Читать книгу Her Kind of Hero - Diana Palmer - Страница 11

Callie felt the anger boil out of her in waves. “Oh, that’s nice, coming from you,” she said icily. “When you’re the one who started me wearing that sort of thing in the first place!”

“Me?” he replied, his eyebrows arching.

“You said I dressed like a tramp,” she began, and her eyes were anguished as she remembered the harsh, hateful words. “Like my mother,” she added huskily. “You said that I flaunted my body…” She stopped suddenly and wrapped her arms around herself. She stared out the porthole while she recovered her self-control. “Sorry,” she said stiffly. “I’ve been through a lot. It’s catching up with me. I didn’t mean to say that.”

He felt as if he’d been slapped. Maybe he deserved it, too. Callie had been beautiful in that green velvet dress. The sight of her in it had made him ache. She had the grace and poise of a model, even if she lacked the necessary height. But he’d never realized that his own anger had made her ashamed of her body, and at such an impressionable age. Good God, no wonder she dressed like a dowager! Then he remembered what she’d hinted in the jungle about the foster homes she’d stayed in, and he wondered with real anguish what she’d endured before she came to live in his father’s house. There had to be more to her repression than just a few regretted words from him.

“Callie,” he said huskily, catching her soft chin and turning her flushed face toward him. “Something happened to you at one of those foster homes, didn’t it?”

She bit her lower lip and for a few seconds, there was torment in her eyes.

He drew in a sharp breath.

She turned her face away again, embarrassed.

“Can you talk about it?” he asked.

She shook her head jerkily.

His dark eyes narrowed. And her mother—her own mother—had deserted her, had placed her in danger with pure indifference. “Damn your mother,” he said in a gruff whisper.

She didn’t look at him again. At least, she thought mistakenly, he was remembering the breakup of his father’s marriage, and not her childhood anymore. She didn’t like remembering the past.

He leaned back in his seat and stretched, folding his arms over his broad chest. One day, he promised himself, there was going to be a reckoning for Callie’s mother. He hoped the woman got just a fraction of what she deserved, for all the grief and pain she’d caused. Although, he had to admit, she had changed in the past year or so.

He wondered if her mother’s first husband, Kane Kirby, had contacted Callie recently. Poor kid, he thought. She really had gone through a lot, even before Lopez had her kidnapped. He thought about what she’d suffered at Lopez’s hands, and he ached to avenge her. The drug lord was almost certain to make a grab for her again. But this time, he promised himself, Lopez was going to pay up his account in full. He owed Callie that much for the damage he’d done.

It was dark when the plane landed in Nassau at the international airport, and Micah let Callie go ahead of him down the ramp to the pavement. The moist heat was almost smothering, after the air-conditioned plane. Micah took her arm and escorted her to passport control. He glanced with amusement at the passengers waiting around baggage claim for their bags to be unloaded. Even when he traveled routinely, he never took more than a duffel bag that he could carry into the airplane with him. It saved time waiting for luggage to be off-loaded.

After they checked through, he moved her outside again and hailed a cab to take them to the marina, where the boat was waiting.

Another small round of formalities and they boarded the sleek, powerful boat that already contained Micah’s men. Callie went below and sat quietly on a comfortable built-in sofa, watching out the porthole as the boat flew out of Prince George Wharf and around the bay. From there, it went out to sea.

“Comfortable?” Micah asked, joining her below.

She nodded. “It’s so beautiful out there. I love the way the ships light up at night. I knew cruise ships did, but I didn’t realize that smaller ones did, too.” She glanced at him in the subdued light of the cabin. “You don’t light yours, do you?”

He chuckled. “In my line of work, it wouldn’t be too smart, would it?”

“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t thinking.”

He poured himself a Scotch and water and added ice cubes. “Want something to drink? If you don’t want anything alcoholic, I’ve got soft drinks or fruit juice.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.” She laughed. Her eyes caught and held on a vessel near the lighted dock. “Look! There’s a white ship with black sails flying a skull and crossbones Jolly Roger flag!”

He chuckled. “That would be Fred Spence. He’s something of a local eccentric. Nice boat, though.”

She glanced at him. “This one is nice, too.”

