Her Kind of Hero (17 page)

“Si, señor,”
Carlos said at once, and stuck the automatic weapon in Micah's back. “You will go ahead of me,
señor,
” he told Micah. “And remember, there will be an armed man at the foot of the steps. Escape is not possible.
¡Vaya!
”

Micah gave Lopez one last contemptuous look before he went down the steps into the bowels of the ship. So far, so good. They were convinced that their men on shore were safe and had Callie. They weren't going to start the ship just yet, thank God. He had one last chance to absolve himself. He was going to take it, regardless of the price.

The henchman tied him up in a chair with nylon cord at his wrists and ankles. The cord was tight enough to cut off the circulation. Micah felt his hands and feet going numb, but he wasn't going to protest.

“What a nice fish we caught,” Lopez's man chuckled. “And soon, big fish, we will fillet you and your stepsister together.”
His eyes narrowed and he smiled coldly. “You have embarrassed my boss. No one is allowed to do that. You must be made an example of. I would not wish to be in your shoes.” He looked pointedly at Micah's bare feet. “Hypothetically speaking,” he added. “Enjoy your last minutes of life,
señor.
”

The small man left Micah in the stateroom, which was obviously some sort of guest room. There was a bed and a dresser and this chair in it, and it was very small. One of the officers of the ship might sleep here, he reasoned.

Now that he was alone—and he wouldn't be for long—he might have just enough time to free himself. Micah touched the button on his watch that extended the small but very sharp little knife blade concealed in the watch face. He cut himself free with very little effort. But the most dangerous part was yet to come. There were men everywhere, all armed. The one thing he had going for him was that it was dark and Lopez had very few lights on deck at the moment, hoping not to be noticed by Micah's men.

He eased out into the corridor and listened. He heard a man's voice humming a Mexican drinking song off-key nearby. Watching up and down the hall with every step, he eased into the galley. A man just a little smaller than he was stirring something in a very big stainless-steel pot. He was wearing black slacks and a black sweater with an apron over them. Micah smiled.

He caught the man from behind and stunned him. Carefully he eased the cook back behind the stove and began to strip him. He pulled off his scuba gear and donned the cook's outerwear, taking time to dress the cook in his own diving suit. The cook
had dark hair, but it wouldn't matter. All he had to do was look like Micah at a distance.

He got the cook over his shoulder and made his way carefully to the ladder that led up onto the deck. Lopez was talking to two other men, and not looking in Micah's direction. What supreme self-confidence, Micah thought. Pity to spoil it.

He slapped the cook and brought him around. In the next instant, he threw the man overboard on the side that faced away from Micah's island.

“¡Steele ha escapado!”
Micah yelled in Spanish.
“¡Se fue alla, a la izquierda, en el Mar!”
Steele has escaped, he went there, to the left, in the sea!

There was a cry of fury from Lopez, followed by harsh orders, and the sound of running feet. Micah followed the other men, managing to blend in, veering suddenly to the other side of the ship.

Just as he got there, he was faced with a henchman who hadn't followed the others. The man had an automatic weapon in his hands and he was hesitating, his eyes trying to see Micah, who was half in shadow so that his blond hair didn't give the game away. If the man pulled that trigger…

“Es que usted esta esperando una cerveza?”
he shot at the man angrily.
“¡Vaya! ¡Steele esta alla!”
What are you waiting for, a beer? Get going, Steele's over there!

He hesitated with his heart in his throat, waiting, waiting…

All at once, there was a shout from the other side of the ship. The man who was holding Micah at bay still hesitated, but the noise got louder.

“¡Vaya!”
he repeated. He waved the man on urgently with a mumbled Spanish imprecation about Steele and his useless
escape attempt. In that space of seconds before they discovered the man in the water was not Micah, their escaping captive got over the rail and into the ocean and struck out back toward the shore. He kept his strokes even and quick, and he zigzagged. Even if Lopez's men spotted him, they were going to have to work at hitting him from that distance. Every few yards, he submerged and swam underwater. Any minute now, he told himself, and thanked God he'd had just enough rest to allow him a chance of making it to shore before he was discovered and killed. He heard loud voices and a searchlight began sweeping the water. Micah dived under again and held his breath. With a little bit of luck, they might pass right over him, in his black clothing. He blended in very well with the ocean.

There was gunfire. He ground his teeth together and prayed they'd miss him. Probably they were shooting blind, hoping to hit him with a lucky shot.

