"Dammit, Pepper, this isn't how I wanted it,"

Jim growled. "I wanted...time with you. We don't have it. You're special. I.. .just wanted you to know that."

Stunned, Pepper stared up at him as the plane banked sharply. "Jim," she said brokenly, "there are so many—"

"Thirty seconds!" boomed the jumpmaster.

Jim cursed softly. It was too late. He saw the jumpmaster's grim face, watched the blinking red light that would soon turn green. The C-130 straightened into level flight, and the wind whipped against them. And Jim's mind reluctantly revolved forward to the mission at hand.

God willing, he and Pepper would find Laura Trayhern and get her—and themselves— out alive.

But so much could go wrong. So much...

The light flashed green.

The jumpmaster gave the signal.

To my long-lost Armenian uncle, John Vinton Cramer,

and his wonderful Armenian friends: Jack Harvey and

Bill Taylor, who all have motor oil for blood and a

Sprint race car engine for a heart!

and

To my long-lost Armenian cousins, Maryann and Martha.

ISBN 0-373-09986-X

MORGAN'S WIFE

Copyright © 1995 by Lindsay McKenna

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 Ü.S.A.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books SA.

® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books SA., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

CLS

Printed in U.S.A.

Books by Lindsay McKenna

Silhouette Special Edition

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Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Warrior

Harlequin Historicals

Sun Woman #71

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*Kincaid trilogy

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°Men of Courage

ttMorgan's Mercenaries:Love and Danger

ÊCowboys of the Southwest

AMorgan's Mercenaries:The Hunters

§Morgan's Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts

LINDSAY McKENNA

spent three years serving her country as a meteorologist in the U.S. Navy, so much of her knowledge comes from direct experience. In addition, she spends a great deal of time researching each book, whether it be at the Pentagon or at military bases, extensively interviewing key personnel.

Lindsay is also a pilot. She and her husband of twenty- two years, both avid "rock hounds" and hikers, live in Arizona.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

"Are you about ready?" Morgan Trayhern poked his head into the bedroom and looked inquiringly at his wife.

Laura turned, the string of pearls Morgan had just given her as a seventh-wedding-anniversary present poised in her hands. She smiled softly, holding the luminescent necklace toward him.

"Will you? It's only fitting." As he stepped into the room, Laura's heart swelled with a fierce tide of love. How had seven years fled by? She watched his usually stoic features relax slightly as she laid the strand in his badly scarred hands. How much Morgan had suffered, Laura thought as she turned her back to him. He had come so far since they'd met on that fateful, rainy day at the Washington, D.C., airport.

She closed her eyes as Morgan leaned lightly against her back. He was wearing a suit in honor of the occasion—celebrating over dinner at a posh Alexandria restaurant. As he slipped the pearls around her neck, a tiny shiver of expectation accompanied his fingers' gentle path.

"Mmm…"

Morgan smiled slightly as he carefully worked the small gold clasp. Laura wore a camellia-scented perfume. Like her, the fragrance was heady, making his senses spin.

"Seven years," he murmured close to her ear as he slid his hands along the expanse of her shoulders. "Can you believe it? I can't." He never would. Laura was his bright, shining dream against the dark, nightmarish world that probably would never completely stop haunting him. Posttraumatic-stress disorder didn't necessarily go away with time—at least his hadn't. Laura had stood by him—and suffered with him—through the gut-wrenching flashbacks. Before Laura, Morgan never could have fathomed a person of such strength and courage that she'd want to remain at his side during those tortured times.

Responding to his gentle pressure, Laura leaned against him, feeling his warm breath on the side of her neck as he pressed a kiss against her temple. Her nostalgic glow gave way to more urgent feelings and she eased away just enough to turn in his arms and face him. Placing her hands on his broad shoulders, she smiled up into his serious gray eyes.

"I can."

With a sigh, he brushed a few wayward strands of hair back from Laura's cheek. She wore a simple ivory silk suit that showed off the pearls to perfection. Her blond hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, arousing in him the urge to tunnel his fingers through its thick, silky mass. His mouth curved ruefully.

"I don't know. It hasn't exactly been heaven living with me, has it? More like a living hell at times."

The scar on Morgan's face from that long-ago hill in Vietnam presented a constant reminder to Laura of the deep, invisible scars he still carried in his heart and soul. She touched his other, recently shaved cheek. "No marriage is perfect, and neither are we. But these have been the best seven years of my life, darling. If I died right now, I'd be happy with exactly what I have here—with you." She glanced fondly toward the partially open door to the dimly lit hall. "We have two wonderful children, a boy who worships you and a baby girl who adores you just as I do." Her eyes filled with tears. "No, these years haven't been hell for me, they've been heaven."

Morgan felt the tension that inevitably gathered in his neck and shoulders with rising emotions. He cupped his wife's delicate face and looked deeply into her luminous blue eyes. "I still don't know how you can stand being around me sometimes, Laura. I guess I'll never understand it. But it doesn't matter. I love you with my life," he breathed against her mouth. He kissed her fully then, parting her lips, tasting the love she effortlessly gave to him. The emotional nourishment she provided was part of the miracle he realized his life to be. Laura was a beacon of strong, steady light for him and for their children. He hoped, as he kissed her, that he was imparting just how deep his love for her ran in him.

As he felt her lips meet and match his fervor, Morgan heard a distinct click. The marine part of him went on instant alert, though he was loath to break their molten embrace. A chill moved up his spine: another warning. One he couldn't ignore.

Breaking away from Laura, he gripped her shoulders, already turning toward the door leading to the beige-carpeted hall. "Stay here," he said in a low voice.

Laura gasped. Three men, dressed completely in black to the dark ski masks covering their heads, appeared soundlessly at the bedroom door. She didn't even have time to raise her hands to her mouth to scream as they drew their weapons. Morgan reacted instantly, thrusting himself in front of her. Too late!

The pop of the guns wasn't the sound of bullets. Laura felt a sting in her left shoulder, and everything became slow motion, like single frames of film passing before her. Two of the men fired at Morgan, and Laura saw two small darts strike him in his neck and chest.

She was disoriented by the intruders' eerie silence as a burning sensation spread rapidly through her, radiating from the area where the first dart had struck her. Looking down, she saw very little blood. Her vision blurred, and her knees suddenly turned to jelly. Morgan gave a strangulated cry, turning toward her, his eyes wide with warning and fear. At the sight of that fear she tasted abject terror.

How many times had Morgan worried about attack from any of the countless enemies he'd made running Perseus over the past seven years? Laura's breath was becoming chaotic, and she struggled for air. She staggered and fell to her knees, automatically reaching for the edge of the bed.

Morgan dropped suddenly and heavily, like a bull that had been shot in the head. He lay unmoving nearby, on his back, one arm extended toward her. Laura stared, feeling her mouth go dry. She looked up. All three intruders warily entered the room, their weapons still raised. A hundred questions swirled in her head as she fought the effects of the drug racing through her system.

She sagged to the floor, oddly conscious of the brush of the lavender carpet's nap against her hands, even as her terror mounted. Had they killed Morgan? Was she dying? Oh, God, no, the children! The children! The thought made Laura whimper, and with everything that remained of her rapidly dissolving strength, she tried to rise. But her weakened muscles would not cooperate, and darkness shadowed her blurred vision.

With a moan, she fell back toward the carpet and knew nothing more.

Chapter One

Jake Randolph looked grimly at the small contingent of Perseus mercenaries gathered around the oval oak table in what Morgan called the "War Room." Here, plans were laid for covert missions around the world. Jake clenched his jaw. "Morgan, Laura and their son, Jason, have been kidnapped," he said, his voice harsh in the room's tense silence.

Wolf Harding had just appeared in the doorway. "Who's behind it?" he growled.

Jake sighed wearily. "We don't have details yet—but we'll get to that in a minute." He'd been without sleep for forty hours. He'd just returned from a mission when the kidnapping occurred. Sean Killian and his wife, Susannah, arriving to baby-sit for Morgan and Laura, had discovered the Trayherns missing—except for their baby daughter, Katherine Alyssa.

"Son of a bitch," Wolf snarled as he stalked into the room. He'd just gotten off a flight from Montana. When he noticed that Morgan's faithful assistant, Marie Parker, was part of the group, he quickly apologized for his lapse of manners, then crossed to the coffee dispenser and poured himself a cup.

Jake looked at his watch. "Killian discovered them missing at 1900 yesterday evening." He picked up a plastic bag. "They were shot with tranquilizer darts." He looked toward Killian, who stood in the shadows, his back against the wall, his face unreadable, as always. "Tell them what you found."

Killian looked at his friends. He and Wolf and Jake had been on a number of mercenary missions over the years, and the two men were like brothers to him. "Their front door was standing partly open. I thought that was odd—especially in November—so I told Susannah to stay in the car until I could check it out. Inside, I saw nothing until I reached the master bedroom. There were a few drops of blood on the carpet, and that drug dart was under the bed." Killian scowled. "I checked the kids' rooms, and the boy, Jason, was gone. Katherine was still in her bed, asleep."

"Were there signs of a struggle?" Wolf demanded, taking a seat to Jake's left. Papers were scattered across the large, highly polished table. He noted the worry visible on Marie's usually calm features. He took a sip of the scalding coffee and grimaced.

"Very few," Killian answered abruptly, folding his arms across his chest. "Once I made sure the place was secure, I brought Susannah in and called here. Jake had just come in off a mission, and I told him what I'd found." Killian pointed to one of the many pieces of paper on the table. "Marie received this message on the Perseus fax at 2100, two hours after the kidnapping."

Wolf reached for the paper. He frowned as he read it aloud: "Don't try to find Morgan Trayhern and his family. They are scattered around the world. If you want to see any of them alive again, Perseus will stop its attacks against the Peruvian Cartel."

"Yeah, Wolf, our friends down south," Jake muttered. He eyed the Cherokee man, whose dark features had paled considerably. "I know the three of us have fond memories of Ramirez and his cocaine syndicate. Wolf had been captured, tortured and nearly killed under the drug lord's hand, and Killian had fared only slightly better.

"Son of a bitch…" Wolf darted another apologetic look at Marie. "I'm sorry," he rasped, suddenly getting to his feet, the paper clenched in his large fist.

"It's all right, Wolf," Marie whispered, dabbing her eyes. "What should we do, Jake? I don't know how to run Perseus without Morgan's input. I have no idea how to start a search for him, or if we should. Please, can you take over? At least for now?"

Jake looked at the other two men. Wolf had been out of the mercenary business for nearly a year, working a sapphire mine in Montana with his wife, Sarah. Killian, who now took only low-risk U.S. assignments, was out of the loop, too. Though Perseus employed nearly a hundred mercenaries, those teams were locked into missions that couldn't be aborted at a moment's notice. Grimly, Jake realized he was the only available player who was up-to-date on everything.

"Unless anyone has a problem with it, I'll run Perseus—until we can get Morgan back," he offered.

Killian eased away from the wall and sat down at the opposite end of the table, facing them. "We're going to need a lot of government interface on this. Have you contacted the CIA? The FBI? And what about the DEA? They know more about the Peruvian Cartel than we do."

"All of that's been initiated," Jake said. He took a long swig of coffee. His mouth tasted bitter, and his eyes smarted from lack of sleep. He'd already called Shah, his fiancée, in Oregon, to let her know what had happened. He should have been home by now. Instead, she was on a flight east to be with him. He wouldn't be going home now until Morgan and his family had been located and rescued.

"I've got Pentagon Intel specialists watching for messages of any kind. Part of the problem is satellite time. If we don't get it, we can't intercept potential messages between countries on satcom. It's pretty clear Ramirez is behind this, but that doesn't mean Morgan and his family are in Peru."

Killian looked at his watch. It was 1900 on Tuesday, November 22. Thanksgiving was two days away. "We need to do some long-range planning," he murmured, looking up at the weary group. "I think we should keep the local police out of this. We've already got every arm of the government involved at a high level. The Alexandria police won't add anything except potential media coverage that we certainly don't need. I say we keep this as undercover as possible. That way the cartel won't be able to anticipate our moves."

Jake rubbed his face. "Are we in agreement that we should try to locate and rescue Morgan and his family?"

Wolf nodded. "We don't have a choice. Killian and I know better than anyone what Ramirez is capable of. That bastard will torture Morgan to death an inch at a time. He's a murdering monster."

"And what about Laura?" Marie asked tearfully. "What will he do to her?" She gazed around at the set faces of the men, seeing the grim lines of their mouths. None of them would meet her eyes. "Oh, dear…"

"Look," Wolf said impatiently, standing again, "we can't afford to let our imaginations get the best of us. We need cold, clear-headed tactics." He nailed Killian with a searching look. "Will your wife take care of Katherine? She's Laura's cousin, right?"

"Yes. I'm sending Susannah home to Kentucky—to her parent's farm. She and Katherine will be safer there."

"Have Morgan's parents been contacted?"

"No," Jake said heavily. "I was waiting until we could get a group of us together to figure out our plan of attack. But they need to be called and informed now."

"I can do that," Marie volunteered, making a note on her pad.

"Fine. Wolf, your specialty is communications. I want you to be our liaison with the Pentagon. Killian, I need a lieutenant to talk things over with, someone to help me make final decisions."

"I'll hang around," Killian said dryly.

Jake smiled a little and rubbed his stubbled face. He needed a hot shower, a shave and some sleep. The first two he could get, but sleep would have to wait.

"First we'll try to intercept communications traffic and get a lead on where they've taken the family members," Wolf said, thinking out loud.

"From the message, it sounds like Ramirez has separated them," Jake said. "They could be anywhere in the world. Anywhere."

"It's like searching for three needles in a haystack," Wolf agreed unhappily, pacing the length of the room.

"I know." Jake moved his shoulders to release some of the tension that had accumulated there.

Killian looked at Jake. "Who's going after Ramirez and his goons?"

"I don't know yet," Jake admitted heavily. "We're shorthanded. I'm going to go through the mission roster with Marie to try to cut loose some people to help us." He knew neither Wolf nor Killian would go. Wolf had quit the mercenary business almost a year ago, and he and Sarah were going to marry at Christmas. Killian was happily married and not about to risk everything—especially with Susannah four months pregnant. Jake didn't blame his friends for not volunteering for this kind of mission. If he took it, he knew Shah would raise all kinds of hell. Of late, they had grown inseparable, and Jake didn't want to risk their happiness on this level of danger.

Besides, the three of them had worked together for a long time, knew one another and how they thought. In a crisis like this, they'd be more useful in a behind-the-scenes overseeing role. "Somehow we'll find the teams," he muttered.

"Do you want me to contact Alyssa and Noah?" Marie asked.

"We'd better," Jake said ruefully. "If we don't, there will be hell to pay." Lieutenant Commander Alyssa Cantrell was Morgan's younger sister, a navy pilot. Jake had no idea where she and her husband, Clay, were stationed. He did know that Commander Noah Trayhern, Morgan's brother, was in the Coast Guard and, with his wife, Kit, lived in Miami, Florida. Noah and Morgan's parents, who lived nearby in Clearwater, would be easiest to reach. "Try to contact them through nonmilitary channels if you can, Marie."

She rose, nodding, but gave him a questioning look.

"Ramirez has enough money to buy state-of-the-art telecommunications equipment that rivals anything the military has," Jake explained. "If we send these messages via the military, he might pick up on them and get an idea of our movements. I don't want him to know a damn thing if we can help it."

"I see," Marie acknowledged. She tried to smile, but failed. "I'll have dinner brought into the War Room for all of you."

Jake nodded. "Thanks, Marie." After she left, he turned to his comrades. "This is a hell of a bind."

Wolf stopped pacing, his hands on his hips. "Ramirez will kill them. It's only a matter of time."

"Yes," Killian agreed quietly. "He likes long, slow deaths. You know that, Wolf."

Harding nodded, his mouth a tight line. "I'm more worried about Laura. She's the one really at risk."

"Ramirez won't be easy on her," Killian agreed. "When I was first captured in Peru, I was taken to a different cell block from you, Wolf. Ramirez and his goons raped women prisoners as part of their torture to get them to talk. No, you're right—Laura has problems."

"And what the hell will they do with the boy?" Jake asked, his voice frustrated. "I mean, the kid's innocent."

Killian gave him a flat look. "In our business, no one's innocent."

"Why didn't they take Katherine?" Wolf wondered aloud.

"Probably because women are considered worthless—second-class citizens—in South America," Jake muttered. "She wasn't worth taking. You know how South American men think the world of their sons. Boys carry on the family name and honor. I'm sure that's why they took Jason."

"Do you think he's at risk?" Wolf asked.

"I don't know," Jake hedged. "Knowing Ramirez and his twisted mind, he'll probably stash the boy away somewhere and raise him in the cocaine empire. That's the way Ramirez is, you know. He'd think that was the ultimate revenge on Morgan—turn his son into a cocaine trafficker—or worse, a coke addict."

Wolf cursed and began pacing again. "There's no question we've got to get to them. The sooner, the better."

"First," Killian said, "we need a lucky break. Someone has to pick up communications between Ramirez and his worldwide cartel. We've got to get a clue to where they are."

"Our second problem is finding a team that can undertake the rescue once we do locate them," Jake reminded his friends.

"What do we have so far?" Jake demanded of his team. He was clean shaven, dressed in fresh clothes, and had even managed to snatch a little sleep. It was 2000 the next evening, and the three mercenaries were back in the War Room. Marie sat at the opposite end of the table from them, taking notes. A messy stack of papers still covered the shiny oval surface. On the wall, a map of the world had been pulled down for reference. Disposable cups littered the room, silent testimony to too many cups of coffee, and the burning stomachs and frayed nerves that went with them.

"The Pentagon is working double time on telecommunications," Killian reported. The Joint Chiefs of Staff have approved satellite telecommunication time for us. They've put a team of Intelligence people from the CIA on it, along with other military specialists. We're getting more help than I anticipated."

"Good," Jake grunted. "Wolf?"

"I'm getting help from the FBI and DEA. They're checking all flights from the East Coast to see if we can figure out how Morgan and his family were taken, and in what direction they went."

"Do you think there's a chance they're still in the U.S.?" Jake asked.

"No. The FBI thinks they're off U.S. soil."

Before Jake could speak, the door flew open. He reared back in surprise, automatically on guard. A Marine Corps officer, a lieutenant colonel, stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other on the doorjamb. His face looked stormy; his eyes were narrowed in anger.

"Just what the hell has happened to Laura Trayhern?" he snapped, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him. "And what the hell are you doing about it?"

Jake stood. He'd been in the Marine Corps himself for many years before leaving to work for Perseus. The officer in front of him was in his middle thirties, lean as a cougar. Jake noted the gold parachute emblem above his dark green, wool shirt pocket and the full set of colorful ribbons denoting his time in service. The officer stood rigidly, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his eyes accusing as they swept the room, then settled on Jake.

"Who are you?" Jake demanded in a deep tone.

"I'm Colonel Jim Woodward, Intel, over at the Pentagon." He gave a disdainful look around the room again. "Where's Laura? What's happened to her?"

Jake held up his hand. "Calm down, Colonel Woodward. Are you part of the liaison the CIA put on telecommunications?"

"Yes," he said tightly, "I am. I've been pulled to oversee the operation. When I found out Laura was involved, I had to know a hell of a lot more than I was being told. That's why I'm here. I'm an old friend of hers, from before she married Morgan. Now will someone fill me in?"

Jake nodded. "Have a seat, Colonel."

Jim listened without interrupting. By the time Jake Randolph finished briefing him on the kidnapping, he couldn't seem to settle his rapid pulse or ignore the fact that his hands were sweating. Laura was in danger. His heart contracted at the thought. It was nearly impossible to keep his face carefully arranged. When Jake asked if they'd been able to intercept any likely communications yet, Jim stood.

Taking a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, he handed it to him. "I know where they've got Laura. We just picked up a sat-tel link off a small Caribbean island known as Nevis. It's a tiny spot in the Windward Islands, off the coast of South America. The message is cryptic, but we got a lead on the transmission."

Jake frowned as he studied the paper. "How do you figure this, Colonel?"

"I don't know who transmitted—yet. I've got the CIA working on that angle right now." Jim jabbed a finger toward the paper. "But it was transmitted from Nevis to someone in Dresden, Germany. It reads, ‘The Tiger is caged.'"

"Why would that be Laura Trayhern?" Wolf demanded.

Jim held on to his disintegrating anger. "Before Morgan came into Laura's life, we had a relationship. I used to call her Tiger." He felt heat creeping into his cheeks. "It was a nickname I gave her because she was the only civilian woman writer working at the Pentagon archives." He felt foolish divulging the intimacy, but he had no choice.

"I don't know…" Killian began. "Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

Woodward glared at the narrow-faced man sitting to Randolph's right. "Not when the CIA has already confirmed that Nevis is home to a world-class drug dealer by the name of Guillermo Garcia."

"Garcia," Harding growled. "Damn, he and Ramirez have been in cahoots for twenty years."

Jim smiled grimly. "I'm right and I know it. ‘Tiger' is Laura."

"How would Garcia know that?" Jake demanded.

"He's probably drugged her and gotten a lot of personal info out of her," Killian interjected.

Just the thought of Laura being drugged, having her life bled out of her, made Jim sick to his stomach. "It's just a matter of time until I get more info pinpointing Garcia as her captor. I've already gotten permission to move one of our spy satellites to that part of the Caribbean. Right now—" he glanced at his watch "—a U-2 spy plane is in the air, on its way to take photo reconnaissance over the island. I guarantee you, with those photos, we can pick up a gnat's rear end at fifty yards. If my photo people see anything to suggest Laura being there, we'll have our proof."

Relieved, Jake nodded. "I'm damn glad you're heading up the Pentagon effort, Colonel Woodward. You obviously know what you're doing, and you've provided more information than any other source so far."

"Well," Jim rasped, "my association with Laura goes back a lot of years. She's a special woman…." He avoided Jake's probing gaze, cleared his throat, then looked back at him. "What plans do you have for infiltrating that compound on Nevis, Mr. Randolph?"

Jake smiled for the first time, just a little. "We might be short on the information files, Colonel, but one thing Perseus does do well is mercenary work of any kind. This type of mission is right down our alley."

"I doubt it," Jim challenged. He focused on the men one by one. "I thought this situation through on the way here. The dossier on Garcia I've got coming over to you from the CIA is substantial. They've got a blueprint of his estate, which is behind an iron fence ten feet high. He's got guards and Doberman pinschers posted around his ten-acre kingdom. Nobody comes and goes from Nevis without him or his people knowing about it.

"If you sent one of your men to the island, they'd find out instantly. They'd tail him, and chances are, they'd take him out at first opportunity. You don't know what's involved here." He went over to the map and tapped the Caribbean area. "You need a HAHO," Jim said, using the military acronym for a high-altitude, high-opening parachute drop, "onto that island in the dead of night. And you'll need a specialist with maximum military parachute experience. Do you know how small Nevis is? It's not much of a target. But if you tried to parachute from a lower altitude, Garcia would spot you, and you'd be dead before you landed.

"Then if you get your man on the ground, he'll need jungle experience. Nevis is heavily wooded and, because it's so small Garcia's people will certainly spot you, if the locals don't. That is, unless you utilize maximum stealth technology."

"Hold it, Colonel," Jake said heavily. "We have those kind of people on our payroll. Morgan rarely hires anyone who's not ex-military. We've got ex-Delta Force and former Marine Recons. The problem is, we're stretched too thin. We don't have a team we can pull to take this assignment."

"You what?" Woodward's mouth fell open and he snapped it shut. "You don't have anyone assigned to fulfill this mission? It's a priority."

"Don't you think we're upset about it, too?" Jake retorted, his voice irritated. "Unfortunately, Colonel, this world of ours is full of trouble spots. Many of our teams are on dangerous missions. We can't just extricate them without jeopardizing their lives, or other people's lives, in the process. It doesn't make sense to lose two to six lives to save one." Jake tapped a bunch of computer printouts. "I've gone through our mission list twice. The teams with experience are in situations where they can't be pulled. The ones that can be pulled don't have the background you're talking about. I'm not about to put an inexperienced team into the type of situation you're painting for us. We don't throw our people's lives away like the military does."

Woodward smarted under the remark. He felt heat rising from his throat into his face. Whenever he got angry, his face turned red, and he knew it. "This is an unconscionable position. You've got three lives—one of them the man who owns this damn company—at stake, and you don't have anyone to run a rescue mission?"

"Back down," Wolf snarled, crossing his arms over his chest and returning Jim's glare. "We're doing what we can with the resources we have."

"I won't back down." Jim held his gaze for a long moment. "All right, then I'll volunteer for the mission."

Jake's brows knitted, and he studied Jim for a long moment before speaking. "This is personal, isn't it? Between you and Laura?"

"That's none of your business, Randolph. What is your business is that you've got someone to take this mission. I can get orders cut to allow me to do this. I'm a Recon. I'm HAHO qualified. I've been in more jungles than I care to think about. I've been in Panama, Grenada and other South American venues on deep undercover assignments." He stopped, his voice low and shaking with tightly held emotion.

Jake glanced around the table, assessing his team for some inkling of their thoughts. Killian stirred and placed his arms on the table, clasping his hands in front of him. He glanced up at Woodward.

"Laura is married to Morgan. They love each other," he said quietly.

Jim recoiled inwardly. "Don't insult me with facts I already know."

Killian held his stare. "Mercs who have an emotional involvement with the person they're trying to rescue don't live long."

"That may be your problem, Killian, but it's not mine."

With a shrug, Killian looked across the table at Wolf.

Wolf said, "You'll need a partner. We never go in alone. It's two or nothing. Do you have someone in mind who has the same qualifications?"

Jim hesitated. "Two?"

"Yes," Jake rasped, "two people on every mission. That's Morgan's law, and it's a good one. If one partner is injured, the other can always bring him out." He lowered his voice. "We have no time for heroics, Colonel. We work as a tightly knit unit and watch each other's backs. I know Recons. I used to be one. You don't go gallivanting off by yourselves, either. You have five men to a team and you know the value of working together."

"I don't disagree with you, but I can't honestly think of anyone who would volunteer for such a dangerous assignment. The one man who might be willing, a sergeant, is laid up in the hospital with a broken ankle right now."

Jake shook his head. "Colonel, this mission doesn't go down without two team members."

Wolf slowly unwound from his chair. He rubbed his temple and looked first at Woodward, then at Randolph. "I know someone who can do it. Her name is Pepper Sinclair. Her brother's a Navy Top Gun and a test pilot. She's a team leader for the National Forest Service's smoke jumpers. In fact, Pepper is in the Hotshots, the elite, highly trained group that goes into dangerous forest hot spots or wildfires. She's got over two thousand parachute drops and is ex-army." Wolf smiled a little. "Matter of fact, I've known her for nearly a year now, and her background is impressive. She was the only woman ever to complete Army Ranger training—but they wouldn't let her graduate because she was a woman."

Jake twisted to look in Wolf's direction. "What'd she do then?"

"She quit the army. She was an officer, and she resigned her commission in protest over their decision. Pepper went into the smoke jumpers because it was the most dangerous career she could find where nobody cared about her gender. She's got six years of military service behind her, and she was in Panama and Grenada, too, so she knows jungles. I think she's around thirty years old, and she's got a good head on her shoulders. Pepper doesn't go off half-cocked on anything." Wolf studied Woodward. "And in this case, that might be important, because, Colonel, I think you're in this way over your head emotionally. You're carrying a torch for Laura, whether she's married or not, and that's going to get you into trouble on this mission."

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but Harding went on.

"I know the question you're all wanting to ask. Would Pepper volunteer for something like this? I don't know, but I can sure call and ask. She's good friends with Sarah and me, and I think she'd be interested."

"She'll get good pay for it," Jake said hopefully, liking the suggestion.

Wolf's smile broadened a bit. "Pepper isn't turned on by money. She's a competitive person and she likes challenges."

"This is hardly a game!" Jim protested vehemently.

"Pepper doesn't play games, Colonel. What I'm saying is that she's as solid and trustworthy as they come. Hell, she leads a Hotshot team. You probably don't know a thing about smoke jumpers, but I can fill you in. You're a Recon, the best warrior the Marine Corps produces. Well, in the smoke-jumping world, Hotshots are the equivalent. We had a forest fire north of Phillipsburg, where we live, and I got to see Pepper and her crew up front. That fire was bearing down on our small mountain town, with seventy-mile-an-hour winds pushing the blaze.

"Of all the teams that could have been put on the line between that fire and our town, Pepper and her staff were chosen. She served as commander over ten Hotshot teams. I worked with her on tactics and strategies for the fire and I saw her parachute in with a team that I thought for sure would be burned alive. She went in there with her walkie-talkie—and with her people, who would go to hell and back for her—and she did the impossible. She got the fire to move, and Phillipsburg is still standing, thanks to her guts, intelligence and experience."

Jim sat down. "I'll be damned if I'm going in with a woman," he said harshly. "They aren't qualified for this kind of a drop."

"She's ex-army, ex-Ranger. Ranger training is similar to Recon," Wolf droned. "And you know that."

Jake nodded. "It's an excellent idea, Wolf. Can you call Pepper now and fill her in?"

"You bet." Wolf excused himself to make the call.

Woodward stood up. "You can't be serious about this, Randolph."

"I'm dead serious. You don't know Wolf, nor do you know his background and experience. If he says Pepper Sinclair can do it, I believe him." Jake held the officer's shocked stare. "I do know one thing for sure, however. If you take this mission, you're doing it the Perseus way, not the Marine Corps, John Wayne style. I've got three people I love very much on the line right now, and I'm not going to blow it by putting anything but two first-rate people on this mission. Do you understand that, Colonel? Because if you don't, or if you give me grief about it, I'll make a call to the JCS and tell them we don't want you. Do I make myself clear?"

Angrily, Jim moved around the table. "Don't threaten me, Randolph. I'm damn well capable of pulling off this mission alone."

"It's not a threat, Colonel. It's a promise."

Was Randolph bluffing? Jim wasn't sure. As a matter of fact, he didn't like the loose way Perseus worked at all. This decision by committee wasn't in the least like the military. He rubbed his jaw as he assessed Randolph, who sat like a mountain in the chair at the other end of the table.

"Even you can see the folly of Harding's idea," Jim insisted.

"Really? What's that?"

"A woman," Jim said in exasperation.

Jake grinned tiredly. "Colonel, one thing Morgan Trayhern has made very clear to everyone at Perseus is that in his opinion, women are just as good, and usually better, than any man at this work."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Not in our book." Jake tapped the table deliberately with his index finger. "And as long as Morgan is alive, we're running his company his way. You got that?"

Biting back the anger that warred with his fear for Laura, he sat down. "This woman could be killed."

"It's an equal-opportunity business, Colonel, just as women in the military can be killed as easily as men. Bullets don't consider gender."

Stymied, Woodward sat very still, evaluating his options. He knew no one was better qualified than he was to rescue Laura. But to have a woman—a civilian, of all things—along on such a dangerous mission was beyond his imagination. He wasn't usually so temperamental—but this was personal, just as they had accused him of earlier. Jim knew his emotional involvement could be a detriment to the mission. Somehow, he had to separate his feelings from the job to be done, and concentrate on surviving.

"I want your promise on one thing, Randolph," he insisted.

"What?"

"If this Pepper Sinclair is stupid enough to volunteer for this mission, I want the opportunity to put her through her paces. If she can't or refuses to do a HAHO, or in some way is not militarily qualified, I have veto power."

"With an attitude like yours, she's sure to fail whatever task you set her," Jake said tightly.

"Dammit, I have a right to protect myself in this mission. I don't care how glowing Harding's report is, if she can't stand the heat, she doesn't come with me."

Jake glared at him. "I propose an alternative plan, Colonel. If Pepper volunteers, you can set up the tests you need to feel comfortable, then you can both report back to me. I'll make the final decision."

In that moment, Jim disliked Randolph intensely. "I can set up the tests?"

"Any and all you want, understanding that we don't have much time. Once the CIA gets a fix and confirmation that Laura is on Nevis, we want to initiate the mission immediately."

Satisfied, Jim leaned back in the chair. "Fine. I'll bet you a hundred dollars right now that Ms. Sinclair is going to fail miserably at the tests I've got in mind."

Randolph smiled uneasily. "You're on, Colonel. A hundred bucks."

Jim crossed his arms, wondering about the outcome of Harding's phone call to Sinclair. He prayed she'd turn him down. What woman in her right mind would volunteer for a high-kill-ratio assignment like this? He didn't look too hard at his own answer to the same question.

Chapter Two

Tension thrummed through Jim Woodward as he stood waiting for Pepper Sinclair to walk through the partially opened door. It was 0700 on Wednesday, November 23, and she was due in from a red-eye flight from Butte, Montana, at any moment. Harding had gone to the airport to pick her up and would brief her on the way in, so she'd be up to speed by the time she reached the Perseus office.

Jim didn't want a woman with him on this mission; it was that simple. She could have taken first in Hawaii's grueling physical-endurance contest, the Iron Woman, and it wouldn't have mattered to him.

His sensitive hearing caught the sound of voices in the reception area, where Marie had her neatly organized office. Warm, husky laughter—distinctly feminine—drifted to where he stood. Jim tried to stay immune to that rolling, mellow sound, but it was impossible. It wasn't Marie's laughter, so it had to be Pepper Sinclair's. His mouth turned down. Why did she have to have such a provocative laugh?

He stood tensely, hearing Wolf's deep voice and Pepper's well-modulated one intermingle as they chatted amiably. He didn't know Harding well, but knew he wasn't the type of man to be chatty, so it must be Pepper's presence drawing him out.

Whatever Jim was prepared to see, it wasn't the physical reality of Pepper Sinclair as she followed Harding into the room. She was tall—probably close to six feet—medium-boned, with dark walnut-colored hair softly brushing her proudly held shoulders. More surprising, she was wearing a long red-and-yellow calico skirt that touched the tops of her comfortable, brown leather shoes. Her white blouse, with touches of lace around the throat, was partly hidden by a pale golden deerskin vest adorned with conchs. Long beaded earrings nearly touched her shoulders, giving her a somewhat Native American look, except for her pale, almost-translucent skin with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

Pepper's face was oval. Her nose had a slight bump and fine nostrils. Jim looked downward to lips curved in an impish smile, then his gaze moved back up—and into eyes as blue and clear as a Montana sky. His heart gave a hard thump, underscoring the impact of those eyes—the pupils edged in breathtaking turquoise, the frame of thick, dark lashes. Her dark brows were arched and full, offering a second frame for the magnificent eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, their rosy pink enhancing her classic bone structure.

But more than her striking and unexpectedly feminine looks, it was Pepper's direct, fearless gaze that caught Jim completely off guard. The look combined maturity with a woman's confidence—yet glinted with a girlish aspect that somehow strengthened its impact. Jim was chagrined to feel his palms growing damp. Meanwhile, his errant heart refused to slow its pounding beat.

Jim tried to suppress his reaction to Pepper. It didn't help that he'd expected a sturdy, mannish sort of woman with a tough, no-nonsense attitude—a hardened outer shell for this female smoke jumper who damn near walked on water, according to Harding. Jim's gaze ranged from her long, narrow hands to the graceful way she walked toward him, to those mesmerizing blue eyes….

"Colonel Woodward? I'm Pepper Sinclair. Glad to meet you."

Her grip as she took his hand told Jim instantly that she wasn't as weak as she looked. Her firm, confident handshake, warm and dry, conveyed strength and capability. If it had been a man's handshake, he'd have been impressed. In a woman, he didn't know how to react.

"Ms. Sinclair," he said, hating the clipped abruptness in his tone as he stared challengingly at her.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," Wolf said dryly. He pointed to the counter on the left. "Pepper, if you want coffee, help yourself."

"You saved my life again, Wolf." Pepper laughed and waved to her friend as he stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She shifted the strap of her deerskin purse off her shoulder and laid the bag on the oak table, then moved toward the coffee machine. The tension in the room was palpable, and she knew full well it was emanating from the marine standing rigidly next to the table, watching her every move like a predator ready to strike.

"I don't know about you, but four hours on the red-eye makes me thirsty as a horse." She glanced back over her shoulder at the officer, who was scowling heavily. "Coffee, Colonel?" she asked pleasantly. "Or would you prefer to take out your weapon of choice right now, shoot me and put yourself out of your misery?"

Shocked, Jim opened his mouth, then closed it. Her eyes were serious, but her voice dripped with honey and her mouth curved in a rueful smile. "I see Harding has been talking behind my back," he said finally.

"On the contrary," Pepper said smoothly, finding a clean white mug and pouring the fresh coffee into it, "Wolf was merely honest with me about potential problems and dangers. He did inform me that you were against using a woman on this mission."

Jim moved to the table, hating himself more as he snapped, "Ms. Sinclair, when it comes to life-and-death matters, all the cards get laid on the table. Nothing and no one is spared. And you're right—I don't want a woman on this mission."

Pepper turned. "I couldn't agree more with the truth of your first statement, Colonel. We're both in the business of life and death, aren't we?" She took a sip of coffee. Too bad Woodward was such a sourpuss, she thought. Because the man was undeniably a handsome devil, in a rugged kind of way. His green eyes were glittering like shards of ice in her direction right now, though, and his square face was set—like concrete. His black hair was militarily short and neat, and she liked his darkly tanned looks. Lines in a face told her much, and Woodward had his share. Creases at the corners of his eyes spoke of a great deal of time spent outdoors. The lines bracketing his mouth said something different, though. Lines of pain, possibly. But from what? Or who? His size, posture and attitude reminded her of their local college football captain. Fleetingly, Pepper wondered if Jim had played football in college. She smiled to herself and decided not to ask. Pulling back a chair, she smoothed her skirt and sat. Woodward stiffly took a seat opposite her, his hand folded in front of him, his knuckles white.

"We aren't in the same business, Ms. Sinclair. Not by a mile," he said tightly.

Pepper held his angry, defiant gaze. "Let's talk about your anger at the idea of a woman going on this mission with you, shall we?" she asked, her voice calm and steady. "I believe in gut-level honesty, so maybe that would be a good place to start in this messy little situation we seem to find ourselves in."

Jim reeled internally at her unexpected bluntness. Her quiet voice belied the strength of her demand. He grasped at a notepad with several items neatly printed on it and slid it around in front of him on the table, using the moment to collect his scattered thoughts. "I'm not angry at you," he said coldly. "I'm angry at the concept of Perseus installing a two-person team on this mission, when I feel I'd be more successful alone."

Pepper's smile was equally chilly. "Spoken like a politically correct officer in line to make general someday. Congratulations, Colonel Woodward. It's a great reply, but it's hardly complete and honest, don't you think?"

Under any other circumstances, Jim had to admit, he would have liked Pepper immediately. She wasn't conventionally beautiful. Her chin was stubborn and pronounced, and her aristocratic nose didn't match her full mouth, the corners of which always seemed to curve slightly upward. Her features were like puzzle pieces that shouldn't fit together, but somehow did, to create a whole more magical than the sum of its parts. A rebellious lock of hair fell across her broad brow, and she brushed it away, as if she'd made that effortless gesture unconsciously all her life. He bought more time by opening his briefcase and placing a couple of books on the table.

"Are you always this acerbic, or are you doing it as a special favor to me?" he asked finally, seeing the laughter flash in her eyes, though she didn't allow it to transfer to her mouth.

"I consider my answers honest," Pepper responded. "Maybe you're looking for political correctness or diplomacy. I'm neither of those, Colonel. I learned about both things early on as an army officer, but I'm a civilian now. I no longer have to play those word games with you or anyone else." She smiled slightly. "Thank goodness."

Jim found it difficult not to smile in response to the warmth shining from her eyes. In fact, he could feel her warmth—as real as if a beam of sunlight had suddenly struck him. Who was this woman? "It's not my nature to be base," he offered.

"Since when is honesty considered baseness, Colonel?"

His fingers tightened around the ballpoint pen in his hand. "If we're done sparring, can we get down to the business at hand?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Fine, let's do it." Pepper tried to feel anger toward Woodward, but it just wouldn't surface. He was obviously uncomfortable, backed into a corner of sorts and unhappy about her appearance on a mission he wanted to perform solo. She set the cup to one side and pulled out her own small notepad and a pen from her purse. "What's on your agenda, Colonel?"

"You. I told Jake Randolph I intend to put you through your paces. If you don't measure up to my high standards, you aren't going."

"I believe you agreed that Mr. Randolph will make the final decision," Pepper said smoothly, holding his glare. "Besides, what gives you the right to question my credentials while assuming yours are beyond question?"

"I'm a Recon Marine. My credentials are beyond question."

Pepper leaned back, slowly tapping the table with her index finger. "I'm a country girl, Colonel, and I've lived most of my life in Montana. Maybe we're kinda simple folk out that way, but you know what? We let people prove themselves through their acts. Your walk is your talk. I could understand your concern if I didn't have a military background. I could also understand it if I'd never jumped out of a plane with a parachute. But what I see going down here is a wounded male ego overreacting to the fact that I'm a woman. If I were a man, I think you'd drop this pretense. Back where I come from, that doesn't go down well. I'm a team leader for twenty smoke jumpers. I'm responsible for a lot of lives, and I've never lost one. I'm not about to start now with yours or my own. I found out a long time ago that ego and pride are expendable."

Her voice dropped slightly. "Colonel, I appreciate your concern about my qualifications, but it's not necessary. I probably have more time logged in parachute jumps than you do."

"All at low altitude."

"I took Ranger training. I've participated in HAHOs."

Frustrated, Jim said, "I'm not going to fire any more shots across your bow. We need to get down to business. I've outlined the next three days." He pushed the neatly printed paper toward her. "I'm going to test your map-and compass-reading ability. I've arranged for a HAHO and have preplanned the jump zone with the military boys at Andrews Air Force Base. It's set up and ready to go for tomorrow at 0700. The jump onto Nevis will be at night. But as much as I'd like to schedule day and night practice HAHOs, we just don't have the time. A day jump will have to do." Jim watched the soft fullness of Pepper's lips tighten a little as she carefully read his outline. Her fingers were slim with largish knuckles, her nails closely trimmed. There was no wasted motion about her, he had to admit, and in spite of himself, he savored her unique mix of serenity and efficiency.

"I feel like I'm back in Ranger training," Pepper said mildly, sliding his notes gently back across the table. If Woodward weren't so intent on making her dislike him, she thought, she might like to explore him personally, as a human being and a man. But the set of his square jaw warned her off. He was trying to intimidate her into quitting. Well, it wouldn't work. As the only female ever to go through Ranger training, she'd had plenty of experience with intimidation attempts by men far more dangerous to her than Woodward—but he didn't know that. "I'm assuming you'll be with me on these exercises? That you'll participate in the HAHO, too?"

"Of course."

Pepper grinned. "To watch me fail?"

"I expect you to."

"Colonel, you've just pushed a favorite button of mine—I love a good challenge. My whole life has been about dancing on the edge of a sword."

Jim almost smiled. Again that unsettling turquoise warmth from her eyes enveloped him, and he felt his heart beating harder in his chest. There was something arresting about Pepper that he couldn't quite put his finger on. At least, not yet.

"Tell me a little about yourself, Colonel. Personal stuff."

Her directness scuttled him. He eyed her. "Why is that important to the mission?"

"If I'm going to succeed at all your tests, I need to know more about my partner than his military title. I want to know something about the man." Her eyes narrowed briefly. "What makes you run, Jim Woodward?"

Jim pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "You have a damn needling habit of being nosy, Ms. Sinclair."

"And you have a damn needling habit of questioning my credentials when what we really should be doing is planning how to save Laura Trayhern."

The set of her jaw, with her chin jutting out, challenged him, as did her incensed gaze. So she was angry, after all—but for the right reasons, Jim realized. "Believe me," he said, trying to hide his emotion in a gruff tone of voice, "no one wants to save Laura more than I do."

"I understand from Wolf that Laura is a personal friend of yours." Pepper watched his cheeks flame red and saw sudden shyness in that imperious gaze he was trying to control her with. Maybe Woodward wasn't such a jerk, after all. For a moment, she'd glimpsed a real man behind that egotistical marine facade he was employing to try to scare her into quitting.

"Laura and I go back a long way," Jim muttered offensively, as he turned and walked to the window. In the distance he could see the Capitol and the Washington Monument outlined against the dawning colors of the horizon. "We met when I had my first tour at the Pentagon. Laura was—still is—a military-defense author. It's rare for a woman to find success in the field, and she's considered authoritative on a broad range of military subjects." His voice dropped. "She's an incredible woman…all that intelligence, that ability to comprehend…"

Pepper watched Jim Woodward's face soften tremendously—as if he'd forgotten she was in the room. The incredible tension around him dissolved as he spoke of Laura. "And she married Morgan Trayhern?" Pepper asked quietly.

He shrugged. "Morgan Trayhern crashed into our lives, and she ended up with him."

The sudden flatness of his tone belied his pain, his confusion over that issue, Pepper realized. No longer was he the tough marine officer; for a moment he was a human being struggling with unresolved emotions regarding a woman he loved.

"Are you presently in a relationship?"

Jim shook his head. "No, not a serious one."

"Any family?"

"Just my parents, until recently. They died in an auto accident a year ago." Jim turned. He felt oddly sad and didn't try to cover it up. Pepper's gaze was assessing, the warmth still there, continually surrounding him like sunlight. The genuine care and sincerity radiating from her was very real. Vaguely, he acknowledged that good leaders had that kind of charisma. Despite her almost-brutal honesty, Jim admired those qualities. He could understand now why men would work under her command without having male-female issues. Yes, she was personable and easy to talk to—too easy.

"I'm sorry to hear it," she murmured. No one deserved to have their parents ripped from them like that. Trying to establish a less-traumatic line of conversation, she asked, "Are you an only child?"

"Yes. And I was spoiled rotten."

"I have an older brother, Cam. He's married to a wonderful woman named Molly. They have three children now, and I like playing Auntie Pepper to all of them." She smiled fondly as she thought of her brother's family.

Jim tried to resist her husky voice, but it was like a soothing balm to the sadness he still held in his heart over the unexpected loss of his parents. It uplifted him, and he noticed the luminous quality that came to her eyes when she spoke about her brother. "He's the naval aviator?" he asked, remembering Harding's comments about a Top Gun brother.

"Yes. Molly used to be in the navy, too. They met at test-pilot school a number of years ago. She's such a homebody, a real hausfrau who enjoys being a mother and parent. Cam lost his first family in a freak airplane accident, so I'm really happy to see them together. I'm glad she decided to resign her commission and become a civilian."

"Surprising words from a gung ho career woman—or are you?"

"What do you think?" Pepper would play his game against himself. She wasn't about to become cannon fodder for him or any military man stuck in the "women should be barefoot and pregnant" mind-set.

Jim rubbed his jaw and held her gaze. "I don't know what to think about you—yet," he admitted. "I know what I thought you were, but my original assessment isn't turning out to be as accurate as I expected."

"I'm sure you expected me to come striding in here wearing men's clothes and acting like ‘one of the boys.'" Pepper countered. "Well, I would have at one time, Colonel—back in my army days. I became that way to protect myself from the men who wanted to tear me down and make me quit." With a slight shrug, she added, "When I joined the Smokeys, I lost that facade. I discovered that the men and women who jumped into fires didn't care what gender I was so long as I could do the job. I was allowed to be myself, to flourish and grow into the woman you see now." Her smile was frank. "I think it's nice to be a woman and do a first-rate job, whether it's perceived as masculine or not. Don't you?"

"Touché."

"An honest answer. How refreshing, Colonel. Be careful, it could become a habit."

Instead of being stung by her rejoinder, Jim laughed. And it felt damn good to laugh, as if an incredible weight he'd been carrying on his shoulders had slipped free for just a moment. That load had been there in some form ever since Laura had married Morgan, he realized. Getting up, he went over and poured himself a cup of coffee. Silence flowed back into the room, but the atmosphere was less tense than it had been.

"Since we're exploring each other," he said, coming back to the table, "tell me a little about yourself. Do you have a significant other?" He wondered what kind of man would be drawn to her.

Pepper slid her fingers quickly through some strands of hair. "No…not anymore."

Jim heard the pain underlying her soft answer. He also saw, for the first time, a look other than happiness in her eyes. Pepper had a real vulnerability to her, even if she held down a decidedly male career with success. In his experience, the military molded women into a male image in order to help them survive. The military was unforgiving if someone—man or woman—showed vulnerability of any kind, so he was fascinated by Pepper's ability to maintain that quality.

Pepper struggled with a sudden deluge of emotions that brought back her raw, unhealed past. She saw at least a shred of real concern mingled with the curiosity in Jim's eyes. Afraid to release that genie of past suffering from its well-stoppered bottle, she straightened her spine. "Since we've both laid our cards on the table, why don't we get down to the real business?" she said, her voice suddenly brisk. "What's on the agenda today? I'm sure you've got something up your sleeve."

Jim pulled himself from his reverie, realizing he was staring at her. Embarrassed by his own breach of officer-like etiquette, he murmured, "We're going over to my office at the Pentagon. My attaché called to say they've got reconnaissance photos of Nevis Island taken by a U-2 flyby."

With a shake of her head, Pepper got to her feet and slipped the purse strap onto her shoulder. "Amazing how all that old military lingo I thought I'd forgotten comes right back."

"Once in the military, always in the military," Jim said as he opened the door.

Pepper's smile was still laced with pain. "There are some parts of it I wish I could forget," she muttered, slipping by him and out the door. In the front office, she saw Wolf and Jake, their heads bowed together over some military information, talking in low tones. She went over to Wolf and touched his arm. The civilian clothes both men wore couldn't hide their military bearing.

"Wolf, I'm going with Colonel Woodward over to the Pentagon."

"Fine…we'll see you when you get back." Wolf gave her a brief, assessing look. So did Jake, who she'd met earlier.

Pepper smiled a little, reading his mind. "Everything went fine," she lied. Wolf had a habit of sticking up for friends rather boldly and sometimes to his regret. Not wanting Wolf to dislike Jim any more than he already did, she felt the white lie would help reduce office tension to below the boiling point. As she turned, she saw the oddest look in Woodward's gaze—an almost wistful expression combined with such heat that it threw her off guard.

Woodward didn't like her because she was a woman in a military man's slot. Okay, so why was that look so tough to decipher? Sighing at the knowledge that Woodward was something of an enigma to her, Pepper grabbed her Pendleton coat off the hook and followed him out of the Perseus office.

