Everybody laughed.
She flushed, realizing now that her captors hadn't gone through customs, and neither had these men. "Okay, I get it, but what about getting back into the States from here? I don't have a passport..."
"You have a birth certificate," Micah reminded her. "It'll be waiting in Miami, along with a small bag containing some of your own clothes and shoes. That's why Maddie didn't come with us," he added smugly.
"Miami?" she exclaimed, recalling belatedly that he'd mentioned that before. "Why not Texas?"
"You're coming back to the Bahamas with me, Callie," Micah replied. "You'll be Lopez's priority now. He'll be out for revenge, and it will take all of us to keep you safe."
She gaped at him. "But, Dad..." she groaned.
"Dad is in good hands. So are you. Now try not to worry. I know what I'm doing."
She bit her lower lip. None of this was making sense, and she was still scared, every time she thought about Lopez. But all these men surrounding her looked tough and battle-hardened, and she knew they wouldn't let her be recaptured.
"Who's Laremos?" Callie asked curiously, a minute later.
"He's retired now," Micah said, coming away from the door. "But he and 'Dutch' van Meer and J. D. Brettman were the guys who taught us the trade. They were the best. Laremos lives outside Cancun on a plantation with his wife and kids, and he's got the equivalent of a small army around him. Even the drug lords avoid his place. We'll get out all right, even if Lopez has his men tracking us."
She averted her eyes and folded her arms tightly around her body.
"You are shivering," Bojo said gently. "Here." He found a blanket and wrapped it around her.
That one simple act of compassion brought all her repressed fear and anguish to the surface. She bawled. Not a sound touched her lips. But tears poured from her eyes, draping themselves hot and wet across her pale cheeks and down to the corner of her pretty bow mouth.
Micah saw them and his face hardened like rock.
She turned her face toward the other side of the helicopter. She was used to hiding her tears. They mostly angered people, made them more hostile. Or they showed a weakness that was readily exploited. It was always better not to let people know they had the power to hurt you.
She wrapped the blanket closer and didn't speak the rest of the way. She closed her eyes, wiping at them with the blanket. Micah spoke in low tones to the other men, and although she couldn't understand what he was saying, she understood that rough, angry tone. She'd heard it enough at home.
For now, all she wanted to do was get to safety, to a place where Lopez and the animals who worked for him couldn't find her, couldn't hurt her. She was more afraid now than she had been on the way out of Texas, because now she knew what recapture would mean. The darkness was a friend in which she could hide her fear, conceal her terror. The sound of the propellers became suddenly like a mechanical lullaby in her ears, lulling her, like the whispers of the deep voices around her, into a brief, fitful sleep.
She felt an odd lightness in her stomach and opened her eyes to find the helicopter landing at what looked like a small airstrip on private land.
A big airplane, with scars and faded lettering, was waiting with its twin prop engines already running. Half a dozen armed men in camouflage uniforms stood with their guns ready to fire. A tall, imposing man with a mustache came forward. He had a Latin look about him, dark eyes and graceful movement.
He shook hands with Micah and spoke to him quietly, so that his voice didn't carry. Micah listened, and then nodded. They shook hands again. The man glanced at Callie curiously, and smiled in her direction.
She smiled back, her whole young face drawn and fatigued.
Micah motioned to her. "We have to get airborne before Lopez's men get here. Climb aboard. Thanks, Diego!" he called to the man.
“No es nada," came the grinning reply.
"Was that the man you know, with the plantation?" Callie asked when they were inside and the door was closed.
"That was Laremos," he agreed.
"He and his family won't be hurt on our account, will they?" she persisted.
He glanced down at her. "No," he said slowly. His eyes searched hers until she looked away, made uneasy and shivery by the way he was looking at her.
He turned and made his way down the aisle to the cockpit. Two men poked their heads out of it, grinning, and after he spoke to them, they revved up the engines.
