Her Kind of Hero (13 page)

There was a stony silence from behind her. She stopped and turned and said, “Oh, my, did I hurt your feelings? I'm sorry.” And with a wicked gleam in her eyes at the other woman's furious flush, she walked back toward the boat.

 

Bojo knew something was going on, but he was too polite to question Lisse's utter silence all the way back to the pier. He got out first to tie up the boat and reached down to help Callie out, relieving her of her packages on the way. Micah had heard the boat and was strolling down the pier to meet them. There was a scramble as Lisse climbed out of the boat, cursing her captain for not being quick enough to spare her a stumble. She sounded like she was absolutely seething!

“We'd better run for it,” Callie confided to Bojo.

“What did you do?” he asked under his breath.

“I called her a parasite. I think she's upset.”

He muffled a laugh, nodded respectfully at his boss and herded Callie down the pier at very nearly a run while Micah stood staring after them with a scowl. Seconds later Lisse reached him and her voice carried like a bullhorn.

“She's got the breeding of a howler monkey, and the dress sense of an octopus!” she raged. “I wouldn't take her to the nearest tar pit without a bribe!”

Callie couldn't help it. She broke down and ran even faster, with Bojo right beside her.

 

Later, of course, she had to face the music. She'd changed into a strappy little blue-and-white-striped sundress. It was ankle-length with a square bodice and wide shoulder straps. Modest even enough for her surroundings. She was barefoot, having disliked the fit of the sandals she'd bought that rubbed against her big toe. Micah came striding toward her where she was lounging under a sea grape tree watching the fishing boats come into the harbor.

Micah was in cutoff denims that left his long, powerful legs bare, and he was wearing an open shirt. His chest was broad and hair-roughened and now Callie couldn't look at it without feeling it under her hands.

“Can't you get along with anyone?” he demanded, his fists on his narrow hips as he glared down at her.

“My boss Mr. Kemp thinks I'm wonderful,” she countered.

His eyes narrowed. “You gave Lisse fits, and she only came over to do you a favor, when she was already pressed for time.”

Her eyebrows arched over shimmering blue eyes. “You don't think I'm capable of walking into a shop and buying clothes all by myself? Whatever sort of women are you used to?”

“And you called her a parasite,” he added angrily.

“Does she work?”

He hesitated. “She's her father's hostess.”

“I didn't ask you about her social life, I asked if she worked for her living. She doesn't. And she said that when she did you favors, you repaid her handsomely.” She cocked her head up at him. “I suppose, in a pinch, you could call that working for her living. But it isn't a profession I'd want to confess to in public.”

He just stood there, scowling.

“I make my own living,” she continued. “and pay my own way. I don't rely on men to support me, buy me clothes, or chauffeur me around.”

“Lisse is used to a luxurious lifestyle,” he began slowly, but without much conviction.

“I'm sure that I've misjudged her,” she said placatingly. “Why, if you lost everything tomorrow, I know she'd be the first person to rush to your side and offer to help you make it all back with hard work.”

He pursed his lips and thought about that.

“That's what I thought,” she said sweetly.

He was glaring again. “I told you to put everything on my card, and get nice things.”

“You told Lisse to take me to expensive dress shops so that I wouldn't buy cheap stuff and embarrass you,” she countered, getting to her feet. She brushed off her skirt, oblivious to the shocked look on his face, before she lifted her eyes back to his. “I don't care if I embarrass you,” she pointed out bluntly. “You can always hide me in a closet when you have guests if you're ashamed of me.”

He made a rough sound. “You'd walk right into the living room and tell them why you were hidden.”

She shrugged. “Blame it on a rough childhood. I don't like people pushing me around. Especially model-type parasites.”

“Lisse is not—” he started.

“I don't care what she is or isn't,” she cut him off. “she's not bossing me around and insulting me!”

“What did you tell her about our relationship?” he demanded, and he was angry.

“I told her nothing,” she countered hotly. “It's none of her business. But, for the record, if you really were my brother, I'd have you stuffed and mounted and I'd use you for an ashtray!”

She walked right past him and back into the house. She heard muffled curses, but she didn't slow down. Let him fume. She didn't care.

