Midnight Rainbow (23 page)

           
 
Jane whimpered under the onslaught of his
mouth, but her temper had worn itself out, and she softened against him,
suddenly aware that she'd gotten through to him. She wanted to hold on to her
anger, but she couldn't hold a grudge. All she could do was kiss him back, her
arms sliding up to lock around his neck. His hand burned her breast, his thumb
exciting her acutely sensitive skin and beginning to tighten the coil of desire
deep in her loins. He had no need to hold her still for his kisses now, so he
put his other hand on her bottom and urged her against him, demonstrating
graphically that she wasn't the only one affected. He lifted his mouth from
hers, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I swear, that temper of yours is
something," he whispered. "Do you forgive me?"

           
 
That was a silly question; what was she
supposed to say, considering that she was hanging around his neck like a
Christmas ornament? "No," she said, rubbing her face into the hollow
of his throat, seeking his warm, heady male scent. "I'm going to save this
to throw up at you the next time we have a fight." She wanted to say
"for the rest of our lives," but though his arms were hard around
her, he hadn't yet said that he loved her. She wasn't going to dig for the
words, knowing that he might not be able to say them and mean it.

           
 
"You will, too," he said, and
laughed. Reluctantly his arms loosened, and he reached up, removing her arms
from his neck. "I'd like to stay like this, but we need to get to
Limon." He looked down at her breasts, and a taut look came over his
battered face. "When this is over with, I'm going to take you to a hotel
and keep you in bed until neither of us can walk."

           
 
They got back in the car, and Jane removed the
remnants of the blouse, stuffing it in the backpack and pulling on Grant's camouflage
shirt that she'd put in the pack that morning. It would have wrapped around her
twice, and the shoulder seams hung almost to her elbows. She rolled the sleeves
up as far as they would go, then gathered the long tails and tied them at her
waist. Definitely not high fashion, she thought, but she was covered.

           
 
The Ford rolled into Limon in the early hours
of the morning, and though the streets were nearly deserted, it was obvious
that the port was a well-populated city of medium size.
Jane's
hands clenched on the car seat.
Were they safe, then?
Had
Turego
been fooled by the abandoned truck?

           
 
"What now?"

           
 
"Now I try to get in touch with someone
who can get us out tonight. I don't want to wait until morning." So he
thought
Turego's
men were too close for safety. Was
it never going to end? She wished they had remained in the jungle, hidden so
deeply in the rain forest that no one would ever have found them. Evidently
Grant had been in Limon before; he negotiated the streets with ease. He drove
to the train station, and Jane gave him a puzzled look. "Are we going to
take the train?"

           
 
"No, but there's a
telephone here.
Come on."

           
 
Limon wasn't an isolated jungle village, or
even a tiny town at the edge of the forest; it was a city, with all of the rules
of a city. He had to leave the rifle in the back of the station wagon, but he
stuck the pistol into his boot. Even without his being obviously armed, Jane
thought there was no chance at all of them going anywhere without being
noticed. They both looked as if they'd come fresh from a battle, which, in
effect, they had. The ticket agent eyed them with sharp curiosity, but Grant
ignored him, heading straight for a telephone. He called someone named Angel,
and his voice was sharp as he demanded a number. Hanging up, he fed more coins
into the slot,
then
dialed another number.

           
 
"Who are you calling?" Jane
whispered.

           
 
"An old friend."

           
 
The old friend's name was
Vincente
,
and intense satisfaction was on Grant's face when he hung up.

           
 
"They're pulling us out of here. In
another hour we'll be home free."

           
 
"
Who's'they
'?"
Jane asked.

           
 
"Don't ask too many questions."

           
 
She scowled at him,
then
something else took her attention. "While we're here, could we clean up a
little? You look awful."

           
 
There was a public bathroom—empty, she was
thankful to see—and Grant washed his face while Jane brushed her hair out and
quickly pulled it back into a loose braid. Then she wet a towel and painstakingly
cleaned the wound on Grant's arm; the bullet hadn't penetrated, but the graze
was deep and ugly. After washing it with a strong smelling soap, she produced a
small first-aid kit from her backpack.

