“Is okay.” Teo’s mother smiled and placed a thin olive-drab blanket behind Callie. “Please. Lie down. We clean wound, yes?” The woman looked first to her then to Risto.
“Yes. Get my black duffle,” Risto instructed a worried-looking Teo who stood just beyond the sofa. The teen got an eyeful of her breasts.
Callie buried her face in the blanket. “Naked here.” Well, not exactly, she still wore her jeans, but still.
Risto swore. “Forget you saw those breasts, Teo, or I’ll … never mind.” He took the duffle the boy had retrieved and swung it, one-handed, over the top of the couch and Callie’s body. Knowing how heavy it was, she was impressed. “Thanks, Teo,” Risto said. “Keep watch, would you?”
“Sí, Risto. I hope your woman is okay. She is a heroine in our village. We will all pray for her.” The youth left the room.
She could still hear gunfire, but it sounded as if it was getting farther away. She must have spoken her thoughts out loud because Risto answered. “The FARC guerillas realized they’d ticked off the villagers when they accidentally started a war in the middle of the fucking plaza on market day, so they took their fight outside of town into the hills and the forest. The ELN could care less, but the FARC rely on this town for shelter.”
Teo’s mother gently cleaned Callie’s wound with something cool and herbal smelling. She nodded her head and added, “The Mayor … he is related to the local FARC leader. There will have to be … what is the word…” she spoke rapidly in Spanish.
“Reparation,” Callie supplied a second before Risto did. She looked over her wounded shoulder and smiled. He closely observed what the Colombian woman was doing to her, ready to take over. “I guess we’re both pretty good with Spanish.”
Risto’s face lightened somewhat from the grim, angry—and worried—man. “Yeah. How’s the pain, sweetheart?”
“Bearable now that I’m not being jostled.” She laid her head down on the couch, leaving her shoulder tilted so the Señora and Risto could finish tending to it. “It’s just a dull thud now. Whatever the Señora used is numbing it somewhat. I feel sort of woozy.” She’d bet there was some narcotic in it which her open wound allowed to get in her bloodstream. At the moment, she could care less. All she wanted to do was sleep.
“It is a local remedy.” The Señora probed the wound gently. “Looks clean. What do you think, Señor Risto?”
Risto’s much hotter fingers poked and prodded. “Looks good. I’ll put an antibiotic cream on it and we’ll tape it up so nothing gets into it. I’ll check it again when we stop for the night. In this environment, I don’t want to take a chance. Insects will be attracted to the smell of blood.”
After about a minute, Risto came around to the front of the couch. He helped her lie against the cushioned sofa back. Then he pulled the blanket under her around to cover her breasts once again. She clutched at the covering and wished he would hold her; she wanted his heat and touch. She was so very cold all of a sudden and to prove the point she shivered.
Risto sat on a low table in front of the couch and handed her a couple of tablets. “Take these.”
“What are they?” She took them and examined them for any markings.
“One is a pain killer and the other is a Levaquin. I’m not taking any chances. We’ll treat for infection ahead of time.”
She nodded and absently wondered how the painkiller would mix with the stuff the Señora had used on her wound. She tossed the meds back, took the plastic cup the Señora offered, and drank whatever was in it to help swallow the tabs. It was an icy cold Pepsi. Callie raised her eyebrows. “Where did this come from? I dropped mine to help the Mayor’s wife.”
Risto cracked a smile for the first time since their interlude in the hotel restroom. “The Mayor’s son ran back and got you a fresh one.” He sat next to her and pulled her uninjured side against him, then brushed some stray hairs from her cheek. He kissed her hot forehead, his lips felt cool and refreshing. “You have a devoted admirer—and that was before Dario told him you were the world-famous Calista.”
“Well, there goes anonymity.” She felt the pain killer take effect and kind of liked the floating feeling the drug cocktail in her body provided. She yawned, then took a sip of the Pepsi, careful to use both hands so she didn’t drop the cup.
