Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "I'll take care of you as long as I live, Lisa."

  "And I'll take care of you as long as I do," she murmured happily. "I hope we live a hundred years together."

  He laughed softly and agreed, drowning in the warm delight of her body curled so close into his. It was unbearably sweet to love, to really love, and be loved in return.

  Her leg moved sensuously against the inside of his and she felt his breath go jerky. She was more sure of herself now, eager for new lessons, new techniques, new adventures with this man, this winter soldier, she loved.

  "Cy?" she whispered as her hand smoothed over his chest and then steadily down.

  It was hard to talk. "What?" he managed in a husky tone.

  "I want you to teach me."

  "Teach you...what?" he bit off as her hand moved again.

  "How to please you."

  He would have answered her, if he'd been able. But his soft groan and the shivering of his powerful body as he eased over hers were more than enough to convince her that she was pleasing him already. She stretched like a contented cat under the warm, sinuous press of his lean hips and then moaned as the fever burned so high that she thought she might become ashes in his arms. Life had never been so sweet. And this was only the tip of the iceberg, the very beginning of their marriage. She pressed her mouth into his and held on tight, following him into the fire.

  With Lopez's Jacobsville connection closed down, and all his local assets seized by the feds, it seemed a good guess that the drug lord would set up operations elsewhere. But he still had people, unknown people, acting as his eyes and ears. He also had someone inside the federal agency, Rodrigo had said, to tip him off about drug busts. Cy worried about who it was. Cy worried more about another possible attempt on Lisa, after the successful sneak attack on Lopez's shipment of marijuana.

  Cy had gone to Eb's ranch at his friend's request to discuss future plans, and they were talking over cups of black coffee in the living room when Micah Steele came into the room. He was taller, bigger than both the other men. He had thick, straight, medium blond hair cut conventionally short. He was wearing a beige Armani suit that seemed perfect for his tall frame. It made his dark eyes look even darker. He wore a watch like Eb's on his left wrist and no other jewelry. Thirty-six years old, the former CIA agent spoke several languages fluently and had a temper that was explosive and quiet. Dutch van Meer used to say that Micah could get more results with a steady look than he could with a weapon.

  "Why are you still in town?" Cy asked curiously.

  "That's what I asked you over to tell you." Eb grimaced. "We've still got problems."

  "When have we had anything else lately?" Cy said with resignation.

  "The word is that Lopez's bosses in Colombia think he's slipping. First, he got arrested. Then he lost a shipment to the Coast Guard. We cost him a tidy sum in men and equipment here, not to mention marijuana. Yesterday, another group of his men were driving plastic bags of cocaine paste in several transfer trailer trucks bearing the logo of a grocery store chain. The DEA was tipped off, probably by Rodrigo, and the feds got all the trucks plus their cargo. The haul would have been worth millions, if not billions, in crack cocaine sales if it had been processed and put out on the streets. It's the largest confiscation by the DEA in years. Lopez's bosses are furious. They're ready to dump Lopez, and he's cut some sort of deal to keep his connection. The word is, he's making plans to eliminate the obstacles to his local smuggling traffic."

  "That's no real surprise," Eb pointed out.

  Micah's dark eyes narrowed. "No. But I didn't expect this quite so soon. He can't get to either of you without some difficulty, now that his operation here has been shut down. Any group of strangers in town would stick out like sore thumbs, and the local authorities are on alert. But one of my contacts said that Callie and my father might become targets, and that the last he heard, Lopez was going to call in a mechanic. One man, alone, might succeed where a larger group failed."

  It went without saying that a "mechanic" meant a professional killer. "Why your family and not ours?" Cy asked.

  Micah leaned against the mantel above the fireplace in Eb's study. He smiled mockingly, looking more elegant than a male model with his striking good looks. "You only helped shut down a small operation of Lopez's. But I tipped the DEA guys about the multimillion dollar cocaine shipment that was confiscated."

  Cy whistled. "Did Rodrigo pass that tidbit along?"

  "Not Rodrigo," came the reply. "It was a last act of defiance by his cousin, who," he added grimly, "is now dead. They pulled him out of a vat of industrial chemicals. They were only able to identify him by dental records."