Odd, though, the gunfire sounded closer than that…

He came up for air, to snatch a breath, and almost collided with his own swift motorboat, with Bojo driving it and firing an automatic rifle toward Lopez and his men at the same time.

“Climb in, boss!” Bojo called, and kept shooting.

“Remind me to give you a raise,” Micah panted as he dragged himself over the side and into the rocking boat. “Good work. Good work! Now get the hell out of here before they blow us out of the water!”

Bojo swung the boat around masterfully and imitated the same zigzag pattern that Micah had used when he swam.

“Lopez is mad now,” Micah said with a glittery smile. “If
there's any justice left in the world, he'll try to move in closer to get a better shot at us.”

“We hope,” Bojo said solemnly, still dodging bullets.

Micah looked back toward the ship, now clearly visible against the horizon. He thought of all Lopez's helpless victims, of whole families in tiny little Mexican towns who had been mowed down with automatic weapons for daring to help the authorities catch the local pushers. He thought of the hard fight to shut down Lopez's distribution network slated for operation in Jacobsville, Texas. He thought of Callie in that murderous assassin's hands, of the knife cut on her pretty little breast where the point had gone in. He thought of Callie dead, tortured, an anguished expression locked forever into those gentle features. He thought of his father, who would have been Lopez's next target. He thought of Lisa Monroe Parks's young husband in the DEA who'd been killed on Lopez's orders. He thought of all the law enforcement people who'd risked their lives and the lives of their families to stop Lopez.

“It's retribution time, Lopez,” Micah said absently, watching the big ship with somber eyes. “Life calls in the bets for us all, sooner or later. But you're overdue, you drug-dealing son of a…!”

Before the last word left his lips, there was a huge fireburst where the ship had been sitting in the water. Flames rolled up and up and up, billowing black smoke into the atmosphere. The sound rocked the boat, and pieces of the yacht began falling from the sky in a wide circumference. Micah and Bojo ducked down in the boat and covered their heads as Bojo increased their speed and changed direction, hoping to miss the heavier metal parts that were raining down with wood and fabric.

They made it to the boat dock and jumped out as the last pieces of what had been Lopez's yacht fell into the water.

Mercenaries came rushing down from the house, all armed, to see what had happened.

“Say goodbye to Lopez,” Micah told them, eyes narrowed with cold scrutiny.

They all watched the hull of the ship, still partially intact, start to sink. To their credit, none of them cheered or laughed or made a joke. Human lives had been lost. It was no cause for celebration, not even when the ringleader was as bad as Lopez. It had been necessary to eliminate him. He was crazed with vengeance and dangerous to the world at large.

Rodrigo came up beside them. “Glad to see you still alive, boss,” he said.

Micah nodded. “It was close. I was too tired to swim back. He caught me at the ladder like a raw recruit.”

There was a faint sound from Peter, the newest of the group. “I thought slips were my signature,” he told Micah.

“Even veterans can step the wrong way and die for it,” Micah told him gently. “That's why you always do it by the book and make sure you've got backup. I broke all the rules, but I didn't want to put anyone else at risk. I got lucky. Sometimes you don't.” He watched the last of Lopez's yacht sink. “What about our two guests?”

“They're still in the shed.”

“Load them up and take them in to Nassau and say we'll file charges for trespassing,” Micah told Rodrigo.

“I'm on my way.”

“We'll have federal agents combing the island by dawn, I guess,” one of the other mercenaries groaned.

Micah shook his head. “I was sanctioned. And that's all I intend to say about this, ever,” he added when the man seemed set to protest. “Let's see if we can get a little more sleep before dawn.”

Mumbled agreement met the suggestion. He walked back into the house and down the hall to his bedroom. Callie's door was still closed. He felt a horrible pang of guilt when he remembered what had happened before he went after Lopez. He was never going to get over what he'd done.

He took a shower and changed into a pair of white striped shorts and a white-and-red patterned silk shirt. He padded down the hall to the kitchen and started to get a beer out of the refrigerator. But it hadn't been a beer sort of night. He turned on his heel and went to the liquor cabinet in his study. He poured himself two fingers of Kentucky bourbon with a little ice and took it back down the hall with him.

At the door of Callie's room, he paused. He opened the door gently and moved in to stand by the bed and look down at her. She was sound asleep, her cheek pillowed on a pretty hand devoid of jewelry. She'd kicked off the sheet and bedspread and her long legs were visible where the gown had fallen away from them. She looked innocent, untouched. He remembered the feel of that soft mouth under his lips, the exquisite loving that had driven every sane thought out of his mind. His body went rigid just from the memory.

