[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Brettman were the guys who taught us the trade. They were the best. Laremos lives outside Cancun on
a plantation with his wife and kids, and he's got the equivalent of a small army around him. Even the
drug lords avoid his place.
We'll get out all right, even if Lopez has his men tracking us."
She averted her eyes and folded her arms tightly around her body.
"You are shivering," Bojo said gently. "Here." He found a blanket and wrapped it around her.
That one simple act of compassion brought all her repressed fear and anguish to the surface. She
bawled. Not a sound touched her lips. But tears poured from her eyes, draping themselves hot and wet
across her pale cheeks and down to the corner of her pretty bow mouth.
Micah saw them and his face hardened like rock.
She turned her face toward the other side of the helicopter. She was used to hiding her tears. They
mostly angered people, made them more hostile. Or they showed a weakness that was readily
exploited. It was always better not to let people know they had the power to hurt you.
She wrapped the blanket closer and didn't speak the rest of the way. She closed her eyes, wiping at
them with the blanket. Micah spoke in low tones to the other men, and although she couldn't
understand what he was saying, she understood that rough, angry tone. She'd heard it enough at home.
For now, all she wanted to do was get to safety, to a place where Lopez and the animals who worked
for him couldn't find her, couldn't hurt her. She was more afraid now than she had been on the way out
of Texas, because now she knew what recapture would mean. The darkness was a friend in which she
could hide her fear, conceal her terror. The sound of the propellers became suddenly like a
mechanical lullaby in her ears, lulling her, like the whispers of the deep voices around her, into a
brief, fitful sleep.
She felt an odd lightness in her stomach and opened her eyes to find the helicopter landing at what
looked like a small airstrip on private land.
A big airplane, with scars and faded lettering, was waiting with its twin prop engines already running.
Half a dozen armed men in camouflage uniforms stood with their guns ready to fire. A tall, imposing
man with a mustache came forward. He had a Latin look about him, dark eyes and graceful
movement.
He shook hands with Micah and spoke to him quietly, so that his voice didn't carry. Micah listened,
and then nodded. They shook hands again. The man glanced at Callie curiously, and smiled in her
direction.
She smiled back, her whole young face drawn and fatigued.
Micah motioned to her. "We have to get airborne before Lopez's men get here. Climb aboard. Thanks,
Diego!"
he called to the man.
 No es nada," came the grinning reply.
"Was that the man you know, with the plantation?" Callie asked when they were inside and the door
was closed.
"That was Laremos," he agreed.
"He and his family won't be hurt on our account, will they?" she persisted.
He glanced down at her. "No," he said slowly. His eyes searched hers until she looked away, made
uneasy and shivery by the way he was looking at her.
He turned and made his way down the aisle to the cockpit. Two men poked their heads out of it,
grinning, and after he spoke to them, they revved up the engines.
The passengers strapped themselves into their seats. Callie started to sit by herself, but Micah took her
arm and guided her into the seat beside his. It surprised her, but she didn't protest. He reached across
her to fasten her seat belt, bringing his hard, muscular chest pressing gently against her breasts.
She gasped as the pressure made the cut painful.
"God, I'm sorry! I forgot," he said, his hand going naturally, protectively, to her breast, to cup it
gently. "Is it bad?"
She went scarlet. Of course, nobody was near enough to see what was going on, but it embarrassed
her to have him touch her with such familiarity. And then she remembered that he'd had her nude from
the waist up on one side while he cleaned and bandaged that cut.
Her eyes searched his while she tried to speak. Her tongue felt swollen. Her breath came jerkily into
her throat and her lips parted under its force. She felt winded, as if she'd fallen from a height.
His thumb soothed the soft flesh around the cut. "When we get to Miami, I'll take you to a friend of
mine who's in private practice. We'll get you checked out before we fly out to the Bahamas."
His other arm, muscular and warm, was under her head. She could feel his breath, mint-scented and
warm, on her lips as he searched her eyes.
His free hand left her breast and gently cupped her softly rounded chin. "Soft skin," he whispered
deeply. "Soft heart. Sweet, soft mouth..."
His lips pressed the words against hers, probing tenderly. He caught her upper lip in both of his and
tasted it with his tongue. Then he lifted away to look down into her shocked, curious eyes.
"You should hate me," he whispered. "I hurt you, and you did nothing, nothing at all to deserve it."
She winced, remembering how it had been when he'd lived with his father. "I understood. You resented
me. My mother and I were interlopers."
"Your mother, maybe. Never you." He looked formidable, angry and bitter. But his black eyes were
unreadable.
"I've hesitated to ask. Maybe I don't really want to know. When Lopez had you," he began with
uncharacteristic hesitation, "were you raped?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]