  "Any idea where Rodrigo is?" Eb wanted to know.

  "Hiding out in Aruba, I gather from my sources. But he may not be safe, even so. Lopez has a long reach. He's got people everywhere."

  "Plus an informant with the feds who's spilling the beans to Lopez about our government's attempts to bring him down," Cy added.

  "That's how Lopez knew I blew the whistle on him. You'd better believe that Kennedy and Cobb are doing their best to find out who it is," Micah replied. "But I expect it's someone in a high position who's beyond suspicion. It won't be easy to ferret him out."

  "He's risking a lot on Lopez's account, whoever he is," Eb mused.

  "Lopez is paying him a million a tip," Micah interjected.

  "Well, that would make it worth the risk for most people, I'm afraid," Eb said.

  Micah dropped down into an easy chair and lit a cigar. Eb turned on the smokeless ashtray and handed it to him. Micah chuckled, taking it in one big hand.

  "That will kill you," Eb said with a grin.

  "In my line of work, bullets will probably get me long before smoking does. Besides, I don't expect to be here long." He checked the big watch on his wrist. "Callie gets off work in five minutes. I'm going to waylay her before she goes to pick up Dad at the senior citizen center."

  His face changed when he mentioned his former stepsister. His dark eyes narrowed and his jaw went taut. He smoked absently, his mind obviously far away.

  "If worse comes to worst, you could take her and your father down to Nassau with you and keep her out of Lopez's reach," Eb suggested.

  Micah gave him a hellish glare. "Neither of them will talk to me right now, much less agree to go to Nassau. Haven't you heard?" he drawled. "I'm anybody's friend but theirs."

  "You always start the fights," Eb pointed out. "You can't blame Callie for defending herself."

  Micah took another draw from the cigar and thumped ashes in the ashtray. "I blame her for everything," he said icily. "If it hadn't been for her and her damned mother, my father would want to see me occasionally."

  "Surely he doesn't still blame you for his divorce?" Cy remarked.

  "He blames me for everything." He put out the cigar impatiently and turned the smokeless ashtray off. "I blame her mother."

  "Whatever happened to her?" Eb asked.

  "I have no idea," Micah said abruptly. "She dumped Gallic and left town even before the divorce was final. She hired a lawyer to bring the papers to her in England so that she wouldn’t have to see any of us again. Some mother.”

  "Callie never talks about her," Eb said thoughtfully. "It's not surprising. Her mother treated her like the hired help. Callie wasn't pretty enough or sophisticated enough to please her mama."

  "There's nothing wrong with Callie," Micah replied absently. "She's naive, of course, but looks aren't that important. She's a good woman, in the true sense of the word. I should know," he added with a harsh laugh. "I've left a trail of the other kind behind me over the years."

  "I won't argue with that," Eb had to agree. "They used to follow you around like flies after honey. Really beautiful women."

  "Window dressing," Micah said carelessly. "Underneath they all had one thing in common—greed. Being rich and single has its drawbacks as well as its perks."

  There was a brief silence while all of them recal
led other times, other places.

  "How's Lisa, by the way?" Micah asked. "Is the baby all right?"

  "The test results got mixed when she had the first test, just after Walt was killed," Cy replied. He began to smile. "But she's pregnant now."

  Eb scowled. "With Walt's baby. I know."

  Cy shook his head. "Not Walt's baby. Mine." His eyes were brimming with pride, joy, delight. "Walt had a va-sectomy before they married. He didn't want kids at all."

  The other two men chuckled softly. "I thought you said she was too young for you," Eb said mischievously.

  "I changed my mind. She's old for her age and I'm young for mine." He couldn't seem to stop smiling. "It's like a second chance. I never thought I'd get one."

  "I'm glad for you," Eb said. "Glad for myself, too. We've made good marriages."

  "I wish you could stop talking about it," Micah said disgustedly, glancing from one of them to the other. "I'll break out in hives any minute."

  "Mr. Confirmed Bachelor," Eb said, jerking a thumb at the blond man.

  "Napoleon before Waterloo," Cy agreed.

