Till Death Us Do Part

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Readers,

An author’s heroines and heroes are like her children. They have their faults. And sometimes they give us fits. But we love them dearly, and want the best for them.

Of course, there’s always a lot that happens in a 43 Light Street book before the payoff. You’ve probably noticed that we put our characters through terrible trials—to bring them to an emotional peak and force them to display their heroic qualities under enormous pressure. But we also introduce them to a soul mate—the perfect someone with whom they can live happily ever after.

That’s why we’re so thrilled to be writing Jed Prentiss’s story. In the third Peregrine book, In Search of the Dove, we put Jed through the tortures of the damned. We hoped we’d get to write his story in a fourth Peregrine novel. But he’s had to wait almost ten years for his own book. We’ve had a long time to think about the perfect woman for him. She had to be strong, so she could stand up to him. She had to be spirited to attract him. And she had to be vulnerable to bring out his protective instincts. We think Marissa Devereaux fits the bill. And we hope you agree.

All the best,

Rebecca York

(Ruth Glick and Eileen Buckholtz)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Marissa Devereaux—She’d walked into a deadly trap. Now only one man could save her, if she dared accept the bargain he offered.

Jed Prentiss—The former Peregrine agent had taken an assignment that might get him killed.

Miguel Sanchez—The general had an iron grip on San Marcos. How far could Marissa and Jed trust him?

William Johnson—What was the Texan really doing in San Marcos.

Louis Rinaldo—The tough-looking Minister of Development had worked his way up from street-gang member to cabinet officer.

Thomas Leandro—The balding professor spouted Marxist doctrine, but where were his loyalties?

Pedro Harara—The banker was waiting for Marissa to make a false step.

Madre Flora—How much influence did the wise old woman wield on General Sanchez’s fiefdom?

Clarita Sanchez—Was the general’s daughter jealous enough to kill Marissa?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

It required effort to keep the smile on his face.

With his thoughts in sudden turmoil and his fingers tightening dangerously around a tumbler of planter’s punch, Jed Prentiss stared across the crowded room at the woman with the upswept golden curls. Was that Marissa? Here to screw things up for him—again.

The minister of economic development asked him a question, and he replied automatically in Spanish. At the same time he shifted slightly to the right to catch another look at the blonde through the crowd.

She turned with a graceful motion to put a champagne flute down on a passing waiter’s tray, and he got a glimpse of her face. He was right. It was Marissa Devereaux. He’d recognize that silky hair anywhere. It crowned a heart-shaped face with innocent-looking blue eyes, a petite nose and a mouth that could twist facts and half truths together so adroitly you didn’t know you’d been had until the middle of the next week.

In fact, she was almost as good at undercover work as he was. Except that she took foolish chances. As if she had nothing to lose.

Damn! She was the last person he wanted to see. What the hell was she doing in San Marcos—much less at a party being held at Miguel Sanchez’s town house? What possible reason would San Marcos’s army commander in chief have for inviting her? Jed couldn’t think of one.

After promising that he’d talk with the minister about mining loans later in the week, he excused himself and made his way across the room. The nearer he got to Marissa, the more burningly aware of her he became. He couldn’t possibly be close enough to smell her perfume, yet he imagined the scent of gardenia drifting toward him. She was wearing a little black dress that she probably didn’t think of as sexy. But it emphasized her narrow waist and sassy little hips. He hadn’t seen the front, but he knew it would be clinging to her high, firm breasts.

He scowled. He’d better keep his mind on business.

He could see she was finishing a conversation with Thomas Leandro, the outspoken university professor who’d made his reputation with pie-in-the-sky blueprints for turning the Central American republic into a socialist paradise. The professor was on Jed’s list, too. But he could wait.

When Leandro went off toward the buffet table, Jed stepped into Marissa’s path. Her cheeks took on a hint of heightened color, and her blue eyes widened and darkened: but the momentary lapse was her only betrayal of surprise—or anything else.

No matter how many times they met, he was never prepared for her reaction to him. As if she were suppressing strong emotions she didn’t want him to read—or couldn’t acknowledge. Whenever he’d tried to find out what was going on below the surface of those beautiful blue eyes, they had iced over. The rebuffs had hurt his ego. He’d vowed never to let it happen again.

“Jed. How nice to see you. Are you here on behalf of the Global Bank?”

Smooth, he thought. As if they were nothing more than friendly colleagues who traveled in the same business circles.

“Yes,” he replied, matching her coolness.

They studied each other carefully.

What was she planning for the evening, he wondered. Did she already know he’d be prowling the same turf? Or was she as unpleasantly surprised as he had been? Only one of them was going to leave the capital city with the evidence he’d come to steal. He was going to make damn sure of that.

