Enemy Mine Read online

  As soon as Kathy landed and stepped away from the blades, Mac pulled the helo upward. The backwash buffeted her like a boxer, and she crouched down against the rocks until the he moved away. Standing up, Kathy pulled on the knapsack and watched as the Bell headed back across the river. Fear stabbed her. Mac was gone. He could no longer help her. Or protect her. She was totally alone, in a jungle that was her enemy.

  Wiping her mouth once more, Kathy felt the humidity bathe her body. As she considered her next steps, the roar of the Urubamba beside her was like continuous, unending thunder. When Coulter had told her this was a powerful river, he hadn’t been kidding. Many foolish kayakers, mostly young men in their twenties, thought they could tame this river, and ended up dead, smashed against the rocks at terrific rates of speed. The emerald-green water tunneling down the canyon, he’d said, came directly out of the towering Andes. Furthermore, it was near freezing in temperature, and if she should fall into it, hypothermia would kill her very quickly even if she managed to avoid the thousands of boulders she’d be swept over.

  Kathy felt panic as the helo disappeared into the grayness of the coming dawn, and sternly ordered herself to settle down. She pulled the compass out of her pocket and read it, getting her bearings. As a helo pilot herself, she was used to working with one. After shoving it back in and zipping her pocket closed, she slowly began the trek upriver to locate the rope bridge. Every step was a potential ankle turner among the tumbled rocks. There was no solid, steady ground. Her boots slid again and again on the smooth, worn surfaces of the boulders. All Kathy could do was move slowly, choose her path and keep her arms outstretched to stay balanced.

  Dawn came as a vague yellow-gray color hidden behind the thick, slowly moving mist above the jungle. In a reasonably short time, Kathy found the rope bridge, though it didn’t seem all that sturdy. The Peruvians had built two rock towers with thick posts stuck in the tops. From these posts two thick rope cables were strung across the river. The rope bridge was hand-tied beneath the two cables.

  Even climbing up the rock tower was going to be precarious and challenging. Kathy reached down and found some wet sand beneath some stones. She rubbed the sand into her hands so that it would give her purchase on the smooth granite. As she hoisted herself up the twenty-foot rock tower, Kathy felt her left arm twinge painfully. Her stitches pulled, and the pain increased. She climbed, anyway, her leg muscles tightening as she found one niche for the toe of her boot and then another.

  A flock of dark green and red parrots flew over her to the other side of the river, and she heard the shrieks and screams of monkeys welcoming the coming day. The world was waking up. Sweat ran off her brow and trickled down her temples as she continued her upward climb. Once she reached the top, Kathy stood with her legs apart for maximum balance and carefully examined the cable ties.

  The bridge, if one could call it that, was a make-shift affair of baling wire and ropes knotted around the posts. She wondered if she’d find bubble gum, too. Kathy pushed on the wooden posts and found them solid and unmoving. It appeared the builders had stood the logs on end on the ground and then built the stone towers around them, which would make sense. Otherwise, how could anyone traverse this flimsy-looking bridge and not pull the stakes out in the process? Kathy remembered as she moved to the footholds, the thick, horizontal woven ropes, that the Incans were some of the finest engineers in the world. Well, she was about to find out….

  “TIKI! My beautiful little Tiki! Come here! Come to Papa!” Carlos Garcia held out his arms to his six-year-old daughter, whom Therese had brought into his office. Every morning before he began the day, he wanted to hold his black-haired, dancing-eyed daughter. Today, Tiki was dressed in blue cotton coveralls and a short-sleeved pink shirt. Her long, straight hair had been drawn into two cute little pigtails, one on each side of her head.

  “Papa!” Tiki shrieked and ran forward, her arms wide. She slipped momentarily on the Oriental rug, but then got up and laughed. Scrambling around the huge mahogany desk, she launched herself into her father’s arms, yelping with joy as he blew raspberries against her cheek and neck. Writhing in his arms, shrieking, she tried to dodge the noisy kisses. This was a morning ritual, one that Tiki loved.

  Laughing heartily, Carlos brought his squirming daughter back into his arms. She continued to giggle and threw her tiny arms around his neck. Patting her lovingly on the back, he whispered in a deep, playful growling tone, “And what are you up to today, my little pastry?”