The late-November chill was matched by a gray sky that threatened the first snow of the year, and Pepper was glad to get into the heated Pentagon building. As she walked at Jim's side, she smiled to herself, once again surrounded by uniformed members of all four military branches walking the halls of this military icon. The tile floor was polished to perfection, and hundreds of pieces of artwork, depicting and honoring war from the ground, water and air, decorated the walls of the octagon-shaped building's outer ring.

Jim was aware of the stares Pepper was receiving from more than one gawking officer. He tried to ignore her natural grace—the way she moved was more like water flowing than like the steady, deliberate steps he took. Maybe it was that effortless ease, he decided sourly, that made nine out of ten officers do a double take. Disgruntled, he had to admit that any man worth his salt would certainly look at Pepper. An old saying came to his mind: "She was easy on the eyes." It was a decided compliment.

His office was tucked away, compared to many of the others. When they'd made their way in, Jim shut the door after Pepper. His natural inclination was to be a gentleman, to take her coat and hang it up for her. But a contrary part of him said, let her take care of herself. As he stood, debating which to do, Pepper crossed to the small closet, matter-of-factly hung up her coat and purse and turned toward him.

"What now?"

"This way," he muttered unhappily, preceding her into the interior office—his private space. His secretary had yet to come in, and with Thanksgiving tomorrow, many people in the Pentagon would be working only half a day, anyway.

Pepper stepped into Jim's small enclave and looked around at the officious degree certificates and awards hanging on the walls. She was impressed. Woodward was more than a Recon. He had a degree in engineering from Ohio State University and had graduated with honors. Curious, she moved to a wall hung with several framed color photos. Most were of him with graduating officers, but one exception drew her attention.

The photo showed a younger Jim Woodward, his arm around a much smaller, delicate-looking blond woman. Both were smiling, obviously happy, with champagne glasses lifted in a toast to the camera.

"Who's this?" Pepper asked, turning to him. Jim was behind his desk, riffling through a pile of papers that had been stacked there for his attention.

He looked up briefly. "Oh…that's Laura Bennett—I mean, Trayhern. Morgan's wife."

Pepper returned her attention to the picture. "How old is this photo?"

"Eight years." Frowning, Jim stopped reading the message in his hand and looked up. Pepper's profile was clean, even pretty. Her dark hair fell softly around her face, completely natural and untamed. He liked that about her—her utter naturalness, with no apology for the way she looked or dressed.

"What was the occasion?"

Jim set the paper aside. "It was taken down in the Pentagon archives. Laura had just sold a manuscript to a publisher. It was her first hardback book. I bought some champagne, and she and I and the people she worked closely with down there—who'd helped her bring the book to life—celebrated late one afternoon."

Smiling, Pepper nodded. "You both look very happy."

"We were…." Shaking his head, he muttered, "Come on, we're going to the photo lab. Those pictures of Garcia's fortress are available. Ready?"

"Sure." Pepper followed him out of the office. They walked, it seemed, forever, taking an elevator two floors down and into a more dimly lighted area. The photo laboratory had a small sign on its door. Jim ushered her in. The place smelled of chemicals. Without preamble, he led her into a smaller niche where several black-and-white photos lay on a hardwood table covered by thick glass. A naval-intelligence officer waited for them. She was dressed in a dark blue wool uniform with a white blouse and a black tie at the throat. Her black hair was neatly coiffed, barely touching the collar of her jacket.

Jim introduced Berenice Romero, a woman in her early thirties, to Pepper and immediately asked, "What have you got for us, Berenice?"

"Garcia's mansion, Colonel." Berenice smiled a hello at Pepper as she responded, then used a pencil to outline the shape of the main house and grounds on one of the photos. "This is his fortress. Garcia's got a ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence surrounding the main compound. Guards are posted every quarter mile, and Doberman pinschers walk the fence line, too. Take a look at this."

Leaning over the photo, Jim squinted through the film magnifier she handed to him. "Oh, yeah…big, black Dobermans. You can even see their teeth, can't you?" He smiled a little and handed the magnifier to Pepper, who also took a look. When she straightened, he said, "Still want to go, knowing those dogs are more than willing to rip us apart and call us breakfast?"

"Dogs like me."

"Those dogs don't like anybody."

Berenice chuckled. "Colonel, by accident, our flyby caught something else interesting." She brought out another picture and laid it on the table. "It's a jeep. I think you'll be interested to see who's in it."

Jim took the magnifier and leaned over the photo. He choked back a gasp. "Laura Trayhern…"

"Yes, sir." Berenice beamed triumphantly at Pepper. "We had no way to know for sure if Garcia had her, but for once we got lucky. I'm sure they didn't expect a flyby or they wouldn't have transported her during daylight in an open jeep like that."

Pepper nodded, noting the strained expression on Woodward's face as he handed her the magnifier. He had paled considerably, obviously shaken by the photo. She leaned over to study the minutely detailed photo, focusing on the jeep. Laura, her blond hair streaming behind her, sat in the passenger seat next to a driver dressed in battle fatigues. A handgun of some sort was pressed against the back of her neck by a soldier sitting directly behind her, and his hand gripped her shoulder.

"How awful for her," Pepper whispered as she returned the magnifier to Berenice. She glanced at Jim, who immediately turned and walked a few steps away. Sensing his anguish, Pepper said nothing more, but when he returned to the table, his eyes were suspiciously bright.

"We've got a mission report on Garcia for you, too," Berenice said, noting Woodward's reaction. "Come with me, sir."

Pepper remained at a distance as they moved to a small, comfortable office, where four steel gray chairs were arranged before a desk. Berenice moved behind the desk and sat down. She handed them each a sheaf of papers and gestured for them to sit.

"Guillermo Garcia is the top drug lord in the Windward Islands," she began. "This is a color photo of him. You can see he's short and overweight. His most distinguishing feature is his face, pockmarked with deep scars. He's fifty years old—an autocratic tyrant as murderous as his boss, Enrique Ramirez, of Lima, Peru.

"Garcia has been a pain in the neck to us since the early eighties. The FBI infiltrated his organization in Florida and Texas and managed to collar most of the U.S. bosses, but Colombia refused to extradite Garcia. However, it scared him enough that he moved his profitable operation from our country to the Caribbean. Now he's had ten years on Nevis to set up another empire, which has proven equally profitable."

"Berenice, do we have an operative there?" Jim fervently hoped so.

"No, sir, we don't."

"Damn," he muttered, then glanced apologetically at both women.

Nodding slightly, the lieutenant continued the briefing. "Garcia calls his fortress Plantation Paloma." Berenice looked at Pepper. "Paloma is spanish for dove."

"Rather an irony, isn't it?" Pepper drawled.

"To say the least," she agreed. "Garcia is as cold-blooded a killer as Ramirez. All the bosses who work for Ramirez pattern themselves after him. When you make your jump, if Garcia discovers either of you, he'll kill you without question. Although we don't have an operative on Nevis right now, the CIA is working to come up with one. At one time we had an informant." She frowned. "She was a local Nevis woman, a laundress for Plantation Paloma. She was in Garcia's employ for five years, and we were able to gather a great deal of useful background information about his fortress from her. Unfortunately, Garcia somehow found out she was working for us."

"What did they do to her?" Pepper asked quietly.

Jim looked up. "You don't want to know."

"Don't protect me, Colonel. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't handle the gory details." Pepper looked at Berenice, who obviously agreed with her.

Stung, Jim nodded. "All right, give her the information, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. Garcia is known to use truth drugs on anyone he suspects isn't loyal to him. They shot the operative full of a truth drug, and she spilled everything. After that, Garcia threw her to his men, and she was gang-raped." Berenice sighed. "We know because we found her body on the beach at the opposite end of Nevis from the fortress. One of the locals found her stripped of her clothes, and the CIA autopsied her body." The distaste in Berenice's voice was obvious. "Garcia is a torturer—an expert. He picked up his methods from Ramirez, who's nothing short of a sadist." She handed Pepper a photo from the file.

Pepper's stomach rolled as she stared at the photo of the woman's body lying on a morgue slab.

"That's who we're going up against," Jim said in a steely tone. He met Pepper's narrowed gaze. "And that's why I don't want you along." He jabbed a finger at the offending photo. "Now do you see why I'm against you coming on this mission?"

Bile coated Pepper's mouth as she laid the photo down and pushed it slowly in Berenice's direction. The lieutenant picked it up and slid it to the bottom of the file. Swallowing against a dry throat, Pepper rasped, "Don't you think he'd do the same thing to you, Colonel? What makes you think a murdering bastard like that cares if you're a man or a woman?"

Jim scowled and leaned back. Pepper was right, but he had hoped the photo and briefing session would discourage her. "There's an old military saying—‘Take no prisoners.' Garcia doesn't. And you're right—he'll do the same to a man as he will a woman."

Rubbing her brow, Pepper whispered, "My heart aches for Laura Trayhern. I mean, what has Garcia done to her already? My God…"

Jim's heart lurched in his chest at her whispered words. He saw tears in her eyes and felt unexpectedly touched by the depth of her reaction to Laura's plight. He didn't think anyone else had fully appreciated the terrible trouble Laura was in. As Pepper wiped tears from her eyes, his heart swelled with an unknown emotion. He dug in his back pocket for his handkerchief and handed it to her.

"Here…"

Pepper nodded, taking it from him. "Thank you." She dabbed at her eyes, not caring whether her companions approved of her nonmilitary emotional response. As an officer like Lieutenant Romero, she wouldn't have dared allow the tears to show. But as a civilian, Pepper wasn't about to apologize for wearing her emotions close to the surface. Not anymore.

As she dried her face, Pepper glanced at Woodward, expecting to see his face set with disapproval—just one more mark against her in his hard, military book of life. Instead, she saw a surprising softening in his glacial green eyes—and some unknown emotion touched her fleetingly.

Maybe, she thought as she refolded the handkerchief and handed it back to him, he lived vicariously through other people's emotions, unable to be in touch with his own or show them. Berenice Romero sat quietly, and Pepper saw dampness in her eyes, too.

"What an ugly little monster Garcia is," Pepper said, her voice tight with feelings. "All this does—" she pointed to the folder where the highly offensive photo now rested "—is make me that much more determined to get in there and rescue her."

Jim said nothing, but secretly he was thrilled by the determination in Pepper's tone. Her eyes, too, glinted with a new light. Gone was the warmth, replaced with a surprisingly steely anger. "You'll need more than desire fueled by anger on this mission," was all he said, as he pushed the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Please continue the briefing, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." Berenice cleared her throat and placed three more black-and-white photos before them. "Garcia's Dobermans not only patrol Plantation Paloma, they're trained to kill. They're also trained not to take any meat or other food that could be tainted with a drug to render them unconscious."

"Has the CIA come up with anything? A dart gun or something?"

"Pheromones, Colonel."

"Oh?"

Pepper leaned forward as Berenice showed them a photo of a small capsule containing a clear liquid.

"The CIA labs have developed a unique way to control the dogs—the hormones of a female Doberman in heat." She smiled a little. "All you have to do is create a diversionary trail with the hormones along the fence line, in the opposite direction of your entry point. The dogs will follow the scent. Garcia made a mistake in having only male guard dogs. They'll choose the female scent over their guard duties. Great idea, isn't it?"

Pepper grinned at the lieutenant. "I know this is a sexist comment, but isn't that just like a male?"

Both women laughed. Jim didn't think it was very funny but, reminding himself that women in the military took more than their share of sexist prejudice and harassing remarks, he gracefully allowed them their joke.

"Do we have a diagram of Garcia's plantation?" he asked.

The lieutenant became somber. "Yes, sir, we do." She handed each of them a detailed diagram. "Our operative, because she was a laundrywoman, was in every room of the plantation. Garcia's home is a two-story wooden structure, painted white. The upper floors include many guest rooms and his personal suite. The lower floors are mainly offices, with a telecommunications room, satellite feeds and anything else he needs to stay in touch with his people around the world. He also displays a multimillion-dollar collection of old-master paintings about the house."

"Has the CIA projected where they might be holding Laura?"

"She's probably being kept in one of the second-floor rooms in the right wing, where there are bars over the windows and a guard is posted."

Jim's stomach knotted. Unconsciously, his hand closed into a fist. The possibility that Laura had already been drugged to gain whatever information she had was a forgone conclusion. The Perseus team had assured him that Morgan never discussed business with her—to help prevent her from becoming a terrorist target. But…his mind railed against even thinking what other atrocities might have been done to her. Closing his eyes momentarily, he struggled with his anger—and his grief—over Laura's situation. She didn't deserve any of this. If only she hadn't married Morgan…

With a sigh, he opened his eyes. Both women were watching him in the building silence. "What else, Berenice?" he asked in a strained tone.

"I've arranged an 0700 HAHO over the woodlands of Virginia for you. The C-130 will drop you from twenty thousand feet. Another team with a HumVee will monitor you from the drop zone." She pulled out photos of the landing area, which was covered with thick stands of oak, ash and beech trees. "We've tried to duplicate as closely as possible the landing zone chosen for you on Nevis. It's heavily wooded, so the potential for injury is high."

Pepper studied the photo carefully. "Looks just like the forests we chute into, Colonel, except that these aren't pine trees." She looked at him. "Are you used to landing in this kind of stuff?"

"No, I'm not," he admitted darkly.

"Welcome to a lot of getting hung up in trees, then." Pepper leaned back, feeling good about being able to contribute something from her area of expertise. "We have special chutes made so that we can pretty much zero in on which set of trees to land between. Of course, even if we're able to do that, we still get batted around by tree limbs. There isn't a time when we aren't bruised. At the worst, those limbs can act like spears, and gash an arm or leg."

Pepper tapped the photo on the table. "And even if you're lucky and experienced, and the wind is your friend that day, you still can get hung up fifty feet off the ground. Then you have to cut yourself loose and do a free-drop to the terrain below, which may or may not be rocky. Or if you manage to make the mark and go between the trees, you may not have the luxury of flexing your knees and bending and rolling when you hit the ground, the way parachutists are taught. Which leaves you open for at least a sprained ankle, and potentially a broken leg."

"Do you ever make a landing without some kind of injury?"

"Never," Pepper said matter-of-factly. "I work long hours with my team on precision landings, Colonel. We pick the most thickly wooded, steepest slopes, ones with boulders under the trees, to practice on, because, you have to understand, we may land within a mile of a roaring forest fire. The winds around a fire are very different, far more dangerous and unreliable, than those of a straightforward parachute drop like this HAHO. For this one, at least, we'll have weather information in advance. We'll know what the wind directions are and won't have to worry about vortex winds swirling at five thousand feet to throw us off course or into some trees."

As Jim listened to her husky urgent voice, a sense of admiration threaded through him. Pepper obviously knew her craft. And he didn't have much experience with heavy-tree landings. If anything, he could be the albatross on this trip.

"Colonel, I strongly suggest we wear support gear around our knees, elbows and ankles." Pepper held up her hands and gestured to her elbow. "We usually wear tight, hard elastic wraps around joints that are likely to be injured. I wear them especially tightly around my ankles. If I can't walk once I'm on the ground, I'm useless to my team."

Jim snorted. "We don't do that in the military, Ms. Sinclair. If you want to wear them, go ahead."

Pepper stared at him. "I can't believe you'd dismiss this safety feature so easily, Colonel. What if you hurt yourself on this HAHO exercise tomorrow morning? What good will you be to the mission then?"

Jim glared at her. "Give it a rest. I'm not going to impose my jumping habits on you, Ms. Sinclair, so don't shove your ideas down my throat."

"Good teamwork comes from working together, Colonel," Pepper said hotly. "Teamwork means sharing our experiences, deriving the best ideas from all parties concerned, then instituting them for everyone. Safety is my first and only consideration."

"Hitting the target accurately is mine. And you had better hope you hit it, too, or you aren't going on this mission." Jim rose, feeling the tension in himself, seeing the anger in Pepper's huge blue eyes as she slowly stood in turn. Tearing his gaze away, he looked down at the lieutenant.

"Thanks for the briefing, Berenice. You've done a good job, as usual."

"Thank you, sir."

Pepper moved to the door and opened it before Woodward could get there. She was stunned by his refusal to work together. Worried, she walked down the hall, making her way back to his office. She was too angry to walk back with him. His secretary was in his office this time—a woman with short blond hair and pretty blue eyes, dressed in a pale pink business suit. Nodding to her, Pepper went straight to the closet and got her coat. It crossed her mind that Woodward's secretary resembled Laura Trayhern somewhat—she had the same hair and eye color and was petite in build. As Pepper turned, shrugging into her coat, Woodward entered, his jaw set, his eyes grim.

"I'll get you a manual on HAHOs, then take you to another area to be fitted with gear," he said abruptly.

"Fine." Pepper's nostrils quivered with anger. What a bullheaded person he was turning out to be! Did she even want to try this mission with him? If he'd been one of her staff, she'd have kicked him out for lacking the team spirit that kept them successful and safe on the toughest jumps. She decided she would call Wolf later from her hotel room and talk more with him about the situation.

Vaguely, she heard Woodward talking to his secretary. His voice was no longer hard or clipped, but personable—even warm. She turned, realizing what a difference there was in his attitude toward her and toward his secretary. So he could be human, after all. He just didn't like her, didn't want her around and didn't believe she could contribute anything of value to the mission.

To hell with him. She stepped out into the hall to cool down. Arranging the deerskin purse on her right shoulder, she waited for Jim to reappear. When he did, she didn't want to admire him in his dark green wool uniform, the cap, with its shining, black patent leather bill, settled on his head. He was a stalwart warrior type, the epitome of the Marine Corps' finest, and he knew it. Pepper's anger dissolved as she appreciated him from a purely physical standpoint. The man was ruggedly handsome, there was no doubt, in a dangerous kind of way. Despite his stubbornness, Pepper found herself drawn to him—and then berated herself for allowing her feminine side to overlook the facts: the man was a danger to her—and to the mission.

Chapter Three

The chill in the C-130 as it leveled off at twenty-one thousand feet at 0630 the next morning sent a shiver through Pepper. It was below freezing. She stood, legs apart, balancing herself as the Air Force bird bobbed around in the choppy air, hitting continual pockets of turbulence. A yellow ribbon of color lay along the horizon in the clear, cloudless dawn. The high-pitched whine of the four turboprop engines and the cavernous expanse of the empty C-130 reverberated through her as they strained in the thin atmosphere en route to the drop zone. In fifteen minutes, the rear of the C-130 would yawn open, and she and Woodward would leap from the edge of the ramp into the sky, four miles above the earth.

She hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Instead she'd pored over the manual on the military parasail used in HAHOs, a specially made parachute that was wedged shaped, like an arrowhead. Although it was similar to the ones she used in smoke jumping, it had small differences, and that's what she had absorbed until three o'clock this morning, when she'd finally fallen asleep on the couch in her hotel room.

Glancing up, Pepper saw Jim standing about six feet from where she had anchored her booted feet on the metal grating. He was busy making last-minute checks on his gear, too. His attitude hadn't changed since yesterday, and in fact, she'd seen him give her a look of disdain when she'd pulled protective elastic coverings over her elbows, knees and ankles. Pepper didn't care. She had too much to lose by allowing him to push her into jumping without her safety gear. She hadn't done a high-altitude jump into a deciduous forest before, and she didn't want to take a chance that the limbs might not give way as easily as pines did—providing the potential for even more risk. Falling at fifty miles an hour and hitting a tree limb as thick as her arm would be enough to break bones.

Unlike her usual jumping gear, she'd been fitted with a walkie-talkie on her belt, the earphone snug on her head and the lip piece settled against her mouth so they could literally talk to each other during free-fall, if they wanted to. A tight cap imprisoned her hair, with a heavy, military-style helmet over it, strapped beneath her chin. She wore a number of bulky items, but she was used to carrying an ax and a shovel, as well as maps, compass, water, first-aid kit and other items, when she jumped into a fire situation. Woodward also had outfitted her with a specially made—to his specifications—Beretta pistol in a thigh holster. She carried eleven clips of ammunition for it, and an HK submachine gun with six hundred rounds and thirty magazines rested in her backpack. The equipment she carried today included everything they would jump with two days from now over Nevis. Today was Thanksgiving. A hell of a way to celebrate it, she thought.

Automatically, her fingers went to her chest, where the nylon straps bit into her green-and-tan-and-black uniform—"tiger" utilities, designed to blend in to the jungle environment. The knife—her own—she'd brought with her for emergency situations, such as to cut away shroud lines should her first parachute fail and the second one have to be deployed. The main chute was on her back, the reserve in front, and she'd personally packed them late yesterday evening.

Woodward had packed his own this morning on the floor of the hangar at Andrews Air Force Base, where they'd taken off from. Pepper had watched him off and on, becoming convinced that he did know what he was doing. After all, he'd informed her icily, he had made five hundred jumps. He was no novice. Still, with two thousand under her belt, she considered him less experienced and would keep an eye on him during the jump—just in case. Pepper smiled to herself, her hands ranging knowingly across her bulky gear. If Woodward knew what she was thinking, his male ego would surely smart under her decision. But out in the field, she was responsible for her people, and she always felt like a mother hen of sorts.

Jim watched Pepper covertly within the deep shadows of the C-130. The vibration of the deck beneath him moved through his booted feet and up his legs. He'd made hundreds of jumps from this type of plane, but he worried about Pepper and the fact that it had been five years since her last HAHO. He wrestled with telling her his concerns. His cool, professional attitude toward her wasn't really the way he wanted to treat her. Despite his anger yesterday, her eyes continued to hold that warmth toward him. Mentally, Jim kicked himself. Dammit, he liked Pepper. He wanted to call her by her first name, but something wouldn't let him. She probably realized it, since she always called him by his official title or last name. Seesawing from his chaotic emotions over Laura, Jim moved slowly toward Pepper.

Thanks to their headsets, he wouldn't have to yell above the din that always permeated the interiors of these cargo planes. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her upper arm.

"Are you checked out?"

Pepper nodded, wildly aware of his unanticipated touch. His grip on her arm was hard without hurting, and she could tell he was monitoring the amount of strength he used. Her skin tightened beneath his fingertips. "Everything's okay."

Jim felt the firm strength of her body. She was solid, and he was sure she was in top shape due to her job. Still, he longed to soften his hold on her arm and run his hand in an exploratory motion upward, across her shoulder. Why? He'd seen a shadow come to her eyes the moment he'd touched her. Did she consider his touch an invasion of her privacy? Forcing himself to drop his hand to his side, he said in a cold voice, "The jump master said ten minutes ‘til they open the cargo-bay door for us. Remember, you jump first and I'll be ten seconds behind you."

Pepper nodded, knowing he wanted to go second to watch her performance in the jump. "Fine," she said, striving to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"Once we hit the LZ," he said, using the common designation for landing zone, "you'll take the compass and map and get us out to the pick-up point where the HumVee team is waiting. It's a ten-mile hike."

Pepper smiled grimly to herself. She knew Jim was not only testing her jumping ability, but checking out just what kind of shape she was in. She would have at least fifty pounds of weight on her back after the jump, and she was sure he didn't think she could go ten miles with it. Little did he realize she carried as much, sometimes more, into a smoke jump. Her team worked in shifts for almost twelve hours at a time, doing the grueling physical work of cutting fire breaks through stubborn brush. If only he knew that she was questioning his physical condition. Eight hours a day in a posh Pentagon office made for soft officers, not hard ones. She'd find out just what kind of shape Woodward was in—one way or another.

Exactly ten minutes later, a red light began to blink. Pepper moved to the starboard side, a bit ahead of Jim. Holding on to the cable above their heads she watched the maw of the C-130 slowly groan open. Whirring and grinding sounds clashed with the noise of the plane. Icy wind blasts began to buffet her body, pummeling her sporadically. As the ramp dropped, she saw the beauty of the night sky above them, a few stars still twinkling. Below them, dawn brushed across a thick carpet of barren, gray trees, which had already lost their leaves in fall's arrival. The hills of Virginia were rounded, but many were steep, and they'd been specially chosen because they resembled Nevis's volcanic terrain.

The jump master, a twenty-year veteran, stood opposite them. The wind whipped into the cargo entrance, striking Pepper heavily. She spread her legs a bit to take the invisible fists of air punching through the aircraft. The wind was biting, far below freezing. Although she wore black nylon gloves, she took them off at the last moment before she expected the light to flash green, indicating "jump." Jamming the gloves into a thigh pocket, she took a deep breath and felt her heart start a pounding but steady beat.

Pepper never tired of the adrenaline rush that accompanied such a jump. With it, all her senses became excruciatingly alive. She sensed movement behind her, knowing Jim also was getting ready for the jump. Fear struck at her, too. She hadn't made a jump this high in a long time. Talking to herself, telling herself it was the same as any other, she managed to dissolve some of the initial anxiety.

The light flashed green. The jump master gave her the hand signal.

It was like taking a long, summer walk down the sloping, greasy ramp of the C-130. Then Pepper took the leap, plummeting downward, keeping her hands, arms and legs tucked tightly against her body. The slipstream slammed into her as she tumbled clear of the aircraft. She gasped. It was icy cold. Her goggles protected her eyes from the tearing wind and enabled her to look around. She peered up to see the C-130 moving away from her, then glanced down at the luminous dials on her watch, counting ten seconds. Woodward had jumped, though she couldn't see him in his dark camouflage gear against the still-darkened sky.

Spreading out her arms and legs, she stopped her rock-like plummet. The wind beneath her became a cushion against her flattened body. Stabilizing, she checked the altimeter on her wrist, then glanced upward. At fifteen thousand feet, they were to meet and pull their chutes simultaneously.

Finally Pepper saw Woodward. He was coming rapidly toward her out of the darkness, his body like an arrow except for the hump on his back where he carried his weapons and gear. Bringing one hand in, she got ready to pull her rip cord. Woodward threw his arms and legs out, braking his plummet. When he was no more than twenty feet away, she saw him jerk his cord. To her horror, before she could pull her own, she saw his released chute begin to stream.

No! Pepper stopped herself from opening her chute and watched in dismay as Jim tried to open his by jerking on the shroud lines repeatedly. It wouldn't flare and catch the wind, and Pepper knew a parachute that streamed had little chance of opening. She saw him frantically take out his knife and cut away the shroud lines before he got tangled in them as he continued making slow, awkward spirals downward. Like Pepper's, his emergency chute was attached to his chest harness, and he quickly jerked it open. As she watched, the parasail started to open nicely, then developed a fold and crumpled. The horror on Woodward's face spurred Pepper into action.

Without thinking, she dove toward him. She'd have to be careful to avoid getting tangled in his reserve chute, and she made a sign for him to cut it away. She saw him shake his head as he frantically tore at the lines, trying to force the chute to open at least some of its cells, so it would catch the air and balloon out.

Fifteen thousand.

Pepper wanted to scream at him, but she didn't. She'd forgotten she had a mike and could speak to him.

Twelve thousand.

"Jim! Cut the chute away! I'll come in, and you grab my harness. I'll open my chute and we'll go down together."

She heard his heavy breathing, watched helplessly as he made large, corkscrews, fighting the chute all the time. Stubbornly, he jerked the lines again and again, trying to force the cells to open.

Ten thousand.

Pepper became alarmed. "Cut the chute!" she screamed.

He refused.

Eight thousand.

Breathing hard, Pepper again dove toward him. Dodging his chute, she made a grab for his shoulder harness. There! She slid her fingers strongly around the nylon straps. The thick material bit deeply into her hands and the two of them began to tumble slowly, like a huge, eight-legged spider in the sky.

"Cut the chute!" Pepper pleaded hoarsely, tightening her grip on his harness. She felt more than saw Jim hacking at the shrouds. He didn't think she could rescue him, much less hold on to him, but she'd proven him wrong.

Six thousand. It was now or never.

"Grab my harness front!" she screamed, and she jerked at her rip cord. She felt his hands grab on to the crisscross of nylon over her chest. Her eyes trailed upward with the opening chute, which streamed, then flared perfectly. Pepper had little time to prepare for the opening. Woodward weighed more than two hundred pounds with all his gear, and he had gripped her harness with both hands, the front of his body pressed tightly against hers.

The jerk was tremendous. Pepper groaned, but kept her hands locked around Woodward's upper arms, knowing he could easily lose his grip on her harness as the chute yanked them upward. Her muscles screamed. She shut her eyes and pulled hard. Fire seemed to roar through her body as every muscle went rigid against the reverberation of their combined weight.

Jim grunted as the pull of gravity fought the jerking, upward motion of the opening chute. It felt as if an invisible giant had gripped his legs and was pulling him downward with all its might, almost forcing him to let go of Pepper's harness. His gloved hands were sweaty and his fingers began to slip. He felt Pepper's tight grip around his upper arms, but his fingers were slipping even more. No! He gasped again, struggling. The terror of falling to his death tore through him. His grasp continued to weaken despite his panicky knowledge of what could happen.

In that instant, his entire life began to flash before his widened eyes. He saw everything—things he hadn't remembered since he was a young boy. He saw the death of his mother and father. He saw himself on the deadly parachute drop into Panama City. Accompanying the inexorable vision of his life, he felt every emotion with heart-stopping clarity. The replay was pulverizing, and he gasped again, realizing he was going to die.

Somehow, Pepper must have sensed his situation. Jim was amazed when she pulled him upward, with a strength few men would have possessed. Adrenaline flashed through his body, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face against her belly region, her gear mashed against him, jabbing into his flesh. His fingers stopped slipping. He crushed his helmet and goggles against her, gasping for breath. Due to her one, upward motion, he was able to affix his fingers more tightly to her harness and prevent a fall to his death.

Breathing hard through her mouth, Pepper gave a quick, cursory glance around them. Thank God the chute was open and working perfectly. But where were they? She couldn't look at her compass or altimeter, since both were strapped to her wrists. She felt Jim clinging to her, their bodies fused together, their tangled legs dangling as they fell rapidly through the denser air nearer the ground. The parasail, without any pulling of shroud lines, drifted at the whim of the wind. The sky was getting lighter, though the sun wasn't up yet. Pepper could clearly see the woods below them, coming up fast. Too fast.

They were at three thousand feet, she estimated, and their rate of fall, because the chute was too small for their combined weight and gear, was a lot more rapid than it should be.

"Jim!" she gasped. "We're about three thousand. We're coming in too fast!"

He grimaced and felt a terrorizing weakness numb his arms. Did he have the strength to hold on until they landed? He didn't know.

"There's nothing we can do!' he rasped, trying to glance out of the corner of his eye. He dared not move. Dared not try to readjust his position. If Pepper's grip weren't so secure, he wasn't sure he could continue to hold himself in place, with the sixty pounds of weight on his back tugging him away from her and her lifesaving harness.

Gasping for breath, Pepper said in a hurried voice, "Okay, okay. We're about twenty-five hundred feet. We're heading into what appears to be a slight opening in the trees. Try and stay loose. Try not to tense up too much. We're gonna hit the limbs. Be flexible, but hang on."

It was frustrating not being able to see where they were going. Jim tried to steady his breathing. He felt Pepper flex her knees, a signal that they were close to the canopy. He could still die. They both could. The thought of Pepper being killed almost shattered him. What a brave, strong woman she was, he realized mere seconds before they smashed into the treetops at over eighty miles an hour.

The crunching and snapping began, and Jim felt the initial branches giving way beneath them. As they fell, the chute slowed their forward motion. Heavier, less-forgiving branches swatted at him, bruising the backs of his legs. He grunted as another smacked him hard across the shoulders. The pain was instantaneous and he almost let go. At once Pepper's hands tightened.

The sounds intensified as the crackling, popping branches stubbornly gave way. They were falling. Falling through space.

Jim hit the ground first, and Pepper's entire weight came down across his lower legs. Crying out in pain, he jerked his hands free of her harness and tried to cushion the force of his contact with the ground by rolling end over end, dirt and rocks flying up around him.

Pepper rolled headfirst across him and down a brush-covered gulch. She kept herself tucked as much as possible, her arms across her face to protect it, her legs drawn up. It was impossible to tuck as she wanted to, carrying so much weight. Finally, she hit a large bush and came to a sudden stop, landing flat on her back, the breath knocked out of her, her arms and legs sprawling outward.

Opening her eyes, Pepper took in the dawning sky above her and the many broken limbs where they had fallen through the thick, nearly impenetrable canopy. Panting for breath, she automatically went through a swift, physical check of herself. Jim! Her heart thudded powerfully in her chest. Was he alive? Dead? Suddenly, concern for him overwhelmed every other sense, avalanching through her with unexpected force and leaving her stunned as nothing had in the past six years.

Slowly, she forced herself to roll over and dizzily rise up on her hands and knees. Searching desperately she called out his name, her voice a terrified croak.

"Jim! Where are you? Answer me!" Pepper fumbled frantically with the harness straps, working quickly to free herself from the cumbersome pack.

"Dammit, answer me!" Her voice broke with emotion. What was going on? She never behaved like this in the field. Jerking the helmet off her head, she dropped it on the ground, her hair spilling around her face and shoulders as the cap came with it. Off came the goggles. Peering through the gray early-morning light, Pepper thought she saw a lump far below her on the brushy hill. "No…" she said in a half whisper. Breathing raggedly, she stumbled, fell, then made it to her feet. As she picked her way down the sharp incline, she saw the dark lump define itself into Woodward, lying in a ravine filled with dried leaves, rocks and small bushes. He was sprawled on his back, his left leg tucked up under his body, his arms thrown outward. His head was tipped back, mouth open.

Was he dead? Badly injured? Her mind spun with questions and ways to get help here as fast as possible. They had a radio. She could call for a rescue helicopter. Powerful emotions captured her, and tears flooded into her eyes. Arriving at his side and falling to her knees, she sought and found the jugular vein in his neck with shaking hands. A sob racked her body and she felt out of control, pulverized by these violent feelings toward him. It was crazy! She was crazy.

"Jim?" Her voice wobbled. Tears blurred her vision as she frantically searched his wan features, even as her fingers located a strong pulse. Thank God. Pepper saw his lashes flutter as she called his name again. Getting up, she moved to his left side, where his leg was folded beneath him.

"Don't move, Jim. Don't move," she crooned, placing her hands on his hip and knee. "You might have a broken leg. Just wake up easy. Easy…"

Pepper's husky voice entered Jim's burgeoning consciousness. He was aware first of her voice, then of those strong, sure hands on his left thigh. Groaning, he opened his eyes. Pepper was kneeling over him, her face drawn in tension, her tearful gaze fixed on him. Shaken by the change in her features, the panic in her eyes, he reached up for her.

"We made it," he mumbled. "We're alive…." A miracle in itself when he'd been so certain he was going to die. Struggling toward consciousness, he slid his hands over her shoulders. Life and death. How close they'd come to dying. Tears were rolling down Pepper's pale cheeks, and Jim dug his fingers into her shoulders as a fierce joy suddenly swept through him. Never had he needed someone as he needed her at this moment. His careening emotions had steamrollered his normal, controlled responses. A wild feeling thrummed through him and he pulled her down, crushing her to him as his arms slid across her back.

"You're alive, you're alive…." he rasped, burying his face in her thick, silky hair. Jim groaned as he felt her surrender to his need to embrace her. He felt her sob once more, her cheek pressed against his. The dampness of the tears, the softness of her skin dizzied him, convinced him of the fact that they weren't dead. For one powerful heartbeat out of reality, Pepper clung to him, held him as tightly as he was holding her. She was warm. Alive. Moving his face away from her cheek, he released her and tunneled his fingers through her hair. As she eased away, her face bare inches from his, he drowned in the splendor of her anguished, sky blue eyes. And Jim saw desire there. Desire, heat and need. The realization tore at his disintegrating control and pummeled senses. He saw Pepper's lips part. The ache to kiss her was almost his undoing. As his fingers tightened against her face, he saw her eyes flare wide with shock.

Pepper gasped and placed her hand on his heaving chest, wildly aware of his strong, cool hands framing her face. What was wrong with her? She shouldn't be embracing him! What insane fear had made her lose her perspective? Her professionalism? She saw the burning hunger in his eyes for her alone. Shaken badly, she pulled out of his grasp, knowing that if she didn't, she was going to lean forward those final scant inches and bury her lips against his very male mouth.

Trembling violently, she sat back, perplexed. She tried to recover from her faux pas by examining his injury, but her face was burning with mortification. What was happening to her?

As he lay there, reorienting himself, Jim realized that if Pepper hadn't saved his sorry neck, he'd be dead. What had made him reach out and embrace her like that? Chaotic feelings sheared through him. And what the hell had prevented him from cutting those second shroud lines to release the reserve chute? Ashamed, he admitted the answer he already knew: he hadn't trusted Pepper to rescue him, because she was a woman.

"Your leg," she whispered tautly, giving him a quick glance. His cheeks were flushed, his look one of utter discomfort. Swallowing hard, she murmured, "How does it feel?"

"It hurts," he grunted, avoiding her darkened eyes, seeing the shame in them. "Look out, I'll try to move it."

Surprised, Pepper staggered to her feet. "Can you?"

"I think so…." He grasped at any straw to lessen the tension, as if some invisible, throbbing sensation lingered palpably between them. Even if his leg was broken, it could refocus their attention on something other than their torrid, intimate embrace of moments ago. Jim sat up with difficulty, the pack he was wearing still weighing him down. Then, easing his body slightly to the right, he brought his left leg out and straightened it.

"You're lucky," Pepper said, a wobble of relief in her voice. She touched her damp cheek and wiped at the last of the tears. Inadvertently, she looked up at him. His gaze burned with an emotion that scorched her, and she looked away, shaken even further. "Brother, are you ever lucky. I thought you'd busted your femur in a compound fracture or something." She knelt at his side again. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to touch him. Resting her hands gently on his leg, she examined the length of it. Feelings she thought had died years ago swept through her as she explored his muscled limb. She felt a throbbing sensation seem to leap from him to the palm of her hand. Confused, she struggled to force the raw, newly awakened feelings aside.

Jim grimaced, fighting a hot awareness of her closeness—of her care. Her touch was galvanizing, and his skin tightened when she grazed him. Frantic to get himself back under control, he rasped, "I'm too hardheaded to break a leg. I should have had my head examined, though."

Surprised, Pepper looked up into his darkened eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You saved my neck despite my stupidity. Thanks." He held out his hand to her.

Stunned, Pepper slowly raised her own hand. Should she touch him again? Last time they'd ended in a torrid embrace. Shyly, she slid her fingers into his. There was nothing weak about his grip, and she gloried in its secure warmth. "You're welcome, Colonel Woodward," she said in a strained tone.

Jim didn't want to release her hand. He was entranced by the length and grace of her fingers, almost at odds with Pepper's obvious tough strength—both physically and mentally. If she hadn't had the presence of mind, as well as the experience and skill, to rescue his sorry butt from that situation, he wouldn't be here shaking her hand in a symbolic gesture of peace.

"Call me Jim," he said gruffly, reluctantly releasing her. The surprise that flared in her eyes astounded him. It was at that moment that he realized just how much of a bastard he'd been to her. Shame wound through him, and he forced himself to check out his left ankle instead of staring into Pepper's beautiful, vulnerable eyes.

Pepper watched him pull away the bloused material around his jump boot. Call me Jim. The husky inference in his voice had gone through her like hot sunlight on a cold winter's day. And the look in his eyes had stunned her—as if she were seeing his tough military facade melt before her eyes. The change was arresting, filled with promise. His mouth had lost its usual hard line, and his eyes had lost that icy glitter that warned her to back off. Most of all, Pepper was drawn to the tenor of his voice—strong yet decidedly gentle.

Shaken, she sat back, resting her hands tensely on her thighs as she tried to digest his change toward her. Finally, she forced herself to look around. "I have no idea where we are…Jim," she admitted hesitantly.

He glanced up as he freed his ankle from the trouser material. "Let's worry about that later. Can you help me unlace this boot? I think I've sprained my ankle."

"Sure…" He was asking for her help. Pepper didn't quite know how to take this sudden attempt at teamwork. Was he feeling grateful because she'd saved his life? Would it last? Did it have anything to do with the sudden intimacy he'd established? Her hands trembled as she tried to untie the double knot on the boot.

"I'm still shaky." She laughed with sudden shyness.

"I'm shaking inside," he admitted, watching her slim fingers work out the tightly bound knots. Her hair fell in soft waves, and he had the maddening urge to reach out and thrust his fingers through that mass again. As he remembered its softness, his hand lifted slightly, as if by its own accord. Jim jerked it back. It was an idiotic urge. An insane one, he realized, chastising himself. Pepper's mouth was slightly open, revealing her full lower lip. The color was high in her cheeks, and he could see she was shaken by the ordeal they'd survived. Or was it by his unjustified embrace—his need to feel her strong, feminine body against him and prove he really was alive?

"I could have died," he croaked, the realization starting to fully sink in.

Pepper glanced up at him. Jim's eyes were dark with the harsh reality of his words. "I know…." Her voice broke, and she avoided his sudden, sharpened gaze.

Jim's heart began an erratic pounding in his chest. Suddenly, he felt a trembling that seemed to start deep inside him and spread outward. He had a wild urge to blather almost hysterically. Fighting the feeling, he rasped, "I saw my whole life flash before my eyes." He shook his head as Pepper began unlacing the now-unknotted jump boot. "I've heard of guys seeing it, like a movie in full living color, when they thought they were going to die. But it's never happened to me…."

Swallowing against a dry throat, Pepper nodded, her heart still pounding wildly in her breast. Where Jim had gripped her shoulder, her skin still tingled in memory. "We were lucky. Hold on, I'm going to try to get this off you." She rose and positioned herself at his feet, then carefully eased the boot off his left foot. Pulling off his heavy cotton sock, she grimaced. "You're right," she said, glancing up at him, "you've got a dilly of a sprain." The skin around his ankle was already turning bluish purple and swelling. Prodding the region gently with her fingers, she felt a lot of heat coming from it.

Jim was fervently aware of Pepper's long, thin fingers moving over his swollen ankle. Miraculously, wherever she touched him, the pain momentarily ceased. "You look like you've done this kind of thing before," he observed.

Pepper gave him a slight, one-cornered smile as she finally managed to get some control over her rampant emotions. "Too many times." Placing his foot on the ground beside her, she slowly stood. "On myself and other members of my team. Sprains are pretty common in our business."

Jim held her narrowed gaze. He was seeing the professional side of Pepper now, and he admired her coolness and common sense. "If I'd worn that ankle brace as you suggested, I might not have a sprain right now," he groused.

Pepper realized what it took Jim to admit his mistake and was grateful he'd abandoned his combative attitude. "It's a learning curve," she offered hoarsely, not wanting him to feel any worse than he did already. She wasn't one to rub salt in anyone's wounds. Good leaders didn't berate their people. Instead, she would try to support his decision to wear it next time. "I'm going back up the hill for my pack. I've got a first-aid kit with me. Just lie still" was all she said.

Jim lay back on the rough ground, feeling pretty damn humbled by Pepper and her forgiving attitude. She had every right to nail him with the fact that he'd not only refused to wear the joint and ankle braces but had openly challenged her idea. Angrily, he rubbed his face. What was the matter with him? He didn't normally act like such a jerk. Never with anyone under his command in a military situation. And why had he reached out and grabbed her? Held her in a hot, powerful embrace that had driven him to the edge of his control? He'd come so close to molding her parted, tear-stained lips against his mouth. So close. What the hell was happening to him? Looking up, he scowled at the horizon. The sun was rising, the sky turning a pale, translucent pink and yellow.

Pepper, he decided, was her own woman—and he wasn't used to dealing with a woman with such a high confidence level. He had some thinking to do about women, he conceded. He was just beginning to grasp the full weight of their potential. Pepper was a role model, a stunning example of what could be. Perhaps that was what made her different in his eyes, and explained his unexpected attraction to her. He had no direct experience with a woman like her—at once feminine and vulnerable, yet shored up by an incredible confidence that radiated from deep within her, translating into every action she took or decision she made.

Jim knew men like that. Hell, he was like that himself. A sour smile pulled at his mouth as he made the realization. If Pepper had been a man, he would never have questioned her experience. And he would have instantly reached out for help as he plummeted from the sky. With a shake of his head, he decided that once they got out of this mess and back to Perseus, he needed to sit down and have a long talk with her. First he would apologize for being such a jerk, as well as for his intimate behavior toward her, which was completely out of line—as sexist in its own way as his initial lack of trust had been.

Touching his ankle, which had quickly swollen to the size of a ripe cantaloupe, he wondered how he would be able to make the jump two days from now. He'd screwed himself up by rejecting Pepper's advice. Damn. He had a lot of ground to cover with her on their return to civilization.

"We're in luck," Pepper said as she approached Jim. She held out two small kits. "I not only brought my first-aid kit, but I packed my homeopathic kit, too." She saw him look up, felt his green gaze lock onto hers. For a moment she was speechless. The undiluted warmth in his eyes caught her off guard again. Slowly kneeling at his left side, Pepper fumbled with the first-aid kit, even as she fought the clamoring desire still burning within her. Heat stabbed at her cheeks, and she knew she was blushing.

"I'm in luck you were along," Jim stated. He saw Pepper's face flame red. The blush made her even more becoming, if that was possible. Her fingers worked the lock on the kit, as an ache built inside Jim's chest, and he fought another totally inappropriate urge to reach out and kiss her. The slightly curled length of her hair, now in disarray from the dampness of the cold November morning, enhanced her natural beauty.

Pepper made an effort to smile while avoiding his gaze. His eyes were like magnets, drawing hers, she decided as she opened the second kit. "We shared a close call. Stupid reactions always happen afterward," she stammered.

Jim nodded. "Yeah—stupid things…" Like grabbing her and wanting to kiss her until they breathed the same air. Stupid things like that. "I'm just glad we're alive," he told her unevenly. "Maybe that's why I grabbed you…. I don't know…."

Pepper felt the heat in her face intensify at his muttered apology. She refused to look up at him as she dug into her kit. "That's all it was," she agreed breathlessly, "a close shave with death. Nothing more…" Wasn't it? Pepper was unsure. Her even, stable world seemed to be fragmenting before her very eyes. Hadn't she made decisions in the past to commit herself to her job, to her friends and her family— not to a personal relationship? Yes, absolutely. And in the six years since that decision, she'd made it stick. Ever since John's death. Until now. Pepper felt wary and shaken in a way she hadn't experienced before.

Jim frowned. Though his unexplained actions toward her were far from all right, she was kindly trying to provide a way out for him—despite her own discomfort. Now was not the time to examine his actions.

He watched as she drew out a small green tube and squeezed the clear, thick contents onto her fingers. "What's that?" he asked, making an effort to get their conversation onto something safe and impersonal.

"Arnica. It's a homeopathic remedy that I use for any kind of muscle sprains or strains." Pepper took in a ragged breath, relieved to be talking about anything other than their embrace. She gently slathered the ointment across his swollen skin and amended her earlier concerns: Jim was in tremendous shape—for an office type. "You must jog or something," she murmured, concentrating on covering the entire sprained area, "because if you didn't work out, you'd have broken something in that fall."

Jim glanced up at the thick trees on the hill above them. "Yeah…it was a hell of a fall, wasn't it?"

Her laughter was strained as she set the ointment tube aside and expertly wrapped his foot and ankle in an Ace bandage. "A hell of a fall," she agreed.

"How are you?" Jim realized he'd been remiss in asking after her condition. Had she sustained any injuries?

Panicked over his sudden interest, Pepper stammered, "A lot of bruises, but otherwise I'm okay." She looked up and brushed her hair aside. The concern on Jim's face tugged at her, and she felt her breath jam in her throat. Her heart pounded briefly, underscoring the look of care radiating from him. Again heat prickled her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, her fingers trembling as she continued to wrap his ankle.

"You're blushing," he muttered, unwilling to acknowledge his blame in her response.

"I haven't done that in years," Pepper said, frowning. Six years, to be exact.

"It's becoming," he admitted gruffly. Shocked at the intimacy that seemed to continue to insinuate itself at the least opportunity, Jim snapped his mouth shut.

"It's an embarrassing disease."

He cast desperately around for some impersonal comment, but words he didn't intend to say tumbled out of his mouth. "You're a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve." When Pepper raised her chin and looked at him, he realized she was so self-sufficient that few people probably ever considered she might need a little care or a tender touch herself. He could give her that, he realized suddenly. To cover up his error, he said, "Recons take care of their own. You're no less important than I am." He noticed a number of bloody scratches on the backs of her hands. Without thinking, he reached down and captured her right hand. Gently, he laid his palm over it. "You're hurt, too."

Stunned by his gesture, Pepper jerked away. "Oh…it's nothing. Scratches are nothing…." Her heart was pounding. She felt curiously exhilarated and at the same time wary. "I guess I'm not used to my team making a big deal over something like this," she muttered. "During a fire there isn't time to pay attention to minor injuries. We're always getting bruised, scratched and cut. It's no big deal."

With a shake of his head, Jim said, "I guess I really didn't realize the kind of danger you and your team jump into."

"Most people don't. Why should they? As far as I'm concerned, there are a lot of unsung heroines and heroes doing my kind of work. We're rarely given media coverage, but our work is intense and very dangerous." Pepper closed the first-aid kit. "Of course, people in the military aren't acknowledged much, either."

Jim nodded in agreement as Pepper took a small, amber vial from the other kit and opened it. "Here, take these," she said.

Jim stared at the small, white pellets she placed in his open hand. "What are these?"

"They're sugar pellets that have been medicated with a high dose of Arnica. Just put them in your mouth and let them melt away." She smiled a little and closed the lid on the vial. "You'll see a miracle happen with that ankle of yours—the swelling should go down within the hour. Otherwise it will never be in good enough shape for a jump one day from now."

Jim wasn't about to argue with Pepper. He put the pellets in his mouth. They tasted like sugar, not medicine. Pepper rose, carried the kits back up the hill, then returned to Jim's side. In the meantime, he shrugged out of his pack.

She handed him the radio. "I think we need to call for backup. You're in no shape to walk ten miles."

"Roger that," he agreed sheepishly. He took the radio from her and made the call. He no longer questioned Pepper's abilities. She'd saved his life. She'd dealt with his injury with grace and without recriminations. Soon the helicopter would be hovering over the hill above them and they would be winched up on a cable, one at a time, since there was no appropriate landing area. But first Jim silently promised himself one thing. Tonight, at his condo, he and Pepper would have a long, serious talk. It was time.

