Cold Day in Hell (38 page)

Placing a kiss on her stomach where she carried his child, he covered her and added his grandmother’s spread. He smoothed some tousled strands of hair from her cheek, tucking them behind her ear. She muttered “Risto” and then snuggled into her pillow, a smile curving her lips. His heart ached with all the love he felt for her in that moment. He should be planning how to take down Cruz, but instead he crawled into bed and spooned her. He could take this time to be with her … just until Conn called for pickup. He buried his face in the hair strewn on his pillow and fell instantly asleep.

* * * *

Callie woke and stretched like a cat. She’d never known orgasms could be a combination of pleasure and pain before. But then she’d never had multiple orgasms before meeting Risto. If that was a sample of what their sex life would be like, she needed to build some stamina. Her pussy clenched around emptiness, eager for more when she should be exhausted. Yeah, she’d need to eat her Wheaties for sure.

“Risto?” She listened and heard no reply, no sound indicating he was in the house.

She frowned and tried to remember what had happened earlier. A phone had rung. Risto kissed her and tried to wake her. Okay, she seemed to recall him telling her he had to pick up Conn and Berto. So, he must not be back yet.

She sat up on the side of the bed. The room spun around her. Nausea ensued.

“Damn.” She patted her tummy. “Sorry, baby, I know you don’t mean to make mommy sick.”

Throwing the bedclothes off, she ran into the bathroom and made it to the toilet in time. Coughing and choking, she vomited until she thought her lungs and guts would come up. Finally, she stopped.

A cold sweat covered her naked body. Breathing heavily, she slumped against the wall next to the commode, afraid to get up in case she began to heave again. She shivered violently. She was naked. She needed to clean up and find something to wear. Groaning, she tried crawling. The world didn’t spin so she kept moving.

Making her way to the vanity first, she found a cloth. She rose to her knees and wetted it, then wiped her face, neck, upper body and her pussy. Then she used a new toothbrush and some toothpaste she found in a drawer and brushed her teeth. Sitting back on her heels, she looked around the bathroom, finally eyeing a closed door. It had to be a closet.

Reluctant to stand and upset the status quo, she went back to her hands and knees.

She made it to the door and opened it. Yes, a walk-in closet. All neat and organized just like the marine Risto had been. She entered and found a shelf with neatly folded T-shirts and picked out a drab olive green one, well-washed and soft, with the USMC Force Recon logo on it. She pulled it on and found it covered her to her upper thighs. She felt warmer already. A couple of drawers later, she found some boxers and selected a pair to match the shirt. She sat on the carpeted floor and wiggled them up her legs and over her butt. A little loose in the waist but not so much that they would fall down.

Exhausted from her efforts, she leaned against the built-ins. “Just wait it out, Calista Jean. You used up all your energy. Just sit here until you find the strength to crawl back to bed.”

Which might never happen, because the bed was at least three feet off the ground and she’d have to stand to get into it. Well, she could pull the covers off and nest on the bedroom floor until Risto got back.

“Note to self, put saltines and water by the bed to hold off morning sickness.” Well, it had to be late afternoon, but same difference.

She was starved now, but too damn wiped out to do anything about it. She prayed she’d have the shortest duration of morning sickness on record, but the doctor hadn’t held out much hope. She needed to call Keely and see how her friend had coped. Keely had mentioned something about having morning, noon and evening sickness from hell for about four months. “Four months!” She groaned.

As she sat in the closet, she glanced about her, assessing the space. She blinked and yawned. “More than enough room for my stuff.” She’d rent out the house in Chicago until the boys decided whether one or both of them wanted it. She’d live with Risto here and in Sanctuary. She didn’t need her own place any longer. She yawned again and slid down to curl up on the comfy carpet covering the radiant-heated floor. Just a little nap, then she’d get up and find something to eat.

* * * *

After showing Conn and Berto to one of the island’s guest houses and arranging for them to meet him at the main house in a couple of hours for an evening meal and planning session, he disarmed his security and entered the house, rearming it behind him.

He hung his coat in the mud room then went to the kitchen and pulled the makings for beef stew out of the refrigerator. Throwing together the dish, he put it in a slow cooker on high. It would be ready for supper.

