This Side of Heaven

Cyn glanced around the modern, brightly lit truck stop. Even with the windows up, she could hear the roar of en­gines, the beat of country-western music coming from somewhere inside and the loud laughter of two scruffy men in white T-shirts, faded jeans and ball caps with Budweiser embroidered across the front. One of the men lit a cigarette while the other bit off a big plug of chewing tobacco.

Looking back toward the telephone booth, she noticed Bedford was smiling at her while he talked. He seemed relaxed and self-assured, as if he didn't have a care in the world. He must be pretty sure of his abilities to protect me, she thought. If only she could be sure that someone was protecting Nate. Her gaze searched the dark night sky, seeking and finding a bright star. With all the faith in her heart and soul, she prayed that a power far beyond any earthly force would keep Nate safe.

Cyn heard the back door directly behind her open. Jerk­ing her head around she saw a man bending over, slipping inside. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could emit one sound, the stranger tossed a large white en­velope into the front seat, then pointed a gun in her face.

"I wouldn't cry out if I were you, Ms. Porter." His voice had a ring of familiarity. She looked at him, recognition dawning.

"Ah, yes, I see that you understand."

"You can't get away with this," Cyn told him, stealing a quick glance toward the phone booth. Bedford was stand­ing outside, looking at her and smiling. What's wrong with him? she asked herself, can't he see the man in the back seat? Perhaps in the darkness, he couldn't. "There's a man with me. A government agent."

Bedford opened the door on the driver's side, bent over and peered inside. "You have my money?" he asked.

The man in the back nodded toward the front. "On the seat. Feel free to count it."

Suddenly Cyn felt disoriented, knowing and yet afraid to admit that she understood what was happening. She glared at Art Bedford. "You're handing me over to this man. You're betraying the agency for money."

"Smart, isn't she," Bedford said. "And pretty. You wouldn't care to share her with me before you confront Hodges, would you?"

Fear, searing and painful, choked her. The very thought that either of these men would touch her made her physi­cally ill.

"Get in, Bedford," the stranger said. "You will drive us back to Sweet Haven, to Nate Hodges's home. And then you will leave. I suggest you disappear quickly. You can buy yourself a woman, a dozen women, with the money in that envelope."

Bedford obeyed, getting in, starting the car and pulling out onto the highway. "Oh, yeah, Ms. Porter, word is that Nick Romero has a visitor and that visitor has just received a message about you."

No, no, she wanted to scream. This was all a trap, a trap to capture Nate, and she was the bait. The man in the back seat lowered his gun, but continued holding it in his steady right hand.

"Don't think about doing anything foolish, Ms. Porter. I much prefer that you're still alive when Nate Hodges comes to me. You see, I have dreamed of the day I could take from him what he once took from me."

Cyn stared at the man, noting the sinister black patch over one eye. His other eye gleamed a silvery blue in the flash from an oncoming car's headlights. His left arm lay limp at his side. The sleeve of his expensive silk jacket, creased just above his wrist, hung loosely over the hidden stub of his hand.

"Turn around and relax, Ms. Porter. We have a long drive to Sweet Haven."

Cyn ordered herself not to tremble, not to cry, not to give this monster the satisfaction of seeing her fear. When he reached out and touched her shoulder, she cringed, but forced herself not to pull away.

"I'm sorry that I've been so rude. I just realized that we haven't been properly introduced, although I'm sure the Conquistador has spoken of me. I am Ian Ryker."

Chapter 15

Nate stepped outside the intensive care trauma unit. He hated hospitals, the smell of pain and death everywhere. Although he and Nick Romero had both suffered combat injuries in Nam, they'd both been damned lucky to be part of a highly trained unit where death had been the exception instead of the rule.

Romero looked awfully rough. He was so high on medi­cation that his speech was slurred and his thinking con­fused. He'd been calling for a woman, the name familiar to Nate although he had no idea who she was. Once, years ago, Romero had mentioned her name when he'd been so drunk he couldn't stand. Nate had asked him about her later, and his old friend had laughed and said that she was the one blonde he'd never been able to forget. Nate wished he knew who she was and how to contact her. If ever Romero had needed someone to care about him, it was now.

In critical condition and the safety of his leg still in doubt, Romero was as tough as they came, and if anyone could live through something like this, he could.

Nate only hoped that he would be as lucky himself and be the one still alive after his confrontation with Ryker. Life had never meant so much to him. He had always been reck­less and unafraid. But that was before Cynthia Ellen Porter had entered his life in the form of a flesh-and-blood woman who loved him as he had never dreamed anyone could love him. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live.

Walking down the hall in a meditative daze, Nate acci­dentally bumped into someone. He looked up and saw J. P. Higdon. "Romero's still alive," Nate said. "And he's still got both legs."

"He'll make it," J.P. said. "You can't kill old battle-scarred warriors like you and Nick."

"I hope you're right." Nate noticed the strange concen­trated stare Higdon gave him, the telltale nervousness as he shifted his feet repeatedly. "What's wrong?" Nate felt his heart in his throat, pounding loud and wild.

"We just received a message from Ryker."

Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw Emilio Rivera standing several yards away near the elevators. "The mes­sage was for me?"

"Yeah, it was for you."

"Hell, man, quit beating around the bush and tell me."

"Ryker has Cynthia Porter."

Pain, intense and all-consuming, spread through Nate like high-voltage electricity. Anger more fierce than any he'd ever known claimed him. Grabbing Higdon by the lapels of his jacket, Nate shoved him up against the wall. "How the hell did this happen? You said Bedford was one of your best men."

Higdon, his eyes bright with fear, his upper lip coated with sweat, shook his head in a plea for understanding. "I have no idea what happened. Bedford could be dead for all I know. Does it really matter right now? Ryker has Ms. Porter at your place."

Nate knew immediately that Ryker had taken her to the storage rooms, to the old mission. In Nate's recent night­mares, Ryker had been in a dark, musty room when he had smiled triumphantly at Nate as he held Cyn's lifeless body.

"Ryker has threatened to kill her unless you come alone and we call off your protection," Higdon said, struggling to free himself from Nate's menacing hold.

"Then call them off." Nate loosened his grip. "And if Bedford isn't dead, he will be if I ever find him."

"You can't face Ryker alone. Your best chance of sur­vival is to take some cover. Our boys can be discreet." When Nate released him, Higdon straightened his jacket, shirt and tie.

"Ryker is nobody's fool. I'm sure he isn't alone. He'll have lookouts just waiting for any sign of agents. He's probably got all the help he needs from the Marquez fam­ily." Nate glanced over at Emilio Rivera. "And from our friend Carranza."

"All the more reason for you to take backup," Higdon said.

"When I leave here, I don't want anybody following me. My survival isn't what's important to me. If I don't go alone, Ryker will kill Cyn." Nate knew his chances were slim, but that didn't really matter. The only thing that mat­tered was Cyn.

