could blame her desperate need to make this journey on him. She'd wanted a final fling to prove to herself that her lonely life hadn't been wasted.

But could her needs justify what she had done to those five girls? Hawk had said this was a mistake from the very beginning, and she hadn't listened.

She was listening now.

Sarah sighed, the frustrated sound echoing deeply in her chest. Picking up her lightened backpack and canteen, she slung them over her shoulder and gave one final look at everything she was leaving behind. She couldn't afford to be the old Sarah any longer.

She needed to be more like that mother bear in Hawk's vision. His odd words had given her strength. They had touched a part of her imagination, and struck her with a rightness that felt like a memory. As he spoke, it had felt like a dream coming back to her.

Sarah shook her head, displeased with herself for allowing such wistful imaginings. When had her dreams ever come true? Those fanciful urges of her quiet heart had only brought her trouble, time and again.

She needed to be more like Hawk. Focused. Alert. Wise about people.

She needed to leave the old Sarah behind and be strong enough and smart enough to help get those girls home. Comfort and familiarity had no place on their daunting hike back to El Espanto.

Girding herself in a show of strength, she shut down the rising flood of doubt inside her and turned to join the others.

Hawk paced restlessly, anxious for Sarah to join them at the fire pit. The others were packed and ready to go, a young but indomitable brigade. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in trust and cooperation and sheer determination.

His first trip to Tenebrosa had been in the company of savvy, highly trained Marine Corps intelligence operatives, each bringing his individual talents to the elite group. He supposed Sarah's girls had their own unique talents, too.

Denise, their leader. Andrea, a storehouse of knowledge. Lyndsay, the risk-taker, the emotional one unafraid to take action. Lynnette formed the heart of the group, providing that nameless cohesion that bonded them into a single unit. Colleen was most like him, intuitive about the needs of others, quietly doing what needed to be done. Even Raul, with his altered loyalties and newfound idealism, fit in as the rebel joining their fight.

And Sarah… she was the commanding officer every soldier wished he had, the teacher who taught more than facts. She helped them understand themselves and their world. She molded them into confident, caring human beings with a respect for themselves and others. Then she quietly stepped back and allowed her students to shine for themselves.

Like the mother bear, who nurtured her cubs and defended them with a vengeance until they could take care of themselves.

Only
he
remained the outcast, without a niche to fit into the group—except when Sarah dropped her ladylike reserve and reached out to him. Then he felt connected. For those few brief moments, first in the jungle, and then in the lagoon, he felt that he had a purpose here. That he belonged.

But belonging was just an illusion, wasn't it? To some extent, he belonged to many different worlds. Soldier. Friend. Counselor. Pawnee. A man of the earth. A man of the spirit world.

But there was not one place where all the elements that made him who he was were accepted as a whole. Not one place where some element of him wasn't resented, used, questioned or loathed.

Not one place.

Except with Sarah.

Sweet, brave, gentle Sarah, full of surprises, and frightened of all he wanted from her. Of all she wanted for herself. Gritty courage aside, she was a lady through and through. She was a woman who needed courtship, who should be led gently to the discoveries of loving. She deserved a storybook marriage with a successful, three-piece-suit kind of guy, not a brief, coarse, passionate affair in the tropics with a used-up shadow man like himself.

Still, it felt good to belong. Like a parched man in the desert of loneliness, he basked in her rare, glorious smiles, and found soul-nurturing sustenance in the gift of her kisses. The ultimate acceptance he would find buried deep inside her was a tribute too far out of reach for a man so alien to her world.

Besides, he had come to Tenebrosa for a different kind of healing. He wanted closure for the unexplained mistakes of his past. The one time when it had counted most, his abilities had failed him. That truth would have to stay hidden for now. He had a larger responsibility on his hands, because not seeing Sarah and the others safely home would be a failure he refused to live with.

Wasting time wishing for things that could never be would only distract him from what needed to be done. He buried his feelings, hardened his resolve, and gave up his pacing.

He strode straight to Sarah's tent. "Damn it, schoolmarm, what's taking you so long?"

The flap opened and Sarah materialized right in front of him, looking so small and fragile and delicate that he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from pulling her into his arms. Her chin was bowed below its normal regal tilt, but she lifted her beseeching golden gaze to his and whispered quietly, "I need to ask you a favor."

The tremor in her voice and the pull of her eyes threatened to undermine his resolve to stay emotionally unattached. Fighting off the desire to stop and give the lady whatever she asked, when he knew damn well they should have been on the road an hour ago, he made his own voice tighten to a clipped growl. "We'll never get ten yards, much less ten miles, down the road at this rate. What do you want?"

She tipped up her chin and leaned back as if his harshness surprised her. The glimmer of fear surrounding her ebbed in a swirl of amber confusion. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, her familiar blue aura asserted itself as she summoned her courage.

Reaching behind her, she pulled out her braid and held it up to him like an offering. "I want you to cut my hair."

Hawk glanced from the determination in her eyes to the beautiful twist of Kodiak brown in her hand. "Not your hair."

Her focus followed his and she looked at the braid as though she held a poisonous snake in her hand. "It won't dry like this, and it will be hot and heavy to wear while we're hiking. Just as you said before we left the airport in Kansas City." Her breath caught in a tiny little gasp. "And he… he… "