by Diana Palmer
Harley nodded. “So I saw. Good night, boss.”
“Harley.”
The younger man turned.
“I’ve never been prouder of you than I was tonight,” Cy said quietly.
Harley tried to speak, couldn’t, and settled for a jerky smile and a nod before he walked away.
Cy walked on toward the house, smiling faintly as he contemplated the movement of the curtains in the living-room window.
Before he even reached the porch, Lisa was out the front door and flying toward him. He caught her easily as she propelled herself from the second step. He folded her close, whirled her around and kissed her with his whole heart.
She held on to him for dear life, tears raining down her face as she thanked God that he’d come back to her in one piece.
“Can I keep you?” she whispered at his lips as he picked her up and carried her inside.
His heart jumped wildly. “Keep me?” he murmured, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Try to get rid of me…!”
She smiled under the fierce hunger of his mouth, savoring its coolness, its beloved contours, as he carried her into the bedroom and kicked that door shut as well. She could feel the adrenaline surging through his powerful body even before she felt the aftereffects of passion in his hungry, devouring kisses. She had a feeling that it was going to be the most explosively sensual night of their married lives. And she was right.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TWO FEVERISHLY EXCITING hours later, Lisa lay trembling against the powerful body beside hers in the tangled covers of Cy’s big bed. She stretched and moaned helplessly as the movement triggered delicious little aftershocks of pleasure.
“If you weren’t already pregnant,” he murmured huskily, “you would be, after that.”
She lifted herself up and propped her forearms on his damp, hair-roughened, deeply scarred chest. She brushed her mouth against one of the scars lovingly. “I went back to the doctor again yesterday,” she confessed.
“Why?” He was concerned now, his green eyes narrowing on her face.
She traced his hard mouth with her fingertips. “To have a sonogram to date the pregnancy and to have some blood work done.” She looked straight into his eyes. “The baby is yours, Cy.”
He shivered. She could feel the ripple of muscle go right down him. “What?” he asked.
“I’m only a few weeks along. That means the baby is yours—not Walt’s.” She slid down beside him and pillowed her cheek on his chest, letting one slender, pretty leg slide over his muscular, hairy one. “He told me he did some checking and the results from my first pregnancy test after Walt died were switched with someone else’s. It was a mix-up at the lab. That explains why I haven’t had any pregnancy symptoms until now.”
He stroked her long hair absently. “I can’t believe it.”
“Me, either. But it makes sense. I didn’t know, but before we married, Walt…had a vasectomy. I checked with his doctor to get information on Walt’s RH factor.”
Every tendon in his body pulled tight. He rolled over and looked down into her flushed face incredulously.
“He said he didn’t want children,” she confessed. “The doctor said that he wanted to make sure he didn’t have any. The doctor wanted him to tell me. He never did.”
He was speechless with wonder. His baby. She was carrying his baby. He thought of his late wife and the child she’d borne that belonged to another man. He’d married Lisa believing that she was pregnant with her dead husband’s child. But here he was with a miracle. He was going to be a biological father, for the first time in his life. He felt moisture sting his eyes as his big, lean hand smoothed over her flat stomach gently.
The expression on his face made her feel warm inside, safe, cocooned. “No need to ask if you’re pleased,” she said in a tender, amused tone.
He laughed self-consciously. “Pleased? I’m ecstatic. I don’t suppose my feet will touch the ground for weeks.”
She smiled and pressed close. “Mine won’t, either, and not only because of the baby.”
“Why else, then?” he teased.
She sighed, drawing her fingers across his mouth. “Because you love me.”
He didn’t hesitate or deny it. He only smiled. “Sure of that, are you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She linked her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth gently to his damp throat. “It shows, in so many ways. All the time.”
His fingers tangled contentedly in her long hair. “Like what you feel about me shows,” he murmured, holding her closer.
“Does it?”