 

She didn't come out for supper. She sat in a peacock chair out on the patio overlooking the bay and enjoyed the delicious floral smell of the musty night air in the delicious breeze, while sipping a piña colada. She'd never had one and she was curious about the taste, so she'd had Mac fix her one, along with a sandwich. She wasn't really afraid of Micah, but she was hoping to avoid him until they both cooled down.

He came into her room without knocking and walked right out onto the patio. He was wearing a tuxedo with a faintly ruffled fine white cotton shirt, and he looked so handsome that her heart stopped and fluttered at just the sight of him.

“Are you going to a funeral, or did you get a job as a waiter?” she asked politely.

He managed not to laugh. It wasn't funny. She wasn't funny. She'd insulted Lisse and the woman was going to give him fits all night. “I'm taking Lisse to an embassy ball,” he said stiffly. “I would have invited you, but you don't have anything to wear,” he added with a vicious smile.

“Just as well,” she murmured, lifting her glass to him in a mock toast. “It would have blood all over it by the end of the night, if I'm any judge of miffed women.”

“Lisse is a lady,” he said shortly. “Something you have no concept of, with your ignorance of proper manners.”

That hurt, but she smiled. “Blame it on a succession of foster homes,” she told him sweetly. “Manners aren't a priority.”

He hated being reminded of the life she'd led. It made him feel guilty, and he didn't like it. “Pity,” he said scathingly. “You might consider taking lessons.”

“I always think that if you're going to fight, you should get down in the mud and roll around, not use words.”

“Just what I'd expect from a little savage like you,” he said sarcastically.

The word triggered horrible memories. She reacted to it out of all proportion, driven by her past. She leaped to her feet, eyes blazing, the glass trembling in her hand. “One more word, and you'll need a shower and a dry cleaner to get out the door!”

“Don't you like being called a savage?” He lifted his chin as her hand drew back. “You wouldn't daaa…. re!”

He got it right in the face. It didn't stay there. It dribbled down onto his spotless white shirt and made little white trickles down over his immaculate black tuxedo.

She frowned. “Damn. I forgot the toast.” She lifted the empty glass at him.
“Salud y pesetas!”
she said in Spanish, with a big furious smile. Health and wealth.

His fists clenched at his sides. He didn't say a word. He didn't move a muscle. He just looked at her with those black eyes glittering like a coiling cobra.

She wiggled her eyebrows. “It will be an adventure. Lisse can lick it off! Think of the new experiences you can share…now, Micah,” she shifted gears and started backing up.

He was moving. He was moving very slowly, very deliberately, with the steps of a man who didn't care if he had to go to jail for homicide. She noticed that at once.

She backed away from him. He really did look homicidal. Perhaps she'd gone a little too far. Her mouth tended to run away from her on good days, even when she wasn't insulted and hadn't had half a glass of potent piña colada to boot. She wasn't used to alcohol at all.

“Let's be reasonable,” she tried. She was still backing up. “I do realize that I might have overreacted. I'll apologize.”

He kept coming.

“I'm really sorry,” she tried again, holding up both hands, palms toward him, as if to ward him off.

He still kept coming.

“And I promise, faithfully, that I will never do it…
aaaaahh!
”

There was a horrific splash and she swallowed half the swimming pool. She came up soaked, sputtering, freezing, because the water was cold. She clamored over the softly lit water to the concrete edge and grabbed hold of the ladder to pull herself up. It was really hard, because her full skirt was soaked and heavy.

“Like hell you do,” he said fiercely, and started to push her back in.

She was only trying to save herself. But she grabbed his arms and overbalanced him, and he went right into the pool with her, headfirst.

This time when she got to the surface, he was right beside her. His black eyes were raging now.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and mouth. “I'm
really
sorry,” she panted.

He was breathing deliberately. “Would you like to explain why you went ballistic for no reason?” he demanded.

She grimaced, treading water and trying not to sink. She
couldn't swim
very well.
She was ashamed of her behavior, but the alcohol had loosened all her inhibitions. She supposed she owed him the truth. She glanced at him and quickly away again. “When that man hit on me and made me break my arm, he told my mother I was a lying little savage and that I needed to be put away. That's when my mother took me back to my foster family and disowned me,” she bit off the words, averting her eyes.

There was a long silence. He swam to the ladder, waiting for her to join him. But she was tired and cold and emotionally drained. And when she tried to dog-paddle, her arms were just too tired. She sank.

