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  “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

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  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 babysit 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, t
oo. 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.”