Her Kind of Hero (6 page)

“No,” she said quietly. “But I was about to be. I remember thinking that if it hadn't all gone wrong that Christmas…” Her voice stopped. She was horrified at what she was about to say.

“I know,” he interrupted, and he didn't smile. “I thought about it, too. What Lopez's damned henchmen did to you at least wouldn't have been your first experience of intimacy, if I hadn't acted like a prize heel with you!”

He seemed maddened by the knowledge. His hand on her face was hard and the pressure stung.

“Please,” she whispered, tugging at his fingers.

He relaxed them at once. “I'm sorry,” he bit off. “I'm still on edge. This whole thing has been a nightmare.”

“Yes.” She searched his black eyes, wishing she knew what he was thinking.

His thumb brushed softly over her swollen mouth. “Lopez will never get the chance to hurt you again,” he said quietly. “I give you my word.”

She bit her lower lip when his hand lifted away, shy of him. “Do you really think he'll come after me again?”

“I think he'll try,” he said honestly.

She shivered, averting her eyes to the aisle beside them. “I hate remembering how helpless I was.”

“I've been in similar situations,” he said surprisingly. “Once I was captured on a mission and held for execution. I was tied up and tortured. I know how it feels.”

She gaped at him, horrified. “How did you escape?”

“Bojo and the others came in after me,” he said simply. “Under impossible odds, too.” He smiled, and it was the first genuine smile he'd ever given her. “I guess they missed being yelled at.”

She smiled back, hesitantly. It was new to relax with Micah, not to be on her guard against antagonistic and sarcastic comments.

He touched her face with a curious intensity in his eyes. “You must have been terrified when you were kidnapped. You've never known violence.”

She didn't tell him, but she had, even if not as traumatically as she had at Lopez's. She lowered her gaze to his hard, disciplined mouth. “I never expected to be rescued at all, least of all by you. I wasn't even sure you'd agree to pay a ransom if they'd asked for one.”

He scowled. “Why not?”

“You don't like me,” she returned simply. “You never did.”

He seemed disturbed. “It's a little more complicated than that, Callie.”

“All the same, thank you for saving me,” she continued. “You risked your own life to get me out.”

“I've been risking it for years,” he said absently while he studied her upturned face. She was too pale, and the fatigue she felt was visible. “Why don't you try to sleep? It's going to be a long flight.”

Obviously he didn't want to talk. But she didn't mind. She was worn-out. “Okay,” she agreed with a smile.

He moved back and she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and the tension of the past two days caught up with her all at once. She fell asleep almost at once and didn't wake up until they were landing.

She opened her eyes to find a hard, warm pillow under her head. To her amazement, she was lying across Micah's lap, with her cheek on his chest.

“Wakey, wakey,” he teased gently. “We're on the ground.”

“Where?” she asked, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child.

“Miami.”

“Oh. At the airport.”

He chuckled. “
An
airport,” he corrected. “But this one isn't on any map.”

He lifted her gently back into her own seat and got to his feet, stretching hugely. He grinned down at her. “Come on, pilgrim. We've got a lot to do, and not much time.”

She let him lead her off the plane. The other men had all preceded them, leaving behind automatic weapons, pistols and other paraphernalia.

“Aren't you forgetting your equipment?” she asked Micah.

He smiled and put a long finger against her mouth. His eyes were full of mischief. He'd never joked with her, not in all the years they'd known each other.

“It isn't ours,” he said in a stage whisper. “And see that building, and those guys coming out of it?”

“Yes.”

“No,” he corrected. “There's no building, and those guys don't exist. All of this is a figment of your imagination, especially the airplane.” “My gosh!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “We're working for the CIA?”

He burst out laughing. “Don't even ask me who they are. I swore I'd never tell. And I never will. Now let's go, before they get here.”

He and the others moved rapidly toward a big sport utility vehicle sitting just off the apron where they'd left the plane.

“Are you sure you cleared this with, uh—” Peter gave a quick glance at Callie “—the man who runs this place?”

