Her Healing Touch. Lindsay McKenna

Maya knew about her mystical background, but it wasn’t ever discussed, at least not openly as they were doing now. Rather, Maya simply accepted it as a part of her, just as Maya had her own mystical traditions.

      “Er…ma’am…”

      “You’re in a pickle, Paredes.” Maya chuckled indulgently, watching the twenty-eight-year-old paramedic sit there and blush. Angel had copper-colored skin, thick, short black hair and very large, wise-looking dark brown eyes. Like most Quero people, she was short and stocky and strong. Few knew the inner workings of the Quero, the royal bloodline of the Incas of the past. But Maya did. Knew them well.

      “Your skill has gained the attention of a general. Now,” Maya drawled, “if it was the sergeant putting in this request, I could blow him off and circular file it. As it is, your reputation for saving lives when the person shoulda croaked has reached General Rutherford’s ears.”

      Gulping again, Angel said, “And you can’t blow off a general. Right?”

      “Bang on, Paredes. You’re reading this one correctly.”

      “But,” Angel sputtered, tapping the letter repeatedly with her index finger, “I can’t teach them what I know! First of all, this guy—”

      “Sergeant Gifford?”

      “Yeah…him. Well, he wouldn’t believe it, anyway. He’s a paramedic. Undoubtedly dyed-in-the-wool and tied to the traditional Western medicine model.”

      Shrugging eloquently, Maya said, “The dude has some pull if he can get a general to write this proposal and request for him. He’s the head medical instructor for all of Special Forces training. So he’s got something going for him.”

      Angel snorted softly. “Yeah, it’s called the curiosity of a cat, ma’am. That’s all.”

      “There’s a photo of him on the next page. Take a look.”

      Unsettled, Angel scowled and lifted the letter, finding a colored photo beneath. The man’s face was square, his jaw hard and set. His gray eyes reminded Angel of a cat’s, and for some reason that bothered her or perhaps drew her. She instantly rejected the latter possibility. Gifford was dressed in his Class A dark green army uniform, the red beret worn by Special Forces members in place on his dark brown hair. She saw the weathered lines at the corners of his eyes, indicating he spent a lot of time out-of-doors. His mouth was thinned and unsmiling. Of course, this was an official army photo, in which no one smiled. Still, she dug into the man’s face, studying his craggy features, with her intuition open.

      Gifford was not a pretty boy. She saw a scar above the dark, thick slash of his right eyebrow. His nose, strong and dominating, reminded her of a condor’s beak. It had obviously been broken in the past. The merciless look in his light gray eyes, those black pupils huge and staring back at her, undid her for a moment.

      “This dude don’t take no prisoners, does he?”

      Chuckling, Maya said, “Doesn’t look like it on the surface.”

      “He’s got a face like the Andes.”

      “Yeah, all lava and granite. Tough.”

      “I don’t see compassion in him,” Angel said, feeling energy drain from her. “I’m looking for something face-saving in this guy. I don’t see it.”

      “I think he hides behind that mask in the photo,” Maya said gently. “Don’t panic on me, Paredes. It would be the first time I’ve seen you hit that button.”

      Lifting her head, Angel tried to smile. “Sorry, ma’am. I am rattled.”

      “Look at it this way,” Maya counseled with a twisted smile. “You need help right now because of your injury. Gifford asked for six weeks, to tail you around to see what you do and how you do it as a paramedic for BJS. Let him be your hands while you train him in to help the doctor. He can be like a puppy following at your heels.”

      “What about my, er…other skills, ma’am? I don’t have to show him that, do I?”

      “No. Not unless you think it’s right. We’d at least have a pair of hands here to help us while you recover. He’s a trained paramedic. He can stand in for you, Angel, and help Elizabeth. Overall, it’s a good fit for our present predicament.”

      Mouth thinning, Angel took another look at Gifford’s stiff, almost defiant expression. The man was like a hungry raptor ready to leap out of the photograph and grab her. Strangely, she felt her heart respond. She was confused. Gifford’s face was not forgiving in any way. He was a professional soldier and there was absolutely no softness in him.

      “He doesn’t look like he’s got a drop of sensitivity in him,” she moaned. “The women aren’t gonna like that. We get along better with more responsive types.”

      “Well,” Maya said, “if Gifford tries to strong-arm anyone here, I think they’ll straighten him out pronto, don’t you?”

      Angel saw her C.O. grinning like a jaguar, her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s true, we don’t take guff from anyone—especially men.”

      “Bang on, Paredes. You’re the one who’s gonna be saddled with him, and so you’re the one whose gonna take it on the chin, so to speak. You’re tough, though, and my bet’s on you to stop this guy in his tracks should he decide that just because you’re a woman—and petite—he can ignore you or run over you.”

      Snorting, Angel growled, “He’d better not try.”

      “Yeah.” Maya chortled softly. “Or he’ll be asking for a transfer sooner rather than later. Try to be a bit kind to him? We need him around for at least four to six weeks, until you climb back into the saddle, okay?”

      Feeling a little better, Angel closed the folder, stood up and handed it back. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do my best.”

      “Go tell the doctor what’s comin’ down, will you? And tell her if she has any other questions, to come see me.”

      “I will. I think she’ll be relieved.”

      “I’m sure I’ll hear a whoop and holler from that direction. Gifford’s good at what he does, so he’ll be able to fill your shoes, medically speaking, up to a point.” Maya flashed her glittering, pantherlike smile. “But he’s not the Angel of Death. That’s why I need you to shepherd him around, use his skills, while you get yourself back on your feet ASAP. Okay?”

      Heartened by her C.O.’s belief in her, Angel came to attention. “Yes, ma’am. Music to my ears.”

      “Get out of here, Paredes. Go get some rest and take care of that shoulder like the doc ordered.”

      Angel nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I will, now that we’ve got some help coming our way. I was just worried for the doctor. She’s really busy.”

      “I know.”

      Of course she would know, Angel thought as she saluted.

      “Dismissed, Sergeant. Thanks for dropping by. And try to be kind to Gifford the first couple of days. I’m sure he’s not used to a nearly all-women squadron.”

      Chapter Two

      Where in the hell am I being sent? It was a question Sergeant Burke Gifford asked himself many times as the Bell helicopter moved toward the narrow hole in the lava wall that would allow them entrance to the Black Jaguar Base in the jungle mountains of Peru. He was the only passenger, and had been picked up at the Cuzco airport along with a hefty load of supplies, which were anchored all around him by nylon netting.

      It was early morning, the mists thick and swirling as the chopper hovered, slowly approaching the gaping hole in the black lava wall. Looking between the two front seats, occupied by women pilots, Burke glimpsed the “Eye,” as they called it, for the first time.

      Automatically, he tensed, reaching for the nylon netting around him and