           
 
"One of these days I'm going to see what
all's in that thing," Grant growled. Jane uncapped a small bottle of
alcohol and poured it on the graze. He caught a sharp breath, and said
something extremely explicit.
"Don't be such a baby
,"
Jane scolded. "You didn't make this much fuss when you were shot."

           
 
She smeared an antibiotic cream on the wound,
then wrapped gauze snugly around his arm and tied the ends together. After
replacing the kit, she made certain the pack was still securely buckled to her
belt-loop.

           
 
Grant opened the door, then abruptly stepped
back and closed it again. Jane had been right behind him, and the impact of
their bodies made her stagger. He caught her arm, keeping her from falling.
"
Turego
and a few of his men just came into the
station." He looked around, his eyes narrowed and alert. "We'll go
out a window."

           
 
Her heart pounding, Jane stared in dismay at
the row of small, high windows that lined the restroom. They were well over her
head. "I can't get up there."

           
 
"Sure you can." Grant bent down and
grasped her around the knees, lifting her until she could reach the windows.
"Open one, and go through it. Quick! We only have a minute."

           
 
"But how will you get up—"

           
 
"I'll make it! Jane, get through that
window!"

           
 
She twisted the handle and shoved the window
open. Without giving herself time to think about how high above the ground on
the other side it might be, she grasped the bottom edge of the frame and hauled
herself through, jumping into the darkness and hoping she didn't kill herself
on a railroad tie or something. She landed on her hands and knees in loose
gravel, and she had to bite back a cry of pain as the gravel cut her palms.
Quickly she scrambled out of the way, and a moment later Grant landed beside her.

           
 
"Are you all right?" he asked,
hauling her to her feet.

           
 
"I think so. No broken bones," she
reported breathlessly. He started running along the side of the building,
dragging her behind him. They heard a shot behind them, but didn't slow down or
look back. Jane stumbled and was saved from falling only by his grip on her
hand. "Can't we go back for the Ford?" she wailed.

           
 
"No. We'll have to get there on
foot."

           
 
"Get where?"

           
 
"To the pick up
point."

           
 
"How far is that?"

           
 
"Not too far."

           
 
"Give it to me in yards and miles!"
she demanded He dodged down a street and pulled her into the deep shadows of an
alley. He was laughing. "Maybe a mile," he said, and kissed her, his
mouth hard and hungry, his tongue finding hers. He hugged her fiercely.

           
 
"Whatever you did to
Turego
,
honey, he looks like hell."

           
 
"I think I broke his nose," she
admitted.

           
 
He laughed again. "I think you did, too.
It's swollen all over his face. He won't forget you for a long time!"

           
 
"Never, if I have
anything to do with it.
We're going to tell the government about that
man," she vowed.

           
 
"Later, honey. Right now, we're getting
out of here."

           
 
A helicopter came in low and fast, and settled
lightly on its runners, looking like a giant mosquito. Grant and Jane ran
across the small field, bent low against the wind whipped up by the rotors,
which the pilot hadn't cut. Behind them people were pouring out of their houses
to see what the uproar was about. Jane began to giggle, lightheaded with the
triumph of the moment; by the time Grant boosted her into the helicopter, she
was laughing so hard she was crying. They'd done it!
Turego
couldn't catch them now. They would be out of the country before he could
mobilize his own helicopters to search for them, and he wouldn't dare pursue
them across the border.

           
 
Grant flashed
her a
grin, telling her that he understood her idiotic laughter. He shouted,
"Buckle up!" at her, then levered himself into the seat beside the
pilot and gave him the thumbs-up sign. The pilot nodded, grinned, and the
helicopter rose into the night. Grant put on the headset that would allow him
to talk to the pilot, but there wasn't one in the back. Jane gave up trying to
hear what they were saying and gripped the sides of her seat, staring out
through the open sides of the helicopter. The night air swirled around her, and
the world stretched out beyond the small craft. It was the first time she'd
ever been in a helicopter, and it was a totally different sensation from being
in a jet. She felt adrift in the velvet darkness, and she wished that it wasn't
night, so she could see the land below.

           
 
The flight didn't take long, but when they set
down,
Jane recognized the airport and reached up to
grab Grant's shoulder. "We're in
San Jose
!" she yelled, anxiety filling her
voice. This was where it had all begun.
Turego
had
plenty of men in the capitol!

