Dear Reader,
Freedom fighters have always fascinated me. There is something grand and heroic about struggling to overcome tyranny. I suppose that’s why I traveled to all the sites of our own revolutionary war. It was almost inevitable that I created a story about Ricardo Lázaro, a poet-warrior who was fighting his own battles on the island of Saint Pierre.
The tale of Lara Clavel and Ricardo is romantic and passionate and brimming with adventure but there are still elements of that idealistic search for freedom and a better way of life. It made it more interesting for me that their passion was not only for each other but the liberation of Saint Pierre.
So let Lara and Ricardo take you away to their world where all revolutions are just and lovers can still live happily ever after.
Iris Johansen
PRAISE FOR IRIS JOHANSEN
“Iris Johansen knows how to win instant fans.”
—Associated Press
“Iris Johansen is a powerful writer.”
—The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
“[Iris Johansen is] one of the romance genre’s finest treasures.”
—Romantic Times
“A master among master storytellers.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Johansen serves up a diverting romance and plot twists worthy of a mystery novel.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[Iris] Johansen has … a magical quality.”
—Library Journal
“[Johansen is] a consummate artist who wields her pen with extraordinary power and grace.”
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“Iris Johansen is a bestselling author for the best reason—she’s a wonderful storyteller.”
—Catherine Coulter
“Iris Johansen is incomparable.”
—Tami Hoag
BOOKS BY IRIS JOHANSEN
Magnificent Folly Dead Aim
Notorious Body of Lies
One Touch of Topaz Final Target
Everlasting The Search
And the Desert Blooms The Killing Game
The Treasure The Face of Deception
Lion’s Bride And Then You Die
Golden Valkyrie Long After Midnight
Capture the Rainbow The Ugly Duckling
A Summer Smile Dark Rider
Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea Midnight Warrior
Stalemate The Beloved Scoundrel
An Unexpected Song The Magnificent Rogue
Killer Dreams The Tiger Prince
On the Run Last Bridge Home
Countdown The Golden Barbarian
Blind Alley Reap the Wind
Firestorm Storm Winds
Fatal Tide The Wind Dancer
No One to Trust Tender Savage
ONE
“IT WILL BE dangerous, Miss Clavel,” Paco said gravely. “I won’t lie to you. You could be raped or tortured, even killed.”
Lara Clavel tried to hide her shiver of fear from Paco Renalto’s keen gaze. In the short time she had been in the major’s tent, she had learned that there was a great deal more to Renalto than elfin features and an air of insouciance. He had a sharp, probing intelligence. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He couldn’t have risen to be Ricardo Lázaro’s second in command with only puckish charm to recommend him. She forced a smile. “I really wish you wouldn’t tell me about all these dire things that could happen. I’m scared enough already.”
“You have to be warned. Ricardo wouldn’t permit you to go into such a dangerous situation without your knowing full well what it might cost you. I can’t either.”
“Not even to save the leader of your great revolution?” Lara’s tone was deliberately flippant.
“Not even then.” A sudden smile lit Paco Renalto’s face. “You cannot choose without knowing the facts, and that’s what this revolution is all about. Ricardo wouldn’t thank me for discarding those principles just to save his life.”
“No? I find that hard to believe. Self-preservation is the first law of nature.”
“Some things are worth dying for.” Paco paused. “And so are some people. I’d give my life for Ricardo Lázaro.”
And so would a hundred thousand other revolutionaries on this blasted island in the Caribbean, Lara thought wearily. The man seemed capable of hypnotizing everyone who came in contact with him. Lázaro was not only a brilliant military strategist, but the most charismatic of leaders, and the war he had waged against the Communist junta on Saint Pierre had made headlines around the world for the last nine years. It wasn’t often a figure as dashing as Lázaro came on the scene, and the media had made the most of every opportunity to capitalize on the general’s magnetism. Five years ago Lázaro had smuggled his book Right to Choose out of Saint Pierre and it had become a worldwide bestseller acclaimed both for its philosophy and for its poetic style. A poet and a warrior. How was anyone supposed to fight against a combination like that? She just wished Brett hadn’t been one of those thousands to fall under his spell. She looked intently into Paco Renalto’s eyes. “Yet you caution me against risking my own life for the man.”
“You’re not one of us. You’re an American and you’ve told me yourself you have no sympathy for our cause.” Paco leaned back in his camp chair. “I’ve been with Ricardo since we were students together at the university. He’s closer than a brother to me.”
Brett had been with the revolutionaries for only six months and he expressed the same kind of loyalty to Lázaro—loyalty that had landed him in a wheelchair in a clinic in Barbados. “I don’t have to be one of Ricardo Lázaro’s so-called adorers to help him escape from prison. You said yourself that the fact I’m not a citizen of Saint Pierre is in my favor. The junta’s secret police has no record or fingerprints on file for me.”
“True.” Paco gazed at her thoughtfully. “We could falsify your documents to make sure you appear to be a vulnerable target to Jurado.”
“Jurado?”
“Captain Emilio Jurado. He commands the security police at the Abbey. You’ve heard of the Abbey?”
