Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  He put the medical equipment to one side and told her she could get dressed.

  "I'm going to put you on some antibiotics to fight off infection." He studied her with narrowed eyes. "What you've been through is traumatic," he added as he handed her the prescription bottle. "I'd advise counseling."

  "Right now," she said on a long breath, "I'm occupied with just trying to stay alive. The drug dealer is still after me, you see."

  His jaw tautened. "Micah will take care of you."

  "I know that." She stood up and smiled, extending her hand. "Thanks."

  He shook her hand and shrugged. "Think nothing of it. We brilliant medical types feel obliged to minister to the masses..."

  "Oh, for God's sake!" Micah groaned as he entered the room, overhearing his friend.

  Dr. Candler gave him a look full of frowning mock-hauteur. "And aren't you lucky that I don't have to examine you today?” he drawled.

  "We're leaving. Right now." He took Callie by the hand and gave the other man a grin. "Thanks."

  "Anytime. You take care."

  "You do the same."

  Callie was herded out the door.

  "But, the bill," she protested as he put her out a side door and drew her into the vehicle that was waiting for them with the engine running.

  "Already taken care of. Let's get to the airport."

  Callie settled into the seat, still worrying. "I don't have anything with me," she said miserably. "No papers, no clothes, no shoes..."

  "I told you, Maddie got all that together. It will be waiting for us at the airport, along with tickets and boarding passes."

  "What if Lopez has people there waiting for us?" she worried aloud.

  "We also have people waiting there for us," Bojo said from the front seat. "Miami is our safest domestic port."

  "Okay," she said, and smiled at him.

  He smiled back.

  Micah and Bojo exchanged a complicated glance. Bojo turned his attention back to the road and didn't say another word all the way to the airport. Callie understood. Micah didn't want her getting too friendly with his people. She didn't take offense. She was used to rejection, after so many years in foster care. She only shrugged and looked out the window, watching palm trees and colorful buildings slide past as they wove through side streets and back onto the expressway.

  The airport was crowded. Micah caught her by the arm and guided her past the ticket counter on the way to the concourses.

  "But..." she protested.

  "Don't argue. Just walk through the metal detector."

  He followed close behind her. Neither of them was carrying anything metallic, but Micah was stopped when a security woman passed a wand over the two of them and her detector picked up the residual gunpowder on his hands and clothing. The woman looked at her instrument and then at him, with a wary, suspicious stare.

  He smiled lazily at the uniformed woman holding the wand. "I'm on my way to a regional skeet shooting tournament," he lied glibly. "I sent my guns on ahead by express, unassembled. Can't be too careful these days, where firearms are concerned," he added, catching Callie's hand in his. "Right, honey?" he murmured softly, drawing her close.

  To Callie's credit, she didn't faint at the unexpected feel of Micah's arm around her, but she tingled from head to toe and her heart went wild.

  The airport security woman seemed to relax, and she smiled back. She assumed, as Micah had intended, that he and Callie were involved. "Indeed you can't. Have a good trip."

  Micah kept that long, muscular arm around Callie as they walked slowly down the concourse. He looked down, noting the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat at her neck, and he smiled to himself.

  "You have lightning-quick reflexes," he remarked after a minute. "I noticed that in Cancun. You didn't argue, you didn't question anything I told you to do, and you moved almost as fast as I did. You're good company in tight corners."

  She shrugged. "When you came in through the window, I didn't know who you were, because of that face mask. Actually," she confessed with a sheepish smile, "at first, I figured you were a rival drug dealer, but I had high hopes that you might be kind enough to just kill me and not torture me first if I didn't resist."

  He drew in a sharp breath and the arm holding her contracted with a jerk. "Strange attitude, Callie," he remarked.

  "Not at the time. Not to me, anyway." She shivered at the memory and felt his arm tighten almost protectively. They were well out of earshot and sight of the security guard. "Micah, what was that wand she was checking us with?"

  "It detects nitrates," he replied. "With it, they can tell if a passenger has had any recent contact with weapons or explosives."

  She was keenly aware of his arm still holding her close against his warm, powerful body. "You can, uh, let go now. She's out of sight."