  Micah got up out of his chair. "I'm going to see Callie. I brought Bojo over here with me, but he flew to Atlanta to see his brother. I guess it's just as well. If I had him tail her, he'd probably attract a little attention."

  “Dressed in a long white silk robe and babushes on his feet? Who'd notice that in Jacobsville, Texas?" Eb asked dryly.

  "He's Berber. The beard and mustache are traditional, like the accoutrements. He wouldn't blend, that's for sure," Micah said. He sighed. "I've had a hard time replacing Dallas since he got shot up and then left to marry Sally's aunt Jessica. Good men are really hard to find these days."

  "They were just as hard to find back when we started out, too," Eb said. "Well, there's always Harley. He's hooked on adventure."

  "No, he isn't," Cy said firmly. "He's the best foreman in two counties and I'm not recommending him for a target."

  "He did pretty good that night," Eb said. "When the chips are down, he can keep his head."

  "I want him to keep his head," Cy said. "That's the whole point of keeping him at home."

  "How about Rodrigo?" Eb suggested.

  Micah nodded slowly. "He could come to Nassau. He'd be safer there, with Bojo and me. I'll see if I can find him on my way home."

  "Take care of yourself," Cy said.

  Micah shook hands with him. "You do the same."

  He left the two of them still talking about Rodrigo and climbed into the racy black Porsche he drove. It was like him, power and grace conventionally packaged and deceptively straitlaced, Micah was a law unto himself,

  Micah drove to the side street near Kemp's law office, where Callie's little yellow VW beetle was sitting. He liked the updated style of the body, and the color suited her. She was bright and sunny. Or she had been, until her mother ruined all their lives.

  It was five o'clock on the dot, and he waited and watched the rearview. Sure enough, less than a minute later, Callie Kirby came out of the law office and went down the sidewalk toward her car, lost in thought as she dug in her purse for her car keys. It amazed him that everything didn't fall out on the pavement at her feet. He remembered Callie being all thumbs, a gangly teenager suffering from embarrassment, lack of social graces and a bubbly personality despite her drawbacks.

  But this Callie had changed. She had pale blue eyes and an ordinary sort of face, but it had a gamine charm all its own. She wore her dark hair short. She was only medium height, a little thing compared to him. But for her size, she packed a wallop when she lost her temper. He was sorry they couldn't be friends. He didn't have many, and she would have had the distinction of being the only woman among them. His affairs had tarnished him in Callie's quiet eyes. She had no use for playboys. Especially Micah Steele. Like his father, she blamed him for the divorce and the anguish that came after it. She thought that he'd been having an affair with her mother. That was ironic, when her mother was the one woman on earth he'd ever considered totally repulsive.

  Well, you couldn't go home again, they said. They were right. That door was closed forever. His father was old and weak and illness had taken much of the spirit out of him. He hated the separation between them. He loved his father.

  He was glad that Callie did, too, and that she took such good care of the old man. He thought about Lopez and the possibility of a hit man with those two gentle people as the targets, and his blood ran cold. He didn't want them to die for his actions. Lopez would know that, and it would please him. His teeth clenched as unwanted pictures of some nebulous tragedy began to take shape in his mind.

  Callie came toward her car, noticed the low slung Porsche and stopped dead in her tracks, staring at it.

  Micah climbed out of the car with his usual elegance of movement and went to join her beside her car. "We need to talk."

  She clutched her purse against her small breasts and looked up at him with faint hauteur. Her heart was racing. He could see her blouse move jerkily above her breasts. He remembered vividly the feel of her in his arms that once... "We never talk," she informed him. "You say what you want to, and then you walk away."

  She had a point. He pulled the half-smoked cigar from its holder and lit it.

  "That's illegal in the mall," she said with unholy glee. "Light up there, and they'll arrest you."

  "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

  She wasn't going to be drawn into another verbal fire-fight with him. She straightened. "I'm tired and I still have to pick up Dad at the senior center. He stays with me now." "I know." He hated the thought of Callie being his father's nurse and protector. It was one of many things he resented. "Have you heard from your mother?" he added mockingly.