“You’re a long way from Baltimore,” he remarked.

She hesitated before replying. “Yes.”

“So what brings you to San Marcos?”

“Oh, you know. My usual. I’m scouting out off-the-beaten-track vacation locations for Adventures in Travel.”

“Latch onto anything exciting?”

“I should be able to set up a jungle trip to some partially excavated Mayan ruins. And there are excellent snorkeling and diving opportunities along the coral reef. I think I can guide visitors to a stingray feeding location.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Not when you know what you’re doing.”

“Be careful.”

“Oh, I will.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Miguel Sanchez.”

“I don’t. Ted Bailey at the embassy was kind enough to get me on the guest list.”

“Then you’re on assignment for the State Department?”

“No.”

It was a good bet she was lying. He knew she often mixed undercover work for Victor Kirkland at State with travel agency research. He was about to probe a little further when one of the uniformed staff approached them.

“Señorita Devereaux?”

“Sí.”

“Teléfono para usted.”

She gave Jed an apologetic look. “I’ll see you later.”

“Expecting an important call?”

For a split second she looked as if she weren’t sure how to reply. Then she shrugged and followed the man who had delivered the message.

As Jed watched the servant lead her toward a back hall, he wondered if there was some way he could listen in on the phone conversation.

He’d memorized the floor plan of the house. There was another access to the hall, from a door off the enclosed patio.

As if he had nothing more important to do than get a breath of fresh air, he wandered casually toward the French doors.

When he stepped onto the stone terrace, the tropical night, rich with the scent of flowers, enveloped him. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As they did, he went very still. Marissa had come out the side door he’d been heading for and was walking rapidly toward the far wing of the house where the office complex was located. The office complex that was strictly off-limits to everyone except Sanchez and his handpicked staff. Jed had heard stories of summary executions of suspected spies caught there.

Didn’t Marissa know the risk she was taking? For that matter, didn’t she know there was a guard? Jed’s gaze probed the darkness.

There was supposed to be a guard. He didn’t seem to be in sight. Had Marissa taken care of him? Jed cursed under his breath. This was just the kind of audacious maneuver she was so good at pulling off.

He was about to follow her; then, before he could, he saw a figure ooze out of the shadows like a night creature crawling out from under a rock. Without making a sound, the man padded after her.

The hair on the back of Jed’s neck stood on end as if a cold breeze had blown across the patio. Marissa was in deep banana oil. Unless he could stop her before she reached the office wing.

* * *

ABOVE THE SOUND of the mariachi band playing at the party, Marissa thought she heard a voice nearby. Her whole body went rigid while she waited for a large hand to clamp down on her shoulder. When the blow didn’t fall, she sprinted the rest of the way to the office wing. The heavy door was unlocked. That had been part of the deal. Jerking it open, she threw herself inside and stood with her shoulders pressed against the carved mahogany.

The door at her back gave her only a partial feeling of security. Now that she was here, she wished she’d come up with some other plan to get the information Victor wanted. Even for her, this was taking a hefty chance.

But it should work out all right.

She’d paid enough bribes to supplement the San Marcos military budget for six months.

Still, as she struggled to bring her breathing into normal range she peered down the hallway searching for signs of life. The place was as silent as a tomb. The only illumination came from a pair of ornate sconces that looked as if they held fifteen-watt bulbs. Since the electricity in San Marcos was likely to be off for half of any twenty-four-hour period, the low wattage made sense. Probably Sanchez was using his own generating plant and needed the bulk of his power supply tonight for the party.

Her high heels sounded like a flamenco dancer as she started down the polished tile passageway. Slipping off her pumps, she looked nervously over her shoulder, half expecting to see Jed Prentiss behind her striding down the hall to catch up. If anyone bollixed up things tonight, it would be him!

All she’d needed a half hour ago, as she was psyching herself for this raid, was to glance up and discover him stalking his way toward her like a jaguar about to pounce on a tethered goat.

Her hands clamped down so tightly on her evening bag that her fingernails dug into the expensive fabric. When she realized what she was doing, she loosened her grip. She’d come here to do a job. And she would finish it and reappear at the party before anyone noticed she was missing.

As she began to tiptoe down the hall again, shoes in hand, she cursed herself for not knowing more about Jed’s recent activities. Then again, she hadn’t had time to brush up on every agent who’d worked in Latin America before she’d come to San Marcos. She’d better stop obsessing about him before she made some kind of fatal mistake.

With a quick glance at her watch, she saw that three minutes had elapsed since she’d ducked out of the party. That left only a little more than fifteen to get in and out of here with the goods Victor was paying her to bring home.

At least Sanchez’s office was on the ground floor, she thought as she turned the corner and started for the end of the hall. She felt less exposed as soon as she’d stepped into the anteroom and quietly shut the door behind her.