“It would’ve been gone anyway,” she arched a questioning brow and Risto laughed, “all the soccer fans at the bar recognized you. Those swimsuit issues find their way all over the world.” He rearranged the blanket so none of her upper torso showed at all. She wrinkled her nose at his possessiveness. “Baby, do you have any other clothes in that bottomless tote bag of yours?”
“Not clean and I don’t think…” her words trailed off and she frowned. She couldn’t think. Damn, the drugs had knocked her on her butt.
“No, we don’t want anything which could possibly infect the wound. We’re fighting time and nature in this climate as it is.” He yelled over his shoulder. “Teo, bring me my backpack, por favor.” He turned to her and swept a finger down her nose and tapped the end. “You can wear one of my T-shirts and cover it with another of my long-sleeved shirts. I always pack extras for just these sort of situations—except I’m the one usually getting shot. We also need to reapply the insect repellant.”
She licked her lips. Why was she so dehydrated? She could barely swallow. And what had she wanted to tell him? Oh, yeah… “Um, I’ll swim in your T-shirt.” She took another sip of her drink and sighed at the cool liquid as it slid down her too-dry and suddenly too-tight throat.
“Tough.” He looked out the doorway. “Plus it’s started to rain again. We need to keep you—and especially the wound—as dry as possible.”
She yawned. A gray fog had sneaked into the edges of her visual field. She tried to reassure Risto that she hardly ever got sick, but words took too much energy. She closed her eyes and let her head fall onto his shoulder.
“Callie, honey, you okay?”
Risto’s voice came from far away. She could feel his arms holding her, feel his blessed heat and smell his unique male scent. She was safe. He would take care of her. He started to swear again—and the fear in his voice made her want to reassure him, but the grayness in which she floated turned to black.
* * * *
Risto kept checking Callie’s pulse and respirations as he waited for Tweeter to call him back and let him know where between Ungaía and the coast he planned to infringe Colombian airspace in order to pick them up. When Callie had slipped into unconsciousness and began to struggle for breath he lost it for a few seconds before realizing she was having an allergic reaction to something in the concoction the Señora had used and that her airway was constricted. Since he had epinephrine, he used one of the portable pens and gave her a dose. It helped almost immediately.
He swept a finger over her hot, sweaty forehead, attempting to figure out if she was cooler than the last time he checked. He alternately swore and prayed under his breath. Why the fuck hadn’t Tweeter called him back? He told the man it was a medical emergency. He checked his watch and realized it had only been five minutes since he placed the call, but it seemed like an eternity.
As it was, unless someone in SSI could get permission for Tweeter to invade Colombian airspace, SSI would be violating international law to come in and retrieve them. They really had no choice. Callie needed a hospital. She was out like a light and wouldn’t wake up. She had a fever of 102. He’d started an IV to administer medications, including more epinephrine, if needed, and to keep her hydrated. Once they got her to Puerto Obaldo, they’d fly her by jet directly to Panama City and to the US Military hospital there. Colonel Walsh was paving the way for her admission.
All Risto needed now was to know when and where Tweeter would meet them. Ungaía was out since the FARC and ELN were still fighting and would happily shoot down any helicopter, uncaring whose it was.
His sat phone rang. “Give me good news.”
“Take the Río Atrato fork to T
igre. You’ll see the helo on the southern banks before you get to the village.”
“ETA?” Risto stroked Callie’s sweat-soaked hair away from her face. She moaned.
Thank God, she hadn’t made a sound since she lost consciousness over fifteen minutes ago. He could kick himself for not asking what the Señora had used on Callie before she used it. He obtained a sample of the herbal mixture so the doctors at the military hospital could test it in case her reaction was not merely allergic. The fever—well, that could be caused by anything. The Levaquin had been the maximum loading dose so he didn’t dare give her anything else other than acetaminophen for the fever and electrolytes until the docs had a chance to see what was going on.
“I’ll get to the rendezvous before you will,” Tweeter told him. “Colonel Walsh pulled some strings and our people called their people. Bottom line, we have permission to land anywhere along the Atrato as long as we stay out of the current fight in Ungaía. Colombian military does not want the international incident potential.”
