Cold Day in Hell (3 page)

“Here’s your tote bag, dear girl.” Evan grinned and handed her the large, leather bag which held all her important papers—she hadn’t trusted Cruz not to break into her rooms and steal her passport, traveler’s checks and credit cards. “Ah, newly wedded bliss.” Cruz’s goons had followed and stood off to the side, interested observers. One had his cell phone out and was, she bet, making a report to his boss. “I guess this means you and Risto don’t want to have dinner with me and Chad this evening?”

“Callie hasn’t had lunch yet, Evan.” Risto’s voice held anger and a note of chastisement. “I’m taking her to get cleaned up and then I plan to feed her. Maybe we can meet later for drinks after she has a
nap
.” The way Risto said “nap” was clearly meant to indicate to all who listened he intended to be in that bed with her and they wouldn’t be sleeping.

Evan had the grace to blush. “Oh, yes, please take care of our girl. And, definitely …

a drink … later. Chad would love to see you again. He was so-o-o upset you two lovebirds eloped. He so wanted to plan a wedding for our Calista.”

“I didn’t want to wait for the hassle of a wedding.” Callie stroked Risto’s jaw. “I didn’t want him to get away.”

Risto coughed. “Callie tells me I have you and Chad to thank for keeping the Latin lovers away from her.”

“No problem. Glad you’re here though.” Evan shot a nasty look at Cruz’s men.

“Some people can’t take a hint that our lovely Calista is unavailable.” He turned his back on their unwanted escorts. “Calista, dear one, we can probably wrap up the shoot tomorrow. We’ll be doing some jungle shots—in the national park just outside of town.”

“That’s great,” Callie said. “You’ll have to tell us exactly where when we meet for drinks. Risto will drive me to the shoot.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you two later.” Evan saluted and walked back to the tent where the crew was packing things up.

“Señorita Meyers.” One of the thugs must have grown an extra set of balls, because he approached them, fingering a large knife. “You will please stay. Señor Cruz is coming.

He is not happy.” The man glared. If looks could kill, Risto would’ve been dead on the ground, a bloody mess.

Before she could take the cretin to task, Risto jumped in. “I’m her husband,
pendejo
.

Señor Cruz can fuck himself. Sorry, honey.”

She kissed his chin. “No problem, tiger. I told you the man was persistent.” Risto snarled, sounding very much like the predatory cat she’d just named him. He turned his back on Cruz’s messenger boys and continued up the path toward the parking area. Either Risto was insane or had really big balls. She would never have turned her back on armed men. “Um, they’re following us.” She couldn’t keep the shakiness out of her voice.

“Yeah, I know. Once I lock you in the Hummer, I’ll take care of them.” His lips twisted into a nasty grin. Big
cojones
it was then. She was glad he was on her side.

“Those two won’t touch you.”

“Well, I knew that—they wouldn’t dare. Cruz wants me alive and unharmed.”
Not
quite true.
She had bruises on her ass and hips from where the bastard had pulled her to him when she’d tried to leave him in the hotel bar. “I’m more worried about you. I didn’t think … Cruz will have you killed … he won’t fight fair.”

“Don’t worry about me. Better men have tried. I fight to win.” He stopped at a black Hummer with tinted windows and held her one-armed against his body as he punched in a key code. “Now, let’s get you inside while I go take care of the trash.” Risto lifted her so she could scramble into the passenger seat. Waves of heat came off the dash and black leather upholstery. She flinched, the seat burning her skin through the thin fabric of her tank top and skirt. He frowned. “Fuck. You can’t stay locked up inside a closed vehicle—it’s over ninety degrees in there and like a damn sauna.” The man was a natural protector like her dad and Colonel Walsh. Damn, she loved marines. And even though he was an ex-marine, her dad had said “once a marine, always a marine, baby girl.”

“Give me the keys.” She wiggled her fingers. He handed them over. “I’ll start the car and get it cooled off.”

He swept a calloused finger over her heat-flushed cheek. “You need to eat and hydrate now. There are protein bars in the end pocket of my duffle in the back seat. Eat one to tide you over until I can get you a real meal.” He pointed to the bottle of water in the cup holder. “Drink that. You need the water more than you need to worry about my germs. Got it?”

