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Authors: Monette Michaels

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BOOK: Cold Day in Hell
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“I said it before and I’ll say it again … he can’t stop you from leaving. You’re a goddamned United States citizen.”

“Which isn’t worth crap in Colombia. Jaime Cruz is the law in this area. His paramilitary group,
Serpiente Negra
, is the only reason the FARC and ELN terrorist groups haven’t overrun this part of the country.” At the confusion on Evan’s face she explained, “FARC is the main right-wing terrorist group in Colombia and the ELN, its communist counterpart. Both use threats, killings, kidnappings and other crimes to enforce their power, of which they have more than the sanctioned Colombian government. The only groups strong enough to keep them in line have been the paramilitary groups such as Cruz’s. He keeps this area safe for the tourists. Wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t take kickbacks from the hotels and resorts to do so. Hell, even the Colombian government probably appreciates his control of the region.” Tourist dollars were almost as lucrative as drug money and a far better promo op.

Evan moved restlessly on the wall, his hands now fisted tightly on his thighs. “What are we going to do?”

She flashed him a brilliant smile. “I did it already. I told you I would get help and I did. After my first choice, the US Embassy, told me I was on my own, I called in private security last night while on my walk. He should be here today.”

“He? One guy? Sweet Jesus, Calista! One guy can’t fight off a paramilitary group.

Even little old apolitical me knows that.”

Callie had to chuckle. Evan was a political neophyte. If not for his lover Chad, Evan would’ve run into trouble years ago on his shoots all over the world. “I called my childhood friends, Keely Walsh-Maddox and her brother, Tweeter, who are principals in Security Specialists International. Their operatives are all ex-military Special Forces and trained for just these sorts of situations. One of their guys is equivalent to four marines.” If she believed everything Keely had told her. She squeezed his cold hand. “I’ll be fine—


I hope,
“—and so will you, Chad and the others. Trust me?”

“You know I do.” He shook his head, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “I remember that time in Kenya. Out of everyone on the team sent to protect us you were the only one whose brain seemed to work when the lions rushed us. But one guy? Come on, Calista.”

“SSI could only get the one guy here today. But his back-up team should arrive at a safe house tomorrow on the last day of the photo shoot where we’ll meet them to get me out of the country. I’ve been informed you’ll be going out a different way. The operative will have the details for us when he arrives. The theory is Cruz will concentrate on me—

not you and your people.” She leaned closer to Evan. “Don’t be surprised when a guy named Risto Smith arrives and claims to be my husband. Act as if you know him. Keely and I figured even Cruz might chill his jets a bit if he thinks I’m married. I guess this Risto is one mean-looking son of a bitch.”

“Beauty and the Beast? I can see a photo spread for
Vogue
.” He swept his hands in a broad arc. She could always count on Evan to find the humor in a situation. “By the way, how recent is the
marriage
?” He grinned at her raised eyebrow. “I’m a method actor, dear one. If you’re recently married, I can be even more excited about seeing the new hubby. If it’s a secret marriage of long-standing then I, as an old and dear friend, would greet Risto more casually.”

“Recent … very recent. We eloped right before I left Chicago, okay? Is that enough inspiration?”

“Perfect … ah, and I think your hubby may have arrived.” A commotion and angry male voices had Evan turning, which allowed her to see past him. “Oh my God, I hope that’s him. He’s…” Evan fluttered a hand over his heart, “stunning. All lines and angles.

Rugged masculinity.”

Holy crap!
The picture Keely had sent to her cell phone had not done the guy justice.

Her make-believe husband had just taken out the two, gorilla-sized thugs and wasn’t even breathing heavily. He bent over and disarmed both men, throwing their weapons over the ancient wall into the sea. Her womb clenched and her lacy thong dampened at his show of strength.

Her pretend husband cast a narrowed glance over the area until he found her tent shelter. Man, he was impressive. She could practically feel his testosterone across the small plaza. Keely hadn’t misrepresented Risto Smith at all—he was capable
and
dangerous. The tension she’d carried in her shoulders and neck since Cruz had threatened her and her brothers dissipated. She wasn’t alone anymore.

