The Mercenary's Kiss Read online

  “You’ve always been able to get any woman you want. Take your time. You’ve got all night.”

  “I’m not feeling choosy at the moment. Or patient.”

  Creed’s amusement deepened. “Damn, but you’re jaded.”

  Jeb hadn’t had a woman since…when? Havana. A little Cuban beauty who’d betrayed him the next morning to her Spanish-loyalist lover.

  The incident had nearly cost Jeb his life. But with a fair share of determination and guts, he had escaped the Spanish soldiers holding him prisoner. Within hours a riot erupted, and both the woman and her lover were killed.

  Jeb felt no remorse for his part in it. She had double-crossed him—and the United States, which had sent him there to help her people. She’d paid the price for her treason.

  As if he, too, remembered, Creed fell silent, and Jeb knew what he was thinking.

  War was pure hell. And it was good to be back home.

  Creed possessed skin as sun-darkened as Jeb’s, his build as tall, as muscular. Fast friends from their days at West Point Military Academy, they’d formed a partnership based on mutual trust, equal skills.

  And a shared passion for rebellion against rules.

  Jeb had been born with nerves of steel. Few could match his thirst for risk, that ever-present flirtation with danger he found exhilarating. Only Creed was cut from the same cloth. They’d saved each other’s necks more often than Jeb cared to count.

  But at that point, their similarities ended. Creed was headed home to a large, loving family, to the childhood sweetheart he hoped was still waiting for him.

  Jeb had no one. At least, no one who cared if he came back or not.

  The barmaid returned with their drinks, and without sparing her a glance, Jeb threw back a quick swallow. The whiskey burned the bitterness that flared inside him. A second swallow buried it altogether. He reached inside his coat pocket for a rolled cigarette, then tucked it unlit at the corner of his mouth.

  “We’ll head for San Antonio in the morning,” Jeb said, and rooted for a match. “I figure you can take the Southern Pacific to Los Angeles. I’ll send word you’re arriving, and—”

  “Come with me, Jeb.”

  “No.” His mood souring again, he found the box he was looking for.

  “You can find work out there. You—”

  “We’ve had this discussion already, Creed.”

  “Then what the hell are you going to do?”

  “I’ll think of something. I always do, don’t I?”

  Suddenly, near his left ear, a match struck flint. He stilled. Creed’s attention jumped upward to whoever stood in the shadows beside him.

  “Allow me, Mr. Carson.”

  The sharp scent of sulfur reached his nostrils. An arm appeared. Jeb dared to dip the end of his cigarette into the flame. He drew in deep. Only then did he look to see who held the match.

  A tall, burly-chested man, well into his thirties. He wore a military uniform signifying him as a field officer in the United States Army.

  Jeb leaned back in his chair. He narrowed an eye. “Have we met?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you know who I am.”

  The officer glanced over his shoulder, as if wary someone was listening. “I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind.”

  Jeb’s instincts warned he wouldn’t want any part of why this man sought him out. But before he could refuse, Creed pulled out a chair, and the officer seated himself.

  “My name is Lieutenant Colonel Eugene Kingston.” He kept his voice low. “I’m here on direct orders from Mr. Alger.”

  Jeb put the cigarette to his lips again. He’d been gone a long time, but he made it a point to keep up with the happenings in Washington. Warning bells clamored in his brain. “Russel A. Alger?”

  “Yes, sir. Secretary of War for the United States.”

  Jeb exchanged a grim glance with Creed.

  “We need your help,” Kingston said.

  “I’m not interested.”

  The officer’s lips thinned. “You don’t know what I’m asking.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.”

  “Mr. Carson.” Desperation threaded through the words, and Jeb recognized the officer’s restraint to keep from showing it. “Perhaps this will convince you of the seriousness of my request.”

  Jeb didn’t bother to look at the paper Kingston slid toward him. “How did you find me?”

  The officer met his hard expression squarely. “We’ve made a point of keeping track of you.” His glance touched on Creed before returning to Jeb. “Both of you.”

