will have men waiting at the airport for us.”
“While we’re taking off where we landed—at Laremos’s private airstrip,” Micah replied calmly. “And Laremos will have a small army at his airstrip, just in case Lopez does try anything.”
“But what about customs?” Callie voiced.
Everybody laughed.
She flushed, realizing now that her captors hadn’t gone through customs, and neither had these men. “Okay, I get it, but what about getting back into the States from here? I don’t have a passport…”
“You have a birth certificate,” Micah reminded her. “It’ll be waiting in Miami, along with a small bag containing some of your own clothes and shoes. That’s why Maddie didn’t come with us,” he added smugly.
“Miami?” she exclaimed, recalling belatedly that he’d mentioned that before. “Why not Texas?”
“You’re coming back to the Bahamas with me, Callie,” Micah replied. “You’ll be Lopez’s priority now. He’ll be out for revenge, and it will take all of us to keep you safe.”
She gaped at him. “But, Dad…” she groaned.
“Dad is in good hands. So are you. Now try not to worry. I know what I’m doing.”
She bit her lower lip. None of this was making sense, and she was still scared, every time she thought about Lopez. But all these men surrounding her looked tough and battle-hardened, and she knew they wouldn’t let her be recaptured.
“Who’s Laremos?” Callie asked curiously, a minute later.
“He’s retired now,” Micah said, coming away from the door. “But he and ‘Dutch’ van Meer and J. D. Brettman were the guys who taught us the trade. They were the best. Laremos lives outside Cancún 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 air borne before Lopez’s menge there. 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