“Sweet baby Jesus, he’s huge.”
And all mine.
Callie shook off the errant thought.

The man didn’t look like the type to belong to anyone but himself. She was just borrowing him for a short time. But damn, why didn’t they grow men like him in Chicago? She reached for Evan who helped her stand. She dropped his hand then walked toward Risto Smith, taking her time to drink him in.

Keely had left some things out of her description. He was broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and far taller than her own five feet, nine inches. His face was all lines and angles with a sharp blade of a nose. Even though his name was Finnish-sounding, he looked to have some Native American blood. His collar-length hair was thick and dark as pitch, wildly layered about his head, giving him a medieval warrior look. His eyes were dark and glittering, focused only on her. She shivered and another small gush of moisture dampened her already soaked panties.

Shaking his head and muttering something she couldn’t hear, he moved toward her in a ground-eating stride. Obviously, she wasn’t moving fast enough to suit him. Her mouth dried as he stalked her. He moved like a jungle cat, aware of all potential danger surrounding him. His demeanor said it all: he’d handle whatever came his way and survive to tell about it. This was a man a woman could rely upon. He could be protective or destructive, depending on his mood.

Stopping a few feet from her, he sent her an imperious look, one dark masculine brow arched. It was a look she recognized, her father had often worn a similar look with her and her brothers; it said “what the fuck are you waiting on?” Callie let out a sigh, forced her trembling lips into a wide smile and ran into his arms.

“Risto! You made it!”

She buried her face against his throat, getting a whiff of citrus and clean male sweat.

Her arms went around his neck in a vice-like grip; his went around her waist and back, taking her weight easily. He murmured something unintelligible against her hair. He lifted her until her feet dangled several inches off the ground, then swung her around, putting on a show for the crew, the lookee-loos, and Cruz’s men who were slowly getting up. More likely, his act allowed him to continue to check for danger. Either way, the crowd seemed impressed. Callie knew she was.

Risto rubbed his beard-roughened jaw over her hair and spoke in a low tone, his breath wafting over her ear. “You okay, Ms. Meyers?” The rumble of his voice sent a frisson of sexual awareness down her spine, the sensations settling in long unused female parts. Her clit throbbed, matching the rapid beat of her heart.
God, what a time for my
libido to wake up. Right kind of man. Wrong time and place.

She angled her face then brushed her lips over his. Her tongue licked a small scar marring his upper lip. He started at the touch, exhaling roughly, his breath smelling of mint and coffee.

“Call me Callie.” She whispered the words over his sculpted mouth, the tip of her tongue returning to trace the scar once more. His hands tightened on her body. “After all, we’re supposed to be married. And, yes, I’m fine, scared, but fine. The bastard … well, let’s say he has a sick way of courting me. His goons have kept their distance. But he…” A slight hitch in her voice, she stifled a sob threatening to erupt. She refused to let go of the control she’d kept on her emotions, the danger wasn’t over yet.

He pulled her closer, so close her breasts brushed his chest. Her nipples pebbled from the casual touching. “Shh. It’s okay. Keely and Tweeter fully prepped me.” He nuzzled her ear. She shivered. “You did the right thing in calling them. Cruz would never have let you leave.”

“I know … my brothers?” Her stomach clenched. She’d told Keely Cruz had threatened to kidnap her brothers if she didn’t come to him voluntarily. Her friend had promised to get them to safety. “They’re safe?” He nodded, his cheek brushing hers. She whimpered her relief, tears threatened to swamp her eyes.

Risto muttered a low, rumbling “fuck” and allowed her body to slide down his until her feet touched the ground. He kept a supporting arm around her until she got her balance. She hadn’t realized how much the last two days of stress and worry had taken out of her.

