Her Kind of Hero: The Last Mercenary

“What time was it?” she repeated.

“Noon.”

She smiled gently. “I go to get groceries at noon on Saturdays, because Mrs. Ruiz, who lives next door, comes home for lunch and makes it for herself and Dad and stays with him while I’m away.” “So?”

“So, Mrs. Ruiz doesn’t speak English yet, she’s still learning. The telephone inhibits her. She’ll answer it, but if it’s not me, she’ll put it right down again.” She smiled. “That’s why I asked when you called.”

“Then, Dad might talk to me, if I tried again,” he said after a minute.

“Micah, he loves you,” she said softly. “You’re the only child he has. Of course he’ll talk to you. He doesn’t know what really happened with my mother, no more than I did, until you told me the truth. But he realizes now that if it hadn’t been you, it would have been some other younger man. He said that, after the divorce was final, she even told him so.”

“He didn’t try to get in touch with me.”

“He was upset for a long time after it happened. So was I. We blamed you both. But that’s in the past. He’d love to hear from you now,” she assured him. “He didn’t think you’d want to talk to him, after so much time had passed and after what he’d said to you. He feels bad about that.”

He leaned forward. “If that’s so, when he had the heart attack, why wasn’t I told?”

“I called the only number I had for you,” she said. “I never got an answer. The hospital said they’d try to track you down, but I guess they didn’t.”

Could it really be that simple? he wondered. “That was at the old house, in Nassau. It was disconnected three years ago. The number I have now is unlisted.”

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you ask Eb Scott or Cy Parks?”

“I don’t know them,” she said hesitantly. “And until very recently, when this Lopez thing made the headlines, I didn’t know they were mercenaries.” She averted her eyes. “I knew you were acquainted with them, but I certainly didn’t know that you were one of them.”

He took a slow breath. No, he remembered, she didn’t know. He’d never shared that bit of information with either her or Jack Steele.

“I wrote to you, too, about the heart attack, at the last address you left us.”

“That would have been forwarded. I never got it.”

“I sent it,” she said.

“I’m not doubting that you did. I’m telling you that it never got to me.”

“I’m really sorry,” she told him. “I did try, even if it doesn’t look like it. I always hoped that you’d eventually phone someone and I’d be able to contact you. When you didn’t, well, I guess Dad and I both figured that you weren’t interested in what happened back here. And he did say that he’d been very cruel in what he said to you when you left.”

“He was. But I understood,” he added.

She smiled sadly. “He loves you. When this is over, you should make peace with him. I think you’ll find that he’ll more than meet you halfway. He’s missed you terribly.”

“I’ve missed him, too.” He could have added that he’d missed her, as well, but she wasn’t likely to believe him.

He started to speak, but he felt the boat slowing. He smiled. “We must be coming up to the pier. Come on. It will be nice to have a comfortable bed to sleep in tonight.”

She nodded, and followed him up to the deck.

Her eyes caught sight of the house, on a small rise in the distance, long and low and lighted. She could see arches and flowers, even in the darkness, because of the solar-powered lights that lined the walkway from the pier up to the walled estate. She caught her breath. It was like a house she’d once seen in a magazine and daydreamed about as a child. She had the oddest feeling that she was coming home…

6

“What do you think?” Micah asked as he helped her onto the ramp that led down to the pier.

“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly. “I expect it’s even more impressive in the daylight.”

“It is.” He hesitated, turning back toward the men who were still on the boat. “Bojo! Make sure we’ve got at least two guards on the boat before you come up to the house,” he called to his associate, who grinned and replied that he would. “Peter can help you,” he added involuntarily.

Callie didn’t seem to notice that he’d jettisoned both men who’d been friendly with her. Micah did. He didn’t like the idea of his men getting close to her. It wasn’t jealousy. Of course it wasn’t. He was…protecting her from complications.

She looked around as they went up the wide graveled path to the house, frowning as she became aware of odd noises. “What’s that sound?” she asked Micah.

He smiled lazily. “My early warning radar.”

“Huh?”

He chuckled. “I keep a flock of geese,” he explained, nodding toward a fenced area where a group of big white birds walked around and swam in a huge pool of water. “Believe it or not, they’re better than guard dogs.”

“Wouldn’t a guard dog or two be a better idea?”

“Nope. I’ve got a Mac inside.”

Before she could ask any more questions, the solid wood front door opened and a tall, imposing man in khakis with gray-sprinkled black wavy hair stood in their path. He was holding an automatic weapon in one big hand.

“Welcome home, boss,” he said in deep, crisply accented British. He grinned briefly and raised two bushy eyebrows at the sight of Callie. “Got her, did you?”

“Got her, and with no casualties,” Micah replied, returning the grin. “How’s it going, Mac?”

“No worries. But it’ll rain soon.” He shifted his weight, grimacing a little.

“At least you’re wearing the prosthesis, now,” Micah muttered as he herded Callie into the house.

Mac rubbed his hip after he closed the door and followed them. “Damned thing feels funny,” he said. “And I can’t run.” He glowered at Micah as if the whole thing was his fault.

“Hey,” Micah told him, “didn’t I say ‘duck’? In fact, didn’t I say it twice?”

“You said it, but I had my earphones in!”

“Excuses, excuses. We even took up a collection for your funeral, then you had to go mess everything up by living!” Micah grumbled.

“Oh, sure, after you lot had divided up all my possessions! Bojo’s still got my favorite shirt and he won’t give it back! And he doesn’t even wear shirts!”

“He’s using it to polish his gun,” Micah explained. “Says it’s the best shine he’s ever put on it.”

Callie was openly gaping at them.

Micah’s black eyes twinkled. “We’re joking,” he told her gently. “It’s the way we let off steam, so that we don’t get bogged down in worry. What we do is hard work, and dangerous. We have to have safety valves.”