"How the hell do you think that you, one man alone, can rescue her?"

"I'm going to kill Ryker. Once he's dead, the Marquez family will have no reason to keep her, and they can do whatever they want with me once she's free."

Nate gave Higdon one last warning look before walking to the elevators. Punching the call button, he glanced over at Emilio Rivera. The big man nodded, but didn't say a word. The elevator doors opened. Nate stepped inside. Emilio stepped in beside him.

When the doors closed, Emilio spoke, his voice deep and quietly controlled. "Señor Carranza is waiting downstairs in the limo. He wants to speak to you."

"To hell with what Carranza wants!"

"You would be wise to speak with him, Nathan Hodges," Rivera warned.

Neither man spoke again as the elevator descended. The doors opened, and they stepped out onto the entry level of the hospital. Together they walked outside into the warm May night.

Nate hesitated momentarily when he saw Carranza sit­ting inside the back seat of the limo, the door wide open. When the old man caught a glimpse of Nate, he emerged from the black Cadillac.

Nate walked over to him, Emilio following. "I don't know what your stake in this is, Carranza, but I promise you that if Ryker harms Cyn Porter, your life won't be worth a damn."

Ramon Carranza's dark eyes clashed with Nate's un­friendly glare. "One of my former business associates is in­debted to Ryker." He placed his dark, weathered hand on Nate's arm.

Instantly Nate retreated, jerking away, repulsed by the other man's touch. "What you're telling me isn't news. It's no secret that Ryker is part of the Marquez syndicate."

"You do not want to go up against these people alone."

Although the air was warm, almost balmy, Nate felt a shivering chill hit him. He hated Ramon Carranza and ev­erything he stood for. The very thought that this man was deriving some sort of sick pleasure out of helping Ryker, by tormenting him, by threatening Cyn, made Nate want to rip out the man's heart. "Stay out of my way if you know what's good for you."

Gripping Nate's arm tightly, Carranza gave him a hard, penetrating stare. The two men looked at each other, eye-to-eye, man-to-man. "He plans to kill her regardless of what you do. He simply wants you there to witness her death."

The truth of Carranza's words ripped through Nate like one of his sharp, deadly daggers. "You've delivered Ry-ker's message, now you can take one back to him. Tell him that I'm on my way, and before I'm through with him, he'll be begging to die."

Releasing Nate's arm, Carranza slipped into the dark, private confines of his limo. Nate kicked the door closed with his foot. Every fiber of his being pulsated with a rage born of uncontrollable anger and a fear the likes of which he'd never known. If anything happened to Cyn... * * *

Cyn could feel the rounded muzzle of Ryker's gun as he jabbed it into her back. Stumbling in the darkness, she steadied herself as they walked along the arched portico. Why, she wondered, had this crazy man taken her back to Sweet Haven, back to Nate's house? Where was Nate? Was he still at the hospital visiting Nick Romero? She had no idea what time it was, though she suspected it was near mid­night.

When she slowed her steps, Ryker poked her in the back again. "Keep walking. We're almost there."

Cyn clutched her purse against her stomach and contin­ued moving, praying for the opportunity to use Mimi's au­tomatic that still lay nestled inside her leather bag. Violence had been thrust upon her, and her only chance for survival might well lie within herself. Did she have the strength and courage to fight back? Undoubtedly, Ryker hadn't even considered the possibility that she might be armed.

If she could manage to get hold of Mimi's gun, would she have the guts to use it? Was she capable of killing a man? Two men? she wondered, remembering that Bedford was still with them. Could she, to save herself, and perhaps Nate, go against her lifelong beliefs?

"Where are you taking me?" Cyn asked, but she already knew. There was anger and pain and fear inside the walls of the old mission as surely as there was passion and love and fulfillment.

"Just shut up and keep walking." Ryker's voice held a nervous edge.

With Bedford standing outside in the dark shadows, Ry­ker pushed open the storage room door with his shoulder and shoved Cyn inside. She turned on them, irrational fear controlling her actions. Like a madwoman, she flung her­self at him. With one deadly backhanded slap, he knocked her to the floor.

Scrambling to find her purse where it had landed beside her, Cyn snapped the catch and rummaged around inside, unable to see in the darkness. Her fingers encountered the cold, deadly metal. Clutching the automatic in her hand, Cyn pointed it at Ryker. In that one heart-stopping mo­ment, she knew that, if necessary, she would kill in order to survive.

With trained instincts, Ryker intercepted her attack. He raised his leg, expertly kicking the gun out of her hand. Cyn's fingers stung from the sharp blow as she listened to the sound of metal when the gun rattled across the stone floor.

Bedford's laughter rang out loud and clear. In the semi-darkness, she could barely make out his stocky form as he entered the room, bent down and picked up her gun.

"She's a gutsy broad," the DEA agent said. "She al­most got you."

Ryker growled, like a wounded animal. Cyn could see him, his one malevolent blue eye sparkling in the moon­light that poured in from the open doorway. Flinging his hand backward, he brought it down across the bottom of her face. Cyn jerked from the force of his blow. Blood filled her mouth. She spit it out, then ran her tongue over her split lip.

"Be a good girl, and I'll let you live to see your lover." Ryker motioned to Bedford and the two men turned and left the room.

Once the door slammed shut, Cyn scrambled to her feet and made her way across the room. Standing between the door and the partially boarded window, she listened to the muffled sound of male voices. She could make out another voice beside Ryker's and Bedford's. Who had joined them? she wondered. How many opponents would Nate have to face when he arrived? And she knew, without a doubt, that Ryker had contacted Nate, and that Nate would come for her.

When Cyn heard the door opening, she jumped, quickly moving toward the window. Ian Ryker came in carrying a gas lantern, which he set on top of some stacked boxes. Bedford followed, but no one else. Slowly, Cyn edged her way toward the corner of the south wall. She wanted to huddle into a ball and fall to her knees. But she didn't. She braced her back against the cool coquina wall and glared at Ryker, her eyes beginning to adjust to the new light.

He watched her with the intent curiosity of a cat study­ing a trapped mouse. She could almost hear him smacking his lips. As cold, deadly fear raced through her, she fought to maintain some semblance of composure. She would not let this animal get the best of her.

Hearing a noise, she glanced quickly over at Bedford, who busied himself pilfering through an assortment of old furniture. Suddenly she saw that a long, thick rope lay draped over his shoulder.

"Who were you talking to outside?" she asked, her voice steady despite her ravaged nerves.

"Curious little girl, aren't you?" Ryker smiled. His mouth was broad, his lips thick and his big teeth had a wide space between the front two. "I have powerful friends who are...assisting me. As soon as the Conquistador arrives, we will be taking a little helicopter ride to a safe place where I can kill you both, very slowly."

