The Reunion Mission: The Reunion MissionTall Dark Defender

by Beth Cornelison

  Her cheek twitched in a grin as if his simple inquiry about the child was gratifying to her. “Tia is supposed to be released later this afternoon, so I have to work fast to get approved as her guardian while the embassies search for her family.” She fidgeted with her purse strap and took another step toward his bed. “My father is pulling some strings with a judge or two he knows to make the arrangements.”

  Daniel grunted and swallowed the snide retort that would only alienate himself further from her. If this was goodbye, he didn’t want her last memory to be him acting like a surly ass. He inhaled deeply, rubbed his aching knee and blew out a cleansing breath. “Well, good luck. I hope things work out for you.”

  Another awkward smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. When you see Alec and Jake again—”

  “Alec and Erin went back to Colorado.” As happy as he was for Alec, starting a new life with the woman of his dreams, Daniel couldn’t help the kick of envy in his gut. “Her doctor didn’t want her so far from home this close to her due date.”

  “Oh.” She shifted her weight, clearly disappointed. “I’m sorry I missed them. I wanted to tell Alec thank you again.” Nicole locked an earnest gaze on his. “When you talk to him—and Jake—please tell them how grateful I am for their part in our rescue.”

  Daniel jerked a nod. “Sure.”

  She tore her gaze away from his and stared at the floor while she chewed her lip, toyed with her earring. Even without his body language training, he’d have known she wanted to raise a difficult topic, probably delve into their history again. The last place he wanted to go.

  She lifted troubled eyes to his and opened her mouth.

  “Do you have a cell phone?” he asked before she could speak.

  “Uh, yeah.” She blinked, clearly caught off guard by his question. “My dad got a new one for me this morning.”

  Daniel held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

  Furrowing her brow, Nicole eyed him suspiciously before she dug in her purse and gave him the phone.

  He tapped the on-screen menu to open her address book, entered his cell phone number and passed the device back to her. “Your father’s not the only one with valuable contacts. If you have trouble with ICE or Homeland Security because of Tia, I’ll do my best to help cut through red tape.” He nodded to the phone, which she studied with a spark of intrigue lighting her eyes. “That number is the best way to reach me.”

  She tapped her screen a couple times, and on the tray table beside his bed, Daniel’s cell phone buzzed. He arched one eyebrow, and she flashed a nervous grin. “Just checking.”

  “Thought I’d given you a fake number?”

  She straightened. “No, I—” A blush rose in her cheeks as she fumbled. “I was making sure my phone worked.” She ducked her head and made a production of stashing her phone.

  A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Right. And now I have your number, too.”

  Her chin shot up, and wide blue eyes latched onto his. “Oh. Yeah.” She wet her lips. “Will you use it?”

  He tensed, but his gaze never wavered. “I’m not sure that’d be a good idea. Things didn’t work out so well for us last time.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and frowned at him. “And whose fault is that?”

  “There’s plenty of blame to go around.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “You’re probably right.” Heaving a sigh, she slid her purse strap in place on her shoulder. “Pity, too. Before that morning, I thought we had something pretty good between us.”

  So did I. Daniel bit back the reply. No point dwelling on could-have-beens. “Takes more than hot sex to make a relationship work.”

  Nicole scowled. “I know that.”

  She continued to glare at him, but he saw the heat that flared in her eyes. Heat that said she was remembering the sultry tangling of limbs and slap of flesh as their bodies writhed together. Daniel’s body hummed as his brain easily conjured an erotic image from that night.

  She cocked her head at a haughty angle. “Relationships take time...to learn each other’s interests and tastes—”

  “They take trust. Respect. Honesty,” he snarled. He growled his frustration and waved her off. “Forget it. Like I said, it’s history. Leave it alone.”

  “What makes you think we didn’t have trust or...respect or...?”

  “Leave. It. Alone,” he repeated, his gaze drilling into her.

  She threw up her hands and shook her head. “Whatever.” Spinning on her heel, she stalked to the door and yanked it open.

  Daniel’s pulse stumbled, and acid gnawed his stomach. He was about to blow it again. He’d spent his final minutes with Nicole fighting about the past rather than repairing the tensions between them. But if he saw no future between them, why did he care so much where their relationship stood?