Then he went to check on Callie. She wasn’t on the bed and it looked as if the covers had been thrown to the side in a hurry. “Callie!”

Panic hit him in the gut, then calm reason took over. The system hadn’t been disturbed. She was here somewhere. No one could have gotten inside, no one could have gotten to her, taken her away from him.

He entered the bathroom. The slight smell of sickness still hung in the air. “Callie, where are you?”

Then he noted the closet door was ajar. And there he found her, curled on her side on the floor, wearing some of his old Corps BvDs, sound asleep. She must’ve woken up and gotten sick. Why hadn’t she gone back to bed? He’d ask her later. Now, he’d just tuck her back into bed and crawl in with her for another nap. Just the thought of curling around her, protecting her with his body as she slept, made him happy, made him whole when he’d never known he’d been incomplete before.

He picked her up. She muttered something and flapped a hand at his chest. “Shh, love. It’s just me.”

She made a little sound and snuggled closer, her fingers grasping his shirt, her nose sniffing his neck.

He kissed her tangled curls. He’d enjoy brushing all that hair later. Her naked body against his. Him naked surrounding her from behind with his arms and legs as they sat on their bed. He’d stroke the brush through her hair, pausing to kiss her neck and shoulders from time to time. Once he had all the tangles out, he would arouse her with more kisses to the sensitive area around her ears as his hands stimulated her breasts. Then he’d turn her around until she straddled him. This time she would ride him. He’d be able to pay even more attention to her beautifully formed breasts. The hair he groomed so carefully would brush against his skin … shit, he imagined himself into a steel-hard boner.

“Chill, Smith. She’s sick. She doesn’t need a randy bastard poking her now.” His cock wasn’t listening, but he’d deal.

Carefully laying her on the bed, he pulled the covers back over her. He quickly stripped to his skin and crawled in behind her, pulling her ass into him. His erect cock cradled along the seam of her sweet little butt. Taking deep, controlled breaths, he willed his cock to a semi-erect state, probably the best he could hope for under the circumstances. Just lying with her this way made him happy, replete. Sighing, relaxing around her body, he went to sleep.

Chapter Twenty

Wednesday afternoon, Risto’s Island.

Risto kept an eye on the closed double-doors to the main level master bedroom as he, Conn and Berto went over the plan to draw Cruz and his men into a trap. Callie hadn’t awakened when he got up from his nap and kissed her sleep-warmed cheek. Her deep sleep reassured him; she’d need to be well-rested over the next few days, when he hoped to get Cruz out of their lives permanently.

“Stop watching the door.” Conn chuckled. “She’s safe. No one can harm her here.

Hell, the fucking White House has less security.” Berto snorted back a laugh and just shook his head at his boss’s words.

Risto regarded the two men who’d dropped everything and flown all day and night into a winter storm to get here. “Have I thanked you yet?”

“This would be the fifth time,” Berto said. “I’d have flown ten times as far. I owe your woman for avenging Javier and saving the traitor for my family to take care of.” Risto had heard how Berto’s family had taken care of Ricky and frowned. “Callie doesn’t need to hear what was done to Ricky. I don’t want that time to touch her any more than it already has.”

“Won’t hear it from me,” Conn said.

“Nor me,” said Berto.

Risto turned back to the most current intelligence report he’d received on Cruz from SSI. “You’ll be happy to know that our Uncle and the Colombian government have decided to allow SSI to handle Cruz’s illegal entry into the USA any way we see fit.” The mission to eliminate Cruz now fit into the murky area of black ops. Homeland Security, the FBI and the Michigan version of Homeland Security had all been informed by the National Clandestine Service that NCS’s contractor, SSI, had Cruz covered. The other intelligence agencies hadn’t been happy, but since it would have taken them days to mount an op with any chance of success, they ungraciously ceded the mission to SSI, which had boots on the ground and the home field advantage. The other agencies would come in and secure the scene after Risto called to give them an all-clear. Plus, the other agencies would take all the credit—which was fine with SSI. SSI liked working under the radar.