She knew that his powerful friends must be the Marquez family, men to whom killing was as commonplace as breathing. And perhaps Ramon Carranza was another friend. If rumors were true, the charming old Cuban could be as deadly as a poisonous snake. "Nate has powerful friends, too. He has the United States government behind him."

She hated the sickening smile on Ryker's face, as if he could taste her fear and was gaining strength from it. "Na­than Hodges will come alone. He knows that I will kill you if he does not. My friends are keeping watch, even now, for any sign of betrayal."

"Nate isn't stupid. He knows you'll kill me regardless of what he does." Why are you trying to reason with a mad­man? she asked herself. There was no answer.

"Ah, yes, but he will play the game by my rules because he thinks he can outsmart me and keep you alive."

Ryker moved toward her. Her body hugged the wall. Cyn stared at him, trying not to react to his nauseatingly sweet smile. Reaching out, he ran his index finger over her chin, down her throat and into her blouse, stopping between her breasts. When he popped open the top button of her blouse, Cyn glared at him, reaching deep inside herself for cour­age. Acting on the revolt she felt, Cyn spat in his face.

Wiping away the spit with a large white handkerchief he had slipped out of his pocket, Ryker laughed, then reached out and grabbed Cyn by the shoulders. He dragged her across the room and flung her into a rickety cane-bottomed chair that Bedford had set upright.

"Tie our little hellcat down," Ryker said. "Tie her hands behind her back and secure her feet to the chair legs."

Bedford obeyed, manhandling Cyn when she tried to re­sist. Within minutes, Cyn was bound. Fighting the over­whelming fear of helplessness, she opened her mouth on a terrified scream.

Ryker ripped his handkerchief in two pieces and tossed them to Bedford. "Here. Shut her up."

Bending down, Bedford stuck half the moist handker­chief inside Cyn's mouth. He laughed when she gagged on the cloth. After spreading the remaining material across her lips and knotting it behind her head, Bedford looked down at her, his eyes filled with such lust that Cyn shuddered. He covered her breasts with his fat hands, squeezing painfully with his thick, pudgy fingers. Cyn squirmed, emitting hoarse groans beneath her tight gag.

"It's time for you to leave," Ryker said, coming over to where Bedford still clutched at Cyn's breasts. "If you're horny, go buy yourself a woman. As a matter of fact, I've given you enough money to buy yourself a harem."

Bedford released Cyn and stood up, facing Ryker. "Want her all to yourself, huh?"

Ryker nodded toward the open doorway, then he and Bedford went outside, closing the door behind them. Alone and uncertain, Cyn prayed. She asked for the strength to endure whatever might happen and requested, with her whole heart, that she be allowed to help Nate survive his battle with Ryker.

Please, dear Lord, watch over Nate, and, if he has a guardian angel, please send him to us now.

Suddenly Ryker burst through the door, an Uzi strapped across his chest. Cyn watched, spellbound, as he neared her. Unable to do anything except groan at his touch, Cyn had to endure the humiliation as he ripped open her blouse, ex­posing her lace-covered breasts.

Terrified, she closed her eyes against his nearness, against the sight of his smile. But she could not escape the shrill, menacing sound of his laughter.

"You and I, my lovely, will wait for the Conquistador." He pulled a knife from a shoulder sheath and ran the sharp tip of the blade across Cyn's breasts, from nipple to nipple. "I regret, for your sake, that I cannot kill you quickly, but I will not deprive myself of the pleasure I will derive from watching Nathan Hodges's face. Your lover will suffer the agonies of hell as he watches what I'm going to do to you." * * *

Crouched atop the roof, Nate secured the rope to a wide, sturdy beam. Overhead, the night sky closed in around him as he dropped the other end of the rope into the gaping hole in the back storage room ceiling. He checked the sheath on his belt and the hidden one in his boot, then hoisted the M16 to his shoulder. Grasping the rope, he slid downward with silent ease.

His feet landed soundlessly onto the stone floor. Moon­light poured through the roof opening, illuminating the cluttered room. With sleek, superior, trained movements, Nate made his way to the closed wooden door that con­nected the two storage areas. Like a jungle cat on a hunt for nourishment, he sought out the sound of Ryker's voice.

Nate grabbed the tarnished metal handle, gave the door a tiny push and waited for any hint of sound. Silence. He nudged the door again, a bit harder. With a minute squeak, it opened wider. Leaning back against the wall, Nate peered around the corner. A bright gas lantern lit the adjacent storage room. Ian Ryker stood, cowering over Cyn where she sat, tied to a wooden chair.

Nate knew he couldn't allow himself to think about how she looked, about what Ryker might have done to her. He had to keep a cool head if he were to have any chance of saving her.

Nate slipped his Fairbairn-Sykes dagger from its sheath, and pushed the door open, listening to the ominous creak­ing. Ryker jerked his head around, his one blue eye glaring at the doorway where Nate stood. Swinging his Uzi around, Ryker clutched the sinister weapon. Nate lifted his hand back, released the commando dagger, then jumped behind the safety of the thick coquina wall just as Ryker opened fire. Bullets riddled the wall.

Suddenly, with swift and deadly accuracy, Nate's dagger delved into Ryker's gut. Clutching his stomach with the stub of his left hand, he continued to spray the back wall with repeated shots. Finally, he slumped over, releasing the Uzi, and spreading his fingers into the blood dripping from his wound.

"Did you see her?" Ryker screamed as he fell to his knees in front of Cyn and grabbed her by the back of her head, twisting her hair around his hand. "You should come out and take a good look. She has blood on her face. Her pretty little mouth is all swollen and her soft knees are badly scraped."

Nate listened, his heart racing with outrage and torment. Wait. Wait, his instincts told him as he listened to Ryker's labored breathing.

Cyn wished that she could call out to Nate, to tell him that she was all right and not to let Ryker's taunts get to him. She glanced at the open doorway leading into the back storage room. How had Nate gotten in? she wondered, then re­membered the roof. When she heard Ryker's harsh groans, she looked down at him just in time to see him jerk the long dagger from his stomach. Blood oozed out, turning his white shirt crimson. He held the knife up toward the heav­ens in a gesture Cyn knew he considered triumphant.

"I have your dagger, Conquistador." Ryker's voice held a hint of pain disguised beneath his victorious shout. "Come on out and see how I intend to use it on your beau­tiful lover."

Nate, his M16 on his shoulder, came through the door­way, putting himself in full view of the man sitting on the floor. Ryker held the dagger up to Cyn's chest, slicing through the sheer material of her bra. Red-hot fury seared Nate, branding every nerve within his body. Wild with the need to destroy the inhuman creature who was threatening his woman, Nate willed himself to stay in control.