The room was spartan, with a secretary’s desk, a few wooden chairs and some filing cabinets. Marissa gave them only a quick glance. The good stuff was in Sanchez’s private office under lock and key.

Victor had briefed her on the likely places to look, so she went straight to his desk and knelt behind it. His most confidential files were in the two bottom drawers. Willing steadiness into her hands, she extracted a small case from her evening bag. What appeared to be a manicure set was really a set of lock-picking tools. A quick look through the contents of the first drawer told her that she’d struck out. And she only had ten minutes left.

Teeth clenched, she worked the other lock. Then she came across a stack of coded papers neatly filed in manila folders. She couldn’t read the text. But this was what Victor had told her to look for.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she placed the first one in the center of the desk blotter and got out the small camera disguised as a lipstick. Methodically she began snapping pictures of the incriminating letters and other documents.

She was almost finished when a noise in the hall made the hair on her scalp bristle.

Someone was coming!

Sweeping the papers into the folder, she had them back in place and the drawer locked again in fifteen seconds.

Now all she had to do was get out of here. And quickly. A desperate glance at the barred window told her she wasn’t going to escape in that direction. With camera and evening bag clutched in her hand, she bolted for the only other possibility—the general’s private bathroom.

* * *

“ERES TU?”

Jed stopped dead on the path, just managing to avoid crashing into a young Hispanic woman who had stepped out of the darkness to block his progress.

“Let me by,” he answered in Spanish, only half hearing her words as he tried to push past her to get to Marissa.

Her fingers clamped onto the sleeve of his dinner jacket. “Jed. It’s really you. I thought at first I’d made you up.”

She stopped abruptly, looking furtively from side to side as if she were terrified of being overheard. The urgency of her touch arrested him, and he peered at her more closely. There was something familiar about her face. But on the darkened patio he couldn’t place her.

“I must—”

“It’s Clarita,” she interrupted. “Don’t you know me? I’m so glad you came back to see us.”

The features resolved themselves into familiar lines. Clarita. Miguel Sanchez’s daughter. She was more mature now. A girl on the verge of womanhood. She’d been eleven when Jed had been here six years ago helping the general train his troops. He’d recognized her as the neglected child of a rich man who had more important things to do than worry about his offspring’s happiness. When he’d come home from the training camp with Miguel on the weekends, he’d tried to make a small difference in the little girl’s life.

“I heard them talking about you, so I took a peek at the guest list for the party,” she told him. “I knew you would be here. Like old times. When everything was simple.” Her tone was high and wistful, as if she longed for the past.

“Clarita, I can’t stay here and talk to you now.”

She continued as if she hadn’t heard. “It’s all right. Do you remember how you taught my parrot to say ‘no sweat’?” she asked eagerly. “He still remembers. Come see.”

While she prattled on about the fun they’d had together, time was ticking by for Marissa. She had disappeared minutes ago—along with the man who was following her.

He forced a false heartiness into his response. “It’s great to see you again, but I have important business to take care of. We’ll talk later. Okay?” Gently but firmly he disengaged Clarita’s fingers from his sleeve and started toward the offices at a rapid clip, praying he wasn’t too late.

She stayed right behind him. “No!”

The strangled rasp was like fingernails scraping across a blackboard.

“I’ll come right back, niña,” he promised, using the old endearment.

“I’m not a little girl anymore! And you must not go into the office wing. I know the rules. It’s not allowed. They’ll shoot you if they catch you.”

“It’s okay. The general knows,” he lied. Anything to set her mind at ease.

“I don’t think so.” She looked almost frenzied as she reached to grab hold of him again. “Jed, I can’t let you do it.”

He peered into her eyes and knew instinctively that if he tried to wrench himself away she’d start to scream. Then every guard in the place would come charging onto the patio to find out what he was doing to her. And when Marissa came back out, they’d be here waiting for her.

He began talking in a low, soothing voice, telling Clarita it was all right. Telling her that nothing was going to happen to him. That he’d come back to her in a few minutes.

But all the time he was talking, he had the sick feeling that he was already too late.

* * *

MARISSA’S GAZE DARTED around the little room as she locked the door behind her.

There was a small window. But it was also barred.

Someone rattled the knob and began to pound on the door.

“Come out of there!” a voice commanded in Spanish.

“Just a minute,” she answered in the same language, expecting a large fist to splinter the wood.

Sink. Toilet. Medicine cabinet. Tile floor.

Marissa looked down at the camera still clutched in her hand. If she didn’t want to get caught with the incriminating evidence, she’d have to flush it down the toilet. If it would go down the toilet. Or maybe she could just flush the film.

“Come out or I’ll shoot through the door,” the angry voice demanded.