He breathed a sigh of relief—at least the Colombian Air Force wouldn’t try to shoot them down and they could take the faster more direct route back to Panama rather than flying evasively. “Got it. We’re heading out now.”
“See you soon. Take care of our Callie.”
“Count on it.” Risto shut off the sat phone and looked at Teo. “You sure you want to pilot the boat while I hold Callie?”
“Sí.” A solemn Teo watched as Risto picked up Callie.
“Our stuff all loaded?” Teo nodded. “Callie’s bag also?”
“Sí, sí. All of your items are on the boat. We go now. She is too pale. Maybe it is the heat?”
“That’s part of it.” He brushed a kiss over her clammy forehead as he followed Teo out the door. Teo’s mother stood guard over the loaded boat. “Thank you for all your help, Señora.”
“De nada.” She stroked Callie’s head. “Bring your woman to see us when things are better. We will throw her a party on the plaza.”
“I’ll let her know.” But she’d never return if he had anything to say about it—the Darien wasn’t a healthy place to make social calls.
Teo and the Mayor’s son, who would also be accompanying them to ride guard, steadied the dugout so he could step into it without relinquishing his hold on Callie. He sat down carefully and shifted her so she’d sit between his legs, her back supported by his chest. Teo hung the IV bag from a makeshift pole over Risto’s shoulder, then arranged a rainproof poncho around the two of them. It was like a fucking sauna, but he’d deal—Callie was shivering like an aspen in the wind and she did not need to get chilled from the rain.
Callie moaned and tried to shove the poncho off. “Hot … dizzy.”
“Shh, baby.” He captured her flailing arm and re-tucked the poncho around her injured shoulder. He whispered against the damp curls near her ear as she shuddered incessantly within his arms. “Tweeter is coming to get us. We’ll get you to a hospital as soon as we can.”
Her face twisted into a rictus of pain. “Hurt. So tired. Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He nuzzled her forehead. “I should’ve taken better care of you. Forgive me?”
“Nothing to … forgive. Sleep … now.” She went boneless against him.
“Callie?”
Scared shitless at how quickly she’d fallen unconscious again, he checked her pulse. Slow, but strong. Took her temp. Lower now, 101 degrees instead of the 102 he’d taken ten minutes ago. He let out a sigh of relief.
Lifting his face into the rain-laden breeze created by the boat moving swiftly down the river, he thought about the immediate future. He’d get her to safety then fade out of her life. Let her get on with hers. While she might not blame him for what happened, he blamed himself. He’d failed to protect her. His life was filled with the potential of violence every time he went on a mission and he didn’t want it to touch Callie, even indirectly. She deserved a man who could guarantee she’d always be safe—and he couldn’t. Leaving her with Tweeter in Panama City would be the best for both of them.
He ignored the pain in his heart, the wrenching in his soul. He knew from the beginning of the op that this interlude would end, but hadn’t realized how much it would hurt. He’d survive. He always survived, but this time it would be harder than ever.
Chapter Fifteen
Two months later, Chicago, Illinois.
Stunned, Callie walked out of the doctor’s office in a fog. Sinking into a chair in the lobby, she stared into space. She was pregnant, two months along. Even on birth control she’d gotten pregnant, probably in Ungaía. The doctor said, “It happens, Callie. The patch has a higher rate of failure as compared to the other birth control methods, especially if you miss changing it by a day or two.” And that had happened in Colombia.
Tears streaked down her cheeks. She’d been crying at the drop of a hat since Risto abandoned her in Panama City. Damn hormones. She hadn’t heard from him since, not a card, not a call or even a frigging e-mail. And how that hurt—she’d been miserable.
Tweeter had been the one to bring her home after they’d detoured to Camp Lejeune and picked up her twin brothers. Once home, Ren offered her a job at SSI as an analyst specializing in forensic accounting and economics. She took the job and had been working from her home office with an occasional trip to Idaho. She’d been extremely successful in tracking drug and terrorist money for SSI’s NSA contract projects. Her success rate drew even more government contracts to SSI. Ren had already given her a raise plus a percentage of the reward SSI got for finding the dirty-money accounts. It was a lucrative and satisfying use of her education.