Nate dragged his gaze away from Cyn's battered face, away from the look of sheer panic in her brown eyes. He studied Ryker, taking in every inch of the wounded man, noticing how profusely he was bleeding. At the rate he was losing blood, it was only a matter of time before he passed out. But Ian Ryker had the stamina of a battle-hardened soldier, and Nate knew he would fight to the bitter end. Given his strength of purpose, Ryker could well remain conscious long enough to kill Cyn.

"I'm going to take you and your woman with me," Ry­ker said, running the dagger's bloody blade up Cyn's throat, staining her satiny skin with the scarlet liquid. "I've got a chopper coming for us in a few minutes. They know you're here. They won't let me down."

"Who's helping you?" Nate asked, hoping to keep Ry­ker talking, postponing any desperate action on his part.

"I'm going to let you watch while I enjoy myself with her. When I think you've suffered enough, I'm going to kill you slowly, Conquistador, and let her watch you die." Ryker sucked in a deep breath, gasping for air, grunting with pain. "Oh, she won't be so beautiful when I've finished with her, but some of Marquez's boys will probably enjoy her for a while."

Nate stood perfectly still, never taking his eyes off Ry­ker. "You can't get away. Do you think a chopper can land on the beach without drawing attention?"

Ryker grinned. "You're too smart to have allowed any of Higdon's men to accompany you. You knew her life de­pended on your coming alone."

"Let her go, Ryker. This fight is between you and me."

"You didn't let Lian go. You and your bastard SEALs killed her."

"She got caught in the crossfire," Nate said, remember­ing that horrible day so long ago. "The bullet that struck her could just as easily have been fired by her own people."

"You killed my woman." Ryker rubbed the tip of the dagger up and down, from Cyn's throat to her heart and back again. "I'm going to kill yours...but not quickly. Slowly, after many, many days. The last thing you'll see is your own dagger slicing away at her soft flesh."

Nate glanced at Cyn to gauge her reaction. He had never wanted anything more than to reassure her, comfort her, promise her that Ian Ryker would never live to carry through any of his diabolical threats. "I have no intention of dying. Not to give you any kind of satisfaction and cer­tainly not to save her life." Nate nodded toward Cyn, and prayed that she understood what he was trying to do and why.

Ryker looked at Nate skeptically. "It won't work, my old enemy. You can't convince me that she means nothing to you."

"Oh, she means something to me." Nate took a quick look at her, his eyes pleading with her to forgive him. "She's the best lay I ever had, but that's all. When has a woman ever meant more to me than a night's pleasure?"

Ryker let the dagger slip down the front of Cyn's body, the blade skimming over her bare stomach. "I don't be­lieve you, but even if it's true, your sense of honor will de­mand that you try to save her." He scooted closer to Cyn's chair, the nub on the end of his handless arm stroking his bleeding wound. Taking the dagger away from her soft, ex­posed flesh, he sliced through the ropes that bound her feet to the chair. "My friends will be coming soon." He pulled her hands up and over the back of the chair, then jerked her up, draping his arm around her and pressing the dagger against her side.

"I'm taking her outside," Ryker said. "The chopper should be landing on the beach soon. You can stay here, safe for the time being, or you can come with us, with me and your beautiful woman."

Ryker hunched over in pain. His movements slow and unsteady, he ushered Cyn outside and toward the road. Nate followed. Could he take a chance on his swiftness and ac­curacy? he wondered. If his life alone depended upon the outcome, he'd take the risk, but Cyn's life hung in the bal­ance. Ryker's instincts could warn him if Nate tried to use the M16. But what about the boot knife? Nate asked him­self. Could he remove it from his hiding place and strike Ryker in the back before the other man killed Cyn?

Once on the beach, Ryker fell to his knees, taking Cyn with him. Nate stopped a few yards away near the old cy­press tree.

"You'll never make it," Nate shouted. "You're going to pass out."

"It won't matter." Ryker flung his handless arm around his wound. "My friends will take care of me, and they'll keep both of you safe and secure until I'm ready to dispose of you."

All three people on the beach heard the sound of the au­tomobile as it pulled to a stop on the road in front of Nate's house. Three startled gazes watched while an enormous mountain of a man emerged from the driver's side.

Pulling Cyn tightly against him and placing the dagger's tip over her heart, Ryker shouted at Nate. "I told you to come alone."

"I did come alone. I swear."

"Then who's our company?" Ryker asked, nodding to­ward the two men who stood beside the limo.

What the hell was going on? Nate wondered. Having Carranza show up wasn't too surprising, but Ryker pre­tending he had no idea who the man was didn't make any sense.

"I don't know who the bloody hell you are, but you can stop right there or I'll kill her," Ryker said.

"I suggest that if you want to live you should release Se­ñora Porter. There are three of us, you see, and if you harm her, one of us is bound to kill you," Ramon Carranza said, never slowing his stride as he neared the beach.

Ryker laughed, the sound shrilly hysterical as it carried on the night air. "There may be three of you, but I've got friends coming. A small army of friends who'll be carrying weapons. I suggest that you get back in that big limo of yours and leave, old man."

Carranza continued moving closer and closer to Ryker. Nate wanted to reach out and grab him, but he was too far away. Carranza avoided getting anywhere near Nate.

"I'm warning you to stop." Ryker's hand trembled. Cyn could feel the knife pressing into her flesh.

"What are you doing here?" Nate, bewildered by Ryker and Carranza's conversation, knew he couldn't allow his own confusion to dull his senses or make him any less alert. This whole scene could be some elaborate hoax on Carran­za's part. It was obvious the old man liked to play games. Just because Ryker didn't recognize him didn't mean they weren't on the same side in this battle.

Carranza spoke to Nate, but he never removed his gaze from Ian Ryker. "I had some important news for Señor Ryker. News that could not wait."

"What kind of crap is this?" Ryker asked. "Who are you? What sort of news have you got for me?"

"I am Ramon Rafael Carranza."

Ryker blanched, his face contorting into a frown. "What... what's the news you have for me?"

The sound in Nate's ears began as a loud buzzing, then quickly escalated into a thunderous roar. The old man had said his name was Ramon Rafael Carranza.

"My good friend, Carlos Marquez, regrets that he must sever his relationship with you," Carranza said. "He sends his apologies that he cannot assist you in this little kidnap­ping and murder scheme."

"You're lying. Marquez owes me. He's sending a chop­per for me." Ryker's gaze searched the predawn sky as he cocked his head, listening to the silence.

Carranza took several steps forward. He was within a few feet of Ryker and Cyn. "Such a pity. In our business, a man cannot afford to put his trust in the wrong people. Marquez may, as you say, owe you, but his debt to me was far larger and much older."

Nate moved away from the trees. Good God, Carranza was going to try to jump Ryker. Was he a fool? Nate knew he had to intercede. If he didn't, Cyn would die. His night­mare would come true.

"Don't move, either of you." Ryker cursed Marquez, then dropped the dagger on the sand as he grabbed the Uzi and opened fire.