  Therese ambled into the room, smiling. “Today, I take her to the dentist in Cuzco. Dr. Sedano has promised her a lollipop when he gets done examining her.”

  “Oooh,” Carlos said, holding his daughter on his lap and gently smoothing her hair off her forehead. “You will see Dr. Sedano, eh?”

  “Papa, come with me?” Tiki held out her hands toward him.

  “Oh, little pastry, I cannot. But, hey, Therese will be with you. Does she not care for you and love you as much as I do? Eh?” He drew his daughter close, embraced her tenderly and placed a kiss on her shiny hair.

  Pouting, Tiki sniffed. “I want you, Papa! Please?”

  “I can’t, little one, but I promise when you return, we will go down to the fish pond, eh? You always like to look at the colorful fishies. We will work on your counting. You can show me how Señora Fields has taught you to count. All right?” Carlos looked into his daughter’s wide, liquid brown eyes. There were tears in them. Oh, that look hurt him! Carlos fiercely loved his only daughter. She was his life, the reason he wanted to ruthlessly expand his empire. Someday, she would run his organization. True, it wasn’t a woman’s place, but Paloma had had a girl, not a boy. At first, Carlos had been highly disappointed, but after one look at the little bright-eyed baby girl in pink blankets, his heart was forever smitten.

  “Okay, Papa. The fishies?”

  “Sí, my little one. Let Therese take you to Dr. Sedano in Cuzco, and this afternoon, when you return, we will walk to the fish pond.” He pressed another soft kiss on her brow and set her down. Therese gave him a crooked smile of understanding, took Tiki’s hand and led her around the desk.

  “We will be back,” the woman called liltingly at the door, lifting her hand in farewell.

  Carlos nodded as the door shut quietly. Once alone, he frowned and walked over to the wide wall of windows that overlooked the grounds below. Hands on his hips, he glanced to the right, where the helicopter pad was located. Two hours ago Coulter had come in from dropping off Señorita Lincoln for her final test. Carlos pulled a cigarette from his gold case, tapped it and then slid it into his mouth. After lighting up, he inhaled deeply. The white smoke curled lazily around him as he thought about the Canadian nanny.

  It looked as if this woman might be the answer to his dreams. None of the other nannies had ever done as well as this one had in the first two tests. Hope grew within Carlos’s chest as he stood thinking and smoking. If only this woman would pass the last test. So few had. Did she have the smarts? The moxie? The intuition it would take to deal with the jaguar whose territory she would have to cross? Carlos wasn’t sure. People were funny. Some of them seemed strong and confident, and yet they failed. Others looked like wimps, incapable of anything, and yet they survived. Which was Señorita Lincoln?

  MAC TRIED TO STOP worrying about Katherine. As he stood in the airport at Cuzco waiting for Therese to return with Tiki from the dentist’s office, he glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. It was now noon. He knew Therese would take Tiki to lunch at their favorite restaurant, La Retama, which was located on Soldier’s Plaza.

  His stomach growled. Maybe he should eat, but since dropping Katherine off at the river, his stomach had been tied in knots. He’d never had such a reaction to a woman before. What the hell was going on? Scratching his head, he climbed the stairs to the second level of the terminal. Cuzco had the second largest airport in Peru, and today it was exceptionally busy. Mac made his way through the milling crowds of tourists and dark-haired P
eruvians. The noise level was high, the place packed. Cigarette smoke filled the building. There were no non-smoking laws down here, unfortunately.

  Thanks to Garcia, Mac had privileges at the airline club. At least there he’d escape the throngs and get a little peace and quiet. His mind turned back to Katherine. He’d called her bright angel. Where had that come from? Coulter didn’t have a friggin’ clue. The words had just flown out of his mouth, without planning or thought.

  When he sat down at one of the small, round, linen-covered tables, a waiter in a black-and-white uniform quickly approached to take his order. The club was nearly empty and Mac was glad. He ordered coffee and a sandwich. What he really wanted was a good shot of Kentucky bourbon to clear his head and heart of this Canadian nanny. He didn’t like acting like a love-struck teenager.

