Her Kind of Hero: The Last Mercenary. Diana Palmer
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door closed and the chopper lifted. Outside, there were sounds like firecrackers in the wake of the noise the propellers made. Gunfire, Callie knew.
“It always sounds like firecrackers in real life,” she murmured. “It doesn’t sound that way in the movies.”
“They augment the sound in movies, mademoiselle.” A gentle hand eased her into a seat on the edge of the firing line Micah and two other men made at the door.
She looked up. There was barely any light in the helicopter, but she could make out a beard and a mustache on a long, lean face. “You made it, too!” she exclaimed with visible relief. “Oh, I’m glad. I felt bad that you and the other man had to be decoys, just to get me out.”
“It was no trouble, mademoiselle,” the man said gently, smiling at her. “Rest now. They won’t catch us. This is an Apache helicopter, one of the finest pieces of equipment your country makes. It has some age, but we find it quite reliable in tight situations.”
“Is it yours?” she asked.
He laughed. “You might say that we have access to it, and various other aircraft, when we need them.”
“Don’t bore her to death, Bojo,” a younger voice chuckled.
“Listen to him!” Bojo exclaimed. “And do you not drone on eternally about that small computer you carry, Peter, and its divine functions?”
A dark-haired, dark-eyed young man with white teeth came into view, a rifle slung over his shoulder. “Computers are my specialty,” he said with a grin. “You’re Callie? I’m Peter Stone. I’m from Brooklyn. That’s Bojo, he’s from Morocco. I guess you know Micah. And Smith over there—” he indicated a huge dark-eyed man “—runs a seafood restaurant in Charleston, along with our Maddie and a couple of guys we seem to have misplaced…”
“We haven’t misplaced them,” Micah said curtly. “They’ve gone ahead to get the DC-3 gassed up.”
Bojo grinned. “Lopez will have men waiting at the airport for us.”
“While we’re taking off where we landed—at Laremos’s private airstrip,” Micah replied calmly. “And Laremos will have a small army at his airstrip, just in case Lopez does try anything.”
“But what about customs?” Callie voiced.
Everybody laughed.
She flushed, realizing now that her captors hadn’t gone through customs, and neither had these men. “Okay, I get it, but what about getting back into the States from here? I don’t have a passport…”
“You have a birth certificate,” Micah reminded her. “It’ll be waiting in Miami, along with a small bag containing some of your own clothes and shoes. That’s why Maddie didn’t come with us,” he added smugly.
“Miami?” she exclaimed, recalling belatedly that he’d mentioned that before. “Why not Texas?”
“You’re coming back to the Bahamas with me, Callie,” Micah replied. “You’ll be Lopez’s priority now. He’ll be out for revenge, and it will take all of us to keep you safe.”
She gaped at him. “But, Dad…” she groaned.
“Dad is in good hands. So are you. Now try not to worry. I know what I’m doing.”
She bit her lower lip. None of this was making sense, and she was still scared, every time she thought about Lopez. But all these men surrounding her looked tough and battle-hardened, and she knew they wouldn’t let her be recaptured.
“Who’s Laremos?” Callie asked curiously, a minute later.
“He’s retired now,” Micah said, coming away from the door. “But he and ‘Dutch’ van Meer and J. D. Brettman were the guys who taught us the trade. They were the best. Laremos lives outside Cancún on a plantation with his wife and kids, and he’s got the equivalent of a small army around him. Even the drug lords avoid his place. We’ll get out all right, even if Lopez has his men tracking us.”
She averted her eyes and folded her arms tightly around her body.
“You are shivering,” Bojo said gently. “Here.” He found a blanket and wrapped it around her.
That one simple act of compassion brought all her repressed fear and anguish to the surface. She bawled. Not a sound touched her lips. But tears poured from her eyes, draping themselves hot and wet across her pale cheeks and down to the corner of her pretty bow mouth.
Micah saw them and his face hardened like rock.
She turned her face toward the other side of the helicopter. She was used to hiding her tears. They mostly angered people, made them more hostile. Or they showed a weakness that was readily exploited. It was always better not to let people know they had the power to hurt you.
She wrapped the blanket closer and didn’t speak the rest of the way. She closed her eyes, wiping at them with the blanket. Micah spoke in low tones to the other men, and although she couldn’t understand what he was saying, she understood that rough, angry tone. She’d heard it enough at home.
For now, all she wanted to do was get to safety, to a place where Lopez and the animals who worked for him couldn’t find her, couldn’t hurt her. She was more afraid now than she had been on the way out of Texas, because now she knew what recapture would mean. The darkness was a friend in which she could hide her fear, conceal her terror. The sound of the propellers became suddenly like a mechanical lullaby in her ears, lulling her, like the whispers of the deep voices around her, into a brief, fitful sleep.
She felt an odd lightness in her stomach and opened her eyes to find the helicopter landing at what looked like a small airstrip on private land.
A big airplane, with scars and faded lettering, was waiting with its twin prop engines already running. Half a dozen armed men in camouflage uniforms stood with their guns ready to fire. A tall, imposing man with a mustache came forward. He had a Latin look about him, dark eyes and graceful movement.
He shook hands with Micah and spoke to him quietly, so that his voice didn’t carry. Micah listened, and then nodded. They shook hands again. The man glanced at Callie curiously, and smiled in her direction.
She smiled back, her whole young face drawn and fatigued.
Micah motioned to her. “We have to get air borne before Lopez’s menge there. Climb aboard. Thanks, Diego!” he called to the man.
“No es nada,” came the grinning reply.
“Was that the man you know, with the plantation?” Callie asked when they were inside and the door was closed.
“That was Laremos,” he agreed.
“He and his family won’t be hurt on our account, will they?” she persisted.
He glanced down at her. “No,” he said slowly. His eyes searched hers until she looked away, made uneasy and shivery by the way he was looking at her.
He turned and made his way down the aisle to the cockpit. Two men poked their heads out of it, grinning, and after he spoke to them, they revved up the engines.
The passengers strapped themselves into their seats. Callie started to sit by herself, but Micah took her arm and guided her into the seat beside his. It surprised her, but she didn’t protest. He reached across her to fasten her seat belt, bringing his hard, muscular chest pressing gently against her breasts.
She gasped as the pressure made the cut painful.
“God, I’m sorry! I forgot,” he said, his hand going naturally, protectively, to her breast, to cup it gently. “Is it bad?”
She went scarlet. Of course, nobody was near enough to see what was going on, but it embarrassed her to have him touch her with such familiarity. And then she remembered that he’d had her nude from the waist up on one side while he cleaned and bandaged that cut.
Her