Course of Action: The Rescue: Jaguar Night / Amazon Gold

Two edge-of-your-seat, passionate military stories from bestselling authors Lindsay McKenna and Merline Lovelace…

Jaguar Night by Lindsay McKenna

When a U.S. General’s daughter is kidnapped, Marine Staff Sergeant Josh Patterson is handpicked to rescue her. While they trek through the jungle to safety, her strength and a surprise kiss change everything.

Amazon Gold by Merline Lovelace

U.S. Navy Chief Charlene “Charley” Dawson deftly commands the Riverine patrol boat taking an arrogant U.S. Delta Force Army Sergeant on a very personal op. As she and Jack Halliday penetrate deeper into the Amazon after a rogue ex-pat, they face danger…and unexpected attraction.

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Lindsay McKenna

“Gunfire, emotions, suspense, tension and sexuality abound in this fast-paced, absorbing novel.”

—Affaire de Coeur on Wild Woman

“Talented Lindsay McKenna delivers excitement and romance in equal measure.”

—RT Book Reviews on Protecting His Own

“Lindsay McKenna will have you flying with the daring and deadly women pilots who risk their lives.… Buckle in for the ride of your life.”

—Writers Unlimited on Heart of Stone

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Merline Lovelace

“Merline Lovelace rocks! Like Nora Roberts, she delivers top-rate suspense with great characters, rich atmosphere and a crackling plot!”

—New York Times bestselling author Mary Jo Putney

“Lovelace’s many fans have come to expect her signature strong, brave, resourceful heroines and she doesn’t disappoint.”

—Booklist

“Ms. Lovelace wins our hearts with a tender love story featuring a fine hero who will make every woman’s heart beat faster.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wrong Bride, Right Groom

LINDSAY McKENNA

is proud to have served her country in the U.S. Navy as an aerographer’s mate third class—also known as a weather forecaster. She was a pioneer in the military romance subgenre and loves to combine heart-pounding action with soulful and poignant romance. True to her military roots, she is the originator of the long-running and reader-favorite Morgan’s Mercenaries series. She does extensive hands-on research, including flying in aircraft such as a P3-B Orion sub-hunter and a B-52 bomber. She was the first romance writer to sign her books in the Pentagon bookstore. Today, she has created a new military romantic suspense series, Shadow Warriors, which features romantic and action-packed tales about U.S. Navy SEALs. Visit her online at:

www.lindsaymckenna.com www.twitter.com/lindsaymckenna www.facebook.com/eileen.nauman

MERLINE LOVELACE

A career Air Force officer, Merline Lovelace served at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure with a flair for storytelling, basing many of her tales on her own experiences in the service. Since then she’s produced more than ninety-five action-packed sizzlers, many of which have made the USA TODAY bestseller list. Over twelve million copies of her works have been printed in more than thirty countries.

When she’s not tied to her keyboard, Merline enjoys reading, hitting little white balls around the fairways of Oklahoma, and traveling to new and exotic locales with her husband, Al. Check her website at www.merlinelovelace.com or friend Merline on Facebook for news and information about her latest releases.

Course of Action: The Rescue

Jaguar Night

Amazon Gold

Lindsay McKenna and

Merline Lovelace

Dear Reader,

This September, you may be ushering in a new school year or enjoying the change of season. Be sure to add a little reading indulgence to your day with the latest adrenaline-pumping romances from Mills & Boon Romantic Suspense!

First off, you’ll love the latest military-themed 2-in-1, Course of Action: The Rescue (#1815) written by New York Times bestselling author Lindsay McKenna and USA TODAY bestselling author Merline Lovelace. Here, two couples undertake daring assignments and discover true love. In Return to Copper Lake (#1816) by USA TODAY bestselling author Marilyn Pappano, a black-sheep hero returns home to save his family, never expecting to fall for his nieces’ caretaker…or that he’d bring danger to their door.

Jennifer Morey’s One Secret Night (#1817), the next in her Ivy Avengers miniseries, features a military man who runs into the right woman at the wrong time while tracking a murderer. In Natalie Charles’s When No One Is Watching (#1818), a lawman enlists the aid of a victim in solving a serial killer case but finds himself becoming much more involved than he’d anticipated. Don’t miss these wonderful tales!