With trained instincts, Nate dropped to his belly as the shots rang out over his head. Suddenly, the Uzi's menacing roar quietened. Nate raised his head slightly and glanced around. Ramon Carranza lay on the sandy ground, blood pouring from his wounds. Ryker's lifeless body lay only a few feet away.

Nate jumped to his feet as Cyn struggled to hers, tears streaming down her face. Grabbing her, he jerked the gag out of her mouth.

"Oh, Nate."

He pulled her into his arms as he stroked her hair, kissed her face, and worked frantically to untie her bound wrists. Once Cyn was free, Nate looked down at Ryker. A small round bullet hole marred his smooth forehead. Nate could well imagine what the back of his head looked like. He didn't want Cyn to see it.

"Señor Carranza," Cyn said, her voice ragged and hoarse. "He's hurt." She tugged on Nate's arm, the ges­ture pleading.

Together they knelt down beside Carranza. Cyn took his head into her lap as she brushed back the strands of white hair that had fallen into his eyes. "You're going to be all right, Ramon," Cyn said. "We're not going to let you die."

Ramon Carranza looked up at Cyn as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "You will take care of him," he said as he gazed up at Nate.

Nate saw Emilio standing over them, the revolver that had killed Ian Ryker still in his hand.

"We must get him to a hospital," Emilio said, dropping the gun onto the sand, then reaching down to lift his em­ployer up into his arms.

Nate helped Cyn to her feet and walked her toward the black limousine. Cyn got in first, then Nate helped Emilio place Ramon across the seat, his head resting in Cyn's lap.

Once Emilio started the engine and turned the big Cadil­lac around, Cyn looked over at Nate. "He saved our lives."

"I know," Nate said.

Chapter 16

Cyn sat beside Nate on the orange vinyl sofa. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, and his big arms were crossed over his chest. She wished he would allow her to comfort him as he had comforted her when they had first arrived at the hospital. While the emergency room staff had gone to work on Ramon, Nate had insisted that Cyn's scrapes and bruises needed immediate attention.

He had held her when the reality of what they'd lived through finally hit her. The nightmare was over. Ian Ryker was dead. Cyn and Nate were alive.

Cyn glanced around the surgery waiting room. A plump, middle-aged woman stood at the pay telephone, her voice hushed as she told the listener that her mother was still in surgery. In the corner chair, a teenaged boy flipped through the pages of a magazine with bored indifference. A young couple stood by the windows, his arm draped around her shoulders as he wiped her tears with a handkerchief and promised her that their little girl was going to be all right.

Two coffee machines sat on a metal table by the door­way. One glass pot was empty, the other contained no more than a cup of liquid. The wastepaper basket beneath the table was littered with dozens of foam cups, plastic spoons and empty sugar and creamer packs.

Emilio Rivera stood outside in the hallway, his back braced against the wall. No one had given comfort to the big, quiet man, whose silent eyes and hard face gave away none of his emotions. Cyn wondered how long Emilio had worked for Ramon, how close their relationship was.

"I'm going to talk to Emilio," she told Nate. "I'll be right back."

Nate grunted an acknowledgment, but didn't open his eyes or move a muscle. Seeing Nate like this, so cold and withdrawn, broke Cyn's heart. It was as if he'd closed him­self off from her, from the whole world, and refused to al­low anyone near. Perhaps it was the only way he knew how to deal with everything that had happened, Cyn thought. Her kidnapping. Ryker's death. The knowledge that Ra­mon Carranza had risked his life to save them.

Emilio gave her a welcoming glance when she ap­proached him. "How is Nathan?"

"I honestly don't know." Cyn touched Emilio's meaty forearm and looked up into his squinty black eyes. "Ever since they took Ramon up to surgery, he just sits there. He won't talk to me. He won't let me help him."

"Si, he is like his padre. A strong man who thinks he needs no one." Emilio patted her hand where it rested on his arm. "He needs you. He will accept your help, later."

As his words began to sink into her consciousness, Cyn wanted to deny her suspicions, but the facts could not be dismissed. Clutching Emilio's rock-solid arm, she asked him for the truth. "Is Ramon Carranza Nate's father?"

"Si." A hint of a smile softened Emilio's battered face. "I have worked for Señor Carranza since before he met Nathan's mother. Since I was a boy of sixteen."

"You knew Nate's mother?"

"A most beautiful woman, Señorita Grace Hodges. As beautiful as you with her long blond hair and big green eyes. Señor Carranza loved her greatly." Emilio's eyes glazed over with memories.

"But Nate thought his father was dead."

"Si, it was his mother's wish, and they agreed it would be best for the child. Under the circumstances."

"You have to tell Nate, tell him everything. He has a right to know, and there is no one else who can tell him." She re­alized she was taking a chance that Nate would respond in a positive manner to the revelation that Ramon Carranza was his father. But regardless of how he would react to the news, he had to be told the truth.

"You think he wants to know?" Ernilio asked, giving Cyn a skeptical look. "He is a hard man. His heart may be closed to the truth."

"There's no way to know unless we try."

Emilio nodded, the tentative smile widening as Cyn took his hand, and together they entered the waiting room. Cyn sat down beside Nate. Emiho took a chair opposite the sofa. When she touched Nate's shoulder, he flinched, but still didn't open his eyes.

Cyn felt his big body tense beneath her touch. "Nate, Emilio wants to tell you—"

"That Ramon Rafael Carranza is my father."

"You knew?"

"No, not until... Sitting here, I finally figured it out."

"He was never your enemy." Cyn couldn't tell what Nate was thinking, but she could guess, knowing him as she did. "His interest in you was personal."

"Yeah, I guess it was." Nate opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, then darted his gaze at Cyn. "But he was a little late in showing fatherly concern, don't you think?"

Nate closed his eyes again, and Cyn knew he was trying to blot out the truth—a truth he had yet to understand.

"Emilio can tell you about your parents," she said, longing to comfort him, to ease the pain she saw in his eyes, to remove the anger she knew was barely hidden beneath the surface of his falsely calm exterior.

Nate opened his eyes, uncrossed his arms and sat up straight. "What about them?" he asked, glaring at the huge man sitting across from him.

"You will listen, Nathan Hodges?" Emilio's dark eyes pleaded with Nate. "You will let me tell it all so that you will understand why you mustn't hate your father."

Cyn held her breath, praying for Nate's acquiescence. "Don't you think you owe it to yourself as well as your parents to know the truth?" she asked.

"So talk," Nate said, his voice brutally harsh. "I'm lis­tening." Bending over slightly, he let his hands drop be­tween his knees as he looked down at the shiny tile floor.

