by Cindy Dees
The explanation didn’t ring true. But then, why would he lie to her about something like that? She probably ought to say something disapproving about loose morals leading to unpleasant consequences, but she was too riveted by the rippling slabs of abdominal muscle before her to form the sentence.
She spied the edge of another scar, its round pucker distinctive. “When did you get shot?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Hazard of the job.”
Hmm. That was not an answer. But it was a beautifully smooth sidestep. “Have you got more than one of those?”
“You want me to take off my shirt so you can count?”
Her gaze jerked to his just as his jerked to hers. Their gazes met in a moment of stunned—and mutual—awareness. Naked attraction shone in his eyes, and there was no way anything else shone in hers. He started to take a step forward and then lurched hard, screeching to a halt. His hands fell to his sides in fists.
“I am so sorry. Again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He swore under his breath, a string of epithets completely unfit for the ears of a nun.
She released the shaky breath she’d only just realized she was holding. “Look. I’m not dead. And I am female. There’s nothing wrong with you for being aware of either. We just can’t do anything about it.”
“Agreed.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them, calm pervaded his gaze. She wished she had that much self-discipline. Her admiration for him climbed a notch.
Drago said roughly, “I think I found your guy. Named Juan Ferrosa. He got drunk and was bragging that his sister worked in some rich guy’s home. Single father with a couple cute kids. He said the guy got murdered a few weeks back. I’d lay odds his sister pulled the kids out and has hidden them somewhere.”
“That’s not very helpful,” Elise commented. How on earth was she supposed to find a woman and two kids somewhere in Colombia?
“I found out where his sister lives. His mother lives in the same village. I bet sis took the kids home to mama.”
She frowned. It was better than nothing. Worth a try, at any rate. “What village?”
“Dinky place called Acuna.”
Her parents had been through there a time or two! She replied eagerly, “Acuna’s not more than a day’s travel upriver from here.” The mighty Putumayo River flowed down out of the Andes Mountains in northwestern Colombia and formed much of the country’s southern border. The broad body of water was infested with crocodiles, anacondas and even more dangerous humans of various stripes. Natives called it the Icá. Either way, it was a deadly place. And Acuna was in the heart of cocaine country.
“You’re not going there alone,” Drago announced.
Right. Like she planned to expose small children to an arms dealer and his brand of danger. She rolled her eyes at him. “We’ve already had this conversation. I’m getting those children and I don’t need your help. And I did okay in the Army of Freedom camp. They didn’t kill me on sight.”
“Because my pistol was already at the back of your head. And I did my damnedest to get them to accept you. For which you have yet to thank me, Sister.”
“Thank you,” she snapped. And then sighed. “God bless you.”
He made a pained face, whether because he wasn’t used to doing acts of kindness or because he wasn’t used to receiving blessings for them, she couldn’t tell.
Silence stretched out between them and threatened to become awkward. To break it, she asked, “How did your business go? Did you get your introduction to the Army of Freedom’s leadership?”
“Actually, I did. Turns out they’re headquartered in cocaine country. Not all that far from Acuna.”
She saw where this was going. In a desperate effort to distract him, she murmured, “Lovely. Now you can sell enough weapons to kill thousands of innocent Colombians instead of just a few hundred. Think of all the orphans you’ll create.”
He opened his mouth and looked as though he wanted to defend himself, but snapped it closed instead. Strange man. An arms dealer who got defensive about the morality of what he did? Go figure.
“You do know there’s no way you’re changing my mind about you going to Acuna by yourself, right?” he asked grimly.
“Excuse me?”
He just gave her a “you heard me” look.
To argue or not to argue with him? To date, she’d had no luck whatsoever in budging him once he made up his mind. Direct confrontation clearly wasn’t the way to handle this man. It wasn’t that she had any intention of caving in to his unreasonable demands. She just had to find another way to go around him.
In any other context, she’d have resorted to batting her eyes and using her feminine wiles on him to get her way. But as a nun, she had only logic and calm reason at her disposal. And with his jaw jutting out like that, he looked totally immune to either logic or reason.
Finally, she said quietly, “If you want to come along, I suppose I can’t stop you. But I am going to find those children and take them to safety no matter what.”
“Stubborn female,” he grumbled. But she thought maybe she caught a hint of grudging admiration in his voice.
“I prefer to think of myself as determined. Goal oriented, if you will.”
“Stubborn.”
She snorted. “Isn’t that a case of the pot calling the kettle black?”
“Absolutely.” And unaccountably, he grinned. “You’re cute when you get all indignant.”
He thought she was cute? Cool.
“When do you want to leave?”
She looked up at him, startled.
“How about first light?” he suggested in answer to his own question. “I could use a little shut-eye. Haven’t had much rest the past few days.”
Now that he mentioned it, there were dark shadows around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and a certain hollow exhaustion clung to him. The nurse within her kicked into gear. “When’s the last time you slept?”
He shrugged. “I can go on stim pills for five days if I have to.”
“You haven’t slept since you left town three days ago, have you?” she accused.