“Yeah, thanks, and I’m not worried about your germs.”

“Get a bar now, Callie.”

She scrunched her nose but decided it wasn’t worth arguing about his autocratic tone at this point—plus she was starving. She turned and pulled a peanut-butter-flavored bar out of his duffle, unwrapped it and took a bite.

He grunted. “Now, lock this door. Don’t open it for anyone. If trouble comes, lean on the horn.”

“What trouble?” She mumbled around a sticky bite of the chewy bar. She grabbed his water bottle and took a deep drink, helping the dry granola down her stress-constricted throat.

His lips quirked into a satisfied smile at her actions. “Remember? The badass said Cruz is on his way.”

She swallowed another gulp of water then gasped. “Gee, you must think I’m stupid.

This is…”

“
This
is outside your comfort zone. It is for most people.” He leaned in and tapped the tip of her nose. “That’s why you have me. If you do need to leave the vehicle, meet me at the cantina across the square. Sit in the back and try to blend in. I’ll look there first before I start tearing the old city apart.”

He turned to leave. She touched his arm. Flexing under her fingers, his skin was hot, hair-roughened, covering tight, steely muscles. “Be careful… Come back to me.” His lips twisted into a feral smile. “I’m planning on it.” Risto shut the door and stood there until she locked it.

Callie watched him stalk toward the last sighting of his intended prey. He was all fluid muscle and lethal intent. She had no doubts the two men would regret pulling guard-the-supermodel duty today. Sinking low in the seat, she resumed eating and drinking and kept a wary eye out for Cruz.

Chapter Two

Risto wanted to take out Cruz’s muscle: first, as a message to Cruz and, second, because they had frightened Callie.
Bastards.
He had to give her credit, she was holding it together better than most of the women he’d had to rescue from a hostage situation.

Despite her current freedom of movement, this
was
a hostage rescue.

Cruz had the rep of taking what and whom he wanted and to hell with what anyone else said. The Colombian government was toothless and would do nothing to stop the para-leader from kidnapping a visitor to their country; they hadn’t stopped the man in the past even when he’d kidnapped and held fellow Colombians. The government had good reasons for their lack of action: Cruz commanded a large number of well-trained and better-equipped men than the Colombian army.

SSI had gone up against Cruz’s forces before. Although Risto had been in the country before as a marine on drug enforcement missions, he had only two previous visits to the region as a new member of the SSI team. From having studied all the case reports on previous SSI missions in the region, Risto knew this wasn’t Cruz’s first go-round as a kidnapper of women for his sexual use. SSI and several other private security organizations had documented dozens of similar cases. Not all the women had been recovered. They were either dead or, as rumor told, sold into slavery in the Middle East.

The ones rescued had shown signs of physical and psychological abuse and drug addiction. Cruz had extremely sadistic sexual appetites.

Risto fisted his hands. The bastard would never touch a hair on Callie’s head and live. Taking a deep breath, he throttled back the rage threatening to consume him. He relaxed his hands and looked at them with a sense of disbelief.

God! He’d held and kissed Calista Meyers, world famous model. His buddies in his old Recon team would shit bricks if they learned of it. Was there a straight man on the planet that hadn’t lusted after Calista? Probably not. He’d done so for over five years. He still had a copy of the first magazine on which she’d been the featured swimsuit model.

She’d been in every annual swimsuit issue since and on the cover twice more. All his issues were well-thumbed, and Callie had played a role in many of his favorite fantasies.

He’d never dreamed he’d meet her, let alone kiss her.

Callie was his idea of woman-personified. In flats, her head easily rested on his shoulder. She was all lean muscle covered by satiny soft, creamy skin with curves in all the right places. He could attest to the fact her breasts were full and firm; braless, they’d brushed his chest and arm several times. Her ass was two sweetly rounded and firm handfuls. Her eyes were the color of pale gray pearls rimmed in black. He could lose himself in the depths of those eyes.

And he damn well didn’t ever want to see fear in them again, not like what he’d seen when she first ran into his arms.

