Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of Stone (9 page)

Wincing, Dane set the cup on the edge of her desk. “I think we understand each other, Captain. I’d like to be dismissed so I can get to my men, check out the training facility and get on with why we’re down here.”

Four years ago, Maya knew, York would not have been so amenable. He’d ridden her ruthlessly and without letting up. Staring at him, she saw that he struggled to be humble in front of her. That must be a new emotion for him—humbleness. He was arrogant before. Maybe he
had
changed.

“Dismissed, Major.”

The weariness in her tone told him she wasn’t going to forgive or forget. As he walked to the door, he heard her call out to him. “One last thing, Major.”

He turned. “Yes?” Maya was studying him like a jaguar might its quarry. Her full lips were compressed with disappointment.

“You got a problem with anything or anyone around my squadron, you see me about it
first.
Don’t talk behind my back, don’t manipulate, gossip or think of doing an end run on me and my command here. Got it?”

There was nothing soft about Maya Stevenson, yet he saw the sadness in her eyes, as if she, too, yearned for a truce as badly as he did. Dane placed his hand on the doorknob. He recalled Maya when she’d first come to his school. She’d been fresh, excited, bright and impassioned. Had he snuffed out all those attributes, and was this the result of his handiwork? A no-nonsense woman who could be as brutal as any man in command could be? Well, he had no one to thank for her stance toward him but himself.

“Yes, I’ve got it,” he replied in a deep, dispirited tone.

Maya felt very old and tired. She saw real apology in Dane’s eyes and it shook her. The old Dane York would never have admitted fault or apologized, even if he was wrong. “Leave the door open on your way out, Major York. My people have access to me twenty-four hours a day. When you get a schedule set up, bring it to me and I’ll look it over. My pilots must continue to fly every day, so you’re going to have to work around their duties.”

“I understand.” Despondency blanketed Dane as he opened the door, turned and walked down the hall. He wanted to say something more to heal the wound he’d just opened up in her.
Damn.

A number of women looked up as he passed by. He saw the quizzical expressions on their faces. Had they heard the free-for-all in Maya’s office? More than likely. This building was not that substantial; was made mostly of corrugated tin and some steel framing to hold it together. Voices would travel well in this complex, he realized glumly.

Maya sat down dejectedly after York left. She leaned back in her chair, gripping the arms and looking up at the ceiling. Her heart was pounding madly in her chest. She wanted to hate York, but that wasn’t the main emotion she was feeling. A part of her felt sorry for him. And she wanted to cry. Deep down inside her, Maya had been hoping for a truce between them. She wanted peace, not war. Her life was nothing but combat, and she yearned for peace with him.

Four years ago, Maya had wanted to slug Dane in his arrogant face. Today, just now, she wanted to see some kind of improvement in York’s demeanor. And
to give him credit, he was trying. That little slip about being stuck here wasn’t much, but it had set her off. Judging from the contriteness in his eyes and voice, he was really sorry about it.

“Maybe—” Maya whispered “—maybe you’ve changed just enough to make this nightmare six weeks tolerable, York. I sure hope so….”

M
aya couldn’t wait any longer. She dropped the pen on her desk amid a clutter of papers that desperately needed her attention. She
had
to go down and take a good, close look at the D model Apaches. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized it had only been two hours since she’d locked horns with York. Grabbing her black baseball hat off the peg, she settled it on her head and moved out into the hall. Things were curiously quiet. Why? Maya glanced into each office; no one was around. Where was everyone? This was highly unusual.

On the ground floor, Maya pushed opened the door. To her left, the opening to the cave was filled with brilliant sunlight lancing in from the Eye and above the wall as the sun crept higher in the sky. The new D models and the Blackhawk had been brought into the cave complex, at the opposite end from where maintenance was performed on their Apaches. Moving
around the end of the building, she grinned and halted. Dropping her hands on her hips, Maya chuckled to herself.