“Yes.” Everyone in the world knew of the security prison known as the Abbey. Formerly a religious monastery, it had been converted into one of the most horrendous political prisons in the world. Human rights organizations were constantly condemning the atrocities reported to take place there.
“That’s where they’re keeping Ricardo. He’s been there for over five months.”
Lara flinched and her grasp tightened on the wooden arms of her chair. She should have known they’d keep a prisoner of Lázaro’s importance at that hellish place. Dear heaven, what was she doing sitting there in the middle of a military stronghold trying to talk Renalto into letting her help free Lázaro? She wasn’t one of those tough guerrilla women she had seen as she had been led through the camp. She hated even the thought of war. “I’m surprised that Lázaro’s still alive if he’s been at the Abbey that long.”
“They stopped torturing him after the first few weeks. They knew he wouldn’t break and they didn’t want to make a martyr of Ricardo by killing him.” Paco’s lips tightened grimly. “However, they still hope to damage his image by forcing him to betray us. Jurado’s been coming at him from another angle for the last month.”
What kind of man could withstand weeks of torture inflicted by men more sophisticated in the art of cruelty than the priests of the Spanish Inquisition, Lara wondered. “How do you know all this?”
“We have a man at the Abbey. He’s one of Jurado’s officers. We couldn’t get him in the cell block, but he works in Jurado’s office and is occasionally able to exert a certain influence.” Paco looked down at the papers on his desk. “Why are you willing to help us, Miss Clavel?”
“Lara,” she corrected. “And I told you why.”
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He nodded. “I knew your brother well. He’s a brave man.”
“He’s an idealistic idiot who fell under Lázaro’s spell like all the rest of you,” she said bluntly. “And look where it got him.”
“And you don’t consider yourself an idealist?”
“Of course not. I’m as hardheaded as they come. The only reason I’m here is that I know the moment they release my brother from the hospital he’ll be back here on this godforsaken island trying to rescue Lázaro from that prison.” She gestured impatiently. “The doctors say he needs another six months of outpatient therapy, but there’s no way he’ll do it. If I don’t get Lázaro out of prison before he’s released, he’ll be hobbling down here on crutches.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
She was silent a moment longer before she admitted reluctantly, “I owe Ricardo Lázaro. My brother told me your fearless leader was captured because he led the team that rescued Brett’s platoon when they were overrun by the enemy.”
“That’s true.” Paco smiled faintly. “But Ricardo saved many American lives that night, and the members of those men’s families didn’t come rushing down to save his neck.”
“I pay my debts.” She met his gaze. “Will you use me or not?”
He gazed at her a long moment. “I don’t like it.”
“But you’ll do it?”
“Yes.” Paco’s smile faded. “The war has come to a standstill without Ricardo. We need someone in that prison, and getting a woman in will be far easier, according to what our man at the Abbey tells us.” He shrugged. “As I said, I don’t like it, but for the good of Saint Pierre we’re forced into many decisions we don’t like.”
“The good of Saint Pierre or the good of Ricardo Lázaro?”
“Ricardo Lázaro is Saint Pierre.” For an instant Renalto’s face was illuminated with the same expression Lara had seen on her brother’s face when he had spoken of Lázaro. “You’ll realize that when you meet him.”
“If I don’t get killed first,” she said lightly.
Paco didn’t smile.
“I was joking.”
“I know. You’re frightened and you think to hide it with laughter.”
“I’m not frightened. I’m just—” She broke off as she met his gaze. “Well, perhaps a little.”
“It’s all right to be frightened.” Paco leaned forward and gently covered her hand with his own. “We’ll do all we can to protect you. If it’s any comfort to you, Ricardo is worth any risk.”
She moistened her dry lips with her tongue. “I’m not sure anyone is worth this kind of risk. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Brett inherited all the swashbuckler qualities in the family. I’m not at all brave.”
“No?” He smiled curiously. “It wasn’t easy for you to come to a war-torn country like Saint Pierre, and it must have been even harder to find someone to bring you to me. Perhaps you’re braver than you think.”
She shook her head. “I’m only doing what I have to do. There’s nothing brave about that.” She straightened her shoulders and continued briskly, “Now, tell me what I have to do to get Lázaro out of that prison.”
“You won’t like it.” His gaze focused soberly on her face. “And you’ll have to do it alone. If you told Ricardo what we’re planning, he wouldn’t let you make—”
“Dear me, are you taking away Lázaro’s ‘right to choose’?” she asked with a touch of mockery.
“Yes, and he’ll curse me for it.” He shook his head wearily. “But we need him.”
“Then stop warning me and tell me how to get your god out of the Abbey.”
“Ricardo isn’t a—” He stopped and shrugged. “Ricardo has to be experienced. You’ll see.”
There was no question of that fact, Lara thought grimly. If Renalto’s plan worked, she was sure she would see considerably more of Ricardo Lázaro than would make her comfortable.
The woman was barefoot.
Ricardo Lázaro’s hands tightened on the bars of the window as he watched Jurado propel the woman across the courtyard from the direction of his office. It was close to noon and the flagstones must have been burning hot beneath the soles of the woman’s small feet. Why the hell hadn’t the bastard given her shoes to wear?