The passengers strapped themselves into their seats. Callie started to sit by herself, but Micah took her arm and guided her into the seat beside his. It surprised her, but she didn't protest. He reached across her to fasten her seat belt, bringing his hard, muscular chest pressing gently against her breasts.
She gasped as the pressure made the cut painful.
"God, I'm sorry! I forgot," he said, his hand going naturally, protectively, to her breast, to cup it gently. "Is it bad?"
She went scarlet. Of course, nobody was near enough to see what was going on, but it embarrassed her to have him touch her with such familiarity. And then she remembered that he'd had her nude from the waist up on one side while he cleaned and bandaged that cut.
Her eyes searched his while she tried to speak. Her tongue felt swollen. Her breath came jerkily into her throat and her lips parted under its force. She felt winded, as if she'd fallen from a height.
His thumb soothed the soft flesh around the cut. "When we get to Miami, I'll take you to a friend of mine who's in private practice. We'll get you checked out before we fly out to the Bahamas."
His other arm, muscular and warm, was under her head. She could feel his breath, mint-scented and warm, on her lips as he searched her eyes.
His free hand left her breast and gently cupped her softly rounded chin. "Soft skin," he whispered deeply. "Soft heart. Sweet, soft mouth..."
His lips pressed the words against hers, probing tenderly. He caught her upper lip in both of his and tasted it with his tongue. Then he lifted away to look down into her shocked, curious eyes.
"You should hate me," he whispered. "I hurt you, and you did nothing, nothing at all to deserve it."
She winced, remembering how it had been when he'd lived with his father. "I understood. You resented me. My mother and I were interlopers."
"Your mother, maybe. Never you." He looked formidable, angry and bitter. But his black eyes were unreadable. "I've hesitated to ask. Maybe I don't really want to know. When Lopez had you," he began with uncharacteristic hesitation, "were you raped?"
"No," she said quietly. "But I was about to be. I remember thinking that if it hadn't all gone wrong that Christmas..." Her voice stopped. She was horrified at what she was about to say.
"I know," he interrupted, and he didn't smile. "I thought about it, too. What Lopez's damned henchmen did to you at least wouldn't have been your first experience of intimacy, if I hadn't acted like a prize heel with you!"
He seemed maddened by the knowledge. His hand on her face was hard and the pressure stung.
"Please," she whispered, tugging at his fingers.
He relaxed them at once. "I'm sorry," he bit off. "I'm still on edge. This whole thing has been a nightmare."
"Yes." She searched his black eyes, wishing she knew what he was thinking.
His thumb brushed softly over her swollen mouth. "Lopez will never get the chance to hurt you again," he said quietly. "I give you my word."
She bit her lower lip when his hand lifted away, shy of him. "Do you really think he'll come after me again?"
"I think he'll try," he said honestly.
She shivered, averting her eyes to the aisle beside them. "I hate remembering how helpless I was."
"I've been in similar situations," he said surprisingly. "Once I was captured on a mission and held for execution. I was tied up and tortured. I know how it feels."
She gaped at him, horrified. "How did you escape?"
"Bojo and the others came in after me," he said simply. "Under impossi
ble odds, too." He smiled, and it was the first genuine smile he'd ever given her. "I guess they missed being yelled at."
She smiled back, hesitantly. It was new to relax with Micah, not to be on her guard against antagonistic and sarcastic comments.
He touched her face with a curious intensity in his eyes. "You must have been terrified when you were kidnapped. You've never known violence."
She didn't tell him, but she had, even if not as traumatically as she had at Lopez's. She lowered her gaze to his hard, disciplined mouth. "I never expected to be rescued at all, least of all by you. I wasn't even sure you'd agree to pay a ransom if they'd asked for one."
He scowled. "Why not?"
"You don't like me," she returned simply. "You never did."
He seemed disturbed. "It's a little more complicated than that, Callie."
"All the same, thank you for saving me,” she continued. "You risked your own life to get me out."
"I've been risking it for years," he said absently while he studied her upturned face. She was too pale, and the fatigue she felt was visible. "Why don't you try to sleep? It's going to be a long flight."