  He didn't relent. "Don't look, but there's a security guard with a two-way radio about fifteen feet to your right." He smiled down at her. "And I'll give you three guesses who's on the other end of it."

  She smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes. "The lady with the nitrate wand? We're psyching them out, right?"

  He searched her eyes and for a few seconds he stopped walking. "Psyching them out," he murmured. His gaze fell to her soft, full mouth. "Exactly."

  She couldn't quite get her breath. His expression was unreadable, but his black eyes were glittering. He watched her blouse shake with the frantic rate of her heartbeats. He was remembering mistletoe and harsh words, and that same look in Callie's soft eyes, that aching need to be kissed that made her look so very vulnerable.

  "What the hell," he murmured roughly as his head bent to hers. "It's an airport. People are saying hello and goodbye everywhere..."

  His warm, hard mouth covered hers very gently while the sounds of people in transit all around them faded to a dull roar. His heavy brows drew together in something close to anguish as he began to kiss her. Fascinated by his expression, by the warm, ardent pressure of his mouth on hers, she closed her eyes tight, and fantasized that he meant it, that he wasn't pretending for the benefit of security guards, that he was enjoying the soft, tremulous response of her lips to the teasing, expert pressure of his own.

  "Boss?"

  They didn't hear the gruff whisper.

  It was followed by the loud clearing of a throat and a cough.

  They didn't hear that, either. Callie was on tiptoe now, her short nails digging into the hard muscles of his upper arms, hanging on Micah's slow, tender kiss with little more than willpower, so afraid that he was going to pull away...!

  "Micah!" the voice said shortly. Micah's head jerked up, and for a few seconds he seemed as disoriented as Callie. He stared blankly at the dark-headed man in front of him.

  The man was extending a small case toward him.

  "Her papers and clothes and shoes and stuff," the man said, nodding toward Callie and clearing his throat again. "Maddie had me fly them over here."

  "Thanks, Pogo."

  The big, dark man nodded. He stared with open curiosity at Callie, and then he smiled gently. "It was my pleasure," he said, glancing again at Micah and making an odd little gesture with his head in Callie's direction.

  "This is Callie Kirby," Micah said shortly, adding, "my... stepsister."

  The big man's eyebrows levered up. "Oh! I mean, I was hoping she wasn't a real sister. I mean, the way you were kissing her and all." He flushed, and laughed self-consciously when Micah glared at him. Callie was scarlet, looking everywhere except at the newcomer.

  "You'll miss your flight out of here," Micah said pointedly.

  "What? Oh. Yeah." He grinned at Callie. "I'm Pogo. I'm from Saint Augustine. I used to wrestle alligators until Micah here gave me a job. I'm sort of a bodyguard, you know..."

  "You're going to be an unemployed bodyguard in twenty seconds if you don't merge with the crowd," Micah said curtly.

  "Oh. Well...sure. Bye, now," he told Callie with an ear-to-ear smile.

  She smiled back.
He was like a big teddy bear. She was sorry they wouldn't get to know each other.

  Pogo almost fell over his own feet as he turned, jerking both busy eyebrows at his boss, before he melted into the crowd and vanished.

  "Stop doing that," Micah said coldly.

  She looked up at him blankly. "Doing what?"

  "Smiling at my men like that. These men aren't used to it. Don't encourage them."

  Her lips parted on a shaken breath. She looked at him as if she feared for his sanity. "Them?" she echoed, dazed.

  "Bojo and Peter and Pogo," he said, moving restlessly. He was jealous, God knew why. It irritated him. "Come on."

  He moved away from her, catching her hand tightly and pulling her along with him.

  "And don't read anything into what just happened," he added coldly, without looking at her.

  "Why would I?" she asked honestly. "You said it was just for appearances. I haven't forgotten how you feel about me, Micah."

  He stopped and stared intently down into her eyes. His own were narrow, angry, impatient. She wore her heart where anyone could see it. Her vulnerability made him protective. Odd, that, when she was tough enough to survive captivity by Lopez and still keep her nerve during a bloody breakout.

