He covered her mouth with his, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “Never.”
Ordinarily, Marisela loved foreplay. She loved the way Frankie could spend hours sucking on her breasts or how he’d spread her legs over the sides of her mattress and take his time licking her pussy until she was wetter than a waterfall. But now, she only wanted him inside her. She moved the tip of his erection to her slick opening, then grabbed his hips and pushed him inside.
The tension was excruciating and yet, amazing. His flesh inside hers created a haven she’d never found anywhere else—and probably never would. She shifted and moved, coaxing her body to cream as her pleasure increased, stroke by stroke.
“Hold on, vidita,” he said, readjusting his arms and then thrusting into her deep and hard. “You don’t have to do all the work.”
She bit her lip as the sensations of his raw power overtook her. He was rough and perfect, withholding kisses and caresses, concentrating on nothing more than banging his cock into her concha and destroying the final wall between her barely-checked anxiety and delirious escape. Only when she was seconds from an orgasm did he fall forward, his mouth on hers, to swallow her intimate scream.
But he didn’t stop moving. He shoved and withdrew, shoved and withdrew, until her muffled orgasm spiked and ebbed and his body stiffened, shook and spilled.
Then, they slept.
Max woke them two hours before the appointed rendezvous time.
“Change in plans,” he barked, throwing open the door to the bedroom. “Air traffic control reported a call from our Japanese plane. They’ve requested a medical intervention.”
“A what?” Frankie asked.
“An ambulance,” Max clarified. “Or a doctor. They didn’t say which.”
“¡No me jodas!” Marisela jumped out of the bed, not giving a damn that she was naked. She scooped up her clothes and dashed into the bathroom. “Is it Belinda? Is she okay? The baby?”
Max had the good manners to look away as she passed. “No details. Just a request for a doctor.”
Frankie was shoving his feet into his boots when she flew back into the room, trying to remember where she’d kicked her own footwear.
Max handed them to her. “We don’t know that it’s Belinda, but on the off chance that it is, I advise we make some adjustments to our plan.”
“Rick still on board?” she asked.
Max rolled his eyes. “If I can get him to stop…fretting. He’s going to last two days in the yakuza. Three, but only because he’s the kumicho’s son.”
“He’s not my problem,” Marisela said, grabbing her weapon, “my sister is. And if something’s wrong with her or the baby, I swear to God, I’ll—”
She didn’t fill in the rest of the sentence. She didn’t have to, which was good, because she had no idea what she’d do.
But she knew what she was capable of—and for now, that was enough.
Turned out, stealing an ambulance wasn’t that hard. One roadblock, a couple of ski masks and a gun did the trick in less than five minutes once the medical vehicle had arrived at the private airport’s back entrance, as directed by the dispatcher Max had generously compensated to ensure her cooperation.
“Marisela only got this satellite office because I convinced Ian it would be cheap,” Max groused, tugging off the knit face covering as he came around the other side of the outbuilding where they’d secured the EMTs.
Frank finished buttoning up the shirt he’d appropriated from the real paramedic. “Nothing with Marisela is ever cheap other than her furniture and her taste in underwear.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Max advised.
Frankie laughed. “You think she’d deny it?”
Max didn’t reply. They concentrated on adapting the ambulance to their needs, in a sketchily thrown-together plan that Frank doubted was going to work. So many things could go wrong—things Marisela would regret for the rest of her life.
The yakuza were an unknown entity. From what Max had said, they were better armed, better prepared and likely more merciless than any of them would ever choose to be.
And yet, they were taking them on, just the three of them and Rick.
It was suicide.
But it was also family, so Frank figured they had no other choice.
He checked the time. Max’s cell phone must have vibrated because he pulled it out and answered.
“ETA, five minutes,” he replied, then hung up and said to Frank, “The dispatcher again. Marisela’d better hurry.”
“She’ll be here,” he said.