Chapter Four

Pepper was unprepared for the flurry of activity that met them back at Perseus. The helicopter pilot had called in, alerting the team of their near disaster. As she entered the office, she was met by a number of people, some of whom she didn't know. Wolf and Killian guided Jim to another room, where Dr. Ann Parsons, the ex-Air Force flight surgeon who worked for Perseus, was waiting.

"Pepper," Wolf said as he came back out, "I want you to meet Morgan's brother, Commander Noah Trayhern, and his wife, Kit."

"Glad to meet you," Pepper said, extending her hand to a tall, spare officer with gray eyes. Noah Trayhern was dressed in his winter Coast Guard uniform, the dark blue wool a contrast to his tanned features and penetrating gaze. She liked his firm grip.

"Same here," Noah said with a tight smile.

Pepper extended her hand to the woman at his side. Kit Trayhern, tall as well, smiled warmly at her, offering an equally firm handshake. Her long, dark brown hair, alive with red highlights, was tied back with a red ribbon that matched the tasteful red suit she wore with a lacy white blouse.

Marie approached Pepper. "You look worn out. Are you all right, dear?"

"I'm okay." She looked down at her camouflage uniform and gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Dirty, bruised, but no worse for wear." She was acutely aware of Noah's assessing look, sure he was measuring her against what had happened and determining whether she had what it took to successfully complete the coming mission.

"Let me get you some coffee," Kit Trayhern offered. "You look like you could use a cup. Actually, from what we've heard, maybe you'd rather have a stiff drink."

Smiling sheepishly, Pepper nodded. "No thanks. If I drank alcohol, I'd probably ask for whiskey, straight up. Thanks, Mrs. Trayhern."

"Call me Kit. Come on, let's go into the War Room. Marie made a fresh pot when she heard you were coming in."

Pepper wondered how Jim was doing and wanted to find out, then thought better of it. She followed Kit into the Conference Room and gratefully sank onto a chair Noah pulled out for her. He closed the door, and he and Kit joined her at the table, coffee cups in hand.

"Can you tell us exactly what happened out there this morning?" Noah asked.

Without preamble, Pepper told them the story, leaving out only the fact that Jim had refused her help in the air and that he hadn't worn the safety bandages. She had no desire to embarrass him. On the flight in, she had sat next to him and had felt him withdrawing deep into himself. She'd wondered what he was thinking about, but then, the fact that they'd nearly died was enough to turn anyone inward for a while.

Kit sighed and smiled softly at Pepper. "We feel lucky to have you on this mission, Pepper. You've got the right stuff."

"Bruised but right," Pepper answered tiredly. She glanced at Noah. Did he feel the same way? The officer was somber, worry showing in his gray eyes.

"Have you heard the latest?" he asked.

"No. What?" Pepper sipped the hot coffee with relish.

"Wolf said still no communiqués have been intercepted to suggest where Jason or Morgan might be held. No more transmissions from Garcia, either. It's as if they know…."

"Darling," Kit whispered fervently, reaching across the table and touching his arm, "everyone's doing all they can."

"I know that," he said, scowling. He set the white mug on the highly polished table, sliding his long fingers around it. "I worry that if you go in to rescue Laura, they'll kill Jason and Morgan. We just don't know what they might do."

"Look," Kit said, removing her hand, her voice growing more adamant, "I know Garcia and Ramirez from my days as a detective in Miami. Laura isn't safe there. She's at serious risk. If we know where she is then Perseus needs to mount a mission as swiftly as possible to get her out."

Pepper saw Noah's face become rife with unspoken emotions, including obvious anguish. "I don't have a police background," she offered, "but from my days as an army officer, I know you don't avoid one objective because others might suffer. I'm sure Ramirez is expecting Perseus to back off. So we may have some element of surprise on our side."

Exhaling loudly, Noah stood, his dark brows drawn together. "We're dealing with the lives of my brother, his son and his wife." He looked down at Pepper. "Dammit, I wish I could go instead…. I wish—"

"Noah, please…" Kit said softly.

Pepper watched Morgan's younger brother struggle with barely contained emotions. She noted the glimmer of tears in his eyes, then he abruptly turned and walked deliberately to the other end of the room, his back to them.

"How much do you know about the Trayhern family?" Kit asked her.

"Only what Wolf told me on the way in from the airport the other day. I know Morgan has gone through hell regarding the Vietnam War and that he was used by the CIA against his will."

Kit nodded. "Then you realize how much trauma everyone's suffered." She rubbed her brow. "It's awful. I mean, this family has finally gotten back together. We have three beautiful children. Morgan's parents live in Clearwater, Florida, and we visit them all the time. Alyssa, Morgan's sister, is the youngest. She's married to Commander Clay Cantrell, and they're both pilots in the navy. They don't have any children, but they come and visit as often as they can, Pepper. We're very close-knit. Morgan's parents are in shock over the kidnapping. They're flying up this afternoon to Perseus, to meet you and Colonel Woodward, but it's a frightening situation for all of us. I'm an ex-cop, and I've had dealings with far too many drug dealers. They're the scum of the earth, as far as I'm concerned."

"Do you think Ramirez will try to attack you? Or Morgan's parents?"

Kit shrugged and looked at her husband, who stood silently, his profile silhouetted against the map on the wall. He was clearly suffering. "It's the right question to ask. That's why we've flown in with our entire family. Right now, Susannah Killian is playing baby-sitter not only to Morgan's Katherine, but to our children as well, at a hotel in Fairfax. Talking to Jake, I get the feeling they're worried about another hit from Ramirez. Anyone in the family could be vulnerable to attack. I think Jake wants all the Trayherns to go into hiding."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea right now," Pepper agreed slowly. "Especially if we hit Garcia and manage to take Laura away from him. I don't know how quickly or if he'll retaliate—or against whom."

"You can bet it will be our family," Noah growled, turning and walking slowly back toward them.

"Then you agree with Jake?" Kit asked.

"I do." The tall man picked up his coffee mug and took a swallow of the hot liquid. "I don't put anything beyond the realm of those murdering bastards."

Pepper could feel a number of new aches developing in her body. She needed to get out of this uncomfortable uniform, put arnica oil on her own minor injuries and take a long, hot bath. But she tabled her own discomfort for now because, by understanding some of the Trayhern family, she might be able to understand more about Laura and her potential actions or reactions—which could be important if they were able to get to her.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Wolf poked his head in and looked at Pepper. "Colonel Woodward is asking for you. Got a minute?"

"Sure." Pepper excused herself and followed Wolf down the hall. Jake and Killian had just left the room where they'd taken Woodward earlier. The looks of relief on their faces told Pepper the good news. Trying to settle her suddenly pounding heart, she entered the room. Jim sat on a gurney, his left pant leg rolled up to just below his knee. The doctor, a woman in her early thirties, was just closing her black physician's bag.

"Pepper, I wanted you to meet Dr. Parsons," Jim said. He felt a tremendous rush of feelings as Pepper entered the room. Despite her disheveled state, she managed to look beautiful, he thought. "I told her you gave me those funny-looking sugar pills, and that they made the swelling go away on my sprain."

Pepper shook Dr. Parson's hand. "It's a homeopathic remedy, Doctor."

"Oh," Ann murmured thoughtfully. "That's a complementary form of medicine that's catching on here in the U.S., isn't it?"

"Sure is." Pepper noticed Jim's gaze on her and felt a little uneasy. "I've got a doctor friend in Anaconda, Montana, who teaches classes on homeopathy. I'd gone to her about three years ago with some pretty severe muscle strains from a bad jump. She used homeopathy on me, and I was back at work two days later. It made a believer out of me, so I took classes from her over the years, and I always carry a small kit of remedies with me no matter where I go."

Ann raised he eyebrows. "Sounds interesting. Maybe you could give me her name and phone number." She pointed to Jim's untaped ankle. "By rights it should look fat and purple by now, but there's no swelling. He told me how badly he'd injured it, and I just couldn't believe it."

With a laugh, Pepper said, "It was the size of a healthy cantaloupe out there at the LZ, Dr. Parsons. I gave him a high dose, and I knew it would take down the swelling."

"Good thing," Ann said, "otherwise Colonel Woodward would be grounded and someone else would be taking this mission." She smiled warmly. "Good job, Ms. Sinclair."

When the flight surgeon had left, Pepper turned to Jim. She examined his ankle closely. "Looks pretty good. Are you as impressed as Dr. Parsons is?"

"More impressed," he said quietly. He saw the strain in Pepper's face. "You look the way I feel," he commented.

"I'm getting a bit achy from my bruises and the letdown that always comes after a jump like that," Pepper said, standing awkwardly in front of him. Despite what they'd been through, Jim appeared relatively unfazed. His short, dark hair was plastered against his head, with several strands falling across his wrinkled brow. Some smudges of dirt trailed along his jaw, but otherwise he looked as good as new. The front of his uniform was open, revealing the strong column of his neck and some of the well-sprung dark hair on his chest. He was pulverizingly masculine, Pepper realized belatedly. She'd been so busy shielding herself from his attention that she hadn't noticed the details of him as a man—until now.

"I need to go back to my hotel room and clean up," she croaked.

"You should," he agreed, then added, "Later, will you come over to my condo?"

"What?" Startled, Pepper halted on her way to the open door. She had a great deal of studying to do today—manuals to read and details to memorize.

Jim opened his hands. "Tonight? About 1900, will you come over?" he repeated.

Her heart started a traitorous beating in her breast. "Well…I—"

He saw her hesitation. Saw the fear in her glorious blue eyes. "Please?" He said it softly, with just a slight, pleading edge. Pepper's face visibly relaxed and most of the wariness left her eyes.

"Sure…"

"It's personal," he admitted softly, then looked around the room. "I need to say some things to you in private, Pepper."

Swallowing convulsively, she nodded. "I'll be there…."

Pepper's mouth was dry. It took a lot to make her nervous these days, but the possibility of intimacy—of the kind of unexpected feelings Jim had somehow managed to arouse in her in such a short time—had her running scared in a way that far surpassed the risk of jumping out of a plane into a raging fire. She knocked on the solid oak door of Jim's condominium. It was in a posh part of Georgetown—a redbrick building covered with dark green ivy that gave it an old, austere look. The building suited him, she thought. He was old-fashioned in many ways, clinging to certain traditions just as they ivy clung to the brick. The door opened, and Pepper's heart bounded once to underscore her surprise.

Jim wore civilian clothes, a pair of comfortable, navy blue chinos, a collegiate white shirt open at the collar and simple brown loafers. He looked approachable. Far too approachable, her heart warned. And when his mouth curved in a sincere welcome, Pepper became tongue-tied, which wasn't like her at all.

"Come on in," he invited, standing to one side and gesturing for her to enter. He wondered if he'd ever quit being surprised by her. She wore a long, dark green corduroy skirt and a soft mohair sweater of pale pink and green. Her hair, which had been matted and snarled after their ordeal this morning, glowed under the hall light, with golden strands sparkling among the dark brown ones. She wore no makeup, but she didn't need any. The flush of her cheeks emphasized the guarded look in her glorious blue eyes. Instead of shoes, she wore black suede boots and carried a purse to match. As she stepped inside, Jim inhaled the fragrance of her perfume; it reminded him of jasmine blooming in spring.

"Are you sure you're a smoke jumper?" he teased as he quietly shut the door.

Pepper smiled uneasily. "Are you sure you're a Recon Marine?" she countered.

"Touché." As he reached to help her off with her coat, his fingertips brushed her shoulders, and it was as if a shock ran through him. Jim felt a powerful desire overwhelm him. Never had he wanted to kiss a woman more than in this fleeting moment. It cost him every ounce of control to keep from doing exactly that. He hung Pepper's coat in the closet and motioned for her to follow him. "I guess neither of us look like our jobs, do we?"

"I make a point of not looking like my job. Otherwise I'd be a mess all the time," Pepper said in a strained voice, her skin tingling where he'd barely grazed her shoulders. She quickly looked around. The condominium was spacious and tastefully decorated. The ceilings were high, in keeping with the traditional style of older East Coast buildings, with ornate plaster patterns detailing the expanse. The hall was painted beige, the walls holding a number of original oil paintings, most of them landscapes. As she entered the living room, Pepper smiled to herself. A gray-and-white cat sat on the burgundy-striped sofa. The room was large, with a television in one corner, a stereo unit in another. A mahogany coffee table stood in front of the couch, with fresh fruit overflowing from a cut-glass bowl. The chairs, in shades of burgundy and navy, were complimented by a beige carpet.

"Did you decorate this?" she asked, impressed as she scanned the walls, where more pictures hung.

"I couldn't have in a million years," Jim admitted, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his chinos. If he didn't put them somewhere, he was going to touch her. He felt good as he saw the radiance in Pepper's face as she examined the room. She didn't miss much. With a chuckle, he added, "My only contribution to the interior designer's touches was this alley cat. Frank, meet Pepper. Pepper, this is Frank."

Pepper smiled and crossed the room, to gently stroke the large cat's scarred head. Both Frank's ears were partially gone. "Looks like he's been in more than a few fights."

Jim took his hands out of his pockets again, trying to contain his nervousness. "I found him on my porch one morning last winter," he said, coming around to the end of the couch, where Frank lay purring contentedly. "The garbage truck had hit him, and he crawled up on my stoop and waited for me to come home."

Pepper straightened and looked directly into Jim's eyes. "He must have known there was something special about you. That you'd take care of him. Cats have good instincts."

Ruefully, Jim held her warm, searching gaze. He didn't deserve Pepper's forgiveness for what had almost happened today, yet he knew he already had it. Could he have been as generous, if he'd been in her shoes? He doubted it. "It was a little rough at first, because he had a broken front leg, and he wasn't too happy about being incarcerated here, unable to go outside."

Pepper's mouth softened. She melted beneath his dark, hooded look. Again she saw a smoldering fire banked in his eyes—a fire that had something to do with her. Struggling to maintain an air of neutrality, she forced her voice to remain even as she said, "Well, it looks as if Frank has since made the adjustment from scrappy alley cat to fat cat."

"Yeah, he has. Come into the kitchen. I'm putting the final touches on our dinner." Jim forced himself to move, to break the almost-tangible connection that seemed to establish itself between them anytime they were together.

Pepper followed him at a distance, relieved to have his focus shift away from her. "Did you buy Chinese? Or stop at a local fast-food joint?" she teased. Jim walked with only a hint of a limp, she noticed. Silently, she gave thanks for her knowledge of homeopathy. Despite her confidence in her own abilities, Pepper knew she couldn't pull off such a mission without Jim's help and knowledge.

As they walked from the carpeted living room into any airy, light green kitchen with green-and-white polka-dotted curtains framing the window over the sink, Pepper smiled to herself. Jim might be like any other bachelor, but he didn't live like some of them did.

"A number of men on my team are single," she said, stopping a few feet from him, her hip against the kitchen counter, "and their apartments are in sorry shape compared to yours. I feel like I've stepped into Better Homes and Gardens."

Jim pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of a bucket in the sink, where it had been chilling. "I hate to burst your bubble about me. Not that I haven't already, but this place was decorated this way before I bought it—from a general and his wife."

"Ohh…" Pepper met his sheepish smile and watched him pour the white wine into two crystal goblets.

Jim handed a glass to Pepper, his fingers barely meeting hers. For an instant, he saw surprise register in her eyes. She felt it, too, he thought. But just as quickly, he saw her hide her response. In that moment, her full vulnerability became excruciatingly apparent. Without thinking, he removed the glass from her hand and placed it on the counter.

"Come here," he rasped, stepping toward her and settling his hands on her shoulders.

Pepper's lips parted in surprise as she felt Jim's hands holding her. Shock turned to heat as she gazed wonderingly up into dark eyes that held her helplessly captive. He was going to kiss her. The thought was there, along with a rush of desire that made her move into his arms and lift her chin to meet his descending mouth. She had no time to analyze what was taking place, or why. She could only obey her heart, which cried out for closer contact with Jim, and personal consequences be damned.

As she felt herself enveloped in his powerful arms, her body coming to rest lightly against his as he drew her even more tightly against his hard, angular contours, a sigh of surrender broke from her. Pepper felt as if she were in a waking dream—a beautiful one filled with a raging desire that refused to be ignored. Her lashes swept downward, and she slid her arms around his neck, waiting. The instant his mouth captured hers in a demanding kiss, she responded with equal intensity. The heat of his mouth moving across hers, taking her, stamping her with his very male scent and taste, shattered every barrier she'd ever erected. His warm, uneven breath fell across her cheek as she opened her mouth even more to his deepening exploration. The slight prickle of his recently shaved face brushed hers. His hand moved upward, cupping her cheek, angling her mouth to an even more advantageous position, and she drowned in the splendor of his quest.

Lost in the molten power of his mouth, of his hard, straining body pressed to hers, Pepper felt a moan of pleasure coming from deep within her. A lightning heat swept through her, overriding her logical mind and connecting wildly with her heart—with a raw desire that was being born out of the fire of his searching, hungry kiss. Then, somewhere inside her, an alarm went off, a warning so primal that Pepper pulled away from the mouth that pleasured hers. That one movement broke the dream. Her eyes flew open. She felt Jim ease his grip on her, his eyes opening and focusing narrowly on her, like a predator gauging its quarry. Panic spread through Pepper.

"No…" she pleaded brokenly, placing her hands flat against his chest. "Oh, no…" The still-throbbing need within her belied the shattering knowledge that Jim should never have kissed her. She shouldn't have kissed him. As Pepper stumbled out of his embrace and gripped the back of a chair for support, she stared up at his stormy face, met the burning gaze that clearly said he wanted to claim her again. Her lips were still wet from his kiss. Her body ached to complete what she knew they both wanted. Shocked at how thoroughly her emotional barriers had been lowered, she touched her brow, confused. How could she have let this happen? She was as much at fault as Jim was. All he'd done was brush her fingers when he'd handed her the glass of wine. A small, grazing touch!

Shakily, Pepper stared at him in the building silence. His chest was heaving, his breathing ragged. His hands were drawn into fists at his sides. He looked as if he were fighting some inner demon to stop himself from moving the few feet to where she stood. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable. And how badly she found herself wanting to walk right back into his arms!

"Pepper," Jim rasped, opening his hands, "I'm sorry…." And he was. Shaken by what had just occurred, he backed away. His heart was pounding in his chest. He felt the tightness of his body screaming for relief, screaming to complete what they'd started. The look in Pepper's eyes mingled fear, accusation and sultry desire. She'd liked the kiss as much as he had; he knew that. But her grip on the back of that chair spoke of the depth of her devastation. Jim's mouth tingled in the aftermath of their fiery sharing. He could taste her on his lips. He longed to taste her everywhere—and give her even more pleasure. As he studied her in the tense silence, he knew with every particle of his being that he had given her pleasure. The knowledge made his heart sing, lifting him in a sort of heady euphoria he'd never realized existed.

"I think," he began in a strained voice, "that almost dying this morning is still with me." He wanted to take full responsibility for the kiss, even though she'd come willingly into his arms. "I'm sorry, Pepper. Really sorry…"

Trembling inwardly, she nodded and pressed her hand against her breasts, fighting for control of her frayed emotions. "I—yes, I think it was that…." she answered shakily. After all, there had to be some reason she'd done something so foolish!

"If you'll excuse me? I'll be back in a minute." Jim turned without waiting for her permission. If he didn't leave now, he feared he would walk right back over to her and take her. The vision of carrying her to his bedroom and making hot, hard love with her clamored in him. His leaving would break that damnable tension that seemed to stalk their interactions. And he'd take the opportunity to splash cold water on his face and get a grip on his unruly emotions.

When Jim had left the room, Pepper grabbed her glass from the counter and lowered herself to a chair. Her knees were shaking so badly she wanted to sit before she fell. In three gulps, she downed the wine. The alcohol took the edge off her frazzled emotions, soothing some of the shock out of her system, and Pepper was grateful to have time to pull herself together.

By the time Jim reappeared, nearly ten minutes later, he seemed back in control. No longer did she see undeniable hunger in his eyes. Instead, his mouth was an unhappy slash as he slowly walked to the sink and picked up his glass. Without a word, he drank the contents, then poured them both a second glass.

"I think," he began gruffly, "I owe you an apology for a lot of things regarding my behavior—"

"No," Pepper whispered. "It's all so crazy, Jim. I've had close calls before. I know what they do to me—to other people." She was blathering to cover her real feelings—her genuine need for him. It was totally inappropriate. Insane. "Stuff like this happens. Let's just chalk it up to the day, can we, and forget it?"

Working his mouth, Jim stared down at the wine in his glass. "Yeah—okay, you're right, of course." Forget? How the hell could he forget her warm, flowing response to his kiss? But she was right. Somehow, he had to put it behind him. Savagely, he reminded himself that Laura was the important one right now. At the thought of her, he felt his body shutting down, becoming less sensitized to Pepper's presence. Relief raced briefly through him.

Pepper took another gulp of wine. "It's already forgotten," she said, but her voice came out unexpectedly husky. Liar. Unwilling to analyze why she'd blindly walked into his arms in the face of everything she believed—no, knew to be true, she lifted her glass. "Let's toast to something. Anything."

Jim nodded. "Good idea." He frowned and thought for a moment, then touched the rim of his glass lightly against hers. "To a lady with more brains and courage than I gave her credit for." He lifted his glass, his gaze steady on her widening eyes. Taking a sip, he waited for her to drink. "Well?"

Pepper shrugged and tried to calm her alarm over his continued intimacy. "Bygones are bygones, Jim. It could just as easily have been me in trouble this morning." Her face serious, she lifted her glass to him, then took a small sip of the light, oak-flavored wine. The sincerity in his eyes and voice shook her, and she didn't want him to see the depth of her reactions to him. Casting around for some safer topic, she noticed a wonderful scent emanating from the oven. "Whatever you're cooking, it smells good," she said, forcing a cheerful smile. Right now, eating was the last thing on her mind.

Jim remained serious as he sat down opposite her. Something was driving him to remain intimate with Pepper. He ignored her attempt to lighten the mood. "I think you hold a lot of secrets," he said quietly, meeting her startled look. Setting his glass aside, he added, "I've had all day to think about you—us—and I've come to the conclusion that I know very little about you, Pepper." One corner of his mouth curved upward. "I do know that you're smart, gutsy and humble. You could have told Perseus about my attitude, the problems we had before and during the HAHO, but you didn't." He drilled her with a look. She colored fiercely. "Why? You had every right to."

Gazing down at her wineglass, Pepper murmured, "Look, I had that stuff pulled on me all the time in the army, Jim. It got worse when I demanded to take Ranger training. Every man there, almost without exception, was just waiting to gig me on something, to report me, to show my weaknesses to the world. I know what it's like to be singled out, to be the underdog." She gazed into his dark, somber eyes and saw another, hard-to-define emotion that set her heart to beating harder in her breast. "It would have been different if you hadn't realized your mistakes. But you did. Why pour salt in your wounds? I knew you were hurting." The larger, more encompassing truth was that she had been hurting for him, too.

"Maybe that's the difference between a woman being in charge and a man."

Relieved that the talk was turning more toward professional generalities, Pepper sighed inwardly. "There are many differences between the genders," she agreed slowly, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. "I can tell you I don't treat my team of twenty the way I was treated in the army."

"Good leaders are rare, and you're one of them." Jim rubbed his jaw and said, "You made me feel ashamed of myself out there today, Pepper. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I'd been a first-class jerk to you from the moment we met." He sighed, then smiled tentatively. "I wanted you to come over tonight so I could tell you that. To say I'm sorry and mean it. I didn't want to say it at Perseus, where we might get interrupted." He couldn't explain away their kiss, though, and he didn't even try.

Pepper felt the heat in her cheeks again, but this time she didn't care. The dark green warmth in Jim's eyes was sincere, blanketing her with a wonderful range of emotions that made her feel so incredibly alive. How long had it been since she'd felt that wonderful rush through her heart, which made her take a long, unsteady breath? Too long. "I knew you were sorry, Jim. Thanks for having me over, but it wasn't necessary."

He slowly got up and moved toward the kitchen cabinets. "I disagree. When I got home this afternoon after the debriefing, I kept asking myself who is Pepper Sinclair? Where'd she get her nickname? Does she have another name? What about her personal life?" He brought down two china plates edged with gold and placed them on the table.

When he turned and met her steady gaze, Jim saw real anguish, combined with fear. Why?

Pepper sat very still beneath Jim's heated inspection. She was seeing another surprising facet to this unusual man. His voice had gone low and husky, and her heart responded powerfully to his gentle inquisition. "I don't know that any of that matters," she said defensively.

"It matters to me," he said. Pulling out a drawer, he chose some flatware and brought it over to the table. "Rangers and Recons have a lot in common. They work as teams, and I know you understand the importance of that. You can't be on a team for any amount of time without getting to know your buddies, warts and all. There's a kind of unspoken marriage that happens—a personal closeness that binds the team together." He straightened and looked into her uncertain gaze. "You know what I'm talking about." And she did. He knew she understood very clearly what he was saying and what he was asking from her. But would Pepper drop that invisible wall between her professional life and let him in? Jim believed that sort of melding would be absolutely necessary if they were to survive the coming mission. But was she willing?

The silence in the kitchen seemed deafening to Pepper. She watched as Jim drew a Yankee pot roast, replete with potatoes and carrots, from the oven. He said nothing further as he proceeded to make a thick, brown gravy. Part of her wanted to bow to his request. It wasn't an extraordinary one, under the circumstances. At 0300 they would make a high-risk jump over the island in complete darkness—a jump that amounted to "out of the frying pan, into the fire," given what awaited them on the ground. Jim was right: they had to establish that bond now, no matter how painful it was to her.

Although dinner was delicious, Pepper ate little. She began to appreciate Jim's social abilities as an officer when he kept up a steady stream of polite small talk during the meal. Inside, she felt wary, knowing that after dinner the polite talk would turn serious—and personal. Her decision never to become personally involved with a man again was under assault. Pepper reminded herself what was really important in her life: her family, her friends and her team. The only thing she knew of that could stop her from accomplishing her goals was a romantic relationship. For that very reason, she had to fight her alarming attraction to Jim in order to maintain her promise to herself.

"Let's go in the living room and have dessert," Jim suggested. Pepper had barely eaten anything on her plate. He'd felt the unmistakable tension in the kitchen after he let it be known he wanted to get to know her, the woman, not the smoke jumper. Oddly, the shoe was on the other foot, he thought, frowning as he cut two slices of freshly made cherry pie. Placing them on dessert plates, he took them into the living room.

His pet had already made himself comfortable on Pepper's lap when he came in, and he chuckled.

"Frank's got an unerring instinct about people who love cats." Jim handed Pepper the pie, fork and paper napkin. Sitting down on the couch less than a foot from her and the contented alley cat, he noted Pepper's wary expression. Could he blame her? "It's a good thing you left the army," he said slowly.

"Oh?"

"You don't hide your emotions very well." He gestured to her eyes. "You broadcast everything in them."

With a groan of desperation, Pepper continued to stroke the cat, setting her pie aside on a nearby lamp table. She wondered if the animal had sensed her trepidation and come over to assuage it. Cats and dogs were psychic in that sense, and Pepper was grateful for Frank's comforting presence and the excuse to do something with her hands. Jim was too close, and she felt trapped. Clearing her throat, she said, "I did find it a minus in my work in the army, but it's been a plus in my job as a team leader with the smoke jumpers. Maybe because I've got five other women on my team, and we're used to looking into one another's eyes and reading how we're feeling or what we're saying, on almost a telepathic level. Over time, the men have learned to communicate the same way." With a shrug, she added, "My team functions as one body, one brain. They've been with me two years or more…and we more or less grew up together out there in those forest fires. They're like my extended family." Smiling a little, she noted, "They are my other family."

"I see…." Jim noticed the softening in her eyes when she spoke about her team. Without thinking, he reached out and touched her hand—and saw the fear come back into her eyes. "We've got less than nine hours to develop that level of communication, Pepper. The mission we're going on could easily kill us. I want us to survive, and I know the mechanics of that kind of survival." He moved his hand back to his lap. "We need to talk about ourselves. Us."

Pepper's mouth went dry. Her skin tingled pleasantly where Jim had so briefly touched her hand. Despite her fears, a part of her wanted his continued touch. It had been so long. So long…"It's hard for me to just sit down and talk about myself."

Wryly, Jim said, "I can tell. How about if I go first?"

Pepper met his gaze and felt a kind of warmth she'd never encountered before. What magic was going on here? Was the inner Jim Woodward really so different from his Marine Corps image? "A-all right."

He set his dessert plate on the coffee table and placed his hands on his thighs. "I was born in Maryland—very near Annapolis, as a matter of fact. My father owned his own software company, and my mother enjoyed staying at home. I wanted to become an engineer like my dad, so I went to Ohio State, where they were known for excellence in that area. When I graduated, my dad convinced me to put in six years as an officer. He said his six-year hitch in the corps had served him well for the rest of his life.

"I agreed, and went into the Marine Corps, following his footsteps." With a grin, Jim said, "It turned out to be a career. I like my work. I prefer field assignments to sitting behind some officious desk at the Pentagon, but this is what I have to do right now to punch the ticket to get to general someday. Well, that's pretty much my background." He opened his hands and gave Pepper an encouraging smile. "How about yours?"

Her hands stilled on the gray-and-white tomcat in her lap. "Well…I was born in Montana. Actually, Cam came first—my brother. Our dad was a silver miner near Anaconda."

"And your mother?" Jim was curious about Pepper's role model. He couldn't imagine her mother as a woman satisfied with being a housewife and parent only.

Pepper grinned. "She was a real hell-raiser, born way before her time. Mom is a CPA—that's how she met my dad. She worked for the silver company that gave Dad his paycheck. He found a mistake on his check one time and went into the front office to find out who'd made the error. Mom told me later the sparks flew."

"I'll bet they did." Jim chuckled. He watched the way Pepper's eyes and face became animated as she spoke of her family. How easy it was for her to plug into her emotions. He envied her that ability.

"My mother is also a horsewoman, and she rides to this day. She was twenty-nine years old when she met my father, so she already had a pretty independent life established."

"You're a real Montana gal, aren't you?" Jim observed.

"I'm a Westerner not only by birth, but by heart, too," Pepper answered. She petted the cat fondly. "My mom was born in Anaconda, so I guess it's in my genes. My dad is a real outdoorsman, and he taught us to fish and hunt at an early age. I couldn't enjoy killing those beautiful animals, so I quit hunting and fishing and stuck to horseback riding. Cam loved hunting, though, so he always went with Dad. I will say this—my father and brother hunted and used the food. They never killed for sheer sport."

Jim realised how important that was to Pepper, and he found himself mesmerized by the graceful way she used her hands to punctuate her statements. Finally, he was becoming privy to the woman inside the confident smoke jumper. "What made you go into the army?"

"Dad asked me the same thing," Pepper said wryly. "Mom thought it was a great idea. She said the military would teach me discipline and organization. She was right—it did. But it taught me a lot more. When the army wouldn't let me attend Ranger graduation after I was the top student in my training group, I resigned my commission. I went back to Montana to find my roots and see if I couldn't give back to the land that had bred me, in some way."

"Why?" Jim asked quietly.

Startled, Pepper glanced up at him. In the shadows of the large room, his high cheekbones and square jaw seemed emphasized. She felt herself automatically acquiescing to his reassuring steadiness. "I guess…well, I've never really thought about it, but I love the wide-open, blue sky, the miles and miles you can go without seeing another person. It's serene, but at the same time teeming with wildness and beauty."

"Sort of like you?"

Shaken badly by his insight, Pepper frowned. "I don't know about that."

"I think I do," Jim said, settling back more comfortably against the couch cushions. "It sounds like your mother and father really supported your being all you could be, not caring that you were a girl."

She nodded. "My parents have always been way ahead of their time, that's true. Cam and I were raised in a pretty even-handed way in that sense. Not that I wanted to play football in high school or anything."

"But you didn't go out for cheerleader, either."

She laughed. "No, I didn't. I was with the band. I played saxophone for four years. And, since I had my own horse, Mom and I would compete in shows on weekends." Her hand stilled on the cat's back, and she said, "I had a happy childhood. I'm very close to my parents, and to Cam and his family."

Jim sensed the tension still stalking Pepper. "So how'd you get the name Pepper?" he teased, his mouth curving into a smile.

Flushing, she laughed. "Oh, that…well, I guess I was a pretty active baby. Mom told my father about five days after I was born that I was like a hot pepper bouncing around in the crib. I wouldn't lie still. I was always moving my legs or arms or rolling back and forth. So Pepper stuck."

"What's your given name?"

"Mary Susan." Pepper wrinkled her nose. "I can't imagine anyone calling me that, though. It sounds so foreign!"

Laughing, Jim shrugged. "It's not a bad name."

"I know," Pepper grumbled good-naturedly. "My mother named me Mary, after her mother, and my father named me after his mother, Susan. Go figure." Her laughter was husky. "However, I did know there was hell to pay whenever my mother or father used my given name instead of my nickname. That meant I was in big trouble."

Jim chuckled. Then he sobered a little and said in a quiet tone, "Cam's married, and it sounds as if you really dote on your family. How come you haven't married?"

It felt as if a spike had been driven through her heart. Pepper sat very still, wrestling with her unleashed emotions. Her hands rested on Frank, and she stared down at the animal. Finally, her tone strained, she said softly, "I was going to get married…but that was a long time ago. Or sometimes it seems like a long time ago. Then again, sometimes it seems like yesterday…."

Jim said nothing, holding his breath. He saw the anguish in Pepper's eyes and heard it clearly in her voice. Something tragic had occurred, there was no doubt. "Go on," he coaxed gently, "what happened?"

With a one-shouldered shrug, she whispered, "I met Captain John Freedman when I was in the army, six years ago. A lifetime ago…" Pepper raised her chin and stared blindly across the room, not really seeing it, lost in her past. "He was an incredible man. He didn't care if I was wearing a uniform. You know how a lot of men are—they see a woman in uniform and automatically write her off. Well, John didn't. I was wary of him, because I'd been hurt before by other officers, in a few attempts at relationships that ended badly. He was so patient. That was one of the many things I liked about him.

"John was a Ranger and head parachute instructor at the school. He taught me about parachuting, and pretty soon I was skydiving with him and his friends. I came to love jumping." She compressed her lips. "I came to love John." Pepper felt tears coming to her eyes and she self-consciously wiped them away. "He gloried in me, in who I was. I didn't have to play any games with him. I didn't have to fit into his idea of what a woman should be. He accepted me just as I was, without apology.

"We had known each other a good year, and we'd decided to get married. I wanted to marry a man who didn't hold a prejudice about women's roles. I knew…" Pepper swallowed against a lump forming in her throat. "I knew the kids we'd have would be raised in the same kind of environment Cam and I had been raised in. I was excited about life—about spending it with John and watching our kids unfold like unique flowers, watching them blossom…."

Pepper closed her eyes, pain making her voice hoarse. "Two days before the wedding, we went skiing with the army skydiving club. It was a celebration John's friends had arranged for us. He was a wonderful skier. He was good at anything he did, to tell you the truth. I'd skied all my life, being from Montana, and it was just one more thing we had in common." Pepper felt the lump in her throat hardening. Helplessly, she opened her eyes, her voice cracking. "He died on the slope that day in a freak accident. A broken neck. We—we were skiing together, and his left ski hit something under the snow. Later, we found out it was a rock. He fell and rolled. I went on, thinking he'd get right up again. When I looked back and saw him lying in the snow, I thought he was playing a joke on all of us, because he did that kind of thing." She stopped, struggling with her grief for a moment. "It was all so crazy. Crazy. I went back and saw his best friend, Steve, turn white with shock when he leaned down to see how he was. As I came up, Steve told me John was dead. I couldn't believe it. I stood there, frozen."

Pepper dragged her gaze to the ceiling and fought back tears. "I don't remember very much after that…." Anguish wrapped her in its persistent embrace. Pepper didn't tell Jim that since John's death, she'd made a decision never to fall in love again. She'd decided it simply wasn't worth the risk. She knew she couldn't survive a second such loss. The decision had been easy—born out of the fires of her grief. And she'd lived by her promise for six years, successfully sidestepping any romantic attachment—until now. Unable to explain why Jim touched her in that forbidden region of her heart, she felt confused and scared.

Jim groaned. Without thinking, he moved to her side and placed his arm around her tense shoulders. Her pain was mirrored in every aspect of her face and lovely, tear-filled eyes. He couldn't stand to see her suffer this way and wanted somehow, to soothe her. This time, his embrace wasn't one of passion, but one born of a need to help her. He saw the desolation in her eyes as she looked at him. "I'm sorry, Pepper. Really sorry."

She sat with her hands pressed to her face, bent over but not crying. He felt the grief in her taut muscles, in the way she held back the tears. Again following his instincts, he lightly caressed her thick, silky hair. He wanted to do more. Much more. Fighting to keep his touch light and comforting, he rasped, "At least you got to know what love is about. You had some time with him."

Pepper felt Jim's hand on her hair, appreciated the tenderness of his touch. She hadn't believed he was capable of such a thing. Blinking, she took in his serious, shadowed features through eyes filled with tears. Jim continued to surprise her with his humanity, his range of emotions and his willingness to share them with her. When he removed his arm from around her shoulders, she felt bereft. Alone. For a moment, she had experienced that wonderful sense of togetherness that only a man and a woman could forge between themselves. She and John had had that once.

She studied Jim in the silence, memorizing each nuance of his features, from his dark tormented eyes to his compressed lips and the softening lines in his face. She wanted to say, Who are you? Why is there such a chasm between your officer image and this Jim Woodward? Which is the real man? Whatever the truth, Pepper knew she didn't dare open up to him the way her wayward body and emotions were pleading for her to do. She couldn't afford the gift he was offering her. The price was too high, as she knew from bitter experience.

It took her long moments to pull back from her own grief and realize what Jim had just admitted to her. She saw the agony in his green eyes and found it unbelievable he'd never loved a woman.

"I don't understand," she said brokenly. "You must have loved before."

"Not like you have," he admitted, staring down at his clasped hands, resting between his thighs. "I envy what you had with John."

"You can't be serious. Surely there's been a woman in your life."

"Oh, there have been women, but not at the level of what you had with your fiancé." Jim saw such sadness in her expression at his words that it tore at him. In that moment, he realized Pepper had never truly gotten over John. He found himself unexpectedly wishing he could evoke that much emotion in her—and knowing it could never be.

It didn't make sense. Pepper sat silently for a long time. "You come across different than you really are," she said finally.

Jim angled a look in her direction. "What do you mean?"

"When I first met you, Jim, you were hard and cold. I didn't like you much." She lowered her lashes, her voice tight with hurt. "I know you didn't like me, either."

"And I was wrong," Jim rasped. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Pepper."

"I'm not asking for an apology. I know you've changed your mind." She grimaced. "It's just that I see such a difference in you now from when I met you. You're like two different people." She had to bite back the words: And I like the man I'm with now. But was he the real Jim? There wasn't time to analyze it, so she went on. "I know a lot of people wear a facade, a social mask. I have a friend like you. He's a pretty vulnerable man, but he pro tects his vulnerability by putting up this tough exterior. When Joe first joined our team, I had real problems with him, until a crisis occurred. Then he dropped those barriers, and I could reach inside and touch the real person. After that, we became good friends, and he never put up that barrier again toward any of us."

"Maybe I'm the same way," Jim murmured. "I don't know. I don't spend a lot of time analyzing myself." He shrugged. "Maybe I should."

"The military doesn't encourage that kind of thing," Pepper said with disgust. "They mold you into little mannequins trained to march, act and react the same way. I do understand how that can affect you, Jim. It's tough for me to believe you haven't ever fallen in love, though."

"Maybe I have and didn't realize it."

Pepper frowned, considering. She gave him an assessing look. "What about Laura Trayhern? When I was in your office, I noticed the picture of her was the only really personal one you had on the wall."

"Laura?" Jim straightened. "She's always been special to me."

"Yes, but did you date her before she married Morgan?"

"Oh, a few times." He stood up and jammed his hands in the pockets of his pants, frowning.

"You said she's special to you. In what way?"

With a shrug, Jim walked around the coffee table. "I don't know…I never thought much about it, to tell you the truth." He turned and gave her a slight smile. "Laura is…well, you know…"

"No, I don't know. Put it in words for me, Jim."

"She's just special." He frowned, thinking. "You want an example? Well, when she'd come into my office at the archives, I would feel better, happier. Not that Laura singled me out, or anything like that, for a long time. She was like this bright ray of sunshine down in that dark hole. Everyone in the archives responded to her.

"I admired Laura because she had beauty and brains—and she also had moxie. She was a go-getter, and she had the endurance to see whatever research project she was working through to the end. My office was at the entrance to the archives, and I enjoyed hearing her laugh whenever one of the staff told a joke. She was like a breath of fresh air in my life, that's all I can tell you."

"And how long did you know her?"

"Two years. Before Morgan turned up, I'd been taking Laura out some. They weren't official dates, but she'd happen to be leaving the archives at lunchtime when I was going, and I'd invite her along. Things like that." He shook his head, lost in memories. "She is just an incredible person, that's all." He omitted the fact that they'd kissed once—a kiss he recalled as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.

Pepper studied his expression, her heart squeezing with realization. Jim was in love with Laura. Didn't he know that?

Chapter Five

"Perhaps," Pepper ventured cautiously, "you care for her more than you realized."

Jim gawked at her. "What?" The word came out strangled, filled with shock.

"Maybe that's why this mission is so hard on you. I mean, it's understandable," she went on in a quiet voice.

"Wait a minute." He held up his hand. "You're wrong." But was she? Jim wasn't so sure anymore. He wanted to dismiss her words but an unexpected catch in his heart told him to look more closely at her observation.

"I don't think so," Pepper said, noting the confusion in his eyes. She did believe that Jim had never been consciously in touch with the fact that he loved Laura. She had met men like that before—so divorced from their feelings that they hadn't a clue about what was really happening deep within them. If Morgan hadn't come along so suddenly, Jim's love for Laura might well have surfaced in time. Not everyone closely tuned in to what their heart wanted—men and women included—and Pepper accepted that.

Sitting down on the couch again, Jim quickly reviewed his past with Laura. "She's been married for seven years and I see her only infrequently at the Pentagon. She still comes by occasionally to use the archives, and we're still friends, but—" he looked up at Pepper "—that's all."

Pepper didn't believe him for a moment. His tone of voice changed every time he spoke Laura's name or shared something about the extraordinary woman. Why was she feeling suddenly bereft, then? Pepper didn't know. "At first I didn't realize I loved John, either. It just sort of grew out of our friendship over a long period of time," she offered lamely. "Since he died, I've had a lot of time to think about our relationship." She opened her long, thin hands. "I was overly focused on my career—I wasn't looking for love or a relationship. I did plan to have a family, but much later, when I'd achieved my goals in the army."

Jim propped his elbows on his knees, with his chin resting in his clasped hands. "About the time I met Laura, I was in high gear careerwise, too. It was my first assignment to the Pentagon, and I knew I was being watched closely by the upper echelon. I was basically blind, deaf and dumb to anything outside what was necessary to keep my career on the fast track." He gave Pepper a curious look, noting how the room's shadows softened her face, making her even more beautiful. She had great depth, he was realizing, and from the grief still visible in her gaze, he began to understand what it had cost her to come clean with him about the love of her life.

"I've certainly never been in love to the depth you were with John."

"It's been hell," Pepper admitted. "The experience taught me a special sort of euphoria. But with him no longer around, I've been lonely in a way I never knew could happen."

With a soft snort, Jim rose and put his hands in his pockets. "My parents had the kind of love I want."

"Oh?" Pepper wondered if Jim was at all aware of his magnetism, of the way his natural strength and confidence coupled with this surprising tender side acted as a beacon to her. Surely other women had been privileged to know this side of him. If she believed what he was saying—that he had never, truly fallen in love—then she had to recognize the importance of this moment with him. If he didn't show this side of himself to others, why was he revealing it to her? Shaken by the possibilities, Pepper sat very still. It was automatic for her to embrace what was in her heart as well as what her mind told her; to separate them was folly. On the other hand, she had to be careful not to act on those feelings—if it might signal the risk of a potentially romantic relationship.

She knew it was often easier for men to separate their emotions from rational thought—and not even acknowledge the danger. From the moment she'd met Jim Woodward, he'd called to her heart—against her head's warnings—which could be why his aloofness and negativity toward her had cut so deeply, hurting her much more than it should have. She studied his thoughtful face and wondered again why he was revealing this very private side of himself to her. Could his love for Laura have forced him into the position? In her heart, Pepper had to believe he still loved the woman. It explained why he had barged into the Perseus offices and demanded to take the mission. And it also might explain his violent stand against Pepper coming along on the mission. Love made people do crazy things, she knew from experience. It wasn't out of the range of possibility that Jim subconsciously saw himself as the white knight coming to rescue the damsel he loved. And he didn't want any help in doing it, perhaps to prove to Laura once and for all that he was a man worth loving, a man willing to risk his life for her.

Jim continued thinking about his parents' marriage. "It was silly things, I guess," he said finally with a short laugh. Giving Pepper an embarrassed look, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened it. "Things like sharing a cup of coffee at the dinner table after we kids left to play. Sometimes my dad would take my mother's hand and stroll down the street in the evening, just before dark." His voice lowered with feeling. "I always knew they loved each other. My dad didn't show affection easily, but in those small ways, he showed he loved my mother very much."

"I think most men, even of this latest generation, are still struggling with showing their feelings."

"It seems to come so much more naturally to women," Jim agreed.

"It's natural because we were never taught, as boys are, that it's wrong to show our emotions. You men are the ones who get it in the neck, so to speak. You're taught it's not masculine to cry, to reach out, to touch and express. What a sad thing society has done to you. And everyone suffers for it."

With a grimace, he nodded. "I won't argue with you."

"Maybe that's why you were so slow to let Laura into your life," Pepper suggested gently.

"Maybe," Jim agreed, with a slight shake of his head. He held Pepper's velvet blue gaze. Did she realize how beautiful she was? He almost voiced his feeling, but thought better of it. Her dark hair was free and soft around her face, lighted with golden strands. He recalled touching that silken mass and found himself wanting to touch it—and her—again. Her mouth showed such vulnerability, its soft fullness always pulled into an expression that underscored how she was feeling. Jim liked discovering that about her. She might be a woman of extraordinary talents, but under it all, she was gloriously feminine and had never abandoned her heart or her feelings.

"You know," he murmured, "you're a lot like Laura, in some ways."

Pepper's chest squeezed in pain. She didn't want to be compared to her, because she knew she could never live up to the image Jim held of the other woman. "I don't think Laura and I share much in common."

His mouth curved ruefully. "More than you realize."

A warmth cascaded through Pepper as she stared up at him in surprise. Laura was ultrafeminine and delicate. In comparison, she was plain and gangly, far from the ethereal beauty Laura was. Her heart wanted to embrace Jim's statement, but her mind and the decision she'd made after John's death stopped her. She glanced down at her hands, at her practical, blunt-cut nails. She never wore fingernail polish or earrings. Nor did her job allow for dresses, perfume or many of the smaller appointments that, in her mind, made a woman feminine.

Jim saw her frown. "You both possess an inner strength. You're passionate about what you believe in. Laura was passionate about helping Morgan after she was injured and he rescued her. She saw through him, somehow, to the man beneath the armor." He shook his head. "I certainly didn't. When I met him for the first time, all I wanted to do was pick a fight with him." His voice grew gentler. "You both live, breathe and move through your emotional instincts." His mouthed twisted in a sad smile. "I find that commendable. Courageous." He touched his own chest. "If I tried that, I'd be laughed out of the corps."

"Laura put you in touch with your heart, maybe for the first time," Pepper pointed out, even though it was painful to admit that truth. She saw Jim's mouth curve more deeply in response.

"Yes, I guess she did. Laura always has had a way of making the men in her life take responsibility for how they felt—even when we didn't know what we were feeling in the first place." He eased onto an overstuffed chair opposite Pepper. Her long skirt added to her naturally graceful appearance, and he liked the way she slowly stroked Frank's gray-and-white fur. What would it be like to be stroked by those long, narrow hands—hands that had saved his life with their inherent strength just this morning?

Jim's mind gyrated forward to the mission. Pepper could be killed. The thought was pulverizing to him, and he stared at her hard, noting the shadows that lovingly emphasized her features. Her lashes, he realized, were thick and long, while her eyebrows reminded him of gently arched bird wings. The combination gave such startling definition to her soulful eyes that Jim felt as if he could get lost in them forever. Something was always going on in Pepper's eyes, in a way he'd never experienced with another woman. Her eyes broadcast her emotions so clearly that it aroused a powerful response in him.

For a split second out of time, he knew that Laura could die, too. The overwhelming emotions that came with that flash of awareness rocked through him, a vivid reminder of his own equally fragile hold on life. This mission could kill all of them. Easily. He struggled internally to reject that knowledge, but his military mind and training coldly confirmed the possibility.

His focus returned to Pepper, who appeared lost in thought. She might never find love again, he realized sadly. Her heart was still in John Freedman's hands, even though he was dead. After this mission, provided they survived, Jim would never hear Pepper's husky laughter again or see that wonderful bevy of emotions mirrored in her eyes. She was rare, he realized—a rare woman who had the courage to make of her life exactly what she wanted. If life told her no, she went in another compatible direction, reweaving the fabric of her goals and continuing to move toward her heart's desire.

Looking back at himself, Jim gave an internal, derisive laugh. He'd merely had to punch the military system's ticket to get what he wanted. He'd never been told no, as Pepper had. All he'd had to do was play the game the way he was told, and the next rank would follow. Oddly, his successes didn't fill him with the kind of satisfaction he was sure Pepper experienced over her many battles, wins and losses. She might have had doors slammed in her face, but she'd never let it defeat her.

If there was anyone he'd choose for a mission this dangerous, he had to admit, it would be Pepper. She wasn't a killer, but that wasn't what was needed here. Her brains, flexibility and unique ability to turn a setback into a success would come in very handy. Jim knew he provided certain strengths to the mission, but Pepper's input and observations would be easily as valuable as his own.

But despite his discovered faith in her, he couldn't stop worrying about the chance of Pepper dying. His heart lurched violently in his chest at the thought. Much as he would like to deny it, the possibility was real. A maelstrom of feelings rose sharply in him, encircling his heart. Pepper was murmuring soothingly to the cat, her head bent over him, her mouth curved in a soft smile. For a moment, Jim enjoyed watching her, then, unexpectedly, Laura's face shimmered before him. Where had that come from?

