LITMIR.BIZ

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saint.”

      “What then?”

      “A twenty-five-year-old woman who was orphaned at birth, and who is responsible for protecting the Indian people of the Amazon.”

      “Why her?”

      “She’s a member of the Jaguar Clan,” Mike said, sitting down and relaxing. “You’re Native American. You have your societies up here in the north. Down in South America, they’re known as clans. One and the same.”

      “Okay,” Roan said, “like a hunters’ society? Or a warriors’ society?”

      “Yes, specialists. Which is why the societies were created—to honor those who had skills in a specific area of need for their community. The welfare and continuing survival of their families and way of life depends on it.”

      “So, the Jaguar Clan is…what?”

      “What kind of society?” Mike sighed. “A highly complex one. It’s not easy to define. Your mother, I understand, was a Yuwipi medicine woman of the Lakota people. She was also known as a shape-shifter?”

      Roan nodded. “That’s right.”

      “The Jaguar Clan is a group of people from around the world who possess jaguar medicine. They come from all walks of life. Their calling is to learn about their jaguar medicine—what it is and what it is capable of doing. It is basically a healers’ clan. That is why Inca would never fire first. That is why she defends well, but never attacks. Her calling is one of healing—in her case, to help heal Mother Earth. She does this by being a Green Warrior in Brazil, where she was born.”

      “The colonel called her a sorceress.”

      “Inca has many different powers. She is not your normal young woman,” Mike warned him. “Combine that with her passion for protecting the people of the Amazon, the mission she is charged with, and her confidence and high intelligence, and you have a powerful woman on your hands. She doesn’t suffer fools lightly or gladly. She speaks her mind.” Mike grinned. “I love her like a sister, Roan. I don’t have a problem with her strength, her moxie or her vow of healing Mother Earth and protecting the weak from drug runners. Most men do. I figured you wouldn’t because, originally, Native American nations were all matriarchal, and most still have a healthy respect for what women have brought to the table.”

      “Right, I do.”

      “Good. Hold that perspective. Inca can be hardheaded, she’s a visionary, and she can scare the living hell out of you with some of her skills. They call her the jaguar goddess in the basin because people have seen her heal those who were dying.”

      “And do you trust Marcellino not to try and kill her?”

      “No,” Mike said slowly, “and that is why you’ll have to be there like a rock wall between them. You’ll need to watch out for Inca getting shot in the back by him or one of his men. You’re going to be in a helluva fix between two warring parties. Inca has a real dislike for the military. According to her, they’re soft. They don’t train hard. They don’t listen to the locals who know the land because they are so damned arrogant and think they know everything, when in reality they know nothing.”

      “So I’m a diplomat and a bodyguard on this trip.”

      “Yes. You’re at the fulcrum point, Roan. It’s a messy place to be. I don’t envy you.” He smiled a little. “If my wife and child didn’t need me, and vice versa, I’d be taking on this mission myself. Morgan wanted someone without family to take it, because the level of risk, the chance of dying, is high. And I know you understand that.”

      Nodding, Roan ran his long index finger across the highly polished surface of the conference table enjoying the feel of the warm wood. “Is Inca capable of killing me?”

      Chuckling, Mike said, “Oh, she can have some thunderstorm-and-lightning temper tantrums when you don’t agree with her, or things don’t go the way she wants them to, but hurt you? No. She wouldn’t do that. If anything, she’ll probably see you as one more person under her umbrella of protection.”

      “Will she listen to me, though? When it counts?”

      Shrugging, Mike said, “If you gain her respect and trust, the answer is yes. But you don’t have much time to do either.”

      “Where am I to meet her? Hopefully, it will be without Marcellino and his company.”

      “On the riverfront, near Manaus, where the two great rivers combine to create the Amazon.”

      “How will you get in touch with her?”

      Houston gave him a lazy smile. “I’ll touch base with her in my dream state.”

      Roan stood there for a second absorbing Houston’s statement. “You’re a member of the Jaguar Clan, too?”

      “Yes, I am.”

      Roan nodded. He vividly recalled the experience he’d had earlier—the dream of the woman with willow-green eyes. “What color are Inca’s eyes?” he asked.

      Mike gave him a probing look. He opened his mouth to inquire why Roan was asking such a question, and then decided against it. “Green.”

      “What shade?”

      “Ever seen a willow tree in the spring just after the leaves have popped out?”

      “Many times.”

      “That color of green. A very beautiful, unique color. That’s the color of Inca’s eyes.”

      “I thought so….” Roan said, his own eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he realized he and Inca might have already met….

      Chapter 3

      Inca was lonely. Frowning, she shifted on the large stack of wooden crates where she sat, her booted feet dangling and barely touching the dry red soil of the Amazon’s bank. Her fine, delicately arched brows knitted as she studied the ground. In Peru, they called the earth Pachamama, or Mother Earth. Stretching slightly, she gently patted the surface with the sole of her military boot. The dirt was Mother Earth’s skin, and in her own way, Inca was giving her real and only mother a gentle pat of love.

      Sighing, she looked around at the humid mid-afternoon haze that hung above the wide, muddy river. The sun was behind the ever-present hazy clouds that hugged the land like a lover. Making a strangled sound, Inca admitted sourly to herself she didn’t know what it was to feel like a lover. The only thing she knew of romantic love was what she’d read about it from the great poets while growing up under Father Titus’s tutelage.

      Did she want a lover? Was that why she was feeling lonely? Ordinarily, Inca didn’t have to deal with such an odd assortment of unusual emotions. She was so busy that she could block out the tender feelers that wound through the heart like a vine, and ignore them completely. Not today. No, she had to rendezvous with this man that her blood brother, Michael Houston, had asked her to meet. Not only that, but she had to work with him! Michael had visited her in the dream state several nights earlier and had carefully gone over everything with her. In the end, he’d left it up to Inca as to whether or not she would work as a guide for Colonel Marcellino—the man who wanted to kill her.

      Her lips, full and soft, moved into a grimace. Always alert, with her invisible jaguar spirit guide always on guard, she felt no danger nearby. Her rifle was leaning against the crates, which were stacked and ready to take down the Amazon, part of the supplies Colonel Marcellino would utilize once they met up with him and his company downriver.

      She was about to take on a mission, so why was she feeling so alone? So lonely? Rubbing her chest, the olive-green, sleeveless tank top soaked with her perspiration from the high humidity and temperature, Inca lifted her stubborn chin.

      She had a mild curiosity about this man called Roan Storm Walker. For one thing, he possessed an interesting name. The fact that he was part Indian made her feel better about this upcoming mission. Indians shared a common blood,

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