  “I’ve been out of the country for—”

  “—five years and eleven months.”

  “Where exactly have I been, Lieutenant Colonel?” he asked softly.

  “South America. Madrid. Havana. Manila. Puerto Rico. Santiago. In that order.”

  A slow fury simmered inside him. Suspicions surfaced. “How could you have known I’d be here at this saloon? Tonight?”

  “We have sentries out watching for you at the border towns. We knew you’d arrived in Mexico on—”

  Jeb’s arm snaked out and he grabbed the man’s shirt hard, yanking him half out of his seat. “My father sent you, didn’t he?”

  A sheen of perspiration formed on the officer’s upper lip. For the first time, his gaze wavered. But only for a moment. “I told you. I received my orders to contact you from Mr. Alger.”

  “Bullshit.” Disgusted, Jeb shoved him away.

  Kingston righted himself in his chair and cleared his throat. “It is, er, possible that General Carson would be aware of—” he drew in a breath, clearly uncomfortable with the information he was about to impart “—of Mr. Alger’s intent.”

  Jeb glared at him. “Tell the General he can go to hell.”

  “I don’t think I’ll do that, sir.”

  “And don’t call me ‘sir!’” Jeb snapped.

  He downed the rest of the whiskey in one savage gulp, then raked a harsh glance around the crowded saloon. Where was that damn barmaid? He caught her eye, gestured for another drink. She nodded and winked. Jeb ignored her.

  “The document looks legitimate,” Creed said, his low voice penetrating the storm raging inside Jeb. Creed slid the paper closer.

  Because Creed wanted him to, Jeb looked at it. He recognized the presidential seal in the letterhead, the signature scrawled at the bottom.

  “It’s a copy,” Jeb snarled. “Could be forged.”

  “Maybe not,” Creed said, and looked at the lieutenant colonel. “And then again, maybe it is.”

  Kingston shook his head emphatically. “President McKinley wrote the letter to the Secretary, Mr. Carson, but it’s about you. Mr. Alger has the original. For obvious reasons, of course. He didn’t want to risk the information falling into the wrong hands.”

  The barmaid appeared, and the conversation halted. Jeb snatched the bottle of whiskey from her and refilled his glass himself.

  “And whose hands might that be?” he demanded after she left.

  “Mexican rebels.”

  Jeb breathed an oath. He didn’t want to know. Or feel.

  “There have been reports of revolutionary activities against the government of President Porfirio Díaz,” Kingston said quickly before Jeb could stop him. “The people are angry at his tyranny. The government is getting rich off them. Díaz is taking their land, and they’ve found hope in a young upstart named Emiliano Zapata.”

  “Zapata.” Jeb recognized the name of the man who was fast acquiring a reputation as a fierce fighter.

  “Yes. But the United States has refused to support him, and to retaliate, Zapata’s men have been robbing Americans on both sides of the border to fund their activities. One man in particular has shown himself to be unusually dangerous. His name is Ramon de la Vega.”

  “So?” But the name branded itself into Jeb’s memory.

  “We’ve cut off the flow of arms into Mexico, and he and his rebels aren’t
happy with us. Last week, they stopped a train just outside of Eagle Pass northwest of here, robbed it and killed a dozen people. The month before, they raided a small village and killed another twenty.”

  Jeb’s fingers tightened around the glass. “How do I fit into all this?”

  “President McKinley fears a major revolution is forthcoming if Zapata and de la Vega are not stopped.”

  “And?”

  “And we feel that, with your expertise—”

  “Find someone else.”

  “There’s none other. I mean, you’re highly recommended, sir.”

  Jeb snorted. Again he thought of his father. “I’ll bet.”

  “By Colonel Theodore Roosevelt. Among others.”

  He stilled.

  Roosevelt.

  Jeb had ridden with the man and his troops during an attack on San Juan Hill in Santiago. It had been a privilege to be part of the initiative with them. But Jeb refused to be swayed by Roosevelt’s influence, even in a matter as serious as this one.