Rubbing his chest, he rose suddenly. He excused himself abruptly and went into the kitchen, wrestling with a gamut of unexpected emotions. Placing his hands on the sink, he looked out the window over the sparkling neighborhood lights of Georgetown. The porcelain sink was cool against his damp palms. His heart wouldn't settle down. Maybe Pepper was right, after all, about his feelings for Laura. Did they go beyond mere loyalty and friendship? At the same time, his response to Pepper was new, something he'd never encountered—even with Laura. But maybe that was why he hadn't fallen in love during all these years—because his heart was still in Laura's hands. He frowned. The only way he could think to find out once and for all how he felt about Laura was to see her again. He knew it was wrong to love another man's wife—and he was very aware of how deeply Laura loved Morgan. He'd seen for himself the reality of what existed between the couple. So where did that leave him and this confusion of emotions squeezing at his heart?

Grimly, Jim studied his hands, still resting on the sink. Pepper's insight had blown the lid off something he'd been carrying around for years but had never realized until now. He'd never really considered his feelings for Laura. At first, he'd been too busy chasing his career up out of the depths of the archives. Then, when he'd realized Laura was drawn to Morgan, he'd slammed the lid down on whatever emotions he'd had.

With a shake of his head, he sighed. Morgan might already be dead. Laura could be a widow. Would he want to step in and try to start afresh with her? There were no easy answers. Yet his response to Pepper was wildly spontaneous and breathtaking, and Jim had never felt more uncertain in his life. What was real? What were mere idealistic dreams that would never be fulfilled?

The discovery of his chaotic feelings was painful, yet strangely euphoric. Somehow, subconsciously, he thought, he'd been looking all his life for a woman who possessed Pepper's unique combination of qualities. She was completely comfortable with who and what she was—and was not. No, she wasn't a magazine-model beauty. And maybe she wasn't beautiful in the same way Laura was, but that didn't matter. He pictured his mother. She'd been a strong, quiet woman with a deep passion for life—much like Pepper. Above all, Jim realized, he wanted people in his life who had commitment—as he did. Pepper's commitment to herself was mind-boggling in the sense of how much she'd accomplished in face of sometimes severe opposition. Fleetingly, he recalled that his mother, who'd had artistic leanings, had been refused schooling at a college where she'd wanted to take art courses, because her high school grades had been too low.

Closing his eyes, Jim went back to that time. He'd been ten years old, far too young to understand his mother's tears as she'd told his father that the college had turned her down. Jim recalled crying that evening in his bedroom, alone and unseen. He'd cried for his mother—for her dream being shattered by an unfeeling institution that looked at grades rather than the quality of her talent. From that day forward, he remembered, his mother had changed in subtle ways. She had never again tried to draw. She had put her box of paints away in the attic, never to retrieve them.

Releasing a ragged sigh, Jim opened his eyes and stared blindly out at the city lights. He felt anger at the insensitivity of the college's treatment of his mother. Pepper, too, had her passion for life, but she'd somehow managed to sidestep that awful trap of failure. He smiled at the thought. Pepper came from a younger generation of women, who had been told it was all right to fight back, to fight for their dreams.

A sizzling sort of electricity moved through him. It was a feeling he'd never experienced with Laura, and he knew it had to do with Pepper. He liked her more than a little, despite the small amount of time they'd shared. Their bonding had occurred through a life-and-death situation, Jim realized, and that kind of connection was soul deep, transcending time and space. He'd learned that in Desert Storm, Panama and Grenada, where he'd felt that same bonding with the marines he commanded.

Pepper, despite his poor treatment of her up to that point, had saved his miserable life out there in the sky. She'd reached beyond the hurt he'd delivered, wrapped her strong hands around his arms and held him. She hadn't let his pettiness stand in the way of risking her life to save his. Yet even as he savored his feelings for Pepper, Jim's heart cried out for Laura, for what might have been and could be in an uncertain future.

"Damn…" he rasped, straightening. He glanced toward the living room. Turbulent emotions soared through him as he digested what Pepper quickly was coming to mean to him. And at 0300 tomorrow morning, she could die. She could miss the island and, with sixty pounds of gear on her back, drown in the ocean. She could hit a tree and be fatally gored. A bullet could find her, or one of those dogs could tear her apart. Worst of all, she could fall into Garcia's hands as his prisoner. And Jim knew what the drug lord did to women. Sickened, he turned, his stomach rolling with nausea. It was heinous enough that Garcia had Laura; it was unthinkable that Pepper could fall prey to the sick bastard, too.

"Jim?"

Pepper's voice was soft. Questioning.

He turned abruptly on his heel. "I haven't been a very good host," he said, more gruffly than he intended because she'd surprised him.

Reeling from the sudden hardness in Jim's tone, Pepper stepped back from the kitchen entrance. The old Jim Woodward—the hard, unfeeling marine she'd first met—was back. Part of her was relieved. With Jim in this mode, it was easy to respond to him on a strictly professional basis. Anything beyond that was too dangerous for her to contemplate, anyway, she reminded herself. Gathering her thoughts, she said, "I'm tired. I'm going to try to get some sleep before we meet over at Andrews at 0130."

Cursing himself, Jim started toward Pepper. He saw the quizzical look in her eyes—and the pain. He'd hurt her again. Scrambling for a way to apologize, but not knowing how to go about it, he followed her to the door. He retrieved her coat from the closet and helped her on with it.

"Thanks for dinner," Pepper said woodenly, suddenly drained by all the events of this very long day. She was an emotional wreck. As she slung her purse over her shoulder, she saw anguish in Jim's eyes and had no idea what was going on inside of him. Had it been something she'd said? But what? She had no idea.

"I'll see you later," Jim rasped, opening the door for her. It was the last thing he wanted to do—let Pepper out of his sight. He was consumed by gnawing hunger to ask her a hundred different questions about herself, about her growing-up years and her family.

Stung by Jim's inexplicable withdrawal, Pepper stepped out onto the sidewalk leading to the curb, where her rental car was parked. The November air was icy cold—but nothing like the chill that enveloped her insides. As she pulled on her gloves and walked quickly to the car, her chest began to ache. Dammit, she liked Jim! At least her silly heart did, she chided herself, as she slid onto the cold vinyl seat and shut the door. The street was well lighted and lined with trees, their bare branches lifting skyward into the darkness. Wind stirred the dried leaves along the curb and sidewalk.

Pepper started the car and drove slowly down the street. Why had Jim left her alone in the living room so long? She grimaced. Even if it had been something she'd said or done, he hadn't needed to disappear like that. He was a mature adult. He at least could have stayed and made small talk. The Marine Corps drilled officers on small talk for social occasions, Pepper knew, but Jim hadn't been willing to do even that much. Frowning, she made a turn that would take her to her nearby hotel.

Why had he turned so gruff? He'd been accessible, then ten minutes later, he'd been closed off. Perhaps, she ruminated, he had got in touch with the fact that he still loved Laura Trayhern. Bothered, Pepper wondered how or if that knowledge would affect his performance on the mission. It had to affect him. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, he was human, and dammit, he had feelings.

Angered, Pepper drove to the hotel and went directly to her room. After a long, hot shower, she slipped into her cozy flannel nightgown, which fell to her ankles. Going to bed was the easy part. Going to sleep was another story. Her mind swung from the manuals to the HAHO, to Jim and John. Every time her heart touched on Jim, she became a mass of vibrant feelings. Frustrated, Pepper got up and started to read another manual to distract herself from the thought of Jim Woodward, but even that didn't work. Finally, she started pacing her hotel room.

Jim still loved Laura; Pepper was sure of it. Desperately, despite her roiling response to the idea, she wanted it to be true. She couldn't dare risk true love again, so it was just as well that Jim was otherwise involved. As the clock ticked toward one a.m., she tiredly rubbed her smarting eyes. She should have tried to sleep, not think. Her mind was spinning with data to remember—radio codes, satcom codes, what to do if they got separated. What to do if she was captured. That last thought scared the hell out of her. Pepper didn't want to die. At the last moment, she wrote a letter to her parents—just in case. Then she wrote a letter to Jim, too. She tucked both of them away in her purse, which she would be leaving behind at Perseus, along with the rest of her luggage. If she died, her personal effects would be gone through and the letters delivered.

The seriousness of the mission impinged upon her more than ever as she slowly pulled off her nightgown and began to dress in striped utilities that the Marine Corps had provided. She could die tonight—in a variety of ways. Even so, Pepper found herself repulsed at having to carry weapons. She didn't want to kill anyone. It simply wasn't in her. And she might have to. She pulled on thick, dark green socks as she explored her feelings. Even as a child, she hadn't wanted to shoot deer or catch trout with sharp hooks. Some of her passion for smoke jumping came from her role in stopping the destructive fires that inevitably killed the wildlife in their paths.

Pepper knew she'd be hard-pressed to squeeze a trigger to kill someone. She didn't doubt Jim would do it—probably because his survival instincts were more sharply honed. But despite her hitch in the army and getting through Ranger school, she was less than sure about her ability to take a life—even in her own defense. Pepper shook her head. Why was she taking this mission? Wolf had told her about Laura and Morgan. She liked Wolf and knew he was a man of honor. If he wanted her help, she didn't question it. Wolf was like part of her extended family, and if he needed her, she'd be there.

Pepper decided that her morals and values were terribly confused. On one hand, she'd dive into life-threatening danger at the blink of an eye, yet she was loath to pull a trigger to kill another person—even one intent on killing her. Go figure. Well, it was too late to change her mind, although these weren't really second thoughts. Her heart centered on Jim, and Pepper knew unequivocally that she was a balance to him and the skills he brought to the mission. He wasn't a killer, either, but he would kill in self-defense—although she believed that if he had to, he'd regret it.

As she pulled her thick, shoulder-length hair up and back into a ponytail, Pepper looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. What a contrast, she thought. Her big, blue eyes didn't seem suited to the military uniform she wore. She looked vulnerable, not tough and soldierly. Maybe that was what Jim was concerned about.

Sighing, she realized that she had no answers to the various dilemmas she faced. A part of her liked Jim and was glad to be there for him on this mission. Another part was willing to do what was necessary to rescue Laura Trayhern. And part of her didn't want to go at all—because of Jim, who stirred the coals of life brightly within her. Somehow the danger he presented to her very soul seemed to outweigh the many external threats.

By the time Pepper arrived at Andrews Air Force Base, she was a mass of nerves. Wolf drove her there, his face set and hard. He said little on the way, and as Pepper stepped out of the vehicle and toward a small office inside a hangar, the tension was electric. There, squinting in the bright lights, an Air Force team met her and began helping her into her parachuting gear. Pepper felt as if she were in a surreal movie. Where was Jim? Four people worked with her, saying little, the strain obvious in all of their faces. In half an hour, she and Jim would board the C-130 that would take them across the Gulf of Mexico to the Caribbean for the drop.

Wolf remained nearby, and Pepper felt reassured by his presence. The pack she would carry on her back was loaded with ammunition and weapons. Pepper made sure that her knife was situated, as always, on the front of her harness, with easy access, though she hoped this time she wouldn't be cutting away shroud lines.

The door opened. Jim, already in his tiger utilities, appeared in the doorway. His face was grim, his eyes hard. Pepper swallowed convulsively, suddenly wondering if she really ought to go on this mission. She could die. Jim could die. The thoughts shook her, and as she held Jim's glittering gaze, Pepper felt his raw, boiling emotions. Though he hadn't said or done anything, she experienced his feelings as if they were her own. What was going on? Had she suddenly become psychic?

Pepper acknowledged that during critical fire situations, her intuitive abilities were nearly clairvoyant, probably because of the adrenaline, which automatically heightened everyone's senses. She watched Jim skirt her to talk in low tones to Wolf, who stood, arms crossed, listening intently.

Jim was ignoring her—again. She felt hurt as well as relief wind through her as she turned toward the two men. Her talk with Jim earlier tonight—their unexpected intimacy—had been wrong, she realized, as she followed the jump master out to a waiting vehicle that would take them to the C-130 warming up on the runway.

"Pepper?" Wolf reached out, his hand wrapping around her arm to halt her forward progress.

They stood on the tarmac, the light from the hangar casting eerie shadows across the huge base. Pepper looked up into Wolf's face and saw the worry in his eyes. "I'll be fine, Wolf. Stop worrying." She gripped his hand.

"Just be careful," he growled. "Sarah won't forgive me if you don't come back."

She nodded somberly. "I know." Sarah was her best friend, and Pepper knew how much Wolf loved her. "I'll be back."

He reluctantly released her hand. "I'll be praying."

Pepper smiled weakly and waved goodbye to him and to the uniformed men and women standing around him. She found herself walking next to Jim, who seemed to appear out of the darkness. His profile was sharp. His eyes revealed nothing. Most of all, she saw the forbidding set of his mouth—a single line. Swallowing against a dry throat, Pepper climbed into the vehicle. The doors slammed and they lurched forward, gears grinding.

Darkness closed in around them, except for the dull glow of the dashboard lights. Pepper sat in the back seat, alone. She felt horribly deserted. If only Jim hadn't retreated so far inside himself. She knew that certain members of her team reacted like that before a jump. Still, she wished for some friendly sign from him, some humanity.

The C-130's engines were whining, the four turboprops spinning and invisible in the night. Jim and Pepper boarded through the rear ramp, and she hauled her gear on board, taking a seat next to the jump master, a grizzled-looking sergeant in his mid-forties. The load master, a woman sergeant, gave the signal, and the ramp began to come up, the sound of clashing metal echoing through the cargo plane's cavernous hull. Soon the inside of the aircraft was dark, the gloom broken only by a few small lights.

Jim had sat opposite Pepper, on the other side of the aircraft. He wouldn't look at her, she noticed. Instead, he fiddled with his pack, going through last-minute checks on various items. His movements were sure, brisk and economical. He knew what he was doing. He'd done this many times before—and she hadn't.

Squelching the urge to go over her own pack again, Pepper sat quietly. The C-130's engine whined at a much-higher pitch, and the aircraft began trundling awkwardly down the runway toward the takeoff point. The vibrations went through her, launching the faint smell of hot oil and metal. The human element was lacking in this mission, she realized. The weapons were cold steel. The plane was metal. Even the air crew with the C-130 seemed stoic and robotlike. At the moment only Pepper and her rising internal panic seemed frighteningly soft and human.

Her palms were wet, and she rubbed them against the fabric on her thighs. Her heart wouldn't settle down. Every time she thought of the coming HAHO, and all the possible problems, she broke out in a sweat. This time, if Jim's chute didn't open, she wouldn't see it. The darkness would mask the view of a partner plummeting to certain death. So many harrowing possibilities ran through Pepper's head. What she wanted, what she needed, was Jim's closeness. She tried to reassure herself that her need to be close to Jim and feel his touch was a normal desire she always had before a risky jump—a way to know she was connected to the rest of her team. Still, her stomach tightened, and an odd tingling at the base of her spine as she looked at his strong, reclining figure, scared her more than she wanted to admit. Maybe she should be thankful Jim had shut himself off from her, she thought suddenly, dashing fiercely at unexpected tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She was alone in this mission, as she ultimately was in life. She had her family and friends and that was enough—more than enough. She sat up a little straighter in her seat.

As the C-130 rumbled through the air toward Nevis, Pepper thought about her past. While the hours passed, she was able to review her entire life to date—the good experiences and the bad. All of them had been instructive in some way, and she was grateful to realize that. As she continued to sit on the vibrating seat, tired but wide awake, her hands in her lap, she was glad she'd left her parents that letter.

And Jim…She stole a glance through the gloom. He was lying down, his back to her, curled up on some nylon seats across the aisle. Pepper admired the possibility that he might be able to sleep so close to a jump. She couldn't. She thought again of their dinner together and realized just how much she'd come to like him. That brief moment where he'd been human, warm, even tender with her, had shown her the real man beneath his harsh military facade. Her heart cried out at the injustice of it all. But he was in love with Laura. That's why he'd separated from her, kept his distance. His mind and heart were focused on Laura's rescue—not on what might be frightening Pepper, what her needs might be.

Pepper understood those things without bitterness. Surely she was old enough, wise enough, to allow people to be themselves. Although she might not agree with Jim's behavior, especially under the circumstances, she wasn't going to try to change it—or him. But didn't he realize she was scared, too? That she might need a brief touch on the shoulder, a slight smile or sign from him? Wolf had given her that before they'd left. But then, Wolf was different from Jim. He'd been through the fires of hell with Sarah, Pepper knew, and she had brought him out of his own closed world.

Feeling sad as never before, Pepper decided she would lie down, too. She stretched out on a row of uncomfortable nylon seats, her arm beneath her cheek, and closed her eyes. Exhaustion swept over her. Too much had happened too quickly. As much as her mind counseled against it, her heart ached with the pain of Jim's reproach. Her feelings toward him were good and true and strong—yet he pushed those genuine emotions away. Because he loved Laura.

Pepper shifted, trying to shut out the overwhelming noise of a C-130 in flight, and to ignore the bone-jarring vibrations. She could die, and Jim would never know what lay in her heart. Tears matted her lashes, and she struggled to hold them back. Even as she fought her rampant emotions, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Chapter Six

A hand gripped Jim's shoulder. Instantly, he was awake. The jump master leaned over and said, "It's time to get ready, sir."

Shaking off the much-needed sleep, Jim nodded and moved into a sitting position on the nylon seats. Removing the black covering from his watch, he saw that it was 0200. They'd be over the target in an hour.

Automatically, his gaze ranged through the gloom. The jump master must have sensed his worry, because he leaned down again. "She's been sleeping almost as long as you have, sir. Shall I wake her?"

"No, I'll do it."

"Yes, sir."

Jim took the can that contained the colors they would use to darken their faces before the jump. His heart twisted in his chest as he drew closer to where Pepper slept. Her long body was tucked along four of the nylon seats, her hand beneath her cheek. She looked angelic, her lips softly parted, her hair in mild disarray around her serene face. He felt guilty at the thought after his concerted effort to remain apart from her during the flight.

As he knelt down, one hand gripping the nylon for support as the aircraft bumped along, he had a wild, nearly uncontainable urge to reach out and touch her hair. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that the jump master was probably watching him. Instead, Jim settled his hand firmly on her shoulder and squeezed just enough to waken her.

Pepper felt a strong, warm hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open. She blinked, thinking she was dreaming. Jim was kneeling over her, a concerned, unguarded look on his face. His eyes were shadowed, but they burned with a fire she felt go through her as surely as morning sunlight after a cold Montana night. No longer was he hard and unapproachable. No, this man was the one she was helplessly drawn to, against her better judgment.

She savored the feel of his hand on her shoulder and the strength and care it conveyed. When Pepper realized she hadn't moved, but had only stared up into his eyes like a child for that long, undiluted moment, she made an effort to sit up. Her hair fell in tangles about her face, and she used her fingers to tame it into some semblance of order. Jim's nearness was agony. He had removed his hand, but not himself. Why not?

Confused, she looked at him.

"It's time to get ready," he said. He handed her the can containing black, green and tan coloring agents. "Cover your face, neck, hands and lower arms," he explained, then forced himself to get up before he did something crazy like kiss her senseless.

As he rose to his feet, Jim knew he should return to his side of the aircraft, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he settled a chair away from Pepper and used her open tin to start camouflaging his own face. Covertly, he watched as she slowly applied the greasepaint to her lovely features. When they jumped, they would be completely invisible to anyone on the ground.

As he sat, absorbing the din and heavy vibration of the aircraft, Jim was surprised at how much Pepper meant to him. It was all so crazy, he decided in frustration. He continued applying the greasepaint to the exposed skin of his hands and forearms, wishing himself anywhere but here. Without question, he wanted to rescue Laura, but his heart longed for anything but the danger he knew they would be parachuting into. He'd had no time to talk to Pepper, to share his chaotic feelings, which were as surprising to him as he was sure they would be to her. Just as their kiss had been….

With a slight shake of his head, he finished smearing on the agent, feeling completely at loose ends. One part of him, the warrior, was focused on the mission to rescue Laura. But the man in him was torn between Laura and Pepper. Pepper was like a delicious, mysterious flower that had yet to open in his presence—a rare, beautiful orchid hidden deep in the jungles of the Amazon, waiting to be discovered, to be touched, to be loved.

Loved? Jim got to his feet, unable to stand being so near her. He was going to end up doing something foolish and embarrassing if he didn't move. Such a large part of him wanted to get to know her—all of her, on all levels. As he made his way back across the belly of the aircraft to the seats against the other wall, Jim realized he had to rise above his personal dilemma and focus on the mission. He needed to rescue Laura and find out just what she really meant to him.

No woman in his life had stunned him as Pepper had. Not that she'd meant to. No, he'd seen with painful clarity just how much she'd loved Captain John Freedman. He couldn't talk openly to people. He didn't possess those magical qualities that held Pepper in thrall.

Sitting down, his mouth grim, he began putting on his gear, plus the elastic joint protectors Pepper had brought along for them, with the help of the load master. Angrily, Jim forced his focus to the business at hand, but every once in a while he stole a look across the aircraft to where Pepper was being helped with her own gear. He saw the strain on her face and the fear in her eyes. That was a healthy sign. Beneath his own emotional state, he felt that same fear and trepidation. But his mind and heart were centered on Laura and Pepper.

Life was so screwed up, he decided disgustedly as he shrugged on the sixty-pound pack containing his two parachutes and everything else he'd need for the mission. Pepper had walked into his life, sent him reeling emotionally, but her heart was still trapped in the past—just as his apparently was. He had no time to savor her and discover her. Instead, they had a mission staring them in the face, and either, or both of them could die at any point. Never had Jim felt the surge of anger he felt now. How unfair life was. How damned unfair to all of them.

Compressing his lips, he thanked the load master and adjusted his headset.

"Pepper?" he said, trying it out.

Instantly, her head jerked up. "Yes?"

"You hear me okay?" Jim was barely whispering into the mike placed against his lips. Her husky voice sent a wave of need through him, one so excruciating that he had to take a deep breath to steady himself.

"Y-yes. Fine."

Jim heard the fear in her voice. Without thinking, he crossed the cargo plane to her side. The jump master had finished helping her on with her pack and had gone to his position near the ramp.

Reaching out, Jim slipped his hand around Pepper's upper arm, his eyes meeting her shadowed gaze. "Are you okay?"

She drew in a ragged breath. "Scared to death, if you want the truth. I mean, I'm nervous about the jump, but I'm more scared of what waits for us on the ground."

He gave her a tight smile. "It's healthy to be scared. It will keep you alive."

Pepper gazed up at Jim's dark features, at his eyes, glittering with some unknown emotion. "You look like we're going for a stroll in the park," she observed, trying for levity. His hand hadn't left her arm, and she desperately wanted to move closer to him. Did Jim realize the strength and confidence he exuded? How it helped her steady her own frayed emotions?

"I'm scared to death, too," he rasped, meeting and holding her gaze. Pepper had tucked her glorious hair beneath a helmet, black knit cap and positioned the headset over it. Her once-tan skin was streaked black, green and brown.

"I'm glad to hear it. My knees are feeling weak. I'm shaking."

"It's okay," he soothed, losing the hardness he wanted to keep between them. If Pepper realized how much he ached to have her, to discover her as the wonderful, unique woman she was, Jim knew she would retreat permanently from him. He squeezed her arm and found himself wanting to slip his around her shoulder to reassure her.

With a nervous laugh, she said, "I haven't been this scared in a long time. Maybe on my first jump into a fire with my team, but not since." She felt bereft when Jim removed his hand. To her surprise, though, he didn't move away, instead remained only inches from her, as if to shield her with his tall, stalwart body.

"Fifteen minutes," the jump master informed them.

"Roger." Jim checked the altimeter on his right wrist and the watch on his left. "Is all your equipment in working order?"

"Yes." Swallowing hard and suddenly very thirsty, Pepper bit back the rest of what she wanted to say. She felt like babbling nervously to bleed off the fear that crouched in her chest and knotted her stomach. She could die in the jump. She could miss the island and drown. She could be gored by a tree limb…. Sitting down awkwardly with her pack, she fumbled with her bootlaces, tying them into double knots. Jim stayed close, and stymied, she wondered why. Was he worried she wouldn't or couldn't fulfill the mission now that she'd admitted her fear?

Her three-hour nap had left her feeling groggy. If only they'd had another day or two to rest up before the mission. Pepper felt strung out emotionally, uncertain about how Jim saw her, or even if he trusted her at all with this mission. The urge to turn, slip her hands around his broad, capable shoulders and press herself against him was very real. Too real. She told herself she was human, seeking comfort from an understandably scary situation. It was normal to find solace with another person. But why Jim? His heart was held captive by Laura Trayhern, whether she knew it or not. His love was bound up in the past.

"Five minutes," the load master said, hitting the switch that caused the giant ramp to open. Grinding sounds filled the cargo bay.

Pepper tried to still her pounding heart, without success. She got up and walked across the deck, with Jim at her side. Her mind whirled with a litany of what needed to be done and in what order. Everything hinged on her parasail opening without a hitch, and she worried about Jim's jump. This time if something went wrong they wouldn't be able to help each other. Although they would be in radio contact via their walkie-talkies, silence was a must. In fact, until they were established on the island and sure they hadn't been spotted, hand signals would be their only means of communication, for fear of someone overhearing them or discovering their position.

Jim gripped Pepper's arm, when the ramp opened fully and a gusting wind began to tear through the cargo bay. At twenty thousand feet, the air was freezing cold. He felt the aircraft begin to bank, bringing them east of their target, Nevis.

"One minute," the jump master warned.

Jim's fingers dug into Pepper's arm. "Listen," he rasped, his face very close to hers. "I want you to be careful. No heroics, okay?"

Startled, Pepper felt his warm breath on her face as she was pulled against him. She opened her mouth to reply, caught up in the fierce, burning light in his dark green eyes.

"Dammit, Pepper, this isn't how I wanted it. I wanted time…time with you. We don't have it. You're special. I just wanted you to know that…."

Stunned, she stared up at his grim features. One of her hands was resting against the pack on his chest, and she swayed slightly off-balance as the plane tilted. She felt his hand tighten on her arm to steady her. Somewhere in her mind she realized that Jim could have held her at arm's length and helped her regain her balance, but he hadn't. He wanted her close, as close as they could get under the circumstances. The helmet on his head, the tight chin strap, the greasepaint and the darkness combined to give his face a dangerous look. She felt his eyes burning into her, touching her heart, her soul. Not believing what she'd just heard, she said brokenly, "There are so many ghosts from the past, Jim…."

"Thirty seconds," boomed the jump master.

Cursing softly, Jim released Pepper and moved ahead of her. It was too late to talk. He saw the jump master's grim face and watched the blinking red light that would turn green any moment now. The C-130 suddenly straightened out into level flight after the deep, tight turn. Wind whipped against him. Fortunately, his goggles protected his eyes. His mind revolved forward to the mission at hand. God willing, they'd find Laura and get her out alive.

So much could go wrong. So much.

The light flashed green.

The jump master gave the signal.

Jim moved down the ramp and leapt off its lip. Almost instantly he was hit by the power of the slipstream. He groaned and righted himself in the icy night air. Twisting to look upward, he heard the plane but couldn't see if Pepper had jumped yet. But he didn't have time to worry. Watching his altimeter, he pulled the cord when he reached ten thousand feet. The parasail opened flawlessly, jerking him upward as his gear sagged down, tugging mercilessly at his body.

Where was Pepper? All he could see under the quarter moon was the glinting of light on the smooth water of the Caribbean below. A few stars twinkled. He didn't have time to look around. Checking his compass, he pulled at the lines, directing his parasail in a slightly more westerly direction. The winds weren't cooperating; in their briefing earlier, the weather forecaster had warned them of this. Where the hell was Pepper? Again Jim twisted his head, but was unable to locate her.

He was panting hard, his breath coming in rasps. If he could just steady his breathing, he might be able to hear her. Wrestling with his chute in the uncooperative winds, he saw Nevis coming up. The dormant volcano sat on the western end of the island, near Plantation Paloma. In fact, Garcia had built his fortress at the bottom of its velvety green slopes. Again Jim checked his compass and made another adjustment. If he wasn't careful, he'd overshoot the whole damned island.

At five thousand feet, he was drifting silently toward the northern coast. He could see the white beaches now, and the black glint of the water. The iciness had changed to warmth, and he felt a trickle of sweat down his rib cage. It was hurricane season, so the humidity was high. He would feel his parasail slowing in the heavy wet air as he came closer and closer to the island. Making some last-minute adjustments on the lines, he aimed for their agreed-on LZ—a small clearing about half a mile inland that had been photographed by the U-2 flyby.

Where was Pepper? Jim couldn't look for her now. He could only pray she was somewhere nearby, probably five thousand feet above him, coming down safely. The wind was fickle. He bobbled. Yanking the lines, he steered the parasail farther inland. Two thousand feet. The trees formed a thick, continuous canopy. Automatically, he bent his knees and forced his lower body to relax. If he hit the LZ, he would have a clearing about the size of a football field in which to land.

Another gust of warm wind coming in off the ocean hit him and spun him around. Damn! Gritting his teeth, Jim saw the canopy flashing beneath his boots. One more yank. There! The meadow opened up beneath him. Instantly, he prepared to land. On the very best of days, he was able to land on his feet. But the sixty pounds of gear was pulling him off-balance. Rather than risk a broken ankle, he pulled the parasail around at the last possible moment to face the wind. There was lift, about fifty feet above the ground, then, gently, he was eased downward.

It was a nearly perfect textbook landing. His feet hit the wet grass and he bent his knees, absorbing the shock. The parasail fell to the earth, and he quickly jerked it toward him. Breathing hard, Jim looked around for Pepper. Anxiously, he searched the sky. All too aware of the wind gusting off the ocean, he narrowed his eyes against the dark sky.

The sudden breaking of tree limbs made him freeze. To the left! Jim jerked around, dropping his chute and kneeling. The crash continued, a crescendo of snapping branches. Pepper had landed in the trees! Quickly releasing his harness, he dragged everything under the jungly growth at the edge of the meadow. He pulled off his helmet and substituted a utility cap in the same camouflage colors as his uniform. The submachine gun was in his hands as he raced quietly along the edge of the meadow toward Pepper, a hundred questions racing through his mind as he hurried toward the sounds.

Voice communication was impossible; he couldn't risk it. Looking up, he finally spotted her. She was hanging about forty feet above the ground, dangling at the end of her lines from a huge rubber tree. He could hear her ragged breathing. Without a sound, he set his weapon aside and began to climb the tree's gnarled expanse. As he drew closer he could see that Pepper was tangled in her lines, so she couldn't just cut herself free and drop. Damn.

Pepper tried to steady her breathing and avoid making any more noise than she already had. When she saw Jim climbing the tree toward her, she nearly cried out. Biting her lower lip, she waited silently. He was like a dark panther scaling the smooth-barked tree almost effortlessly. Pepper knew she was in trouble. The shroud lines had somehow become wrapped around her neck and arms. If she tried to cut loose, she might garrote herself. Worse, the branches above her, supporting her for the moment, were not stout. She was hanging tenuously at best.

She knew enough not to move. But had Jim ever cut someone out of a tree before? she wondered. In smoke jumping it was a common procedure, but she wasn't sure if he'd had the experience. She saw him study the situation. Their eyes met and he grinned a little. A flood of feelings tunneled through her. She tried to smile back but didn't succeed. Knowing she shouldn't break radio silence, Pepper merely waited, watching as he moved gingerly out on a limb above her. Good, he knew he had to cut the lines tangled around her neck and arms first.

Relief sped through her as the lines were shorn and fell past her. Just as she reached for her own knife to cut the remaining lines and fall, Pepper heard a loud crack. She jerked her gaze upward as the limb Jim had crawled out on broke beneath his weight. With a gasp, she watched in horror as it tore from the trunk behind him. He had no time to prepare for the fall. A cry escaped Pepper as he fell past her, and hit the ground, hard.

Rapidly, she unhooked her heavy pack and let it drop first. Then she grasped her knife and began cutting her lines, one by one. Hanging precariously, she bent her knees, preparing for the coming fall. Jim had crawled off to one side. She could make him out in the dim moonlight, his back against the trunk of the tree. Dropping, she hit the ground, her bent knees taking the shock. She rolled, absorbing more of the shock, and dried leaves and dirt flew up around her.

Gasping for breath, Pepper scrambled to her feet and hurried back to Jim, falling to her knees at his side. She saw the grimace of pain in his face and followed his gaze to his lower right arm, which he held tightly against him. Even in the darkness, she could see blood oozing through his uniform.

"I cut it," Jim rasped, throwing his head back, the pain flaring up his arm and into his shoulder. To hell with communications blackout. He had to talk to Pepper.

Gently, she eased his hand away from the wound. Jim's sleeve had been ripped open. Pulling it aside, she gasped. "It's deep."

"Tell me about it," he groaned softly. Looking around, he said, "Do what you have to do. We have to get out of here."

Pepper felt guilty. If she hadn't landed in the canopy instead of the LZ, Jim wouldn't be injured. Compressing her lips, she shoved herself to her feet and went to retrieve her pack. Her fingers were already bloody, a sign that his wound was bleeding heavily. Locating her first-aid kits, she took them back to him.

"Take this," she said in a wobbly voice, putting several white homeopathic pills directly into his mouth. "It's arnica—good for sprains as well as hemorrhage." Setting the kit aside, she drew out more items.

"I cut it on that damn branch I was on," he muttered angrily.

"I know…I'm sorry, Jim."

He held her guilt-ridden gaze. "You couldn't help it. The wind was all over the place." He stopped, a wave of pain flooding him. Finally, he gasped, "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm fine…fine…." Pepper quickly dumped the contents of the bottle directly into his wound. It was too dark to see much of anything. All she could do was disinfect the gash, then wrap it in a dressing and an Ace bandage. "I can't do much until it's lighter."

"I know. Just wrap it tight. We've got to move."

Nodding, she worked quickly. Though her fingers trembled, she was fast. In no time Jim was pulling down his torn sleeve. She helped him stand. He wavered for a moment, caught himself and straightened.

Anxiously, he searched her drawn face. "No injuries?"

"No…"

He reached out, unthinking, and brushed her cheek. "I was worried…."

The brief caress sent her heart skittering wildly. Shaken by his unexpected tenderness, Pepper pulled away. "Let me put my pack on and we can go."

"I'll bury the chutes and other gear." Jim tested his right arm. To his dismay, it hurt even to pick them up. The injury held far greater ramifications than he wanted to admit. Without his right arm, he was damn near useless.

By the time Pepper had situated her heavy pack, Jim had dug a shallow hole and laid the equipment in them. She noticed he wasn't using his right arm, instead pulling leaves and debris across them with his left hand. Helping him finish the job, she knelt next to him.

"The arm is bad, isn't it?"

"Yes." Grimly, he caught and held her gaze. "Listen, I'll take point. Whatever happens, we can't engage anyone in a firefight. Do you understand? I can't even count on using my fingers to pull the trigger." He looked with disgust at his right arm. "Maybe it's just as well," he muttered. "We'll do what Recons do—be quiet and not engage the enemy." He drilled her with a hard look. "Do you think you can do that?"

"I don't want to kill anyone, Jim. I never did. It's fine with me."

With an abrupt nod, he forced himself to his feet. Luckily, he hadn't lost too much blood before Pepper wrapped up his wound. He knew enough about anatomy to realize that his luck could have been worse—an artery could have been torn open and he could have bled to death. And he knew what the jungle environment with its high humidity and decaying bacteria would do to a wound like this. Once the sun came up, he'd have Pepper sew up the wound and give him a shot of antibiotics from the supply of medications they carried in their first-aid pack. Infection in the jungle was the surest killer of all, and those antibiotics could be the only thing ensuring he finish this mission. And he was going to finish it.

Pepper allowed Jim to take the lead. They walked quietly but quickly toward the unseen volcano. The surrounding trees were mostly coconut palms. According to the LZ information, they'd landed in a coconut plantation. The soil was tilled, dry and easy to navigate beneath the arms of the flowing palm trees, which rattled in the gusting winds. Pepper's heart settled down and her senses took over. Although she carried a submachine gun, she didn't want any part of using it. In the distance, a dog barked once. They froze and waited. No more barking. Jim moved on, more shadow than human being.

Pepper's throat felt like sandpaper by the end of the first hour's hike. Jim had kept up a fast, steady pace, and where they could, they trotted. Her shoulders ached from lugging the gear, and she was glad when Jim gave the hand signal to stop and rest. They were out of the plantation now and into the jungle itself, which was more tangled and harder to navigate. Twisted roots kept tripping her up, and she'd fallen too many times to count. Her shins were bruised and sore.

Pepper eased to her knees and unsnapped the pack. It fell behind her, and she wanted to groan with the pure pleasure of getting rid of the thing, but didn't dare. Worried about Jim, she turned and devoted her attention to him as he came and sat down next to her. The dawn light finally allowed her to get a good look at his injury for the first time.

"Well?" he demanded, watching her face closely for reaction. He knew it was bad.

"It's deep," she said in a choked voice. She laid his hand on her thigh and opened the first-aid kit. "The bleeding's stopped. That's good."

"I got lucky on that, at least," Jim agreed. Pepper's face was glistening with sweat, and a few dark brown curls had escaped from beneath her knit cap. Though her long fingers barely grazed the skin around his wound, he felt their warmth, with a tingling sensation that momentarily eased some of the throbbing pain. He concentrated on her lips—that full, lower lip—remembering what it was like to kiss her. Remembering her passion and generosity…. The loss of blood was making him light-headed. For a moment Jim allowed himself the indulgence of really looking at Pepper. She was beautiful….

"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a beautiful mouth?" he asked almost dreamily.

Stunned, she gazed at him. His face was sweaty, his mouth grim from the pain she knew he was feeling. "What? Oh…no, they haven't." She felt heat sweep across her cheeks, and she avoided his burning, intense stare. Taking out some surgically clean gauze that had been soaked in disinfectant, she steeled herself to begin scrubbing out the wound. In the light, she could see it was free of splinters or debris, but it had to be as clean as possible before she taped him up.

Jim leaned back against a tree trunk, honing in on Pepper's face. Anger sizzled through him. Well, what was wrong with the perfect Captain John Freedman that he'd never noticed Pepper's lovely mouth?

She began to scrub. "I'm sorry…."

His mouth tightened and he stiffened against the pain. "Somehow, I think I have this coming. I was such a bastard to you earlier," he groaned.

Pepper shook her head and bit down hard on her lip. She knew how much pain Jim was in as she continued to cleanse the wound. "It's the mission." And his love for Laura Trayhern.

Fire leapt up his arm, and Jim felt sweat pop out across his face and under his arms in reaction. He shut his eyes tightly, fighting off a dizzying faintness. "I was thinking about you," he gasped. His lips lifted away from his gritted teeth. He fought swirling dizziness—and more pain. Finally, it was over.

Pepper watched Jim worriedly. He lay in a prone position now, sweating heavily and breathing raggedly. His eyes were tightly shut. She couldn't blame him. Pulling the antibiotic syringe out of the pack, she gave him the shot in his upper right arm, above the injury. Much of what she did in fire-fighting situations was coming back to her, and she was grateful for her paramedic training.

Glancing around, she saw hundreds of trees, mostly rubber trees and palms of all sorts, silhouetted against the coming dawn. Odors of decay mingled with the salty smell of the ocean and some unidentifiable, exotic floral fragrances. Focusing on Jim's wound, Pepper located the surgical strips that would pull the edges of the wound together. At least he wouldn't have to be stitched up.

"This is going to hurt," she warned in a low voice. She used one hand to pull the wound together, and instantly he became rigid, his entire body convulsing. Hating to hurt him, she quickly taped the adhesive across the wound, closing it. In a matter of a minute, she'd completed her task. Breathing shakily, she began to rewrap the wound in clean gauze to protect it.

Jim wiped sweat from his eyes. He felt awkward using his left hand, but he'd better get used to it—it was the only one in working order. Concentrating on Pepper, he absorbed her clean profile as she worked over him. Her touch was exquisitely gentle, and in his hazy, shorted-out state he wondered if she made love with that same kind of touch. It was a crazy thought in an even crazier situation, he told himself harshly.

"I wish," he rasped unsteadily, throwing his arm across his eyes as she worked, "that we were anyplace but here right now."

Pepper smiled grimly and glanced at his face. His mouth was a line of pain. "That makes two of us." She completed the bandaging and stretched an Ace elastic around the gauze to further protect it.

"I keep seeing us talking over a candlelit dinner. I know some good restaurants in D.C. You'd like them, too. Quiet places. Intimate. Where good conversation can go on and on…."

Pepper felt mild shock over his rambling. Was Jim out of his head? Impossible. But his words were disjointed, ragged sounding, filled with fervency. Was he teasing her? Her heart said no, her head said yes. She remained kneeling beside him, more uncertain of herself than she'd ever been in her life.

Chapter Seven

"We've lost the time advantage," Jim said when she sat back, the bandaging of his arm completed.

"What should we do?"

Jim looked up through the canopy of palm fronds and heavy rubber-tree leaves. Daylight was already upon them. In another half hour the sun would be up. He didn't want Pepper to feel bad that her getting snagged in a tree had wrecked their initial timing. Being injured was something he hadn't counted on, either.

He slowly sat up, his back against the tree for support, and rested his right arm across his belly. Pepper remained kneeling and alert, slowly perusing the area with her sharpened gaze. There was little to be wary of now. But as they neared Garcia's fortress, her watchfulness would pay off.

"I worked out two plans with Jake," he said quietly. "The first involved striking before dawn, but that opportunity's gone. The second is to hit them tomorrow at 0300. Noah Trayhern is sitting off the coast of Nevis, on a Coast Guard cruiser with a helicopter platform. If we get to Laura and can spring her, we're to meet at the beach south of Garcia's fortress. I showed it to you on the map."

Pepper nodded. "If I hadn't blown it by getting hung up in the tree, we might be there now."

Jim sat up, reached out with his left hand and gripped her arm. "Things happen, Pepper. Let it go."

She shrugged. "At least our chutes opened this time."

He breathed deeply. "Yes, there's plenty to be grateful for."

"Do you really think you can continue the mission with that arm, Jim?"

It was a fair question. He held her worried gaze. "We don't have a choice. You can't do this alone, and I'm not going to call in air support for further medical help. No, we'll do it. We're just going to have to be particularly careful—and quiet." He scowled. "But if we get in a firefight, I'm going to be next to useless."

Feeling bad for him, Pepper said, "I don't want to kill anyone. I have real issues over that, Jim."

"Fine time to tell me."

She saw his mouth quirk. "Seven years ago, when I was young and wild and going through Ranger school, I thought I was capable of killing. At least I convinced myself I could do it." Pepper shook her head. "I'm older now, and looking back, I'm glad they didn't graduate me. I liked the army for its discipline and organization, but I found those same elements in smoke jumping."

"The best of both worlds without lifting a weapon." Jim removed his hand from her arm. The intimacy between them was strong and good. If Pepper minded his touch, it didn't show this time. Instead, she had opened up, and was talking with gut-level honesty. "We have no backup if we get in trouble." He tapped the walkie-talkie strapped to his waist. "But we can change channels and call for Noah to send the Coast Guard helicopter in."

"They don't carry weapons, either."

"No, not on the chopper." Jim was worried, but he didn't voice the fact. It was one thing on a Recon mission planned to be exactly that. But this mission had too much chance of human contact, and weapons might well be used. He held her clear blue gaze.

"Would you use your weapon to defend?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Good."

"I'm not a pacifist, Jim. I just don't want to kill if I don't have to." She added more softly, "I know if I do, it will haunt me the rest of my life."

He understood only too well. "It's all right," he said gently. "I still get nightmares from what I did in Desert Storm and Panama."

Without thinking, Pepper reached out, her hand covering his injured one. "Somehow I knew you'd understand."

The tremble in her husky voice sent a sheet of longing through Jim. But it was the wrong place, the wrong time. "Help me up. We'll go slowly and take our time circling the volcano to reach Garcia's fortress. We can use the daylight to time the guards and observe the routine."

Somehow, Pepper thought this might end up being a better plan, after all. Knowing the guard's coming and goings and getting a direct feel for the place would help them tomorrow, when they made their raid into the plantation itself. She got to her feet and leaned over, offering Jim her hand. His grip was strong and steady as he heaved himself to his feet with her help.

She watched him for signs of dizziness but saw none. When she'd fashioned a sling for him to rest his right arm in, he went over to his pack.

"There's no sense in me carrying all this weight," he said, bending over it and fumbling with the straps. A left-hander he was not.

Pepper crouched next to him and opened the pack.

"Thanks," he rasped, offering her a crooked smile.

"I'll be your hands on this trip," she joked weakly, as she spread out the items from the pack so he could choose what to take and what to discard. He kept his handgun and its ammunition. At his request, Pepper dug a hole deep enough to bury the items he didn't need. It took nearly half an hour to repack the contents, then he hoisted the pack onto his shoulders.

Pepper opted to continue carrying the full weight of her own pack. If they got into trouble, she could still use the submachine gun to spray the area and protect them.

As the first streaming rays of the sun shot across the ocean and touched the island, Jim and Pepper began heading toward the fortress. He took the lead, since he was more familiar with jungle trekking. Mainly, they had to be careful not to step on branches that could crack or snap, since the sound carried too far for comfort.

Birds had been calling since dawn. As Pepper followed about fifty feet behind Jim, she noticed how he moved not in a straight line, but in one that took advantage of the brush and taller bushes in the area as protection from curious eyes. She could smell smoke from a wood fire in the breeze drifting toward them. Dogs barked now and then, and once she heard children laughing in the distance.

Because they were skirting the volcano, there were few homes, just thick brush that made for slow going. Every once in a while Jim stopped, consulted his compass and map, then moved on. Pepper worried that his arm must be hurting terribly, but she knew he wouldn't complain. Still, she watched him for signs of weakening or fever. The antibiotics should hold him, unless she hadn't cleaned out his wound well enough, which was always a possibility.

Near 0800, Jim stopped. He'd found a fairly thick grove of rubber trees that provided excellent cover, so he dropped his pack and sat down. He watched as Pepper silently came into the circle of trees. Her face had a sheen of sweat from the high humidity coming off the ocean. He was sweating heavily, too, as evidenced by the dark splotches on his utilities.

Taking out the canteen, Jim awkwardly opened it and drank deeply. Pepper joined him, sitting not more than a foot away, after placing her pack next to his. He capped his canteen and watched her drink from her own. She had such a long, slender neck. The greasepaint they wore had streaked off with her sweat. It didn't matter now, anyway. Jim looked around, satisfied that they were fairly safe from natives who might inadvertently discover them. They were miles from any of the dirt or asphalt roads that lined the coast.

Another sound caught his ears and he looked skyward. A helicopter. Pepper was watching the sky intently, too. They knew that Garcia had a helicopter. The whapping sounds grew closer. The aircraft was coming in from the west and heading south—toward the fortress. Jim barely glimpsed it as it skimmed by, nearly at treetop level.

Pepper stood, straining to catch sight of the aircraft. "It's a blue-and-white Bell," she reported.

"That's Garcia's," Jim said. He gestured for her to sit down near him. "Let's eat."

Pepper wasn't really hungry. The excitement and danger levels were too high for her to be in touch with something as basic as the need for food. The chance to be near Jim was enough, however, and she sat down next to him, her legs crossed. He handed her an MRE—one of the military's ready-to-eat meals that needed only to be reconstituted with water. She watched in distaste as he showed her what to do.

"At least out on the fire line we get real food," she grumbled.

He laughed softly. "Yeah, MRE's are the pits. I prefer the C-rations we had before they instituted this new stuff." Glancing at Pepper, he saw that some of the fear had left her eyes. Sobering, he asked, "Are you settling into the routine?"

She nodded and picked at her mushy MRE. "Yes, I am." She wrinkled her nose as she tasted the fare. "It tastes like cardboard."

Chuckling quietly, Jim agreed. He tried to ignore the pain in his arm by concentrating on Pepper—which was easy to do. Despite their circumstances, her vibrant inner beauty shone through. Several more curls had escaped from beneath her black knit cap. "You're the first woman I've seen wear Recon gear and look damn good in it."

Pepper's heart thumped once to underscore his huskily spoken words. She glanced up and nearly melted beneath his burning green gaze. Feeling suddenly shaky, she tried to concentrate on eating the unpalatable food. "Sure," she joked, "my face is streaked with that awful stuff, my hair desperately needs to be washed and I stink—some pinup poster I am, Woodward. Maybe you've been out in this jungle a little too long, huh?"

He grinned and spooned some more rehydrated fruit into his mouth. "Do you always parry a compliment, Ms. Sinclair?"

"Probably," she admitted, chewing thoughtfully. "It comes from my hitch in the army. Sexual harassment was everywhere. I got so I hated it, and most of the time I wouldn't take it."

"I don't blame you," he answered. "No one should be subjected to that kind of humiliation."

"Usually, marines are the worst harassers." She watched him laugh at her with his eyes. For the moment, Pepper felt safe, and she relaxed for the first time. Was it Jim? His confident presence? The fact that he'd done this before, and if he was relaxed, she could be, too? Or was it that lazy, warm smile he gave her that automatically made her feel boneless in such a wonderful, thrilling way? Did he realize what his heated look did to her? She was sure he didn't. After all, his heart had already been given to Laura Trayhern. Pepper had no chance with him. Though she knew she should be relieved, a ribbon of sadness wound through her at the thought.

Jim finished his MRE, dug a hole and buried the remains. "Marines are diehards," he finally admitted. "And you're right—they are pretty macho."

"The Tailhook scandal proved that." And the navy and its stonewalling admirals were no less guilty, she thought to herself.

Jim nodded. He couldn't argue the point. Half the aviators at the Tailhook convention had been marine pilots, and word was out that one of the worst suites at the symposium had been a Marine Corps one. Glancing around, keying his hearing, he reassured himself that everything was normal. The birds were singing, a sign that all was as it should be. If they were to stop singing suddenly, he and Pepper would go on alert.

He lay down carefully, using his pack as a pillow. "Let's rest awhile. We've got three more miles to the fortress."

"Is your arm hurting you?"

"A little," he lied. It was burning, as if on fire. He saw Pepper's eyes change and grow shadowed with worry. "Are you always like this?" he asked.