As always, we deliver on our promise of breathtaking romance set against a backdrop of suspense. Have a wonderful September, and happy reading!

Sincerely,

Patience Bloom

Senior Editor

Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

About the Authors

Title Page

Dear Reader

Jaguar Night

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

Amazon Gold

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Extract

Copyright

Jaguar Night

Lindsay McKenna

To those men and women who served or are presently serving in the U.S. military. Your sacrifices, patriotism and protection of our country does not go unnoticed. You are all heroes and heroines in my eyes and heart. Words are inadequate for all that you have done or do for us. Thank you for your service.

Chapter 1

Aly Landon would never get used to the heavy Brazilian humidity that cloaked the Amazon jungle. It was as if a visible mist surrounded them. She rode her bay gelding along a path between the spindly trees and dead leaves that littered the gently sloping hill. Above her was a triple canopy of trees, effectively shutting out the sunlight. She missed the sun more than anything. Maybe because she’d been born in San Diego, California, a warm and desertlike city sitting on the sparkling Pacific Ocean.

She heard the snort of Juan’s mule, which he lovingly called Loco—Crazy. Juan Vinas, a Barasana Indian, was in his mid-forties. The man always had a smile on his face. He’d been a godsend to her and the Healing Hands Charity for whom she worked as a nurse. Juan could speak the language and he knew enough English and Portuguese to translate for those who were sick. For Aly, he felt like a beloved uncle and he doted upon her as if she were one of his own children.

Looking up at the cool morning, she loved the way the silent fingers of clouds lowered and wove in and out of the trees just above the canopy; it reminded her of a silent, graceful ballet. Were these soft, undulating fingers clouds or fog? They glided softly through the tallest of trees, slow-motion dancing to an unknown music, but Aly saw the rhythm of it, nevertheless. She loved Brazil’s jungle whether her Marine Corps brigadier general father thought it a safe area or not.

Her heart turned over and Aly felt sadness mixed with grief. Touching her nurse’s uniform, a light blue smock she wore with her light blue slacks, she suddenly frowned. Aly hadn’t heard from her powerful military father in almost three months. But then, he never had paid much attention to her. All his hopes and dreams had been set on Adam, her older-by-two-years brother. Only...he’d died with her mother in a car crash that had taken their lives. Aly had been the only survivor, overcoming massive internal injury. That had been a nightmare year for her. And her father had gone into deep shock over the losses.

When Aly had needed holding the most, he was mired in his own grief to understand that a little twelve-year-old girl in a lonely hospital room ached for her father more than ever before. As always, Harrison Landon was never there for her.

Pushing tendrils of chestnut hair away from her face, Aly dropped the reins on her gelding and made sure her ponytail between her shoulder blades was nice and tight. The path was wide, created thousands of years ago by the local Indians as they’d hunted the jungle for birds, reptiles and wild pigs. The call of tropical birds at this time of morning was music to her ears. Often, Aly wished she could record it. Monkeys howled and screamed nearby, calling out warnings, hurting her ears. They were so noisy and bothersome to the placid, mystical-looking landscape.

She brightened, looking forward to this visit to the village where Juan had been born. There were seventy-five people who still lived in the grass huts. Today, she was going to examine three women who were at different stages of pregnancy. She loved helping pregnant women and new mothers. Babies just made her smile. She would never get enough of holding them, kissing them and cuddling them. In some ways, she had the best job in the world. She brought medicine, knowledge and help to the Indians who had always relied on their medicine man or a shaman. While she didn’t pooh-pooh such healing, Aly knew she brought another tool to their healing chest. Best of all, the Barasana always welcomed her with open arms.

And although it would take her a month to make a complete circuit of the ten villages, there was always a celebration when she and Juan walked into any one of them. It was nice to be wanted, Aly thought warmly, a soft smile on her lips. Wanted, loved and respected.

