“You have to get on this plane! Now!”
Brice propelled her toward the plane. Selena’s resistance surprised him—she was tiny, but she showed remarkable strength. She was also remarkably stubborn.
Brice lifted his eyes to the heavens. He’d been sent down here to retrieve the missionary. But Selena was devoted to her work and refused to go. And Brice couldn’t leave without her. She was in a lot of danger. Too much danger.
“I have my orders,” he shouted over the thunderstorm.
“I can’t leave my villagers!”
“Do you want to die, Selena?”
“I want to live—to serve these people and God.”
How could he fight that kind of dedication?
In the end, he didn’t have a chance. Bullets hit like a hailstorm all around them, right along with the rain and wind. With a grunt, Brice picked her up and carried her through the jungle.
While Selena Carter beat at his chest every step of the way.
LENORA WORTH
has written over thirty novels, most of those for Steeple Hill Books. She also works freelance for a local magazine, where she had written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for five years for the local paper. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-three years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks and sit in her garden.
Code of Honor
Lenora Worth
MILLS & BOON
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He who follows righteous and mercy finds life, righteousness and honor.
—Proverbs 21:21
To my favorite nurse, Patricia Davids.
You are a special friend.
Contents
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
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
PROLOGUE
Somewhere in Northern Argentina
“Get on the plane!”
“No!”
Brice Whelan squinted through the rain falling all around him, his patience wearing as thin as his soaked black cotton T-shirt.
“We don’t have time to argue, Selena. You have to get on this plane! Now!”
The slender woman scowling up at him pushed at her wet burnished-brown hair and shook her head. “I can’t leave my villagers, Brice. I didn’t call you down here to rescue me. I wanted you to help me! I won’t go.”
Brice wrapped a rough hand around her arm, using brute strength to propel her toward the plane. Her returning resistance surprised him—she was a tiny bit of a thing—not more than a hundred pounds at best, but she showed remarkable strength. And she was also remarkably stubborn to boot. Double trouble.
Brice lifted his eyes to the fury of the heavens, wondering why he was standing here in the middle of a rain forest when he could have been sitting by a nice fire back home in Ireland or maybe watching a baseball game on television at his second home in Atlanta, Georgia. Then he remembered—CHAIM, the elite secretive Christian organization that worked to protect and help Christians in need all over the world. As a member of CHAIM, he had a duty to bring Selena Carter, a missionary nurse who helped run a clinic here in Día Belo, Argentina, home to Atlanta.
After Selena’s distraught phone call, he’d been sent down here to retrieve the devoted missionary. But Selena took her work very seriously and now she refused to go with him. And Brice couldn’t leave without her. Because she’d had a near run-in with a local guerrilla group known for drug trafficking and smuggling, she was in a lot of danger. Too much danger for the humanitarian organization that had sent her here and too much danger for her rich father back home. They wanted her back in Atlanta. Alive and well, preferably.
Brice just wanted her on that plane so he could get out of this rain. “I have my orders,” he shouted over the thunderstorm.
“And I have my integrity,” she shouted back. “I should have never called you!”
All around them, the jungle and forest hissed and sang with the rage of the storm. It was wet, humid, flashing both cold and hot, and downright miserable in spite of the beauty of the place.
“Do you want to die?” he asked, hoping to sway her.
“No,” she said with an expression full of conviction. “I want to live—to serve these people and God.”
Brice had enough. Pulling her close with his hands over her elbows, he said, “If you don’t get on that plane, you won’t ever be able to do either again, cara. You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous now. Those men will come back for you, Selena. They’ll figure out you survived the attack.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Great. Just what he needed. A brave skinny woman willing to take on some nasty smugglers with her convictions and her honor as her only shields.
“Well, you should be afraid,” he shouted. “You saw what they did to your friend Diego and to the others. I can’t let that happen to you.” Getting right in her face, he repeated, his Irish brogue going thick, “It’s time to get on the plane, Selena.”
Her violet-blue eyes widened, this time with determination and regret. “I can’t leave them. I can’t. They need me—I give them medicine and tend their wounds. I teach them how to read and tell them the word of God. I can’t leave the clinic. I’m the only one left.”
How did he fight that kind of dedication?
In the end, he didn’t have a chance.
Bullets hit like a hailstorm all around them, right along with the rain and the wind. With a grunt, Brice picked her up and carried her through the jungle, slapping at ancient vines and wet, prickly palm leaves every step of the way.
While Selena Carter beat