“We nurture each other,” he said softly. “I never realized married people could be close like this, tender like this, loving like this. I’ve been standing outside warm houses all my life, looking in, and now I’m right inside by the fireplace.” His arms contracted. His face nuzzled gently against hers. “I love you with all that I am, all I ever will be. More than my life.”
She moaned and pressed closer, shivering. “I love you more than my life, too,” she breathed at his lips. “I’m going to give you a son, Cy.”
“And a daughter,” he whispered back, delighted. “And a few others, assorted.”
She smiled against his mouth. “You’ll be a wonderful daddy.”
He kissed her with aching tenderness, almost overwhelmed with emotion. Out of such tragedy and anguish had come this woman, this angel, in his arms. He was still amazed that she could love him, want him, need him as she did, with his past, with his scarred body and scarred emotions. He’d never dared hope for so much in his life. He closed his eyes and thanked God for the biggest miracle he’d ever had.
“I’ll take care of you as long as I live, Lisa.”
“And I’ll take care of you as long as I do,” she murmured happily. “I hope we live a hundred years together.”
He laughed softly and agreed, drowning in the warm delight of her body curled so close into his. It was unbearably sweet to love, to really love, and be loved in return.
Her leg moved sensuously against the inside of his and she felt his breath go jerky. She was more sure of herself now, eager for new lessons, new techniques, new adventures with this man, this winter soldier, she loved.
“Cy?” she whispered as her hand smoothed over his chest and then steadily down.
It was hard to talk. “What?” he managed in a husky tone.
“I want you to teach me.”
“Teach you…what?” he bit off as her hand moved again.
“How to please you.”
He would have answered her, if he’d been able. But his soft groan and the shivering of his powerful body as he eased over hers were more than enough to convince her that she was pleasing him already. She stretched like a contented cat under the warm, sinuous press of his lean hips and then moaned as the fever burned so high that she thought she might become ashes in his arms. Life had never been so sweet. And this was only the tip of the iceberg, the very beginning of their marriage. She pressed her mouth into his and held on tight, following him into the fire.
WITH LOPEZ’S JACOBSVILLE connection closed down, and all his local assets seized by the feds, it seemed a good guess that the drug lord would set up operations elsewhere. But he still had people, unknown people, acting as his eyes and ears. He also had someone inside the federal agency, Rodrigo had said, to tip him off about drug busts. Cy worried about who it was. Cy worried more about another possible attempt on Lisa, after the successful sneak attack on Lopez’s shipment of marijuana.
Cy had gone to Eb’s ranch at his friend’s request to discuss future plans, and they were talking over cups of black coffee in the living room when Micah Steele came into the room. He was taller, bigger than both the other men. He had thick, straight, medium blond hair cut conventionally short. He was wearing a beige Armani suit that seemed perfect for his tall frame. It made his dark eyes look even darker. He wore a watch like Eb’s on his left wrist and no other jewelry. T
hirty-six years old, the former CIA agent spoke several languages fluently and had a temper that was explosive and quiet. Dutch van Meer used to say that Micah could get more results with a steady look than he could with a weapon.
“Why are you still in town?” Cy asked curiously.
“That’s what I asked you over to tell you.” Eb grimaced. “We’ve still got problems.”
“When have we had anything else lately?” Cy said with resignation.
“The word is that Lopez’s bosses in Colombia think he’s slipping. First, he got arrested. Then he lost a shipment to the Coast Guard. We cost him a tidy sum in men and equipment here, not to mention marijuana. Yesterday, another group of his men were driving plastic bags of cocaine paste in several transfer trailer trucks bearing the logo of a grocery store chain. The DEA was tipped off, probably by Rodrigo, and the feds got all the trucks plus their cargo. The haul would have been worth millions, if not billions, in crack cocaine sales if it had been processed and put out on the streets. It’s the largest confiscation by the DEA in years. Lopez’s bosses are furious. They’re ready to dump Lopez, and he’s cut some sort of deal to keep his connection. The word is, he’s making plans to eliminate the obstacles to his local smuggling traffic.”