  At all costs, he couldn’t reveal to her that he was a mole for the ATF. Katherine had no idea what she’d be getting into, working for Garcia, and as much as Mac wanted to tell her, he couldn’t. If he did, she might inadvertently blow his cover. Could she keep a secret? There was no telling, and in Mac’s business, he could trust no one. For all he knew, Lincoln herself could be a spy—for Garcia. She might be there to test Mac’s allegiance to the drug lord. Garcia was known for doing this. The patrón was paranoid and often put his employees to the test to make sure they were faithful to him. No, Mac couldn’t say anything more to Ms. Lincoln. He’d already revealed too much.

  The coffee came in a white china cup and saucer. After thanking the waiter, Mac took a sip, relishing the smooth espresso coffee. Katherine Lincoln’s face refused to leave him. She was intelligent, confident and, God help him, damn good-looking. Oh, he’d seen her legs that first day, in that prim, conservative little gray suit she wore, not to mention when she was wrapped in that towel. She had fabulous limbs that were firm from daily workouts. They seemed to go on forever. Legs he wanted to slide his hands over, feel their warm, firm quality and follow upward…

  What was wrong with him? Disgusted, Mac sipped the espresso again and burned his mouth. Scowling, he set the cup down with a clatter. He wiped his mouth with the crisp, white linen napkin and looked around. Classical music played in the background. Aside from himself and two business executives, who sat at a larger table near the window, the club was empty.

  He wrestled with his feelings, which he always had to contain and control. But Mac found himself unable to stop thinking of Katherine and how she was coping in the jungle. She had such arresting blue eyes, with that black ring around the iris. It was a sign of a hunter, of a combat warrior. And yet she worked as a nanny. It just didn’t make sense. He’d spent years undercover as an ATF agent, and one of his skills was reading people’s faces and body language with a high degree of accuracy. Her eyes were those of a hunter.

  And her mouth. Groaning softly, Mac covered his own eyes with his hand as he pictured her lips softly parted, full and beckoning. Too many times he’d wondered what it would be like to press his mouth against hers. Would her lips be as bold and caressing as he thought? What would she taste like? All women had their own unique taste. And would her response be as bold as her eyes? Christ, he had to stop this! It was driving him loco.

  “Your lunch, Señor Coulter,” the waiter said in stilted English. He set down the platter holding a club sandwich, dill pickle and french fries.

  “Bueno. Thank you,” Mac muttered, pulling the napkin across his lap. Better focus on the food and eat, you dumb bastard. You’re letting your horny body override your brain, and it’s going to get you into a lot of trouble if you don’t stop right now. Having a fling with one of Garcia’s employees is the wrong thing to do.

  Okay, so he was drawn to Katherine Lincoln. There, he’d admitted it. Mac slathered mayonnaise across the turkey and placed the whole-wheat bread back on top. He was smitten by a blond nanny with the eyes of a hunter, eyes the color of the sky he so loved to fly in. Katherine Lincoln was part warrior, all woman, and drew him like one of the sirens who lured sailors to their death.

  He bit into his sandwich, but didn’t taste it. Okay, more admissions: he was worried sick about Katherine out there all alone. Leaving her without his support, without his protection, had been the hardest thing he’d done in a long time.

  As he slowly ate his sandwich, he began to realize that he wanted to protect her. It was an old pattern of his, one he thought he’d crushed completely in his work as an undercover agent. But no, his need to protect seemed alive and well.

  Damn. What was he going to do? Would Katherine survive the test? Would the jaguar leave her alone or challenge her? What would he do if she died? Mac scowled and salted the french fries. As with everything he saw, all he could do was send the name and what happened to his handler in Lima, and that was the end of it. He couldn’t retrieve a body, bury it or send it home. That was the pisser about being undercover. He could do nothing honorable for a person, or for the family who had lost that individual. Not a damn thing.

  Well, she’d better survive. That’s all there is to it. And then what? Mac shook his head, not wanting to explore the possibilities. But he sure hoped to be there for Katherine when she came back to the villa. If she came back at all…

  CHAPTER TEN

  AS DUSK FELL, it began raining…again. Kathy blew out a sigh of frustration. Judging by the small pedometer that Mac had thoughtfully given to her, she’d walked twenty miles today. Shortly after she’d made her way across the treacherous rope bridge, it had started to rain. And early in the afternoon, the first of a series of thunderstorms began to roll over the thick, impenetrable jungle. If Mac hadn’t put a plastic poncho in her knapsack, she’d be soaked to the skin.

