One Touch of Topaz Read online

  Dear Reader,

  I was very happy when Bantam decided to reprint One Touch of Topaz. It was the only one of my early books that had a limited release, so many of you who have been with me since those first years may not have had a chance to read it.

  It was decided to give the book away as a special promotion to bring in new readers, but I spent longer writing it than I did many of the other love stories I was doing at the time. I loved the concept of Topaz—Samantha Barton—the freedom fighter who survived a revolution. As you know, I have a fondness for writing about strong, independent women who also have an element of vulnerability. I believe you’ll find Fletcher Bronson a good match for her.

  As for the plot, I tossed in passion, adventure, patriotism, and characters I cared about.

  I hope you’ll care about every one of those characters as much as I do.

  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.”—Rave Reviews

  “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

  Everlasting Body of Lies

  And the Desert Blooms Final Target

  The Treasure The Search

  Lion’s Bride The Killing Game

  Golden Valkyrie The Face of Deception

  Capture the Rainbow And Then You Die

  A Summer Smile Long After Midnight

  Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea The Ugly Duckling

  Stalemate Dark Rider

  An Unexpected Song Midnight Warrior

  Killer Dreams The Beloved Scoundrel

  On the Run The Magnificent Rogue

  Countdown The Tiger Prince

  Blind Alley Last Bridge Home

  Firestorm The Golden Barbarian

  Fatal Tide Reap the Wind

  Dead Aim Storm Winds

  No One to Trust The Wind Dancer

  ONE

  “THE CONTACT’S CODE name is Topaz.” Skip Brennen made a face. “Sounds like something from a spy novel, doesn’t it? I feel like I should be wearing a trench coat and carrying a diplomat’s attaché case.”

  “It’s too damn hot to wear a trench coat.” Fletcher Bronson slapped at a mosquito on his arm. “Hell, it’s too hot to breathe on this forsaken island. I don’t know what I’m doing here, anyway. Those thieving bastards will nationalize my refinery within the next six months no matter what they say now. I should have accepted my losses and not wasted my time coming to St. Pierre.”

  “Fat chance,” Skip said with a drawl. “You don’t like giving up anything that’s yours. We both know you’d still have stormed down here if the junta had only threatened to confiscate one of the company trucks, much less a multimillion-dollar refinery.”

  “Maybe.” Fletch gazed moodily at the emerald-green hills in the distance. The beautiful view from the balcony of this hotel suite that those megalomaniacs in the palace had given him was no doubt meant to soothe and calm. At the moment it did neither. “But I don’t like Marxist juntas. I don’t like thieves.” He slapped at another mosquito. “And I don’t like bugs.”

  Skip gave a soundless whistle as he leaned back in the rattan chair. Fletch’s temper was evidently flaring at an all-time high. Not that it came as any surprise. Even on a good day Fletcher Bronson was a diamond in the rough who possessed an intimidating ruthlessness. On a particularly bad day he had seen that famous scowl cause corporate sharks and heads of state to quail and take a step back. And this was clearly a very bad day. It was no wonder the blustering and threats of the members of the junta had turned to deferential assurances when Fletch had confronted them that afternoon at the palacio. Fletcher Bronson was one of the foremost economic powers in this hemisphere, and he was known to let his displeasure be felt in no uncertain terms. This small refinery on St. Pierre may have represented only a minuscule percentage of Fletch’s financial assets, but it belonged to him, and he never let anything that was his be taken from him without a fight.

  “So what’s the decision?” Skip asked quietly. “Do I fly you straight back to Damon’s Reef, or do we make the trip into the hills and meet with Topaz.”

  “Topaz …” Fletch murmured, still looking at the hills in the distance. “I haven’t decided. Could this be some kind of trap? Where did they contact you?”

  “In the bar downstairs.” Skip took a long pull on his whiskey and soda. “By a very luscious B-girl by the name of Maria Cruz, who seems to be exceptionally well informed regarding your business here. Ricardo Lazaro still appears to have a very strong network in the city in spite of his recent defeat by the junta.”

  “Is there any chance that this Lazaro will be able to launch another offensive?”

  Skip shook his head regretfully. “The junta is firmly in power. Lazaro’s men are scattered in the hills, running for their lives, and there’s a rumor that Lazaro himself is wounded. It’s a miracle they had the men and the weapons for this last raid on the Abbey.”

  “The Abbey?”

  “The Abbey used to be a monastery. For the past six years it’s been a prison for political prisoners”—Skip’s lips tightened—“one they kept carefully hidden from the human-rights committee.”

  “Torture?”

  “The works,” Skip said succinctly. “You name it, they did it.” “Charming.”

  Skip nodded. “You’ve already discovered for yourself how charming this government can be.”

  Fletch’s gaze returned to Skip’s face. “And they want us to get these political prisoners they rescued off the island before the army rounds them up?”

  Skip nodded again. “They have supporters in Barbados, and they’ve asked us to fly the prisoners there.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Nine.”