She stirred, as if she sensed his presence, but she didn't wake up. The sedative had really kicked in now. She wouldn't wake until dawn, if then.

He reached down a gentle hand and brushed the hair away from the corner of her mouth and her cheek. She wasn't con
ventionally pretty, but she had an inner beauty that made him feel as if he'd just found spring after a hard winter. He liked to hear her laugh. He liked the way she dressed, so casually and indifferently. She didn't take hours to put on makeup, hours to dress. She didn't complain about the heat or the cold or the food. She was as honest as any woman he'd ever known. She had wonderful qualities. But he was afraid of her.

He'd been a loner most of his life. His mother's death when he was ten had hit him hard. He'd adored his mother. After that, it had been Jack and himself, and they'd grown very close. But when Callie and her mother moved in, everything had changed. Suddenly he was an outsider in his own family. He despised Callie's mother and made no secret of his resentment for both women. That had caused a huge rift between his father and himself, one that had inevitably grown wide enough to divide them altogether.

He'd blamed Callie for the final blow, because he'd convinced himself that she'd found Jack and sent him to the hall to find Micah and Anna kissing. Callie had always denied it, and finally he believed her. It hadn't been pique because he'd rejected her.

He took a sip of the whiskey and stared down at her broodingly. She was part of his life, part of him. He hated knowing that. He hated the memory of her body moving sensuously under his while he seduced her.

And she thought she was dreaming. What if she woke up still believing that? They'd not only had sex, but thanks to him they'd had unprotected sex. His dark eyes slid down her body to her flat belly. Life might already be growing in her womb.

His breath caught. Callie might have his baby. His lips parted
as he thought about a baby. He'd never wanted one before. He could see Callie with an infant in her arms, in her heart, in her life. Callie would want his baby.

He felt an alien passion gripping him for the first time. And just as quickly, he considered the difficulty it would engender. Callie might be pregnant. She wouldn't remember how she got that way, either.

He pursed his lips, feeling oddly whimsical for a man who was facing the loss of freedom and perhaps even the loss of his lifestyle and his job. Wouldn't it be something if Callie was pregnant and he was the only one who knew?

C
allie felt the sun on her face. She'd been dreaming. She'd been in Micah's warm, powerful arms, held tight against every inch of him, and he'd been making ardent love to her. He'd looked down into her wide eyes at the very instant he'd possessed her. He'd watched her become a woman. It seemed so real…

Her eyes opened. Sure it was real. And any minute now, the tooth fairy was going to fly in through the open patio windows and leave her a shiny quarter!

She sat up. Odd, that uncomfortable feeling low in her belly. She shifted and she felt sore. Talk about dreams that seemed real!

She swung her legs off the bed and stood up, stilling for a moment so that the sudden dizziness passed. She turned to make up the bed and frowned. There was a stain on the bottom sheet. It looked like dried blood. Well, so much for the certainty that her period wasn't due for another two weeks, she thought. Probably all the excitement had brought it on sooner.
She went into the bathroom, wondering what she was going to do for the necessary equipment in a house full of men.

But she wasn't having her period. That would mean some spotting had occurred and that frightened her because it wasn't natural. She'd always been regular. She'd have to see a doctor when she got home, she supposed.

She bathed and frowned when she was standing in front of the mirror. There were some very bad bruises on her hip and thigh, and that was when she remembered the terror of the night before. Half asleep, she hadn't really been thinking until she saw the bruises and it began to come back. A man, Lopez's man, had tried to kidnap her. She'd actually knocked him out with a shovel. She smiled as she remembered it. Sadly she'd been less brave when Micah came running out to see about her. He'd carried her in here and given her a sedative. She hoped she hadn't said anything revealing to him. Sedatives made her very uninhibited. But she had no memory past the shot. That might, she concluded, be a good thing.

Dressed in a pink Bermuda shorts set that she'd bought on her shopping trip in Nassau, she put her feet into a new pair of sneakers. Unlike the sandals she couldn't wear, the sneakers were a perfect fit.

She walked back into the bedroom worriedly, wondering what Micah had done with Lopez's men. It seemed very quiet this morning. She was certain Micah had all sorts of surveillance systems set up to make sure Lopez couldn't sneak anybody else in here to make another attempt at kidnapping her. But she felt uneasy, just the same. Lopez would never stop. She knew that she was still in the same danger she'd been in when she first arrived here with Micah.