"Señor Carranza owned a casino in Havana. He was al­ready rich and successful at thirty-five, and had very influ­ential friends. The most prominent friend was his father-in-law, Luis Arnaz." Emilio hesitated briefly as he watched Nate for a sign of reaction. Seeing none, he continued. "Arnaz had arranged his daughter's marriage to Se­ñor Carranza... a business arrangement ten years be­fore ... before your mother came to Havana."

"What was my mother doing in Havana?" Nate asked, finally glancing over at Emilio.

"She had just graduated from college and came down on a holiday with some of her friends. You must remember that Havana in 1949 was a playground for the rich and fa­mous."

"She met him at his casino?" Nate couldn't imagine the sadly beautiful woman who had been his mother as a care­free young woman jaunting off to Cuba with her friends.

"I was there... that night." Emilio's voice cracked with emotion. "It was magic between them the moment they saw each other."

The words were like a tight fist squeezing at Nate's heart. Once, he would have thought the notion of love-at-first-sight ludicrous, but since meeting Cyn, he admitted that it was possible. Hadn't she trapped him in her spell the first night he'd seen her on the beach? Had it been that way for his father the first moment he'd seen the young and beau­tiful Grace Hodges?

"They were very much in love," Emilio said. "He wanted to marry her, was willing to give up everything to have her."

"Then why didn't he?" Nate asked, hating Ramon Car-ranza for allowing his sweet mother to have gone through the shame of giving birth to an illegitimate child.

"Luis Arnaz found out about your mother. He threat­ened her life." Emilio placed his hands on Nate's shoul­ders, his thick fingers tightening. "Arnaz demanded that your father break all ties with your mother. He swore that he would have her killed. Señor Carranza knew that his fa­ther-in-law was capable of carrying out the threat."

Jerking away from Emilio, Nate stood. He felt like run­ning, hard and fast. But he knew he couldn't run away from the truth. Ramon Carranza was his father. He had loved Grace Hodges, and had deserted her in order to save her life. All the bitterness and hatred of a lifetime churned inside Nate, his anger nearing the boiling point. He needed some­thing to hit, some faceless enemy to pulverize.

He balled his hands into tight fists, corded the muscles in his back and neck with such tension he could feel the strain in every nerve ending. And then she touched him. Gentle, soft, loving, her touch ignited the tinderbox of emotions within him. He turned on her, his eyes fierce with a slow burning heat that became white-hot.

Cyn gazed up into the eyes of the man she loved and saw such torment, such pent-up rage, that she couldn't bear to look at him. Mindless of anything except the need to com­fort him, Cyn wrapped her arms around his tightly coiled body.

Swiftly, brutally, he encompassed her in his arms, hug­ging her to him with the savagery of a dying man holding on to his last hope for survival. "Cyn... Cyn..."

"I'm here. I'll always be here. I'll never leave you." She felt his body shaking as she held him, her hands caressing his broad back.

They heard a woman's commanding voice ask, "Is there someone here with the Carranza family?"

Nate and Cyn turned around. Emilio stood. All three of them moved toward the nurse who was waiting in the door­way.

"I'm Ramon Carranza's son," Nate said. "How is my father?"

"They've brought him down from surgery," the white-uniformed woman said. "You may go in to see him shortly, but Dr. Brittnell wants to talk to you first." * * *

Ramon Carranza was dying. The doctors gave them no hope. It was only a matter of hours, perhaps even minutes. Emilio had sent for a priest.

For forty-two years, Nate had wondered about his un­known father, sometimes hating him, sometimes longing for him as only a child can long for a missing parent.

In the last few minutes he had remembered everything his mother had ever told him about his father. She had painted the man in glowing terms. Nate had never doubted that she loved his father, the mysterious man she had called Rafael. Grace Hodges had told her son that his father had been half Cuban and half Seminole Indian. That he had been a handsome man with a smile that could charm the birds from the trees.

When Nate had questioned her about why his father wasn't with them, Grace Hodges had told her son that his father was dead. As a child, he had not understood; as an adult he had accepted his mother's explanation as the truth.

"We can go in to see Ramon now," Cyn said, squeezing Nate's hand.

They entered the critical care unit together, hand in hand. Ramon looked very old and very tired as he lay on the pris­tine white sheets. But even surrounded by monitors and life-saving machinery, the big, dark-skinned Cuban dominated the room.

As he neared his father's bedside, Nate experienced a battle of emotions raging within him, creating uncertainty and dread. What could he say to this man? What would Ramon Carranza want from his only son?

The minute Nate and Cyn stopped by his bedside, Ra­mon opened his eyes. "Nathan." His deep voice was a whisper.

"I'm here." Dammit all, I don't want to be here, Nate thought. I don't want to have to confront this man, to have to face all the ghosts from my childhood.

Ramon tried to lift his hand, but was unable to do more than wiggle his fingers. Nate reached down and clasped the old man's hand in his.

"I promised her that... you would never be... a part of my sordid life." Each word seemed torn from Ramon, as if the utterance was painful. "I loved her so."

"It's all right," Nate said, squeezing his father's hand. "Don't try to talk."

"The day she died..." Ramon gasped for air, his lungs struggling for each breath.

"Hush, now," Cyn pleaded, her eyes filled with tears. This shouldn't be happening, she thought. Not now, when these two had just found each other.

"She called... she was so sick. I went to her." Ramon's limp hand tightened slightly around his son's tenacious grip. "I promised to leave you...with her brother...to never tell you..."

"It doesn't matter." Nate tried to reassure the dying man. "It was so long ago. Another lifetime."

"I wanted you...my son, but she did not want you growing up... in my world." Ramon's soft grip loosened, his hand falling limp within Nate's grasp.

"Father." Nate's voice trembled, his throat tortured with unshed tears.

"I love you. Always, I have loved you...my son." And with those tender words that said far more than the senti­mental confessions of a dying man, Ramon Rafael Car-ranza accepted death.

"Father? Father!" Not yet. Not yet, his mind screamed. We haven't had enough time.

Emilio Rivera stepped forward from his watchful posi­tion by the door. With her arms around Nate, Cyn turned in time to see the tears streaming down Emilio's battered old face.

Nate pulled out of her arms, staring at her with moist eyes, the look of a lost child on his face. "I need to be alone. Just for a while. Try to understand."

Cyn watched him walk away, stunned that he didn't want her with him, hurt that at the most traumatic time in his life, he didn't need her.

"So like his padre," Emilio said, placing his enormous arm protectively around Cyn's shoulder. "So much a man that he does not want his woman to see him cry."

"See him... Oh, Emilio, I didn't understand."

Emilio hugged Cyn to him, as together, Ramon Carran-za's gargantuan bodyguard and Nate Hodges's woman cried for a father who had loved a son he could never claim, a mother with the courage to bear her married lover's child and a boy who had grown into a man without the love and protection his parents were powerless to give him. * * *

Cyn slipped on her aqua robe, belting it tightly. Before leaving the bedroom, she gave Nate's sleeping body a lov­ing glance. Quietly, she made her way to the kitchen, seek­ing out the coffeemaker. As she went about preparing morning coffee, she thought about the past two weeks since Ramon's funeral. It had not been an easy time—for Nate or for her.

