Commando. Lindsay McKenna

she’s so close to, but she said no Indian would ever sell the land, because it isn’t ours to sell. She asked me one time, ‘How can you sell Mother Earth? We’re her children. All we can do is steward, not greedily buy and sell it.’ Can you imagine? My own daughter calling me greedy because I buy and sell land?”

      “Sounds like a cultural difference of opinion,” Morgan murmured.

      Jake liked Shah’s attitude. He didn’t particularly care for greedy people, whatever their business. “What makes you think your daughter’s in trouble?” he asked.

      Travers snorted and came over to them. He put his hands on his hips. “Shah goes out of her way to get into trouble. This isn’t the first time, you know. She married that no-good half-breed Sioux when I told her not to—that it was a mistake. Well, it turned out to be one hell of a mistake. Shah’s divorced from him now, but she had to be put in the hospital by that alcoholic husband of hers before she came to her senses.” He nailed Jake with a dark look. “My daughter lives for confrontation. Being physically attacked doesn’t bother her. It’s almost as if she expects it. Well, I’ve put too much money into her education to let her waste it, or herself, on some damned trees in the Amazon!”

      “Calm down, Ken,” Morgan ordered. “Do you know what her exact assignment in Brazil is?”

      “No. As I said, I just found out from my ex-wife that Shah left a month ago for Brazil.”

      “And what do you want us to do?” Morgan asked quietly.

      “Bring her home! Get her out of there!”

      “If she has a valid passport, approved by the Brazilian government, and she wants to stay, there’s nothing we can do,” Jake pointed out.

      “Kidnap her, then!”

      Morgan grimaced. “Mr. Travers, we’re not in the kidnapping business. We’re in the business of providing protection and help to those who ask for it. But in this case, your daughter isn’t asking us for help, you are.”

      “I can’t believe this! I’ll pay you any amount of money to bring her out of Brazil! Shah should be home!”

      Ordinarily, so soon after returning from a mission, Jake would be falling asleep in his chair, but this time he wasn’t. He liked what he heard about Shah—a woman who evidently believed deeply and passionately in something beyond herself. It was too bad more Americans didn’t have that kind of commitment.

      “Maybe,” Jake said, glancing over at Morgan, “I could go down there and be a bodyguard of sorts.” He turned to Travers. “I won’t bring back your daughter against her will. Kidnapping is against the law in every nation in the world. What I can do is be there to protect her if she gets into trouble.”

      Morgan nodded. “Okay, that’s what we can do, Mr. Travers. Jake is ideal for the mission, and I don’t see a problem in him being a bodyguard for your daughter. What I want you to understand is, Jake won’t haul her out of Brazil unless she wants to go.”

      Looking defeated, Travers spun on his heel. “I guess it’s better than nothing,” he muttered. He halted and turned his head in Jake’s direction. “But I want you to do your damnedest to convince her to leave Brazil as quickly as possible. Can you do that?”

      With a shrug, Jake finished off the last of the coffee and cookie. “No promises, Mr. Travers. Your daughter is an adult, mature and educated enough to know what she’s doing. All I can do is wage a diplomatic campaign to try to get her to see your side of the issue.”

      “Then,” Travers said unhappily, “I guess that’s what I’ll have to settle for.” He took a photo out of his wallet and handed it to Morgan. “That’s my daughter. You’ll need to know what she looks like.”

      Morgan got up and came around the desk. “My assistant will have a number of papers for you to fill out and sign. She’ll take you to another office to complete them. When you’re done, we’ll talk some more.”

      “Fine.”

      Jake watched Travers leave. Marie entered with Morgan’s box lunch and set it on his desk. When she’d left, Jake stood up and placed his coffee cup on the silver tray.

      “That guy has problems,” Jake began seriously. He returned to his chair by Morgan’s desk. Curiosity was eating him alive as he leaned forward to look at the small color photo of Shah Sungilo Travers.

      Morgan smiled. “I don’t care for his abrasive attitude, that’s for sure. Go on, take a look at her.”

      Jake picked up the photo and studied it intently. Shah looked Native American, from her braided black hair to her light brown eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth and oval-shaped face. The photo was a close-up, but Jake could see that she was wearing a deerskin dress that was beaded and fringed. In her hair was a small eagle feather, along with several other decorations that hung to one side of her head. Her braids were wrapped in some kind of fur.

      “She looks like she stepped out of the past,” Jake said, more to himself than to Morgan.

      “Doesn’t she?”

      “If she’s half-white, she doesn’t look it.”

      Morgan nodded and continued slowly eating his sandwich. “You looked interested, Jake,” he noted after he swallowed.

      “Maybe.”

      With a chuckle, Morgan wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “That’s one of your many traits that I like, Jake—you’re noncommittal.”

      Jake had to admit that he was feeling anything but noncommittal as he continued to study the photograph of Shah. She wasn’t smiling; she had a very thoughtful look on her face. Pride radiated from her in the way she stood, shoulders squared, with a glint of defiance in her wide, intelligent eyes. But there was something else, something that Jake sensed and felt but couldn’t put his finger on. What was it? Was that a haunted look he saw in her eyes?

      “I wonder how old she was when this photo was taken.”

      “Why?”

      “Dunno.” Jake laid the photo back on Morgan’s desk. “Travers is hiding something from us,” he said.

      “I think so, too.”

      “But what?”

      “I don’t know.” Morgan offered Jake some potato chips. Jake took a handful and munched methodically, frowning as he considered the question.

      “Travers seems more angry than anything else,” Morgan offered.

      “Not exactly what I’d call the concerned-parent type,” Jake agreed dryly.

      “He’s posturing, that’s for sure,” Morgan said. “It’s obvious he’s a real controller and manipulator.”

      Jake chuckled. “Yeah, and it sounds like his daughter rebelled very early on and leads her life the way she sees fit.”

      “Travers is also prejudiced against Indians.”

      “Noticed that, did you?” Jake rolled his eyes.

      “I know you’re a walking encyclopedia of knowledge….” Morgan said.

      “I prefer to think of myself as a philosopher,” Jake corrected, “despite being an ex-marine.”

      “And a mercenary,” Morgan added. “So how much do you know about Indians?”

      “Native Americans is the preferred term,” Jake noted. “A little. Enough to realize that Shah is like some of the younger generation of Native Americans who are trying to reclaim their heritage. Her fierce pride isn’t unusual.”

      “Ever been on a reservation?”

      “Once, a long time ago. I had a marine friend who was Navajo, and I went home with him for Christmas one year. His folks lived near Gallup, New Mexico, and they had a hogan made out of wood and mud. I stayed with