Powerful arms caught her, easing her to the surface effortlessly so that she could breathe. He sat her on the edge and climbed out, reaching down to lift her out beside him. He took her arm and led her back up the cobblestoned walkway to the patio.

“I can pack and go home tomorrow,” she offered tautly.

“You can't leave,” he said flatly. “Lopez knows where you are.”

She lifted her weary eyes to his hard, cold face. “Poor you,” she said. “Stuck with me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You haven't dealt with any of it, have you?” he asked quietly. “You're still carrying your childhood around on your back.”

“We all do, to some extent,” she said with a long sigh. “I'm sorry I ruined your suit. I'm sorry I was rude to Lisse. I'll apologize, if you like,” she added humbly.

“You don't like her.”

She shrugged. “I don't know her. I just don't have a high opinion of women who think money is what life is all about.”

He scowled. “What
is
it all about?” he challenged.

She searched his eyes slowly. “Pain,” she said in a husky tone, and she winced involuntarily before she could stop herself. “I'm going to bed. Good night.”

She was halfway in the door when he called her back.

She didn't turn. “Yes?”

He hesitated. He wanted to apologize, he really did. But he didn't know how. He couldn't remember many regrets.

She laughed softly to herself. “I know. You wish you'd never been landed with me. You might not believe it, but so do I.”

“If you'll give me the name of the shop where you bought that stuff, I'll have them transfer it to my account.”

“Fat chance, Steele,” she retorted as she walked away.

A
fter a restless night, but thankfully with no nightmares, Callie put on a colorful sundress and went out onto the beach barefoot to pick up shells. She met Bojo on the way. He was wearing the long oyster silk hooded djellaba she'd never seen him out of.

He gave her a rueful glance. “The boss had to send to town for a new tuxedo last night,” he said with twinkling dark eyes. “I understand you took him swimming.”

She couldn't help chuckling. “I didn't mean to. We had a name-calling contest and he lost.”

He chuckled, too. “You know, his women rarely accost him. They fawn over him, play up to him, stroke his ego and live for expensive presents.”

“I'm his sister,” she said neutrally.

“You are not,” he replied gently. He smiled at her surprised glance. “He does occasionally share things with me,” he added. “I believe the fiction is to protect you from Lisse. She is obses
sively jealous of him and not a woman to make an enemy of. She has powerful connections and little conscience.”

“Oh, I got to her before I got to him, if you recall,” Callie said with a wry glance. She scuffed her toes in the sand, unearthing part of a perfect shell. She bent to pick it up. “I guess I'll be fish food if she has mob connections.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn't rule that out, but you are safe enough here,” he admitted. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting shells to take back home,” she said, her eyes still on the beach. “I've lived inland all my life. I don't think I've ever even seen the ocean. Galveston is on the bay, and it isn't too far from Jacobsville, but I've never been there, either. It just fascinates me!” She glanced at him. “Micah said you were from Morocco. That's where the Sahara Desert is, isn't it?”

“Yes, but I am from Tangier. It is far north of the desert.”

“But it's desert, too, isn't it?” she wondered.

He laughed pleasantly. “Tangier is a seaport, mademoiselle. In fact, it looks a lot like Nassau. That's why I don't mind working here with Micah.”

“Really?” She just stared at him. “Isn't it funny, how we get mental pictures of faraway places, and they're nothing like what you see when you get there? I've seen postcards of the Bahamas, but I thought that water was painted, because it didn't even look real. But it is. It's the most astonishing group of colors…”

“Bojo!”

He turned to see his boss coming toward them, taciturn and threatening. It was enough for Callie to hear the tone of his voice to know that he was angry. She didn't turn around, assuming he had chores for Bojo.

“See you,” she said with a smile.

He lifted both eyebrows. “I wonder,” he replied enigmatically, and went down the beach to speak to Micah.

Minutes later, Micah strolled down the beach where Callie was kneeling and sorting shells damp with seawater and coated with sand. He was wearing sand-colored slacks with casual shoes and an expensive silk shirt under a sports coat. He looked elegant and so handsome that Callie couldn't continue looking at him without letting her admiration show.

