Navajo Echoes

      Cassie Miles

      

      Cheers to the fantastic city of Denver, my home.

       And, as always, to Rick.

      Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

       Cassie Miles for her contribution to the BODYGUARDS UNLIMITED, DENVER, CO miniseries.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter One

      Their single-engine Cessna had been sabotaged. Both fuel tanks were empty. They were going down.

      Through the cockpit window, John Pinto stared down at the turquoise expanse of the Caribbean Sea. His Navajo forefathers would be amazed to find their son facing death in this place so far from home.

      The Cessna bucked and the water came closer, welcoming them into a cold, lethal embrace. He never should have deviated from the original plan….

      LESS THAN AN HOUR AGO, JOHN HAD passed through customs in the Kingston, Jamaica, airport. Pulling their several suitcases on a dolly, he’d followed Lily Clark, his coworker at Prescott Personal Securities, through the glass doors to the curb.

      Though John had never visited the Caribbean before, he’d been in subtropical climates and was prepared for the humidity. Some people called it sultry. To him, the moist air felt like a wet washcloth being slapped against his face. His research into the area told him that that median temperatures in July were in the mid-eighties.

      He checked his wristwatch, already readjusted to the new time zone. Five twenty-seven in the afternoon. Not bad timing. They’d left Denver at dawn and made all their connections.

      Lily spread her arms wide as if she intended to fly without a plane, soaring off into these milky blue skies on an errant breeze. “Glorious,” she said. “Absolutely glorious.”

      Yes, she was. Lily was a tiny, blond package of pure energy. Only five feet, two inches tall, she looked like a pixie with her short hair and wide, whiskey-brown eyes. He’d been attracted to her since the first day she started work at Prescott Personal Securities, the premier bodyguard agency in the Rocky Mountain West. John found it hard to believe that Lily had once been a Denver cop.

      She twirled once on her toes. Her sleeveless, tangerine-colored T-shirt outlined high breasts. Her knee-length khaki shorts revealed the tanned, well-shaped legs of an athlete. “Can you smell it?” she asked.

      He sniffed. The airport stank of exhaust fumes from cars and taxis that hadn’t been properly serviced. “What am I supposed to be smelling?”

      “The sea. The fabulous Caribbean Sea.”

      Yeah, sure. Smell the orchids. Listen to the breezes though the silver thatch palms. Taste the rum. He wasn’t in the mood. “We should check in with Inter-Island Transport. Our flight for Cuerva leaves in fifty-two minutes.”

      “Is there enough time to grab a cab, race to the beach and stick my feet in the water?”

      “No.”

      She bounced toward him. During this assignment, she was playing the undercover role of his girlfriend. They were supposed to be going to Cuerva for a romantic weekend. In her guise as his lover, she adjusted the collar on his black knit shirt and winked. Her fake flirtation was adorable and maddening at the same time. “Come on, John. Let’s have some fun.”

      “I don’t want to miss our flight.”

      She went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Nobody is going to believe you’re my lover if you don’t touch me.”

      Undercover identities weren’t his favorite thing. Pretending to be someone else always felt like lying, which was probably why he and Lily had been paired for this assignment. John would handle the technical aspects. Lily would guard their identities and deflect suspicion.

      She pointed to the dimple in her cheek with a shell-pink fingernail. “Give me a little peck right here.”

      “Fine.” He wrapped an arm around her slender waist and leaned down, intending to kiss her cheek. Instead, his mouth found hers. A sizzling electricity shot through him, stirring passions he shouldn’t be feeling for a coworker. The scent of her perfume tantalized him. How could she still smell like roses after a full day of travel? The taste of her soft lips surprised him. She was delicious. And this kiss was a big mistake.

      She quickly pulled back. Her eyes narrowed as she whispered, “A little too enthusiastic, John.”

      He hadn’t meant to kiss her. What the hell had he been thinking? “Sorry.”

      The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “Are you really sorry?”

      On a professional level, he regretted the kiss. But on a personal level? Being close to Lily was a constant temptation. She seemed to sparkle. Holding her in his arms was like catching a sunbeam.

      “Hey, mon.” A Rastafarian shuffled toward them in floppy sandals, moving to a musical beat that nobody else heard. Long dreadlocks flopped around his shoulders. A necklace of white shells contrasted with his ebony skin. “Are you John Pinto?”

      “That’s right.”

      “Well now, Mister John. I hear you and this pretty lady are looking for a ride to Cuerva.”

      “You heard wrong,” John said. “We’ve already booked our flight.”

      The Rasta raised both hands and shrugged. His baggy Hawaiian shirt flapped around his narrow chest like the wings of an exotic bird. “I can give you the grand tour on my Cessna. She’s named Martina after a fine lady with red hair like the sunset. Martina the Cessna. I can show you where the sea turtles go to mate.”

      “Wonderful,” Lily said. “Let’s go with him. It’ll be much more interesting than a commercial flight.”

      Interesting? Taking off in a plane named after a redhead? With a pilot in dreadlocks who looked like he was having trouble standing up? Stiffly, John said, “Our arrangements are already made.”

      “My name is Edgar.” The Rasta stuck out his hand. When John shook the long fingers, he felt a firmness and strength that caused him to take a second look. The Rasta’s black eyes showed a seriousness that didn’t fit with the costume. Quietly, Edgar said, “Miss Evangeline recommends my services, mon.”

      Evangeline Prescott was in charge at Prescott Personal Securities. She’d sent John and Lily on this trip to make contact with her husband, Robert, a former MI6 agent who was presumed dead and had been missing for two years.

      Robert Prescott had founded PPS, and he was more than a boss. John had been one of the first agents hired, and he considered Robert to be his mentor