There, surrounding the new helicopters, was nearly the entire squadron. Everyone spoke in excited, animated tones as they looked at the machines, touched them. Her pilots were mingling with the ground crews, and she saw how the new I.P.’s were passionately engaged in conversation, gesturing toward the new D craft, their faces alight with enthusiasm. Some of the worry slid off Maya’s shoulders when she saw that the two I.P.s were like little boys with a new toy—only the new toy was a leaner, meaner version of the A model Apaches Maya and her crew flew daily.

Her brows fell. Where was York? She searched the crowd for him. Over fifty people were gathered in a large circle around one chopper. One of the I.P.s, the Texan, squatted near the side of the fuselage, gesturing to all the snakelike coils of wire beneath the panels he held up, proudly showing the insides to the rapt crowd of onlookers.

Maya’s heart thumped hard when she spotted York. Her hands settled on her hips as she lifted her chin and laughed softly. Dane York was on his back, on the cave floor, beneath the 30 mm cannon that was suspended beneath the fuselage just below the first cockpit of the D model. Several of her crew chiefs were down on their hands and knees, peering up as he pointed out various parts of the long-nosed machine gun. She watched with interest, close enough to see his expression, but not enough to hear his voice. His square face was alight with enthusiasm. Why, he was even smiling! That caught Maya off guard. York was smiling. What a difference! In flight school at Fort Rucker, he’d never
smiled. Not once. She saw Sergeant Nuria Sedano, a Peruvian mechanic, laughing at something he’d said. Another crew chief, Sergeant Lucinda Huisa, was scrunched down on her hands and knees, her eyes narrowed intently, as York continued to extol the changes on this newest model.

“Miracles do happen,” Maya muttered. She remained where she was. It was good to see her squadron so enthusiastic about the new helicopters. The other I.P., CWO4 Craig Barton, was sitting on the lip of the Blackhawk with his own crowd of interested admirers, pointing out details in the interior of the cabin.

Happiness threaded through Maya’s heart. It felt good to see her crews eagerly engaged in welcoming the newest helos to their tiny base. Her team worked hard, relentlessly, and she asked everything of them, heart and soul, to keep the operation at peak performance. She wasn’t about to wade into the crowd and order them all back to their offices or maintenance areas. No, let them have this small reprieve. Goddess knew, Maya wasn’t able to give them much R and R in Agua Caliente, or even better, fly them to Cuzco for a weekend where they could really rest and have a little fun, dancing and drinking at the local clubs. They were a group of young women, nearly all single and in their early twenties. Maya knew that some had boyfriends in Agua Caliente or Cuzco, or back in the States. They signed up for a one-year gig down here, and she understood how tough it was for them to be separated from loved ones for that long. Yet they did it willingly, with a sense of real adventure, knowing the demands and responsibilities before they signed on.

Maya’s heart swelled with pride at her crew. She could tell by the looks on the men’s faces, that the
questions being asked were professional and knowledgeable. Anyone expecting this group to be slow or stupid would be jolted, because some of the sharpest, most intelligent women in the U.S. Army were here in this cave. Maya had literally handpicked her team, all volunteers, during the years the base had been in operation. She was looking for bright, motivated young women who were competitive within themselves—not with others—and who took pride in doing a job right the first time around.

Unable to resist the laughter, the pleasant talk, Maya moved quietly toward the closest group clustered around the D model Apache. She didn’t want to be spotted by the men, so she moved at an angle and stayed at the rear of the group. She saw Jake, the only man in this squadron, standing with his wife, Ana, and listening to the Texas CWO. Her real interest was centered on York, and she eased around the cluster toward the nose of the Apache, where he was still on his back beneath the cannon, explaining the differences between the old and new models to the three attentive crew chiefs.