“Eb did,” Micah told him. “But just in case, let's get the hell out of Dodge, boys!”

He ran for the SUV, pushing Callie along. The others broke into a run, as well, laughing as they went.

There was a shout behind them, but it was still hanging on the air when the driver, one of the guys in the cockpit, burned rubber taking off.

“He'll see the license plate!” Callie squeaked as she saw a suited man with a notepad looking after them.

“That's the idea,” the young man named Peter told her with a grin. “It's a really neat plate, too. So is this vehicle. It belongs to the local director of the—” he hesitated “—of an agency we know. We, uh, had a friend borrow it from his house last night.”

“We'll go to prison for years!” Callie exclaimed, horrified.

“Not really,” the driver said, pulling quickly into a parking spot at a local supermarket. “Everybody out.”

Callie's head was spinning. They got out of the SUV and into
a beige sedan sitting next to it, with keys in the ignition. She was crowded into the back with Micah and young Peter, while the two pilots, one a Hispanic and the other almost as blond as Micah, crowded Bojo on either side in the front. The driver took off at a sedate pace and pulled out into Miami traffic.

That was when she noticed that all the men were wearing gloves. She wasn't. “Oh, that's lovely,” she muttered. “That's just lovely! Everybody's wearing gloves but me. My fingerprints will be the only ones they find, and
I'll
go to prison for years. I guess you'll all come and visit me Sundays, right?” she added accusingly.

Micah chuckled with pure delight. “The guy who owns the SUV is a friend of Eb's, and even though he doesn't show it, he has a sense of humor. He'll double up laughing when he runs your prints and realizes who had his four-wheel drive. I'll explain it to you later. Take us straight to Dr. Candler's office, Don,” he told the blond guy at the wheel. “You know where it is.”

“You bet, boss,” came the reply.

“I'm not going to prison?” Callie asked again, just to be sure.

Micah pursed his lips. “Well, that depends on whether or not the guy at customs recognizes us. I was kidding!” he added immediately when she looked ready to cry.

She moved her shoulder and grimaced. “I'll laugh enthusiastically when I get checked out,” she promised.

“He'll take good care of you,” Micah assured her. “He and I were at medical school together.”

“Is he, I mean, does he do what you do?”

“Not Jerry,” he told her. “He specializes in trauma medicine. He's chief of staff at a small hospital here.”

“I see,” she said, nodding. “He's a normal person.”

Micah gave her a speaking glance while the others chuckled.

 

The hospital where Micah's friend worked was only a few minutes from the airport. Micah took Callie inside while the others waited in the car. Micah had a private word with the receptionist, who nodded and left her desk for a minute. She came back with a tall, dark-headed man about Micah's age. He motioned to Micah.

Callie was led back into an examination room. Micah sank into a chair by the desk.

“Are you going to sit there the whole time?” Callie asked Micah, aghast, when the doctor asked her to remove the shirt she was wearing so he could examine her.

“You haven't got anything that I haven't seen, and I need to explain to Jerry what I did to treat your wound.” He proceeded to do that while Callie, uncomfortable and shy, turned her shoulder to him and removed the shirt.

After checking her vital signs, Dr. Candler took the bandage off and examined the small red cut with a scowling face. “How did this happen?” he asked curtly.

“One of Lopez's goons had a knife and liked to play games with helpless women,” Micah said coldly.

“I hope he won't be doing it again,” the physician murmured as he cleaned and redressed the superficial wound.

“That's classified,” Micah said simply.

Callie glanced at him, surprised. His black eyes met hers, but he didn't say anything else.

“I'm going to give you a tetanus shot as a precaution,” Dr. Candler said with a professional smile. “But I can almost guar
antee that the cut won't leave a scar when it heals. I imagine it stings.”

“A little,” Callie agreed.

“I need to give her a full examination,” Dr. Candler told him after giving Callie the shot. “Why don't you go outside and smoke one of those contraband Cuban cigars I'm not supposed to know you have?”