           
 
Grant took off the headset. The pilot cut the
rotors, and the noise began to decrease. They shook hands, and the pilot said,
"Nice to see you again! Word filtered down that you were in the area, and
that we should give you any assistance you asked for. Good luck. You'd better
run. You have just enough time to get on that flight."

           
 
They jumped to the asphalt and began running
toward the terminal. "What flight is that?" Jane panted.

           
 
"The flight to
Mexico City
that's leaving in about
five minutes."
Mexico City
! That sounded more like it! The thought
lent her strength. The terminal was almost deserted at that time of night,
because the flight for
Mexico City
had already boarded. The ticket clerk stared at them as they
approached, reminding Jane once again of how they looked. "Grant Sullivan
and Jane Greer," Grant said tersely. "You're holding our
tickets." The clerk had regained his composure. "Yes, sir, and the
plane," he returned in perfect English, handing over two ticket folders.
"Ernesto will take you directly aboard." Ernesto was an airport
guard, and he led the way, running. Grant held Jane's hand to make certain she
kept up with them. She had a fleeting thought about the pistol stuck in his
boot, but they bypassed all checkpoints. Grant certainly had connections, she
thought admiringly. The jet was indeed waiting, and the smiling stewardess
welcomed them aboard as calmly as if there was nothing unusual about them. Jane
wanted to giggle again; maybe they didn't look as outlandish as she felt they
did. After all, camouflage clothing was all the rage in the States. So what if
Grant was sporting an almost black eye, a puffy lip and a bandage on his arm?
Maybe they looked like journalists who had had a rough time in the field.

           
 
As soon as they were seated, the plane began
rolling. As they buckled their seat belts, Grant and Jane exchanged glances. It
was well and truly over now, but they still had some time together. The next
stop was
Mexico
City
,
an enormous international city with shops, restaurants… and hotels. Her body
longed for a bed, but even deeper than her weariness ran the tingling awareness
that Grant would be in that bed with her. He lifted the armrest between their
seats and pulled her over so her head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder.
"Soon," he murmured against her temple. "In a couple of hours
we'll be in
Mexico
.
Home free."

           
 
"I'm going to call Dad as soon as we get
there, so he and Mom will stop worrying." Jane sighed. "Do you have
anyone to call? Does your family know where you were?" His eyes took on
that remote look. "No, they don't know anything about what I do. I'm not
close to my family, not anymore."

           
 
That was sad, but Jane supposed that when
someone was in the business Grant had been in, it was safer for his family not
to be close to him. She turned her face into his neck and closed her eyes,
holding tightly to him in an effort to let him know that he wasn't alone
anymore. Had his nights been spent like hers, lying awake in bed, so achingly
alone that every nerve in her body cried out against it?

           
 
She slept, and Grant did, too, exhaustion
finally sweeping over him as he allowed his bruised body to relax. With her in
his arms, it was easy to find the necessary relaxation. She nestled against him
as trustingly as a child, but he could never forget that she was a woman, as
fierce and elemental as wind or fire. She could have been the spoiled debutante
he'd expected. It was what
she should
have been, and no one would have thought the less of her for being the product
of her environment—no one expected her to be any more than that. But she'd
risen above that, and above the crippling trauma of her childhood, to become a
woman of strength and humor and passion.

           
 
She was a woman in whose arms a wary,
battered, burnt-out warrior could sleep. The sky was turning pearl pink with
dawn when they landed in
Mexico City
. The terminal was teeming with people scurrying to catch early flights,
a multitude of languages and accents assailing the air. Grant hailed a cab,
which took them on a hair-raising ride through traffic that made every moment
an exercise in survival—or it would have been hair-raising if Jane had had the
energy to care. After what she'd been through, the
Mexico City
traffic looked mundane.

           
 
The city was beautiful at dawn, with its wide
avenues and fragrant trees; and the white of the buildings glowed rosily in the
early morning sun. The sky was already a deep blue bowl overhead, and the air
carried that velvet feel that only the warmer climes achieved. Despite the odor
of exhaust fumes she could smell the sweetness of orange blossoms, and Grant
was warm beside her, his strong leg pressed against hers.