Although Nate had spoken to her very little, preferring to keep his emotions bottled up inside him, Cyn had not left his side. Determined to carve out a future with the man she loved, Cynthia Ellen Wellington Porter was willing to wait it out, to give Nate all the time and space he needed to come to terms with his past.

She knew that Nate had already come to terms with Ry­ker's death, but not with her kidnapping. He still blamed himself for not being able to protect her. She realized that he probably always would. Even the fact that Art Bedford had been apprehended in flight to South America had not lessened Nate's self-imposed guilt.

Dealing with the knowledge that Ramon Carranza had been his father was difficult for a man like Nate, a man who'd spent twenty years dedicated to fighting for his country, to putting his life on the line for the principles of freedom and justice. His own father had been a part of the deadly cancer that had been eating away at the moral val­ues of the United States for decades. And he was a part of that man, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh. He could not deny the bitter legacy Ramon Carranza had left him any more than he could deny the vast fortune he had inherited.

Cyn's own attitudes had changed gradually since she'd fallen in love with Nate and had been thrust into the middle of his savage fight with Ian Ryker. Finally, she had come to terms with not only her own past, her husband's death and the murder of Darren Kilbrew, but she had come to terms with Nate's past. She did not condone violence, and yet she accepted the fact that violence had its place in mankind's never-ending struggle to survive. She realized that when vi­olence is brought into your life, you inevitably have only two choices. The strong choose to fight back, to live, and hope­fully restore peace. Nate was one of the strong ones, and now, she too, shared his strength.

More than anything, she wanted Nate to accept her com­fort, to be receptive to the loving sanctuary she could give him. But all he had taken from her was the comfort of her body, the solace of hot, wild, frequent matings, as if mak­ing love to her could purge his soul of its torment.

Just as she poured herself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Cyn heard the knock at the front door. Setting her mug on the table, she walked down the hall. Opening the door, she half expected to see Mimi, who had become a frequent vis­itor during the last two weeks. Instead of Mimi's smiling face, Cyn encountered Emilio's scowling expression.

"Good morning. May I come in, please?" Always polite and formal. That was Emilio.

Cyn stepped back and, with a gracious sweep of her hand, invited him inside. She noticed that he carried a small gray box under his arm. "Want some coffee?" she asked. "There's a fresh pot out in the kitchen."

"No, thank you. I am here to see Nathan." Emilio stood rigidly, though his expression softened when he looked at Cyn. "I have something for him. Something I found when we were packing away Señor Carranza's personal belong­ings."

"I see." Cyn glanced down at the small box, wondering about its contents. "I'm afraid Nate is still asleep, and I hate to wake him. He hasn't had a good night's sleep since Ra­mon died."

"I'm not asleep." Nate stood at the end of the hallway, his body bare except for unsnapped cutoff jeans, his long black hair disheveled, and two weeks' worth of beard covering his face. "Too much damned racket. What the hell are you do­ing here?" he asked, glaring at their guest.

Emilio lifted the box and held it out toward Nate. "These were your father's. They are something I know he would want you to have."

"I told you and I told his lawyers that I don't want a damned thing from him. Not one dime of his dirty, bloody money!" Nate said, his eyes burning with the conviction of his words.

Emilio handed the box to Cyn, who took it just in time to keep it from dropping to the floor. "These are letters Grace Hodges sent Señor Carranza. The dates indicate she wrote him regularly from the time of Nate's birth until shortly be­fore she died."

Not waiting for a reply or a response of any kind, Emilio nodded to Cyn, then turned and let himself out. Cyn held the small box against her bosom, almost feeling the warmth and love contained within the wooden box.

Letters. Love letters. Cyn looked up at Nate who had grabbed her by the shoulders. He whipped her around to face him.

"Come back to bed," he said, running his hand along the side of her leg, raising her gown and robe up to her hip.

She stepped away and thrust the box out toward him. "I think you should read these."

Nate glared at her. "I don't want to read any damn let­ters my mother wrote to her lover."

"To your father," Cyn reminded him. "To the man she loved."

Clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes, Nate reached out and took the wooden box. Dammit, he didn't want to know any more about his mother's love affair with Ramon Carranza. Wasn't it enough that he had to live with the knowledge that the man who had fathered him had been a criminal, and not just any criminal, but an underworld leader? * * *

Two hours later, Nate found Cyn walking on the beach. He knew she'd been waiting for him to come to her, giving him the time alone he needed to decide his future—their fu­ture.

He walked along beside her for quite some time before he spoke. She accepted his silent presence, as she had accepted his anger and frustration and unforgivably selfish behavior during the last two weeks. Dear God, what had he ever done to deserve a woman like Cynthia Porter, a woman who loved him enough to stand by him, giving him her support and strength while she willingly submitted her body for his pleasure?

And he had almost lost her. His hideous nightmare had almost come true. Ryker had come very close to killing her. But he hadn't. Ramon Carranza had died to save both Cyn and Nate. No matter what sort of life the man had led, no matter how sordid and sinful his past, he had atoned for some of his transgressions in one final act of love.

"She loved him a great deal," Nate said. "She wrote him regularly from the time I was a week old until shortly be­fore her death. She sent him pictures of me, told him about my first tooth, my first word..." Nate's voice trembled.

"It's sad that they couldn't be together." She could feel the warm May sun caressing her arms and face. She felt so alive, so beautifully, joyously alive.

"He came to see her the day she died." Nate reached down and took Cyn's hand, entwining their fingers.

"He wasn't all bad. There was a private side to him that had nothing to do with his business dealings." Cyn stopped walking, tugged on Nate's hand and raised it to her lips. "You inherited his good looks, his strength, his damn macho pride... but you are your own man and you have noth­ing to do with the dark side of his life."

"I have a dark side to my life, too, Cyn. Perhaps just as dark as his." Nate pulled her to him, trapping their clasped hands between his chest and her breasts. "Can you accept a man with such flaws? Can you spend your life with a bat­tle-scarred warrior whose past sins put you in danger, put you at the mercy of a madman?"

"I've accepted the fact that terrible things happen in life. The strong survive by fighting back when they're given no other choice."

"I want us to be strong and survive together," Nate said.

"Are you asking me to marry you, Nate Hodges?" she asked, smiling at him, her heart swelling with the wonder of love.

Swinging her off her feet and up into his arms, Nate laughed. "Damn right, I'm asking you to marry me. I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I've got sense enough not to lose the best thing that ever happened to me."

Clutching him around the neck, Cyn laid her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Nate. You're all I'll ever want."