Marisela didn’t let them down. Driving Max’s car, she sped to a stop behind the ambulance and tumbled out of the driver’s seat, again wearing scrubs she’d pilfered from the hospital, along with the surgical hair net and a mask dangling around her neck. After she banged on the hood, the passenger door opened and a man dressed in nearly identical clothing got out, carrying a black, leather bag.
Marisela threw the keys to Max, opened the back door to the ambulance and ordered the guy to get in.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” the stranger objected.
“Shouldn’t you? What about that hypocritical oath?” Marisela challenged.
Frankie chuckled as the man, obviously a doctor, corrected her. “It’s Hippocratic Oath and that’s the only reason you got me to come this far.”
She arched a saucy brow. “Not because I threatened to tell your wife that you felt me up while I was on your exam table?”
He scowled, jabbing his finger as he said, “That never happened!”
“You know that. I know that,” Marisela assured. “But clearly, your wife won’t be so sure, will she? Look, doc, I do not want to make your life difficult. You’ve been nothing but straight up and cool with me. And I appreciate it. I promise to find a way to repay you that will not hurt your marriage. But my sister and her baby deserve to live, and not with a threat from the Japanese mob hanging over them. So get your ass in the ambulance and let’s do this.”
The guy hesitated only a split second more before letting lose a string of curses and doing as Marisela ordered. Frank got into the cab and fired up the engine, testing the earwig and microphone by counting off one-two-three.
Max replied, “Good luck.”
Frank engaged the sirens and drove purposefully into the area where the private plane had been parked. Armed only with small caliber weapons concealed carefully in their equipment and knowledge they’d gleaned from training in “battlefield” medical readiness, their plan was to go in, assess the situation and with any luck, get Belinda out before Max arrived, as scheduled, with Rick.
After parking the ambulance, Frank got out to unload the stretcher. He held up his hands and pretended surprise when a suited guy with tattoos coiling up his neck and across his bald head pulled out an AK-47 and pointed it in his direction.
“You a doctor?” he barked in Japanese-accented English.
“EMT,” Frank replied.
The man Marisela had hijacked to come along intervened, his hands similarly raised above his head as he jumped out of the back of the ambulance. “I’m the doctor. She’s a nurse. We were advised that someone here required emergency medical attention.”
The guard motioned for the doctor to come forward. Another similarly dressed and inked man scrambled down the plane’s stairs to pat the doctor down first, then Marisela. He gave a quick examination of their bags, then motioned them into the aircraft.
Frank moved to follow, but the first guy ordered him to stop.
They’d anticipated this scenario, but that didn’t make Frank any happier about it. He was sending Marisela into an unknown situation inside a confined space filled with Japanese gangsters who were probably armed to the teeth. And yet, without a second’s hesitation, she bounded up the steps behind the doctor and even found a moment to turn around before she disappeared through the door and wink.
Damned idiot woman. She was either going to get them killed…or save t
he day.
Chapter Eighteen
Marisela heard the panting and grunting before she spotted her sister lying across a half-reclined airline seat, her fingers white from digging into the arm rests. She was pale and sweating profusely and in pain.
Or more precisely: she was in labor.
“What’s the problem?” McFuego demanded of the flight attendant standing beside Belinda, a petite Asian woman who looked completely terrified. When she shook her head helplessly, the doctor turned to the older man sitting a few feet away, his arms balanced on his knees.
“Isn’t it obvious, doctor? This woman’s having a baby.”
It took everything in Marisela’s power not to rush to Belinda’s side, but the minute she moved, the doc grabbed her arm and held her still. The man who’d been sitting across from her suffering sister stood, tugged at his suit jacket and gifted them both with an indulgent smile.
Rick’s father?
She saw no family resemblance, but he was clearly in charge. He smoothed his hand across his raven-black hair and then gave the slightest bow to the doctor that was neither deferential nor respectful. It was just…expected.
“I do not wish to impose upon the medical services of your city longer than necessary, doctor. We are waiting for my son to arrive before our departure. We will be taking off as soon as he gets here so that his child can be born surrounded by family. I wish for you to give her something for the pain and then you may leave.”
