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she knew her strength would be no match for either of them.
“My husband will return shortly,” she said. “He is searching for game. Our plane went down,” she said in fluent Spanish.
When they grinned at her, she knew they didn’t believe her, and she wasn’t surprised.
“We have food and a house where you and your husband and children can stay,” one replied as both of them edged toward her.
There was nowhere to run, and she was terrified for the girls. If she told the girls to run and they got away, they couldn’t survive on their own in this wild land. Her mind raced for a way to get the children to safety.
The men grinned at her as they approached. She watched the stocky one who looked the stronger. She slipped the bag off her shoulder, gathering the strap in her hand. All she could think of to use for a weapon was the bag that still held cans of formula.
“I no want the pretty lady’s money,” he said, his eyes filled with lust while he watched her and moved closer. As he reached for her, she swung the bag with all her strength, holding the straps with both hands.
“Run!” she yelled to the girls.
The bag smashed against his head, sent him staggering into the other man and toppled them both to the ground.
“What the devil is going on?” came a deep voice, speaking very clear English.
Stunned, she looked around to see a dark-haired man wearing combat fatigues and boots. A pistol was in a holster on his right hip and a machete hung from his belt on his left side. In his hands was an automatic weapon that he carried with a nonchalance that said he was familiar with its use. He was only a few feet away, coming toward her.
Stepping forward, she swung the satchel again, striking him and sending him staggering back. He swore and raised his weapon as the two men fled into the trees.
Gasping for breath, she faced the man over the barrel of his rifle. Blood oozed from a cut on his temple where the bag had struck him, and he reached up, wincing as he touched his head.
“Damnation. You’re lethal, lady! You don’t need me.”
She stared at him in uncertainty. Was he a threat or would he help them? Tall and broad shouldered, he had a stubble of beard; his dark hair was pulled back and tied behind his head. There was a menacing air of command and strength about him. From his last remark, she guessed he must not have been with the other men, but still she didn’t trust him.
“Who are you?”
“Micah Drake. And you must be Raffaela Granillo,” he said while he pulled out a handkerchief, twisting it to tie it around his bloody head. His gaze rested on the ruby pendant at her throat, and she touched it hesitantly.
The girls came close behind her to tug on her slacks and peer around her at him.
“I don’t know you.” She knew her voice sounded frightened, and she took a deep breath and looked into eyes that were such a dark brown they appeared as black as their pupils. She trembled and gripped the bag, ready to swing again if she had to.
“I own Drake Security. Your brother hired me to find you and your children and your sister and get you back to Texas. Your husband is in Paris on business and he’ll meet you in Texas,” Micah explained, more gruffly than necessary, his thoughts on her. Even with her rumpled state, her torn clothes, smudges of dirt on her face and throat, she was an attractive woman with an earthy sensual air about her. Her actions confirmed that she was not the shy sister. His head pounded. And the ruby pendant confirmed her identity as Raffaela.
He looked around. “Where’s the bodyguard?” As if she needed one.
A puzzled frown furrowed her brow while she shook her head. “There’s no one else with us.”
To Micah she looked as if she didn’t know he was talking about Brogan. And she also looked as if she didn’t trust him or believe anything he had said to her. Why wasn’t she welcoming him as her rescuer? Instead, she appeared frightened and on the verge of swinging at him again.
“What the hell are you packing there?”
It took her a moment to realize what he was asking, but then she followed his glance to her bag, still dangling from her hand. She slipped it over her shoulder and lifted the baby into her arms. The child clung tightly, burrowing against her neck.
“I’m carrying cans of formula.”
He rolled his eyes as he pulled off his backpack, rummaged in it and handed her insect repellant. “I’m glad you didn’t take my head off. We’ll talk later. Use the repellant quickly and we’ll get going. Those two might have friends or change their minds and return. Also, I brought fresh socks for all of you. Clothes that get wet in this moisture just stay wet.”
Thankful for the dry socks, she helped the girls change. As she used the repellant, he opened a canteen and drank, then offered it to her. She gave the girls a drink, waiting and wondering whether to trust him and go with him or try to get away.
Was he who he said? she wondered. He was rugged and fierce. The girls were silent, and she knew they were as frightened by him as she was. Yet could she get all three of them away from him safely? While uncertainty plagued her, she saw little choice. As he watched the trees beyond her, she drank, feeling rejuvenated by the tepid water. His gaze raked over her. “Any bad injuries before we get underway? Any broken bones?”
“I have some cuts and my head hurts. I’m bruised, but I don’t have any broken bones.”
“What about the girls? Sophie? Or the baby, Angelica?”
“They have cuts and bruises, but otherwise we’re all okay.”
Replacing his canteen and repellant, he jerked his head and put the rifle in the sling on his back. “Let’s go.”
Hesitating, tempted to try to run from him, she didn’t move.
He glanced around and scowled. “Are you coming?”
Picking up the small bundle of leaves that held the remaining bananas, she shifted the baby, Angelica, and took Sophie’s hand to follow him. He strode ahead without glancing back, as if he didn’t question that she would follow and could keep up with him. He swung a machete, cutting away vines, and she heaved a sigh of relief because it looked as if he had been telling the truth.
“Mr. Drake—”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Micah. We’re going to be together a lot, Raffaela.”
“You’ll have to slow your pace,” she said to him.
He fell back and knelt down to look at Sophie.
“Will you let me carry you?” His voice was gentle, a change from the brusqueness he had shown before. Sophie’s eyes were wide with fear that Raffaela understood too well. Sophie looked up at her, and she nodded.
“Yes, sir,” Sophie whispered.
“That’s a good girl.” He swung her up in his arms and strode ahead.
In an hour he was still moving steadily through the moist, dense undergrowth. In agony Raffaela—she’d decided that name would do—straggled behind him. Angelica had fallen asleep in her arms and her deadweight was becoming a dreadful burden. With each step, searing pain raked along a gash on the back of her right thigh. The steamy heat of the tropics was suffocating. The first day she had switched to her charred sneakers and tossed away her low-heeled sandals. She had bruises that made her ache with each jolting step, and a blinding headache added to her misery. She had cuts on her shoulders and back and the backs of her legs, but it was the cut on her thigh that was hampering her walking.
She wanted to keep up with him. And she suspected if she suggested halting, she might have an argument on her hands. She looked at his broad shoulders that tapered to slender hips and long legs. His stride was as steady as it had been the moment they started. With his long hair, the bloody