  She was, anyway, from her own perspiration in the high humidity. The baseball cap she wore protected her eyes from the slashing rain. Thunder caromed across the jungle, the sound quickly swallowed up by the thick vegetation. Her legs ached from the brutal punishment of the continuous uphill climb out of the river basin. Her boots were waterproof, so her feet were still dry.

  She would need to stop soon. Wiping her face, Kathy began to look for a tree where she could hang the lightweight nylon hammock for the night.

  All day, she’d been on edge about meeting the jaguar. The only animals she’d seen were startled monkeys skittering across the tree canopy above her. They’d follow her at a distance, screaming out a warning that she was an intruder, and to beware. The only good part about today were the gorgeous, colorful orchids and bromeliads that hung on moss-covered limbs above her. Their fragrance lifted her spirits and made her a bit less pessimistic about what she was doing here.

  Unlike her previous jungle survival test, which had taken place in Kauai, Hawaii, years ago, this jungle was impenetrable, a solid wall no one could cross without a machete and hours of work. Coulter was right: one followed the trails animals had created. Most of the paths were narrow, but the jaguar path was wide enough for her to walk with some comfort. Kathy almost chuckled at the irony.

  Because the trail was muddy, she slipped for the hundredth time. Tree roots routinely blocked the way, so that if she didn’t pay strict attention, she would fall belly first in the red goo. She’d done so several times already. Luckily, the rain had washed most of the clay off her poncho.

  As she rounded a bend in the trail, Kathy spotted a huge, tall rubber tree. It had to be very old because its smooth, spreading arms were numerous and reminded her of an octopus. The climb would be easy, so she chose it as her “bed” for the night.

  There was no way to get completely off the trail so as to avoid the jaguar’s nightly foray. Kathy worried about that as she hoisted herself, limb by limb, toward the top of the tree. The huge, leathery leaves provided some protection from the rain. About fifty feet up, she tied one end of the hammock to a sturdy branch near the main trunk. For the other end she chose a limb that she hoped would allow the hammock to hang level.

  As rain ran off her face, she held on to another branch above her and set her butt in her
new bed, testing it gingerly several times before trusting it with her full weight. Everything held, although the hammock sank deeply, almost brushing the thick limb just below her.

  As quickly as the storm had rolled in, it left. Kathy stayed wrapped in her poncho, figuring it would be pointless to pull it off because, sure as hell, sometime during the night it would rain again. She opened her knapsack and pulled out another protein bar. This would be dinner. She’d taken her fill of water from a liana vine earlier.

  Looking down, Kathy saw that she’d suspended the hammock directly over the narrow trail. Could a jaguar leap fifty feet into the air? She didn’t know, but the thought unnerved her. Coulter had said jaguars climbed trees, slept in them and regularly lay on a branch overhanging a trail, so they could easily drop onto unsuspecting prey.

  Did the jaguar use this tree as an ambush? Coulter had told her to look for scratch marks on the base of the tree, where the cat would sink its claws to haul itself upward. She’d inspected the trunk of the rubber tree and found no such markings. From time to time today, however, Kathy had run into the powerful odor of jaguar urine, where he must have sprayed a tree trunk to mark his territory. She’d smelled cougar urine before while hiking in the Rocky Mountains and was able to easily identify the odor. The smell was so strong that it made her eyes water, and she’d held her breath as she hurried past.

  Night fell amid the cacophony of crickets, screaming monkeys and hooting of owls. Exhausted, Kathy tucked the knapsack beneath her knees for support, wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. Her adrenaline had been pumping all day in anticipation of meeting the jaguar, and she felt nakedly vulnerable. A pocketknife was no match against a fierce, muscular cat, the lord of this jungle. As added protection, Kathy had picked up a limb the size of a baseball bat and carried it with her all day. It rested beside her in the hammock, poking uncomfortably against her ribs and hip, but she didn’t care. If the cat climbed, her only defense would be to swing the branch like a club and try to hit the animal in the face. She knew from training that hitting any animal in the nose was a surefire deterrent. The flashlight, small though it was, was tucked in her left pocket, beneath the poncho. If she needed it, she could grab it in a hurry.