“It’s comfortable on long hauls,” he said noncommittally. He dropped down onto the sofa beside her and crossed his long legs. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Lopez. I’m putting you under twenty-four-hour surveillance,” he said somberly. “If I’m not within yelling distance, one of my men will be. Even when you go shopping with Lisse, Bojo or Peter will go along. You aren’t to walk on the beach alone, ever.”

“But surely that would be safe…?”

He sat forward abruptly, and his black eyes glittered. “Callie, he has weapons that could pinpoint your body heat and send a missile after it from a distance of half a mile,” he said curtly.

She actually gasped. That brought to mind another worry. She frowned. “I’m putting you in jeopardy by being with you,” she said suddenly.

“You’ve got that backward, honey,” he said, the endearment coming so naturally that he wasn’t even aware he’d used it until he watched Callie’s soft complexion flush. “You were in jeopardy in the first place because of me. Why does it make you blush when I call you honey?” he added immediately, the question quick enough to rattle her.

“I’m not used to it.”

“From me,” he drawled softly. “Or from any man?”

She shifted. “From Dad, maybe.”

“Dad doesn’t count. I mean single, datable bachelors.”

She shook her head. “I don’t date.”

He’d never connected her solitary existence with himself. Now, he was forced to. He drew his breath in sharply, and got up from the sofa. He took a long sip from his drink, walking slowly over to stare out the porthole at the distant lights of the marina as they left it behind. “I honestly didn’t realize how much damage I did to your ego, Callie. I’m really sorry about it.”

“I was just as much at fault as you were,” she replied evenly. “I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you like some drunk prostitute…”

“Callie!” he exclaimed, horrified at her wording.

She averted her eyes and her hands clenched in her lap. “Well, I did.”

He put his drink on the bar and knelt just in front of her. He was so tall that his black eyes were even with soft blue ones in the position. His lean hands went to her waist and he shook her very gently.

“I pushed you away because I wanted you, not because I thought you were throwing yourself at me,” he said bluntly. “I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to resist you if I didn’t do something very fast. I would have explained it to you eventually, if your mother hadn’t stepped in and split the family apart, damn her cold heart!”

Her hands rested hesitantly on his broad shoulders, lifted and then rested again while she waited to see if she was allowed to touch him.

He seemed to realize that, because he smiled very slowly and his thumbs edged out against her flat belly in a sensuous stroking motion. “I like being touched,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”

She smiled nervously. “I’m not used to doing it.”

“I noticed.” He stood up and drew her up with him. The top of her head only came to his nose. He framed her face in his warm, strong hands and lifted it gently. “Want to kiss me?” he asked in a husky whisper, and his eyes fell to her own soft mouth.

She wasn’t sure about that. Her hands were on his chest now, touching lightly over the silky fabric. Under it, she could feel thick hair. She was hopelessly curious about what he looked like bare-chested. She’d never seen Micah without a shirt in all the time she’d lived in his house with his father.

“No pressure,” he promised, bending. “And I won’t make fun of you.”

“Make fun of me?” she asked curiously.

“Never mind.” He bent and his lips closed tenderly on her upper lip while he tasted the moist inside of it with his tongue. His lips moved to her lower lip and repeated the arousing little caress. His hands were at her waist, but they began to move up and down with a lazy, sensual pressure that made her body go rigid in his arms.

He lifted his mouth from her face and looked down at her with affectionate amusement. “ Relax! Why are you afraid of me?” he asked gently. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Callie. Not for any reason.”

“I know. It’s just that…”

“What?” he asked.

Her eyes met his plaintively. “Don’t…tease me,” she asked with dignity. “I’m not experienced enough to play that sort of game.”

The amusement left his face. “Is that what it seems like to you?” he asked. He searched her worried eyes. “Even if I were into game-playing, you’d never be a target. I do have some idea now of what you’ve been through, in the past and just recently.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “This Lisette you mentioned. Is she…important to you?”

“We’re good friends,” he said, and there was a new remoteness in his expression. “You’ll like her. She’s outgoing and she loves people. She’ll help you get outfitted.”

Now she was really worried. “I have my credit card, but I can’t afford expensive shops,” she emphasized. “Could you tell her that, so I won’t have to?”

“I can tell her.” He smiled quizzically. “But why won’t you let me buy you some clothes?”