With Keely’s help, and on her own time, she’d pointed the US government to four off-shore accounts directly connected to Cruz. The US had them frozen, depriving the para-leader of over forty million USD. That had to hurt the bastard. From those leads, she’d also helped the Colombian government seize some of Paco’s drug cartel monies.
But even with all Callie’s contact with SSI, Keely never said anything to her about Risto other than that he was on jobs for other SSI clients. Pride had kept her from contacting him or asking Keely too many questions. Now, she was pregnant with his child and didn’t know if he’d even care. She sniffed and swiped at the tears trailing down her face. God, she’d become a regular watering pot.
As she fumbled for a tissue, her cell rang. “Callie speaking.”
“Calista, dear. It’s Mrs. Morgan.” Her brothers’ landlady. With Thanksgiving Break coming up, the twins had cut out early for a week-long ski trip to the Rockies. So this call couldn’t be about complaints over loud parties and beer cans on the lawn.
“Hi, Mrs. Morgan.” She sniffed back some more tears and cleared her clogged throat. “Is there some sort of problem? Did the boys forget to pay the rent or something?”
“No, dear. Their apartment was broken into. I called the police, but we couldn’t tell if anything was taken.” The older woman paused then added, “But the crime scene watcha-macallits did find something had been left behind. Now, what did the nice detective call it? Um, something-ware. Eyewear? No, that’s not it. Uh, spyware.”
“Spyware? You mean they found cameras and recorders?” A niggling of fear swept over her, chilling her to the bone.
“Yes, both. The detective removed them. He wants to speak with your brothers. I gave him their contact number in Colorado. I hope that was the right thing to do.”
“That’s fine. I’ll also call them.” Nausea hit her and it had nothing to do with the early pregnancy queasiness she’d been experiencing for over a month. The people living in the building could be at risk. “Mrs. Morgan, how is your security?”
“Oh, I’m covered. My son saw to it months ago. But thank you for the concern.” The older woman paused. “As I told the officer, I’ve noticed some strange men watching the place lately. I reported them and the area patrols have been driving by more frequently. One of the other tenants also noti
ced the men and took down the license plates and gave descriptions to the robbery detective when he was here this morning.”
“What did the men look like, Mrs. Morgan?” Please be local thugs.
“They were Hispanic, Calista. Your brothers told me all about your bad experiences in South America. I just wanted to let you know about the break in, but also to warn you.”
Fear stole her breath for an instant. Her free hand covered her stomach. “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. I’ll take precautions.”
“If I were you, dear, I’d leave town. After what happened the last time, can you afford to stay in Chicago?” Her brothers must have dropped the whole story on their landlady. She wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Morgan had also told the police every detail. But the woman had a valid point, Chicago wasn’t safe now—especially since she had another precious life to consider.
“That’s exactly what I plan on doing.” She forced herself to take one complete breath when she realized she had been panting and in danger of hyperventilating. “Don’t count on seeing my brothers until this situation is taken care of. We’ll, of course, continue to pay the rent. And would you please call in a security company to put in a complete system in my brothers’ apartment? I’ll pay for it.”
“No need to do that. I’ve asked my son, who owns a home security company, to upgrade all the apartments. One can never be too secure these days. I’ve been meaning to do it ever since I did my own—this occurrence just makes it more urgent.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. I’ll be in touch when the boys are coming back.”
“Take care, dear. And tell the boys to take care also.”
“I will. Goodbye.” Callie disconnected. Her mind was in a whirl. She didn’t know what to do first. Breathe, Calista Jean. You and the baby need oxygen. Calm down and use that analytical brain.
First, she needed to call her brothers. Then call … who? Risto is who she wanted to call, but he hadn’t shown any interest in her wellbeing since Panama. He did tell you to call if you needed him. That had been one of his male-chest-beating moments, a reaction to Conn’s offer of help and flirtation. Call Risto, Callie. If he blows you off, call Keely. No, she’d call Keely first, feel her out as to whether Risto was even in the country. Yes, that would work. If he wasn’t, then she could proceed in another direction.
Cold Day In Hell Page 21