“Are you here for an apology?” she asked, concentrating on the shells instead of him. Her heart was pounding like mad, but at least her voice sounded calm.

There was a pause. “I'm here to take you sight-seeing.”

Her heart jumped. She'd thought that would be the last thing on his mind after their argument the night before. She glanced at his knees and away again. “Thanks for the offer, but I'd rather hunt shells, if it's all the same to you.”

He stuck his hands into his pockets and glared at her dark, bent head, his mouth making a thin line in a hard face. He felt guilty about the things he'd said to her the night before, and she'd made him question his whole lifestyle with that remark about Lisse. When he looked back, he had to admit that most of the women in his life had been out for material rewards. Far from looking for love, they'd been looking for expensive jewelry, nights out in the fanciest nightclubs and restaurants, sailing trips on his yacht. Callie wouldn't even let him buy her a decent dress.

He glared at the dress she was wearing with bridled fury. Lisse had spent the evening condemning Callie for everything from her Texas accent to her lack of style. It had been one of the most unpleasant dates of his life, and when he'd refused her offer to stay the night at her apartment, she'd made furious
comments about his “unnatural” attraction to his sister. Rather than be accused of perversion, he'd been forced to tell the truth. That had only made matters worse. Lisse had stormed into her apartment house without a word and he knew that she was vindictive. He'd have to watch Callie even more carefully now.

“I guess she gave you hell all night, huh?” Callie asked his shoes. “I'm really sorry.”

He let out a harsh breath. His dark eyes went to the waves caressing the white sand near the shore. Bits of seaweed washed up over the occasional shell, along with bits of palm leaves.

“Why don't you want to see Nassau?”

She stood up and lifted one of her bare feet. There was a noticeable blister between her big toe and the next one, on both feet. “Because I'd have to go barefoot. I got the wrong sort of sandals. They've got a thong that goes between your toes, and I'm not used to them. Sneakers don't really go with this dress.”

“Not much would,” he said with a scathing scrutiny of it. “Half the women on New Providence are probably wearing one just like it.”

She glared at him. “Assembly line dresses are part of my lifestyle. I have to live within my means,” she said with outraged pride. “I'm sorry if I don't dress up to your exacting standards, but I can't afford haute couture on take-home pay of a little over a hundred and fifty dollars a week!” Her chin tilted with even more hostility. “So spare your blushes and leave me to my shells. I'd hate to embarrass you by wearing my ‘rags' out in public.”

“Oh, hell!” he burst out, eyes flashing.

He was outraged, but she knew she'd hit the nail on the head. He didn't even try to pretend that he wasn't ashamed to
take her out in public. “Isn't it better if I stay here, anyway? Surely I'm safer in a camp of armed men that I would be running around Nassau.”

“You seem to be surgically attached to Bojo lately,” he said angrily.

She lifted both eyebrows. “I like Bojo,” she said. “He doesn't look down on the way I dress, or make fun of my accent, or ignore me when I'm around.”

He was almost vibrating with anger. He couldn't remember any woman in his life making him as explosively angry as Callie could.

“Why don't you take Lisse sight-seeing?” she suggested, moving away from him. “You could start with the most expensive jeweler in Nassau and work your way to the most expensive boutique…Micah!”

He had her up in his arms and he was heading for the ocean.

She pushed at his broad chest. “Don't you dare, don't…you…dare, Micah!”

It didn't work. He swung her around and suddenly was about to toss her out right into the waves when the explosion came. There was a ricochet that was unmistakable to Micah, and bark flew off a palm tree nearby. “Bojo!” Micah yelled.

The other man, who was still within shouting distance, came running with a small weapon in his hands. Out beyond the breakers, there was a ship, a yacht, moving slowly. A glint of sunlight reflecting off metal was visible on the deck and the ricocheting sound came again.

“What the…!” she exclaimed, as Micah ran down the beach with her in his arms.

“This way!” Bojo yelled to him, and a sharp, metallic ripple of gunfire sounded somewhere nearby.

The firing brought other men to the beach, one of whom had a funny-looking long tube. It was Peter. Bojo called something to him. He protested, but Bojo insisted. He knelt, resting the tube on his shoulder, sighted and pulled the trigger. A shell flew out of it with a muffled roar. Seconds later, there was a huge splash in the water just off the yacht's bow.