“They aren't contraband,” Micah told him. “It isn't illegal if you get given one that someone has purchased in Cuba. Cobb was down there last month and he brought me back several.”

“Leave it to you to find a legal way to do something illegal,” Candler chuckled.

“Speaking of which, I'd better give a mutual acquaintance a quick call and thank him for the loan of his equipment.” He glanced at Callie and smiled softly. “Then maybe Callie can relax while you finish here.”

She didn't reply. He went out and closed the door behind him. She let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Now,” Dr. Candler said as he continued to examine her. “Tell me what happened.”

She did, still shaken and frightened by what she'd experienced in the last two days. He listened while he worked, his face giving nothing away.

“What happened to the man who did it?” he persisted.

She gave him an innocent smile. “I really don't know,” she lied.

He sighed. “You and Micah.” He shook his head. “Have you known him long?”

“Since I was fifteen,” she told him. “His father and my mother were briefly married.”

“You're Callie!” the doctor said at once.

T
he look on Callie's face was priceless. “How did you know?” she asked.

He smiled. “Micah talks about you a lot.”

That was a shocker. “I didn't think he wanted anybody to know I even existed,” she pointed out.

He pursed his lips. “Well, let's just say that he has ambiguous feelings about you.”

Ambiguous. Right. Plainly stated, he couldn't stand her. But if that was true, why had he come himself to rescue her, instead of just sending his men?

She drew in a breath as he tended to her. “Am I going to be okay?”

“You're going to be good as new in a few days.” He smiled at her. “Trust me.”

“Micah seems to.”

“He should. I taught him everything he knows about surgery,” he chuckled. “I was a year a head of him when we were in graduate school, and I took classes for one of the professors occasionally.”

She smiled. “You're very good.”

“So was he,” he replied grimly.

She hesitated, but curiosity prodded her on. “If it wouldn't be breaking any solemn oath, could you tell me why he didn't finish his residency?”

He did, without going into details. “He realized medicine wasn't his true calling.”

She nodded in understanding.

“But you didn't hear that from me,” he added firmly.

“Oh, I never tell people things I know,” she replied easily, smiling. “I work for a lawyer.”

He chuckled. “Do tell?”

“He's something of a fire-eater, but he's nice to me. He practices criminal law back in Jacobsville, Texas.”

He put the medical equipment to one side and told her she could get dressed.

“I'm going to put you on some antibiotics to fight off infection.” He studied her with narrowed eyes. “What you've been through is traumatic,” he added as he handed her the prescription bottle. “I'd advise counseling.”

“Right now,” she said on a long breath, “I'm occupied with just trying to stay alive. The drug dealer is still after me, you see.”

His jaw tautened. “Micah will take care of you.”

“I know that.” She stood up and smiled, extending her hand. “Thanks.”

He shook her hand and shrugged. “Think nothing of it. We brilliant medical types feel obliged to minister to the masses…”

“Oh, for God's sake!” Micah groaned as he entered the room, overhearing his friend.

Dr. Candler gave him a look full of frowning mock-hauteur. “And aren't you lucky that I don't have to examine
you
today?” he drawled.

“We're leaving. Right now.” He took Callie by the hand and gave the other man a grin. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. You take care.”

“You do the same.”

Callie was herded out the door.

“But, the bill,” she protested as he put her out a side door and drew her into the vehicle that was waiting for them with the engine running.

“Already taken care of. Let's get to the airport.”

Callie settled into the seat, still worrying. “I don't have anything with me,” she said miserably. “No papers, no clothes, no shoes…”

“I told you, Maddie got all that together. It will be waiting for us at the airport, along with tickets and boarding passes.”

“What if Lopez has people there waiting for us?” she worried aloud.

“We also have people waiting there for us,” Bojo said from the front seat. “Miami is our safest domestic port.”

“Okay,” she said, and smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Micah and Bojo exchanged a complicated glance. Bojo turned his attention back to the road and didn't say another word all the way to the airport. Callie understood. Micah didn't want her getting too friendly with his people. She didn't take offense. She was used to rejection, after so many years in foster care. She only shrugged and looked out the window, watching
palm trees and colorful buildings slide past as they wove through side streets and back onto the expressway.