Juan was lustily singing one of his songs she couldn’t understand. But sometimes when Loco got peevish, the mule would balk. Or bite. And Loco loved Juan’s songs. All of them. And the mule would continue to walk. Aly grinned, turning in her saddle, her hand resting on the rump of her horse. Juan grinned brightly, waving at her. He walked about twenty feet behind her. Aly smiled and wished she knew his language. He was teaching her and she was catching on. Singing meant so much to Aly. In school, she’d always been in the choir.

Her horse suddenly anchored, planting its front feet in the mud. Aly gasped. Grabbing the horse’s black mane, she tried to stop from being thrown off. She caught herself, her foot slipping out of the stirrup. She righted herself, her eyes widening enormously.

There, standing in front of them, were four men of varying heights, with hard looks in their eyes. They each carried a weapon. Gulping, Aly gripped the reins.

Juan came up alongside her, patting her leg as if trying to calm her. Despite his effort, she shivered, feeling terror.

The men glared at her. They were tough and their expressions were unreadable.

One, with black hair and brown eyes, wore two bandoliers of bullets across his chest. The tallest one, a white man with a bald head, narrowed his green eyes and slowly raked her from her head to her breasts.

Her heartbeat quickened. Aly held tightly to the reins, trying to understand the situation. No doubt, these were soldiers. She realized they might be the drug soldiers she’d always heard about, but had never seen in the past two years.

“¡Hola!” Juan said, holding up his hand. “Can we help you?” he asked with a friendly smile.

The bald man ignored him. “Are you Allison Landon?” he demanded of Aly in a deep voice.

Aly blinked, feeling shaky, adrenaline leaking into her bloodstream. “Y-yes, I am. Who are you?” she asked in her best, firm voice.

The bald man grinned, revealing that two of his front teeth were missing.

“Barrosa!”

The man with the bandoliers crossing his massive chest moved forward. His eyes focused on Juan, he walked quickly toward him, pulled the pistol out of his holster and shot the smiling Indian in the head.

Aly screamed.

Her horse jerked, shying away, unseating her.

Aly fell hard to the path. In her peripheral vision, she saw Juan crumple, half his head gone. She’d been spattered by the pink mist, the brain matter clinging to her lower smock and across her thigh. Gasping, she stared at Juan, a sob wrenching from her as she tried to get to her feet.

The man who had shot Juan reached down, grabbed her by her ponytail and jerked her roughly to her feet.

Pain radiated from her scalp and Aly grunted. Her hands flew toward her head. She was yanked forward, nearly losing her footing again on the muddy path. Sobbing, she was pushed down onto her hands and knees in front of the bald soldier, who smiled. But the smile didn’t reach his dead-looking green eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” Aly shrieked, trying to rise. “You killed Juan! You killed him! How could you!”

The bald soldier’s hand snapped out like a snake strike and grabbed her by her shoulder as she got to her feet. “Allison Landon,” he snarled into her face, “do you want to live? Or do you want to join your friend on the ground with a bullet through your head?”

Tears poured out of her eyes and Aly choked, whispering, “N-no, don’t kill me...”

Her mind gyrated. In shock, terrified and grief-stricken by Juan’s murder, Aly tried to stand still. Her chest was rising and falling with sobs she couldn’t control. They’d killed Juan! He’d been a gentle man, a beautiful soul whose only mission had been to make life better for his tribe.

The soldier’s powerful fingers dug deep into her shoulder and the pain radiated outward. Whimpering, Aly tried to escape him, but his fingers only dug deeper. She stopped, trembling, her eyes on his. She saw nothing but a vat of dead green, swampy darkness. There was no leniency, no compassion in this man. Aly tried to stop sobbing. Tried to stop crying, but she couldn’t completely control her emotions.

“You are now the property of Don Gervasio Duarte.” He smiled a little. “Do you know who he is?”

Aly barely nodded, feeling some relief of his fingers digging into her shoulder. If she stood still, if she tried to stop crying, the pain eased. “I—I’ve heard of him...a local drug lord...”

His eyes glittered. “Very good, señorita. You are much smarter than I thought. Now, you are being a good girl. Fight me, try to escape, and I will hurt you. I will rape you. Do you understand?” He leered at her.

His breath was a foul mixture of fish and garlic. Wincing, Aly closed her eyes and turned her face away from his. Instantly his fingers grasped her. She winced, cried out and faced him. His grip eased a little.