She felt as if she had a hangover, probably because of that sedative Micah gave her. That explained the erotic dream, as well. She blushed, remembering what an erotic dream it was, too. She brushed her hair, not bothering with makeup, and went down the hall to the kitchen to see if coffee was available.

Bojo was helping himself to a cup. He grinned as she came into the room. “You slept very late.”

“I was very tired. Besides, Micah drugged me. That's the second time he's given me a sedative since I've been here. I'm not used to them.” She laughed as she took the fresh cup of coffee Bojo handed her. “It's a good thing I fell asleep right away, too, because sedatives generally have a very odd effect on me. I get totally swept away. Where is everybody?” she added, noting that Bojo was the only person in the house.

“Micah has gone to Nassau on business,” he told her with a grin. “Lopez seems to have vanished in the night. Not only Lopez, but his very expensive yacht and several of his men. The authorities are justifiably curious.”

“Lopez has gone?” she asked, excited. “You mean, he's gone away?”

“Very far away,” he said with a grin.

“But he'll just come back.” He gave her a wry look and she frowned. “Don't you still have his two henchmen? Micah was going to give those two men to the police,” she reminded him. “Maybe they know where he is.”

“They were handed over to the police,” he agreed. “But they don't know where Lopez is, either.”

“You look smug,” she accused.

He smiled. “I am. I do know where Lopez is. And I can promise you that he won't be making any more raids on this island.”

“Great!” she exclaimed, relieved. “Can you hand him over to the police, too?”

“Lopez can't be handed over.” He paused to think. “Well, not in one piece, at least,” he added.

“You're sounding very strange,” she pointed out.

He poured his own cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. “Lopez's yacht went up in flames last night,” he said matter-of-factly. “I am amazed that you didn't hear the explosion. It must have been a fault in the engine, or a gas leak,” he added, without meeting her eyes. He shook his head. “A very nasty explosion. What was left of the yacht sank within sight of here.”

“His boat sank? He was on it? You're sure? Did you see it go down?” she asked, relieved and horrified at the same time.

“Yes, yes, and yes.” He studied her. “Lopez will never threaten you or Micah's father again. You will be able to return home now, to your job and your stepfather. I shall miss you.”

“I'll miss you, too, Bojo,” she said, but her mind was racing ahead. Lopez was dead. She was out of danger. She could go home. She had to go home, she amended. She would never see Micah again…

Bojo was watching the expressions chase themselves across her face. She was vulnerable, and besides that, she was in love with Micah. It didn't take much guesswork to figure that out, or to make sense of Micah's strange attitude about her. Obviously the boss knew she was in love with him, and he was trying to be kind while making his position to her clear.

He grimaced. The musical tones of his cell phone interrupted his gloomy thoughts. He answered it quickly.

“Yes,” he said, glancing warily at Callie. “She's here, having
coffee. I'll ask her.” He lifted both eyebrows. “Micah is having lunch with Lisse on the bay in Nassau. If you want to join them, I can take you over in the small boat.”

Lisse. Why should she think anything had changed? she wondered. Lisse was beautiful and Micah had told her at the beginning that he and Lisse were lovers. They'd been together for a long time, and she was important in the Bahamas, as well as being beautiful. A few teasing kisses for Callie meant nothing to him. She'd been a complete fool. Micah had been kind to her to get her to stay and bait Lopez. That was all it had been. It was an effort to smile, but she did.

“Tell him thanks, but I've got to start packing. If Lopez is really out of the way, I have to go home. Mr. Kemp won't keep my job open forever.”

Bojo looked really worried. “Boss, she says she'd rather not.” He hesitated, nodded, glanced again at Callie. “Okay. I'll make sure he knows. We'll expect you soon. Yes. Goodbye.”

“You look like a bad party,” she commented.

“He's bringing Lisse here for lunch,” he said reluctantly.

Her heart jumped but she only smiled. “Why not? It's obvious to anybody that he's crazy about her. She's a dish,” she added, and then wondered why she should suddenly think about Lisse's bust size when compared to her own.

“She's a cat,” Bojo replied tersely. “Don't let her walk on you.”

“I never have,” she commented. “If we're having lunch, I guess I need to get started fixing it, huh?”

“We have a cook…”

“I'm good,” she told him without conceit. “I cook for Dad and me every night. I'm not
cordon-bleu,
but I get compliments.”