 

The airport was crowded. Micah caught her by the arm and guided her past the ticket counter on the way to the concourses.

“But…” she protested.

“Don't argue. Just walk through the metal detector.”

He followed close behind her. Neither of them was carrying anything metallic, but Micah was stopped when a security woman passed a wand over the two of them and her detector picked up the residual gunpowder on his hands and clothing. The woman looked at her instrument and then at him, with a wary, suspicious stare.

He smiled lazily at the uniformed woman holding the wand. “I'm on my way to a regional skeet shooting tournament,” he lied glibly. “I sent my guns on ahead by express, unassembled. Can't be too careful these days, where firearms are concerned,” he added, catching Callie's hand in his. “Right, honey?” he murmured softly, drawing her close.

To Callie's credit, she didn't faint at the unexpected feel of Micah's arm around her, but she tingled from head to toe and her heart went wild.

The airport security woman seemed to relax, and she smiled back. She assumed, as Micah had intended, that he and Callie were involved. “Indeed you can't. Have a good trip.”

Micah kept that long, muscular arm around Callie as they walked slowly down the concourse. He looked down, noting the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat at her neck, and he smiled to himself.

“You have lightning-quick reflexes,” he remarked after a
minute. “I noticed that in Cancún. You didn't argue, you didn't question anything I told you to do, and you moved almost as fast as I did. You're good company in tight corners.”

She shrugged. “When you came in through the window, I didn't know who you were, because of that face mask. Actually,” she confessed with a sheepish smile, “at first, I figured you were a rival drug dealer, but I had high hopes that you might be kind enough to just kill me and not torture me first if I didn't resist.”

He drew in a sharp breath and the arm holding her contracted with a jerk. “Strange attitude, Callie,” he remarked.

“Not at the time. Not to me, anyway.” She shivered at the memory and felt his arm tighten almost protectively. They were well out of earshot and sight of the security guard. “Micah, what was that wand she was checking us with?”

“It detects nitrates,” he replied. “With it, they can tell if a passenger has had any recent contact with weapons or explosives.”

She was keenly aware of his arm still holding her close against his warm, powerful body. “You can, uh, let go now. She's out of sight.”

He didn't relent. “Don't look, but there's a security guard with a two-way radio about fifteen feet to your right.” He smiled down at her. “And I'll give you three guesses who's on the other end of it.”

She smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes. “The lady with the nitrate wand? We're psyching them out, right?”

He searched her eyes and for a few seconds he stopped walking. “Psyching them out,” he murmured. His gaze fell to her soft, full mouth. “Exactly.”

She couldn't quite get her breath. His expression was un
readable, but his black eyes were glittering. He watched her blouse shake with the frantic rate of her heartbeats. He was remembering mistletoe and harsh words, and that same look in Callie's soft eyes, that aching need to be kissed that made her look so very vulnerable.

“What the hell,” he murmured roughly as his head bent to hers. “It's an airport. People are saying hello and goodbye everywhere…”

His warm, hard mouth covered hers very gently while the sounds of people in transit all around them faded to a dull roar. His heavy brows drew together in something close to anguish as he began to kiss her. Fascinated by his expression, by the warm, ardent pressure of his mouth on hers, she closed her eyes tight, and fantasized that he meant it, that he wasn't pretending for the benefit of security guards, that he was enjoying the soft, tremulous response of her lips to the teasing, expert pressure of his own.

“Boss?”

They didn't hear the gruff whisper.

It was followed by the loud clearing of a throat and a cough.

They didn't hear that, either. Callie was on tiptoe now, her short nails digging into the hard muscles of his upper arms, hanging on Micah's slow, tender kiss with little more than willpower, so afraid that he was going to pull away…!

“Micah!” the voice said shortly.

Micah's head jerked up, and for a few seconds he seemed as disoriented as Callie. He stared blankly at the dark-headed man in front of him.