"Like what?" she asked, leaning against the tree inches from Jim's shoulder.

"A mother hen."

Grinning, she said, "I get accused of that all the time by my team. I guess I am."

"Worrywart is probably closer to the truth," he said, looking up at her. He watched as Pepper removed the black knit cap. Her hair was a mass of curls from the humidity. With her slender fingers, she began to ease them into some semblance of order, and he longed to stroke the dark, wavy strands. She replaced the headset, settling the mike close to her lips, but she left the cap off. He couldn't blame her. The humidity was making him sweat like a racehorse.

Something drove him to get to know her better. He knew he wasn't going to get many chances, and he wanted to take advantage of everyone of them. "Tell me about your growing-up years. Were you a hell-raiser like your mom—a wild woman?"

Laughing softly, Pepper shared a warm look with him. This was the man she wanted to know, and it sent an ache straight to her heart. His green eyes were dark with an emotion she was afraid to define. His mouth was curved recklessly, giving him a boyish look.

"I was no ‘wild woman,' as you put it." Tipping her head back against the trunk of the rubber tree, Pepper closed her eyes, suddenly happier than she could recall being in a long time. "Cam, my older brother, might disagree with me, but I never saw myself that way. As I said, we lived in Montana, so we did grow up in the wilds, in that sense. I spent every spare minute hiking and learning about nature."

"Tell me about it?"

Embarrassed, she shrugged. "I was just a kid with a high sense of curiosity, that was all. I used to hunt red asparagus berries every fall, collect them and make necklaces out of them. Later, I'd dry and shellac them and give them as Christmas gifts to my friends at school. Or I'd go out with my mother with my flower book and try to identify the different wildflowers that grew around our place, then press and save them."

"So you were a wood nymph." Jim closed his eyes, imagining Pepper as a youngster. "You must have been a pretty little girl."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "No, I wasn't. In fact, I felt awful sometimes because my nose grew larger than the rest of my face, or my lips did. You know how some kids go through that awkward period? Well, I was worse than most. When I was fourteen, I looked in the mirror one day and started to cry. My mom came into my room and found me." Her voice went soft. "My mother, bless her heart, just put her arm around me. I blubbered about how ugly I was, and she said that each part of me was beautiful in its own right, and that one day soon I'd grow into all of them. She assured me I was just going through a gangly stage."

Jim opened his eyes. "Your mother is special—like you," he murmured.

Flushing, Pepper said, "I don't know about me, but yes, my mom is special. Cam and I were really lucky. Hearing all the horror stories nowadays really makes me appreciate my parents. I know we weren't perfect kids, and I'm sure we caused them some anxious times, but out in Montana, at least we didn't have problems with drugs and gangs like the big cities do. Anaconda is a relatively small town—a silver-and copper-mining community."

"I think some of the old-fashioned Western morals and values are still alive and well up there, don't you?"

Pepper was grateful for his grasp of her world. "Yes, that's why I love living there," she said, smiling as a vision of her home flashed before her.

"Western people seem different from Eastern types," Jim offered. "I grew up in Maryland, in a suburb a stone's throw from Annapolis. It wasn't the wide open spaces, but we still learned serious values, it being an Academy community."

"You were lucky," Pepper said. She smiled at him, loving the ease of conversation now that the barriers between them were down.

"Tell me," he said, catching her dreamy gaze, "what are your dreams?"

"What?"

"Your dreams. You've got to have some. What are they?"

Frowning, Pepper ruminated. She drew up her knees and rested her arms around them. "You'll die laughing, Woodward, if I tell you."

"No, I won't. Come on, what are they?"

She moved uncomfortably. "They're nothing special…."

"So? I'd like to hear what's in your heart."

Pepper tore her gaze from his. Her mouth was getting dry again. She wanted to blurt, "You're in my heart, but I know I can't have you." Bowing her head, she said instead, "I have a very common dream, Jim, but it seems to have been taken from me." She swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. "Despite my choice of careers, I wanted to find a man who loved me as much as I loved him—one who'd love Montana's mountains and plains as I do. I dreamed of having his babies and of teaching our children, as my parents taught me. I would close my eyes and picture those kids as if they were real—and me showing them the red berries of the asparagus in the autumn, or hunting fresh-water mussel shells along a trout creek. Little things…important things."

Jim eased into a sitting position. He saw the tears in Pepper's eyes. What remained unsaid was that John Freedman had been the man meant to fulfill those dreams. "You'd make a good mother," he said in a low voice filled with emotion. "You're like a kid yourself in some ways." He smiled a little. "That's one of the many things I've come to like about you, Pepper—you're completely adult when you have to be, but there's also a kid inside you that never grew up. I think that's great."

Shaken by the grittiness of Jim's voice, Pepper stared at him. He was so close, mere inches away, and she could feel the heat throbbing between them. The burning look in his eyes rushed through her, making her aware of herself as a woman in every way. The thought that Jim would be a wonderful father himself flashed through her head, and Pepper quickly looked away, afraid he might see a yearning in her eyes. If he did, she'd be mortified. Still, she longed to reach out and tenderly touch his face, though the shadow of his growing beard and the streaked remains of his camouflage paint made him look even more dangerous. What would it be like to kiss his firm mouth again—to feel his powerful form against her heat and need? She ached to reach out and slide her hand across his chest, to absorb his strength. His wonderful half smile tore through her, beckoning to her, and Pepper literally had to stop herself from leaning forward…to meet his mouth and melt against him.

Was she going crazy because of the pressure they were under? Pepper sighed and tried to get a handle on her escaping emotions. Sitting here talking with Jim was opening up her heart in a way she'd thought would never happen again. Clearing her throat, she said, "Fair's fair. Tell me about your dreams."

He chuckled. "They're as pedestrian as yours, Pepper. I want a woman who will love me, warts and all. I want a couple of kids, too. I dream of finding a woman who likes to laugh, who can find humor in even the worst situation. I grew up in a pretty somber family, and I'm afraid I was the joker—the guy who was always playing tricks and then catching hell for it."

Pepper's eyes rounded. "You?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

His grin was devilish, and in that moment, Pepper caught a glimpse of the original Jim Woodward—before the Marine Corps had shaped him to meet their exacting standards. "So, you're a joker?"

"Every chance I get." With a laugh, he said, "Not that I get much chance at the Pentagon. It's one place where you have to watch your every move. There's always someone with a lot more rank watching you—ready to mark you down."

"So when you have a field command, you're different?"

"You bet I am," he exclaimed. Looking up at her he found his gaze caught by her parted lips. Damn, but he wanted to kiss her again. Jim knew she was a woman very much in touch with her needs. She lived too close to nature not to be in tune with herself on those levels. What was it he could see in her eyes? Desire? Longing? Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?

Hope coursed through him as his gaze continued to probe hers. She was a woman of incredible strengths and courage—the kind of woman he'd been looking for all his life, he thought suddenly. The discovery sent a sheet of heat through him, radiating from his heart. Pepper was as natural as the timeless cycles of the seasons. She had no pretenses; what you saw was what you got.

But even as those thoughts crowded into his mind and heart, reality drenched him. They were sitting in a jungle on foreign soil. Interlopers. The government of Nevis would not be informed of their mission until after Laura was rescued—if she could be rescued. And what made him think he would survive this mission? Or that Pepper would? The threat of death was strong. Jim knew Garcia's guards would kill without a second thought; they'd pull the trigger first and ask questions later. He also was positive that Garcia was on alert, knowing full well that Perseus would attempt to rescue Laura.

"When I was a little girl," Pepper said softly, her voice sounding as if it came from far away, "I used to sit by the trout stream on our property. I had a favorite rock that was large, round and flat. I'd sit there, shaded by the trees and brush, and watch the rainbow and cutthroat trout flash by in the water. I loved the rainbow trout, because when the sunlight caught them, they really lived up to their name. I'd just sit and watch, my legs crossed, my elbows on my knees and my chin cupped in my hands.

"I'd wonder what my life was going to be like after I grew up. What I'd be someday. I used to daydream for hours, trying to imagine myself as an adult and what I'd look like. Then—" her mouth curved gently "—I imagined my children. I saw the color of their hair, their faces, the color of their eyes. I imagined each of their personalities and how much fun I would have with them.

"I saw this two-story white house with a green roof and a white picket fence around it, too." She laughed a little. "Actually, it was an exact replica of my folks' place. Every summer Cam and I would get out there and paint that picket fence. And we'd help dad on the roof when it needed new shingles. Mom would plant bright red geraniums, and I always thought it looked like Christmas in summer with the house's green trim and the red flowers.

"I guess I'm really pretty simple, Jim. I don't want much. I don't need much. I just needed a man who would love me and respect me for what I was—and what I wasn't. I wanted him to be as excited as I was about bringing a bunch of mop-haired children into the world, growing with them and loving them." She turned, gazing down at Jim's thoughtful expression. "Sometimes there's an ache in my heart when I remember those dreams," she admitted. "I'm old enough now to realize it won't happen that way."

Jim slowly sat up and faced Pepper. He slid his left hand over hers and held it gently. "Don't ever stop dreaming, sweetheart. They're good dreams. Dreams that deserve to be lived out."

The tingling heat that spread from her hand up her arm set her heart pounding. Looking deep into Jim's darkened eyes, Pepper saw the desire burning there. His hand was at once strong and gentle as he held hers. Perhaps it was the roughened quality of his voice that tore at her the most, making her long for what she knew could never be hers.

Without thinking, she found herself leaning toward him. And almost simultaneously, she saw Jim coming forward to meet her. His grip on her hand tightened, her breath snagged as he bent his head and she drowned in his suddenly stormy green eyes. Her eyelashes swept downward. Never had Pepper wanted so badly to be kissed. Her lips parting, she raised her hand to his shoulder and tilted her chin just enough to meet his descending mouth.

Pepper's world spun dizzily as Jim's lips touched, met and claimed hers with a strength that threw her off guard. His mouth was molten, searching. With a small groan, she submitted to his quest, molding herself against him. She felt the prickle of his beard against her cheek and absorbed the plundering strength of his mouth as she was swept into a river of fire, no longer aware of anything but him—his masculinity, his power.

His mouth moved effortlessly across hers, seeking, tasting and deepening its exploration of her as a woman. She felt his ragged breath against her cheek, pressed herself to his broad chest, her hand sliding up and around his neck. She could feel his heart pounding as hard as hers was, and their breathing seemed to synchronize magically as she opened her mouth to his onslaught. The fragrance of the island flowers and their own natural scents enhanced the euphoria that flowed through her. She felt Jim release her hand, and in the next instant felt his palm against her cheek, tilting her head back even farther, tasting her deeply.

A knot of heat unfolded within Pepper, spreading through her lower body, crying for fulfillment. As Jim's fingers tunneled through the damp, curly hair at her temple, she felt tears of joy coming to her closed eyes. His mouth was at once cajoling and tender now as the overwhelming power of his kiss gentled, and she felt his tongue trace the outline of her lower lip, awakening an ache of pure longing. Never had she been kissed like this, and hungrily she absorbed the amazing sensations his touch evoked.

His hand moved away from her jaw, skimming the slenderness of her neck, sending prickles of fire racing through her. A softened moan was torn from her as his hand ranged farther, finding and cupping the round ripeness of her breast. Despite the rough utilities she wore, she felt his fingers caress her as through the finest silk. Her skin tightened to a painful intensity, and Pepper pressed herself shamelessly forward into his open hand. Her breathing became chaotic as his searching fingers slipped beneath the fabric. Her own fingers opening and closing spasmodically against his taut shoulders, she felt the delicious sensations as he grazed her breast, his thumb feathering across her hardened nipple and sending a keening need through her.

Pepper became lost in a host of plunging, deepening responses as she felt him shift her, bring her more fully into his arms, his hand tugging impatiently at her clothing, to open it more and expose her breasts. His mouth remained strongly on hers, taking even as she gave as never before with her breath, her body, her heart. Somewhere in her spinning senses, she realized this fire that burned so hotly out of control was more powerful and threatening than any forest fire she'd faced. The white-hot need consumed her as his hand fully captured her breast, his touch tentative, as if she were some priceless, fragile treasure. A treasure to cherish….

An overwhelming fear slammed into Pepper. What was she doing? Why was she allowing Jim to touch her, to take her? Her emotions cartwheeled as her reawakened mind screamed that he loved Laura, not her. Tearing her mouth from his, she pulled away. How desperately she wanted to stay in his arms, to continue accepting his caresses. She opened her eyes and looked up into his stormy, slitted ones, which now studied her with blazing passion. That stare made her freeze with the realization that his hunger equaled her own—only she was the one running away. What was she running from? Bitterly, Pepper admitted she knew the answer to that one. Every particle of her being screamed out for the feel of Jim's mouth on hers, for his hands roving across her, inciting her, teasing her, fulfilling her. Her gaze clung to his mouth—to that powerful male mouth that had made her lose all sense of time, direction and rational sense. Her world had narrowed to the breaths of air they'd shared, his mouth conquering hers, his hands scorching her, awakening her to a frenzied awareness of her needs as a woman. Never had Pepper felt like this. John's touches and kisses paled in comparison. Frightened by that knowledge, she simply stared at Jim in the drawn silence.

Shaken, Jim sat back, breathing hard. What the hell had he just done? Fear, curiosity and desire were mirrored in Pepper's widened, lustrous eyes as she stared at him, her lips glistening and well kissed. He raised his left hand and wiped his mouth with the back of it. How could he have allowed his desire for Pepper to overwhelm any rational thought? He'd nearly taken her. He'd come so close. The painful knotting sensation in his lower body cleared his mind. He had to think! They were on a dangerous mission. What business did he have putting them in jeopardy by kissing her, allowing his emotions to take over? None. Absolutely none. But no one compared to Pepper, he admitted at the same time. No one. She'd met him on equal ground in a way that had been startling as well as gratifying. Her strength seemed to emanate from an endless well of femininity he'd never realized existed.

Unexpected tears slipped from beneath Pepper's lashes. Blinking, she continued to look dazedly up at him. His own eyes burned with a newfound tenderness as he lifted his hand, stopped its motion toward her, then hesitantly stroked her cheek with trembling fingers.

"Tears?" he rasped, as he touched their silvery path down her cheeks. Why was she crying? Had he hurt her in his overwhelming desire to take her?

With a choking sound, Pepper eased back and wiped them away. "It's nothing…." she answered in a hoarse whisper.

Jim looked at her intently. "Sure it is, sweetheart. What is it? What made you cry?"

Still dizzied by his branding kiss and the fire his touch had brought to a blaze within her, Pepper tried to look away from the desire she continued to read in his eyes. If only that desire were really for her. She certainly didn't hold any ill will for Laura. The woman probably didn't even realize Jim still carried a torch for her. Despite the passion in Jim's kiss, Pepper couldn't help but believe he'd kissed her in lieu of Laura. Her mind whirling with the tortured observations, Pepper finally tore her gaze from his. How could she tell him her tears were due to the realization that he could never love her—that his heart had already been captured?

She turned away. She had to lie, and she hated herself for it. The truth was she'd enjoyed their exploration of each other. "Don't mind me," she said, her voice strained. "I cry over everything. If you don't believe me, ask my team. I cry when someone gets hurt. I cry at weddings. I cry when babies are born. It's just me, Jim, that's all."

Jim frowned, feeling real frustration. Pepper had turned away, so he could barely see her face. She was embarrassed. Why? Because he'd kissed her? Cursing silently, he admitted that he'd overstepped his bounds. And what a hell of a situation to be in. He could still taste her on his lips. The kiss had been fusing, stirring the deepest parts of himself to such vibrant, throbbing life that he'd barely been in control of his actions.

Jim knew Pepper hadn't answered him honestly about her tears, but he didn't know what to do about it. This mission was all tangled up with Laura, and his heart told him to back off, to have patience and wait. In time, Pepper's reason for tears would be revealed. A part of him still wanted to take her here and now, knowing she was capable of loving him as hotly as he wanted to love her.

What was wrong with him? He'd lost his focus. His reality. With a shake of his head, he reminded himself that that was how powerfully Pepper influenced him by her simple, quiet presence. He would never forget the word pictures she'd painted for him of her dreams as a little girl. More than anything, he wanted to ask her about those children she'd dreamed of so vividly. What color was their hair? Were there any with green eyes like his own? Or black hair? The ache in his throat intensified, and he turned toward Pepper, wanting to speak.

The sad line of her mouth stopped him. She was sitting apart from him, her arms again wrapped tightly around her drawn-up knees. Her tears were gone, and Jim wondered what it had taken for her to jam them back inside. He hadn't realized how easily touched Pepper was until now, and it was an exquisite discovery.

"If we were home, back at my condo," he said, his voice rough with emotion as he caught her startled gaze, "you and I would have a long, heart-to-heart talk. Your tears aren't something to be ignored, Pepper. I care enough for you to want to know what brought them on…."

Chapter Eight

The inky night gave Pepper some relief. After Jim's hot, startling kiss, she had withdrawn deeply into herself. How was she going to manage to stay at arm's length from him? She'd done it with every other man since John had died. How had Jim so easily scaled her barriers? She was thoroughly confused. What did it mean, that he could kiss her like that? She still had no doubts that he loved Laura. She'd seen his eyes take on the darkness of worry as the daylight had waned. Of course, she was worried for Laura, too. She didn't wish for any woman to be in Garcia's clutches. But Jim's responses had once again grown cooler, more disconnected.

As she knelt in the jungle overlooking the fortress, the darkness complete, Pepper knew she had to shove her vibrant feelings toward Jim aside once and for all. The sadness she felt at the thought of never truly getting to know him brought tears to her eyes, but she fought them back. If they could reach Laura and release her, Pepper knew Jim would gravitate back to the woman without question. And whatever wonderful things had sprung up between him and Pepper on this mission would dissolve into the halls of his memory. But she was afraid she wouldn't so easily be able to relegate her recent emotions to the past tense, no matter what she did.

From where they knelt, their packs propped nearby so they'd be unhampered, Pepper and Jim timed the movements of the guards. Luckily, they were upwind of these men and the large, savage-looking Doberman pinschers that walked at their sides on long, thick leather leashes. The map of Garcia's plantation was firmly etched in Pepper's mind. In another few minutes, she would begin spreading the pheromone substance along the wrought-iron fence, away from the area where they wanted to breach it. Luckily the ten-foot barrier was just that. Garcia had put up an ornate fence, seemingly more for show than for actual protection, Pepper thought. There were no spikes or concertina wire, atop it, of the type that could easily cut an intruder to the bone.

Her eyes were well adjusted to the darkness, only vaguely brightened here and there by the quarter moon's light. It was perfect—enough light to work in, but not enough to give them away. Still, they'd reapplied their greasepaint to make sure no hint of pale skin might reflect the watery moonlight. As much as Pepper tried to ignore Jim's powerful presence, she couldn't. She felt his tension and tasted her own. Soon they would scale the fence, with only side arms and knives to protect them. Pepper shivered. She hoped she didn't have to use either one. Right now, her entire focus had to be on getting to the white plantation house with its dark red trim. The red-tile, Spanish-style roof gave it an odd look as far as Pepper was concerned, creating a sort of hybrid between Spanish and Southern-plantation design. Four huge white columns supported a wooden porch roof and every twenty minutes a heavyset guard with a Doberman passed by the south doors, where she and Jim planned to enter.

The night was warm and humid, and the stars had long since disappeared under approaching clouds. Pepper remembered the chance of a hurricane building south of the Windward Islands. She wondered if it would rain. The air seemed heavy, almost pregnant with moisture. Rain would be something they hadn't counted on, but it was a natural defense for any intruder, hiding noise and wiping out scents and footprints. Pepper almost wished it would start raining now.

Jim glanced over at Pepper. She was still and alert, her eyes intent on the fence line. His heart felt as if it were on fire with the need to talk at length with her. Their kiss had rocked his world—his soul. How badly he wanted to impart that to her, but he'd watched her retreat within herself. And he knew why: Captain John Freedman. Though he'd tried to initiate some talk, he had been cut off when some locals had come by, fishing lines in hand, heading for a nearby creek to catch some fish.

Jim had been frustrated, as the rest of their day had been devoted to getting to Garcia's fortress without detection, then to timing the guards' movements. Using long-range binoculars, they'd sat for hours marking down the times and memorizing them. In a way, he was glad they'd had a chance to acquaint themselves with the way Garcia's world ebbed and flowed. It would definitely work to their advantage.

Jim's mind swung to Laura, then back to dwell momentarily on his kiss with Pepper. He'd seen the desire in her wonderful blue eyes—and the tears. Why tears? That had eaten at him nonstop all day. He swore to himself that once they were safe, he would corral Pepper on that very subject, and they would have a long, in-depth talk, whether she liked it or not. Did she think he was one of those men who took and ran? he wondered with disgust, then caught himself. After all, wasn't he? Right now he wasn't at all sure of what might exist between him and Laura.

Scowling at his own confusion, he looked down at the dials of his watch. It was 0200. Time to spread the pheromone. Pepper had volunteered to do it. He would stay, watch and, if necessary, speak to her in a low tone through the headset to alert her of any unanticipated guard activity. So far, everything on the plantation seemed to occur in twenty-minute increments, and Pepper would use that time gap to spread the pheromones away from the area where they wanted to climb the fence. Jim wondered how his arm would handle the physical demands to come. At least Pepper had done a good job of binding the wound tightly so it wouldn't break open and start bleeding.

Jim gave Pepper a hand signal. She nodded, her mouth a tight line as she slowly rose and straightened. With her camouflage utilities and greasepaint, she blended perfectly into the surrounding jungle. The pheromones, Jim knew, were in unbreakable vials in the cartridge belt around her waist.

At the last second, as Pepper carefully stepped by Jim, she felt his hand grip hers. Halting, she stared down at him, shocked by his action. His hand was strong, grasping hers almost painfully. She met his burning, narrowed gaze and swallowed convulsively. She couldn't deny the look in his eyes or the expression on his face. Verbal communication was out at this point, except in dire emergency. But everything about Jim's expression said, "Be careful." Pepper nodded and tried to smile, but didn't succeed. Instantly, he released her hand, a satisfied look replacing his searching one.

Her heart pounding hard, Pepper made her way down the easy slope. Though shaken by Jim's unexpected touch, she tried to shove the feeling aside and concentrate on each step she took. Luckily, the brush and trees had been cleared away from the fence, so it was easy to move along it once she arrived at the bottom of the slope. Digging into her cartridge pouch, as quietly as she could, she took out the first container. Moving quickly, avoiding a few small branches, she began spreading the pheromone, placing a drop here and a drop there in an unmistakable path. She knew she had twenty minutes to cover the fence line up to its northernmost point.

Trying to control her ragged breathing, her eyes riveted on each place she set her boots, Pepper continued distributing the scent. Soon she knew she was out of sight of Jim, but somehow she could feel his presence as surely as if he was at her side. It was an incredible feeling, one that gave her confidence to rival her fear, though she knew that one misstep could bring the guards' fire. She could die here.

Jim waited anxiously, his only contact with Pepper the sound of her soft breathing via the headset. He had worried that she might break a branch and cause a snapping sound, but she didn't. An incredible sense of relief overwhelmed him when he saw her move like a shadow back to his position. Sweat glistened on her brow. The humidity was near saturation, and rain was imminent.

Reaching out, Jim gripped Pepper's arm and offered a tight, swift smile to convey his relief, and his pride in her efforts. She reached out, briefly touching his shoulder in acknowledgment, then moved to his side, waiting.

The guard appeared, right on time. Pepper watched with fascination as the Doberman with him picked up the scent of the pheromone. Instantly the big black-and-brown male lunged sharply against his leash—in the direction of the pheromone. Pepper felt like a statue, watching with her eyes, controlling her breathing, not moving a muscle. The guard and his dog headed north. Pepper could see the quizzical look on the guard's face but was relieved to observe he was willing to let the dog follow the scent.

Five minutes passed, and Jim gave the hand signal to move out. The fence was their next challenge, but with Jim at her side, Pepper felt a bizarre sense of confidence. They moved slowly, deliberately, their eyes and ears keyed. A breeze startled the palms, which began to clack noisily. The unexpected sound made Pepper's pulse jump, and she touched her chest in reaction. Jim moved ahead, a mere shadow in the night. She admired his stealth as he approached the fence. But would he be able to scale it with his injured arm?

Despite the fence's imposing height, Pepper saw Jim grab the solid iron bars and hoist himself upward. He groaned softly and stopped. Pepper moved into position beneath his feet, bending over so her back became a platform. When his boots made contact, she grabbed a bar to steady herself. She heard Jim choke back a sharp sound as he made a final lunge, pushing hard against her back. She glanced up to see that he'd made it up and over the fence. Getting down would be easier than hoisting himself up.

As Jim eased himself to the ground, Pepper could see the pain in every line of his face. Her gaze automatically went to his arm, covered by the torn sleeve of his utilities. Had the wound opened? If it had, the bleeding could begin again, and the scent of blood might alert one of the dogs. As she worried, Jim gave her the hand signal to scale the fence.

Pepper found the iron barrier fairly easy to climb, so she concentrated on remaining noiseless. Jim's hands wrapped firmly around her waist as she slid down on his side of the fence. But as soon as her feet touched the ground, he eased his hands away, and she felt bereft. Did he realize just how much she needed his touch? Pepper glanced up at his shadowed face and found care and anxiety in his eyes. For her? She doubted it, knowing how he felt about Laura, who could soon be within reach.

Pepper and Jim remained close together as they headed into the heavy jungle cover, making their way along the quarter-mile route to the plantation. Luckily, although street lamps lined the white gravel road leading to the house, few lights were placed elsewhere. Jim thought Garcia's arrogance might have given him an exaggerated sense of safety, so that he hadn't lighted up his house. Lucky for them.

Jim's every sense was excruciatingly heightened as he led Pepper through the maze of brush and trees toward the house. The breeze began again, rattling the hundreds of swaying palms growing among the rubber trees. He tensed as he spotted a guard moving slowly past the front of the plantation. Feeling Pepper's light touch on his shoulder, he glanced to his left and saw her glistening features and the fear in her eyes. He understood that fear. They had exactly half an hour to slip inside that house, locate Laura and get her out.

So many questions reeled through Jim's mind. What if Garcia had forced Laura to sleep with him? Then the drug lord would have to be disabled. A blinding, hot anger rose in Jim, and he knew without a doubt he could happily take out the bastard with a shot to the head, if he'd touched Laura.

A sharp, cracking sound emanated from the right. Jim froze, his hand automatically going to his Beretta. The wind had risen, gusting sharply, and the smell of rain surrounded them. He watched as the guard halted, turned and looked in their direction. A limb of a rubber tree fell with a thunk no more than a hundred feet from their position. Jim's heart rate skyrocketed, but he didn't move a muscle. The guard started toward them.

Pepper's eyes rounded as she saw the guard move. Oh, no! Luckily, the wind was still in their favor, so the dog with him wouldn't scent them. A second strong gust of wind made another branch crack and give way—on the other side of the house. The guard stopped and looked in that direction. With a shrug, he pulled his guard dog back and continued his normal path around the house.

Pepper closed her eyes, pressing her hand against her heart, which felt like a drum threatening to beat right out of her chest. She felt Jim relax and glanced at him. He was wiping sweat from his upper lip, his eyes remaining narrowed and watchful. She felt suddenly shaky and realized it was the aftermath of an adrenaline surge. Locking her knees, she stood very still, concentrating on not making a sound.

They moved closer. The southern entrance to the plantation was supposed to lead to the kitchen. They moved to that side of the house, protected by the darkness, and moved swiftly toward the door. The information they had from the CIA mole laundress had indicated that the kitchen entrance was the only one with no laser beams or warning device attached to it, because of heavy traffic in and out that door during the day and into the evening.

Let it still be so, Pepper prayed. She saw Jim reach out, his gloved hand almost caressing the brass knob. Tensing, she waited. Her breath jammed. Her eyes narrowed. Jim slowly twisted the knob. The door opened! Pepper expelled her breath in a relieved sigh.

Miraculously, she found herself inside the darkened kitchen with Jim, who shut the door as quietly as he'd opened it. Looking around, she realized the room was set up like a restaurant kitchen, with huge pots and pans hanging over commercial appliances. Everything was stainless steel, clean and glinting dully in the pale moonlight. Trying to steady her breathing, Pepper followed Jim across the tiled expanse. So far, so good.

Their plan was to take the kitchen stairs to the second floor sleeping area. But were guards stationed inside the house? They didn't know. Pepper watched as Jim drew his Beretta and held it ready in his left hand. Their weapons had muzzle suppressors and silencers, so if they did have to fire, there'd be less chance of detection.

She drew her own weapon, locked and loaded it, and held it ready in an upraised position in her right hand. The door leading out of the kitchen revealed a sliver of dimly lighted, carpeted hallway. Seeing no one, Jim pushed on the door. It squeaked. Pepper froze. Jim eased it open just enough for them to slip through. Watching the hall, the silence in the house deafening, Pepper moved toward the stairs.

Luckily, they were carpeted, too, but the two of them climbed slowly, listening for telltale creaks. At the top, they faced another door. This time Pepper took out a small can of oil and applied it to the hinges. As she stuffed the container back into her web gear, Jim nodded his agreement. He got down on one knee and slowly eased the door open. The expanse of carpeted hall, lined with valuable paintings, was blessedly empty.

In his mind, Jim visualized the blueprint of the second floor. As he moved soundlessly through the doorway, pressing his back against the opposite wall, his gun held ready, he knew that the second door was the one they'd tagged as most likely to be Laura's room. What if it wasn't? What if—He savagely stopped himself. First things first. Try the second door, the prison room.

Pepper joined him, and they inched toward the door. Once there, Jim tried the knob. It was locked. Sweat poured down his body. Outside, he heard the wind rising and the first pings of rain on the roof tiles. Good, it would provide excellent cover—if they could find Laura and escape. His breathing was chaotic as he bent down and, ignoring the pain in his arm, jimmied the lock. He heard a distinct click and froze. The sound might waken whoever was inside. He prayed it was Laura.

Pepper swallowed hard against a dry throat. Raising her weapon, she watched Jim straighten. His gloved hand moved to the knob. He twisted it. The door opened! Her heart rate skyrocketing, she kept her focus on the door. Would it creak? Awaken the person inside? Give their position away? Her hands tightened around the butt of her weapon.

The door swung open easily. Moonlight streamed into the room, and Jim saw filmy curtains over windows covered by bars. He slipped into the chamber, every muscle in his body rigid with anticipation. Pepper entered behind him quietly closing the door. Straining to see, he spotted a canopied bed to the right, and his breath caught. Someone was in the bed, all but a twisted sheet thrown aside against the muggy night.

Pepper remained at the door as a guard, watching him move soundlessly toward the bed and its occupant.

Jim moved slowly up beside the bed. His eyes widened. A lock of blond hair spilled across the sheet. It had to be Laura! He'd recognize that color anywhere. Holstering his weapon, he leaned closer. It was Laura! She lay with her back to them, curled tightly, the sheet up over her shoulders. How beautiful and untouched she looked, Jim thought as he swiftly placed one hand on her shoulder and the other across her mouth.

Laura jerked. Her eyes flew open. Instantly, she convulsed, terror in her expression.

"Ssh! Laura, it's Jim Woodward!" he hissed, his mouth close to her face. She struggled momentarily and he saw the horror in her eyes, felt dreadfully sorry he had to waken her like this. It took a moment for his words to filter through her panic. Then she stopped struggling. The sheet had fallen away, revealing her slender form covered by a long, pink-silk nightgown. Easing his hand from her mouth, he smiled a little.

"Are you okay?" Jim wasn't sure she was. Her eyes didn't look quite right, he thought, and her skin felt clammy.

Laura sat up, fear etched in her expression. She looked at Jim and then toward Pepper, in shadows near the door. Automatically, her hand went to her lips.

"Jim? Is it you?" Her voice trembled. "Oh, God, am I hallucinating again?"

He grinned tightly. "It's me, Tiger. And we're no hallucination. This is real. We're real. We've come to get you out of here." He touched her tousled hair, then her cheek, with trembling fingers. His heart flared with anguish. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Tears welled up in Laura's eyes and streamed down her cheeks. "Jim, it's really you," she quavered. Awkwardly, she threw her arms around his shoulders.

Groaning, he held her momentarily. They didn't have time for this. "Laura, listen to me," he urged in a low, ragged tone, "you've got to get dressed." His eyes darted to his watch. "We've got twelve minutes before the guard comes around again. Can you walk? Are you hurt?" he repeated.

Laura sniffed, fighting tears. "Y-yes, I'll live." She climbed out of bed, obviously shaken and uncoordinated.

"Get some clothes on," Jim coaxed. He watched her closely. Something was wrong with her. He saw it in the jerky way she opened the drawer, in the terror-filled look in her eyes. The moonlight illuminated bruises on her arms and around her throat. Just what the hell had happened to her? He stopped the questions before he could voice them. Glancing at Pepper, he motioned her over.

Pepper moved swiftly to Jim's side, holstering her weapon.

"Help her get dressed. I'll stand guard at the door," he ordered gruffly.

She nodded. For the first time, she got to meet the woman Jim loved without question. Laura was petite in comparison to her, and Pepper quickly saw how Jim could fall in love with her. In person, Laura Trayhern was beautiful in a delicate, almost-fragile way. Her blond hair, disheveled but still lovely, fell around her face, and her cheeks were flushed pink. But the woman was so obviously shaken that the slacks she'd retrieved from the dresser fell to the floor.

Pepper quickly retrieved them and handed them to her.

"Thanks," Laura quavered.

Holding her finger to her lips to warn her not to speak, Pepper saw the woman nod shakily that she understood the silent command. Pepper forced herself to listen for other sounds. The rain was pinging sharply against the windows of the room now, and the wind continued to rise. Good. All of that was to their advantage. Laura was trying to hurry, but she fumbled with her clothes. Pepper grabbed a green tank top, helped Laura pull off the silk gown and threw it aside. Completely naked, Laura reached for the slacks.

Pepper glanced over her shoulder. Jim wasn't looking. All his attention was on the door and the dangerous possibilities on the other side of it. Returning her attention to Laura, Pepper again could see why Jim would like her. Despite having had two children, the woman was in wonderful shape. Climbing into the slacks, Laura took the tank top from Pepper, pulled on a pair of cotton socks and slid into a sensible pair of leather shoes that Pepper had found in the walk-in closet.

Jim glanced at them. Nine minutes; it was going to be close. Maybe too close. As he opened the door, he felt Laura come up behind him, her hand tentatively touching his shoulder. Pepper would bring up the rear. Opening the door, he looked both ways. Nothing. He moved in one swift motion across the hall to the stairway door. Laura followed unsteadily. Shoving that door open, Jim moved sideways, and Laura joined him in the stairwell. Pepper? He anxiously looked back toward the hall. She was locking the door. Hurry! he urged silently.

Pepper turned on her heel and moved quickly to the door he held open for her. She saw the anxiety in Jim's eyes, and her gaze automatically went to Laura, who stood with her arms wrapped protectively around herself. She was physically trembling, and she didn't look very steady on her legs. There was more light here, and Pepper could see an oddly waxen quality to her skin, and dark, almost-purple circles beneath her lovely eyes. What kind of torture had she endured? Pepper found her anger surging as she reached out and slid her arm around Laura in support as they made their way down the stairs.

After checking the downstairs hall, they slipped back into the kitchen. Eight minutes. Again Jim took the lead, opening the door to the yard. A gust of wind almost ripped it out of his hand. Cursing inwardly, he used his body to hold it in place, after making sure no guards were around. With his injured arm, he signaled Pepper sharply to come on through.

The rain was falling with stinging force, the wind gusting and ebbing. Pepper kept an arm around Laura as she watched Jim move rapidly toward the rear of the house. Seven more minutes before the guard came by. Breathing rapidly through her mouth, she felt Laura sag against her suddenly. Alarmed, she turned and saw that the woman was semiconscious. With a strangled sound, Pepper again holstered her weapon and grabbed Laura's right arm, pulling it up over her shoulders. She moved her own left arm snugly around her small waist and hitched the woman close against her.

Jim signaled for them to follow him. Luckily, Laura was a featherweight, Pepper thought as she half dragged, half carried her across the lawn to the jungle. Once under cover of the trees, she relaxed a little. Still, Laura's feet were dragging, making noise.

Jim turned at the sound and realized Laura had fainted. Pepper was practically dragging her. Damn! Was Laura drugged? Hurt? Moving back to them, he quickly examined her, discovering several needle marks on both of her arms. Alarm soared through him.

"She's been drugged," he rasped, his voice shaking with fury.

"I'll carry her."

Jim was about to protest, but realized it would be stupid not to agree to Pepper's plan. Laura probably weighed less than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, but he couldn't carry her with his injured arm. He nodded brusquely, signalling that he'd help Pepper lift her over her shoulders in a fireman's-carry position.

Pepper lowered herself to one knee, knowing that that position was the easiest and safest way to carry a person, putting the bulk of their weight across the strength of the carrier's shoulders. But how long could she actually carry Laura? she wondered. There was a vast difference between lugging sixty-pound packs and hefting a live human weighing more than a hundred pounds. Still, she had no choice. She was grateful when Jim helped maneuver Laura's limp body expertly across her shoulders. Now it was up to her.

The wind was strong, slapping at them, and rain slashed at Pepper's face as she slowly got to her feet. Time was of the essence. She knew that a Coast Guard helicopter, flown by a woman lieutenant commander named Storm Gallagher, would meet them on the beach at exactly 0400. It was now 0325. They had to hurry. They hadn't counted on Laura being injured.

As Pepper began to walk with her burden, Jim stayed next to her. The wind and rain covered her mistakes as she moved awkwardly forward. The cold rain fell in sheets, and Pepper shivered despite the heat she was generating with the effort of carrying Laura. Rain dribbled down her face, blinding her, and if it hadn't been for Jim's guiding hand gripping her elbow, Pepper knew she would have fallen.

The fence! Pepper was never so glad to see anything in her life. As they lowered her to the ground, Laura became semiconscious again. Jim moved around and took her in his arms.

"Laura!" he growled. "Laura, wake up!"

Pepper knelt nearby, seeing the anxiety and care burning in Jim's eyes as he spoke. He touched Laura gently, almost like a lover, and it hurt Pepper to her soul. She had been right, after all. Jim loved Laura—still. Pepper tasted salt and realized it was her own tears.

Laura sat up, encircled by Jim's arms. "I'm so groggy," she whispered, touching her brow. "I—I'm sorry. I can hardly think, hardly walk…."

"I know, Tiger, I know. Look, we need you awake. We have to climb this fence. We can help, but you've got to help us, too. Do you think you can do it?"

Laura shivered. "I'm so cold, Jim. And I'm dizzy."

"I understand, honey. But you have to help us. Can you?"

She nodded, her hair tangled and dripping around her face. "I'll try, Jim…."

"That's my Tiger," he said, hoisting her to her feet. She was none too steady, but Pepper was there, helping keep her upright. Jim led Laura to the fence and turned to Pepper.

"Let me use your back to get up there. Once I'm on top, help push Laura, and I'll pull her up and over." He grimaced. "Somehow."

Pepper nodded. She made Laura lean against the fence for support as she waited for Jim to get started up the fence. Once he did, she moved into place beneath him. His muddy, booted feet struck her back, but she stayed steady. With one leap, he made it to the top of the fence, and Pepper was glad for her height. She was able not only to maneuver Laura onto the wrought-iron fence, but to push her upward. Jim caught Laura's outstretched arms, and Pepper knew what it cost him in terms of pain to gently lower her to the ground on the other side.

Laura managed to stand when her feet hit earth, and Jim slipped off the top, leaping down beside her. Pepper was next. The wrought iron was slippery from the rain. She knew any minute now the guard could return and catch them. Grunting, she hoisted herself up the fence, her arm and shoulder muscles straining.

A howling bark broke through the rain and wind. Pepper gasped. She heard Jim curse solidly. Scrambling, jerking a glance to her left, she saw the guard—and the dog. The Doberman had been released and was hurtling toward her! Anxiety shot through her. She saw Jim push Laura to the ground and pull out his weapon.

Just as she clambered to the top, gunfire ripped through the dark night. A bullet struck the iron inches from her, and sparks flew in all directions. She saw Jim returning fire, but knew he couldn't aim left-handed, so could offer only temporary cover at best. She had to get off the fence! Adrenaline pumping, Pepper had no choice but to leap. More bullets whined around her. Shoving off, she bent her legs. She hit the muddy ground off-balance. The soil gave way. Tucking, she rolled several times to minimize the force of her landing.

Jim fired again and again keeping the guard pinned down. The Doberman leapt out, snarling, its white fangs bared as it tried to bite at them through the fence. Jerking around, Jim saw Pepper slowly getting to her feet.

"Grab Laura! We've got to make a run for it!"

Pepper spun drunkenly toward them, the carpet of dead leaves turning slippery beneath her boots. She grabbed at Laura, who was already heading toward her. Their hands met, and Pepper shoved her ahead, using her own body as a protective shield for the woman. Her breath came in gulps as they scrambled into the dense, surrounding brush. Jim!

Pepper turned momentarily. The firing had stopped. He was hurrying toward them. Good, he wasn't wounded! So many thoughts and feelings careened through Pepper as they climbed the slope of the hill. On the other side was the beach where Commander Gallagher would be picking them up. What time was it? Pepper didn't take even a second to look.

In moments, Jim joined them, gasping loudly from the exertion. He grabbed Laura's other arm, and together they propelled her quickly up the hill. Jim's muscles burned from the exertion. Worriedly, he watched Laura. They were moving too fast for her. Her legs were like rubber. She kept falling, and they could do little more than drag her upright between them. At the crest of the hill he slid his left arm around Laura's waist, and told Pepper to do the same with her right. Together, they could hold Laura firmly enough to prevent her from falling down the slope.

The wind continued gusting, but the rain had stopped. Jim looked back. He thought he heard voices, shouting. He knew the guard had radio communications and was sure the entire fortress was now awake. It wouldn't be long before they were found. They had to hurry! Through the darkness of the trees, he could see the white sand beach. But where was the helicopter?

His mind reeling, Jim realized that if that Coast Guard helicopter didn't arrive exactly on time, they could all be dead. It wouldn't take Garcia long to discover where they were. He heard Laura gasping for breath. Glancing left, he looked at her. She was semiconscious again. Damn! Pepper's face was glistening, her mouth set, her eyes narrowed on their objective. Pride exploded through him for Pepper. What a courageous woman she was. In that moment, he felt such deep, startling emotion that it brought tears to his eyes.

Pepper kept her head, staying cool and calm under some terrible circumstances. Jim expected such a response from himself and from other men under his command, but he realized belatedly that there were women with those necessary ingredients, too. With a shake of his head, he realized how much Pepper was broadening him, awakening him to the huge potential women possessed. Laura's courage was no less impressive, though it came in a different form. She was drugged, maybe beaten, yet she wasn't crying out or hysterical. No, in her own way, she, too, had that bone-deep courage. He felt proud of both of them.

"Look!" Pepper cried, realizing too late that she'd broken the communications silence. Out at sea, she saw the red and green, blinking lights of an aircraft rapidly approaching.

Grinning, Jim nodded. He gave Laura a reassuring squeeze. The slope leveled out, and they hit the white beach at a jog. The sand was thick, sucking, and it slowed them down. But the knowledge that the Dolphin helicopter bearing the white-and-orange colors of the Coast Guard was landing made him dig in and work harder. Pepper did the same.

The wash from the blades kicked up sand everywhere. Bowing his head against its fury, Jim dragged Laura forward. Never had an aircraft looked so good. The door slid open, and a crew member reached toward them. Jim saw the helmeted heads of the two pilots in front. Turning, he released Laura into the capable hands of Dr. Ann Parsons, dressed in a bright orange Coast Guard flight uniform. He glanced back toward the hill. Still no sign of Garcia or his men.

Turning, Jim focused on Pepper, who had helped Laura into the helicopter.

"Get in," he ordered.

She nodded, climbing in swiftly.

Jim was the last to board. As soon as the door was shut and locked, the chopper lifted off smoothly, heading skyward, away from Nevis Island. The cabin lights flashed on and Jim blinked in the sudden brightness.

To his alarm, he saw Dr. Parsons, a helmet on her head, talking rapidly to the pilots. He looked down. Laura was unconscious. Pepper's eyes were wide with fear. Jim frowned. What was going on? He wasn't hooked on the cabin intercom with the pilots and the doctor. His confusion turned to terror as he saw Parsons lift Laura's neck and tip her head back so that she could breathe properly.

"Something's wrong!" Pepper cried.

Jim managed to turn around in the small area. He threw off his own headset and grabbed a pair of headphones patched into the cabin intercom. He moved around until he was on the other side of Laura, opposite the physician.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Parsons gave him a swift look as she placed her hands on Laura's chest. "She stopped breathing. Do you know CPR?"

Shocked, Jim stared. Laura's face was waxen, her lips parted, her skin so translucent he could see the small veins showing in her eyelids. "I—yes…" Oh, God, no! His mind spun as he took a position near her head, ready to breathe life-giving air into her body.

"She's been drugged!" he told the doctor, as she started to press hard and fast on Laura's chest.

"Probably cocaine," Parsons snapped. She turned to the pilots. "Tell them to stand by. I've got a woman with a drug overdose coming in. She's stopped breathing."

"Roger, Doctor," Command Gallagher replied calmly. "We'll alert the Falcon."

Jim bent over, breathing into Laura's slack lips. Of all people, she couldn't die. She just couldn't! Tears leaked into his eyes, ran down his cheeks as he coordinated the CPR with Dr. Parsons. He'd never expected this. Laura couldn't die!

Pepper remained out of the way, an unwilling witness. The vibration of the helicopter warred with her feelings. Jim was crying. In that moment, with Laura's life hanging by a precarious thread, Pepper was stunned by the depth of his emotions. The way he cradled Laura's head, the gentleness of his touch, the wildness in his eyes all confirmed his love for her.

Exhausted and anxious, Pepper could do nothing. She felt ridiculously helpless, but CPR didn't require a third person. Below, the dark ocean kept disappearing behind wispy, low-lying clouds. In the distance, she briefly spotted the lights of a huge Coast Guard cruiser. She prayed for Laura's life. The woman didn't deserve what had happened to her. She looked so fragile, so broken lying on the helicopter's cold, metal deck, her life in the hands of a man who loved her unequivocally, and a doctor whose expression told Pepper she wasn't about to lose her patient.

Chapter Nine

When they'd landed safely on the Falcon, Pepper stayed out of the way. She crowded tightly against the bulkhead, allowing a medical team to take Laura off the helicopter. Dawn was barely breaking, a silvery ribbon along the horizon for as far as she could see. Lights flooded the aircraft, making Pepper squint as she crawled out after the others. One of the pilots slid open the small window.

"Hold on, I'll take you down below. They've got officers' quarters waiting for you."

Pepper nodded. The pilot was a woman, and Pepper smiled to herself. It was good to have women in all phases of military life. She watched her disembark after shutting down the aircraft, then followed her across the deck.

Pepper felt incredibly tired and drained. All she wanted was a hot shower and sleep. Her heart was on Laura, though. Would they get her breathing again? Would she live?

"I'm Pepper Sinclair," she said, extending her hand to the woman pilot.

"Storm Gallagher. You look like hell."

"I've been through it."

Gallagher laughed huskily. "Yeah, I know. We monitored your transmissions on the way in. I'll bet Garcia's fit to be tied right now. Serve the bastard right. If that Dolphin I flew came with bombs, I'd dearly love to drop them on him. Come on, we'll go into this hatch."

Pepper followed blindly, barely noticing the activity around her. The roll and pitch of the Falcon tipped her off-balance more than once. Waves from the passing storm were three to four feet in height and the sky above them continued to threaten. No sooner had they ducked inside the hatch than the rain began again.

"Where are they taking Laura Trayhern?" she asked as they made their way down a narrow passageway.

"Sick bay. We've got a Coast Guard physician on board in addition to Dr. Parsons. Good thing that woman is an emergency-room specialist. Why do you think Laura stopped breathing?"

Pepper halted when the pilot did in front of a dark brown, mahogany door. "I think she'd been shot up with a drug. Probably cocaine, since that's what Garcia traffics." With a shake of her head, she added, "If she was, I don't know how she managed to get dressed and make it as far as she did before she fainted on us."

Storm nodded gravely. "Adrenaline does wonders."

"You're right." Pepper smiled tiredly at the woman and held out her hand. "Thanks."

Gallagher grinned and shook it firmly. "Any time. I'll let Colonel Woodward know we've taken care of you. I sure hope Mrs. Trayhern makes it. Helluva break. If you get hungry, the chow hall is on Deck Three, just below us."

Pepper nodded, watching Storm move briskly down the narrow passageway. Opening the door to her quarters, Pepper prayed they could get Laura to breathe on her own. An awful feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to leave. Quietly, she closed the door behind her and looked around. The quarters were small, spare but clean. A set of lockers lined the bulkhead, and another door led to the head, where she was sure a shower was located.

With tired movements, Pepper climbed out of her muddy, rain-soaked gear, leaving it in a heap by the door. Every muscle in her body cried out for sleep. Moving slowly, she found the shower stall and turned on the faucets. In no time, steam rolled through the small area and she gratefully stepped in. The water pummeled her, heating her chilled, shaking body, rinsing off the last of the greasepaint from her face.

Pepper recalled how wonderful a shower always felt after she'd been out for days at at time fighting a forest fire. There was nothing like it. This time, instead of cool water, however, she wanted it as hot as she could stand it. The washcloth lathered with soap scrubbed away at the sweat, the mud and the dirt. Her hair became squeaky clean, hanging limply around her face. Finally, she shut off the faucets. The towel was large and thick. Pepper realized her movements were becoming jerky from letdown. The feeling was familiar—she'd experienced it many times after coming out of a raging forest fire where her life had been in jeopardy.

She dragged herself from the bathroom to the small bunk that served as a bed and pulled back the sheet and light blue spread. The rolling of the ship was lulling her now. With a groan, she towel-dried her hair, lacking the strength even to comb out the tangled strands.

Lying down on her side, Pepper pulled the covers tightly across her shoulders. She could no longer hear the rain, only some distant sounds of the large engines that powered the ship. Her last thoughts as she drifted off to sleep were of Jim and the stark terror carved into his features as he bent over Laura on the deck of the helicopter. His eyes had telegraphed a burning anguish—something she'd never seen in them before. Only true love could wrench such emotion from such a controlled man, Pepper suspected. As sleep closed in on her, she said a prayer for Laura's life.