Lord, he had been here too long. Why was he worrying about the woman’s lack of shoes when she would soon probably be suffering far more pain? Jurado seldom gave a prisoner his august personal attention unless there was information to be extracted.
The woman looked to be little more than a child, he thought with compassion, small and fine-boned with long fair hair of a shade somewhere between tan and gold. Jurado’s goon squad must have torn her from her bed, for she wore only a loose white cotton-gauze gown with a high round neck that buttoned down the front.
She wore nothing beneath the gown.
And she wasn’t a child.
As she drew closer, he could see the generous swell of her breasts pressing against the bodice of the gown and glimpsed the dark pink of her nipples through the sheer cotton gauze. The blood rushed to his groin in an arousal as involuntary as it was primitive. He closed his eyes so that he could no longer see her. Self-disgust poured through him, and his hands tightened on the bars as he struggled to subdue his physical response. He was no mindless animal to lust after Jurado’s prisoner. He should be feeling only sympathy and anger for the poor woman.
He opened his eyes and the lust was still there.
She was a woman of gold, he mused. Her skin was a rich honey shade, glowing with silky health. She walked with a springy grace that caused the gauzy gown to flow sensually around her hips, revealing the dark shadow of her womanhood. His gaze lingered on that shadow in helpless fascination as he felt the thick throb in his loins intensify until it became pain. Jurado had almost reached the door of the cell block and she stood in the courtyard, only yards away from Ricardo. He saw her hesitate, tense, brace herself as the door of the block swung open. She was very frightened.
Suddenly the lust dominating Ricardo was joined by another sensation just as powerful. He felt an agonizing need to protect her from what she had to face beyond that door.
Jurado pushed her inside the cell block and the door closed behind them.
Ricardo’s teeth clenched in frustration. Control. The isolation he had suffered had made every reaction and emotion painfully sharp. He couldn’t let himself be torn apart like this or Jurado would win. He wouldn’t have survived physical torture only to be defeated in the psychological battle the captain was now waging.
He heard the sound of boots on the flagstones of the hall and unconsciously tensed. No other prisoner occupied this section of the block and he knew those steps. He had come to recognize them, wait for them, during those endless weeks of torture. Jurado was bringing the woman here.
He should have guessed Jurado’s purpose, but this woman didn’t have the voluptuous appeal of the others the captain had chosen. Yet, as he remembered the sensual delicacy of her body, he felt again a stirring he knew Jurado would notice if he turned away from the window to face him.
“I have something for you, Lázaro.” The door swung open behind him and he heard Jurado thrust the woman forward into the cell. “A pretty little pullet to while away the long hours. Turn around and look at her.”
Ricardo’s spine stiffened, but he didn’t move. His senses were so acutely aroused that even across the wide space separating them he could hear the light, rapid sound of her breathing and could catch her heady, sweet fragrance. With effort he kept his tone light and mocking. “Again, Jurado? I should think you’d give up. Do you consider the third time lucky?”
“Ah, but this one is different. I admit I made a mistake in judgment before. I should have known those other whores would never tempt a man of your discrimination. I thought their extraordinary talents might be an inducement that would make you overlook—”
“You’re wasting your time. I don’t need a woman.”
“Oh
, but you do.” Jurado must have pushed the woman forward because her scent was stronger. “Though your followers claim you have superhuman powers of self-control and self-discipline, you’re a man like any other. A very earthy man. Our informants tell us you generally require a woman several times a week.” He added softly, “And it’s been more than five months, Lázaro.”
“I really didn’t notice.” Ricardo’s lips twisted sardonically. “You’ve made every moment of my stay here at the Abbey so very entertaining.”
“We need to know the location of your arms cache.” Jurado shrugged. “We didn’t think torture would break you, but we had to try.”
“And you enjoyed every minute of it.”
“Of course. You’ve evaded us for over eight years. By the time we captured you, I had a great deal of frustration to release. Frustration is a terrible thing, isn’t it, Lázaro? And sexual frustration is more terrible than any other for a man. Now turn around and look at her. She’s clean and pretty and her hair shines like sunlight.”
Ricardo released the bars and carefully kept his gaze from the woman as he slowly turned to face Jurado. “And no doubt you found her in the same bordello as you did the others.”
“No, this one’s a prisoner, just like you.” Jurado touched the shining wing of hair at the woman’s temple. “Her name’s Lara Albert. She was picked up at the airport trying to leave the country with several thousand dollars in our currency. She said no one told her our currency was not allowed out of Saint Pierre.” He added in English, “Say hello to the gentleman, Lara.”
The woman remained silent.
Again in English he asked, “Don’t you wish to greet the great hero of the revolution? How rude of you, my dear.” Jurado gently stroked her hair back from her face. “You’ll have to teach her better manners, Lázaro.”
Ricardo felt a sudden fierce surge of rage as he saw Jurado’s hand stroking her. Lord, what was wrong with him? He carefully masked his expression. “You don’t need trouble with the United States. Let her go.”