Marisela had briefed McFuego—or more accurately, Dr. Sean McClarren—on the situation the minute she’d coaxed him away from the hospital. She’d only had to tell him that her sister and her baby were in serious trouble for him to jump into her car, though he’d had second thoughts when she’d given him all the details.
But that hadn’t stopped him. And neither was this Asian Frank Sinatra wannabe. Though she could practically smell the fear rolling off her new favorite doctor, Sean balanced his hands on his hips and met the mobster’s stare straight on.
“This woman isn’t going anywhere,” he decided. “This plane is grounded until I say otherwise.”
Matsuharu Sato, Rick’s father, grinned. “You don’t understand, doctor. I called you here to make her more comfortable. That is the extent of your responsibility.”
The slick, coolness in the man’s voice belonged to a guy who was so powerful, he couldn’t imagine anyone ever daring to contradict him.
And yet, Sean took a step closer, ignoring the bodyguard who blocked his path. “I can ground your flight with one call to the controllers and there’s nothing you can do about it. So why don’t you let me assess the patient and we’ll see who is going where and when.”
Beneath the mask Marisela had tugged over her mouth to ensure that no one recognized her as Belinda’s sister, she grinned. Doctor McHottie sure had cojones. If she wasn’t ticked off that he was legally wed before, she sure as hell was now.
Dark anger flashed across Sato’s eyes, but he gestured toward Belinda as if he’d granted the doctor’s request with pure benevolent kindness. Marisela muttered a few choice curse words under her breath and rushed to Belinda’s side.
“She doesn’t like to be touched!” the flight attendant insisted, but Marisela skewered her to silence with a steely glare.
“It’s okay,” Marisela said, turning a more reassuring expression to her sister. “We’re here to take care of you.”
Belinda might have been in excruciating pain, but her well-disguised intelligence snapped on as if someone had flipped a switch. She met her sister’s stare straight on and for the briefest flash, a smile popped into her rare and beautiful baby blues. But the joy of recognizing Marisela disappeared the minute another contraction struck. She howled and grabbed for Marisela’s hand, which she then squeezed until she nearly broke her fingers.
“Check her heart rate,” the doc ordered, shoving the stethoscope toward her.
Marisela worked quietly, saying as little as possible, sparing her few words for Belinda, whom she soothed with phrases in whispered Spanish. The doctor was efficient in his examination and exceedingly kind when he explained how he had to reach up beneath her skirt to check the baby’s progress.
“Yea, that’s what I thought,” he announced. “This infant isn’t waiting for a flight. I need to get this woman to the hospital immediately.”
He stood as if to go and signal Frankie, but two of Sato’s bodyguards blocked his path. He turned an impressive glare on the mob boss. “She’s in labor.”
“She can have the child here,” the man replied calmly. “Babies are born outside of hospitals every day.”
“I don’t have the proper monitoring equipment,” Sean argued.
“Neither did my grandmother, who gave birth to my father in a rice paddy.”
Sean scowled. “That explains a lot.”
But Matsuharu Sato only arched a brow. “Tell my people what you need. They will ensure that my grandchild is delivered safely to me.”
Marisela bit the inside of her mouth. If this son of a bitch thought he was getting his pint-sized paws on her little niece or nephew, he was certifiable. But now wasn’t the time to challenge his authority. If everything went according to their sketchy plan, she’d never have to exchange a single word with the man.
Thing was, the scheme had already derailed. Their first option had been to get Belinda off the plane and into the ambulance. Of course, they’d made that plan before they’d known that she’d gone into labor.
An hour passed. Then two. By the time Sean announced that the baby’s birth was imminent, darkness had started to fall. They were ten minutes away from the agreed upon rendezvous time with Rick when Max finally spoke into the earwig hidden by her surgical cap.
“The minute the baby is born, get it off the plane,” he advised. “Cough twice if you read me.”
