GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY Read online

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

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  Hawk knew he couldn't stop them. But dear God, could he live with himself if he didn't try? It wasn't as if he hadn't seen innocent people die before. Hell, there had been times when he'd seen guiltless bystanders die—men and women who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Killing was a part of his job. A part he hated. But he did it with expert ease and skill. Perhaps too much ease. With each passing year of the twelve since the CIA had given him his first assignment, he'd grown harder, colder and more ruthless.

  He had no family, few friends and no special woman. The only real passion in his life was the adrenaline rush of danger. And lately, it took larger and larger doses to achieve the desired effect.

  So why the hell was it bothering him so much that Emilio and his amigos were planning to kill the young couple? He hadn't been sent to San Miguel to infiltrate this renegade rebel faction so he could play savior to the country's reigning princess and her Anglo husband. He'd been sent here to discover the whereabouts of a stolen U.S. missile.

  Maybe he'd gotten too good at his job. Maybe somewhere along the way, he'd crossed the line. It was so rare that he ever felt anything, that he ever gave a damn. Maybe, just maybe, this was a sign.

  Get out now or you'll lose what little is left of your soul.

  If he tried to save Cipriana and Peter Dean, he would not only blow his cover, but he would very likely get himself killed. Emilio didn't take prisoners. He eliminated anyone who interfered with his plans. In that respect Emilio was like the island dictator, King Julio Francisco, a ruthless bastard who had grown rich while his countrymen lived in abject poverty.

  The only chance the young couple had was if his message got through to Murdock, and if his old buddy could inform rebel leader, General Mateo Lazaro, in time to stop the brutal execution. If anyone could get through to Lazaro, Murdock could. He was the only contract employee that the agency considered as good an operative as Hawk. But the powers that be at Langley were careful about using the big man. Aloysius Murdock had a well-earned reputation for being a mean, deadly, uncontrollable son of a bitch.

  Murdock was one of the few men on earth whom Hawk trusted completely. But even Murdock couldn't perform miracles. Time was running out. If Lazaro didn't come to the rescue in the next hour, Cipriana and her blond, pretty-boy, missionary husband were going to be decapitated and their heads sent to Cipriana's father.

  * * *

  Lifting her three-year-old nephew from his bed, Rorie Dean cuddled him close as she stroked his back and whispered soothing, reassuring words. When the soldier grabbed her arm, she winced from the pain.

  "Give the little prince to me," Captain García said, reaching for the boy.

  Frankie clung to his aunt, whimpering when the captain tried to pull him out of her arms. "No. No. Tía Rorie!"

  "Take your hands off this child!" Stepping backward, she lost her balance and tumbled onto the bed, but kept her hold on Frankie.

  "Señorita, I have my orders. King Julio fears for Prince Francisco's life, now that the rebels have taken his parents prisoner."

  Righting herself into a sitting position, Rorie glared up into the dark, scarred face of the captain of King Julio's private guard. He was a large, barrel-chested ape of a man, but his keen black eyes hinted at a shrewd intelligence.

  "I understand His Majesty's concern for Frankie's safety, but surely he doesn't mean for you to take the child away from me. My brother and Cipriana left Frankie in my care when they went to Puerto Angelo. If he leaves this house, I go with him."

  "I'm sorry, but King Julio wishes his grandson to be brought to the palace immediately. Alone," Captain García said. "Arrangements have been made for you to take the next flight out of San Miguel."

  "What's happened?" Clinging tenaciously to Frankie, Rorie lifted herself up off the bed and stood to face the intruders. Two guards waited outside her bedroom door while three marched inside. She glowered at the captain. "What are you not telling me?"

  Clenching his jaw tightly, García took a deep breath. "The rebels have executed la princesa … and your brother," he said in a low voice, his dark eyes cutting back and forth from Rorie to the child she held.

  For one brief moment, Aurora Dean's heart stopped beating. Peter dead? It wasn't possible. Not her kind, loving, wonderful brother. And not Cipriana. Beautiful, sweet Cipriana. "Are you sure? They disappeared only two days ago." Rorie held her hands over Frankie's ears. "Is there proof that they're dead?"