Obviously he didn't want to talk. But she didn't mind. She was worn-out. "Okay," she agreed with a smile.
He moved back and she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and the tension of the past two days caught up with her all at once. She fell asleep almost at once and didn't wake up until they were landing.
She opened her eyes to find a hard, warm pillow under her head. To her amazement, she was lying across Micah's lap, with her cheek on his chest.
"Wakey, wakey," he teased gently. "We're on the ground."
"Where?" she asked, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child.
"Miami."
"Oh. At the airport."
He chuckled. "An airport," he corrected. "But this one isn't on any map."
He lifted her gently back into her own seat and got to his feet, stretching hugely. He grinned down at her. "Come on, pilgrim. We've got a lot to do, and not much time."
She let him lead her off the plane. The other men had all preceded them, leaving behind automatic weapons, pistols and other paraphernalia.
"Aren't you forgetting your equipment?" she asked Micah.
He smiled and put a long finger against her mouth. His eyes were full of mischief. He'd never joked with her, not in all the years they'd known each other.
"It isn't ours," he said in a stage whisper. "And see that building, and those guys coming out of it?"
"Yes."
"No," he corrected. "There's no building, and those guys don't exist. All of this is a figment of your imagination, especially the airplane."
"My gosh!" she exclaimed with wide eyes. "We're working for the CIA?"
He burst out laughing. "Don't even ask me who they are. I swore I'd never tell. And I never will. Now let's go, before they get here."
He and the others moved rapidly toward a big sport utility vehicle sitting just off the apron where they'd left the plane.
"Are you sure you cleared this with, uh-" Peter gave a quick glance at Callie "-the man who runs this place?"
"Eb did," Micah told him. "But just in case, let's get the hell out of Dodge, boys!"
He ran for the SUV, pushing Callie along. The others broke into a run as well, laughing as they went.
There was a shout behind them, but it was still hanging on the air when the driver, one of the guys in the cockpit, burned rubber taking off.
"He'll see the license plate!" Callie squeaked as she saw a suited man with a notepad looking after them.
"That's the idea," the young man named Peter told her with a grin. "It's a really neat plate, too. So is this vehicle. It belongs to the local director of the-" he hesitated "-of an agency we know. We, uh, had a friend borrow it from his house last night."
"We'll go to prison for years!" Callie exclaimed, horrified.
"Not really," the driver said, pulling quickly into a parking spot at a local supermarket. "Everybody out."
Callie's head was spinning. They got out of the SUV and into a beige sedan sitting next to it, with keys in the ignition. She was crowded into the back with Micah and young Peter, while the two pilots, one a Hispanic and the other almost as blond as Micah, crowded Bojo on either side in the front. The driver took off at a sedate pace and pulled out into Miami traffic.
That was when she noticed that all the men were wearing gloves. She wasn't. "Oh, that's lovely," she muttered. "That's just lovely! Everybody's wearing gloves but me. My fingerprints will be the only ones they find, and /'// go to prison for years. I guess you'll all come and visit me Sundays, right?" she added accusingly.
Micah chuckled with pure delight. "The guy who owns the SUV is a friend of Eb's, and even though he doesn't show it, he has a sense of humor. He'll double up laughing when he runs your prints and realizes who had his four-wheel drive. I'll explain it to you later. Take us straight to Dr. Candler's office, Don," he told the blond guy at the wheel. "You know where it is."
"You bet, boss," came the reply.
"I'm not going to prison?" Callie asked again, just to be sure.
Micah pursed his lips. "Well, that depends on whether or not the guy at customs recognizes us. I was kidding!" he added immediately when she looked ready to cry.
She moved her shoulder and grimaced. "I'll laugh enthusiastically when I get checked out," she promised.
"He'll take good care of you," Micah assured her. "He and I were at medical school together."
"Is he, I mean, does he do what you do?"