“Very well.” Bojo gave in, hoping the boss wasn't going to fire him for letting her into the kitchen. “Mac went to Nassau with the boss and the other guys, so it would have been cold cuts anyway.”

“I make homemade rolls,” she told him with a grin. “And I can bake a pound cake.”

She got up, looked through the cupboards and refrigerator, found an apron and got busy. It would give her something to do while her heart was breaking.

 

Two hours later, Micah and Lisse came into the living room together, laughing. Callie peered out from the kitchen. “Food's on the table if you want to sit down,” she called gaily.

Micah gaped at her. He'd told Bojo to get Mac to fix lunch. What was Callie doing in the kitchen?

Bojo came out of it, and Micah's face hardened. “I thought I told you to monitor communications for traffic about Lopez,” he said coldly.

Bojo knew what was eating him, so he only smiled. “I am. I was just asking Callie for another pot of coffee. We drank the other, between us,” he added deliberately.

Micah's eyes flashed like black lightning, but he didn't say another word as Bojo nodded politely at Lisse and walked back toward the communications room.

“Sit down, Lisse,” Micah said quietly, pulling out a chair for her at the dining-room table, already laid with silverware and plates and fresh flowers. “I'll be back in a minute.”

“I do hope it's going to be something light,” Lisse said airily. “I can't bear a heavy meal in the middle of the day.”

Micah didn't answer her. He'd run into Lisse in town and
she'd finagled him into lunch. He'd compromised by bringing her here, so that he could see how Callie was feeling after the night before. He was hoping against hope that she remembered what had happened. But the instant she looked at him, he knew she hadn't.

“Hi,” she said brightly and with a forced smile. “I slept like two logs. I hope you've got an appetite. I made homemade bread and cake, and steak and salad.”

“Lisse will probably only want the salad,” he murmured. “But I love cake.”

“I remember. Go sit down. I'll bring it.”

“You only set two places,” he said quietly.

She shrugged. “I'm just cooking it. I wouldn't want to get in the way…Micah!”

While she was talking, he picked her up and carried her out of the kitchen the back way and into the first sprawling bathroom he came to, closing the door behind them.

“You're not the hired help here,” he said flatly, staring into her eyes without putting her down. “You don't wait at table. You don't cook. I have a man for that.”

“I'm a good cook,” she pointed out. “And it's going to get cold if you don't put me down and let me finish.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth and lingered there hungrily. “I don't want food.” He brought her close and his mouth suddenly went down against hers and twisted ardently, until he forced her lips apart and made her respond to him. He groaned under his breath as her arms reached up to hold him. She made a husky little sound and gave in all at once. It felt so familiar to be held like this, kissed like this. She opened her mouth and felt his tongue go into it. Her body was on fire. She'd never
felt such desire. Odd, that her body seemed to have a whole different knowledge of him than her mind did.

He couldn't get enough of her mouth. He devoured it. His powerful arms had a faint tremor when he was finally able to draw back. He looked straight into her eyes, remembering her headlong response the night before, feeling her body yield to him on crisp, white sheets in the darkness. He'd thought of nothing else all day. It was anguish to know that she was totally oblivious to what they'd done together, when the memories were torturing him.

“How long have you been talking to Bojo?” he demanded gruffly.

“Just…just a little while.” Her mouth was swollen, but her body was shivering with secret needs. She looked at the tight line of his lips and impulsively reached up to kiss him. Amazingly he kissed her back with ardent insistence.

“Micah!” Lisse's strident voice came floating down the hall, followed by the staccato sound of high heels on wood.

Micah heard her and lifted his head. His mouth, like Callie's, was swollen. He searched her misty eyes intently.

“It's Lisse,” she whispered dazedly.

“Yes.” He bent and brushed his lips lazily over her own, smiling as she followed them involuntarily.

“She wants her lunch,” she persisted.

“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth.

The words shocked. Her fingers, linked behind his nape, loosened and she looked worried. “I can't!” she whispered huskily.

“Why can't you?”

“Because I've never…” she began.

Until last night.
He almost said it. He thought it. His face hardened as he forced his tongue to be silent. He couldn't tell her. He wanted to. But it was too soon. He had to show her that it wasn't a one-night thing with him. Even more important, he had to convince himself that he could change enough, settle down enough, to give her some security and stability. He knew that he could have made her pregnant. Oddly it didn't worry him. The thought of a child was magical, somehow. He didn't know much about children, except that he was certain he'd love his own. Callie would make a wonderful mother.