  She didn't flinch. But her eyelids did, just barely perceptibly. "I haven't heard from my mother since the divorce," she said calmly. "Have you?" she added with pure venom. His dark eyes glittered at her.

  She decided to cut her losses. "What do you want?" she asked bluntly.

  Now that he had her attention, he didn't know how to put it. She had no idea what he did for a living. Even his father didn't know. He'd kept his profession secret from both of them. He'd inherited a large trust from his mother, which would never have been enough to furnish him with Porsches and Armani suits. They didn't seem to realize that, so he left them to draw their own conclusions. Now, with Lopez looming over him, his profession might get them both killed. He had to find a way to protect them. But how?

  "I don't suppose you and Dad would like to come down to Nassau for a vacation?" he asked speculatively.

  Her chin lifted proudly. "I'd rather holiday in hell," she said with a cold smile.

  He let out a husky, hollow laugh. "That's what I thought."

  "Your father is all right," she said, anticipating what she thought was wrong. "It was just a mild stroke."

  "When did that happen?" he asked abruptly, with concern.

  "No one called you?" She shifted her purse. "Sorry. We've all watched him carefully since that heart attack. It was two weeks ago, he lost the feeling on the left side of his face and couldn't move it. As I said, it was mild. It was a light stroke. But they were actually able to clean out the artery that was clogged and put a shunt in it. He's on blood thinners, and he has a good prognosis. You don't have to worry about him. I'm taking good care of him."

  "On your salary," he said flatly, angered.

  She stiffened. "I make a decent living and he's an economical guest. We struggle along together just fine. We don't need financial help," she added firmly. "In case you wondered," she added, reminding him that he'd accused her of being money-hungry just like her mother. It was one of many things he'd said to her that still hurt.

  The words went right through him, but he hid his reaction. He wished he could forget the accusations he'd made the hurtful things he'd said to her. But there was no going back. "Did you know your own father?" he asked, curious

  Her face grew taut. "I don't know who my
father was. My mother's first husband was positive that it wasn't him. That's why he didn't press for custody when she divorced him."

  She said it with savaged pride, and he was sorry he'd forced the admission from her. "So my father's standing in for him?" he probed gently.

  "Jack Steele was kinder to me than anyone else ever was," she said tightly. "It's no great burden to look after him. And you still haven't said why you're here."

  He fingered the burning cigar and tried to find the words "I've made an enemy," he said finally. "A very bad man to cross. I think he might target you and my father to get back at me."

  Callie frowned. "Excuse me?"

  His dark eyes met hers. "He's a drug lord. He heads one of the Colombian cartels. I just cost him several million dollars by tipping the DEA about a massive shipment of cocaine he sent over here."

  Her blood ran cold. She worked in legal circles. She knew about drugs, not only their dangers, but also the penalties for using or selling them. She also knew about the Colombian cartels, because they were on the news most every night. They were graphic about how drug dealers got even with people who cost them money. She couldn't even shoot a gun, and Jack Steele, Micah's father, was practically an invalid despite his remarkable recovery. The two of them together would never be able to protect themselves from such an adversary, and she couldn't afford to hire a bodyguard.

  She stared at Micah blankly. "Would he be that ruthless?" she had to ask.

  'Yes.'

  Her chest rose and fell heavily. "Okay. What do we do?"

  Straightforward. No accusations, no rage, no exaggerated fear. She simply asked, trusting that he'd know. And he did.

  "I'm going to send someone over here to watch you and Dad," he replied. "Someone trustworthy."

  "And what are you going to do?" she wanted to know.

  "That's my business."

  He looked, and sounded, harder than nails. She felt exposed, vulnerable. She was eighteen again, hearing him accuse her of setting him up with his father. He'd already been angry at her for what had happened when they'd been alone that last Christmas they'd all lived together. He'd given in to temptation and it had taken all his willpower to get away from her at all. He'd lectured her about being so free with her kisses, so wanton and forward. He'd left her in tears. It had only dawned on him much later that she'd had something alcoholic to drink. He'd walked out into the hall, where her mother had seen him in a state of unmistakable arousal and had made a blatant play for him, thinking she'd aroused him in her low-cut dress.