Jim struggled with bone-deep exhaustion coupled with a drowning array of emotions. He sat alone with Laura, his hand on hers. She was waxen and unmoving, but she was alive, thank God. Dr. Parsons had undoubtedly saved her life in the very room where he now sat. Laura's hand felt cold, and he gathered up her limp fingers, hoping his body heat would somehow transfer itself to her.

His mind was spongy, his feelings clamoring to be acknowledged. As he stared down at Laura's serene features, Jim realized the depth of his caring for and loyalty to her once and for all. But she was a friend, not a lover. Rubbing his face harshly, he wearily took in a breath of air. Maybe he'd underestimated his long-ago feelings for Laura—and maybe he had still been carrying something of a torch when this mission had started. But looking at her now, Jim knew for certain that he didn't love her in the romantic way he'd wondered about.

New feelings crowded his heart now, and they were vibrant and stunning as he sat, pondering them in the silence. Before, Jim had attributed them to Laura, thinking they'd been triggered by her unexpected kidnapping. But now he knew differently. The feelings in his heart had been aroused by Pepper walking into his life.

"You've done all you can," Ann Parsons said wearily, touching his sagging shoulder.

Jim stirred. He straightened a little in the chair and removed his hand from Laura's. Parsons' touch reminded him how exhausted he was. His gaze had never left Laura, who was finally breathing on her own again. The two doctors had battled nearly fifteen minutes to get her heart started.

"I'd rather stay, Doctor."

Ann shook her head. "There's nothing else to be done. We have her on an IV, Colonel. Her heart is working well. Dr. Thompson and I will watch her like hawks, believe me. You need to rest. You look like you're about to fall down."

Wasn't that the truth? "Will she stop breathing again?" he asked.

"I hope not. But we have no way of knowing how much of whatever drug was shot into her. The ship has a small lab, and they're testing her blood right now. I'll know more shortly."

Anger surged through Jim, despite his exhaustion. "I don't know how she managed to get up and dress herself." He searched the doctor's blue eyes.

"I don't, either. Sometimes when your life is in danger, you can override a drug reaction for a while. Laura did. She wanted to escape, to live." Ann shook her head and rubbed her brow. "There are at least five needle tracks in her arms. Garcia must have had her on drugs from the time he captured her."

Jim clenched his fists. Laura still looked wan, but her skin was no longer gray. Even her hair looked washed out beneath the fluorescent lights of the sick bay. Dr. Thompson, a Coast Guard physician in his late thirties, tended Laura, ever watchful. Jim turned his attention back to Ann.

"Thanks for saving her life, Doctor. I'm glad as hell you were out there to meet us."

She nodded. "You weren't too shabby in the clutch, either, Colonel. Come on, I'll show you to your quarters. They're right next to the ones Pepper was assigned, on Deck Two."

Pepper. Jim halted. He scowled and followed the doctor out of sick bay and down a series of passageways that led to a stairway that would take them topside.

"Does anyone know how she is?" he asked as they climbed the stairs. The ship was rolling fairly heavily now, and he had to grip both railings.

"No. I think I'll check on her," Ann said as they made it to the second deck.

Jim glanced out the hatchway window. The rain was coming down in torrents, and the once-azure Caribbean had turned steely gray, with small whitecaps. He drew abreast of the doctor, who was still dressed in the bright, red-orange flight suit.

"Let me check on her, Doctor."

"No problem. If she needs any medical attention, though, call me?"

"I will." Jim saw her point to a door.

"This is yours for the duration of the trip, Colonel. Pepper's cabin is next door."

"Thanks." He watched the doctor move off and saw Commander Noah Trayhern appear at the other end of the passageway. Since he was captain, he had to stay on the bridge, though Jim was sure he wanted to be down in sick bay watching over Laura. He saw the doctor stop and begin to talk with him.

Still worried about Laura, Jim opened the door to his quarters. As he shed his clothes and took a scaldingly hot shower, he felt the last of the adrenaline ebbing away. He dried off and dropped the towel on the bunk. Someone had left him a one-piece, dark blue Coast Guard uniform, and he climbed into it. First he wanted to look in on Pepper, then he'd go get something to eat, check on Laura, then hit the sack.

Stepping back out into the passageway, Jim felt the ship rolling and balanced himself by placing his hands along the bulkhead as he walked. Stopping at the door to Pepper's cabin, he knocked loudly enough for her to hear, but got no answer. He waited. He knocked again. Nothing. Worried, he opened the door and stepped inside. His mouth stretched into a tender line as he saw Pepper in her bunk, sleeping deeply.

His heart started a slow pounding as he shut the door and made his way over to her. Jim lowered himself to one knee, steadying himself with a hand on the edge of the bunk. How fragile she looked in sleep. Her face was pale, much paler than it should be, he thought. All the usual pink had been washed out of her freckled cheeks. And the darkness beneath her thick, lowered eyelashes was obvious. He lifted his other hand and lightly touched her tangled hair. How he wished he could be here when she woke up, to take a brush and smooth those strong, silken strands.

A sudden memory of their heated kisses flowed through him, momentarily easing his various aches and pains. Barely touching Pepper's hair, careful not to waken her, Jim smiled. She lay on her left side, her knees drawn up, the blanket and sheet tightly wrapped around her. The desire to slide into the bunk with her was almost overwhelming. Right now, he needed Pepper more than he ever could have imagined possible.

Allowing his hand to fall back to his side, Jim slowly got to his feet, convinced Pepper was fine. All she needed was eight to twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, and she'd be in good shape. Before he left, he picked up her dirty gear and took it with him.

Pepper awoke slowly. Where was she? The sounds were strange. The motion was, too, until she groggily remembered she was on the Coast Guard ship. As she slowly sat up, every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Shoving her hair back out of her eyes, she sat there, assimilating her surroundings. The gentle rocking motion was comforting. As she came fully awake, the memories—the danger—all flooded back.

How was Laura? The question spurred her out of bed. She located a Coast Guard uniform in the locker and put it on. Luckily, she also found the toiletry articles she needed, and quickly combed her tangled hair into some semblance of respectability and brushed her teeth. Pepper didn't look too closely at herself in the mirror. But what she saw, she didn't like. Her skin looked pasty, and dark circles lay under her eyes. Well, didn't she always look like this coming off a five-or ten-day fire?

Her heart moved back to Jim, and the pain nearly overwhelmed her. She had to find out how Laura was. Her stomach growled ominously. Looking around, she found a clock on the desk that was bolted to the deck. Six p.m. Impossible! They had landed on the ship at 0500. Had she slept that long?

Getting directions from a crew member outside her quarters, Pepper headed directly to sick bay. Looking out the round hatch windows, she noted it was dusk. The sky was clear, the ocean smooth as glass. She ignored the dramatic red sunset as she moved stiffly down the stairs that would take her to the lower deck. She prayed Laura wasn't dead.

Pepper entered sick bay, a large room in comparison to her quarters, and a corpsman on duty greeted her.

"Mrs. Trayhern? Is she alive?" she blurted.

"Yes, ma'am."

Relief flooded through her. "Thank God," she whispered, touching her heart. "May I see her?"

"Colonel Woodward is with her right now, ma'am. It's a pretty small area, so it gets a little crowded in there."

Pepper hesitated. Her heart bled at the information. Jim was with Laura. What else had she expected? "Oh, okay…" She felt a sense of anguish, mingled with an odd relief. Why? Was she glad that Jim loved Laura? It was just as well he did love her, she told herself sternly. She must have been crazy, allowing herself to get so emotionally caught up with him in the first place. It had to have been the heat of the mission that had allowed her carefully constructed walls to fall into such shambles—that had allowed her to actually consider the possibility of her relationship with Jim going beyond the professional experience they'd shared. Now it was time to get back to reality, before she lost her heart for good. Pepper frowned, hoping it wasn't too late already…. John's unexpected death had taught her the hard way that her heart could never withstand such pain again. Never again would she surrender to such overwhelming emotion without the balance of rationality.

But why had it been so easy to say no and not get involved romantically with men until now? Pepper had no answers. The corpsman was looking at her strangely, so she tried to appear more alert.

"Dr. Parsons doesn't want Mrs. Trayhern to have too many visitors right now," the corpsman continued placatingly. "Perhaps if you went to the galley for dinner and came back after that?"

"Sure." Pepper's hunger was gone. Tears flooded her eyes and she swallowed. Jim was with Laura. As she quietly shut the sick-bay door, she wanted to sob, but didn't. Why was there so much pain in that realization? After all, John had been her life. Her soul. Her only experience with love.

"How're you feeling, Tiger?" Jim smiled and reached out to grip Laura's hand, which lay across her blanketed body. She looked very weak, her skin still translucent, her eyes cloudy.

"Jim…it's so good to see you." Laura cleared her throat, her voice raspy. She tried to squeeze his hand but couldn't muster the strength.

He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on her brow. "I gotta tell you, you look a little better now than when we found you at the plantation."

"Plantation?"

"Yeah. You remember, don't you? Garcia kidnapped you?"

"Wait…"

Mentally, Jim kicked himself. Dr. Parsons had warned him about hitting Laura with too much information too soon. Sometimes cocaine—which they had verified through lab tests was in her bloodstream—could wipe out certain events in a person's memory. He squeezed her hand. "Let me begin at the beginning," he told her quietly. "Stop me if I give you too much information too fast, okay?"

Laura felt chilled. Desperately, she looked up into Jim's face. "I haven't seen you for such a long time. The last time I remember was when we had lunch in Fairfax, at the Bicycle Club."

Relief raced through him. "Yes, that's right, Tiger, we did." He sat down on a chair and faced her. "Do you recall anything of the last couple days, Laura?"

"I…" She touched her head. The IV in her arm made it difficult to move. She looked around the room and then back at him. "Something terrible happened, didn't it?" Her voice was tremulous.

Jim stroked her hand in an effort to soothe her. He heard a noise behind him and looked around. Commander Noah Trayhern stood there. He was tired, his face lined with worry and his gray eyes burning with concern. Nodding to him, Jim turned and watched Laura carefully. Would she remember Morgan's brother?

"Laura, how are you?" Noah came around to the other side of the bed. He touched her shoulder and looked at her closely.

"Noah." Laura managed a weak smile. "What are you doing here?"

Noah traded a glance of alarm with Jim.

"Her memory will come back," Jim assured him. "As the drug wears off, everything will come back, from what Dr. Parsons said."

"I see." Noah looked down at Laura. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful. I'm cold."

Jim released her hand. "Let me go ask the corpsman where I can get another blanket for you."

"Thanks," Noah said, his voice filled with raw emotion.

Jim returned a few minutes later with two more blankets. The corpsman had assured him that the chills Laura was experiencing would eventually go away. Together, Jim and Noah tucked the warming covers around her. He was relieved to see some of the cloudiness leaving her eyes. How terrible it would be if the drug erased her memory completely. Laura still hadn't remembered that Morgan and Jason had been kidnapped.

Jim felt he should leave. Laura had an established rapport with Noah; he was much more present in her life than Jim was. Besides, it was obvious Noah was upset over the events. Jim moved to the side of the bed.

"Listen, I'm going to grab some chow, Laura. You're in good hands here with Noah. I'll come back later, and we'll talk, okay?"

Sleepily, she nodded. "Sure. Thanks…"

Jim smiled. "See you later, Tiger." As he left sick bay, he wondered if Pepper had slept off the worst of the mission. He'd gotten some solid sleep, but his worry over Laura's condition had forced him up after six hours.

Going down to the galley, he was surprised to spot Pepper there. She was sitting alone at one of the bolted-down tables, a tray before her with a little food on it. She didn't see him. She seemed immersed in looking down at the coffee cup she held between her thin hands. Jim's heart thumped hard to underscore the vibrant feelings she brought out in him. Her hair was combed, softly framing her face. Color was back in her cheeks, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He went through the chow line, loading his tray with food.

"How are you?"

Pepper's head snapped up. Jim's voice was low, intimate. Her eyes widened as she saw him sit down opposite her. His smile was warm, and his eyes burned with that same caring light.

"Jim…"

"Didn't expect to see me?" he teased, cutting up a pork chop.

"Well—I…"

"How are you feeling?" He saw Pepper's cheeks flush red. She couldn't quite hold his gaze, and he wondered why. Her hands fluttered nervously over the coffee cup.

"Like something the cat dragged in," she muttered under her breath.

He pointed toward her tray with his knife. "Have you eaten anything?"

"No…not much."

Between bites of food, he asked, "is this the way you are after coming off a forest fire?"

Touched by his insight, Pepper dabbled with her meat disinterestedly. She should eat, she knew, but her stomach was tied in a terrible knot of grief. Jim looked unscathed by the mission. His hair was clean and combed, his face freshly shaven. His eyes glinted with their usual intelligence.

"Oh…I'm usually worthless for about two days when we come in from a fire," she admitted finally.

"I never realized the demands on you," he murmured. Why was Pepper so nervous? Her fingers trembled when she picked up her spoon and ate a bit of the canned peaches on her tray. Growing serious, he said in a low tone, "You're an incredible woman. I want you to know that, Pepper." They had shared so much in such a short amount of time. Those kisses that had nearly led him into making love to her still burned brightly in his memory, and his body responded to the thought. Now that he'd freed himself of confusion about his feelings for Laura, his uncertainty about Pepper had cleared up. A desperation to let her know how much she meant to him made him hope for an opportunity to talk with her honestly about so many things.

Pepper shrugged, not daring to meet his eyes. His voice, low and gritty, shone through her like blazing sunlight. "We both pulled our share of the load." She glanced up. "How's your arm?"

"Fine. Once Dr. Parsons got Laura stabilized, she checked it out and gave your work her seal of approval."

"How is Laura?" Pepper picked up her coffee, sipping it, and met his eyes for the first time.

"She's going to make it, thank God." Jim frowned. "The only problem is she doesn't remember anything about the kidnapping. Nothing." With a shake of his head, he muttered, "Noah's down there with her now. I think he'll probably break the news to her about Morgan and Jason."

"At least she's going to live. That's everything. I don't know Noah that well, but he seems so gentle. He's probably the right person to break it to her." Sighing, Pepper looked around the room. It was beginning to fill up with off-duty crew. The noise level rose, the laughter in direct opposition to how she felt.

"No disagreement there." Jim saw the shadows in Pepper's eyes but wrote them off as being due to the mission. "You still haven't said how you are."

With a shrug, she took a bite of the chicken on her tray. "Okay."

"I'm discovering that you tend to use that word as a cover-up."

Pepper stared at him. His voice was low with concern. When she looked into his eyes, she was instantly wrapped in that incredible warmth he exuded. Her heart squeezed with such pain that she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Instantly, she forced them back.

"Well?" Jim prodded.

"I'm just a little sore, that's all," she hedged, her voice huskier than usual. "And tired. I'll be glad to get home."

Jim scowled. "Home meaning Montana?" He wanted time with her, dammit.

"Yes. It's snowing there now. It's a beautiful time of year up in the mountains."

"I see…."

"I imagine Laura's going to need a lot of emotional support and help from friends and family to get through all of this," Pepper said. "I'm glad she has you."

"Yes, she's going to need help." Dammit! Jim dawdled over his dessert of baked apple with vanilla sauce. So much had happened that he hadn't thought much beyond Laura's unexpected health problem. Pepper was right; she would need friends and family now more than ever, and he had every intention of being there in that capacity for her. Worse, Pepper would be leaving.

"What are your plans for returning to Montana?" he demanded.

Pepper heard the slight edge of anger in Jim's voice. Why? "When we get to D.C., Marie will put me on the next plane out."

With her simple words, Jim lost his considerable appetite. The last thing he wanted was for Pepper to leave, but even if she stayed, he'd be too busy to spend much time with her, between his job at the Pentagon and remaining in Laura's life until her husband and son were found. If they could be found, he reminded himself grimly. There was no telling what Laura's freedom would mean to Morgan's situation. The drug lords could kill him outright. There were so many unknowns. And no answers.

Looking up, he met and held Pepper's luminous gaze. She looked as if she were going to cry. Frustration ate at him. Those tears again. And again, this wasn't the time or place to ask about them. Damn. "So what does a smoke jumper do during winter? There can't be many fires."

"As a Hotshot team, we're always on standby. Sometimes we get calls from the Southwest—California and Arizona in particular—and we go fight a fire for them." Pepper set her tray aside and grabbed the heavy white mug that contained the last of her coffee.

"What else do you do?"

"We repair our equipment, I put my team through training seminars and, in general, we rest up. There's a lot to do in other ways, believe me. We aren't sitting in Montana twiddling our thumbs."

He grinned a little. "I know you ski."

"Yes, mostly cross-country, anymore." She stopped for a long moment, recalling that it had been a good two years after John's death before she'd put on a pair of downhill skis.

Sliding his own tray aside, Jim sipped at his coffee, deep in thought. "Do you realize we missed Thanksgiving?"

"I know…it's one of my favorite holidays."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She gazed down at her cup. "I always go home for it—to Anaconda."

"Family means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

Pepper lifted her head. "Sure. Doesn't it to everyone?"

He shrugged. "Nowadays, I think a lot of people have lost their sense of family togetherness. Not that it's anyone's fault. It just happened."

"I'll probably make up for my absence by taking a few days off when I get back and going home to see my parents."

"They can't know anything about this mission. What will you tell them?"

"A white lie. I'll tell them a friend of mine got into trouble on the East Coast and I flew back to help her."

"That's painless," Jim conceded. He ached to have long, exploring conversations with Pepper. "So what are your other favorite holidays?"

She roused herself, trying to fight her inner pain. "Christmas. I love it. I go home then, too. My grandparents live in Billings, and as old as they are, they drive over for the week if there's no blizzard in progress. Cam and Molly and their kids come home, too. We have a great time. I just love seeing the kids, playing with them, building snowmen and stuff like that."

The warmth in Pepper's eyes made Jim want to rail against life in general. Her voice had such a velvet quality to it, and her love for her family touched his heart as few things ever did. He saw new life in her eyes, and he longed to share that with her. If only he could. If only…

"Well, we're due in Miami in two days," he said in a low voice. "I hope we get to share more times like this, Pepper."

Startled, she sat up. "Like what?"

"Talking with you." He frowned. Why did she look incredulous, as if she didn't really believe him? Was the ghost of John Freedman still standing between them? Probably. Jim no longer cared. One way or another, he was going to replace that ghost from her past.

Nervously, Pepper stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I want to go see Laura, if I can."

He nodded. "Okay. I'll see you later."

Laura was sleeping when Pepper stopped to see her. Too restless to go back to her cabin, Pepper went up to the bridge, where she found Noah Trayhern. Though Noah wore the same dark blue uniform as everyone else, it was obvious he was in charge. His carriage, his low, commanding voice and the way the crew members on the bridge responded showed that. Pepper liked the officer. He was easygoing yet firm. She liked to think she was that way with her team, too. It was obvious Noah's crew not only respected him, but liked him—a rare combination.

When he spotted her, Noah stood up and offered her his captain's chair, with the best view on the ship. Huge windows framed the entire area, giving everyone good visibility. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Pepper slid into the chair. From here, she could see the dark expanse of the Caribbean. Above, thousands of stars seemed quilted into the velvety sky.

"How about a cup of fresh coffee?" Noah suggested, gesturing to one of the crew to get it for them.

Pepper nodded. "Thanks, I could use it. I came up here to find out how Laura is doing. Colonel Woodward said you were just with her."

Rubbing his jaw, the officer leaned against the console and faced her. "She's making good progress physically. Her memory is spotty, though. I just had a talk with Dr. Parsons, and she said that gradually Laura should remember everything."

Pepper took the white mug offered to her, with thanks. Noah took the other proffered mug and sipped the coffee thoughtfully. "I'm just glad the worst is over for her," she said.

"In one way it is, and in another way it isn't," Noah murmured. "Dr. Parsons examined her thoroughly and told me Laura had been raped."

Stunned, Pepper sat very still, the mug resting in her hands. "Oh, God, no…"

Grimly, Noah rasped, "If I ever get my hands on Garcia, he's a dead man."

Shaken, she whispered, "That's terrible. She's already got her own private hell she's going to have to deal with."

"Yes, and I just talked to Perseus. They still don't have a line on where Morgan or Jason are." Frustration was evident in his voice. "I'm having a tough time with this whole situation. I knew Morgan going into a security business like this would make him enemies, but I never envisioned it turning into such a can of worms."

"At least," Pepper said hesitantly, "Laura has her family—and Jim."

"Yes, she's got that," he admitted. "I'd like to stay behind and be with her, but I can't. I have a Coast Guard ship to run. I wish I could…."

Reaching out, she touched his broad shoulder. "You've done more than most people could have already, Noah."

He took her hand and squeezed it warmly. "Without you, this mission wouldn't have been a success. Jim told me what happened, how he injured his arm too badly to be of much help." He looked straight into her eyes. "I'm just glad you were in place, Pepper. I have to admit, I had my doubts about your qualifications, but you've convinced me. Jim's right—you're one very special woman. One hell of a role model, to boot."

Pepper felt heat spread across her face, and she knew she was blushing. Noah's hand was warm and strong. She released it and said, "Jim is giving me too much credit. Without his experience, I wouldn't have been able to pull this mission off, Noah."

The captain cocked his head and studied her in the building silence. "No, I don't think he has. I think Jim sees you very clearly. I don't think you always see yourself and how much you accomplish on a daily basis as a smoke jumper."

"Maybe not," Pepper hedged, unaccustomed to all this praise. "I have a job I love. It combines everything I ever learned in life, and I can use it all."

"I know what you mean," he murmured, satisfaction in his tone. "I love what I do in the Coast Guard, too."

"From what I can see, you've got the best of all worlds. You have a wonderful wife who obviously adores you, kids and a great job."

He laughed a little. "I do. I'll be the first to admit it. Kit is something special to me. She's my life, my soul…." He gave her an embarrassed look. "Kit and I met at a real bad time in her life. I fell in love with her immediately, but she was gun-shy of me."

Pepper nodded. "You're a lot like Colonel Woodward, though."

"Oh?"

"He has that same warmth, that humanity about him that you have."

"I guess he does, only he hides it a lot better than I do." Noah chuckled.

Pepper became glum. Somehow, for the next two days, she was going to have to hide how she really felt about Jim. If only she could get off the ship earlier. She knew she had to fill out a report at Perseus, but after that, she was free to resume her life as it had been before—without Jim.

"Noah?"

"Yes?"

"Is there any way to get off the Falcon earlier than two days from now?"

Chapter Ten

"Laura? I'm Pepper Sinclair…." Pepper extended her hand to the woman who lay on the hospital bed, covered with blankets. Laura's eyes were half-open, red-rimmed. It was 0700, and Pepper wanted to talk to Laura before catching a flight to Miami with Commander Gallagher. Her heart went out to the pale woman, her skin still translucent. But it was her eyes that most touched Pepper's heart. They were filled with tears. As their hands connected, she felt Laura's cool, damp one weakly wrap about hers.

"Hi…" Laura whispered. "I'm so glad to finally meet you. Jim and Noah have had nothing but praise for you…for helping me, for saving my life. Thank you…."

Pepper squeezed her hand gently and released it. She watched as Laura shakily raised her other hand and brushed the tears away. "I'm glad I was able to help, Laura." She moved uneasily. "I'm sorry, I've come at a bad time."

With a half smile quirking one corner of her mouth, Laura whispered, "No, you didn't. It's just the memories…."

"They're starting to return," Pepper said empathetically. She saw the terror in Laura's blue eyes and wanted to help, but didn't know how. Helplessness seized her. "I just wanted to touch base with you. I'm hopping a flight in a few minutes. I guess I just wanted to wish you the best in an awful situation."

Laura closed her eyes and sniffed. "Thank you, Pepper. Wh-when things are better, I want to spend some time with you. I—I don't really remember very much about your rescuing me."

"You don't have to," Pepper whispered unsteadily, her throat closing with tears. The woman's husband and son were still missing, yet she was attempting, despite her own pain and horror, to keep up a conversation. How unselfish she was. Touched beyond words, Pepper gripped her hand gently once again. "Just get well. Maybe in six months or so, when things have settled down, I'll call you and we'll talk."

Laura opened her eyes. "I'd like that, Pepper."

Releasing her hand, Pepper moved away from the bed. "Goodbye," she quavered, and she turned on her heel, fighting her own tears. Outside sick bay, she halted in the passageway. Quickly wiping the moisture from her eyes, she glanced around, relieved that no one had seen her crying. Her last—and worst—visit was going to be with Jim. He didn't know she had managed to wrangle a lift on Storm's helicopter, which would be leaving shortly. When she'd gotten up earlier, Jim had still been asleep in his quarters.

A part of her didn't want to face him and hoped, as she climbed the ladder between decks, that he would still be sleeping. That was the coward in her talking, Pepper thought, as she moved down the passageway. Of course, part of her very much wanted to see Jim. But what was the use? He'd spent every waking moment in sick bay with Laura. And Pepper couldn't blame him. Laura was a beautiful person—from the heart outward.

Her hands suddenly damp, Pepper stopped outside Jim's cabin and knocked. No answer. Again she knocked. Still no answer. She had no idea what time he'd gone to bed last night. For all she knew, he may have spent half the night with Laura. If so, he'd be sleeping deeply now.

She took a deep, shaky breath. Going to her own quarters, she quickly penned him a note. Fighting back tears for herself—for a future she'd unwillingly gotten a brief glimpse of before knowing with jarring reality that it would never be hers—Pepper finished writing her goodbye. She folded the paper and gently pushed it beneath Jim's door. When he woke up, he'd find it.

Outside, she could hear the helicopter warming up, the blades whapping in the early morning air. Hurrying forward with her small duffel bag, she left the main deck of the Coast Guard cutter. She'd seen Noah already and thanked him for his help and hospitality. As she moved outside to the damp, almost-cool morning, Pepper saw the pale pink horizon dotted with a few puffy clouds, but she was in so much personal pain that the beauty of it didn't really register on her senses.

A crew member opened the Dolphin helicopter door, and Pepper climbed on board. She found a place to sit on the cool metal deck behind the two pilots, then leaned against the bulkhead and closed her eyes. She didn't want to say goodbye to Jim. The burning sensation around her heart moved up her throat, and Pepper's hand came up to cover the area. Choking back a sob, she heard the engine of the Dolphin deepen. In moments, the helicopter broke contact with the deck of the cutter, and they were airborne.

Jim stumbled to his feet, his eyes bleary and slightly puffy. What time was it? He glanced down at his watch as he moved toward the head. It was 1000. He'd overslept. With a shake of his head, he twisted the knobs on the shower to get the water running. He'd been up with Laura until almost three this morning. The memories had started to come back, and she had verged on hysteria. There'd been no way he was going to leave her to battle her demons alone.

Jim didn't feel at all good this morning. He needed a long, uninterrupted sleep to recover from the grueling pounding he'd put himself through on this mission. After a hot shower, he shaved and dressed in a clean, dark blue Coast Guard uniform. His heart cried out for Pepper—for her nearness. Because of Laura's continuing crisis, they hadn't had the time together he'd hoped for. If Dr. Parsons hadn't given Laura a tranquilizer at 0300, Jim knew he'd have been up all night instead of just half. He and Noah had arranged to take turns with her as she regained her tortured memories, but the captain had more-immediate responsibilities, so Jim had shouldered most of the load of remaining with her.

Not that he minded, but his heart was torn. He knew the time he spent with Laura now would ultimately help stabilize her and help her cope. Last night, she had recalled the rape with vivid clarity, and he'd cried with her and held her, wanting so much to protect her from that pain but not being able to. Soon enough she would remember the kidnapping—and the fact that Jason and Morgan were still missing. He wasn't sure which would be more devastating to her.

Grimly, he glanced in the mirror long enough to comb his short, dark hair. There were circles under his eyes, which were bloodshot from too little sleep. He looked like hell. He felt like hell. What he really needed was Pepper's company. She had been like a serene angel through all of this. More than once he'd seen her with Noah. She was an easy person to talk to, Jim realized. And in her own way, he acknowledged, she was there for Laura and him—only at a distance.

He made up his bunk and turned to go out into the passageway. First he would get some chow, then he'd visit Noah and, finally, go see Laura. A flash of white on the deck caught his attention as he opened the door. It was a folded piece of stationery. He leaned down and picked it up.

Standing half in his quarters and half in the busy passageway, Jim opened the paper. He frowned and his eyes narrowed as he read the message:

Dear Jim:

By the time you get this, I'll be gone. I knocked twice on your door this morning, but I guess you were sleeping pretty hard. I'm hopping an early flight to the mainland this morning. I wanted to say goodbye, but I guess this note will do.

I don't feel my presence on the cutter is necessary. I'm pretty wrung out by the mission, and right now home looks good to me. It's a place to heal. To forget. Goodbye…

Pepper

"Damn!" He folded the note, turned on his heel and hurried up to the bridge. Noah was standing at the window with a pair of binoculars when Jim opened the hatch door to the area.

"Where's Pepper?" he demanded, slightly out of breath.

Noah lowered the binoculars and looked at him. "She left at 0700 this morning with Commander Gallagher." Glancing at his watch, he said, "They'll arrive at the Miami Coast Guard station after a refueling stop in the Bahamas."

His heart beating frantically in his chest, Jim stood, feeling a terrible pain in his gut. A bitter taste filled his mouth. "Did you see her this morning?" he asked, his voice strained.

Noah placed the binoculars on the console. "Yes." He searched Jim's face carefully. "Pepper finally did get a chance to introduce herself to Laura this morning before she left."

"Why did she leave?"

Noah shrugged and returned his attention to the islands in the distance. "She said she felt useless around here and that it was best if she went home early."

With a shake of his head, Jim crossed his arms against his chest. "I should have spent more time with her…."

Noah cocked his head. "Is there something between you two? Not that it's my business, but—"

"Yes," Jim admitted abruptly, "there is." Or more accurately, should be. "She shouldn't have run…."

"Pepper didn't say much, but as she walked out to the helo deck, she looked pretty upset."

Jim compressed his lips. "How upset?"

"She looked as if she was crying, but I couldn't really be sure," Noah said quietly.

Jim took in a ragged breath. "I've really screwed up."

"Reading between the lines," Noah volunteered as he sat down in the captain's chair, facing Jim, "I think Pepper feels you care a lot for Laura."

"Of course I do," Jim rasped. "She's been a friend for more than seven years."

Holding up his hand, the officer said, "That's not what I mean. Pepper said something odd to me when we were eating dinner in the galley last night." He frowned. "She said she understood why you could love someone like Laura, even if it was at a distance."

Suddenly the conversation they'd had back at his condominium deluged Jim. He was thunderstruck. "Pepper must think I'm still carrying a torch for Laura!" What a fool he'd been. And of course, it would look that way to her. After all, he'd spent every possible minute at Laura's side, helping her cope, being there to support her through her horrible trials. Why hadn't he realized Pepper might see his attention toward Laura differently?

"I guess," he said, pain in his tone, "Pepper could interpret my time with Laura that way."

"Very easily," Noah said. "I didn't help things, either. I told her how close you two were." With a grimace, he added, "I probably helped nail your coffin closed on that one without ever realizing it. I'm sorry."

Frustration ate at Jim. He was even more torn now. "Laura needs continued support. I can't just pick up and leave, even if I want to." He was talking out loud, more to himself than to Noah. "Pepper will probably skip Perseus, grab a flight out of Miami International and go straight home. At lunch yesterday, I could see how much she wanted to get back there. When she spoke about snow in the Rocky Mountains, she got tears in her eyes. And she's looking forward to spending Christmas with her family in Anaconda."

Jim wanted to cry himself. Pepper had completely misinterpreted his relationship with Laura. Hadn't his hot, branding kiss on the island told her something? His touching her intimately, almost loving her? Had it meant so little to her? No, Jim cautioned himself, he couldn't be angry with Pepper. She might have thought the kiss and his intimacy were due to nothing more than the intensity of the moment. What she didn't know—and what he hadn't ever communicated to her—was that he didn't take what they'd so explosively shared at all lightly. For him, it had been a promise of a future exploration of their relationship. But obviously Pepper didn't know that.

"I just talked to Dr. Parsons," Noah said, interrupting Jim's tortured thoughts. "She gave Laura a mild tranquilizer and is down there with her now." His eyes showed agony. "We've all focused so much on Laura that I think we forgot to check how Pepper was feeling. That was a rough mission, and I'm sure she still has a lot of emotional baggage to sort out from it. I know when my wife, Kit, was an undercover cop, she would go through hell after a dangerous bust. It was important for me to be there for her through those times." He sighed. "I'm afraid Pepper needed us, but we weren't there for her."

"I wasn't there for her," Jim agreed guiltily, a lump in his throat. "You're right—Pepper needed care, too, and I didn't give it to her."

"It wasn't anyone's fault," Noah said, placing his hand on Jim's slumped shoulder. "The situation was unique. I don't think any of us could have done much differently even if we'd been aware."

"We could have done a lot more. I could have." Jim felt such a bitter sense of loss that he wanted to sob. Had he lost Pepper entirely? Was there any hope for them? Her note hadn't been signed. "Your friend" or "Love." But what did he expect? He'd practically ignored her since they'd completed the mission. The mistake he'd made was in thinking that their kiss had sealed a promise for their future.

With a shake of his head, Noah murmured. "Ever since this kidnapping, the whole Trayhern family has been in a state of shock. We've been running around like a bunch of lemmings." Scratching his head, he said, "I think we've got to get a handle on our emotions, whether we want to or not. I know my parents are beside themselves over what's happened. My sister, Alyssa, and her husband, Clay, are coming in off a top-secret assignment and they're waiting to hear if Perseus or the Pentagon can get a lead on Jason or Morgan. They're going to take thirty days' leave to be here and help out."

"That's good," Jim said sincerely. But it didn't solve his problem. They had another day-and-a-half sail before they reached Miami. Then he would fly north with Laura and Dr. Parsons. "What are you going to do with Laura once she's home?"

"I've been in contact with a rape-crisis center in D.C., and have been referred to a woman psychologist who will work with her. Killian definitely thinks Laura and her daughter shouldn't go home until after we've located Jason and Morgan."

"Good idea," Jim said. "Ramirez and Garcia could strike again, to get even with us for rescuing her."

"You'd better believe it." Grimly, his eyes narrowed, Noah scanned the nearly smooth expanse of blue-green water. "Garcia and Ramirez have been albatrosses around our family's neck for a long time. Now it's coming down to the wire. It's them or us." His mouth flattened. "And I'll be damned if the Trayhern family will pay the price again, to this country or otherwise. We've lost so much. We got it back when Morgan returned to us but now it's been taken away again in a different way."

Jim felt the deep emotion behind Noah's softly spoken words. He saw the anguish in the officer's expression. No one was more aware of the Trayhern history than he, because of Laura's involvement. No, of all people, this family didn't deserve to suffer this kind of attack. "As soon as we get Laura established, I'll be back at the Pentagon," he offered. "Maybe, with some luck, we'll pick up more satellite transmissions."

Noah brightened slightly. "You were responsible for this one, and it turned out to be a good lead." He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and, shifting gears, said, "It's none of my business, but what are you going to do about Pepper?"

Jim exhaled. "Wait, I guess. I can't just drop everything and go to her. I was lucky to get leave for this mission. My superiors aren't about to let me go again so soon. Besides, I want to try to locate Jason and Morgan. I think I can do it, given some time."

"Maybe," Noah said, "time is what Pepper needs right now, anyway. She needs to get some distance on what happened. Hopefully, she'll realize why you had to spend so much time with Laura. It wasn't love but loyalty."

"I hope," Jim whispered, "she sees exactly that, but I'm not counting on it."

"Go get some chow," Noah urged.

Jim didn't feel like eating, but he knew he had to. Leaving the bridge, he headed for the cutter's bottom deck, but his mind and heart were on Pepper. How was she feeling? What was she feeling? Had he made up this idea of something strong growing between them?

Noah was right, Jim decided. Time could be his friend. But it could be his enemy, too. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to let Pepper know she was part of his life. Some kind of foundation had to be laid so she understood that his kiss had been the seal of a new relationship—not something taken from her in a stolen moment.

"Hey, Pepper!" Joe Conway stood at the door to the cavernous structure where they laid out and folded the smoke-jumping parachutes.

Pepper raised her head. She was at one of the tables, refolding one of her chutes. It was lunchtime and the rest of her team was over at the chow hall. Their smoke-jumping facility was a few miles outside Phillipsburg, next to the small airport there.

Joe looked at her expectantly. "What?" she asked shortly.

"You aren't going to believe it, but in the middle of this snowstorm, a florist truck pulled up. Phillipsburg doesn't have a florist, so this guy must have come all the way from Anaconda, the poor bastard. Bad day to be driving." He flashed her a happy smile and opened the door with a flourish.

Frowning, Pepper saw a man bundled in a heavy wool coat and hat carrying a large, long box under his right arm. He was an older gentleman, with silver in his hair. He removed his hat and thanked Joe for opening the door. Then Joe, her second in command, pointed at her. Joe was tall, brash and only twenty-eight, full of Irish blarney right up to his dancing green eyes and black hair. Was this a trick? He'd been known to pull plenty of practical jokes, especially at this time of year, when things slowed down and got a little too boring around the camp to suit him.

The older man stepped up to her, his hat in one hand, the mysterious box in the other. He smiled, his brown eyes crinkling with warmth as he nodded at her. "Are you Ms. Sinclair?"

"Yes." Pepper watched him break into a wide smile.

"I got this special order at our shop in Anaconda." Chuckling, he said, "I gotta tell you, the roads are pretty slick out there. That snow's fallin' faster than the plows can remove it." He offered her the large box. "These are for you."

Though completely puzzled and still wary of a trick, Pepper accepted the box and thanked him. When he'd left, Joe wandered over.

"What's inside?" He peered at the box, placing his hands behind his back.

"I don't know." Pepper took a pair of scissors and cut one of the tight plastic straps that held the box together.

Joe raised his thick, black eyebrows. "Secret admirer, huh? I knew something special was going on while you were mysteriously gone that week."

"Quit," Pepper ordered, as she snipped the rest of the straps.

Chuckling, Joe shoved his hands in the pockets of his Levi's and rocked back on the heels of his jump boots. "You were awful down and quiet when you got back." He gestured to the box. "Must have met some dark, mysterious stranger wherever you were and fallen in love with him. Maybe that's why you were so hang-dog lookin', huh?" His eyes glinted with teasing.

Pepper held on to her irritation. Sometimes Joe could make her split her sides with laughter. But today wasn't one of those days. This first week back home had been a special and unexpected kind of hell for her. She had tried to forget Jim's kiss and his words, which haunted her dreams each night. They were torrid dreams, unfulfilled dreams that made her wake with an ache in her lower body. Shooting Joe a dirty look, she growled, "For once your Irish blarney is totally wrong." Setting the scissors aside, she opened the box. Her eyes widened. The fragrance of roses wafted upward, and she inhaled deeply.

"Hmm," Joe murmured, leaning over, "looks like this Irishman is right—again. Too bad I didn't put money on a bet. I could've taken you for a real ride on this one, Sinclair. Red and yellow roses. I'll bet there are two dozen in there."

"Get out of here," Pepper said lightly, matching his teasing tone. Her heart was pounding, not from Joe's prophecy, but from her overwhelming surprise at the gift. Her instincts told her it was from Jim. But was it? Or was it her silly heart in overdrive again, creating wishful, idealistic dreams that would never come true? Pepper saw Joe's mouth draw into a beatific smile of righteous pride. "You're such a know-it-all, Conway," she said dryly, waving her hand at him to leave.

Laughing heartily, he gently patted her shoulder. "Okay, boss, I'll leave you to savor the roses alone." He walked a few feet, then turned around. "By the way, who's the lucky guy? Does the team know him?"

Heat stung Pepper's cheeks. "None of your business, nosy. Why don't you go eat?" She put the top back on the box and went to her office. Joe was like a younger brother to her, but at times he was too curious and got under her skin. He had been especially curious about where she'd gone for a week and what had happened. Of course, Pepper hadn't told anyone, nor would she. As far as her smoke-jumping team was concerned, she'd taken a week's leave to go back East to visit an old friend, and that was all.

Joe raised his hand. "I hear ya, boss. Okay, I'm gone. I'll eat an extra piece of apple pie for you. I hear Sally made us some. Bless her good Catholic heart. Too bad she's not Irish, but I love her anyway. Catch ya later…."

The door closed.

Pepper shook her head. "You're such a pain in the neck sometimes," she muttered, gently touching the roses. Opening the crinkly paper wider she discovered a pristine white envelope among the blossoms.

The past seven days had been bone-achingly lonely for Pepper. None of her friends, though glad to see her, had succeeded in filling the empty cavity in her heart that they'd once satisfied so easily. If only Jim hadn't branded her with that all-consuming kiss. Somehow he'd touched the depths of her soul and reminded her just what was missing in her life—a man she could love forever. But the price was too high, and Pepper knew it.

Her fingers trembled as she eased the envelope open. Inside was a small white card, which read: From the heart, Jim Woodward. Pepper stared at it for a long time, digesting his sentiment. It was vague, but at the same time, it wasn't. Needled, she forced herself to count the roses. Joe was right—there were twenty-four in all. Half were red, the others a buttery yellow. Their fragrance was heady, and Pepper suddenly laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Here she was, tucked away in some of the most beautiful back country of the Rockies. There were near-blizzard conditions outside, with the temperature in the teens and the evergreens coated with a thick blanket of white snow. And she had two dozen roses. Beautiful, wonderful fragrant roses from a man she'd never dreamed she'd hear from again.

Pepper stopped at the Phillipsburg post office, part of her evening routine after getting off work. She expected very little mail—maybe some catalogs and certainly the perennial bills, but no personal correspondence. To her surprise, a long, business-size envelope lay in her box, thick and heavy. She stood in her colorful Pendleton jacket, a knit cap on her head and her gloves tucked under her arm as she examined the piece of mail. It bore no return address, just her name and address. The postmark, however, was from Washington, D.C. Her heart began a slow pounding of anticipation—and fear.

First the roses, which were out in her truck even now, with the heater running so they wouldn't freeze in this terrible snowstorm. Now a mysterious letter. Pepper jammed the envelope into the large pocket of her jacket, pulled up her collar and put her gloves back on. She would wait until she got home to read it. There was no doubt in her mind that it was from Jim.

As she drove slowly down Main Street, the town already wreathed in near darkness at four-thirty in the afternoon, Pepper tried to contain her wild imagination. She concentrated on driving, careful not to slide off into the ditch as she left the center of town behind. Two miles down the road, she turned left. A mile farther along the rutted, fir tree-lined road, now coated with ice, she was home. Pepper had built the cedar-log cabin herself over three years' time, with a lot of help from her smoke-jumper friends and her family. It had been a weekend project, and many memories of laughter and sharing had worked their way into her home as a result.

The cedar logs were barely visible in her headlights as she pulled into her driveway. Getting out, she tramped through the snow, the wind howling around her as she opened the garage door. Once she'd driven inside, Pepper shut off the engine, got out and shut the door behind her. She felt like a kid at Christmas with the huge box of roses under her arm and the letter in her pocket. Nudging off her boots at the door to the service porch connected to the garage, she went inside.

Her cabin was cool, so she laid everything on the kitchen table and went on into the living room. After making a fire in her Earth Stove, the environmentally benign wood-burning stove she'd installed for heating, she got up, dusted off her hands and went back to the kitchen. First she took the roses out of their box and arranged them in the largest glass vase she had. Inhaling their fragrance, she carried them into the living room and set them on the cedar coffee table.

Standing by the stove, feeling the first tendrils of heat from the newly made fire, Pepper carefully opened the thick envelope. Her heart thumped as she unfolded several handwritten pages. Jim's name, address and phone number were in the upper-left hand corner of the first page. Trying to still her pounding heart, she began to read the letter with an unexpected hunger:

Dear Pepper,

By now, you've got the roses I sent you. It's the least I could do, under the circumstances. When I found your note under my door on the cutter, it jolted me out of my narrow focus. I talked to Noah, and he told me you'd left. To say I was unhappy about your leaving the ship doesn't begin to describe how I felt.

There was so much going down after the mission that I lost my sense of balance. Laura's health, her nearly dying, scared the hell out of me. I was so worried about her that I forgot to think of you and how you might be feeling. I know you weren't wounded in the action, and you came through it with flying colors, but that doesn't matter. I should have paid more attention to your needs, whatever they might have been.

We went through a lot, you and I, in a very short, intense amount of time. And I went from almost disliking you to feelings that I can't begin to explain in the confines of this letter, Pepper. But first I want to say I'm sorry for ignoring you on the cutter. Looking back on it, I should have known better. I know what combat does to a person, and about the necessary letdown period afterward. You took the high ground, and whatever you were feeling, you didn't tell me.

I wish you had. I wish…so much. To say I'm feeling a little guilty is an understatement. We almost died on that island. If it hadn't been for your bravery and levelheadedness, we would never have gotten Laura out safely. And yet you kept to yourself. I asked Noah if you'd talked to him, and he said no. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Pepper. I should have been.

The roses are a way of apologizing to you. I wasn't a very good team member for you. Experiences like this bond people for life, and I felt that bonding with you on that island. I dropped the ball when Laura stopped breathing. So the yellow roses are asking you to forgive my all-too-human failings.

The red roses are to ask if there is a future for us. I know I have no right to ask that of you, but I meant what I said on the island. When I kissed you, you cried, and I never found out what those tears were about. I guess it was the wrong place and the wrong time.

I'm pretty busy here at the Pentagon right now. We still haven't got a lead on Jason or Morgan—yet. I'm spending about sixteen hours a day working with the communications people, trying to ferret out something in all that worldwide traffic via satellite. When I'm not working, I'm exhausted and inevitably, you come to mind. Our conversations are like water to me, Pepper. I'm thirsty to hear what is in your mind and heart. I felt cheated when you left, but I don't blame you for going. I think I understand why you did. Or at least I hope I do.

Some night, if you don't mind, I'd like to call you. But it's your decision, not mine, to make. I've enclosed a self-addressed, stamped envelope. If you want me to call, just mail it back to me. I can't make up for what wasn't given to you, Pepper. Maybe, if you're willing, we can talk. I'd like that very much. I hope to hear from you. Take care.

Jim

Pepper released a small, shaky sigh. Jim's writing was far from legible, but she realized how he must have labored over the letter. There wasn't a single ink smudge, and she smiled a little. Once an officer, always an officer. The fact that he'd handwritten it instead of using a computer meant a lot to her. Fingering the return envelope, she wondered if she wanted to talk to him. After all, what was there to talk about? He loved Laura, not her. He spoke of the future, but what kind of future could there be for them?

Unhappily, she moved away from the stove and gently laid the letter on the coffee table, next to the roses. Her heart couldn't seem to settle down, nor would her flights of imagination. Looking out her front windows, she saw the snow thickening and blowing even harder. How lonely she'd felt until Jim's letter had come. But were his gifts nothing more than a request for atonement?

Turning, Pepper went to her bedroom to shed her dark green trousers and long-sleeved, tan blouse. She'd worn the official Forest Service uniform all day; now she wanted to relax in a far more feminine velour lounger of pale pink. Still, the cabin felt terribly empty, and as Pepper undressed, trading her uniform for civilian clothes, she wondered what it would be like if Jim were here, in her home. The mere thought made her shaky, her feelings raw and clamoring. She had to admit she wasn't sure she could control herself if he was here and kissed her as he had on the island—touched her as he'd touched her then.

With a shake of her head, Pepper wondered if she was getting winter fever early. Tomorrow she might mail back the envelope, but she was still uncertain. It would be a crazy move if she did. A desperate one.

Chapter Eleven

It was Friday night, and Pepper was wrestling with a ton of paperwork, mostly supply orders to replace equipment lost or damaged during the past year's fires. A headache lapped at her right temple and across her forehead, and she rubbed the area as she concentrated on filling out the government paperwork.

Her office was in a small niche within the parachute facility. It was six o'clock, a good hour past quitting time, and her mind strayed, as it so often did, to Jim. She felt nervous and edgy. Telling herself she was chasing a pipe dream, she'd given in and sent the envelope back four days ago, after three long weeks of resisting.

Closing her eyes, she rested her hand against her brow and sighed softly. Her emotions seesawed among euphoria, anger, helplessness and absolute fear. She'd never had this chaotic experience before, so she didn't know how to cope with it. It must be romantic love, she decided—the very kind of love Pepper had made her life-altering decision not to experience again after John died. Never again could she risk the pain that came from losing the one she loved. It just wasn't worth it. Her parents had a wonderful marriage—one they worked on continually. Neither of them took it or the other for granted. That was the kind of love Pepper had expected to share with John, but fate had decided otherwise. Now, at thirty, she had to remember why she'd made her decision not to get involved again.

Her office door was open just enough so she could hear the comings and goings of her team. Everyone had left right at five tonight. After all, it was the week before Christmas, and there were parties to attend, gifts to be bought and wrapped, places to go, people to see. Glumly, Pepper opened her eyes and frowned down at the piles of paperwork. The only person she wanted to see was Jim.

Out in the main room the outside door quietly opened and closed. But peering into the shadowy depths, Pepper saw no one. Her imagination?

"Stop it," she muttered, irritated with herself and her unrequited longing. "You are such a stupid idealist. The sooner you get this paperwork done, the sooner you can go home." Home to an empty cabin. Home to the silence. Loneliness gnawed at Pepper as if it had carved a wide swath through her center.

A noise, the sound of footsteps, caught her attention. Frowning, Pepper put her pen aside. Someone had come in the door at the other end of the facility. It was fairly dark, save for the emergency lights at the exits, and she didn't want whoever it was stumbling and breaking an ankle. The building was a huge Quonset hut from the Korean War era, made of corrugated aluminum. The floor was concrete, and the whole structure was large and empty, save for the area where parachutes were folded, hung and repaired.

Easing out of her squeaky leather chair, Pepper crossed to her office door and pushed it all the way open, sending a wide path of light into the gloomy building. She saw a shadow—a man, she thought—halfway to her office. Who was it? Pepper could recognize most of her crew by physical build, but this wasn't one of them. Still, there was something oddly familiar about this man, though she couldn't place him. Leaving her office, she moved down the wall to the main electricity supply. She flipped several switches and turned around to face her visitor.