Desperate now, she thrust her hand into her purse to check for the empty film wrapper. Her fingers closed around the small zip-lock container in which she’d stowed the pills that were supposed to keep you from getting Montezuma’s revenge.

It was big enough to hold the camera. Did she dare?

Ignoring the pounding on the door, she emptied the pills into the toilet bowl. Then she slipped her camera and film wrapper into the bag, squeezed out the air and sealed the strip across the top. Working as quietly as she could, she lifted the lid on the tank and thrust the plastic bag inside, hardly able to breathe as she watched it sink to the bottom.

The whole operation seemed to take hours. She knew only seconds had passed as she flushed the pills away and rustled her clothing as if she were putting herself back together after using the facilities.

“You have ten seconds, or I’ll shoot.”

“No. Please.” Marissa didn’t have to fake the panic rising in her voice as she tried to unlock the door. The mechanism stuck, and her fingers stung as she twisted the lever.

As soon as she’d snapped the lock open, the doorknob flew out of her hand. Wide-eyed, she backed away, staring at the man who stood with a gun trained on her chest. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he had the look of a policeman.

“I said come out of there.” With his free hand he grabbed her wrist and yanked her roughly out of the bathroom. “What were you doing in Jefe’s office?” he snapped.

“What a question. You can see what I was doing. The ladies’ room was occupied.” Even as she did her best to look embarrassed, she was evaluating the odds of getting away from an armed man. Not good. “I had to find another quickly. It was an emergency.”

“No one is allowed in this wing of the house.”

“I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How did you get in?”

She gestured vaguely. “I—I just walked through the door.”

“It was locked!”

“No.” She shook her head as if she were a bewildered tourist caught trying to snap a forbidden picture of the treasures in the cathedral. But her heart was pounding so hard that she could hardly catch her breath.

He kept the gun pointed at her while he picked up the phone, dialed a number and spoke into the receiver.

His voice was low, his Spanish rapid. But she caught enough to know that her goose was cooked. He was calling for reinforcements.

When he returned his full attention to her, his eyes were hard.

Marissa tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

Pointedly he looked down at her stocking feet and then at the shoes she’d set down on the desk. “You’re going to give me some straight answers, señorita, or you are going to be truly sorry.”

Chapter Two

Jed heard several pairs of feet hammer against the paving stones. He whirled and cursed as four khaki-clad soldiers moving in tight formation came dashing along the path from the direction of the guard station. They all carried machine guns, and they looked as if they were on their way to the offices to foil an assassination attempt.

“Holy mother!” Clarita whispered a more ladylike version of Jed’s muttered exclamation. Her eyes grew large, and the blood drained from her face. “I told you,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous to go there.”

“They’re not after you.” Jed reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She ducked away from his grasp and ran toward the bedroom wing of the house.

She had the right idea, Jed thought as he watched her disappear into the safety of the interior. He should probably blast out of here, too, while the blasting was good. He knew how Miguel Sanchez treated spies and how his twisted logic could quickly turn a friend into an enemy.

He glanced toward the lighted windows of the reception hall, wondering if anyone else had heard the guards. The guests were all drinking and eating and talking as before. Apparently the mariachi music had drowned out the sounds from the patio. Or perhaps no one chose to acknowledge the disturbance.

He was on his own. And so was Marissa.

His chest tightened as he strode rapidly after the soldiers.

One of them was standing at attention in front of the door of the office wing. Too bad it wasn’t a man he’d helped train.

“Qué pasa?” he asked.

“This area is off-limits, señor.”

“I’m Jed Prentiss, a good friend of General Sanchez.”

The guard shifted the machine gun in his grasp, as if he were unsure about aiming the gun at a good friend of El Jefe. Yet he obviously had his orders. “You’d better go back to the party.”

Jed stood his ground.

The sentry, who’d probably never had his authority questioned before, looked uncomfortable.

The stalemate lasted less than a minute until the rest of the armed contingent returned. The soldiers were escorting a man in civilian clothes who had a firm hold on a woman’s arm.

It was Marissa.

Until Jed actually saw her being frog-marched down the hall, he realized he’d been hoping against hope that some other crisis had prompted the summoning of the guards.

Her face was paper white. It went a shade paler when she spotted him with the sentry, and he knew in that instant that she was thinking he was the one who’d turned her in.

“What’s he doing here?” the civilian snapped.

“He says he’s a good friend of El Jefe, sir.”

“Go back where you belong,” the man in charge said in clipped tones.

All at once the perfumed air of the tropical night was suffocating. This wasn’t the good old U.S. of A. where you were presumed innocent until proven guilty. This was the sovereign republic of San Marcos where a two-bit official could slap you in jail and throw away the key on the word of an underworld informant.