  "Sí, señorita." The captain swore in Spanish, his anger slurring the words. But Rorie understood all too well. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the details.

  "What proof?" she asked.

  "Madre de Dios, those animals sent their heads to King Julio."

  Rorie gasped, but shut her mouth quickly as nasty, sour bile rose in her throat. She swallowed the hot bitterness and willed herself not to vomit.

  Frightened and sleepy, Frankie wept. Huge tears trickled down his round, full face and droplets clung to his long black eyelashes. Rorie wiped away the tears, then kissed his precious forehead. "Everything is going to be all right. You must be a brave boy for Tía Rorie. We're going to see Abuelo Julio and stay with him."

  "I am sorry, Señorita Dean, but you cannot come with us to the palace," Captain García said. "Two of my men will take you to the airport as soon as you are dressed and packed. But Prince Francisco must come with me now."

  "No!" She couldn't—wouldn't—allow anyone to take Frankie away from her. He was Peter's only child. She loved the little boy as if he were her own. And now that Peter was dead… "I won't leave Frankie here in this war-torn country. I'll take him back to the United States with me. He'll be safe there. Surely King Julio understands—"

  Captain García issued orders quickly. Before Rorie realized what was happening, two of the soldiers ripped a screaming Frankie from her arms.

  "Tía Rorie! Tía Rorie!" The frightened child cried out for her.

  Rorie ran toward him. Captain García blocked her path. When she tried to move past the man, he drew back his hand and struck her across the face. The force of his blow knocked her backward into the wall.

  Shaking her head and protectively crossing her arms in front of her, Rorie cried out as the three soldiers stalked toward her. One of them held a hypodermic needle in his hand. While two soldiers held her down, the third one injected her with the drug. Within minutes she crumpled to the floor, her body weightless. She watched helplessly while Captain García carried a screaming Frankie out into the dark, tropical night.

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  Chapter 1

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  "A missionary!" Gabriel Hawk shouted. "Are you out of your mind? You want me to take a missionary into San Miguel? I wouldn't lead a troop of trained soldiers into that godforsaken country, and you're asking me to take some naive, Bible-toting woman right into the middle of a bloody civil war!"

  "Aurora Dean served as a missionary for only one year in San Miguel," Dane Carmichael said. "Right now, she's teaching high-school Spanish in Chattanooga."

  "Oh, yeah, there's a big difference between a spinster missionary and a spinster schoolteacher. Neither would be prepared for a secret mission into San Miguel. Get somebody else to lead this crazy woman to her death."

  "You're the best man for this. The man who can make sure Ms. Dean doesn't wind up dead." Dane Carmichael leaned back in his plush swivel chair and crossed his arms over his wide chest. "The way I see it, considering your background and your firsthand knowledge of San Migu
el, you're the only one for the job."

  "This woman—" Hawk glanced down at the file Dane had given him "—this Aurora Dean has to be nuts if she thinks she can waltz into San Miguel, kidnap King Julio's grandson and return with him to the United States. That kid is probably being guarded like Fort Knox."

  "Ms. Dean wouldn't be kidnapping the boy," Dane said. "She has copies of her brother's and sister-in-law's wills naming her legal guardian of Francisco Dean, in case of their deaths."

  "In San Miguel, those wills aren't worth the paper they're written on, and you know it. King Julio is a law unto himself in that country, and he's outlawed every U.S. citizen. Hell, we don't even have an embassy there anymore."

  "I'm well aware of that fact." Narrowing his gaze, Dane frowned. "Ms. Dean has spent over three years going through every diplomatic channel available, but with no results."

  "If she knew what we know, she never would have tried getting help from Washington." Hawk tossed the file folder down on Dane's desk. "With the U.S. secretly backing the rebels, our government has no interest in saving the young prince's life, despite the fact that his father was a U.S. citizen."

  "All the more reason to help Ms. Dean get her nephew out of the country before General Lazaro's rebels take over down there." Dane grimaced. "Even if Lazaro allows the boy to live, we have no guarantee that Emilio Santos or one of his renegades won't take it upon himself to eliminate the only remaining heir to the throne."