  "You don't have a clue how I feel about you," he said involuntarily. His fingers locked closer into hers. "I'm thirty-six. You're barely twenty-two. The sort of woman I prefer is sophisticated and street-smart and has no qualms about sex. You're still at the kissing-in-parked-cars stage."

  She flushed and searched his eyes. "I don't kiss people in parked cars because I don't date anybody," she told him with blunt honesty. "I can't leave Dad alone in the evenings. Besides, too many men around Jacobsville remember my mother, and think I'm like her." Her face stiffened and she looked away. "Including you."

  He didn't speak. There was little softness left in him after all title violent years, but she was able to touch some last, sensitive place with her sweet voice. Waves of guilt ran over him. Yes, he'd compared her to her mother that Christmas. He'd said harsh, cruel things. He regretted them, but there was no going back. His feelings about Callie unnerved him. She was the only weak spot in his armor that he'd ever known. And what a good thing that she didn't know that, he told himself.

  "You don't know what was really going on that night, Callie," he said after a minute.

  She looked up at him. "Don't you think it's time I did?" she asked softly.

  He toyed with her fingers, causing ripples of pleasure to run along her spine. "Why not? You're old enough to hear it now." He glanced around them cautiously before he looked at her again. "You were wearing an emerald velvet dress that night, the same one you'd worn to your eighteenth birthday party. They were watching a movie while you finished decorating the Christmas tree," he continued absently. "You'd just bent over to pick up an ornament when I came into the room. The dress had a deep neckline. You weren't wearing a bra under it, and your breasts were visible in that position, right to the nipples. You looked up at me and your nipples were suddenly hard."

  She gaped at him. The comment about her nipples was disturbing, but she had no idea what he meant by emphasizing them. "I had no idea I was showing like that!"

  "I didn't realize that. Not at first." He held her fingers tighter. "You saw me and came right up against me, drowning me in that floral perfume you wore. You stood on tiptoe, like you did a minute ago, trying to tempt me into kissing you."

  She averted her embarrassed eyes. "You said terrible things..."

  "The sight of you like that had aroused me passionately," he said frankly, nodding when her shocked eyes jumped to his face. "That's right. And I couldn't let you know it. I had to make you keep your distance, not an easy accomplishment after the alcohol you'd had. For which," he added coldly, "your mother should have been shot! It was illegal for her to let you drink, even at home. Anyway, I read you the riot act, pushed you away and walked down the hall, right into your mother. She recognized immediately what you hadn't even noticed about my body, and she thought it was the sight of her in that slinky silver dress that had caused it. So she buried herself against me and started kissing me." He let out an angry breath. "Your father saw us like that before I could push her away. And I couldn't tell him the truth, because you were just barely eighteen. I was already thirty-two."

  The bitterness in his deep voice was blatant. She didn't feel herself breathing. She'd only been eighteen, but he'd wanted her. She'd never realized it. Everything that didn't make sense was suddenly crystal clear-except that comment about his body. She wondered what her mother had seen and recognized about him that she hadn't.

  "You never told me."

  "You were a child, Callie," he said tautly. "In some ways, you still are. I was never low enough to take advantage of your innocence."

  She was almost vibrating with the turmoil of her emotions. She didn't know what to do or say.

  He drew in a long, slow breath as he studied her. "Come on," he said, tugging her along. "We have to move or we'll miss our flight." He handed her the case and indicated the ladies' room. "Get changed. I'll wait right here."

  She nodded. Her mind was in such turmoil that she changed into jeans and a long-sleeved knit shirt, socks and sneakers, without paying much attention to what was in the small travel case. She didn't take time to look in any of the compartments, because he'd said to hurry. She glanced at herself in the mirror and was glad she had short hair that could do without a brush. Despite all she'd been through, it didn't look too bad. She'd have to buy a brush when they got where they were going, along with makeup and other toiletries. But that could wait.

  Micah was propping up the wall when she came out. He nodded, approving what Maddie had packed for her, and took the case. "Here," he said, passing her a small plastic bag.

  Inside were makeup, a brush, a toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant. She almost cried at the thoughtful gift.