  “There are thousands of American forces who can do a hell of a lot more effective job than I can,” he said. “Enlist them instead.”

  “Mr. Carson.” Kingston slid another uneasy glance at Creed, as if imploring his help in convincing Jeb to his way of thinking. But Creed merely leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, keeping the discussion on Jeb’s terms. “Let me be frank here. Your skills as a soldier—”

  “I’m not a soldier in the truest sense of the word, am I, Lieutenant Colonel? My father saw to that years ago.”

  “A mercenary, then.”

  A cold smile curved Jeb’s lips. For the first time since Kingston had arrived, some of the tension eased. “That’s more like it.”

  The officer withdrew a thick packet from inside his uniform. “Mr. Alger promises generous payment for your services and has instructed me to give you the first installment.”

  Jeb snorted. “And what happens to the rest of the money if I end up dead?”

  “We certainly hope that isn’t the case, sir.”

  “Let me explain something to you.” Jeb took one last drag on the cigarette, exhaled slowly and crushed the ashes in a small bowl. “I’ve been gone a long time. In fact, Creed and I have been back only a couple of hours. As you know.” His mouth quirked. “I’ve spent nights in muddy trenches, sweated days in mosquito-infested jungles. I’ve been shot at, knifed, beaten to within an inch of my life. I’ve been taken prisoner, and I’ve escaped. All in the name of my country.”

  Once, he thought nothing of leaving the United States behind. A foreign country—it didn’t matter which one—offered danger and adventure. An opportunity to slake the hurt and rebellion gnawing inside him.

  Not anymore.

  He’d come full circle. He had traveled the world, seen some things no man should see and done some things no man should do. He’d evolved into a man who made his own rules and lived by them.

  He was a patriot. Pure and simple.

  But he’d had enough.

  “Find someone else,” Jeb said again, and took another swig of whiskey.

  “Mr. Carson.” The lieutenant colonel appeared crestfallen at the finality in Jeb’s tone. “You’re the best for the job. Your reputation to accomplish where others have failed is…is legendary.”

  Jeb smirked. Legendary? Would the great and mighty General William Carson think as much of his son?

  Never.

  “Jeb has plans, Lieutenant Colonel,” Creed said, speaking up for the first time. “Chasing after Mexican revolutionaries doesn’t fit into them.”

  “Plans?” The officer frowned.

  “That’s right.” Jeb grabbed onto the line Creed tossed him. “Heading west first thing in the morning.”

  Going to California wouldn’t be a bad idea after all, he decided. Creed’s family would accept him for the man he was. No questions asked. Something his own father had never been able to do.

  “Is there anything I can offer you to make you change your mind?” Kingston asked. “More money, perhaps. I’m sure Mr. Alger would understand.”

  “No.” He slid the packet back to the officer, who reluctantly returned it to the pocket inside his uniform. Jeb stood, and Kingston did the same. “Now, if you’ll excuse us. Creed and I plan to celebrate our return to this fine country.”

  Jeb watched the officer go. He steeled himself against thoughts of revolutionaries. Of war and death.

  Of being needed.

  Instead, he forced his thoughts ahead to the pleasures that awaited him. Plenty of whiskey. A willing woman. And that thick, juicy steak.

  For the first time in a hell of a long time, life was good.

  Chapter Two

  The Next Day

  The deeper they traveled into the Texas woodlands, the more Elena became convinced they were lost.

  “Pop, are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asked with a frown. “We haven’t seen anyone for a couple of hours now. Not even a ranch or farmhouse.”

  The woods seemed to be getting thicker, too. She glanced up at the sky, gauged the sun’s location and determined it was more westerly than it should be.

  From his place next to her on the wagon seat, Pop looked at the sky with her. “I’m sure this is right, Lennie. And if it’s not, we’ll still find our way to San Antonio.”

  “San Antonio is north. We’re heading west.”