  Hawk nodded. "Lazaro won't execute a child, but Santos would butcher his own mother if he thought she was a threat to the revolution."

  "Ms. Dean knows enough to realize that, with the civil war escalating and the odds in favor of the rebels, time is of the essence. If she doesn't get the kid out of the country soon, it'll probably be too late."

  "It would be a suicide mission to take the woman along," Hawk said. "If I accept the assignment, I'll go into San Miguel alone. Murdock is still there, working with Lazaro. I can contact him and—"

  "Ms. Dean made it perfectly clear that she intends to go to San Miguel," Dane interrupted. "Dundee's isn't the only game in town. She can take her money and go elsewhere. But you and I know that if anyone other than you takes her into San Miguel, she'll never come back alive."

  "Dammit!" Hawk speared his fingers through his hair, loosening the heavy black mass from the band that held his long ponytail in place. "You knew when you gave me that file—" he glanced meaningfully at the manila folder on Dane's desk "—that this is an assignment I wouldn't want … but one I couldn't refuse."

  "It's been over three years since you came back from San Miguel. Since you broke ties with the CIA. And in all that time, you haven't been able to put that last job behind you. You couldn't save Cipriana and Peter Dean. But if you accept this assignment, you might be able to save their son."

  "The redemption of Gabriel Hawk, huh?" Hawk picked up the folder. "Call Ms. Dean. Tell her that I'll go into San Miguel and get her nephew. But she stays here."

  "She won't agree."

  "What the hell's wrong with the woman? Is she suicidal?"

  "She's desperate," Dane said. "And desperate people are willing to take drastic measures. You know that as well as I do. Ms. Dean has spent the last three years working two jobs—teaching and tutoring—to save enough money to hire someone to take her into San Miguel and help her rescue her nephew."

  Hawk didn't reply. Clutching the file in his hand, he turned and gazed out the windows that overlooked a busy downtown Atlanta street

  .

  Dane eased out of his chair and walked over behind Hawk. He laid his hand on the Hawk's shoulder. "Just go talk to her. You can be in Chattanooga in two hours. Maybe you can make her understand why you should go into San Miguel alone."

  * * *

  The wind whipped through the end of Hawk's ponytail as he flew along Interstate 75. Dark glasses shaded his eyes from the glare of the late-afternoon sunshine. The black leather jacket shielded him from the chill of the October day. And the black-and-silver helmet protected his head in case of an accident. His long, lean legs straddled the FXDL Dyna Low Rider—his most treasured possession.

  Hawk wasn't the type of man who placed any sentimental value on material objects or on human relationships. He lived his life without attachments. Alone. No ties. As long as he could remember, he'd lived on the edge. Even now, at thirty-five, he still lived for the moment. No plans for his future. No hopes and dreams for tomorrow.

  When he'd left San Miguel over three years ago, he'd known he had to get out of the business. Infiltrating Emilio Santos's renegade faction of the rebel army had been his last job for the CIA. Finally, after years of covert operations, of murder and destruction, he'd had enough. The brutal slaying of Cipriana and Peter Dean had gotten to him in a way nothing else ever had.

  The man and woman had been young and scared—and totally innocent. And Hawk had been unable to prevent their deaths. What would Aurora Dean think of him if she knew that he had not only been a witness to her brother's and sister-in-law's murders, but had been considered a member of the ruthless, renegade gang that had executed the couple?

  He had relived that day over and over again. If he had it to do over again, what could he have done differently? No matter how hard he tried to justify what had happened, he couldn't. Guilt and remorse ate away at his soul.

  If he could save Cipriana and Peter's son, could go into San Miguel and bring the boy safely to the United States, then maybe his soul would find redemption. Maybe he would be able to forgive himself. And maybe his conscience would finally give him some peace.

  But no way in hell was he going to take a woman with him. Any woman. And most especially, not Peter Dean's saintly sister. He would just have to find a way to convince Aurora Dean that this was a one-man mission.