“That’s no real surprise,” Eb pointed out.
Micah’s dark eyes narrowed. “No. But I didn’t expect this quite so soon. He can’t get to either of you without some difficulty, now that his operation here has been shut down. Any group of strangers in town would stick out like sore thumbs, and the local authorities are on alert. But one of my contacts said that Callie and my father might become targets, and that the last he heard, Lopez was going to call in a mechanic. One man, alone, might succeed where a larger group failed.”
It went without saying that a “mechanic” meant a professional killer. “Why your family and not ours?” Cy asked.
Micah leaned against the mantel above the fireplace in Eb’s study. He smiled mockingly, looking more elegant than a male model with his striking good looks. “You only helped shut down a small operation of Lopez’s. But I tipped the DEA guys about the multimillion dollar cocaine shipment that was confiscated.”
Cy whistled. “Did Rodrigo pass that tidbit along?”
“Not Rodrigo,” came the reply. “It was a last act of defiance by his cousin, who,” he added grimly, “is now dead. They pulled him out of a vat of industrial chemicals. They were only able to identify him by dental records.”
“Any idea where Rodrigo is?” Eb wanted to know.
“Hiding out in Aruba, I gather from my sources. But he may not be safe, even so. Lopez has a long reach. He’s got people everywhere.”
“Plus an informant with the feds who’s spilling the beans to Lopez about our government’s attempts to bring him down,” Cy added.
“That’s how Lopez knew I blew the whistle on him. You’d better believe that Kennedy and Cobb are doing their best to find out who it is,” Micah replied. “But I expect it’s someone in a high position who’s beyond suspicion. It won’t be easy to ferret him out.”
“He’s risking a lot on Lopez’s account, whoever he is,” Eb mused.
“Lopez is paying him a million a tip,” Micah interjected.
“Well, that would make it worth the risk for most people, I’m afraid,” Eb said.
Micah dropped down into an easy chair and lit a cigar. Eb turned on the smokeless ashtray and handed it to him. Micah chuckled, taking it in one big hand.
“That will kill you,” Eb said with a grin.
“In my line of work, bullets will probably get me long before smoking does. Besides, I don’t expect to be here long.” He checked the big watch on his wrist. “Callie gets off work in five minutes. I’m going to waylay her before she goes to pick up Dad at the senior citizen center.”
His face changed when he mentioned his former stepsister. His dark eyes narrowed and his jaw went taut. He smoked absently, his mind obviously far away.
“If worse comes to worst, you could take her and your father down to Nassau with you and keep her out of Lopez’s reach,” Eb suggested.
Micah gave him a hellish glare. “Neither of them will talk to me right now, much less agree to go to Nassau. Haven’t you heard?” he drawled. “I’m anybody’s friend but theirs.”
“You always start the fights,” Eb pointed out. “You can’t blame Callie for defending herself.”
Micah took another draw from the cigar and thumped ashes in the ashtray. “I blame her for everything,” he said icily. “If it hadn’t been for her and her damned mother, my father would want to see me occasionally.”
“Surely he doesn’t still blame you for his divorce?” Cy remarked.
“He blames me for everything.” He put out the cigar impatiently and turned the smokeless ashtray off. “I blame her mother.”
“Whatever happened to her?” Eb asked.
“I have no idea,” Micah said abruptly. “She dumped Callie and left town even before the divorce was final. She hired a lawyer to bring the papers to her in England so that she wouldn’t have to see any of us again. Some mother.”
“Callie never talks about her,” Eb said thoughtfully. “It’s not surprising. Her mother treated her like the hired help. Callie wasn’t pretty enough or sophisticated enough to please her mama.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Callie,” Micah replied absently. “She’s naïve, of course, but looks aren’t that important. She’s a good woman, in the true sense of the word. I should know,” he added with a harsh laugh. “I’ve left a trail of the other kind behind me over the years.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Eb had to agree. “They used to follow you around like flies after honey. Really beautiful women.”