Pepper's mouth dropped open. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"Jim!" His name echoed oddly through the building.

Jim halted about fifty feet from her and gave her a strained, slight smile. "I'll give you this," he said, embarrassed, "you made me use all of my Recon training to find you." Looking around, his mouth stretching into a wider smile, he moved his gaze back to her shocked features. "This is one hell of a hole in the wall."

She could only stare. Had she gone crazy? Was this some kind of waking dream? Jim Woodward stood before her, a huge pot of bright red poinsettias in his hands. He wore comfortable-looking, dark blue chinos, leather hiking boots and a bright red flannel shirt beneath a well-worn leather jacket. How handsome he looked. How much she'd missed him. Pepper swallowed convulsively, meeting and drowning in his amused green gaze.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Her voice cracked. Her palms were damp. Her heart was pounding so hard it made her voice wobble off-key. She saw Jim's mouth work into a tense line. Internally, she went on guard. Anger slammed through her, and on its heels, euphoria. Hunger for him, for the feel of his mouth on hers, flowed over her. How badly she wanted to fly into his arms and welcome him back into her life, like a thrilled and trusting child. But she was no longer a child, nor trusting of Jim—or herself.

"I got the envelope back," Jim said simply, slowly approaching Pepper. Despite the mannish Forest Service uniform she had to wear, he thought she looked incredibly feminine. Her dark hair was longer now, touching her shoulders and falling in soft folds around her face. He saw the shock, the denial, in her eyes. Was she glad to see him? He wasn't sure. He'd risked everything by coming to visit. An impending avalanche of fear was poised over his desire for her. Time hadn't dulled his need of her. Like a knife twisting hotly through his lower body, he hungered to kiss her soft mouth, to again slide his hand around the small, firm breast that fit so wonderfully in his palm.

Halting, he lifted the poinsettias. "I decided that what we had to talk about should be said in person, not via a long-distance phone call. Here, these are for you," he murmured. "It's Christmas, and I wanted to bring you something…." Holding the potted plant toward her, he wondered if Pepper was going to take it or not. Her face was devoid of color. Her cheeks, ordinarily pink, looked wan. As he eased out of the shadows, he saw stress around her eyes and mouth that hadn't been there before. Anger flashed in her eyes—toward him. Was the mission the reason for her gaunt appearance and the stress plainly etched in her lovely features?

He held the poinsettias between them. Please, take them. Take them. Inwardly, Jim believed that by accepting his small gift Pepper would also at some level be accepting him—even if it was a tentative truce. Rapidly chang ing emotions flashed through her eyes as she slowly looked down at the flowers and then up at him.

"Christmas—" Pepper choked. She felt justified rage. Jim loved Laura. So what was he doing here? "That's right, it's Christmastime, isn't it?" The poinsettias were large and healthy looking, the flowers bright red among the green foliage. They were beautiful.

"As a holiday, it's kind of hard to forget," he teased huskily. Were those tears in her eyes? The anger in them came and went along with a flash of desire—aimed directly at him. Jim's heart squeezed at the anguish in Pepper's eyes as she wavered, not sure if she should accept the flowers. Her gaze snapped back to his, her eyes wide and incredibly blue, the pupils large and black, belying the gamut of emotions she was feeling.

Jim stood patiently, knowing full well that Pepper could tell him to do an about-face and walk out of her life—forever. The thought was devastating, and every fiber of his being yearned to step forward, set the flowers aside and take Pepper into his arms, kissing her until she melted like hot butter, silkily permeating his body and soul.

Pepper wavered. "I—I just can't believe you're here." Her voice came out tinged with indignation, but her heart cried out for him, for his wildly sensual kisses, the unbridled passion they'd shared on the island.

"I can't, either."

She saw the irony in his eyes and heard it in his voice. It hurt to blurt out the question, but it had to be asked. "Why—why are you here?"

"I couldn't not be here," Jim answered honestly. A little of the anger in her eyes became banked and he saw the desire again, for just a fleeting moment, before distrust replaced it. She still thinks I love Laura. The realization was devastating. He lifted the poinsettias a little higher. "Please take these. There are no strings attached, Pepper."

"I don't believe it," she rattled defensively. Oh, why did she ache for him like this? Need him so much? She couldn't even think of entering a romantic triangle. It was Jim and Laura, not she and Jim. Loneliness was better than heart-shattering pain.

Jim squelched his impatience. Pepper was right; there were strings attached to his gift of flowers. His lower body ached for relief—ached to love her fully. Wildly. With absolute abandon. As he stood, watching her distrust of him grow, Jim knew Pepper was above all a natural woman. She brought out every primal feeling and need he possessed. Right now, he felt more animal than human, longing to obey the impulse to claim her, make her his. The desire ate away at his considerable control like acid. Clearing his throat, he rasped, "The only thing attached to this gift is a dinner invitation." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth, either.

"Dinner? That's all?" Pepper hated the waspish sound of her voice and saw the effect it had on Jim. Hurt showed briefly in his eyes before he covered it up with false cheer.

"That's it. Dinner." He urged her silently to take the flowers. If only she would give him a chance….

Robotlike, Pepper reached out and took the plant. The pot was large, and the colorful petals brushed her jaw and shoulders. "This is heavy!"

"I know."

Nervously, voice wispy and strained, Pepper suggested, "Let's take them to my office?"

Jim gestured toward the lighted area. "After you." He saw that the venetian blinds had been pulled to give her some privacy from the rest of the facility. Her personal space was small and cramped, typical of a government-run office, he thought. Several dark green, metal filing cabinets stood at one end. Even her desk was a military-issue gray metal. Opposite it, against the other end wall, was a twin-size bed stalked with several fluffy pillows and covered by an old but much-loved quilt. Jim studied the bed darkly. Pepper probably used it during the summer, when fires were frequent. He could imagine her falling exhausted onto it for a quick nap between fire calls, inundated by the demands on her time in her responsible position as team leader.

The bed appeared startlingly feminine in the confines of the otherwise stark office. The very real desire to reach out, take her hand and pull her over to that bed and love her was nearly Jim's undoing. No one would come into the facility at this time of night, he thought. And the blinds had been drawn for privacy. All he had to do was shut the door, turn out the light and—Savagely he squelched his imaginings. Somehow he had to get control over his emotions. Jim noticed a small group of photos on the wall next to her desk and walked toward them, eager to discover who Pepper was—all of her facets, not just those he'd seen on the mission.

The fluorescent lights were harsh. Pepper nervously placed the plant on top of one of the file cabinets and rubbed her damp hands down the thighs of her trousers. She turned around to face Jim. He had a slight frown on his broad forehead as he studied her bed at the other end of the office. The lightning-bolt realization that all she had to do was take a few steps, reach out and tug him toward the bed shot through her. She could love him until her bruised and aching heart and lonely soul were satisfied. The idea nearly unstrung her and she gasped internally at her unbidden thoughts. Curling her fingers reflexively against her palms, she throttled the desire to reach out toward Jim. How wonderful he looked! Pepper stifled the urge to simply walk forward and throw herself into his arms. His presence was overwhelming to her heightened senses.

"You've got a real government cubbyhole here," Jim said, moving toward her desk and taking a quick, perusing look at the framed photos on the wall. One of them was of Pepper with her family. She stood next to a man who, Jim decided, was probably her brother, Cam. They looked very much alike. The proud, older woman at the end was as tall as Pepper. No question this was her mother—and no question that Pepper took after her strongly. Her dark-haired, tall and heavily muscled father stood at the other end of the group. It looked like a happy family. Jim's mouth pulled into a gentle smile.

"Nice family picture." He straightened and turned toward her. Trying to quell his own nervousness, he realized his voice was strained. Hell, he was scared to death. It was a kind of fear he'd never experienced before—not even in combat. It was the fear of being told to leave Pepper's life—once and for all.

Pepper managed a one-shouldered shrug. "Thanks."

"Going home for Christmas?" Jim didn't know where to start. Something warned him he couldn't be totally honest about his reasons for being here with her—yet.

"Uh…yes. Home. For Christmas. Sure…" Pepper's throat ached with tension, and she battled her tears. She stood helplessly, unsure what to do with her hands. Finally, she crossed her arms over her breasts. The words begged to be asked: Why was Jim really here? Too much of a coward to press the issue, she cast about for another topic.

"How's Laura doing?"

Jim pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Small talk. He wanted to do away with it. He wanted to get to the bottom line. The bed behind him beckoned. His imagination was running away with him. Pepper belonged in his arms. Her mouth belonged on his. Compressing his lips, he said, "Surviving. Right now, she's hidden at a condominium that only a few people know about." He shrugged. "The fewer who know, the less chance of slipping up and letting the bad guys find her."

"I see. Yes, that's a good idea."

Jim looked around, desperate. "Susannah Killian, her cousin, is staying with her and helping her with her baby daughter, Katherine. Right now, Laura's mainly trying to recover. She's under the care of a great woman therapist who has plenty of rape-counseling experience." He shrugged, his voice becoming hoarse. "I guess it's the best we can all do for her, right now. I wish we could do more, but healing has to take place from within."

Pepper heard the frayed emotions in Jim's deepening voice and saw the distraught look in his eyes. There was no denying he was suffering for Laura, for her pain. "Rape is murder," Pepper whispered. "My homeopathic-doctor friend, Michaela Ryan, was raped when she was in her early twenties, back at medical school. Even now I see how it affects her. She's lost a piece of herself as a human being, as a woman, and I don't think she'll ever get it back."

Jim scuffed his hiking boot against the drab gray concrete of her office floor and frowned, looking down at it. "Yeah…that's what I was afraid of…."

"Michaela survives okay," Pepper murmured. "I guess…."

Looking up into her grave features, he murmured, "That's what Laura's doing right now—surviving. She's hanging on to hope." He shrugged and added, "At least we've got a lead on Jason."

"Really?" Hope rose in Pepper's heart, and she saw a ruddy flush appear on Jim's cheeks. "You found him, didn't you?"

"Sorta."

"You're too humble."

He grinned sheepishly. "Maybe…"

His smile flowed through her, hot and claiming. It was the first time she'd seen Jim smile like that—a little-boy, embarrassed smile that endeared him to her and momentarily washed away her anger, even as it increased her need of him. "Tell me how it happened."

He took his hands out of his pockets and unzipped his coat, suddenly very warm. But this heat had nothing to do with the temperature inside the facility—it was from being close to Pepper. Did she have any idea how powerfully she affected him? Wrestling with those thoughts, Jim tried to keep the small talk on track. He knew it was a good way for them to adjust to being in each other's presence again. "I worked closely with the CIA on this one, and we got Interpol help, too. Actually, Killian made a lot of the deductions."

Pepper knew Jim well enough to realize he was acting like any good leader—giving his subordinates the lion's share of the praise. "So where is Jason?"

"Maui, Hawaii, we think. It's not confirmed yet, but all the indications are there."

Pepper gawked. "Maui?"

"Yes." Jim shrugged. "It threw me, too, until I contacted the FBI and we started interfacing directly with Interpol." His voice deepened. "Damned if we didn't find out that Garcia flew from Nevis to his other home, on Maui. The bastard escaped the Nevis police after we res cued Laura, and went there. It blew me away that Garcia possibly had two of the Trayherns."

"Do you think Morgan's there, too?"

"I don't know. There are two merc teams coming in right now. One had his partner die on him, and the other's partner suffered a heart attack. The upshot is, Jake is teaming an ex-Israeli army officer named Sabra Jacobs with an ex-marine helicopter pilot, Craig Talbot."

"Sounds like a good match."

With a grimace, Jim said, "Actually, Jake says these two don't get along at all. But he doesn't have a choice. They don't have their regular partners, and he doesn't have another option right now. They've got to move fast on this, because if Garcia thinks we know about Maui, we're sure he'll move Jason somewhere else, and it could take months to pick up another solid lead."

With a shake of her head, Pepper murmured, "I'm glad we could do what we did. I don't envy Sabra or Craig. One mission like that is plenty for me."

Jim attempted a smile. "No, you're not a mercenary at heart." Then he amended his statement. "You're a warrior when it comes to a cause that means a lot to you, though."

Heat flooded her cheeks, and Pepper looked away from his intense gaze. "Yes…I guess." She managed a strangled sound. "I always said I was Don Quixote—tilting at the windmills in life." Wasn't that the truth? She'd fallen for John, given her heart, her soul, and look what it had gotten her.

Jim forced himself to move forward, closer to Pepper. She looked excruciatingly uncomfortable, and he had no desire to add more agony to her life than he already had. "Lady, you're the last person I'd accuse of such a thing. You're a passionate person, someone who embraces what she believes fully." He forcefully kept his hands at his sides, fearful that if he didn't, he'd reach out and put them on her slumped shoulders.

"Sure," Pepper said a little breathlessly, her pulse leaping as Jim came within a few feet of where she stood. "It's called being a right-brained woman." She couldn't help herself; automatically, she tensed as Jim took another step toward her. Why didn't he realize it was torture to be with him and not to reach out and touch him?

"No apologies are needed."

Pepper sobered and cast about for some sane response. "I'm not giving any. I like being a woman, and I like thinking and feeling like one." She glanced around her office. "I might be in a man's career, but I don't allow it to affect me as a woman." She tapped her chest. "I work strictly off my feelings, gut and intuition. It's saved lives."

Jim nodded. "I like your fire, your belief in yourself." How he wanted to experience that fire again firsthand. She might be cool and calm on the outside, but he'd acknowledged the inner heat that burned deep within her. His aching need of her grew at the thought.

"My confidence was earned the hard way, believe me," Pepper said with more than a little fervency. Taking a step away from him, she said, "Let's go to dinner."

Jim glanced at his watch. "I haven't eaten since noon, East Coast time. I don't know anything about the local eateries, but I bet you do." His breath became suspended, because Pepper's face softened for a moment, and he saw her without that mask of anger and distrust she'd been wearing. The expression on her face confused him. For a split second, he saw hope in her flawless blue eyes, followed by fear, then something else he couldn't quite define. Realizing he was holding his breath, he made a conscious effort to expel it.

"Well—uh—sure…if you want," Pepper responded hesitantly.

He'd never wanted anything more, he thought as a surge of joy tunneled through him. He had a tough time keeping a neutral look on his face as she acquiesced to his invitation, even if less than wholeheartedly. "Besides," he murmured, eyeing her desk with a teasing tone, "it looks like you need a break from all this government red tape."

Pepper groaned in response, then laughed. Suddenly, she felt free, euphoric. Going to her desk, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out her dark brown elkskin knapsack, which doubled as a purse. They were having dinner, she admonished herself. That was all. A one-shot deal. "You ought to know," she countered. "You're in the military paper machine. I'm at the opposite end of the spectrum, but a government-run agency is a government-run agency."

Jim stepped aside, realizing Pepper needed to keep a safe distance from him. Did she have any of the urge to embrace him and kiss him that he felt for her? He wasn't at all sure, but his head cautioned him to proceed slowly, to feel his way intuitively with her. When she straightened and slung one strap of the knapsack over the Pendleton coat she'd donned, he smiled warmly at her.

Pepper felt the hot sunlight of Jim's smile—and the promise that came with it. Again, desire burned in his eyes. For her? Why? He loved Laura. She stepped past him and turned off the light, then closed and locked her office door behind them.

"If you're expecting a five-star restaurant out here, you'll be disappointed," she said as she switched off the main lights to the facility and the place was bathed in gloom once more. She took the lead, knowing the way to the door by heart.

"You choose," Jim told her. Their voices carried eerily through the structure. Pepper opened the door. As the last to leave, it was her responsibility to lock up. The air outside was freezing, their breath visible as they walked through the snow to the parking lot behind the building. Above, the night sky was dotted with thousands of sparkling stars. Pepper felt Jim come abreast of her, his shoulder sometimes brushing hers as they walked carefully along the snow-packed trail to the asphalt lot. A few street lamps lighted the way.

"Man, it's cold here," Jim said, pulling the collar of his leather jacket up around his neck.

Pepper nodded. With her heavy coat, she wore a warm knit cap and a pair of elkskin gloves lined with sheepskin. "Your D.C. gear won't keep you warm in Montana," she agreed. Her heart kept up its rapid beat. She felt like she was floating! All her awareness was focused on Jim, on the fact he was here—with her. As much as she wanted to let down her barriers, Pepper knew she didn't dare. She kept reminding herself of her own past pain, of Jim's involvement with Laura. Two good reasons to keep him at bay.

Giving him a quick, nervous glance, she reveled in the shadowed contours of his strong face. How desperately she wanted to explore it, to explore him. But there was no hope for them, she reminded herself for what felt like the millionth time.

Jim smiled warmly at Pepper, reading a mix of fear and confusion in her darkened eyes. They made it to the parking lot. The only two cars in it were parked side by side. "I can't think of a better place to be right now," he said. Pepper drove a Jeep, he noted, smiling to himself. The vehicle was obviously old, with a lot of dents and in need of a paint job. He had no doubts that on her days off, she blazed trails in the wilderness of the Montana Rockies, hence the less than mint condition of her intrepid vehicle.

Pepper dug into her knapsack for her keys. Her fingers were trembling—Jim's unsettling effect on her. She saw that his rental car was new and fairly clean, considering he'd driven from Anaconda. It made her wince at her beloved Jeep, which looked like a nag next to the thoroughbred of a car he had rented. Oh, well. He might as well know the real her. Why? The word haunted her. Turning at the door to her Jeep, she said, "There's a diner in town. It isn't much to look at, sort of like my Jeep here, but it serves great home-cooked food. Mandy, the owner, makes the best apple pie I've ever tasted. It's even better than my mom's, and hers is great."

Jim said, "Sold. I'm a sucker for a home-cooked meal."

"Spoken like a true military type. Home-cookin' is hard to get a hold of in the service."

Jim fished the keys from his pocket, momentarily lost in the laughter he saw flash in Pepper's eyes. How desperately he wanted to know this. Pepper, so comfortable in these giant mountains in their winter raiment and this sleepy town nestled deep in the valley.

"Just follow me. It isn't far," she called, sliding onto the cold seat of her Jeep.

Jim liked the old diner. It was straight out of the Depression era, with a mustard yellow interior, its chrome tables topped by red Formica. The place was filled at this time of night, mostly with locals who had been out getting firewood, hunters and townspeople. He noticed a Non Smoking sign on the door, and praised the owner for her courage in putting it up. Inside, he saw many Pendleton coats, red-and-black checked flannel shirts, knit caps and jeans.

As they walked down the aisle between the booths, Pepper was greeted warmly by the locals. There was no question that she was well liked, Jim thought, as he ambled behind her. Noticing the way just about every head in the place followed them to a corner booth, he smiled to himself. By the way he was dressed and his unfamiliar face, they all knew he was an outsider.

Sitting down across from Pepper, he murmured wryly, "Nothing like sticking out like a sore thumb, eh?"

She shed her coat, cap and gloves. "Don't take it personally. Usually, by this time of year, the tourists have left, and it's just us locals. When we see a dude from the East come in, it's a novelty, that's all."

The waitress, dressed in a white uniform with a black apron, smiled as she handed them menus and automatically filled their cups with coffee.

Pepper saw the look on Jim's face. "Around here, real men and women drink coffee."

"I see." He met her gaze which alternated between warmth one moment and wariness the next. "I'd really get talked about if I ordered hot tea with lemon, wouldn't I?"

She laughed heartily, holding his gaze. How wonderful his sense of humor was. Pepper realized how much she didn't know about Jim—and how much she wanted to know. Joy flowed through her, hot and sweet. Did she dare hope? Dare dream?

"You're really funny."

"Thank you, I'll take that as a compliment." Jim took a sip of coffee. "Whew, this is strong stuff."

Pepper said, "We have a saying about Mandy's coffee—actually, I guess it's a military saying. ‘If you put a spoon in the center of the mug, it will stand at attention and salute you back.'"

"That's powerful coffee," Jim agreed, amused. Pepper's eyes cleared of wariness and her cheeks once again blossomed with their familiar pink, making her look excruciatingly lovely. He had to force himself to stop staring into her sky blue eyes. Did she realize how beautiful she was? How he wanted to tell her exactly that! Even more, he wanted to show her. The waitress returned, and Pepper ordered without even looking at the menu, so Jim surmised she was a regular here. He chose a T-bone steak with all the trimmings.

Trying to quell her nervousness, Pepper cleared her dry throat and asked, "How long will you be here?"

Jim became serious, his smile dissolving. He felt renewed tension radiating from Pepper, and he lifted his heavy white coffee mug in both hands. The old jukebox in the corner was playing a romantic song from the sixties, a slow song—one of his favorites. "Well, I got an open-ended return ticket." His throat ached with tension.

"Oh."

He looked up through his lashes. "Really, it depends upon you."

Pepper sat very still. Her heart pulsed powerfully. "With Christmas coming, I imagine you'll want to be home," she murmured nervously.

Shrugging, Jim said, "Home is where the heart is." He looked around the diner and then back at her, his expression growing tender. "I know you go home for Christmas to visit your folks."

"Yes…" Pepper stared down at her coffee mug, her hands clasped in her lap beneath the table. She began perspiring as her mind leapt to a number of responses, none of them seeming appropriate. Out of sheer desperation, she whispered, "The roses you sent were beautiful, Jim. I didn't really thank you for them."

He smiled tentatively, watching her closely. "I wanted to let you know, in some way, how I felt about you. About us…" Pepper, he was discovering, wouldn't look him in the eye when she was nervous. Instead, she stared down or past him. This woman warrior, who had more courage and guts than most of the men he knew, was wonderfully vulnerable in a way that made him want to protect her. There was nothing hard or implacable about Pepper. She was right—she had clung to her femininity and not allowed the male world to strip her of it, as it had so many other women who'd been in the military. Suddenly the love he held for her seemed so incalculably deep and moving that he knew he'd never be able to put it into words. He could only show her—if she would allow him that privilege.

Pepper sat very still, absorbing the huskiness of Jim's voice, the seeming sincerity behind his words. This was not the place, with all the locals who knew her around, to start a highly emotional, personal conversation with Jim. It would have to wait, she realized sadly. When they were done with dinner, she would suggest they go back to her office and talk. It was all they had left between them, she realized lamely. Honest talk. Forcing a pain-filled smile, she made herself look at him. Inevitably, her heart melted, and a little more of her fear with it. Jim's gaze was so direct—fearlessly burning with a warmth that left her breathless and feeling incredibly beautiful.

"I—they were nice. I mean, they were more than nice. I was so surprised," she stammered, opening her hands. "That was only the third time in my life I ever got roses, and I've never gotten that many." She touched her brow and smiled apologetically. "They really were beautiful, Jim. I was just overwhelmed by them, by your gesture."

"I hoped," he said in a low voice, leaning slightly forward, "that it would act as a door to forgiveness."

Tilting her head, Pepper said, "Forgiveness?" She shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"In my letter," Jim said, holding her startled look, "I said how I'd neglected you when we got off the island. Looking back on it, Pepper, I realize I really screwed up. I was overly focused on Laura and her problems."

Shaking her head, Pepper whispered, "Listen, Laura stopped breathing. I'd say you should be concerned. I know I was. I felt helpless. It was a terrible feeling to be sitting on the deck of that chopper, knowing I couldn't do a thing." Frustration ate at her. "I've done CPR before, and I knew how you were feeling. Laura means…a lot to you. I know that." Without thinking, she reached out and briefly touched the hand wrapped around his coffee cup. "And I don't blame you, Jim. Even if you didn't know Laura, you'd probably have reacted the same way. I'm aware of how deeply you care for people."

Pepper was internally aghast that she'd touched Jim, and she quickly withdrew her hand. What on earth was she thinking? Right now she was reacting without thinking—the worst possible thing she could do. Not only that, but in touching him she'd discovered, to her dismay, that she only wanted to touch him more. She wanted to lay her hand on his arm, slide it up beneath the sleeve of his shirt and feel the wiry quality of his dark, springy hair. Wanted to feel the latent strength of his muscles leap and harden beneath her exploration.

The briefest touch of her hand sent a tingle of need flying through Jim, igniting the fire deep within him to a flame that burned with a powerful hunger he couldn't fulfill except with Pepper. "A fault of mine at times," he murmured wryly, holding her warm gaze.

Pepper's fingertips still tingled from her imprudent touch. How strong Jim was, in ways she presently was not. "Never a fault," she rattled, her emotions very close to the surface. "There aren't a whole lot of people out there who take commitment for what it really means anymore—for sticking with a person through thick and thin." With a shake of her head, she rasped, "No, I like your loyalty to people. Your commitment to them, no matter what."

"I wanted to get out here to see you much sooner," Jim admitted, "but I couldn't. Part of it was that Laura needed me, and I was damn well determined to hunt down some or the rest of her family before I left Washington."

"I would have expected nothing less of you, Jim. In some ways, we're alike," she murmured as the waitress brought their salads and a small loaf of hot bread. Pepper was absolutely not hungry for the usually appetizing food. The only hunger she had was for Jim—to love him, hold him and become one with him. Forcing her mind away from her unruly yearning, she whispered unsteadily, "People count with me. I want to make a difference in their lives as much as I do in my own."

"It's called unselfishness—a commodity too long lost in our society, particularly in the past decade," he said wryly. Jim didn't want to eat; he wanted to talk, to explore Pepper—to spend the rest of his life discovering all her wonderful facets. But he forced himself to pick at the salad, occasionally glancing at her. Pepper wasn't eating very much, either, and he struggled to contain his impatience. Timing was everything. He would have to wait until later.

Chapter Twelve

After dinner, Jim knew it was time to get down to serious business with Pepper. Now or never, he thought. Neither of them had eaten very much. As they approached Pepper's Jeep, he reached out, wrapping his fingers around her arm and gently drawing her to a halt. She turned, startled, her eyes searching his.

"We need some privacy so we can have a talk, Pepper."

Gulping, Pepper was wildly aware of his monitored strength on her arm. He was so close—inches away. His breath came out in white wisps as he spoke in a low tone to her. The shadows and light carved his face, accenting its strength as well as its tenderness, from the way the corners of his mouth were flexed to the burning quality in the depth of his serious eyes.

"Okay," she said, a little breathless. "How about my office?" That was safe, neutral territory, she thought.

Jim forced himself to withdraw his hand from her arm. "How about your home, if that's okay with you?" He didn't want to risk interruption once they started to discuss everything. Her silence told him a great deal. She didn't want him there.

Pepper's pulse was fluttering wildly at Jim's softly spoken request. The desire to reach up and slide her arms around his shoulders, to melt against him and feel that strong mouth on her own was nearly her undoing. Home. Her home. Her empty, lifeless home, where she'd felt so alone since returning from the mission. Her hands fluttering over the knapsack as she dug for her keys, she said, "Just follow me. It isn't far from town."

Jim nodded. He ached to touch her fiery red cheek, to smooth a strand of precocious hair away from her brow. Pepper was shaken by his request, he could see. But no more shaken than he was by fear over what was to come.

Pepper's cabin was warm, the fire in the stove sending an orangy glow through the living room. Jim fought himself—his need to reach out and touch Pepper. They had gone directly from the garage into the warmth of her living quarters. Pepper stood apart from him, nervously tugging the knit cap off her glorious hair, which tumbled in a shiny cascade about her tense features. Her hands were trembling, he noticed. As she tried to undo the buttons on her coat, his mouth went dry.

"Here, let me help…" he murmured thickly, stepping forward, his hands closing over hers.

Pepper gasped at his sudden, unexpected move. Jim's hands were strong, warm and cherishing on her cold ones. Her head snapped up. Her heart slammed into her ribs. Lost in the darkness of his predatory gaze, she parted her lips breathlessly beneath his tense, silent scrutiny. In less than a heartbeat, she whispered his name. It came out broken, pleading. The look in his eyes changed, grew narrower. Intent.

Without thinking, throwing all caution to the wind, Pepper raised her hands and settled them about his strong shoulders. Instantly, she felt Jim's arms wrap about her like tight bands, drawing her hard against him. The air rushed out of her lungs. She tipped her chin upward. He called her name—a low growl that jagged through her like lightning. His mouth claimed hers hotly, conquering her weak protest. The taste of him, the power of him combined to overwhelm her as she opened her lips farther to drink deeply of his offering. Time dissolved and only his sandpapery skin against her cheek, his mouth taking hers, his ragged breath against her face existed.

Pepper's hands ranged awkwardly across his jacket, finding the opening and moving up across his shirt. She felt the immense breadth of his chest, his muscles bunching and tightening under the skimming touch of her eager, exploring hands. Sagging against him, she returned the raw desire of his mouth against hers, tasting him, sliding her tongue across his. Unable to get enough of him, she pushed the leather jacket off his shoulders, vaguely hearing it drop to the cedar floor at their feet. His hand moved downward, pinning her hips against him in a grinding motion meant to convey his need of her. Instantly, heat exploded within her, and her knees weakened as his fingers curved over her, capturing her even more tightly against him.

Jim tore his mouth from hers. Nothing mattered but now. Right now. To hell with all the reasons—the barriers that stood in their way. This was real. This was what they both needed. Wanted. His arms tightly holding, he lifted her effortlessly. Looking around, he spotted a hallway and carried her down it until he found her bedroom.

Fragments of light stole into the darkened expanse. It was enough. He took her quickly to the bed and laid her on it, continuing to undress her. Off came her coat, which dropped to the floor beside the old brass bed frame. The sultry look in Pepper's half-closed eyes told him everything he needed to know. Thinking was no longer possible. Driven by something so primal he could no longer control it or himself, he tugged impatiently at the buttons on her blouse until it opened to reveal the pale pink silk of her bra. His eyes narrowed upon her breasts, which were rising and falling in ragged timing with his own harsh breathing. As Pepper's hands moved upward, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, Jim growled. He was more animal than man—and more ravenous than he'd ever been.

Each heartbeat, each touch burned like a brand through Pepper's skin as Jim's hands ranged up and down her rib cage. His mouth claimed hers again, and she took his weight as her slacks and panties were pushed aside. Each movement of his mouth drove her deeper and deeper into the fire. The agony in her lower body was like a conflagration. As his fingers tunneled through her hair, her hands slid down to his pants, tugging and pulling at his belt.

Jim froze as Pepper's hand brushed his hardness, his zipper opening easily beneath her trembling fingers. Moving to one side, he pushed his chinos off along with his shorts. He soared inwardly at the sensuous look in her eyes. Never had two people been so meant for each other, he realized as he leaned down, again capturing her soft, glistening mouth.

As he eased down upon her, she arched her hips upward. Air hissed between Jim's clenched teeth as she brazenly brushed against his hardness. She was like velvet, giving and teasing. He slid one hand beneath her hips and felt her breath hitch as he eased his knee between her strong thighs. The look in her eyes was molten, expectant. Her lips parted in a silent welcome. There was such overwhelming urgency that he couldn't wait. Wouldn't wait. Neither would she. Just as he tried to counter the flowing forces careening through him, to ease into her, she thrust upward, taking him, consuming him.

A startled cry of joy burst from Pepper's lips as she felt him plunge into her, filling her. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes, his name an answered prayer on her lips. Unable to catch her breath, she felt his hand center on her lower back, bring her up hard against him as he rocked deeply into her. A rippling, melting sensation emanated from her core outward. She was dissolving beneath his capturing motion. Each movement was unrelenting, deeper and more consuming than the last. She gripped his shoulders, her fingers opening and closing spasmodically against his skin. The sense of oneness, of flesh meeting and being forged in the fire of something overwhelmingly beautiful and cleansing, tunneled through her. Each rocking movement brought her higher and higher, closer and closer to that ragged cliff of unequaled sensation. As he molded his mouth to her, drinking of her, the movement of his hips thrusting against her triggered an avalanche of molten lava pulsing through her lower body. Her lashes dropped and she surrendered fully to his hands, his mouth, his exquisite body fused with hers, and an intense pleasure swirled through her.

Jim felt the hot, cascading explosion surround him, and moments later he froze against Pepper, their hips locked in a primal union as he spilled richly into her silken depths. His fists locked on either side of her head, his body straining against hers. With each pulsing release, the heat tripled. He felt as if he were being consumed in the white-hot core of a fire, and the only thing that existed in his universe was her.

The moments strung tautly together. Pepper moaned and became limp in Jim's arms. She felt his mouth on her cheek, kissing her lashes, her nose and her parted lips. The smell of him, the dampness of his strong body sliding against hers, were all precious to her. Forgotten sensations from so long ago had been brought to new and vibrant life. She felt his hand move shakily across her hair and she opened her eyes. Pepper drowned in the darkness of his gaze, gleaming with a fiercely tender light. Even now, spent by the explosiveness of their lovemaking, she began to realize just how deeply she touched him. As his hand skimmed her breast, feathering across her hardening nipple, she gasped with pleasure.

He smiled and leaned down, capturing the peak between his lips, suckling her. The sensation was throbbing. Electric. How easily he brought her to ripe awareness of her need of him again. Pepper reached up with her hand, sliding her fingers through his short, dark hair. As he eased his lips from her breast, his eyes glittered with triumph and satiation. Words were too primitive for what she was feeling toward him. How could she have ever thought they weren't meant for each other?

Jim captured Pepper's hand, opening her palm and kissing the center of it, then slowly licking it with his tongue. He felt her move. He smiled inwardly. Pepper was as wild and natural as the earth that had bred her. She was more than a woman of the soil; she was like the majestic mountains that encircled this small town—outwardly beautiful and tranquil, with a roaring volcano of potential beneath that exterior raiment.

Exhaustion ate at Jim, and he slowly eased out of her—the last thing he wanted to do right now. If he hadn't been so tired, he'd have started loving her all over again, but he knew the limits of his body. Without a word, he pulled back the thick, downy quilt, the smooth cotton sheet and eased her beneath them. Pepper's eyes were nearly closed. He understood that she needed sleep, too. Slipping beneath the covers, he contented himself with drawing her into his arms. Gratified as she moved her length against him, he sighed.

"Let's sleep, sweetheart," he murmured near her ear as she settled her head against his shoulder. "We can talk in the morning…."

Pepper nodded, unable to speak. Right now she felt so weak and sated that all she wanted was Jim's continued nearness, the scent of him, the touch of him. Nothing else mattered. As she spiraled downward into a deep, healing sleep, she realized that she'd broken her word to herself: she'd sworn after John's death never to love again. Now she'd not only done that, but she'd loved a man who loved another.

It was all too complicated, and her heart felt satisfied regardless of what the halls of her mind whispered. Right now, only the moment meant anything. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Jim awoke slowly. For a brief moment, he was lost, until awakened enough to realize he was at Pepper's home in Montana. Opening his eyes, he searched for her warmth. She was gone…. Instantly, he sat up, the covers pooling around his waist. Blinking away sleep, he looked around. The clock on the pine dresser read ten a.m. Ten! Throwing the covers aside, he located his chinos and pulled them on. Keying his hearing, he recognized the soft crackling of the wood stove in the living room. Classical music—Mozart, he realized—played in the background. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet as he launched himself upward.

Pushing several strands of hair off his forehead, he hurried into the hall toward the living room. He came to a halt at the door. Dressed in an old pair of jeans and a bright red sweater, Pepper was curled up on the couch near the fire, a book in hand. As if sensing his presence, she lifted her head. His heart thumped in his chest as he anxiously searched her eyes. She had such serenity, yet he found a mass of emotions in the depths of her thoughtful eyes. He didn't care if he wasn't fully dressed. What mattered was her—and them.

"Good morning," Pepper whispered, slowly closing the book and setting it aside. How wonderful Jim looked clothed only in the body-hugging chinos. His chest was broad and covered with thick dark hair that emphasized his powerful masculinity. She had loved that wonderful body last night, and the memory sent such a warming sensation through her that she could barely hold Jim's devouring gaze. Still, she saw anxiety in his eyes—and worry? About what? Her? Them? Pepper felt so tentative and uncertain. She sat up, her hands clasped in her lap.

Jim walked over to her, his gaze never leaving hers. When he sat down, his knee rested against her leg. He reached out and gripped her hands. "It is," he said huskily, his voice still filled with sleep.

"You look worried," she observed.

"You weren't in my arms when I woke up." He gave her a partial smile and looked down at her long, spare hands—hands that had loved him last night. Hands that he wanted loving him always. "Last night," he began with an effort, "wasn't planned, Pepper. I swear it…." He held her wavering gaze. It was important that she believe him, he thought, recalling their "no strings attached" conversation back at her office.

Bowing her head, she managed a painful smile. His hands were warm and tender over hers. "I—I know, Jim."

Relief cascaded through him. "Thank God…."

Risking everything, Pepper raised her head and met his searching eyes. "I thought we might go for a snow picnic this morning. A kind of brunch in the snow." She smiled a little wistfully and pointed out the picture window of her cabin. "It stopped snowing last night and the temperature has risen. I've already packed us a thermos of hot chocolate, made some scrambled-egg sandwiches and fried some bacon."

He studied her in the strained silence. Her cheeks were flushed, and her voice wavered with uncertainty. Jim felt her pain. Gripping her hands surely in his, he rasped, "That sounds great. Let me grab a quick shower, a shave and a change of clothes?"

"Sure…."

Pepper had two sets of skis waiting for them in the garage. After helping Jim into his, she easily attached hers to her boots. Jim carried the knapsack containing their brunch, while she led them out into the crisp air and across the deep, white snow. It was nearly noon, and the sun peeked out from behind grayish clouds that hung low around the tops of the mighty mountains surrounding Phillipsburg. The dark green forest contrasted sharply with the pristine snow. Every once in a while, Jim noticed a patch of brilliant blue sky, quickly swallowed up by the swift-moving clouds. But his heart was centered only on Pepper, who moved with such abandoned grace, gliding easily on her skis as she led them deep into the forest.

It was as if she telepathically knew they had to talk, but had chosen the time and place herself. Jim was content with her decision. He knew Pepper had done it to shore herself up against whatever he might say to her. She was noticeably tentative, the wariness observable in her eyes. How badly he wanted to ease her inner pain, but he didn't know how. Maybe after they'd shared an intimate lunch in surroundings that nurtured her, he could finally communicate with her.

A blue jay screeched suddenly above them, startled by their silent approach, sending snow flying off the branch where it had been sitting. The powdery flakes fell around them like stardust thrown by an invisible magician. Jim laughed at the beauty of the sunlight striking the tiny particles, which sparkled around them like miniature rainbows. He saw the appreciation in Pepper's eyes, too, and began to realize humbly just how much she was a part of this forest. She was, for the instant they watched the jay take flight, a child in awe, innocent and filled with the rapture of life. A fierce tidal wave of love flowed through him, and he fought the urge to reach those precious inches with his gloved hand and caress her fiery cheek. Her red cap emphasized her large eyes, and the dark curls escaping from beneath it shouted of her femininity.

"It isn't far," she whispered, smiling at him. How changed Jim's face had become, Pepper realized in that moment. Gone was the eternal stress she'd seen around his mouth and eyes before and during the mission. Gone was the tight line of his mouth. When he smiled, her heart mushroomed with a joy so fierce that Pepper thought she might faint from it. Her, of all people! The tough fire fighter! She laughed at herself, at the momentary appreciation they shared of their surroundings—and each other. Sadness ate at the foundation of her happiness, though, and not wanting to spoil the moment for Jim, she turned away and continued on up the gentle slope of the hill to her favorite spot.

At least a dozen huge cedar trees made a semicircle at the top of the hill, providing a secure nook against the wind, although the breeze was light now anyway. Pepper removed her skis and, with Jim's help, laid a dark blue, plastic-backed blanket on the snow. The sunlight shone strongly now, reflecting brightly off the limitless white expanse. Most of the clouds had moved away toward the east. Pepper felt a contentment here on this knoll as she helped Jim spread out their brunch on the blanket. Finally, she sat down, and he sat less than a foot away, facing her.

"This is incredible," he confided quietly, in awe of the beauty that surrounded them.

Pepper poured some hot chocolate and offered it to him. "Isn't it?"

"You're beautiful," he whispered, taking the cup from her. He saw her blush and look away as she poured herself some in turn.

Pepper set her cup aside and offered him one of the scrambled-egg sandwiches she'd made. "Last night," she began awkwardly, "was beautiful." And it had been. His nearness was pulverizing. Did Jim realize the overwhelming effect he had on her? Was he torturing her on purpose? Reminding her she was a woman with fiery needs that matched his own?

Pepper didn't believe he knew her feelings toward him. Yes, they'd shared wild, hungry passion, but sex didn't necessarily equate with love. How could he know what lay in her heart? He loved Laura with a blind certainty that everyone could see—everyone except him. What did he want to talk about? She nibbled at her sandwich, not really tasting it.

Jim took a deep breath, watching Pepper's lips purse as she stared down at her sandwich. Why did this have to be so painful to both of them? He laughed at himself and considered the question. If he didn't have so much at stake, if he didn't care as deeply as he did, he'd be able to cope much more easily with the potential pain of a rebuff.

As he exhaled, he spoke. "I've had more than enough time to think about you since we got back from Nevis."

Pepper turned her head just enough to meet and hold his serious, darkened gaze. A lump jammed her throat, and it was impossible to make a sound. Her heart was hammering.

Jim saw the wariness come to her eyes—along with unshed tears. Damn, those tears! He couldn't stand to see them, and automatically he put his hands on her slumped shoulder and forced her to look up at him. "Sweetheart, don't cry…please. Tears tear the hell out of me," he rasped unsteadily.

His voice tugged at Pepper's heart, unraveling her emotions. His hands had fallen gently upon her and his eyes burned with a tenderness she'd never believed existed in any man—but obviously it existed in Jim. Her lips parted, and a choking sob escaped. Tears burned in her eyes, and she felt his fingers tighten against her jacket. Anguish was in his voice and in the way his mouth twisted with her pain. She felt foolish, as if she couldn't control her feelings in his presence.

"What are those tears about?" he demanded huskily, reaching up and using his thumbs to remove them from her now-pale cheeks. "Pepper? Talk to me. When I kissed you on Nevis, you cried, too. It wasn't the time or place to ask why, but it's bothered the hell out of me. Why are you crying?"

Pepper felt her defenses crumbling. "I—I can't…it's too late," she said in a choked voice.

"Too late?" Jim demanded, his hands upon her shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

The intensity of his gaze held hers relentlessly. Jim was going to make her say it. Never had she felt so foolish. So helpless. "I—I didn't want to have feelings for you, Jim. A-after John died, I went into a horrible nosedive. Shock, I guess. I went around like a zombie, not feeling anything. My friends couldn't help me, my family—no one could help. For over a year, I felt numb to living." She looked up and blinked away the tears as she gestured to the huge cedar trees. "See how beautiful these trees are? After John died, I came up here and I couldn't feel anything. Before that, I would feel my heart open, like a flower. I could sit up here, no matter how badly life had treated me, and feel at peace. Feel whole."

Pepper sighed and shook her head. "When I came home after John's funeral, I came up here. I stood in this grove and I felt nothing. It scared me. After that—" she frowned, avoiding his sharpened gaze "—I plunged into the darkest barrel in the world. The doctors said it was depression. I called it a living hell." She touched her breast over her heart. "Jim, I can't even begin to tell you how awful that year was. Finally, slowly, I began to come out of it. And as I did, I felt pain like I'd never felt before. I never knew that kind of pain existed. Every time I thought of John, of what we'd shared—what we'd planned to share—I felt this knife twisting in my heart. It literally took my breath away. I'd start hyperventilating."

Pepper put the sandwich aside and gave him a sad look. "I had been such an active, outgoing person before that, Jim. But suddenly I had no energy, no will to live. It affected my work, my interactions with team members—my family and my friends. It took nearly two years for me to climb out of that hole." She took a deep, ragged breath and looked up at the trees clothed in snow. "I was so afraid of ever feeling that way again that I decided to shut off the possibility of romantic love. I moved my commitment to my job, my family and my friends instead." Shaking her head, Pepper whispered, "I'd learned that love was the one thing that could bring me down—could break me and stop me from living and meeting the goals I'd set for myself. I made friends of any men who wanted to date me. I steered clear of entanglements." She lifted her head and stared at him. "I was successful at it. I had managed to control my life so it wouldn't ever hurt me that way again."

"I…" Jim allowed his hand to drop from her shoulder, digesting her pain and the intimacy of her admission. "Love can be hell," he admitted somberly.

"To say the least," she said brokenly.

"That's why I see so much fear in your eyes?"

"Partly," Pepper admitted rawly. "I never expected to kiss you, if you want the truth."

He smiled deprecatingly. "I didn't, either. But I'm not sorry that it happened, Pepper." When her head snapped up and her eyes widened, he added, "Not ever."

"I—" she struggled visibly with the admission. "—I thought we kissed after you almost fell to your death in that jump because we were happy we'd both survived it."

"And the island?" he asked quietly. "What did you write that off to?"

Wearily, she said, "I wrote it off to the stress we were under, that we could be killed at any moment. I felt guilty for having caused you to be injured in the first place. Guilt and worry—"

"I didn't write either of those kisses off," Jim said soberly.

Pepper stared at him, the silence brittle. "Why?" she finally forced herself to ask.

Jim felt her tension, saw the grief and terror in her eyes. Now that he was beginning to understand what was behind Pepper's wariness, he rasped, "A certain woman walked into my life and made me rethink what I wanted out of it."

Tears stung her eyes. Her voice cracked. "Y-you love Laura…." There, it was finally out. The truth.

Jim stared down at her for a very long, painful minute. His hands tightened considerably.

Pepper saw the darkness in his eyes, but her tears wouldn't stop. Frustrated, she swiped at them with both hands. "I said you love Laura. There's no room in your life for anyone else, Jim!"

Jim assimilated her heated, anguished words. The suffering in her face tore at him. Her lower lip trembled as the tears streamed down her cheeks. With a groan, he called her name and moved closer before she could escape. His hands closed around her upper arms.

"I'll admit my understanding of my feelings for Laura were confused. My emotions ran deeper than I realized. I had fallen for her a long time ago, Pepper, before Morgan entered her life. The truth is I was far more interested in a possible relationship with her than she ever was with me. I was being an idealist about it, putting her on some kind of pedestal—and that was my fault, not hers. When Morgan came into her life, I was bitter for a long time. After a year or so, I got over it, or at least I thought I had."

Pepper met his suffering eyes. "And when Laura was kidnapped?"

His mouth went grim. "It raised a lot of unresolved feelings I'd buried inside, Pepper. When you and I kissed up on that ridge after I damn near died in that jump, I got even more confused. I liked you, but my worry for Laura and the stuff I hadn't worked through about her was clouding how I saw you." He eased his hands from her shoulders. "I don't love Laura. Yes, she's a good friend who deserves my loyalty, but I never truly loved her." He gently smoothed back several tendrils that clung to her damp cheeks.

Jim's hands were warm, strong and dry against Pepper's face, and she wanted so badly to fall into his arms and be held. Fighting it with the last of her emotional strength, she met his confused gaze. "Back in your condominium I saw how much you cared for her. I challenged you on your feelings for her, but you wouldn't admit anything."

"Yes, I recall now what I said when we had our talk." Frustration cracked his voice. "Sweetheart, that was a long time ago. I no more love Laura now than she loves me. She loves Morgan with every breath she takes. I've never seen two people more in love, more committed, than they are to each other." He touched her wrinkled forehead and her cheek. "I don't love her, Pepper. Please, you've got to believe me. I know I screwed up with you. Badly. So much happened so fast. We had a mission to concentrate on." He pursed his lips, holding her lustrous gaze and seeing some of the pain dissolve from her eyes.

She nodded. "Yes, there was a lot going on," she conceded.

He raised his hands and followed the curve of her soft, dark hair with them. "I knew we'd come to some impasse between us. I felt it before and especially after the mission. Is that why you left the Coast Guard cutter early? You couldn't stand being around me because you thought I was in love with Laura?"

Miserably, Pepper nodded. Each caressing touch he bestowed eased a bit more of her pain. She absorbed his gentleness like a desert plant too long without water. How she thirsted for his touch! The feeling was startling, heated. "I know she almost died," she whispered unsteadily, "and I didn't blame you for devoting your attention to her. It wasn't Laura's fault. I've never blamed either of you. Sometimes love happens like that. It's no one's fault."

Making a frustrated sound, Jim pulled Pepper into his arms. At first she stiffened, but then, in increments, he began to feel her surrender. "Sweetheart, from the moment I set eyes on you, I knew you were special. I admit," Jim said harshly, burying his face against her hair, "that I was a royal bastard at first. Yes, I was upset that Laura had been kidnapped. She's been my friend for many years, and I like her, but that's all. I respect Morgan. I sure as hell don't wish that man any more pain than he's already suffered at the hands of our government. Yes, I was upset when Laura first fell for him. But I'm not an obsessive person, Pepper." Jim eased her away from him just enough to place his finger beneath her chin and make her look into his eyes. She had to understand his sincerity on the most basic level.

"When I finally understood that Laura loved Morgan as much as he obviously loved her, I backed off. Maybe I was a bit of a burr under their collective saddle for a while, but after I realized what was going down, I let her go."

Pepper drank in his dark, intense gaze. He was so close. So wonderfully close. She could feel the hard beat of his heart against her breast. His arms were strong, supporting, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed her full weight to lean against him. His gaze was probing, and she felt his frustration.

"Laura is like a ghost from your past," she whispered.

"Yes," Jim rasped, "and I've been battling your ghost, too."

Pepper frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Captain John Freedman," he said, scowling. "I've watched your face change every time you talk about him, Pepper. I saw your eyes fill with tears, heard your voice go soft. What else could I think? Hell, it took every ounce of courage I possess to get up the gumption to fly out here and face you. I felt Freedman still had a claim on your heart."

"He doesn't…not any longer. I—I thought Laura claimed yours," Pepper admitted, embarrassed.

"No more," Jim whispered, touching her cheek. "There's a beautiful, strong, confident woman I'm holding in my arms this very moment. She's the one who holds my heart in her hands."

Pepper reached up, her fingers sliding along the strong line of his jaw. "John is gone," she whispered unsteadily. "And yes, I mourned for him." She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. "I knew that because I was so different—because I refused to be anyone but myself—I would scare most men away, Jim." She allowed her hand to rest on his freshly shaved cheek and opened her eyes. "John was the only man who loved me just the way I was. He loved my confidence, the job I did in the army, my talents and skills. He loved me. He didn't try to pigeonhole me into what women are supposed to do by society's standards. He didn't care. He loved me for walking my own path in life, and I loved him for allowing me to be myself. There just aren't that many men out there who are confident enough in their own masculinity to let women be all they can be."