“I am Oleg Rusak, Don Duarte’s chief of security. You will remember me. You will always obey me in an instant. If you do not, I will hurt you. ¿Comprende?”

Aly risked a look at the other four soldiers. They were grinning. Their faces were sweat-soaked, dirty and the sour smell of their bodies almost made her gag. “Wh-what do you want?” she whispered brokenly.

Instantly, Rusak’s fingers dug so deep it took Aly to her knees.

Rusak crouched in front of her, his face filled with rage. “You have no voice, bitch! You do not ask questions! You live to obey Don Duarte and me.”

Whimpering, the agony making her lean into his hand, her face so close to his, Aly cried out, “Y-yes, yes, I hear you!”

Rusak released her and stood. “Good. Now get up. You are nothing more than a slave to Don Duarte. You will know your place. You speak only when spoken to. If he tells you to do something, you do it. You never speak unless he asks you to. Understand?”

Yes, she understood, rubbing her shoulder that was surely deeply bruised and currently throbbing. “I understand,” she whispered. What was going to happen to her? Oh, God, she was in such trouble. And no one knew. No one would miss her until she failed to check in this evening by satellite phone with the office in Manaus.

“Mount that horse,” Rusak growled. “And if you think you can kick that animal and gallop away from us, think about this—” He held the AK-47 up in front of her face. “First, we will shoot the horse out from under you. And then—” he grinned a little “—I will tell my men to watch as I rip off your clothes and take you down on this trail.” He rubbed his crotch with his soiled hand, all the while, staring at her. “If you fight, my man will hold your arms above your head. The other one will spread your legs and I will enjoy having my way with you.” He reached out and ran his large hand around the curve of her breast.

Startled, Aly gasped and jerked away.

Rusak slapped her.

Her head exploded. She saw stars behind her eyes; felt her legs crumple beneath her. Aly didn’t even remember hitting the hard, muddy ground. Moments later she woke, her cheek in the cooling mud. She felt more than saw Rusak walk over to her. She barely opened her eyes to stare uncomprehendingly at his large, muddy combat boots. Her head spun. She couldn’t think, her cheek smarting with excruciating pain.

Rusak leaned down, grabbing her by the shoulder and hauled her up with one jerk of his arm. Aly was wobbly as he roughly brought her against him. He smiled down into her cloudy eyes. “You are a slave. You will allow Don Duarte to touch you anytime he wants. If he thinks you are good for his bed, then you will go without a fight and you will please him.” Rusak sneered. “Because if you do not please him, Allison Landon, then he gives his cast-off women to me. And I guarantee you, little girl, you will have met the devil. I will not be kind or gentle with you. Understand?”

Oh, God, yes! She understood. Aly barely nodded, hating the smell of him, wanting to push away from him. But she didn’t dare. He would do something else to her, possibly rape her. She couldn’t fight back. She felt and heard him laugh, the sound harsh against her ears, his breath fetid, nauseating her.

Everything spun and when he pushed her to stand on her own two feet, she started to collapse again. Someone behind her grabbed her around the waist, held her upright and walked her over to the nervous horse. They threw her into the saddle. It was the last thing Aly remembered.

The brutal death of Juan, being captured, slapped and roughly treated, overwhelmed her. Aly had never experienced violence in her life. But now, her last thoughts acknowledged she was in a violent world and there was no escape.

* * *

Staff Sergeant Josh Patterson was in a lot of trouble. He’d been taken off an important op in Afghanistan and ordered to Washington, D.C. For what? What the hell was more important than targeting an HVT? As a Marine Force Recon, he’d worked three weeks on that op, watching through his sniper scope as the Pakistanis crossed across the border into Afghanistan carrying weapons, fertilizer to make IEDs and bombs. A top man, a war lord, had been scheduled to come across. CIA traffic had picked up a lot of chatter so Patterson knew their HVT—high value target—would be crossing any day now.

Yet he was now taking the broad stone steps up to the Pentagon with orders to see a General Landon. The name didn’t ring a bell, but being an enlisted man, Patterson had nothing to do with officers other than to take orders and direction from them.