“That'll buy us about a minute. Let's go!” Micah grabbed Callie up in his arms and rushed up the beach to the house at a dead run. His men stopped firing and followed. Micah called something to Bojo in a language Callie had never heard before.

“What was that?” she asked, shocked when he put her down inside the house. “What happened?”

“Lopez happened, unless I miss my guess. I was careless. It won't happen twice,” Micah said flatly. He walked away while she was still trying to form questions.

 

Moments later, Micah went to find Bojo.

“The yacht is gone now, of course,” Bojo said angrily. “Peter is upset that I refused to let him blow her up.”

“Some things require more authority than I have, even here,” Micah said flatly. “But don't think I wasn't tempted to do just that. Lopez knows I have Callie, and he knows where she is now. He'll make a try for her.” He looked at Bojo. “She can't be out of our sight again, not for a second.”

“I am aware of that,” the other man replied. His dark eyes narrowed. “Micah, does she have any idea at all that you're using her as bait?”

“If you so much as mention that to her…!” Micah threatened softly.

“I would not,” he assured the older man. “But you must admit, it hardly seems the action of someone who cares for her.”

Micah stared him down. “She's part of my family and I'll take care of her. But she's only part of my family because my father married her tramp of a mother. She's managed to endear herself to my father and it would kill him if anything happened to her,” he said in a cold tone. “I can't let Lopez get to my father. Using Callie to bait him here, where I can deal with him safely, is the only way I have to get him at all, and I'm not backing down now!”

“As you wish,” Bojo said heavily. “At least she has no idea of this.”

Micah agreed. Neither of them saw the shadow at the door behind them retreat to a distance.

Callie went back to her room and closed the door very quietly before she let the tears roll down her white face. She'd have given two years of her life not to have heard those cold words from Micah's lips. She knew he was angry with her, but she didn't realize the contempt with which he was willing to risk her life, just to get Lopez. All he'd said about protecting her, keeping her safe, not letting Lopez get to her—it was all lies. He wanted her for bait. That was all she meant to him. He was doing it to save his father from Lopez, not to save her. Apparently she was expendable. Nothing in her life had ever hurt quite so much.

She seemed to go numb from the pain. She didn't feel anything, except emptiness. She sat down in the chair beside the window and looked out over the ocean. The ship that had been there was gone now, but Lopez knew where the house was, and how well it was guarded. Considering his record, she
didn't imagine that he'd give up his quest just because Micah had armed men. Lopez had armed men, too, and all sorts of connections. He also had a reputation for never getting bested by anyone. He would do everything in his power to get Callie back, thinking Micah really cared for her. After all, he'd rescued her, hadn't he?

She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering how it had been at Lopez's house, how that henchman had tortured her. She felt sick all over. This was even worse than being in the foster care system. She was all alone. There was no one to offer her protection, to comfort her, to value her. Her whole life had been like that. For just a little while, she'd had some wild idea that she mattered to Micah. What a joke.

At least she knew the truth now, even if she'd had to eavesdrop to learn it. She could only depend on herself. She was going to ask Bojo for a gun and get him to teach her to shoot it. If she had to fend for herself, and apparently she did, she wanted a chance for survival. Micah would probably turn her over to Lopez if he got a guarantee that Lopez would leave his father alone, she reasoned irrationally. The terror she felt was so consuming that she felt her whole body shaking with it.

When Micah opened the door to her room, she had to fight not to rage at him. It wasn't his fault that he didn't care for her, she told herself firmly. And she loved his father as much as he did. She managed to look at him without flinching, but the light in her eyes had gone out. They were quiet, haunted eyes with no life in them at all.

Micah saw that and frowned. She was different. “What's wrong? You're safe,” he assured her. “Lopez was only letting us know he's nearby. Believe me, if he'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead.”

She swallowed. “I figured that out,” she said in a subdued tone. “What now?”

The frown deepened. “We wait, of course. He'll make another move. We'll draw back and let him think we didn't take the threat seriously. That will pull him in.”

She lifted her eyes to his face. “Why don't you let me go sight-seeing alone?” she offered. “That would probably do the trick.”

“And risk letting him take you again?” he asked solemnly.

She laughed without humor and turned her eyes back to the ocean. “Isn't that what you have in mind already?”