But it was her hair which had fueled many of his sexual fantasies. Her famous hair was a hundred shades of blonde from light to dark and hung in loosely tousled waves halfway down her back. His fantasies had him fisting her hair as he took her from behind, his cock entering her pussy as he watched her mouth-watering ass meet his thrusts. He had images of her hair veiling his thighs as she sucked him off. Now that he knew how her hair felt—like the finest silk—and smelled—like flowers and female musk—he at least planned to indulge and touch it whenever possible.

She was a hundred times sexier in person—and so not for him. Not even for a one-night, get-it-out-of-his-system, living-all-his-fantasies bout of hard fucking. He couldn’t make a move towards her, because she was, first of all, a client and, second, the Walsh kids’ childhood friend. If Ren didn’t kill him, Keely or Tweeter would. On top of those more than excellent reasons, her deceased dad had been a marine’s marine, a hero killed in the field, decorated out the wazoo.
Semper fi.
She was practically family.

Of course, none of those reasons would stop him if she hinted she’d be open to twisting in the sheets with him. But that would never happen. Tomboy declaration aside, she was a lady from her sweet-smelling hair to her dainty polished toes.

Whereas he was a rough, scarred, mostly uncivilized former marine and a loner who’d spent most of his adult years in deep recon, living off the land with mostly himself for company. He was a stone-cold predator, albeit an authorized one.

When he managed to find the time to fit sex into his life, he did it with women who knew the score and could meet his needs in bed. Harder women who didn’t mind that he liked to be in charge. He didn’t have a romantic, gentle bone in his entire body. He’d scare the shit out of sweet Callie.

As he turned the corner of the
paseo
, Cruz’s men were there. He expected from the look of worry on their stupid goon faces that Cruz had threatened them with emasculation if they lost Callie. Risto smiled evilly and motioned them forward. His body was loose and ready to fight. While he might not be a proper lover for Callie, he sure as hell was the best man to protect her. He’d begin with these two imbeciles.

He punched the first thug before the man could even let fly with the club he held.

Cudgel-Boy fell to the ground and Risto finished him off with a vicious chop to the neck.

Risto turned into the other man, kicking the knife from his hand. The goon looked at his empty hand then ran. Risto had to chase the fucker down. He finally cornered the pussy in a doorway of the ancient fortification.

After knocking Knife-Boy’s head into the stone wall a couple of times, he held him up by his shirtfront. “Tell Cruz I don’t like anyone threatening my woman.” Risto shook the man a couple of times, causing his head to hit the wall again. “And I don’t like strange men—that would be you and your sleeping
amigo
—following her.” Risto tossed the dazed thug to the ground with a grunt of disgust. “If I see you, hear you or even smell you near Callie, I won’t be this nice next time.” He leaned over and pressed the man’s carotid artery just hard enough to put him to sleep. Then he moved away, stepping over the first man’s body, and rushed back to the Hummer. As he approached, he swore. Callie was gone! Everything primal in him was ready to hunt, rend and kill.

“Callie!” His booming shout echoed off the buildings surrounding the small plaza and parking area. Several people looked at him askance and walked away quickly, the primitive part of their brains warning them a predator was about to attack.

He headed for the cantina. If Callie had run, he hoped she had remembered his instructions. Then her head popped up on the passenger side. Wide-eyed, she looked straight at him then smiled.
Sweet Jesus, she’s beautiful and—safe.

The adrenaline pumping through his system no longer required to fight switched over to the need to fuck. His cock hardened, threatening to burst through his jeans. Before this mission was complete, he was afraid his dick would petrify from over-exposure to Callie.

God, he was in so much fucking trouble.
No woman had ever twisted his insides this way. He was always in control of his head, his emotions, his body, especially his cock.

She unlocked the driver’s side door and he got in. After locking the doors, he looked her over. “You okay?”

“Sure.” She looked bemused. “Why shouldn’t I be? I was locked safely inside a military-equipped Hummer. You?” Her silver-gray gaze narrowed and she scanned him—twice. Slowly. Every part of his body her eyes swept over burned with the heat of his unrequited lust. “I don’t see any blood.”