He brushed his lips over her cheek, kissing away tears she hadn’t even realized had fallen. He massaged her waist and back, soothing her. He played the role of a loving husband well. “Tweeter took them to Camp Lejeune. Colonel Walsh and his marines will protect them. Keely wanted to go with Tweeter, but Ren threatened to tie her butt to the bed if she dared to leave Sanctuary with the baby.” Ren and Keely’s son Riley was a little over three months old.

An inappropriate giggle erupted at the image Risto’s words projected. “Sounds as if Keely has found herself a man who can handle her.” She and Keely had been tomboys growing up. It would take quite a man to tame her friend. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She punctuated her words with kisses to his chin, jaw and mouth. Suddenly, her knees gave way and she inhaled sharply as her vision dimmed.

Risto moved to catch her. “Stay with me, Callie.” He swung her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

Even securely held, the world spun for a few more seconds. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, before opening them to his concerned gaze. “Sorry. I haven’t slept much. Too much adrenaline. The heat. The humidity. No lunch.” He cursed, a litany of profanity the likes of which she hadn’t heard since she’d stopped living on marine bases. She felt as if she’d come home.

Risto turned his back on the interested bystanders and began to walk. “Hell, woman, you can’t do an op on an empty stomach.”

“Cruz put me off my feed—and Evan has only one speed and that’s fast forward.”

“Fuck ’em both.” His jaw clenched. “Excuse my language.”

“No worries. I’ve heard and said worse.” His snort of disbelief had her grinning.

He’d learn soon enough. She might be a supermodel, but she swore like a marine and had often shocked the models and crews on photo shoots. Looking over Risto’s shoulder, she found the astonished gazes of the photo crew and the hostile ones of Cruz’s muscle. She returned her focus to Risto’s sharply angled jaw line. “Where are we going? I don’t think Evan was done for the day.”

“You’re done.” He headed for the narrow path which led to the parking area. “We’re going to your hotel.”

The way he said “hotel” as if it were a nasty word had her narrowing her eyes.

Something bothered him about the hotel. Had he tried to get into her room and they denied him? His next words negated that thought.

“I stopped by and put my gear in your
casita
and scouted around some.” Scouted around for what? She mentally shrugged. She’d find out once they got back to her, now their, suite of rooms.

“Okay. Can we get something to eat? I’m starving.” He nodded. She wiggled. “Put me down. I can walk. I’m too heavy to carry.”

“No.” At her gasp and continued attempts to get down, he added, “Stop it! You fucking almost fainted. And you don’t weigh all that much. You could add a few pounds.” He hugged her more tightly against his body and continued to stride straight toward the
paseo
currently blocked by her erstwhile guards.

Risto swore foully, this time in idiomatic and very filthy Spanish. Loosely translated, he ordered the sons of bitches out of the way or he’d gut them and then drop them over the ancient wall to the rocky beach for the gulls to peck out their entrails. The thugs moved.

“Holy crap,” she breathed against his neck, “effective threat.” He peered at her through thick lashes, his eyes glinted darkly. “You understood all that?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.” His mouth thinned and the muscles in his jaw tensed. “I apologize for…” She placed her fingers over his lips. “Stop apologizing. I’ve wanted to let loose with some of the profanities my dad used. But since I couldn’t follow up the words with the actions, I kept my mouth shut. It’s been a real pain holding back.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where would a lady such as you learn to swear in idiomatic Spanish?”

“Marine bases around the United States and the world.” She smiled. “The best education a kid could get. I was a horrible tomboy … still am.”

“You don’t look like one.”

“Appearances are often deceiving.” She fluttered her lashes.

Risto snorted and shook his head.

“Calista, dear.” Evan’s trilling tones came from behind them.

“Stop, please.” Callie patted Risto’s chest. He frowned, but nodded and turned to meet Evan. “Let me down.” He refused even after she pinched his arm. Solid muscle that arm. “Yes, Evan? I thought we were done for the day. Risto and I haven’t seen each other for four whole days.”

Her pretend husband played his part by holding her against him with one arm, then turning her head for a searing hot, but far too short, kiss. She licked her lips, tasting him—mint and coffee and heat.

BOOK: Cold Day in Hell
4.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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