Marisela folded her wrist and hacked twice into the miniature microphone she was wearing on her bracelet, hidden by her latex glove. Then she concentrated solely on Belinda and doing everything Sean told her to. She’d never been so compliant in her whole life. With her concentration on her sister, she hardly realized that a commotion had started in the cockpit.
A large, suited man pushed his way to Sato and whispered some dire news, judging by the widening of his eyes. Sato replied in rapid Japanese, immediately touching off a firestorm of activity that made her believe he had ordered the plane to take off whether Doctor McClarren approved of it or not.
“Okay, I need you to push when I tell you to, Belinda. Mari—” he started, but caught himself at the wild shaking of Marisela’s head. He cleared his throat. “Mary, hold her up and count.”
He demonstrated once before Belinda’s next contraction hit. Marisela did her best, no longer cautious about speaking while her sister entered the final stages of labor. Around them, stuff was cleared off and stored. A couple of men strapped themselves into their seats while the rest poured onto the tarmac. In between Belinda’s grunts and howls, she heard voices arguing below. She guessed one belonged to Rick, a fact that was verified when Max spoke again.
“Rick’s buying us more time. I called in a favor from the DEA. Seems our yakuza boss is on a watch list. He was just advised by the tower that take-off was denied, but that’s not going to stop them from taking off for long. Get Belinda off the plane.”
“We can’t,” she said, hoping the commotion would keep anyone from noticing she was talking to her hand.
“Yes, we can,” Sean contradicted, though whether he was covering for her or just keeping up his relentless encouragement, she couldn’t tell. “One more push, Belinda. One more and you’ll be done.”
He was right. Not a minute later, a slimy but beautiful baby girl slid into the world, screaming at the top of her lungs and proving to anyone within a mile radius that she had Morales genes.
“Belinda!” shouted someone from outside.
More turmoil erupted, but the doctor begged Marisela to stay focused as she held her niece and w
atched him clear her nose and mouth of gunk and then wrap the child in a blanket provided by the shaking flight attendant.
Sean moved to hand the baby to Belinda, but her sister turned as best as she could onto her side and crossed her arms tight over her chest. She didn’t say a single word. Not throughout the entire birth. She’d efficiently and effectively removed the baby from her body. Her work was done.
“We need to get her off this plane,” Marisela insisted.
“Take the baby,” he said, thrusting the wailing child into her arms.
Marisela wanted to object, wanted to argue that she couldn’t reach her weapon with an infant in her hands, but Sean’s improvisation made sense. The nurse would do as he commanded. Maybe, if they were lucky, the good doctor would talk his way off the flight before Sato decided to take off and avoid detention by the Drug Enforcement Agency.
She bundled the baby like a football and rushed toward the exit. Only one man tried to stop her, but she tucked and rolled, then sprang down the steps as quickly as care would allow. When she reached the bottom, Frankie pushed the gurney he’d been leaning on into the crowd of men standing around arguing, then took the infant from her and dashed to the ambulance. Red laser lights from guns peppered his back, but no one fired before Sato, standing at the top of the stairs, ordered his goons to stand down.
“My baby!” Rick cried out.
Held in place by a man barely in his twenties, Rick struggled to get free. Marisela wondered how the hell they were going to get Belinda off the plane when she spotted Sean standing behind the mobster, her sister cradled in his arms, her body wrapped in bloody towels.
Sato nearly tumbled off the stairs in his rush to get out of the way. Marisela might have laughed if she hadn’t been so worried. Nothing moved men faster than a woman with blood pouring out from between her legs.
Marisela used the distraction to her advantage, slipping her hand underneath the gurney where Frankie had stored her gun and the key fob they’d wired for this occasion. She shoved the gun in her waistband, grabbed Sean by the arm and tugged him and Belinda to the ambulance. But when she touched the latch on the back door, a gunshot rent the air, stopping them all cold.
Holiday Heat Page 24