“I’m not your responsibility, even if you have been landed with me, Micah,” she replied. “I pay my own way.”

He wondered if she had any idea how few of his female acquaintances would ever have made such a statement to him? It occurred to him that he’d never had a woman refuse a wardrobe.

He scowled. “You could pay me back, if you have to.”

She smiled. “Thanks. But I’ll buy my own clothes.”

His black eyes narrowed on her face. “You were always independent,” he recalled.

“I’ve had to be. I’ve been basically on my own for a long time,” she said matter-of-factly. “Since I was a kid, really, and my father—I mean, Mother’s first husband—threw us out. Mother didn’t want the responsibility for me by herself and Kane Kirby didn’t want me at all.”

“If your father didn’t think you were his, why didn’t he have a DNA profile run?” he asked with a watchful look.

She drew away from him. “There was no such thing fifteen years ago.”

“You could insist that he have it done now, couldn’t you?” He gave her an odd look. “Have you spoken to him?”

“He phoned me recently. But I didn’t call him back,” she said unwillingly. She’d seen her mother’s first husband once or twice, during his rare visits to his Jacobsville home. He’d actually phoned her apartment a few weeks ago and left a strange, tentative message asking her to call him back. She never had. His rejection of her still hurt. She didn’t see him often. He lived mostly in Miami these days.

“Why not talk to him and suggest the DNA test?” he persisted.

She looked up at him with tired, sad eyes. “Because it would probably prove what my mother said, that I’m not related to him at all.” She smiled faintly. “I don’t know whose child I am. And it really doesn’t matter anymore. Please, just…leave it alone.”

He sighed with irritation, as if he knew more than he was telling her. She wondered why he was so interested in her relationship with the man who was supposed to be her own father.

He saw that curiosity in her eyes, and he closed up. He could see years of torment in that sad little face. It infuriated him. “Your mother should be horsewhipped for what she did to you,” he said flatly.

She folded her arms across her chest, remembering the loneliness of her young life reluctantly. New homes, new faces, new terrors. She turned back to the porthole. “I used to wish I had someplace to belong,” she confessed. “I was always the outsider, in any home where I lived. Until my mother married your father,” she added, smiling. “I thought he’d be like all the others, that he’d either ignore me or be too familiar, but he just sort of belonged to me, from the very beginning. He really cared about me. He hugged me, coming and going.” She drew in a soft breath. “You can’t imagine what it feels like, to have someone hug you, when you’ve hardly been touched in your whole life except in bad ways. He was forever teasing me, bringing me presents. He became my family. He even made up for my mother. I couldn’t help loving him.” She turned, surprised to see an odd look of self-contempt on Micah’s strong face. “I guess you resented us…”

“I resented your mother, Callie,” he interrupted, feeling icy-cold inside. “What I felt for you was a lot more complicated than that.”

She gave him a surprised little smile. “But, I’m still my mother’s daughter, right? Don’t they say, look at the mother and you’ll see the daughter in twenty years or so?”

His face hardened. “You’ll never be like her. Not in your worst nightmares.”

She sighed. “I wish I could be sure of that.”

He felt like hitting something. “Do you know where she is?”

“Somewhere in Europe with her new husband, I suppose,” she said indifferently. “Dad’s lawyer heard from her year before last. She wanted a copy of the final divorce decree, because she was getting married again, to some British nobleman, the lawyer said.”

He remembered his own mother, a gentle little brown-eyed woman with a ready smile and open arms. She’d died when he was ten, and from that day on, he and his father had been best friends. Until Anna showed up, with her introverted, nervous teenage daughter. The difference between Anna and his own mother was incredible. Anna was selfish, vain, greedy…he could have laid all seven deadly sins at her feet with ease. But Callie was nothing like her, except, perhaps, her exact opposite.

“You’re the sort of woman who would love a big family,” he murmured thoughtfully.

She laughed. “What do I know about families?” she responded. “I’d be terrified of bringing an innocent child into this sort of world, knowing what I know about the uncertainties of life.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Children. He’d never thought about them. But he could picture Callie with a baby in her arms, and it seemed perfectly natural. She’d had some bad breaks, but she’d love her own child. It was sad that she didn’t want kids.

“Anyway, marriage is dead last on my list of things to do,” she added, uncomfortable because he wasn’t saying anything.