  “Can the helicopter carry that many passengers?”

  “Possibly. If we jettison everything except the bare essentials. It will be pretty close.”

  Fletch muttered a curse. “Dammit, this is none of our business. I don’t want to become involved in these penny-ante Caribbean politics. Most of the time one side turns out to be as corrupt as the other.”

  “Then don’t become involved. I only thought I should relay the message.” Skip paused. “There’s something else you should know. There are three children among those escaped prisoners.”

  “Children? What the hell were children doing in a prison?”

  “Sometimes it’s easier to make a prisoner talk if the torture is inflicted on members of the family.”

  The flesh tightened over the broad planes of Fletch’s cheeks as his teeth clenched. He was silent for a moment, his green eyes growing more icy with every passing second.

  “I don’t like that,” he said softly. “No, I don’t like that one little bit.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  Fletch’s hands tightened on the lacy black iron of the balustrade. “When is this pickup supposed to take place?”

  “Tonight at ten o’clock. They
gave me the coordinates.” He shrugged. “They must be pretty desperate to run that risk. We could turn the information over to the junta in exchange for certain concessions.”

  Fletch looked at his wristwatch. “Three hours. We’d better get moving.”

  Skip straightened in his chair. “You’re going to do it?”

  Fletch smiled grimly. “You’re damn right I’m going to do it. I don’t like governments who use children as pawns in their vicious games. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of snatching them away from the junta. At least I’ll get the satisfaction of taking something back from those thieving bastards. Can you have the helicopter serviced in time?”

  “It’s already serviced and ready to go,” Skip said blandly. “I also stripped it down as much as I could without raising the suspicion of the maintainance men at the airport. What I couldn’t get rid of, I unscrewed and loosened so that we can ditch it in the hills.”

  “You took a good deal for granted. I don’t like being thought of as predictable, Skip.”

  Skip felt a chill run down his spine, unconsciously bracing himself as he met Fletch’s gaze. Even after twelve years as his personal pilot and general jack-of-all-trades, Skip could still be made to feel uneasy by Fletch. He should have become accustomed to the man by this time, Skip thought. Wielding power had become second nature to Fletch, and he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.

  Hell, most of the time Skip liked Bronson, and he always respected him. Fletch was honest, generous, fair, and, on rare occasions, displayed a wry sense of humor few were aware existed. He doubted if Fletch would ever let anyone get close enough to call him friend, but if he did, he would probably be a damn good one. “You like kids,” he said simply. “I thought the odds were good you’d get mad enough to thumb your nose at our pals at the palacio.” He grinned. “And why shouldn’t I do a little mind reading myself? You have quite a few business rivals who claim you have occult powers.”

  Fletch’s frown disappeared and a slow smile lit his face. “Why not, indeed? Sorry, Skip, this whole mess has put me on edge. I’ll be glad to get off this damn island and back to civilization.”

  “No problem.” Skip rose to his feet with loose-limbed grace and set his drink on the glass-topped table next to him. “If you can be at the front entrance of the hotel in fifteen minutes, I’ll have a taxi waiting to take us to the airport. I’m going down to the bar and tell our luscious little B-girl we’ll make the pickup so she can send word to Topaz.”

  “Have her tell him to have those prisoners ready to move out. I don’t want to linger there any longer than necessary.”

  “Will do.” Skip pulled the bill of his Cubs baseball cap down more firmly over his eyes and moved toward the French doors that led to the interior of the suite. “But it’s not a ‘him.’ Topaz is a woman.”

  ________

  Where were they, blast it?

  Samantha’s gaze anxiously searched the night sky. There was moonlight tonight, which was both bad and good. It had made their journey from the hills to this glade easier, but it also made them easier to track. Ricardo was sure a patrol had spotted them.

  The whir of a helicopter’s rotors came faintly to her ears, and relief poured through her with dizzying force. Even after Maria had radioed the confirmation, Samantha had been afraid Bronson would back out. It had been a long shot that he would be willing to involve himself in their troubles, but they had to ask for his help; they’d had no choice.

  “They’ve come?” Ricardo’s voice made her jump.

  She drew a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “I think so.” Only a little longer. She only had to hold on a little longer, and Luz and the others would be on the helicopter. Lord, she was tired of being afraid.

  Ricardo’s hand was gentle as it clasped her shoulder. “Take them to the helicopter as soon as it lands in the glade. I’m going to backtrack and see if I can spot the patrol.”

  “No, I’ll go—” She stopped. He had already faded into the forest. She should have known better than to try to talk him out of anything, she thought wearily. He knew he shouldn’t be walking on that leg any more than necessary. It might be only a flesh wound, but the bleeding had started again on the way from the caverns.

  “Samantha?”

  Luz was beside her, nervous and hesitant, as she had been since they had freed her from the Abbey.

  Samantha nodded. “They’re here, Luz.”

  Luz bit her lip, her gaze on the sky.