His gaze slid away from hers. Uh-huh. She was right. Her inner nurse kicked in hard. “You lay your heinie down on that bed right now and close your eyes, mister. Stimulant pills may work for a while, but the crash afterward is murder.”
“But it’s your bed—”
She cut him off. “Horizontal. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A grin flickered on his mouth as he stretched out on the narrow bed.
She pulled the covers up over him, but they only came to his chest. She tucked them in around him, nonetheless, clucking like a mother hen all the while. “Three days without sleep? What were you thinking? Don’t you know how hard that is on your body? You need rest, Drago. Close your eyes. Go on. Sleep.”
He closed his eyes, but a grin spread across his face at her fussing. She jammed the covers under his shoulder more tightly. “And quit grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary.”
“Mmm. Tasty canary,” he murmured, already sounding half-unconscious.
She tiptoed to the doorway and slipped out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her. There was a nice sofa in the lobby she could stretch out on and catch a nap. Goodness knew, she’d slept on worse. Once, during a triple shift in the E.R. she’d lain down on a stainless-steel cadaver slab for a nap. She’d been so cold when she woke up she could hardly move.
Tugging her sweater around her, she tucked her toes between the sofa cushions and fell asleep with thoughts of Drago in her mind and a smile on her face.
Chapter 4
Ted woke up slowly. He was comfortable. Relaxed. Well-rested. And all three sensations were terribly wrong. Frowning, he opened his eyes. Sunlight crept past the edges of the faded curtains. And his feet were cold. He bent his knees, pulling them up under the bottom edge of the blanket tucked under his chin but not quite reaching the bottom of the bed.
Whoa. A bed? Disorientation swirled around him. Where was his camp cot? The drafty shack? The snores of the Army of Freedom insurgents? Readiness to do violence flowed through him, making his limbs feel light and fast. Every sense went on high alert.
And then the smell of the pillow under his head struck him. Light. Soft. Vaguely sweet. Like a woman. And not just any woman. A feisty, feminine firecracker of a woman. What a tragedy that she’d taken the veil. She’d have made some lucky man incredibly happy.
He sat up and groaned at how stiff and sore he was when he tried to move this morning. Assuming it was still morning. The light coming in the window was pretty bright. Aah, the joys of a stim-pill hangover. He swung his feet to the floor and stood creakily, working out the kinks as he went. A quick watch check said it was noon. He’d slept nearly eleven hours. Not bad. Guys had been known to sleep for sixteen coming off a long no-sleep mission.
He dug into a pouch on his utility belt and came up with a handful of vitamins that he swallowed dry. The bitter taste fresh in his mouth, he headed down the hall for the communal bathroom, toothbrush in hand. While he was at it, he planned to grab a hot shower and a shave that would be an unexpected treat in the middle of a mission.
He emerged a little while later feeling like a new man. Now to find the world’s most sexy and exasperating nun and make sure she didn’t try anything suicidal today.
What the hell was he thinking? He had no business involving himself with her, either professionally or personally. And Lord knew he didn’t need to have anything to do with a couple of orphaned kids. He’d been around the block plenty in this part of the world, and innocents got chewed up and spit out like bad candy. Frankly, his primary purpose in being here was much more pressing than stranded kids and the Flying Nun.
He ought to just pack up his gear and get out of here. Now that he knew where to find his targets, all he had to do was drive up into the jungle highlands and finish this arms deal. But as sure as he was standing here, he was going to collect one thoroughly annoying nun and go chasing after some snot-nosed brats. He didn’t even like kids.
Irritated out of general principle, he stomped downstairs in search of the good sister. She was curled up on a decrepit sofa, her nose buried in a book, a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her pert little nose. He noted with amusement that the lady was not reading a Bible, but rather a shoot-’em-up thriller novel.
She glanced up and smiled. “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”
She thought he was beautiful, huh? Pleasure unfolded in his gut. Oh, for crying out loud. She was a freaking nun. It was downright creepy to continue being so attracted to her. He was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with him. He’d never had any strange or perverse sexual urges before, but this woman was seriously messing with his head.
“At least you didn’t try to take off without me,” he groused.
“Need a nice, hot cup of Juan Valdez’s finest Colombian coffee to make you feel human?” she asked sympathetically.
He rolled his eyes, unwilling to be cajoled out of his rotten mood. But then she had to go around the front counter and pour him a cup of the stuff, and the rich strong scent of the steam wafting his way was too much for him. In spite of himself, he inhaled a long appreciative breath.
“How do you like it?” Elise asked over her shoulder.
His gaze raked down her back, taking in the slender curves and feminine proportions under the potato sack she called a dress. “Cream and sugar,” he replied, distracted.
“How much of each?”
“About the color of your skin,” he replied unthinkingly.
Her head whipped around and she stared over her shoulder at him, throwing him that wide-eyed look that always knocked him on his…well, that knocked him over. Her head swiveled back around and she finished preparing his coffee without comment. Cursing at himself, he watched her cautiously as she approached him and held out the chipped mug. He reached out to take the cup and his fingers brushed across hers. She drew a sharp breath and he jolted in alarm. He hadn’t scared her, had he?