  He squeezed the bedsheet in his fist. “Damn it, Nicole. Stop.”

  She waited for him to speak but didn’t turn.

  His heart thundered as he searched for something to tell her. You complete me. You make me want to be a better man. We’ll always have Paris. He pinched the bridge of his nose as a parade of clichéd movie lines filled his head. Finally, he sighed and muttered, “It was a good night. But...we were too different to make it work.”

  She sent him a sad look over her shoulder. “It was a great night. But you didn’t give us a chance to work.”

  Nicole disappeared into the hall, her hurt and disappointment still hovering in the air, reverberating around him. Daniel sank back in his pillows as a shard of hope lodged inside him like a splinter. Was it possible he’d read the situation wrong that morning years ago? Had he missed the most important opportunity of his life—the chance to be with Nicole?

  He closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Hope was a painful, double-edged sword. Just when he thought he’d finally cut Nicole out of his life, she cast a new light on his dark memories from their past.

  * * *

  Despite assurances that Tia could be released from the hospital that afternoon, legal red tape and delays kept Tia in the hospital another 24 hours. But Nicole made the most of the extra time, pushing the Department of Children and Family Services to complete an emergency home inspection and interview that allowed her to be appointed Tia’s temporary legal guardian. Nicole took Tia to her father’s New Orleans garden home, making a mental note to add apartment hunting to her to-do list once matters with Tia were settled.

  “Hello?” she called as she and Tia entered the kitchen through the back door. “Anyone home?”

  “Miss Nicole!” A thin, prematurely gray-haired woman bustled in from the laundry room and rushed to hug Nicole. “You’re home! And safe, praise the Lord!”

  Nicole beamed and embraced the woman who’d been her father’s housekeeper for as long as she could remember. “Sarah Beth, how good to see you!”

  Nicole introduced Tia to Sarah Beth Salyer, who traveled with her father to his many homes depending on where he was in residence at the moment—Washington, D.C., New Orleans, Baton Rouge or his ski cabin in Breckenridge. The two women caught each other up briefly on their respective status quos, then shared another tearful hug.

  “I’ve taken good care of your Boudreaux and Oreo. They’re around here somewhere.” Sarah Beth searched the floor for Nicole’s cats. “Probably on the sun porch.”

  Nicole’s heart swelled. “Then the sun porch is my next stop. I’ve missed my babies. Want to meet my kitties?” Nicole asked Tia in Spanish.

  The girl’s face brightened, and Nicole had her answer. Sarah Beth led them through the house to the sun porch, and Nicole spied Boudreaux on a chaise longue chair, basking in the sun.

  “Hey, old man,” she cooed, crouching next to the chair and waving Tia over.

  “I’ll start lunch for you, all right?” Sarah Beth headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Thanks, Sarah Beth,” Nicole called and scratched Boudreaux behind the ear. The kitten Daniel had rescued for her
ten years earlier stretched and purred when she ruffled his fur. He was thinner than she remembered, but his yellow coat still looked glossy and sleek. Tears pricked her eyes when she thought of that prom night years ago when she’d first met Daniel. She’d lost a piece of her heart to him that night, and Boudreaux had been an ever-present reminder of Daniel’s kindness and gallantry.

  Leave. It. Alone. Why was Daniel so reluctant to discuss their past? Unless she meant less to him than she’d believed. He’d never professed any undying affection or loyalty, so maybe the tender emotions had all been one-sided. But if that was true, why had he risked his life to get her out of Colombia?

  Tia’s giggle pulled her out of her reverie. Oreo, the black-and-white tomcat she’d found as a kitten, had strolled over to greet them. She’d rescued Oreo at a work site while on a church mission trip to rebuild storm-damaged houses. The tomcat rubbed against Tia and butted her hand with his head. In return, Tia patted Oreo and laughed each time he bumped her hand asking for more attention. Nicole silently blessed Oreo for helping bring Tia out of her shell.

  When her cell rang, Nicole dug her phone out of her pocket and checked the caller ID, foolishly wishing the caller was Daniel saying he’d changed his mind about having that long overdue talk about why he’d abandoned her. Instead, the call was from Washington, D.C., and she answered with her heart in her throat, praying for good news about Tia.