Holding her up against his chest, Nate began walking back toward the house. "I may be all you want, but would you be interested in my father's millions?"

"What?"

"I've decided that Ramon Carranza's money could do a lot of good in this old world. I'm going to accept my inher­itance and let you help me choose what charities need it the most. Needless to say, Tomorrow House will never have to close its doors."

"Oh, Nate, that's wonderful."

When they reached the porch, he slid her body slowly down the length of his until her feet touched the warm stone floor. Lowering his head, he brushed her lips with his in a tender, carefree kiss.

"I think Ramon would be pleased," she said.

Pressing his body against hers, letting her feel the throb­bing strength of his arousal, he nipped at her earlobe. "Besides me and my father's money, I'd like to offer you something else."

Cyn laughed, swatting playfully at his chest. "You wicked man, offering me sex in broad daylight."

Rubbing his maleness into her femininity, he grinned. "The sex goes without saying, but that's not what I was talking about."

"Well, what else were you offering me?" Cyn asked.

"I think you and I would make awfully good foster par­ents, don't you?"

"Foster parents?"

"Bobby and Aleta. I think they need us. Bobby has no parents, and Aleta's mother has signed papers giving up any legal right to her in exchange for not bringing her up on abuse charges."

"I think," Cyn whispered into his chest, her tongue flicking over one distended male nipple, "that you will make a wonderful father."

Images of Cyn big with his child flashed through Nate's mind. The thought pleased him greatly. "Let's go inside and work on making you a natural mother." * * *

Sunset in the western Florida sky, a melange of colors, like the iridescent shades of a crimson-tinted rainbow. Eve­ning of a hot summer day, the stirrings of a warm tropical breeze as purple shadows forecast the night. The ocean's heartbeat echoing along the shore as a sweet soprano voice sang, a cappella, the lyrics to "True Love."

Nathan Hodges dressed in a black tuxedo watched while the bridal procession made its way up the beach. At his side, Nick Romero, well on the road to recovery, sat in a wheel­chair while John Mason and Bobby stood.

Laurel Drew Mason, wearing a tea-length dress of pale yellow satin, approached the groom, his best man and groomsmen. Aleta followed in a matching dress of a less mature design, and last but never least, Mimi Burnside, the matron of honor, strolled along the beach, unable to hide her wide smile.

The standing crowd of well-wishers held their breaths when Cyn, escorted by her father, passed by in her flowing gown of antique white satin, with Batenburg lace accenting the sweetheart neckline and butterfly sleeves. A Juliet cap covered with baby's breath sat on the back of her head and a short gathered veil covered her long golden hair, which was secured in a bun at the base of her neck. The bride carried an enormous bouquet of white orchids.

Hand in hand, Cynthia Ellen Wellington Porter and Na­than Rafael Hodges faced the minister and repeated their vows of love and lifetime commitment. Before God, their family and friends, they became one.

Nate kissed his bride so long and hard that his best man poked him in the ribs. And then the party began. Hours of food and champagne and music. Denton Wellington had spared no expense in giving his daughter the unorthodox wedding of her dreams on the Sweet Haven beach.

All the present residents and volunteer workers of To­morrow House were in attendance as were Cyn's brother David, Bruce Tomlinson and Emilio Rivera.

While the crowd continued the revelry long after the sun had set and stars appeared in the black night sky, Nate swooped his bride up into his arms and carried her away... all the way across the street to his house.

Snuggling in her husband's arms, Cyn didn't even realize that Nate was carrying her straight to the storage rooms, to the old mission part of the house.

When he felt her tense, Nate hugged her to his chest. "All the bad memories, the pain, the ghosts of the past, will vanish tonight. From now on, these rooms will hold only happy memories."

The huge wooden door stood wide open. Cyn held her breath as Nate carried her across the threshold. The outer room was empty, swept clean, the windows unboarded and open. She clung to him, her heart beating wildly as he stepped inside the inner room. Cyn gasped at the sight.

Moonlight streamed down through the unrepaired open­ing in the roof and hundreds of candles glowed like flaming eyes all over the room. They flickered on the floor, in wall sconces, on a table filled with flowers, a table set with champagne and food, and they perched in the open win­dows like Titian-haired little guards illuminating the dark night. An old wooden bed, placed in the middle of the room, gained all of Cyn's attention. Cream satin sheets edged with delicate lace shimmered in the warm candle­light.

Nate set his bride on her feet, gazing at her with loving adoration as he drew her into his arms. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

"Am I as beautiful as you?" she asked teasingly, re­membering how he'd sworn she'd never get him to wear a damned monkey suit.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime deal, lady. You'll never see me in one of these blasted tuxedos again." He released her, pulled off his jacket and tossed it across a nearby chair.

Cyn began unbuttoning his pleated-front shirt. "You'll have to wear one when your daughter gets married."

"Aleta is only twelve, and since I'm not going to let her date until she's thirty, I won't worry about her wedding." Nate reached around and released the top button of Cyn's wedding gown.

Slowly, sensuously, with their gazes locked in the heat of a smoldering passion, Cyn and Nate undressed each other. With each garment removed, each new inch of flesh ex­posed, the desire within them increased until their hands trembled when they stood naked.

Nate picked her up, the feel of her bare skin exciting him, hardening his throbbing arousal. Lowering her tenderly upon the bed, he followed her down, covering her, his lips taking hers in a frenzy of wild abandon as his manhood pressed against her waiting femininity.

He had never known with any woman what he had found with Cyn, the passion, the uncontrollable thirst that could be quenched only with their heated mating, and a love that went beyond the here and now to stretch the boundaries of eternity.

She flung her arms around his neck, beckoning him to come to her. With his lips burning hotly against her neck, he buried himself deep within her. Cyn cried out from the pleasure of their joining.

With each touch, each kiss, each forceful thrust, Nate gave himself into her safekeeping, trusting her with his very soul.

"Ah, querida, yo te amo." Nate spoke the words, but the sentiments belonged to an ancient conquistador as well as the modern warrior.

"And I love you," Cyn told him, her heart beating with the love of two women. "I'll love you forever."

Epilogue

As the last candle flame flickered into oblivion, dawn broke over the Atlantic Ocean. The first faint light of morning seeped through the windows of the old mission, covering the entwined bodies of two lovers lost in a pas­sionate mating dance that united them for all eternity.

When fulfillment claimed them and their cries of plea­sure shattered the tender silence, Nate planted within Cyn's receptive body the seeds of their immortality.

Outside, two spirits walked together along the isolated beach, their hearts rejoicing, their souls preparing for a fi­nal journey.

"It is time," she said.

"Yes, querida. They have set us free."

After four hundred years of waiting, the small Timucuan maiden and her big Spanish conquistador left the Florida beach where they had met and loved and died so long ago. On the day that Rafael Wellington Hodges was conceived, the souls of two ancient lovers entered paradise.