Dane felt Maya’s presence. Oh, it wasn’t anything obvious; he just sensed her nearness. Craning his neck to the left, he saw her standing at the rear of the crowd. Her catlike eyes were fixed on him. For a brief moment, his hand froze in midair, then he said to hell with it and went on explaining the technicalities of the helo to the crew chief who was lying on her side and looking up at what he was pointing at. His skin prickled pleasantly. Answering the crew chief as she pointed at the gun where his hand rested, and asked a question, Dane forced himself to pay attention to her and not be distracted by Maya.

Maybe it was the look on Maya’s face that made him breathe a little easier. After all, he was still smarting from her angry words of a couple of hours ago. He cast another quick glance at her. She was gone. How had she moved so fast? Where was she? More than once in the last couple of hours, York had heard Maya’s loyal squadron describe her as “different.” Well, what did that mean? Everyone seemed to tiptoe around the subject. When he asked, they just laughed and said that he would see for himself, and let it go at that. It was clear they loved her, almost idolized her. They seemed to worship the ground she walked on. Dane found that a complete surprise. Usually, a squadron’s C.O. was tolerated, never loved.

Where was Maya? Worried that he and his men were somehow doing something wrong, without her permission, he told the crew chiefs he was done. They all moved from out beneath the carriage of the Apache. Dane was the last to leave. As he rolled onto his right side, he saw Maya’s black, shining boots. She was standing beside the helicopter now. Swallowing hard, he realized she was waiting for him. He rolled easily away from the nose and got to his hands and knees. She was standing there, hands on her hips, looking down at him intently.

Rising to his feet, he dusted off his hands. “I thought we’d come over, since there was a crowd already around this helo,” he said.

“My people have been waiting for days to see these girls.” Maya saw the distrust in his blue eyes. How she wished they could relax around one another. Trust one another. Inwardly, she laughed at her own idealism. York would never give his trust to her. Not until
he could honestly accept unconditionally that women were as good as men. That would be the day.

Dane nodded and allowed his hands to rest on his narrow hips. The crew chiefs drifted to the other side of the Apache where the others were, as if sensing Maya and Dane needed to be left alone.

“They’re a little excited.” He grinned. “I don’t blame them. This helicopter is something else. Beyond your wildest dreams come true.” He reached forward and patted the black panel with affection. “I think once your pilots get into the training program and see all the differences, the ease in handling, it’s going to blow them away. I know it did me.”

Seeing the glimmer of sincerity in his eyes, Maya relaxed a little more. “I can tell your I.P.s are excited. It looks like they can’t wait to get into teaching mode with my people. I like to see that kind of enthusiasm. It translates positively.”

Grin broadening, Dane said, “Oh, you mean Commanche Joe? He lives, eats, breathes and snores in Apache. He’s part Indian and that’s what we call him. He’s one of our best I.P.s. Craig is the other.”

Chuckling, Maya nodded and surveyed the chopper with a knowing eye. “One of my pilots, Akiva Redtail, is Native American. Joe should meet her. They probably have a lot in common. What I’m most interested in is that new radar attachment up there, above the rotor. I’ve been hearing it gives us a huge advantage over the A model.”

Just getting to talk on the same footing with Maya about the D model helped lessen Dane’s anxiety. Stepping closer to the fuselage, he rested his hand on a panel almost affectionately. Pointing up to the radar
dome, he said, “Some people call it a doughnut. Others call it a cheese wheel.”

Smiling, Maya studied the circular radar dome that embraced the rotor shaft assembly. “Leave it to the army to call it one thing, and the troops in the field to get down to basics. I like doughnut.”

“Then doughnut it will be.” He saw the warmth coming to her green eyes, and the tension leaving her mouth. Feeling on safer ground with her, Dane added, “I don’t know what you call your Apaches, but the guys…and ladies,” he added quickly, “are calling the D model ‘Big Rig.”’

“Not Firebird?” Maya mocked with a curl of her lip.

Dane shook his head and gave her a sour look. “You know, that movie really hurt the Apache and the army. It was a joke. No, no one is calling it Firebird.”