The man was extending a small case toward him. “Her papers and clothes and shoes and stuff,” the man said, nodding toward
Callie and clearing his throat again. “Maddie had me fly them over here.”

“Thanks, Pogo.”

The big, dark man nodded. He stared with open curiosity at Callie, and then he smiled gently. “It was my pleasure,” he said, glancing again at Micah and making an odd little gesture with his head in Callie's direction.

“This is Callie Kirby,” Micah said shortly, adding, “my…stepsister.”

The big man's eyebrows levered up. “Oh! I mean, I was hoping she wasn't a real sister. I mean, the way you were kissing her and all.” He flushed, and laughed self-consciously when Micah glared at him. Callie was scarlet, looking everywhere except at the newcomer.

“You'll miss your flight out of here,” Micah said pointedly.

“What? Oh. Yeah.” He grinned at Callie. “I'm Pogo. I'm from Saint Augustine. I used to wrestle alligators until Micah here gave me a job. I'm sort of a bodyguard, you know…”

“You're going to be an unemployed bodyguard in twenty seconds if you don't merge with the crowd,” Micah said curtly.

“Oh. Well…sure. Bye, now,” he told Callie with an ear-to-ear smile.

She smiled back. He was like a big teddy bear. She was sorry they wouldn't get to know each other.

Pogo almost fell over his own feet as he turned, jerking both busy eyebrows at his boss, before he melted into the crowd and vanished.

“Stop doing that,” Micah said coldly.

She looked up at him blankly. “Doing what?”

“Smiling at my men like that. These men aren't used to it. Don't encourage them.”

Her lips parted on a shaken breath. She looked at him as if she feared for his sanity. “Them?” she echoed, dazed.

“Bojo and Peter and Pogo,” he said, moving restlessly. He was jealous, God knew why. It irritated him. “Come on.”

He moved away from her, catching her hand tightly and pulling her along with him.

“And don't read anything into what just happened,” he added coldly, without looking at her.

“Why would I?” she asked honestly. “You said it was just for appearances. I haven't forgotten how you feel about me, Micah.”

He stopped and stared intently down into her eyes. His own were narrow, angry, impatient. She wore her heart where anyone could see it. Her vulnerability made him protective. Odd, that, when she was tough enough to survive captivity by Lopez and still keep her nerve during a bloody breakout.

“You don't have a clue how I feel about you,” he said involuntarily. His fingers locked closer into hers. “I'm thirty-six. You're barely twenty-two. The sort of woman I prefer is sophisticated and street-smart and has no qualms about sex. You're still at the kissing-in-parked-cars stage.”

She flushed and searched his eyes. “I don't kiss people in parked cars because I don't date anybody,” she told him with blunt honesty. “I can't leave Dad alone in the evenings. Besides, too many men around Jacobsville remember my mother, and think I'm like her.” Her face stiffened and she looked away. “Including you.”

He didn't speak. There was little softness left in him after all the violent years, but she was able to touch some last, sen
sitive place with her sweet voice. Waves of guilt ran over him. Yes, he'd compared her to her mother that Christmas. He'd said harsh, cruel things. He regretted them, but there was no going back. His feelings about Callie unnerved him. She was the only weak spot in his armor that he'd ever known. And what a good thing that she didn't know that, he told himself.

“You don't know what was really going on that night, Callie,” he said after a minute.

She looked up at him. “Don't you think it's time I did?” she asked softly.

He toyed with her fingers, causing ripples of pleasure to run along her spine. “Why not? You're old enough to hear it now.” He glanced around them cautiously before he looked at her again. “You were wearing an emerald velvet dress that night, the same one you'd worn to your eighteenth birthday party. They were watching a movie while you finished decorating the Christmas tree,” he continued absently. “You'd just bent over to pick up an ornament when I came into the room. The dress had a deep neckline. You weren't wearing a bra under it, and your breasts were visible in that position, right to the nipples. You looked up at me and your nipples were suddenly hard.”