  “There’s more than one road to take us there.” He patted her knee in gentle reassurance. “Soon as we get into open area, it’ll be easier to see where we’re at. Don’t you worry none.”

  But Elena did worry. She didn’t like the eeriness she felt from being in the woods alone. A stop for some much-needed supplies had given them a late start, and the troupe had ridden ahead. She missed the protection that traveling with a large group provided.

  They would be miles ahead of her and Pop by now. With every hour that passed, it seemed less and less likely they would meet up with them in time for the next show.

  She sighed, leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hands. The road was rough, hardly more than a rutted trail, and it bounced the wagon continuously.

  She tried not to think about being lost. Pop knew what he was doing. He always did. They’d traveled together for her entire life, and he had an uncanny knack for direction. Not once had they missed one of his shows because he made a wrong turn somewhere along the way.

  But today could be the first time.

  She eyed him covertly, and her worry deepened. He’d begun to show his age these past months. He tired more easily, moved a little slower. Countless hours riding on a hard wagon seat in all kinds of weather was beginning to take its toll.

  Only his medicine shows invigorated him. Doc Charlie thrived on them.

  Not so, Elena. Once, the crowds exhilarated her. The smells and sounds. The opportunity to travel and see parts of the country she might never see otherwise.

  It was all she knew, this traveling, and she had grown weary of it. She longed for a home—a real house—of her own. With a yard and a garden and neighbors to wave to when they passed by.

  She sighed again. Pop wouldn’t understand this change in her. In fact, he’d be devastated if he knew.

  Winter would be upon them soon. As always, they’d find someplace to stay for the coldest months, work on new routines, and Pop would make plenty more of Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound. Come spring, he’d be ready to go again.

  Except Elena wouldn’t be with him.

  She simply had to tell him her decision. The sooner, the better.

  Even more important, she had to convince him not to go, either. She wanted him to settle down with her so she could take care of him in more comfortable surroundings. He could even open his own apothecary. He could find plenty of new opportunities to sell his elixir. Lots of patent medicine companies did.

  She drew in a breath. “Pop?”

  “You’ve got something on your mind, Lennie. Have now for a while, hav
en’t you?”

  She straightened. Had it been so obvious? “Yes.”

  “If you’ve got a problem, we can’t solve it if I don’t know about it. Isn’t that right?”

  Elena gave him a rueful smile. Pop might be slowing down physically, but his mind was sharp as ever. “Yes.”

  He covered her clasped hands with one of his. “Well, go on. I’m listening.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but a soft noise in the back of the wagon closed it again.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Pop asked, his eyes twinkling at the timing of the intrusion.

  “I’ll only be a few minutes. We’ll talk then, okay?”

  Pop winked. “I’ll be right here on this wagon seat.”

  Bracing herself against the jerky motion, Elena slipped through the narrow door leading into their living quarters. She pulled back a tiny curtain over the window. Daylight filtered inward, enabling her to see the dark-eyed baby wiggling in the crib.

  Her son, Nicholas. The love of her life.

  “Hello, sweet-cakes,” she cooed, scooping him into her arms for a hug. “You took such a good nap, didn’t you?”

  “Ma-ma-ma.”

  She kissed him on the nose. The warmth from his chubby body soaked into her as he cuddled close, laying his head on her shoulder. But in the next moment his head came up again, and he peered at her, his grin happy and expectant.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, laughing.

  Nicky was always hungry, but then, he was growing so fast. She could hardly believe they’d already celebrated his first birthday.

  She laid him in the little crib. “Mama will change you, and then you can eat, okay?”

  Stepping to the small bureau where she kept his clothes in a drawer with hers, she retrieved a fresh diaper. By the time she returned to the crib, he’d already pulled himself up and was trying to climb over the rail.

  Elena laid him back down again. She could barely keep up with him anymore. He had boundless energy and curiosity. He delighted in staying just a step ahead of her and found it all great fun when she was forced to give chase during his adventures.