“That movie was stupid,” Maya groused. Moving up to the gunship, she slid her fingers along the flat black skirt that was part of the fuselage. “Big Rig sounds good to me. Strong. I like it.”

“The official name for this D model is Longbow.”

Shrugging, Maya moved her fingers upward, almost sensing the heart of the new Apache. “Big Rig is good. She’s big, bold, and has a magnificent heart beating inside this frame of hers.” She gazed up at the rotors that hung unmoving above them.

Just the way Maya slid her long fingers across the smooth metal made Dane’s throat tightened. It was as if she were stroking a lover’s skin. And the softness in her tone caught him off guard. Her gaze was one of awe combined with warmth. Respect. Finding himself wishing she felt the same way about him startled him even more. Maybe it was the way her fingers moved
across the surface of the aircraft. Or maybe it was the look in her eyes. Would she ever give him that kind of look? One of respect and warmth? He found himself craving her approval instead of always earning her scorn. More than anything, Dane realized he had to think before he spoke around her. Somewhere in him, he
needed
Maya’s approval. And her respect for him as a pilot—and as a man. A tall order, he realized, not too hopeful that she’d give him an inch on any of those things.

Patting the fuselage gently, Maya turned to him. She saw that he was looking down at the lava floor as if in a quandary, darkness clouding his intelligent blue eyes. His mouth was working, one corner quirked inward, as if he were experiencing pain of some kind. Maya allowed her senses to fully embrace him. It was a skill she’d been taught a long time ago, one of the gifts of being in the Jaguar Clan. If she dropped her walls of defense, if she left herself open and vulnerable, she could pick up on another person’s emotions. Unlike Inca, her sister, she couldn’t read minds worth a damn, but she could sense and feel the other person accurately.

As she allowed her defenses toward Dane to dissolve, she was surprised and taken aback by what she felt swirling invisibly around him. There was confusion. Desire. A gnawing feeling like an ache entered her heart. Taking a step away from him, her hand still on the Apache, she frowned and sifted through the mire of dark emotions he was caught up within at that moment. He had no idea she could feel him out like this, nor was she ever going to admit to having such a skill. No one but Dallas Klein knew of this particular ability, and Dallas had kept it to herself.

Sorting through his emotions, Maya felt Dane struggling to try and please her. That came as a surprise in itself. She hadn’t thought he was going to try at all. She figured he planned to just stick it out for six weeks and get the hell out from beneath her command the moment he could. She had been wrong. Just knowing that made her feel less defensive, but her guard remained up.

The next feeling she encountered was desire. For what? She couldn’t quite penetrate the extent of that emotion. Was he feeling desire to leave this place? That would be about right, because he saw this assignment as necessary, but wasn’t looking forward to it at all. The last set of emotions—the need for support and nurturing—threw her off balance. Looking at him, no one would ever think Dane York needed anyone at any time. The craggy square face, those frosty, almost flinty blue eyes, the hardness of his expression all countered what she was feeling around him presently.

Gently, Maya withdrew her awareness from around him. When she did, he lifted his head and squarely met her gaze. On some level, he’d sensed her presence within his aura of energy. Smiling to herself, she decided York wasn’t so blind, deaf and dumb after all. Certainly, he wasn’t in touch consciously with what had just happened; but on a more subliminal, intuitive level, he’d felt her presence. Shutting down her sensing mode, she once again lifted those barriers back into place so that he couldn’t take a piece of her. York was not to be trusted, unfortunately.

“So,” Maya said, trying to sound relaxed and informal, “I’ll bet your wife and kids are going to miss you being gone for the next six weeks on this secret assignment. They probably don’t have a clue where
you’re at, right?” When a person in the military took off on a top-secret assignment, most families never knew where in the world they were being sent, or why. Maya figured that all the emotions of York’s that she’d just sensed had to do with missing his family.