  Leaving Tia to play with the cats, Nicole stepped into the next room to take the call.

  “Miss White, this is Ramon Diaz. I am an attaché with the Colombian embassy. I believe we have a lead on the identity of the girl in your custody.”

  Relief washed through Nicole so hard and fast, her knees buckled, and she dropped onto the nearest chair. “That’s wonderful! What did you find out?”

  “She fits the description of Pilar Castillo, the daughter of Mario Castillo, a prominent judge in Bogotá whose family was attacked on the way to mass several months ago. Castillo’s wife and other daughter were murdered, and Pilar was taken hostage. The BACRIM— that is, the bandas criminales or band of criminals—” Nicole kept silent, not bothering to tell him she was well familiar with the term for the many criminal gangs and rebel groups terrorizing Colombia

  “—claiming responsibility has used Pilar as leverage in blackmailing Judge Castillo regarding several critical cases he has presided over this year.”

  Nicole’s stomach roiled, imagining the terror Tia—or Pilar—had witnessed, seeing her mother and sibling slaughtered. No wonder the poor child was traumatized. “Are you sure Tia is Pilar? Do you have a picture you can fax to me?”

  “I do, and I have a picture of the judge you can show the girl. I’d ask that you send me a picture of the girl for cross confirmation from the father.”

  A picture of Tia? Nicole thought a moment. “I can take her picture with my phone and text it to you. Will that work?”

  “Sí, that works,” Diaz replied.

  Nicole jotted down the cell phone number to text to and headed out to the sunroom again. Nicole had her own test in mind. Tia was still playing with Oreo, dangling a string for the cat to bap and giggling at the cat’s antics, and Nicole watched for a moment, savoring the sweet sound of her laughter. Finally, she said calmly, “Pilar?”

  The child froze, then jerked a wide-eyed glance up to her.

  Nicole’s pulse drummed as she stepped closer and squatted next to the girl. “Is that your name? Es ese tu nombre?” she asked. “Are you Pilar Castillo?”

  Fat tears puddled in the girl’s eyes, and she nodded.

  Nicole pulled her into an embrace and rubbed the girl’s back. “Oh, mija. We found your father. You’ll be going home soon.”

  * * *

  Nicole pulled the page from the fax machine in her father’s home office as it fed from the printer. The image of a swarthy middle-aged man in a black robe stared back at her. Pilar’s father, Mario Castillo.

  “Chicken salad?” Sarah Beth asked from the office door, a plate in hand.

  “Sounds heavenly. I’m starved.” Nicole’s stomach rumbled, and she thought of the many days in the prison camp when she’d eaten foul canned meats and stale crackers, dreaming of Sarah Beth’s cooking. “Is Tia still on the sun porch?”

  No, not Tia. Pilar. That would take a little getting used to.

  “I think so. I set a place for her in the kitchen. Should I get her?” Sarah Beth asked.

  “No, I’ll get her. Thanks.” Nicole folded the picture of Judge Castillo, jammed it in her pocket and headed toward the sun porch. Not wanting to upset the little girl and spoil her appetite, she decided to show Pilar the picture after lunch.

  She’d just reached the French doors leading to the sunroom when she saw a hulking shadow cross the far wall. Pulse jumping, Nicole swung through the door and took in the scene in a glance. Intruders had broken in.

  She watched in horror as a dark-skinned stranger descended on Pilar.

  Chapter 6

  Pilar saw the man and screamed.

  Boudreaux and Oreo spooked and scampered away. The man tripped over the bolting cats, landing on one knee. Pilar stumbled out of the man’s reach, only to back into the grasp of a second man who appeared from the shadows.

  “Pilar!” Acting purely on instinct, Nicole burst through the door, grabbing a decorative statuette from an end table. As she darted toward the first man, she hefted the figurine and smashed it on his head as he fumbled back to his feet. He toppled with a groan, clutching his head.

  The second man had reeled Pilar in and held her against his chest, her legs dangling, as he fought to subdue her flailing arms.