“Generous of them.” Conn’s tone was sarcastic. “Since the fucking bureaucrats never saw fit to shut the asshat down as he terrorized and killed innocent Colombians, kidnapped foreigners, and protected one of the largest drug cartels in South America.” Risto grunted. “Plausible deniability has always been Uncle’s middle name in situations such as these. Cruz had a ‘use’ until now.” He turned back to the report. “On the also bad news for Cruz front,”
since I plan on killing the bastard and making
everybody happy, but just in case,
“Paco has issued a shoot-on-sight, no-questions-asked contract on Cruz if he ever shows his shit face in Colombia. Just goes to show, never cross a drug dealer.”

Conn nodded and smiled grimly. “I heard Paco went ballistic. He killed all of Cruz’s top men stupid enough to remain in Colombia. He appointed one of his most trusted aides to take over Cruz’s paramilitary organization and had the rank-and-file guerillas swear allegiance—or die. No one in Colombia will assist Cruz—not if they know what’s good for them.”

“Keely has questions about how Paco might proceed against Callie.” Risto frowned down at the papers in his hand. The cartel leader would never touch her, but he still wanted to know what he might be facing. “What have you heard from Tom and Rosa?”

“Rosa talked to Paco after he’d instructed his men to find you and Callie while you were still in the Darien. She told him our version of what had happened.” Conn shrugged.

“For a murdering drug lord, Paco is a chivalrous son of a bitch. Oh, and I hate to tell you, but you didn’t get all the back-ups of the video from Callie’s suite.” Risto swore violently.

“Chill, Paco obtained them. Anyway, after hearing what Cruz had done and viewing some of the footage, Paco destroyed the back-ups. He called his men off the search for you two and advised them that Cruz was a pornographer and a disgrace to his Catholic upbringing.” At Risto’s snort, Conn smiled. “Yeah, go figure—a devout drug lord. At that point, Paco stated Calista and her man had every right to take the videos, the DVD

was considered collateral damage. Conclusion is, Paco doesn’t blame you two and he began covering his financial ass before Callie was even out of Colombia. Bottom line, it was all Cruz’s fault.”

“Cruz’s prior bad acts trumped ours.” Risto nodded. “A logical approach.”

“Yeah. Plus, Paco doesn’t know as far as I could tell that it was Callie who actually tracked Cruz’s information to the few of Paco’s accounts which he couldn’t protect quickly enough.” Conn grinned. “He just figured it was the US government who nailed his assets.”

“Which is good for Callie. Paco’s chivalrous nature could easily vanish if he knew she was capable of tracking his money. To him, she is a super-model whose privacy was cruelly violated,” said Berto. “But what bothers me is Cruz’s continued pursuit of Callie.

He risks a lot following her to the US. He has Mexican citizenship and a fortress outside of Mexico City. There, he is safe, but still he came into the US illegally and went to Chicago. Me? I think he has more reasons for his pursuit than depraved lust.” The Colombian’s cheeks flushed slightly.

“Keely agrees with you.” Risto’s lips twisted. “Her take is Cruz found out that Callie was instrumental in using the data on the disk to get to his money.” The anger churning in his gut threatened to overwhelm him. Unfortunately, the target of his ire was not within reach yet … but soon. “Cruz isn’t chasing her to get in her pants.”

“So, the fucking traitor in Defense sold her out? Ren suggested as much when I spoke to him yesterday.” Conn’s expression was dark and ugly. Berto drew his knife and began to polish the already pristine blade, a habit the man had when he was extremely pissed.

“Yeah. What we all suspected has been confirmed. Keely’s trapping program intercepted a message sent to Cruz at his estate in Mexico. The message informed him about Callie’s role in his downfall. Keely’s conclusion is Cruz wants to take Callie back to Colombia and hand her over to Paco, to serve as his get-out-of-getting-tortured-and-killed card. Although it is far too late for that, she isn’t sure Cruz is sane enough to understand that little fact.”

“Why hasn’t the fucking traitor been caught yet? There can’t be that many people high enough in the DOD with this kind of clearance.” Conn spat the words as if he had a vile taste in his mouth.