           
 
The desk clerk in the pristine white,
high-rise hotel was reluctant to give them a room without a reservation. His
black eyes kept wandering to Grant's bruised face as he rattled off excuses
in
rapid-fire Spanish. Grant shrugged,
reached into his pocket and peeled off a couple of bills from a roll. The clerk
suddenly smiled; that changed everything. Grant signed them in, and the clerk
slid a key across the desk. After taking a few steps, Grant turned back.
"By the way," he said easily, "I don't want any interruptions.
If anyone calls or asks, we aren't here.
Comprende
?
 
I'm dead tired, and I get irritable if I'm
jerked out of a sound sleep."

           
 
His voice was full of silky, lazy menace, and
the clerk nodded rapidly. With Grant's arm draped across her shoulders, they
walked over to the bank of elevators. He punched the button for the nineteenth
floor, and the doors slid silently shut. Jane said dazedly, "We're
safe."

           
 
"Having trouble believing it?"

           
 
"I'm going to get that man. He's not
going to get off scot-free!"

           
 
"He won't," Grant drawled.
"He'll be taken care of, through channels."

           
 
"I don't want 'channels' to take care of
him! I want to do it myself!" He smiled down at her. "You're a
bloodthirsty little wench, aren't you? I almost think you enjoyed this."

           
 
"Only parts of it," she replied,
giving him a slow smile. Their room was spacious, with a terrace for sunning, a
separate sitting area with a dining table and a stunningly modern bath. Jane
poked her head into it and withdrew with a beatific smile on her face.
"All the modern conveniences," she crowed.

           
 
Grant was studying the in-house registry for
room service. Picking up the phone, he ordered two enormous breakfasts, and
Jane's mouth watered at the thought. It had been almost twenty-four hours since
they'd eaten.

           
 
While they were waiting for their food, she
began the process of making a phone call to
Connecticut
. It took about five minutes for the call to
go through, and Jane sat with the receiver gripped tightly in her hand, taut
with the need to hear her parents' voices.

           
 
"Mom?
Mom, it's
Jane! I'm all right—don't cry, I can't talk to you if you're crying," Jane
said, and wiped away a few tears herself. "Put Dad on the line so I can
tell him what's going
on.
We'll blubber together just
as soon as I get home, I promise." She waited a few moments, smiling
mistily at Grant, her dark eyes liquid.

           
 
"Jane? Is it really you?" Her
father's voice boomed across the line.

           
 
"Yes, it really is. I'm in
Mexico City
. Grant got me out; we just flew in a few
minutes ago." Her father made a choked sound, and Jane realized that he
was crying, too, but he controlled himself.

           
 
"Well, what now?" he demanded.
"When are you going to be here? Where are you going from there?"

           
 
"I don't know," she said, lifting
her brows at Grant and taking the receiver from her ear. "Where are we
going next?"

           
 
He took the phone from her. "This is
Sullivan. We'll probably be here for a couple of days, getting some paperwork
straightened out. We came in here without being checked for passports, but I'll
have to make some calls before we can get into the States. Yes, we're okay.
I'll let you know as soon as I find out something."

           
 
When he hung up, he turned to find Jane
surveying him with pursed lips. "How
did
we get here without being checked for passports?"

           
 
"A few people turned their heads, that's
all. They knew we were coming through. I'll report our passports as being lost,
and get duplicates from the American Embassy. No big deal."

           
 
"How did you manage to set all that up so
quickly? I know this wasn't the original plan."

           
 
"No, but we had some inside help."
Sabin
had been as good as his word, Grant reflected. All
the old contacts had been there, and they had all been notified to give him
whatever he needed.

           
 
"Your… former business associates?"
Jane hazarded a guess.

           
 
"The less you
know,
the better. You pick up on this too damned quickly.
Like
hot-wiring that truck.
Had you ever done it before?"

           
 
"No, but I watched you do it the first
time," she explained, her eyes full of innocence. He grunted. "Don't
waste your time giving me that wide-eyed look." A tap on the door and a
singsong voice announced that room service had arrived in record time. Grant
checked through the fish-eye viewer, then unbolted the door and let the young
boy in. The aroma of hot coffee filled the room, and Jane's mouth started
watering. She hovered over the boy as he set the food out on the table.

           
 
"Look at this," she crooned.
"Fresh oranges and melon.
Toast.
Apricot Danish.
Eggs.
Butter.
Real coffee!"