  “No! Let her go!” Nicole rushed forward with no thought for her own safety. Everything inside her had focused on freeing Pilar from the man’s grip. She reached for the little girl, battling the man’s arm when he tried to push Nicole away. An all-out fight for Pilar ensued. He pulled Nicole’s hair. Wrenched her wrists. Bit her arm.

  In return, Nicole gouged at the man’s eyes. Clawed his face. Scratched his arm. She realized they were in a tug of war with Pilar as the rope. The poor girl was being pulled like a Thanksgiving wishbone. To spare hurting Pilar, she needed to let go, but—

  “Augh!” the man cried out and crumpled, grabbing his crotch.

  Nicole hauled Pilar into her arms and spun away. On some level, she knew Pilar’s flailing feet must have kicked the man in his family jewels, but she funneled her energy on one thing. Running. As she dodged a chaise chair, heading inside with Pilar clinging to her, the first man rolled on his back, snarling. He raised something small and black. A flash. A loud crack. Gunfire!

  Nicole kept moving. Adrenaline fueled her legs. Panic buzzed in her ears.

  “Nicole!” Sarah Beth stood by the door of her father’s office, waving her in. “Hurry!”

  Behind her, Nicole heard a shout. Another crack of gunfire. A crash and pounding footsteps.

  A third gun-wielding man materialized from the kitchen. Aimed. Something hot stung her neck, but she ignored it as she charged across the living room and into her father’s office. Nicole headed to the protection of her father’s oversize desk and set Pilar on the carpet beneath it. Sarah Beth slammed the massive mahogany door closed and threw a bolt lock.

  Loud thumps reverberated through the room as bullets pocked the office door.

  “Get away from the door!” Nicole shouted to Sarah Beth.

  “The second door—” the housekeeper said, pulling a thick metal door from a side pocket in the wall.

  And Nicole remembered the construction project her father had ordered in the months after Katrina. The central room of the house, his office, had been reinforced for hurricanes with iron beams, metal sheeting and a heavy secondary steel door. A safe room.

  She ran to help Sarah Beth roll the heavy door over and lock it in place.

  “We need to c-call 911,” the housekeeper said, her voice shaking.

  Nicole nodded and, with trembling hands, she reached in
her pocket for her phone. The first tears of fear prickled her eyes, blurring her vision as she tried to steady her hands enough to hit the right spots on her touch screen. Meanwhile, Sarah Beth snatched up the desk phone and dialed.

  Nicole stumbled behind the desk and slumped on the floor. Pilar huddled close, hands over her ears as she whimpered.

  Her own panic, vivid with images from her imprisonment, crowded her brain, drawing the thread of tension inside her tighter. It would be so easy to give in to that pull toward chaos, but Nicole battled it away, one breath at a time. Keep it together. For Pilar.

  Struggling to clear her mind, she thought of the Kevlar vest her mother had bought her father years ago after he’d sponsored his first controversial bill and received a series of death threats. The bulletproof vest was upstairs in her father’s closet. No help.

  Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, Nicole stared at her cell phone screen. Right now, she only wanted one man.

  Daniel. Who’d saved her in Colombia. Who’d taken out her captors. Who’d made her feel safe.

  The shouts and deafening thumps on the office door told her their assailants hadn’t given up. And they were chipping slowly through the first barrier.

  Nicole swallowed the bitter taste of fear that rose in her throat and struggled to steady her hands. Her thumb skipped to the button to bring up her contacts. With a stroke of the screen, she scrolled to the number Daniel had programmed in her phone just yesterday. And hit Call.

  * * *

  “Going home soon?” Jake asked as he strolled into Daniel’s hospital room, wearing his trademark cowboy hat, and took stock of Daniel’s latest attempt to put weight on his injured leg.

  “Not soon enough. I feel useless sitting around here all day.” His leg hurt less today and could bear more of his weight, but Daniel didn’t harbor any illusions of a miraculous healing. His immediate future included walking with a cane at best and knee-replacement surgery as soon as it could be scheduled, followed by weeks of physical therapy.

  His black op teammate—correction, former teammate, since Daniel had been canned—helped himself to the only chair in the room and stacked his hands behind his head. Jake narrowed his navy blue eyes on Daniel. “Looks like you’re making progress. Your doctor give you an idea when you might bust this joint?”