Her Kind of Hero: The Last Mercenary

That was disturbing. It sounded as though he and this Maddie were in partnership or something. She hated the jealousy she felt, when she had no right to be jealous. Old habits died hard.

“Is she here?” she asked, still puzzled by events and Micah’s strange skills.

“No. We left her back in the States. She’s working on some information I need, about the mole working for the feds, and getting some of your things together to send on to Miami.”

She blinked. “You keep saying ‘we,’” she pointed out.

His chin lifted. He studied her, unsmiling. “Exactly what do you think I do for a living, Callie?” In the dim light, his blond hair shone like muted moonlight. His handsome face was all angles and shadows. Her vision was still a little blurred from whatever the kidnapper had given her. So was her mind.

“Your mother left you a trust,” she pointed out.

“My mother left me ten thousand dollars,” he replied. “That wouldn’t pay to replace the engine on the Ferrari I drive in Nassau.”

Her hands stilled on the fork and tray. Some odd ideas were popping into her head. “You finished your residency?” she fished.

He shook his head. “Medicine wasn’t for me.”

“Then, what…?”

“Use your mind, Callie,” he said finally, irritated. “How many men do you know who could rappel into a drug lord’s lair and spirit out a hostage?”

Her breath caught. “You work for some federal agency?”

“Good God!” He got up, moved to his backpack and started repacking it. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”

“I don’t know much about you, Micah,” she confided quietly as she finished her meal and handed him the empty tray and fork. “That was the way you always wanted it.”

“In some cases, it doesn’t pay to advertise,” he said carelessly. “I used to work with Eb Scott and Cy Parks, but now I have my own group. We hire out to various world governments for covert ops.” He glanced at her stunned face. “I worked for the justice department for a couple of years, but now I’m a mercenary, Callie.”

She was struck dumb for several long seconds. She swallowed. It explained a lot. “Does your father know?” she asked.

“He does not,” he told her. “And I don’t want him to know. If he still gives a damn about me, it would only upset him.”

“He loves you very much,” she said quietly, avoiding his angry black eyes. “He’d like to mend fences, but he doesn’t know how. He feels guilty, for making you leave and blaming you for what…what my mother did.”

He pulled out a foil sealed meal for himself and opened it before he spoke. “You blamed me, as well.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. It was cold in the jungle at night, just like they said in the movies. “Not really. My mother is very beautiful,” she said, recalling the older woman’s wavy jet-black hair and vivid blue eyes and pale skin. “She was a model just briefly, before she married my…her first husband.”

He frowned. “You were going to say, your father.”

She shivered. “He said I wasn’t his child. He caught her in bed with some rich man when I was six. I didn’t understand at the time, but he pushed me away pretty brutally and said not to come near him again. He said he didn’t know whose child I was. That was when she put me in foster care.”

Micah stared at her, unspeaking, for several long seconds. “Put you in what?”

She swallowed. “She gave me up for adoption on the grounds that she couldn’t support me. I went into a juvenile home, and from there to half a dozen foster homes. I only saw her once in all those years, when she took me home for Christmas. It didn’t last long.” She stared down at the jungle floor. “When she married your father, he wanted me, so she told him I’d been staying with my grandmother. I was in a foster home, but she got me out so she could convince your father that she was a good mother.” She laughed hollowly. “I hadn’t seen her or heard from her in two years by then. She told me I’d better make a good job of pretending affection, or she’d tell the authorities I’d stolen something valuable—and instead of going back into foster care for two more years, I’d go to jail.”

3

Micah didn’t say a word. He repacked the first-aid kit into his backpack with quick, angry movements. He didn’t look at Callie.

“I guess you know how to use that gun,” she said quietly. “If we’re found, or if it looks like Lopez is going to catch us, I want you to shoot me. I’d rather die than face what you saved me from.”

She said it in such a calm, quiet tone that it made all the more impact.

He looked up, scanning her drawn, white face in the soft light from the lantern. “He won’t get you. I promise.”

She drew a slow breath. “Thanks.” She traced a fingernail over the camouflage pants. “And thanks for coming to get me. Lopez said he didn’t have any plans to ransom me. He was going to let his men kill me because he thought it would make you suffer.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were my worst enemy and you wouldn’t care if he killed me,” she said carelessly. “But he said you did care about your father, and he was the next victim. I hope you’ve got someone watching Dad,” she added fervently. “If anything happens to him…!”

“You really love him, don’t you?” he asked in an odd tone.

“He’s the only person in my whole life who ever loved me,” she said in a strained whisper.

A harsh sound broke from his lips. He got up and started getting things together. He pulled out what looked like a modified cell phone and spoke into it. A minute later, he put it back into the backpack.

“They’re on the way in.” He stood over her, his face grim as he picked up the small lantern and extinguished the light. “I know you must be cold. I’m sorry. I planned a quick airlift, so I didn’t pack for a prolonged trek.”

“It’s all right,” she said at once. “Cold is better than tortured.”

He cursed under his breath as he hefted the backpack. “We have to get to that small clearing on the other side of the stream. It isn’t deep, but I can carry you…”

“I’ll walk,” she said with quiet dignity, standing up. It was still painful to move, because she’d been tied up for so long, but she didn’t let on. “You’ve done enough already.”

“I’ve done nothing,” he spat. He turned on his heel and led the way to the bank of the small stream, offering a hand.

She didn’t take it. She knew he found her repulsive. He’d even told her mother that. She’d enjoyed taunting Callie with it. Callie had never understood why her mother hated her so much. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t pretty.

“Walk where I do,” he bit off as he dropped his hand. “The rocks will be slippery. Go around them, not over them.”

“Okay.”

He glanced over his shoulder as they started over the shallow stream. “You’re damned calm for someone who’s been through what you have in the past two days.”

She only smiled. “You have no idea what I’ve been through in my life.”

He averted his eyes. It was as if he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. He picked his way across to the other bank. Callie followed obediently, her feet cold and wet, her body shivering. Only a little longer, she told herself, and she would be home with Jack. She would be completely safe. Except…Lopez was still out there. She shivered again.

“Cold?” he asked when they were across.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

He led her through one final tangle of brush, which he cut out of the way with the knife. She could see the silver ripple of the long blade in the dim light of the small flashlight he carried. She put one foot in front of the other and tried to blank out what would happen if Lopez’s men caught up with them. It was terrifying.

They made it to the clearing just as a dark, noisy silhouette dropped from the sky and a door opened.