  * * *

  Rorie Dean closed the songbook and placed it in the built-in holder on the back of the wooden pew. The congregation ended the last stanza of "Sweet Hour of Prayer," an old hymn that had been Rorie's favorite since childhood.

  The moment the vocal music ended, Ronald Dean led his small congregation in prayer. Before her father said amen, Rorie added her own amendment to the supplication.

  Please, dear God, send me a man capable of helping me bring Frankie safely out of San Miguel. Send me a strong, powerful guardian angel. And please, please, keep Frankie safe until we can get there.

  When echoes of amen followed Brother Dean's petition to the Almighty, Rorie opened her eyes, picked up her coat and purse and slipped out of the pew. Before she reached the church door, her mother caught her by the arm.

  "Your father and I want to talk to you, Rorie." Short and plump, fifty-five-year-old Bettye Lou Dean blocked her daughter's exit.

  "Mama, you and Daddy have said it all. There's nothing left to discuss," Rorie told her mother. "I have to go home. I'm expecting Mr. Hawk this evening."

  Bettye Lou clung to her daughter's arm while she smiled and nodded to members of the congregation as they passed by on their way out of the church.

  "Mr. Hawk? Is that the man from the Dundee Agency in Atlanta?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  "Isn't there anything your father and I can say to change your mind?" Bettye Lou removed her hand from her daughter's arm.

  Bowing her head, Rorie avoided direct eye contact with her mother. They'd had this conversation before, more than once, and it always ended the same. She understood her parents' fears and respected their concern for her safety. But she knew what she had to do—what her heart and soul demanded of her.

  Ronald Dean walked down the aisle toward his wife and daughter, looking beyond them to wave goodbye to the last of the parishioners leaving the Wednesday-evening Bible-study meeting. When he reached his wife's side, he halted.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "That man from the Dundee Agency is coming to see Rorie tonight," Bettye Lou said.

  "As much as I want Frankie safe here with us, I simply do not understand why you feel it
is necessary for you to go back to San Miguel," Ronald said. "Send this man. This trained agent. Let him bring Frankie to us."

  "Why can't you understand how I feel, Daddy?" Rorie looked into her father's sad brown eyes. He had aged a great deal since Peter and Cipriana's execution, as had her mother. They were both such gentle, loving people that cruelty and murder were alien concepts to them.

  "You know how much we love you, how much you mean to us." Ronald reached out and lifted Rorie's hands, grasping them in his. "We've already lost Peter. Your mother and I can't bear the thought of losing you, too."

  "If you go to San Miguel, then there's every chance that we will lose both you and Frankie." Tears gathered in Bettye Lou's pale blue eyes.

  "I have to go, Mama. You know I must. Peter left Frankie in my care. He was my responsibility, and I let those soldiers take him. I should have fought harder. I should have found a way to keep Frankie safe."

  "Don't do this to yourself." Ronald drew his daughter into his arms. "There was nothing you could've done to have stopped King Julio's armed guard."

  Rorie laid her head on her father's shoulder, succumbing to the need for his comfort. "Please, Daddy, give me your support in what I must do. I believe that Mr. Hawk may be the answer to my prayers."

  Ronald stroked his daughter's head as he'd done to comfort her when she was a small child. "What do you know about this man?"

  Rorie lifted her head and looked directly at her father. "He worked for the government once. A few years ago. Mr. Carmichael, who is the head of Dundee's, told me that Mr. Hawk has extensive knowledge of San Miguel. It seems that he lived there once, while on an assignment of some sort."

  "A government agent?" Bettye Lou asked. "Just what branch did he work for, dear?"

  "Mr. Carmichael didn't say. But he didn't work in an office. I understand that Mr. Hawk is quite adept at self-defense. I'm sure his training was extensive. After all, he makes his living as a professional bodyguard now."

  Rorie wondered if her mother knew the difference between an agent who worked behind a desk and an operative who worked in the field, the latter, often little more than a mercenary hired for a specific dirty job. From the information Dane Carmichael had given her, Rorie felt certain that Mr. Hawk had an unsavory past.