He pushed his fingers through his recently cut black hair. His beard was gone, as well. He was in Marine desert camos. Since he’d been flying for thirty hours, exhaustion now stalked him. As a sniper, he was used to catching catnaps where and when he could. Having grabbed an Air Force C-17 out of Rota, Spain, he’d opened up his hammock, strung it between two containers on the deck and slept until they’d landed at Andrews Air Force Base.

He hadn’t been to the Pentagon often, but located the visitor’s desk and found out where he was supposed to be. There were seven rings to this building; even to a Recon, the layout was impressive. Finding General Landon’s office, he opened the door and stepped inside. A woman dressed in civilian clothes, in her fifties, smiled.

“Sergeant Patterson?”

He nodded, taking off his utility cap. “Yes, ma’am. Reporting as ordered.”

“Have a seat, Sergeant. I’ll ring the general.”

Patterson sat, sensing tension around the woman. Her smile was fixed. Her eyes showed anxiety. Snipers saw the details. Missing one could get him killed. He’d downed five cups of McDonald’s coffee this morning on the way over. God, it had tasted good. It was one of the few things he’d missed about rich U.S. life.

He heard a buzzer.

“Go right in, Sergeant. General Landon will see you now.”

Patterson opened the door into the large room and saw a man in a dark green wool uniform behind a desk, a deadly look on his face. The general had short black hair with some silver at the temples, dark blue eyes and a bulldog-square face. He was about the sergeant’s height of six feet tall and around his weight, two hundred pounds.

Patterson shut the door, snapped to attention and gave his name and rank.

“At ease, Sergeant,” Harrison said, pointing to the seat in front of the desk. “Sit down.”

Patterson nodded and did so.

“This is a black op, Sergeant,” the general said. Picking up a folder, he pushed it across his spotlessly polished walnut desk.

Knowing Recons sometimes performed black ops, Patterson reached for the file. “Yes, sir.”

“Open it, Sergeant.”

The sergeant did so.

He frowned and did a double take. It was a color photo of a young woman. There was a sprinkling of freckles across her high cheekbones and she had soft blue eyes. Her face was oval-shaped, her eyes wide-spaced. She had mussed ginger-colored hair around her face and lying on her shoulders. She was smiling. And she was happy.

Josh looked up at the general, waiting to be briefed. Under ordinary circumstances, he would find this woman very attractive. She was a natural, wearing no makeup, no lipstick or blush. He instantly liked that about her. She wore a bright red tee that showed off the glint of gold, red and burgundy in the strands of her hair. He didn’t try to guess anything about her. He was sure this scowling general would tell him, so he waited, his hand atop the file on his lap.

“That’s my daughter, Sergeant. Her name is Allison Landon. She’s twenty-seven years old and is in trouble so deep I don’t even know if you can help her.”

Eyes narrowing on the officer, Josh felt the air whoosh out of his lungs. This was his daughter? For the first time he saw the general’s game face crack, momentary terror in his expression. And something else he couldn’t read. “Yes, sir.”

“My daughter is a registered nurse, Sergeant. She works for Healing Hands Charity. It’s a global charity. Presently she’s down in Brazil, in drug-lord badlands.” His mouth thinned and he snarled. “I told her it was dangerous. But she didn’t listen.”

The powerful emotion slapped at Josh. It was invisible. But it was real. He wasn’t sure Allison’s father was more angry than worried. “Sir? Do you want my questions? My input? Or do you want me to sit and listen?”

“Sit and listen, Sergeant. When I’m done briefing you, then you can ask questions.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rubbing his jaw, Landon said, “She’s worked down there for two years. About thirty miles southeast of Manaus, an old rubber town that sits on the Amazon River. Two nights ago Aly—Allison, was supposed to make a prearranged sat call to her supervisor in Manaus. It’s a safety check-in. She was supposed to have arrived at a particular Indian village. But the super never heard from her. Sometimes, sat phones go out. Especially in that kind of heavy humidity, so the super didn’t think much of it. When she didn’t get Allison’s check-in call the second evening, she called the U.S. ambassador’s office in São Paulo, Brazil. That is standard operating procedure. She’s declared Allison missing and unaccounted for.”