Jake looked at the watch on his dark, hairy wrist. It was 11:00 a.m. Anytime now he was to meet Lieutenant Ana Lucia Cortina. Anger riffled at the edges of Jake’s tiredness. He didn’t want any damn woman being his commanding officer. Compressing his lips into a thin line, he sipped the fragrant and delicious mocha latte that Patrick had made for him while he waited for his contact.
Out the large windows to his left, he could see the main street of Agua Caliente, which meant “hot water,” and the busy, bustling plaza beyond. The women, who were dressed in colorful skirts that hung to their ankles looked like bright tropical birds to Jake. Their hair was braided and they wore dark brown felt hats. The Peruvian men were more modern looking, although the Que’ro men wore bright red leggings and pointed, heavily beaded white caps with ear flaps. There were plenty of well-fed mongrels skulking around the plaza looking for scraps.
The plaza was rectangular, with a Catholic church of gray and black granite stonework at one end. Tourist shops that sold T-shirts, alpaca sweaters and other items, and a number of other restaurants, completed the square. Even out here, in what Jake considered the middle of nowhere, there was a pizza place! Inka pizza. With a shake of his head, he grinned a little. Amazing. Free enterprise flourished vibrantly here in Agua Caliente, from what he could see.
He heard faint footsteps on the mahogany stairs. Lifting his head, Jake set the china cup down in its saucer. He waited. It had to be Lieutenant Cortina. A hundred questions whirled through his fatigued mind. He had a black-and-white faxed photo of her, a profile shot of her in U.S. Army uniform—not really a good likeness due to the transmission difficulties of telephone lines between Peru and the U.S. Would she be a hard-ass? One of those strong, competitive women types that were in the army now? Probably.
He saw a woman, her hair black and slightly wavy as it fell around her shoulders, peek above the second floor landing. She was darkly tanned, her coloring shouting of her Peruvian heritage. Jake sucked in a breath as she turned her head and continued up the stairs, her slender hand on the rail. As she turned her oval face toward him, her cinnamon-colored eyes settled questioningly upon his. Her lips were slightly parted as if in anticipation. She looked nothing like the faxed photo of her in uniform. She was beautiful.
Without thinking, Jake rose to his feet. It was part of his officer’s training to stand when in the presence of a lady. Still, he felt no woman was up to the job that lay ahead of them. Countering his irritation over Morgan’s decision, he moved around the table and pulled out the chair next to his as she hesitated at the top of the stairs, looking at him. She was dressed in dark green canvas shorts, well-worn and badly nicked hiking boots, a red T-shirt that said Machu Picchu, and she wore a dark green knapsack across her shoulders. Her hair, slightly curled by the humidity, softly caressed her small breasts. Her cheeks were flushed and gave her wide, intelligent eyes even more emphasis, if that were possible.
Jake’s gaze moved to her mouth. What a beautiful one she had. Her lips were full, the lower lip slightly pouty and provocative looking. A mouth made for sin. A mouth made to stir any man’s fantasies. She wore absolutely no makeup, but she didn’t have to, in Jake’s opinion. He liked women au naturel, and she was all of that.
“Are you…?” he began awkwardly, holding out his hand. Somehow, he wished she wasn’t his team partner. She was too beautiful, too feminine looking, in his judgment, to qualify for such a risky venture.
Ana smiled shyly as she stood there, her hand resting tentatively on the curved mahogany banister. “Jake Travers?” She saw him scowl as his gaze assessed her. He practically stripped her naked with his eyes. It wasn’t a sexual thing, either. Ana could feel his unhappiness toward her. Like most men, he probably thought a woman couldn’t do a “man’s” job. Girding herself, she tried to coolly return his raking gaze, which was filled with judgment because she was a woman.
His name rolled off her lips like a lover’s caress. Jake felt his skin tighten. Hell, he felt his lower body grow hot. Her soft, alto voice was like a cat’s tongue licking him sinuously. He managed a curt nod. “Yeah, I’m Jake Travers. You Ana Cortina?” He sounded snarly. He felt that way.
She smiled softly and allowed his glare to glance off her. “Yes,” she answered, shrugging the knapsack from her shoulders as she moved forward. How different Jake looked in real life! Ana felt her heart skipping beats, and she felt unreasonably elated at seeing him in person even if he didn’t want her company. Jake was dressed in tan chinos, hiking boots, a black polo shirt that outlined the massiveness of his chest and emphasized his tightly muscled arms and broad shoulders. His hair was dark brown and cut military short. There was a slight curl to it, which gave him a less rigid look. His face was square, with a stubborn, pronounced chin. His lower lip was fuller than his upper one. Most of all, she liked his thick, dark brown brows, which lay straight across his forehead, just above his glacial blue eyes.
She sensed his uncertainty as she approached. He even tried to smile, and her heart warmed to him immediately and without good reason. She saw surprise in his eyes, anger, and something else she couldn’t quite decipher. “Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly as she sat down and placed the knapsack at her feet. His hand barely brushed her shoulder as he released the back of her chair. Instantly, her skin tingled. His hand was rough and callused. Ana watched as he took his chair and sat down next to her. When he scooted it forward, his knee accidentally grazed hers.
“Sorry,” he muttered gruffly. Jake quickly moved the chair back so they wouldn’t make physical contact.
“Don’t be,” Ana murmured. She turned and saw Isidro, a Que’ro waiter, coming in their direction. He had worked for Patrick for years and was more like family to India Feliz than an employee. As he approached their table, Isidro, who was unfailingly polite, but equally shy, bowed his head and murmured a heartfelt greeting to her in Quechua, but did not meet her eyes.
Ana welcomed him warmly and ordered a mocha latte. Isidro bowed and quickly went behind the bar to the left of them to make her drink. She turned, placed her elbows on the linen tablecloth and met Jake’s eyes as he assessed her with more than a little anger and some curiosity. The dark shadow of beard on his face gave him the lethal look of a warrior, Ana decided.
“Well? Do I meet with your approval?” she asked lightly.
Taken aback by her bluntness, Jake sat up straight and scowled. Ana had accurately read his mind. Shaken, he muttered, “That remains to be seen. I’m not happy about any woman being on this mission.” Inwardly, he chastised himself for sounding grumpy and defensive. He saw shadows beneath her shining, smiling eyes and wondered if she was tired. She looked it.
Ana decided not to reply to his comment directly. She felt his tension and wariness toward her. “You were staring at me, Mr. Travers. Here in Peru, it’s considered insulting to stare. Just so you know in future, because where we’re going, we’ll be talking to a lot of Quechua people in order to try and track down your sister. You might as well get steeped in our customs now, rather than later.”
Though he was smarting beneath her gentle remonstration, Jake realized he liked her low, unruffled tone more than he should. At least Lieutenant Cortina knew how to slap a person’s hand gently instead of gigging them with anger and an undiplomatic word or two. He longed to reach out and slide his fingers through her hair. The thought caught him by complete surprise. She certainly was beautiful with that thick, ebony cloak of hair about her shoulders. He had noticed she stood at around five feet ten inches tall and she had meat on her bones, wide hips and long legs. The sense of steel and strength that surrounded her was palpable. There was nothing obvious about her being a combat helicopter pilot; indeed, she looked like a tourist except for the color of her skin, which made her look decidedly Peruvian.
“I’ll do my best to fit in,” he mumbled.
Chuckling, Ana lifted her head as Isidro brought her