"Not Jerry," he told her. "He specializes in trauma medicine. He's chief of staff at a small hospital here."
"I see," she said, nodding. "He's a normal person."
Micah gave her a speaking glance while the others chuckled.
The hospital where Micah's friend worked was only a few minutes from the airport. Micah took Cal-lie inside while the others waited in the car. Micah had a private word with the receptionist, who nodded and left her desk for a minute. She came back with a tall, dark-headed man about Micah's age. He motioned to Micah.
Callie was led back into an examination room. Micah sank into a chair by the desk.
"Are you going to sit there the whole time?" Callie asked Micah, aghast, when the doctor asked her to remove the shirt she was wearing so he could examine her.
"You haven't got anything that I haven't seen, and I need to explain to Jerry what I did to treat your wound." He proceeded to do that while Callie, uncomfortable and shy, turned her shoulder to him and removed the shirt.
After checking her vital signs, Dr. Candler took the bandage off and examined the small red cut with a scowling face. "How did this happen?" he asked curtly.
"One of Lopez's goons had a knife and liked to play games with helpless women," Micah said coldly.
"I hope he won't be doing it again," the physician murmured as he cleaned and redressed the superficial wound.
"That's classified," Micah said simply.
Callie glanced at him, surprised. His black eyes met hers, but he didn't say anything else.
"I'm going to give you a tetanus shot as a precaution," Dr. Candler said with a professional smile. "But I can almost guarantee that the cut won't leave a scar when it heals. I imagine it stings."
"A little," Callie agreed.
"I need to give her a full examination," Dr. Candler told him after giving Callie the shot. "Why don't you go outside and smoke one of those contraband Cuban cigars I'm not supposed to know you have?"
"They aren't contraband," Micah told him. "It isn't illegal if you get given one that someone has purchased in Cuba. Cobb was down there last month and he brought me back several."
"Leave it to you to find a legal way to do something illegal," Candler chuckled.
"Speaking of which, I'd better give a mutual acquaintance a quick call and thank him for the loan of his equipment." He glanced at Callie and smiled softly. "Then maybe Callie can relax while you finish h
ere."
She didn't reply. He went out and closed the door behind him. She let out an audible sigh of relief.
"Now," Dr. Candler said as he continued to examine her. "Tell me what happened."
She did, still shaken and frightened by what she'd experienced in the last two days. He listened while he worked, his face giving nothing away.
"What happened to the man who did it?" he persisted.
She gave him an innocent smile. "I really don't know," she lied.
He sighed. "You and Micah." He shook his head. "Have you known him long?"
"Since I was fifteen," she told him. "His father and my mother were briefly married."
"You're Callie!" the doctor said at once.
Chapter Four
The look on Callie's face was priceless. "How did you know?" she asked.
He smiled. "Micah talks about you a lot."
That was a shocker. "I didn't think he wanted anybody to know I even existed," she pointed out.
He pursed his lips. "Well, let's just say that he has ambiguous feelings about you."
Ambiguous. Right. Plainly stated, he couldn't stand her. But if that was true, why had he come himself to rescue her, instead of just sending his men?
She drew in a breath as he tended to her. "Am I going to be okay?"
"You're going to be good as new in a few days." He smiled at her. "Trust me."
"Micah seems to."
"He should. I taught him everything he knows about surgery," he chuckled. "I was a year ahead of him when we were in graduate school, and I took classes for one of the professors occasionally."
She smiled. "You're very good."
"So was he," he replied grimly.
She hesitated, but curiosity prodded her on. "If it wouldn't be breaking any solemn oath, could you tell me why he didn't finish his residency?"
He did, without going into details. "He realized medicine wasn't his true calling."
She nodded in understanding.
"But you didn't hear that from me," he added firmly.
"Oh, I never tell people things I know," she replied easily, smiling. "I work for a lawyer."
He chuckled. "Do tell?"
"He's something of a fire-eater, but he's nice to me. He practices criminal law back in Jacobsville, Texas."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 278