  The helicopter was overhead now, slowly descending to the grassy clearing. The roar of the rotors shattered the stillness and brought a rain of fresh panic. Oh, dear God, was the patrol close enough to hear?

  Luz slipped her hand into Samantha’s and squeezed it gently. Samantha wasn’t sure if the child was intending to give comfort or take it. Luz knew about fear, and she could probably sense Samantha’s terror no matter how she tried to mask it.

  The helicopter was now on the ground, the lights splaying brilliantly in a circle around it.

  It was time to go.

  Later Fletch would find it curious that the first thing he noticed about Samantha was her hair. Not that it wasn’t lovely hair. The rich, vibrant chestnut mane shimmered under the lights; it was pulled away from her face and fastened in back with a plain tortoiseshell barrette. Then, as she stepped up to the bubble window to stand beside Skip at the pilot’s controls, he saw her eyes and knew at once who she was and where she had gotten her code name. Her eyes were the color of topaz; not the pale, tawny gold of the Brazilian stone but a darker shade, closer to the amber tint of the jewel found in the wilds of Siberia. They dominated her thin, fine-boned face, blazing with vitality and strength. She was dressed in a worn khaki shirt, trousers that looked two sizes too big for her, and combat boots. Fletch experienced a violent and completely unexpected surge of resentment that had something to do with the obscene contrast the military garb made to the fragile grace of her body.

  Then she smiled, and he forgot delicacy and remembered only warmth and radiance. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “I’m Topaz.” She shook her head wearily. “No, that’s not right. It’s hard to remember that everything’s over and there’s no reason to be cautious any longer. I’m Samantha Barton.”

  “Skip Brennen. This is Fletcher Bronson.”

  She nodded, scarcely giving Fletch a glance. “We have everyone ready to go.” She waved to a huddled group on the edge of the glade, and they started toward the helicopter. “You two won’t have to get out of the copter. There’s a patrol on our heels, so we’ll have to hurry. Ricardo and I will get them on board.”

  She walked quickly toward the rear of the helicopter and was sliding open the door by the time the first of their passengers reached her. Fletch felt a swift surge of pity as his gaze ran over the men, women, and children standing by the door. They looked as emaciated as the survivors of Auschwitz.

  The adults boarded first, and then the children were lifted aboard. Finally there was only one gangly girl of twelve or thirteen with enormous dark eyes who clung to Samantha Barton like a shadow.

  “You have to get on the copter now, Luz,” Samantha said gently. “There’s not much time.”

  The child shook her head.

  “It’s going to be fine. We have people who will take care of you and send you to a fine school.”

  The child only clung closer.

  Suddenly a man limped to Samantha’s side, a frown marring the classic handsomeness of his face. “Samantha, for all that’s holy, get her on board. That patrol will be here within ten minutes.”

  Fletch was abruptly jarred from his fascination with both Samantha Barton and the scene unfolding before him. He had been sitting back objectively viewing these people as if they were on a movie screen. It was completely out of character for him to stand on the sidelines without participating in the action. “Let’s get going. I have no desire to spend any more time in this wonderful island paradise, and certainly not as the guest of the ju
nta.”

  Samantha gave him an exasperated glance. “I’m trying. Luz is—” She suddenly fell to her knees, clasped the child’s thin shoulders, and gazed into her face. “Luz, listen. You’ll be all right. It was a terrible thing that happened to you, but it’s over now. The hurt won’t stay unless you let it. If you’re strong, the pain will only make you stronger and more beautiful. I’ve told you this so many times before, and it’s true, Luz. You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone. Go now.” She smiled. “I can’t leave until you take off, and you don’t want them to catch me, do you?”

  Luz shook her head and then hurled herself into Samantha’s arms. Then she was gone, scrambling into the helicopter.

  Samantha gave a sigh of relief. “That’s better.”

  “Can we go now?” Skip asked.

  Samantha nodded. “That’s all. We can’t thank you en—”

  “No.” The Adonis with the bandaged leg and the limp shook his head. “One more passenger.” He smiled at Samantha, his white teeth flashing in his dark face. “Get on board, querida. This is the end for you.” He turned toward the cockpit. “Can you make room for one more? She doesn’t weigh much.”

  “Skip?” Fletch asked.

  “She shouldn’t weigh much more than one of the children. I think we can manage.”

  Samantha stood very still, gazing at the wounded man. “You were planning this all along, weren’t you, Ricardo?”

  He nodded. “Don’t argue with me, Samantha.” He suddenly looked unutterably weary. “It’s over, and there’s no way you can help us now. You know what they’ll do to you if they catch you.”

  “I’m not arguing.” She smiled faintly. “We don’t have the time. But would it be too much to ask you to give me a good-bye hug?”

  “Samantha …” Ricardo enfolded her in his arms. “Go with God. You know I—” He broke off. He stood quite still, swayed, and then slowly crumpled to the ground.

  Samantha stood clutching a small hypodermic needle in her left hand. “Go with God, Ricardo,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you.”

  “What the hell!” Skip was staring in bewilderment at the man on the ground.