  "Thanks," she said huskily.

  Micah pulled the tickets and boarding passes out of his shirt pocket. "Get out your driver's license and birth certificate," he said. "We have to have a photo ID to board."

  She felt momentary panic. "My birth certificate is in my file at home, and my driver's license is still in my purse, in my car...!"

  He laid a lean forefinger across her pretty mouth, slightly swollen from the hard contact with his. "Your car is at your house, and your purse is inside it, and it's locked up tight. I told Maddie to put your birth certificate and your driver's license in the case. Have you looked for them?"

  "No. I didn't think..."

  She paused, putting the case down on the carpeted concourse floor to open it. Sure enough, her driver's license was in the zipped compartment that she hadn't looked in when she was in the bathroom. Besides that, the unknown Maddie had actually put her makeup and toiletries inside as well, in a plastic bag. She could have wept at the woman's thoughtfulness, but she wasn't going to tell Micah and make him feel uncomfortable that he'd already bought her those items. She closed it quickly and stuck her license in her jeans pocket.

  "Does Maddie really look like me?" she asked on the way to the ticket counter, trying not to sound as if she minded. He'd said they resembled one another earlier.

  "At a distance," he affirmed. "Her hair is shorter than yours, and she's more muscular. She was a karate instructor when she signed on with me. She's twenty-six."

  "Karate."

  "Black belt," he added.

  "She seems to be very efficient," she murmured a little stiffly.

  He gave her a knowing glance that she didn't see and chuckled softly. "She's in love with Colby Lane, a guy I used to work with at the justice department,"' he told her. "She signed on with us because she thought he was going to."

  "He didn't?"

  He shook his head. "He's working for Pierce Hut-ton's outfit, as a security chief, along with Tate Win-throp, an acquaintance of mine "

  "Oh."

  They were at the ticket counter now. He h
eld out his hand for her driver's license and birth certificate, and presented them along with his driver's license and passport and the tickets to the agent on duty.

  She put the tickets in a neat folder with the boarding passes in a slot on the outside, checked the ID, and handed them back.

  "Have a nice trip," she told them. "We'll be boarding in just a minute."

  Callie hadn't looked at her boarding pass. She was too busy trying to spot Bojo and Peter and the others. "They're already en route," Micah told her nonchalantly, having guessed why she was looking around her.

  "They aren't going with us?" He gave her a wry glance. "Somebody had to bring my boat back. I left it here in the marina when I flew out to Jacobsville to help Eb Scott and Cy Parks shut down Lopez's drug operation. It's still there."

  "Why couldn't we have gone on the boat, too?"

  "You get seasick," he said before he thought.

  Her lips fell open. She'd only been on a boat once, with him and her mother and stepfather, when she was sixteen. They'd gone to San Antonio and sailed down the river on a tour boat. She'd gotten very sick and thrown up. It had been Micah who'd looked after her, to his father's amusement.

  She hadn't even remembered the episode until he'd said that. She didn't get seasick now, but she kept quiet.

  "Besides," he added, avoiding her persistent stare, "if Lopez does try anything, it won't be on an international flight out of the U.S. He's in enough trouble with the higher-ups in his organization without making an assault on a commercial plane just to get even for losing a prisoner."

  She relaxed a little, because that had been on her mind.

  He took her arm and drew her toward a small door, where a uniformed man was holding a microphone. He announced that they were boarding first-class passengers first, and Micah ushered her right down the ramp and into the plane.

  "First class," she said, dazed, as he eased her into a wide, comfortable seat with plenty of leg room. Even for a man of his height, there was enough of it.

  "Always," he murmured, amused at her fascination. "I don't like cramped places."

  She fastened her seat belt with a wry smile. "Considering the size of you, I can understand that. Micah, what about Dad?" she added, ashamed that she was still"Maddie's got him under surveillance. When Pogo goes back, he'll work a split shift with her at your apartment to safeguard him. Eb and Cy are keeping their eyes out, as well. I promise you, Dad's going to be safe." He hesitated, searching her wide, pale blue eyes. "But you're the one in danger."