“Window dressing,” Micah said carelessly. “Underneath they all had one thing in common—greed. Being rich and single has its drawbacks as well as its perks.”
There was a brief silence while all of them recalled other times, other places.
“How’s Lisa, by the way?” Micah asked. “Is the baby all right?”
“The test results got mixed when she had the first test, just after Walt was killed,” Cy replied. He began to smile. “But she’s pregnant now.”
Eb scowled. “With Walt’s baby. I know.”
Cy shook his head. “Not Walt’s baby. Mine.” His eyes were brimming with pride, joy, delight. “Walt had a vasectomy before they married. He didn’t want kids at all.”
The other two men chuckled softly. “I thought you said she was too young for you,” Eb said mischievously.
“I changed my mind. She’s old for her age and I’m young for mine.” He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “It’s like a second chance. I never thought I’d get one.”
“I’m glad for you,” Eb said. “Glad for myself, too. We’ve made good marriages.”
“I wish you could stop talking about it,” Micah said disgustedly, glancing from one of them to the other. “I’ll break out in hives any minute.”
“Mr. Confirmed Bachelor,” Eb said, jerking a thumb at the blond man.
“Napoleon before Waterloo,” Cy agreed.
Micah got up out of his chair. “I’m going to see Callie. I brought Bojo over here with me, but he flew to Atlanta to see his brother. I guess it’s just as well. If I had him tail her, he’d probably attract a little attention.”
“Dressed in a long white silk robe and babushes on his feet? Who’d notice that in Jacobsville, Texas?” Eb asked dryly.
“He’s Berber. The beard and mustache are traditional, like the accoutrements. He wouldn’t blend, that’s for sure,” Micah said. He sighed. “I’ve had a hard time replacing Dallas since he got shot up and then left to marry Sally’s aunt Jessica. Good men are really hard to find these days.”
“They were just as hard to find back when we started out, too,” Eb said. “Well, there’s always Harley. He’s hooked on adventure.”
“No, he isn’t,” Cy said firmly. “He’s the best
foreman in two counties and I’m not recommending him for a target.”
“He did pretty good that night,” Eb said. “When the chips are down, he can keep his head.”
“I want him to keep his head,” Cy said. “That’s the whole point of keeping him at home.”
“How about Rodrigo?” Eb suggested.
Micah nodded slowly. “He could come to Nassau. He’d be safer there, with Bojo and me. I’ll see if I can find him on my way home.”
“Take care of yourself,” Cy said.
Micah shook hands with him. “You do the same.”
He left the two of them still talking about Rodrigo and climbed into the racy black Porsche he drove. It was like him, power and grace conventionally packaged and deceptively straitlaced. Micah was a law unto himself.
Micah drove to the side street near Kemp’s law office, where Callie’s little yellow VW beetle was sitting. He liked the updated style of the body, and the color suited her. She was bright and sunny. Or she had been, until her mother ruined all their lives.
It was five o’clock on the dot, and he waited and watched the rearview. Sure enough, less than a minute later, Callie Kirby came out of the law office and went down the sidewalk toward her car, lost in thought as she dug in her purse for her car keys. It amazed him that everything didn’t fall out on the pavement at her feet. He remembered Callie being all thumbs, a gangly teenager suffering from embarrassment, lack of social graces and a bubbly personality despite her drawbacks.
But this Callie had changed. She had pale blue eyes and an ordinary sort of face, but it had a gamine charm all its own. She wore her dark hair short. She was only medium height, a little thing compared to him. But for her size, she packed a wallop when she lost her temper. He was sorry they couldn’t be friends. He didn’t have many, and she would have had the distinction of being the only woman among them. His affairs had tarnished him in Callie’s quiet eyes. She had no use for playboys. Especially Micah Steele. Like his father, she blamed him for the divorce and the anguish that came after it. She thought that he’d been having an affair with her mother. That was ironic, when her mother was the one woman on earth he’d ever considered totally repulsive.