Jim smiled tenderly and brushed her tears away with his fingertips. "I understand," he whispered. "You're a new breed of woman, Pepper. You've been lucky enough to have parents who supported you regardless of gender, and you've been lucky to be born at a time in history where women are grudgingly being allowed to develop fully. That's one of the things that drew me to Laura. She's a lot like you, you know."

Pepper gave him a confused look. "I don't see much similarity between us."

He smiled a little and caressed her damp cheek. "That's because you don't really know Laura. She's held down a man's job in the defense industry for years. She's a noted specialist on defense issues. And like you, she never abandoned her femininity to become ‘one of the boys.' Beyond that, Laura is opinionated, stubborn and knows what she knows—just like you."

"I don't think I'm opinionated or stubborn. If I were a man, you'd say I know my own mind and know what I stand for."

Jim grinned a little, feeling some of the tension drain from her, even as it drained away from him. He saw a spark of defiance flare in her eyes along with desire—for him he hoped. "You're right," he amended. "You see, I'm still learning to give ground gracefully to women in general. I'm not as liberated or ahead of my time as John was." He held her gaze. "I wish I were, Pepper. But I'm beginning to understand what kind of raw, continual courage it takes to stay strong within yourself. Laura was the first woman to make me aware of that. Now you. I've been watching her gather up the shattered pieces of herself, not knowing whether she'll ever see her son or husband again, and she's fighting to heal herself despite that ongoing trauma. She has guts." Jim leaned down, his mouth barely brushing her tear-stained lips. "Like you," he whispered against them.

Pepper moaned as Jim's strong lips brushed hers. Without thinking, she found her arms sliding around his broad shoulders, feeling the latent power of his muscles beneath his jacket, discovering the power of his mouth as he pinned her against him. He eased her down on the blanket, the sun warm upon them, and a heated bolt of lightning seemed to plunge through her as his mouth moved confidently across hers, igniting a fire of such burning need that it turned her knees to jelly. His mouth was at once ravishing and tender, and she felt his ragged breath chase across her cheek as he deepened his kiss, taking her completely.

Pepper was lost to everything except Jim and his mouth covering hers. Their hearts clamored in unison, their bodies stretching and reaching toward each other, crying for closeness. As Pepper surrendered against Jim, her breasts pressing into his chest and the points of their hips grinding together as their thighs fused, she moaned in pure joy. The joy of celebration. Jim didn't love Laura! He was here to see her and only her. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she felt him tremble with barely contained need.

"Love me…." she whispered, dragging her mouth from his. Breathing unevenly, she unzipped his jacket. The day was perfect, the sky a dark, clear blue, and the world seemed to be holding its breath. She felt Jim open her jacket and ease it off her. The jackets became pillows as they stretched out on the blanket. Pepper's emotions were alive, illuminating her as if some golden light had been switched on within her very soul. She turned and, with shaking fingers, began to unbutton Jim's shirt. He smiled down at her. It was a very male smile, filled with incredible tenderness as he in turn, slowly unbuttoned her blouse.

Both articles fell to one side, and Jim's fingers lingered against Pepper's warm satiny skin, tracing the outline of her collarbones. She didn't have an ounce of fat on her, just solid, firm muscle shouting of a woman who was strong on so many levels that his heart nearly burst with need. She was his equal in every way, and he savored the discovery as he unbuttoned her slacks. Kneeling over her, he allowed his hands to slide down the length of her firm, long thighs and calves. Helping Pepper out of the slacks, he slowly stood.

The smile on her mouth was dessert in itself for him, as was her look of devilry combined with desire. He admired her boldness and relaxed as she got to her knees, reached up and unbuttoned his Levi's. Her hands were warm and followed the lines of his hardened thighs as she slowly, tortuously, slid his jeans downward. Jim sucked in a deep breath as her hands lingered against the bulging hardness displayed beneath the denim. She caressed him, then pulled the Levi's lower. Jim tunneled his fingers through her hair, gently gripping it for a moment as she returned to caress him again. Heat burned through him, and he nearly lifted her off her feet after he was rid of his clothes. The chill of the air was sharp, contrasting to the heat of Pepper's hands on his skin.

The look in her eyes set him on fire. He knelt down, capturing her mouth, ravishing her soft lips, pressing her hard against him as his fingers sought and found the hooks of her bra and released them. The silky fabric fell away, and Jim broke the kiss, breathing hard. Pepper was so perfect, her breasts small, proud and begging to be seduced—by him.

He felt her hands slide beneath his white T-shirt and slowly push the cotton fabric upward. He surrendered, allowing her to undress him. A look of pleasure entered her eyes as she ran her artistic fingers through the dark hair of his chest. Every touch was like a feathery brand. Groaning, Jim pulled her against him, feeling the soft brush of her breasts. As he slid his hands along her supple spine, he was again aware of how firm and muscular she was.

Laying her back on the blanket, he moved his hands down over her hips. Her belly was softly rounded, ripe for carrying babies, he thought hazily as he teased her silky panties away from her long, coltish legs. She lay before him naked, vulnerable. As he joined her on the blanket, he drew her into his arms.

Pepper inhaled sharply as Jim's hand moved provocatively up her rib cage, caressing, exploring. The hair of his chest teased her nipples, and they hardened. She waited in near frustration as his fingers moved slowly around her breast, shaping it, savoring the feel of her. He leaned down, his mouth capturing the hardened peak, and the warmth and moistness sent a shattering heat streaking through her. In that moment, her world revolved around his strong touch, the power of his body and the trembling control he barely held over it.

She arched against him, begging him to enter her. His smile was primal, as before, but the look in his burning eyes said not yet. She wasn't helpless. He could clearly see that she longed to please him as much as he was pleasing her. Reaching down, sliding her hands along his narrow flanks, she caressed him. A groan ripped from him, and he stiffened against her. She smiled at him this time, and he met her mouth with a growing intensity. Their breath mingled, and she welcomed his weight as he settled above her.

Pepper wasn't disappointed. Jim thrust hard and deep into her, and her wet heat met his plunge as he buried himself in her. A moan of pleasure rippled from her throat, and she threw her head back, feeling his arm slide beneath her neck, bringing her more tightly against him. The rhythm was wild, unfettered. Devouring. She matched him thrust for thrust, moving with him, engaging his powerful movements with her own totally feminine response. Their bodies grew hot and slick, the friction burning them up, consuming them as their mouths clung to each other with frenzied abandon.

Pepper's world shifted, then tilted as he slid his hand beneath her hips, bringing her into irrevocable union with him. Her cry of release was caught and drowned in his mouth as she surrendered herself to him. Seconds later, he stiffened against her, nearly crushing her, squeezing her breath from her as he held her to his trembling, damp body. Moments—golden, heated—spun by, entwining them as tightly as her arms were locked around his narrow waist.

Wordlessly, Jim loosened his grip on her and framed her face, now damp and flushed, as he once again claimed her soft, well-kissed mouth. Her sweetness flowed through him. Tenderly easing his mouth from hers, he brought her down on the blanket. When her fearless blue eyes met his, he smiled gently, still feeling her heat, her tightness—not wanting to give up this sense of oneness he'd never before experienced.

"I dreamed of you every night," Jim whispered, nuzzling her cheek, trailing a series of small kisses downward until he found her warm, beckoning mouth. "Like this. Like now," he uttered, his voice rough with emotion.

Pepper moved sinuously against him, absorbing Jim, reveling in his strength and incredible tenderness. Closing her eyes, she was content to lie against him, their legs tangled, their arms around each other. Fire and ice. The glittering snow surrounded them in its cold beauty while the heat of their recent lovemaking kept them warm. Slowly, ever so slowly, their ragged breathing calmed, as did their heartbeats. Pepper was amazed by their union, which had flown far beyond the physical. Jim filled her with his strength and masculinity in a way she'd never encountered in her life. It was as if she were embracing the sun itself, piercing and brilliant with life.

As he caressed her hair, gently stroking her, Pepper surrendered to him by resting her cheek against his rock-hard chest. The black mat of hair tickled her nose, and she smiled softly. Sliding her hand across his powerful muscles, she whispered, "I never knew this existed…."

Jim smiled tenderly, and he leaned over and caressed her smooth, unmarred brow as he repeated, "I dreamed of this. But I never believed it would happen, either, sweetheart," he admitted. His eyes darkened with haunting memories as he slid his fingers across the warm velvet of her flushed cheek. Her lashes fluttered open to reveal drowsy, fulfilled blue eyes. His smile deepened. "I want to cherish you, Mary Susan Sinclair."

The words, spoken huskily and with such hope, roused Pepper from the golden cocoon she was lying in. Lifting her chin, she drowned in his stormy gaze, which was alive with something she wanted to call love but didn't dare. Her lips parted, and she started to say something, but the words jammed in her throat. His eyes, so steady and intense, held hers, waiting for her answer.

Her heartbeat thumped in response to the magnitude of his statement. What was Jim saying? Did he want to spend the rest of his life with her? Was she imagining this? Had love, an emotion she'd denied herself for so long, made her hear things that hadn't really been said? His smile grew tender, and he moved within her, underscoring how much she wanted him all over again.

He had captured her wrists above the tangle of her curls, his fingers heated against her cool skin. With each slow thrust, she moaned, and the heat fanned out deeply within her.

Words were useless, and Pepper cried out with pleasure as Jim leaned down, capturing her hardening nipple. Arching against him, drawing him deeply into her, she felt his fingers in her hair, pulling her against him until her cheek rested against his damp shoulder. Did she want to spend the rest of her life with him? Yes, a thousand times, yes! Pepper lifted her chin, seeking Jim's mouth, striving to meet and match his power. She wasn't disappointed because in a heartbeat his mouth was plundering her, ravaging her, teasing her, testing her and taking her where she'd never been before.

Each touch trailed liquid fire down her body. Each motion was powerful, riveting. Pepper met his narrowed gaze, recognizing the look of a hunter. She was his quarry—but at the same time she was a hunter, too. Every plane of his body was hard as steel, trembling with bare control as he surged into her, making her his all over again.

Exhaustion lapped at Pepper as they fell into each other's embrace. The minutes fled by, and she was content to remain in his arms. Finally she felt Jim sit up and gather the warm, thick jackets over them. Snuggling against his damp body, she burrowed her face against his neck, her arms around him. Pepper felt his arms tighten, felt his mouth upon her cheek, his warm breath reassuring. Winter's chill would drive them indoors soon enough. But now Pepper would be content simply to go home and spend time with Jim, alone and uninterrupted.

Jim quietly entered the bedroom, a cup of hot tea in hand. It was nearly two in the afternoon. He and Pepper had happily fallen back into bed once they'd returned to her cabin, and had slept like two innocent children in each other's arms. He'd awakened half an hour ago and made them tea. Pepper's cabin radiated with wood-fire warmth, and he smiled tenderly as he eased himself down on the bed next to her sleeping form. Without him at her side, she slept on her stomach, one hand beneath her cheek, the other beneath the goose-down pillow. Sometime after he'd got up to go to the kitchen, the colorful down comforter had fallen to one side.

Now Jim lightly touched Pepper's back, feeling the delicious curve of her spine. He was happy when she didn't stir. He didn't want to wake her; he just wanted to spend this time absorbing another new facet of her. Her hair, once sleek, was curled in disarray around her sleeping features. Her lips were parted, shouting of her vulnerability. Her cheeks had their usual flush, emphasizing her beautiful English complexion.

Frowning, he allowed his hand to come to rest on her satiny shoulder. How many loads had she carried on these proud shoulders? Did she want to assume the load of a relationship—with him? When he'd asked her the question, he'd seen surprise in her eyes, followed by another, unknown emotion. Why hadn't Pepper responded to his question? Perhaps he'd asked too much too soon. By the very fact that she'd loved him twice already, she was showing her courage to reach out and try to love again. He had to be content with that for now. Jim hadn't even guessed at the magnitude of the wall she had erected after John's death. If he had known, he wondered if he'd have been willing to take the chances he had so far with her. Sometimes not knowing could prove to be an advantage, he thought wryly. Moving his fingers gently across her shoulder blade, he again realized just what incredible physical shape Pepper was in—as she had to be to do the demanding work of fighting fires.

A serenity washed over him as he sat on the bed, his hand lightly resting on Pepper's shoulder. He sipped at the lemon-flavored tea he'd brewed. Out in the living room, the soft snap of the fire enhanced his tranquillity. Leaning over, he nudged a curl back from Pepper's temple, and she stirred. Damn, he hadn't meant to wake her. He saw her lashes slowly rise, revealing drowsy blue eyes.

"Jim…?"

"Everything's okay," he said quietly, keeping his hand on her shoulder. She started to rise, but he applied just enough pressure to let her know he wanted her to go back to sleep.

Rubbing her face, Pepper smiled softly. "What time is it?" How dangerous-looking Jim was, she thought sleepily, dressed only in faded Levi's, his chest dark with hair and his shoulders thrown back with natural pride. Her body responded automatically to his quiet presence. His hand was warm against her. The intimacy he'd established with her was powerful.

"Fourteen hundred hours." He grimaced. "My military background is showing again, isn't it?" And he chuckled.

Pepper laughed softly and slowly sat up, the quilt spilling around her waist. She felt no embarrassment as she watched his eyes narrow with appreciation of her.

"I remember my mother making me read the Greek myths when I was nine or so," Jim said as he handed Pepper the cup of tea and rose from the bed. He walked to the closet, found a pink velour robe and brought it back to her. Trading the tea for the robe, he said, "One particular myth involved Diana, the Huntress. She captured my imagination because she did everything the boys did—but did it better. She was an athlete—a prototype, I think now, looking back on it, for the women of today." He enjoyed watching Pepper rise slowly from the bed and slip into the robe.

Placing the tea on the dresser, he went over to her. "You're a modern-day Diana."

It was so easy for Pepper to open her arms and receive him. "I'm not interested in being anyone's role model, thank you very much. I know what I enjoy doing, and that's all that counts. Personally, I just couldn't handle doing an eight-hour-a-day desk job."

Jim leaned down and captured her mouth, sharing her warmth and vulnerability. Then, easing away, he smiled at her. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Pepper smiled and touched his hair. It was thick and silky. "When the man of my dreams wakes me up, why should I mind?"

"I got thirsty," he said, gesturing to the tea. "Want some?"

"At this hour, it's better than coffee."

"Come on," he murmured. Slipping his arm around her waist, he walked her out to the kitchen, where he made her sit down while he brewed another cup.

Pepper propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. "Do you realize how delicious you look right now?" she asked huskily.

Jim glanced over his shoulder at her as he stood at the sink, refilling the old copper teakettle. "No." He grinned and looked down at his bare feet sticking out from beneath his Levi's. "Somehow, I don't think this uniform of the day would make it most places."

"It only has to make it here."

Jim's heart mushroomed with joy at her heartfelt comment as he set the kettle on the stove. He realized that, in his sleepy state, he'd zipped up his jeans, but neglected to button them, leaving his navel revealed. "There's a difference between you and Diana," he teased mischievously, buttoning up. "She was a virgin and refused to let any man touch her."

"I wouldn't like to be Diana," Pepper said decidedly.

Sauntering over to her, Jim stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "No," he rasped, "I wouldn't like it, either."

Leaning back against him, Pepper gazed up into his shadowed face, its strong planes accentuated by a slight growth of beard. "Am I dreaming? Are you really here? Is this real?" she asked, only half joking.

Jim heard the quaver in Pepper's voice. He squeezed her shoulders and came around and knelt at her side. Facing her, he slid one hand behind her waist and held her hands with his other one. "I'm real. This is real. What we have is real," he said quietly, holding her luminous gaze.

"I'm scared, Jim. Scared as hell."

"I know you are. So am I."

"I worry…." Pepper shrugged. "I mean…I've never felt like I do when I'm with you."

He cocked his head. "What do you mean?" He ran his thumb across the top of her clasped hands. Her skin was firm and soft. Inviting. An ache began building in him again, her mere closeness fueling his desire.

"Something about you touches me so deeply—on such a primal level—that I stand in awe of it," Pepper admitted shakily. "John never touched me in the same way. It was different. With you, I feel your intensity, and you arouse an answering intensity in me. This may sound silly—maybe you'll laugh—but I feel as if you're my wolf mate—the one my soul has been searching for all these years." She gave him a shy look and realized from his expression that he wasn't taking her words lightly.

"Wolves mate for life." He pursed his lips, then lifted her hand and placed a small kiss on it. Raising his chin, he held her gaze. "I think we deserve to spend some time together, don't you?"

His voice was dark, velvety. Pepper struggled against her long-ago promise to herself not to get involved. "Yes…"

Jim smiled a little. "We've had a lot of hurdles to overcome to get this far, sweetheart."

She sat very still. His hands felt almost hot against her own. She saw the commitment in his eyes, heard it in his voice. "How much time do we have?"

"I'm due back in seven days, shortly after Christmas. If Jason isn't in Maui, we'll have to start the search for him all over again. But by that time, this new team, if they get lucky, will probably know one way or another."

"I see…." Pepper knew she'd made a personal commitment to Jim simply by loving him. She'd already broken her promise to herself, she admitted. In fact, her heart had ignored that promise from the beginning when it came to him, she thought wryly. Yet Jim hadn't said he loved her. But in fairness to him, she hadn't said it, either. Did she dare call it love? How could she not? Fear warred with her instinctive inner knowing.

Jim got up and embraced her gently. The teakettle was whistling on the stove. "I know your relationship with John taught you a lot of good things and bad things, sweetheart. In a way, we have all the time in the world—but I know that hasn't been your experience. You have to trust me on this, Pepper—we've got time. Hang on, I'll get you a cup of tea."

Amazed that he seemed able to read her thoughts, Pepper watched him putter around her kitchen. Jim belonged, there was no doubt. He looked totally at home here. And she had to admit that she'd never seen him as relaxed as he was now with her. The tea made, he held out his hand and led her into the living room, where they sat down on the large merino rug in front of the stove.

Jim maneuvered Pepper around so that he could lean against the end of the couch and still have her nestled in his arms. The fire crackled in front of them. "Better?" he whispered near her ear.

"Much." Pepper sipped the tea carefully as they sat in the early afternoon silence, the glow of red-orange flames dancing around the cabin's cozy interior. Outside, it was snowing again, and the windowpanes were frosted with a thick coating of snow. Setting the teacup on her robed thigh, Pepper sighed and leaned back against him.

"So you can stay for a week?"

"Yes."

"I just never dreamed you'd come back into my life, Jim."

"I never stopped dreaming of you coming into mine."

His voice was filled with irony, and she twisted to look up at him. "Nothing has ever felt so right to me as this," she said.

"Me, either." Jim inhaled the fragrance of Pepper's hair and enjoyed the feel of her, supple in his embrace.

Her robe had slipped off her leg, revealing the length of her calf. He frowned and leaned forward, running his hand across its smooth expanse. "Is that an old injury?" he asked, indicating a ten-inch scar that ran nearly the length of her calf.

"Hmm? Oh, that."

"How did it happen?"

"On the Crown King fire in Arizona a couple of years ago." She shrugged. "If you're a smoke jumper you can expect all kinds of injuries, Jim. That's why I'm glad I met Michaela, with her homeopathic practice. Without her, I'd have been laid up a lot more and a lot longer."

"Where did you get this other one?" He pointed to a scar on her other knee.

Pepper heard the concern in his voice. Setting the tea aside, she turned around and crossed her legs, her knees pressing against his. "What is this? Are we going to compare our war wounds?" she teased with a smile, trying to dispel the worry in his eyes.

"That's a big scar, Pepper."

"So?" She made her eyes large. "You should see the one under my left arm. It's a puncture wound I received at the Patterson fire, just outside of Phillipsburg, as a matter of fact. You remember the Storm King Mountain fire in Glenwood, Colorado, which took the lives of fourteen smoke jumpers?"

He scowled. Who could forget that tragic fire, which had taken so many dedicated and courageous lives? "Yes, I remember it."

"We had a similar situation in the Patterson fire," Pepper said. "It was a hot day—a red-flag day, warning us of high winds. My team and I were moving down into a valley similar to the one in the Storm King fire, and we had a blowout. I had run back down to warn another Hotshot team, because not all of them had radios, when the fire exploded all around us. I got to them and helped them because I knew the woods in this area so well. When a tree fell over, one of the branches gored me. If it weren't for Susan, my fire-team partner, I'd have been dead," she said matter-of-factly. "We were running for it when a burning pine fell across our planned escape route." She raised her arm and pointed to her upper rib cage. "The branch punctured my left lung. I had so much blood in my lungs, I nearly suffocated on the helo ride to the hospital."

Jim captured her graceful hands in his. "I never realized how dangerous your job was," he murmured.

"As if being a Recon isn't twenty times more dangerous, Jim Woodward! And don't give me that pained expression, either. I hope we're not going to have our first fight over our respective careers."

He grinned. "Not a chance, sweetheart. I see enough fighting in my line of work at the Pentagon. I don't want home to be a battleground, too."

Pepper caressed his cheek. "Michaela saved my life when I got that lung puncture. Because we were so close to Phillipsburg, the Forest Service called and asked for her assistance as emergency backup. On the way to the hospital, in the ambulance, she gave me a remedy that stopped most of the hemorrhaging. So you see, I have a homeopathic guardian angel. Too bad you don't!"

Laughing, Jim surrendered to her logic. "Remind me to thank Michaela for giving you the remedy that helped my arm."

"Talk about scars," Pepper murmured, sliding her hands up his newly healed arm. "That was a terrible cut, Jim."

"I had a great nurse—a woman who stole my heart, then took care of it for me. How could I not get well under her care?"

Pepper digested the sincerity of his tone. "I still think you're a figment of my lonely, overworked imagination."

"Finish your tea," Jim coaxed. "Dreams can't make love. I'll take you back to bed and we'll see if I'm a dream or not. Deal?"

Her lips curved tenderly. "Deal." There was desire in his eyes—and in his touch as he moved his hand slowly up and down her thigh beneath her robe. A new joy, a thread of real hope moved through her. In three days, she would take him home with her to Anaconda for Christmas. What would her parents think of Jim? Her whole family would be there. Suddenly, Pepper felt a wave of happiness like she'd never experienced—and she knew it was because of the man who held her in his arms.

Chapter Thirteen

Jim sat with a cup of freshly made hot chocolate in his hand. Pepper was in her mother's very busy kitchen, preparing the Christmas Eve meal. He looked down and noted the whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles on his chocolate—a thoughtful touch. A strong burst of love washed through him. From where he sat, he could see Pepper standing at the sink, preparing the stuffing for the huge, twenty-five-pound turkey. To her right stood her aristocratic-looking mother, Mary Sinclair. Though in her fifties, she was almost as tall as Pepper, her short black hair sprinkled with gray. Their laughter was nearly identical, and Jim now knew who Pepper took most strongly after. To Pepper's left stood Molly Sinclair, Cam's wife, who looked tiny in comparison to the other two. Molly was blond and delicately boned; it was tough to imagine that at one time she'd been a navy test engineer on the most modern fighter planes. All three women were laughing and chatting amiably as they worked. Unfortunately, Pepper's grandfather had the flu, so they wouldn't be visiting for the holiday.

Jim smiled and took another sip of the rich, warm chocolate. Happiness seemed to ring through the Sinclair household nonstop. At the moment, Warren Sinclair, Pepper's father, was having a serious talk with Cam by the fireplace. Warren was tall and spare, his hands long and artistic—like Pepper's. He was in his mid-fifties and wore a white cotton shirt topped by a brightly striped red-and-white sweater. Cam was a few inches shorter than his father, lean and obviously fit from his military duties. The navy test pilot had his elbow resting on the mantel, his brow furrowed, eyes intense. Jim smiled to himself. Yes, Cam needed someone like Molly, who was like a cheerful patch of sunlight, to counterbalance his intensity and seriousness.

Molly and Cam's two children, three-year-old Jennifer and one-year-old Scott, played happily around Jim's feet. He leaned over and made sure that blond-haired Jennifer, who decidedly took after Molly, had the coloring book and crayons nearby so she could continue her exploration of creativity on paper. Scott, on the other hand, was the spitting image of Cam, his hair thick and black and his eyes clear, pale blue with a startling intensity to them—just like his father's.

Jim glanced at his watch. It was 1100, and two more families, friends of Molly and Cam, were still due to arrive to spend Christmas with them. Dana and Griff Turcotte were flying in from Pensacola, Florida, where they both worked as instructor pilots. From Miramar Naval Air Station near San Diego, Lieutenant Commander Maggie Donovan-Bishop and her civilian pilot husband, Wes Bishop, were flying in, too.

The Sinclair house was large, a turn-of-the-century three-story Victorian home that had originally been built by Sinclair ancestors when silver mining was at its peak in Montana. Jim had been immersed in the family's stories of the mining era, when the Sinclairs had been among the local elite. But as silver production died off in the 1930s, the family had become destitute like much of the rest of the country. This generation of Sinclairs—Warren and Mary—had turned economic disaster into success. Warren ran a fishing-expedition service with clients from around the world who wanted to fish the state's famous trout streams.

Jim allowed Scott Sinclair to climb into his lap. The boy was tired—he'd been up since six this morning, wanting to touch every bulb and light on the ten-foot-high blue spruce that stood, brightly decorated, in the corner of the expansive living room.

Last night they had all worked together to decorate the tree, and Jim couldn't remember ever having so much fun or laughing so hard. Now Scott snuggled against him, resting his head tiredly on Jim's shoulder and closing his eyes. Jim wrapped his left arm around the boy and watched him drop quickly off to sleep. His gaze returned to Pepper. Again his heart expanded with such joy that it continued to catch him off guard, made him inhale a deep ragged breath as he tried to believe his good luck.

Pepper wore an ankle-length, red corduroy skirt, a dark green angora sweater and comfortable shoes with bright red socks that matched her skirt. Earlier, Molly had placed a sprig of holly and berries in Pepper's hair, and now her cheeks were flushed as she talked animatedly with her mother and Molly in the kitchen. She had pushed the sleeves of the sweater up to her elbows in order to make the dressing. Jim sighed, glanced down at the sleeping tiger he held in his arms and continued to sip the delicious hot chocolate. Life didn't get much better than this and he knew it.

The past three days had been bliss for him and Pepper. Yesterday a brief storm had passed through, dropping another foot of snow, and they'd gone alpine skiing for part of the day. He was sore today from the unaccustomed form of exercise, but it had been a great day. Pepper had packed two thermoses of hot chocolate and a lunch, and they'd shared another snow picnic in the middle of the forest, the towering Douglas firs stately and awe-inspiring around them.

Jim finished the cup of chocolate and saw Cam looking his way. The navy pilot wore Levi's, loafers and a dark green flannel shirt and Jim smiled to himself. He, too, had opted for comfortable civilian clothes: tan chinos, an off-white fisherman's sweater and hiking boots.

"Looks like Scott finally crashed and burned," Cam said as he came over and gently eased his son into his arms. He turned Scott around and allowed him to sink across his shoulder.

"I'd say he's about used up his energy for this mission," Jim agreed as he watched the pilot gently hold his son. It was good to see men who enjoyed being fathers, who weren't afraid to show their full range of emotions with their children—unlike many of the stoic father figures of the past, who'd remained apart from their families in many ways.

"Thanks for baby-sitting," Cam said with a chuckle. He turned, carrying his son down the hall toward one of the many bedrooms to continue his nap. Jennifer quickly got up, leaving crayons and paper behind and followed her dad.

"Playing baby-sitter?" Pepper asked as she wandered in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. How wonderfully handsome Jim looked, she thought. The cream color of his sweater emphasized his dark good looks, and when he lifted his chin, his green eyes narrowing on her, she felt giddy with joy.

"I think the little rug rat just found any old soft spot to call a pillow," he teased, taking the hand she had extended to him. Pepper came to the side of his chair and knelt down, her hand resting in his lap.

"Rug rats—what an awful term!"

He gave her a nonplussed look. "It's an affectionate Marine Corps term for kids."

"Leave it to the Marine Corps to think that that term shows affection." Pepper sniffed, leaning over to gather up the crayons and coloring book.

"Marines aren't usually in the line of being babysitters," Jim drawled, teasing her.

She set the items on the lamp stand next to Jim's chair. As she straightened, she muttered, "Listen, I've been around enough military brats, kids who had to grow up in that sterile, rigid place called the Fortress, and I've seen firsthand how little the military cares about the wives and children. Don't get me started, okay?"

Jim grinned and leaned over, placing a swift kiss on her mouth. "Okay," he murmured.

Pepper sighed and leaned against the arm of the chair, content. "This is so much fun. I just love Christmas."

"It's one of my favorite holidays, too." He placed his hand on her shoulder. "And you've got a great family." He raised his eyebrows slightly. "You really take after your mother."

"Yes. She's something else, isn't she?"

"I was surprised to hear she hikes back into those interior places where the trout are. That's rugged country."

Snorting, Pepper gave him a cool look. "Come on! Women can't be good guides?"

He held up his hands. "Remember? I'm still adjusting to the fact that women can do anything a man can. But I have to admit, I can't see any reason why a woman couldn't know good fishing spots, too."

Pepper shook her head. "You're one of those guys who grudgingly gives up ground to a woman, you know that?"

"Maybe so, but I am trying to adjust," he protested lightly.

"Stick around me and you'll change a lot quicker," she muttered, smiling. Jim's eyes were warm with tenderness, and Pepper felt wrapped in a euphoria she still had trouble trusting. The last time she'd uttered those heartfelt words I love you, John had died. In the past few days, she had realized she was genuinely ready to let go of the past and embrace the present. What she felt for Jim more than rivaled what she'd felt for John. But how should she tell Jim? She wasn't sure if he was ready to commit at such a serious level. Did she dare believe that what she experienced in his touch and his kisses and saw in his eyes was love? After all, he'd never said the words to her. Would he ever?

Sighing, Pepper said, "Molly's beside herself. Her friends from Annapolis and Pensacola flight school will be here in a few minutes. I guess this is the first time they've all been able to get leave, meet somewhere and have a great time together."

"Sort of like a college reunion," Jim said.

"Yes. Molly's told me all about Dana and Maggie—how they shared an apartment in Pensacola when they were there to get their navy aviator wings. I'm excited to meet them myself. Molly has told me so much about them, I feel like I already know them. And it will be interesting to see the men they've chosen as husbands. How they compare."

"Oh?" Jim took her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

"Well, you know." Pepper laughed.

"Is this womanspeak? Some kind of mysterious verbal shorthand we poor males try to decipher, but can't?"

Pepper had the good grace to blush. "Sorry. Yes, it is. I guess I'm curious about the men from the standpoint that all three of these women are very strong, confident people. It's been my experience that most men get defensive or project like crazy around woman like that. It takes a man who is really comfortable with his masculinity, as a total person, to appreciate women like us, that's all."

"So you're going to compare Griff Turcotte and Wes Bishop with me?" He saw Pepper's cheeks grow even brighter red and grinned.

"Not exactly…." she hedged, obviously uncomfortable.

Laughing huskily, Jim whispered, "I know I'm not the perfect twenty-first-century male, but I'm trying. And I think that's what counts, don't you?"

Leaning over, Pepper kissed him quickly on his smiling mouth. The heat in his eyes touched her deeply. "It does count," she murmured. "Besides, you might pick up some good pointers from these guys, especially Wes Bishop. I understand Maggie is a real go-getter. She's one of the first women in the navy to fly the fighters up against the boys—and she beats them on a regular basis."

"Hmm, maybe I will," Jim drawled, holding her laughter-filled gaze, which sparkled with an emotion he wanted to call love. Was Pepper ready to commit to him? To release the past with John once and for all? Jim had seen her seesaw back and forth in the days he'd spent with her at the cabin. Their conversations had tiptoed around the issue. But he'd also seen the deepening of their own relationship. He loved her. Could she put herself out on a limb and love for a second time in her life? Could she do it for him? He still wasn't sure.

The doorbell rang, and they watched Molly fly from the kitchen to the foyer, her long blond hair streaming behind her. Pepper laughed and shook her head. Molly was such a sprite, completely uninhibited, and it reminded her to stay in touch with her own childlike emotions. The woman opened the door, shrieked and flung her arms wide.

Pepper was content to stand at Jim's side and wait until the group shed their coats and gear and came into the living room. Molly's cheeks were pink with excitement, her eyes sparkling with tears as she held the hands of her two dearest friends. She brought them around the room, introducing them to everyone. Pepper and Jim were the last to be introduced.

"Dana and Maggie, meet one of us, Pepper Sinclair. Can you believe it? She made it through Army Ranger school, beat the guys at their own game, was the highest scoring of all of them, and they wouldn't let her graduate? Pepper's a smoke jumper now, for the Forest Service. Pepper, meet my friends."

Laughing, Pepper held out her hand to red-haired Maggie Donovan-Bishop, whose eaglelike eyes seemed to miss nothing. Maggie's handshake was firm, her smile genuine. Dana Turcotte, who possessed an intensity and introspectiveness that reminded Pepper of Cam, shook her hand next.

Pepper was delighted by this unusual chance to meet her "own kind." Though few women had joined the smoke jumpers so far, those who had possessed similar hallmark traits. It was obvious Maggie and Dana had them, too. As Molly introduced Jim, giving a quick sketch of his background, Pepper was able to stand back and observe their reaction to him. Maggie grinned, thrust her hand forward and shook Jim's hand vigorously. Dana was more circumspect, more official, eyeing him with a bit of wariness, or watchfulness, perhaps. Pepper wondered if Dana had had a bad time in general with men, to make her so guarded.

Cam brought the two husbands around next. Pepper liked outgoing and warm Wes Bishop, who was a pilot with United Parcel Service and flew the "heavies," as they called the jumbo jets, all over the world, hauling cargo. Griff Turcotte had a rugged face, a tough exterior, and was more reserved, like Dana. Shaking his hand, Pepper felt Griff was exactly what Dana needed. It was obvious they were happy—she had seen them trade an affectionate glance shortly after the introductions and before Molly had dragged the two women off to the kitchen to give them her late grandmother's recipe for the hot chocolate she'd made for everyone.

Jim went into the kitchen and brought out cups of the famous chocolate for the two pilots. It struck him that the men had formed a loose circle near the roaring fireplace, while the women were in the kitchen, chatting away, laughing and working together on the meal to come. There were differences between men and women, and Jim honored them. He turned his attention to Wes, who pinned him with an interested look.

"Molly said you're a Recon Marine?"

"Yes, a ground pounder compared to you air guys," Jim said, grinning. Everyone laughed. Jim was familiar with the ongoing rivalry between ground troops and the pilots who owned the air above them.

"I won't hold it against you," Wes murmured, his grin stretching wide across his face.

"I'll forgive you, too."

Chuckling, Griff said, "Looks like you have your own tiger by her tail."

Jim stared at him blankly.

Griff motioned lazily toward the kitchen. "Pepper is like Dana and Maggie—ahead of her time, a trailblazer."

"I see…yes, she is."

"How are you rolling with it all?" Griff asked curiously as he sized Jim up.

"It's new to me," Jim admitted. "Sometimes I fall into some pretty pedestrian traps regarding stereotypes."

Wes chuckled indulgently. "Tell me about it. Maggie has changed my language from ‘man' or ‘woman' to ‘person,' and I had to learn very quickly that being a man doesn't give you special privileges."

"At all," Turcotte agreed, chuckling.

"I don't think we deserve special privileges," Jim said. "Pepper has taught me a lot lately about the way women have been held down or kept in what's considered their ‘place.'"

Wes Bishop sighed and raised his cup of chocolate. "To our ladies, who have and continue to make us better human beings, gentlemen."

Jim had no problem with that toast and clinked the side of his cup against the others'. As he sipped the chocolate, he enjoyed watching the women in the kitchen. They had such a camaraderie—a closeness men simply didn't seem to foster. He liked the way the women reached out, touching one another on the shoulder or arm, or came over and slipped an arm around each other's waist in a hug before continuing on with their kitchen duties. He was struck by how thoroughly the women worked as a team. They didn't fit into the boss-and-underlings structure that men seemed to insist on.

What was most striking to Jim was the way that, although Pepper had just met Maggie and Dana, she was immediately absorbed into their group. He decided there was a lot to be learned from women. Their ability to become warmly personal and freely show feelings left him wanting to be more open with his own gender.

As he stood chatting amiably with the other men, Jim realized that Maggie, Dana and Molly had already rubbed off on their husbands. These three pilots seemed noticeably more open and personable than the men Jim knew. Even more surprising was the way that Wes or Griff would every once in a while reach out and touch each other's shoulder or arm to emphasize something they were saying.

Jim smiled to himself, liking the discovery and seeing how these self-assured women had influenced the men they loved. Most of all, he was struck by the fact that all three men possessed the ability to be flexible and to compromise—certainly the main component to the longevity of any marriage today. These men weren't lapdogs, nor were they battered males with no egos. Just the opposite. These were highly competent men, with a confidence and assurance that came from within. It wasn't a show, Jim sensed, but a depth of strength they had about their own masculinity that enabled them not only to support the strengths of their wives, but to push them to become all that they could be.

Finishing his cup of hot chocolate, Jim wandered into the kitchen. Pepper was in the middle of the women, her mother at her side, as she finished stuffing the huge turkey. Luckily, the kitchen was large, in keeping with the old-time kitchens of a bygone era. Jim moved to the end of the counter that wasn't being used.

Maggie Donovan-Bishop had spare, lean hands like Pepper's. She worked alongside Molly who was telling her how to make her grandmother's special recipe for Jell-O salad. Dana Turcotte stood a little to the side peeling the potatoes that would soon be mashed into a frothy white mound. Pepper and her mother exchanged warm looks, smiles hovering around their mouths. Yes, this was a happy group, indeed.

Pouring himself a third cup of hot chocolate, Jim left the kitchen and headed back to where the men were standing. His heart was with Pepper. What would she do when she opened his gift after dinner? The Sinclairs opened their gifts on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning, Pepper had explained, because she and Cam, when they were very young, had been unable to sleep Christmas Eve out of excitement. So Mary Sinclair had decided they could open presents Christmas Eve, instead, to keep the holiday peaceful.

Jim tried to hone in on the men's conversation, but his mind and heart were elsewhere. What if Pepper took his gift the wrong way? He knew she wanted to tell him she loved him. Hell, he could see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch and hear it in the tone of her wonderfully husky voice. But what if his gift backfired? It could create a destructive split in their new relationship. Should he take the gift back? Hold it until later? His mind and heart seesawed over the possibilities. Finally, exhausted emotionally from the indecision, Jim decided to fly with his original plan. His spontaneity thus far had gotten him Pepper. He had to trust his own sense of creativity and honor his intuition to get him and Pepper to where he so much wanted them to end up—together. Soon enough, he would know—one way or another. The thought scared the living hell out of him.

Jim sat in an overstuffed velour chair opposite the Christmas tree. Everyone was opening gifts, and the room rang with the sounds of paper being ripped off, children squealing with delight and adults making more-subtle sounds of pleasure as they viewed their gifts for the first time. Pepper sat at Jim's feet, her long legs tucked demurely beneath her skirt, a number of already opened boxes beside her. But Jim was having trouble enjoying the happy scene. His heart was pounding in his chest and his mouth felt dry. What would she think of his gift?

Pepper had opened gifts from her family—common-sense items such as a new pair of Levi's to replace her well-worn ones, sweaters to keep her warm during the harsh Montana winter and photos of her niece and nephew to put in her cabin. Jim saw her look back through the packages she'd opened, a puzzlement on her face. Cam and Warren had distributed all the gifts beneath the tree earlier, and everyone had piles of colorfully decorated boxes heaped nearby.

Pepper picked through the surrounding wrapping and ribbons, wondering if she'd overlooked a gift from Jim. She had bought him a Shetland wool sweater in bright red and yellow to remind him of his Marine Corps heritage, as well as a watch to replace the one that had been damaged during the mission. Now, moving the paper aside, the sounds of laughter and surprise still carrying through the large living room, Pepper felt a stab of panic as she riffled through everything once more just to make sure. Jim had gone somewhere two days ago—to Anaconda, he'd told her. He'd been gone all afternoon and hadn't arrived back at the cabin until late that night. Pepper hadn't asked why, figuring that if he wanted her to know, he would have told her. Plus there'd been a look in his eyes that had silently asked her not to question him.

She felt the touch of Jim's hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she met his grave green gaze.

"I think you were looking for this?" he said, his voice low and slightly strained.

Pepper's eyes widened as he placed a small box wrapped in gold foil and a silver bow in her hand. "Oh…"

Jim smiled unevenly, aware that some of the background noise had abated. He looked up to realize everyone was watching them expectantly. How could they know? he wondered, his mouth suddenly dry with nervousness. He squeezed Pepper's shoulder. "Go ahead, open it, sweetheart."

Pepper looked up to see everyone intently watching her. Silence abruptly reigned in the room, except for the soft crackle and snap of flames in the fireplace. She laughed a little nervously and set the small box in her lap. Molly, Maggie and Dana edged closer, grinning and elbowing each other, as if they knew a secret she did not. What had Jim bought for her? Stymied, Pepper grew impatient with the bow, finally pulling it off with strength rather than finesse.

Laughing nervously, she looked up at Jim. "I'm not very good at opening things."

He smiled back. "I know."

His words fell softly, warmly, across her. Pepper took a deep breath and ripped off the gold-foil wrapping. Inside a white satin box was another, smaller box of red velvet. Her heart plummeted as she hesitantly touched it. No, it couldn't be. Could it? She gave Jim a look of inquiry, and saw tenderness burning in his eyes.

Touched beyond words, Pepper lifted the box in her left hand and sprung the small, gold latch that raised the lid. A gasp escaped her. The other women quickly crowded around.

"Ohh," Maggie whispered, a wicked glint in her eyes as she looked first at Pepper, then at Jim. "He's serious…."

Dana touched Pepper's shoulder. "It's beautiful," she said in a choked voice.

Molly whispered, "Gosh, what a lovely Christmas gift for you, Pepper. How romantic…."

Pepper felt Jim's hand tighten on her shoulder, as if silently asking her what she thought of his gift. Tears blurred her vision momentarily, and she self-consciously wiped them from her eyes. In the box was an obviously antique wedding-ring set. She lightly touched them with her trembling fingers, not daring to believe they were really for her.

Jim leaned down, his voice a broken whisper. "Those were my grandmother's rings. She was very special to me, to our family. Before she died ten years ago, she asked me to take them, to give them to a woman I would love as much as she had loved my grandfather." As Pepper lifted her chin and looked at him, he felt a powerful wave of joy sweep through him. Her eyes sparkled with tears. Reaching out, he caressed her flaming cheek. The silence was complete around them. Everyone's gaze was pinned on them, on the emotional moment.

"I—they are beautiful, Jim. Beautiful…" Pepper whispered.

"There's no hurry," he rasped, sliding his hand along her cheek, smiling gently down at her. "It's not meant to rush you, or what we have. I just wanted something special for you, for Christmas. I love you, Mary Susan Sinclair." He leaned down, caressing her parted lips, which tasted of salt from her happy tears. Her lower lip trembled, and he kissed her deeply, wanting to impart to her just how fiercely he loved her.

The world swam out of view as Pepper surrendered to Jim's long, tender kiss. She clutched the ring box in her hands, stretching upward to meet his questing mouth, to touch him, his heart, his wonderful, thoughtful soul. As awareness that everyone was watching filtered in, embarrassment flooded her. Knowing how private a person Jim was, she realized how difficult it must have been for him to give her these rings in front of everyone, not knowing what her reaction might be. Easing her lips from his mouth, she smiled up into his anxious gaze, touched with his own tears.

"I love you, Jim Woodward," she quavered, sliding her hand upward to touch his clean-shaven cheek. "With my life…."

Much later Pepper sat staring down at the ring box, its lid open. Everyone had gone to bed, and it was past midnight. Jim sat with her on the couch closest to the fireplace, his arm around her shoulders. The house was filled now with a wonderful, peaceful silence. The satisfaction and contentment she felt in Jim's arms had no comparison, Pepper decided. She was dressed in her pink velour robe, her feet bare, though Jim still wore his clothes from the day. She lay back, resting her head on his broad shoulder, and closed her eyes.

"I never thought I could be so happy," she murmured.

"I didn't, either," Jim admitted quietly, looking down at her firelit profile. The house was dark, just the fire offering subtle warmth and light. The shadows dancing across Pepper's face underscored her strength and shouted of her vulnerability. His mouth pulled into a slight, tender smile as he saw her continue to caress the rings in the box. "So you like them?"

"Like them?" She roused herself and faced him, her knees drawn up against his thigh. "I love them." Reaching out, she touched his strong jaw. "And I love you, too."

He met and held her somber gaze. "I didn't expect that from you, you know."

"What?"

"You didn't have to say you loved me earlier this evening. I didn't really expect it, Pepper. I know how you felt about the past. About John and never falling in love again. I gave you the rings because I wanted to let you know the depth of my love for you—the commitment I wanted to work toward, hoping you would want the same thing someday."

With a sigh, Pepper rested her brow against his temple. "I saw how scared you were when you handed me the gift. I couldn't figure out why." Kissing his cheek, she murmured, "Now I know. That was a hell of a risk you took with me. When I saw the rings, I understood."

"You had every right to say no. To give them back to me," Jim agreed, tunneling his fingers through her loose, dark hair.

Pepper eased from him to meet his serious eyes. "With that group hanging around me oohing and ahhing? I thought Maggie, Dana and Molly were going to grab them right out of my hand. Did you see the wistful looks on their faces?"

"Yes," Jim said, "I did. They were happy for you. For us. I saw it in their eyes and the way they looked at us after seeing my grandmother's rings."

"I know," Pepper said with a sigh, sliding her arm around his neck and placing her hand in his lap. In the light from the flames, the rings sparkled like their own barely contained blaze. "They are gorgeous. Prettier than any I've ever seen."

"I had a hell of a time getting them out here," Jim groused good-naturedly. "You remember I left the cabin that one morning and didn't get back until late that evening?"

"Yes."

"I made a call the day before, after you'd gone to the grocery store, to a friend of mine who's keeping an eye on my condo. I told him what was going on, told him where to find the rings and asked him to send them by overnight courier. Well, I got to Anaconda, and the place that was supposed to have them hadn't received them yet."

"Oh, no…"

"Yeah, well, I was more than a little upset," he assured her. "That snowstorm that hit us a day earlier had grounded all planes coming out of Chicago, and that's where the package was stuck. So I had to wait another eight hours for the plane to finally make it into Anaconda. Luckily, the rings were on it." He shook his head. "I was really sweating."

"No wonder you looked so tired and harried when you got back that night," Pepper soothed. "I almost asked you what was wrong, but that look you gave me told me not to."

"I was a little out of sorts by that point," Jim admitted apologetically, sliding his hand up her arm, feeling the soft, firm warmth of her skin. "On top of that, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I knew how you felt about admitting your love for me after what had happened to John. I knew it was rushing things in one way—but in another, I felt it was the right time."

"Betwixt and between."

Grimly, he chuckled. "More like ‘caught between a rock and hard place,' if you ask me." He picked up the ring box and stared at it. "Today I felt tortured. I was seesawing between giving them to you and waiting. I was afraid you'd say no. That you'd turn them down."

"What made you do it?" Pepper asked softly, kissing his cheek, loving him with a fierceness that continued to amaze her.

Laughing wryly, Jim handed the box back to her. "The fact that I didn't have another present for you. I mean, I couldn't sit here with everyone trading gifts and not have something for you. I saw how Molly, Dana and Maggie were covertly watching us."

"Hey, they're old married ladies," Pepper teased, "and we're the new couple on the block. Of course they'd be watching to see what gifts we gave each other."

Jim chuckled. "I figured as much. Still, I felt more on a hot seat this evening when you started to open that gift than when my chutes didn't open on that first HAHO."

"Mmm, that's pretty serious," Pepper agreed. She took out the engagement ring. The gold band held five small diamonds. It might not be an expensive ring set from the size of the stones, but they were precious beyond belief to her because she believed family meant everything. How could she help but cherish these special items, handed down from one generation to the next?

She placed the engagement ring in Jim's hand. "Will you slip it on my finger?"

He sat up straighter and turned. "You have the most beautiful hands I've ever seen," he told her conspiratorially. "They're so long, capable and slender." And wonderful at touching him, making him feel hot with longing, when she caressed his body, he added silently. Taking the lovely fingers of her left hand in his, Jim gently eased the ring forward. "My grandmother was tall and spare, like you. She had work-worn hands with large knuckles, so I figured this ring just might fit you." And it did, perfectly. Satisfaction soared through him as Pepper eased her hand from his and held it out for them to admire. The firelight danced off the small diamonds like rainbows—just as she was his personal rainbow, he thought.

"It's so beautiful," Pepper said with a sigh. She turned, sliding her arms around his shoulders.

"Like you," Jim murmured, meeting and matching the warmth of her lips. She tasted of the wine they'd shared earlier, a toast before everyone, except them, went to bed for the night. Her breath was like the breath of life itself to him. As Jim eased back and met her lustrous gaze, he whispered, "Let's go to bed."

Pepper walked with him, arm in arm, toward the staircase. The house was warm and quiet. Outside, snow fell gently in large, soft flakes, twirling through the darkness of the Montana night. Sliding her hand along the oak banister as they moved up the creaky, carpeted stairs, she smiled gently. The ghosts from the past had finally been laid to rest. All of them. Life wouldn't be easy for them in one way. They still had serious questions to answer about their careers. Jim had twenty years in the corps. Would he want to continue being an officer? Being in the military? And she had to look hard at her career. What did she want? Pepper knew that in another five years she would probably be relegated to a desk job instead of jumping out of planes. The physical demands were just too extreme, and by thirty-five, most smoke jumpers were taming desks instead of forest fires.

She leaned languidly against Jim as they topped the stairs and turned down the carpeted expanse to her room at the end of the hall. Their room. The ring felt natural and right on her hand. Never could she have dreamed that she would meet a man like Jim on an unexpected mission that came out of the blue. When she'd lost John, she'd barricaded herself against loving. It had been the wrong decision, Pepper now admitted, but she understood why she'd done it. Still not believing her own fortune, she knew that no matter what, she and Jim had their love to help them compromise and work out their life together. Forever.

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