He looked up quickly, assessingly. Her pupils were huge and dark and her chest was rising and falling quickly. Dammit. Not afraid. She was something else entirely in response to his touch.
“Maybe we can find a priest for you when we get to Acuna,” he murmured low.
“Why?”
“I’m betting you’ve got a whole lot of impure thoughts to confess. I can’t even begin to imagine the number of Hail Marys you’re going to have to recite.”
Her laughter was sweet and untroubled and all but made the hair on his chest curl with need. He didn’t see what was so funny, but a burning need to hear that sound again roared through him. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “I’m only trying to look out for your eternal soul, here.”
Head thrown back to reveal the soft column of her throat, she laughed again, this time hard enough that she probably wasn’t aware of the hand she placed on his upper arm. But he was. Oh, how vividly he was. He froze, savoring the physical contact she’d initiated.
He was going to hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Straight to hellfire and brimstone for him. He was in total lust with a nun, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
He slugged down the hot coffee, uncaring that he was scorching his tongue and couldn’t taste the fawn-colored brew.
“Need another one?” she asked, amused.
He shook his head as the caffeine did its magic in his veins, spreading alertness to his extremities and finally, hopefully, engaging his brain. “Too much caffeine after the stim pills isn’t good for you.”
“Like the stim pills are?” she retorted. She still looked on the verge of laughter at any moment.
“What’s got you so chipper this morning?” he demanded.
“Well, you didn’t abandon me here in this village, after all. We know where—” she broke off and glanced around quickly “—my church business can be concluded. And I’ve got a good feeling about our chances of success.”
Their chances? As in the two of them together? He shouldn’t like the sound of that, but darned if he didn’t anyway. Right. Like a nun belonged in the middle of a dangerous and sensitive arms deal. He’d gone completely certifiable. Apparently, sexy nuns caused all his brains to fall out his left ear and explode.
Berating himself a hundred different ways for being an idiot, he followed her upstairs and collected her satchel of personal possessions and medical supplies. He placed her bag in the back of his Jeep and held the passenger door for her with a gallant wave of the hand. “Your chariot awaits you, Sister.”
She smiled shyly and glided past him, peeking sidelong out of the corner of her eye at him. His pulse jumped and his body reacted eagerly in other ways that he didn’t even want to think about. He slid behind the wheel and guided the vehicle west out of town.
“So. How long have you been a nun?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the uneven, two-lane asphalt road that passed for a highway in this part of the world.
“Not long. How long have you been an arms dealer?”
“Longer than I care to think about.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked curiously.
He shrugged. “It’s a job. But it takes you to crappy corners of the world like this and forces you to work with some pretty unsavory characters.”
She laughed. “Yup. That’s me. Unsavory.”
“Where are you from, anyway?”
“New York City.”
“And your family? You’re not white-bread Caucasian.”
“I’m a little of everything. My mother is from the Phillipines. My father’s father was black, his mother white. There’s some Polynesian in there, too, but I’m not quite sure where in the family tree.”
“Well, the result is lovely.” He glanced over in time to catch the skeptical look she threw him. “What?” he demanded.
“I was just thinking that I’d hate to see w
ho constitutes an unsavory character to an illegal arms dealer like you.”
His gut tightened. He didn’t blame her for having no respect for him, given what she thought his profession to be. But the negative judgment from her didn’t sit well with him. If only she knew the truth—
Frustrated, he changed the subject. “How did you find about these orphans you’re hunting?”
“Father Ambrose—he’s at Our Lady of Sacred Hope in Brooklyn—heard about them and asked me to come down here and get them.”
“Who are they?” He couldn’t imagine two random kids in the wilds of southern Colombia generating interest thousands of miles from their home.
Elise threw him an apologetic look. “The less you know, the better.”
So. They were special in some way. He took a different tack with her. “Is it true that anything people say to you is privileged information you can’t be forced to reveal?”
“Not only can people of the cloth not be forced to reveal confessions, they’re obligated not to reveal anything.”
Odd how she referred to priests and nuns as other people. She didn’t include herself as one of them. “How long, exactly, have you been a nun?”
“I told you. Not long.”
He smelled a rat. Why was she being so evasive with him? He could press her harder, but suspected she’d go all stubborn on him if he did. She might be a little thing, but she was a force of nature, that woman.
He drove for a while in silence. Then, he asked in spite of his resolution not to care, “How are you planning to get the kids out of Colombia?”
“The church has certain…understandings…with most governments. We are allowed to vouch for people and accompany them across international borders occasionally, and customs officials will ask no questions. Particularly in South America, which is so heavily Catholic, the Pope holds a fair bit of unofficial political clout.”
Now there was an understatement. He had no doubt that the Pope could single-handedly topple a government down here if he really put his mind to it. Not that the Holy Father would, of course, without extreme provocation. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he was relieved the Catholic Church was involved with her orphans. The kids stood at least a chance of getting clear of this country’s violence with that powerful organization behind them.