“That makes two of us,” he murmured. It was the sort of thing he always said, but it didn’t feel as comfortable suddenly as it used to. He wondered why.

She turned away from the porthole. “How long will it take us to get to your place?” she asked.

He shrugged. “About twenty more minutes, at this speed,” he said, smiling. “I think you’ll like it. It’s old, and rambling, and it has a history. According to the legend, a local pirate owned it back in the eighteenth century. He kidnapped a highborn Spanish lady and married her out of hand. They had six children together and lived a long and happy life, or so the legend goes.” He studied her curiously. “Isn’t there Spanish in your ancestry somewhere?”

Her face closed up. “Don’t ask me. My mother always said she descended from what they call ‘black Irish,’ from when the Spanish armada was shipwrecked off the coast of Ireland. I know her hair was jet-black when she was younger, and she has an olive complexion. But I don’t really know her well enough to say whether or not it was the truth.”

He bit off a comment on her mother’s penchant for lying. “Your complexion isn’t olive,” he remarked quietly. “It’s creamy. Soft.”

He embarrassed her. She averted her eyes. “I’m just ordinary.”

He shook his head. His eyes narrowed on her pretty bow of a mouth. “You always were unique, Callie.” He hesitated. “Callie. What’s it short for?” he asked, suddenly curious.

She drew in a slow breath. “Colleen,” she replied reluctantly. “But nobody ever calls me that. It’s been Callie since I was old enough to talk.”

“Colleen what?”

“Colleen Mary,” she replied.

He smiled. “Yes. That suits you.”

He was acting very strangely. In fact, he had been ever since he rescued her. She wondered if he was still trying to take her mind off Lopez. If he was, it wasn’t working. The nightmarish memories were too fresh to forget.

She looked at him worriedly. “Lopez will be looking for me,” she said suddenly.

He tautened. “Let him look,” he said shortly. “If he comes close enough to make a target, I’ll solve all his problems. He isn’t getting his hands on you again, Callie.”

She relaxed a little. He sounded very confident. It made her feel better. She moved back into the center of the room, wrapping her arms around herself. “How can people like that exist in a civilized world?” she wanted to know.

“Because governments still can’t fight that kind of wealth,” he said bluntly. “Money and power make criminals too formidable. But we’ve got the Rico statutes which help us take away some of that illegal money,” he added. “and we’ve got dedicated people enforcing the law. We win more than we lose these days.”

“You sound like a government agent,” she teased.

He chuckled. “I do, don’t I? I spent several years being one. It sticks.” He moved forward, taking his hands out of his pockets to wrap them gently around her upper arms. “I give you my word that I won’t let Lopez get you. In case you were worrying about that.”

She grimaced. “Does it show?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I can read your mind these days,” he added, trying to make light of it.

“You’re sure? About Dad being safe, I mean?”

“I’m sure about Dad,” he returned at once. “Gator may look dumb, but he’s got a mind like a steel trap, and he’s quick on the draw. Nobody’s going to get past him—certainly nobody’s going to get past him and Maddie at the same time.”

“You like her a lot, I guess?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I do. She’s hell on two legs, and one of the best scroungers I’ve ever had.”

“What does Bojo do?”

He gave her a wary appraisal, and it seemed as if he didn’t like the question. “Bojo is a small arms expert,” he replied. “He also has relatives in most of the Muslim nations, so he’s a great source of information, as well. Peter, you met him on the plane, is new with the group. He’s a linguist and he’s able to pass for an Arab or an Israeli. He’s usually undercover in any foreign operation we’re hired to undertake. You haven’t met Rodrigo yet—he was the pilot of the DC-3 we flew back to Miami. He does undercover work, as well. Don, the blond copilot, is a small arms expert. We have another operative, Cord Romero, who does demolition work for us, but he had an accident and he’s out of commission for a while.”

“What you and your men do—it’s dangerous work.”

“Living is dangerous work,” he said flatly. “I like the job. I don’t have any plans to give it up.”

Her eyebrows arched and her pale blue eyes twinkled. “My goodness, did I propose marriage just now and get instant amnesia afterward? Excuse me!”

He gaped at her. “Propose marriage…?”

She held up both hands. “Now, don’t get ruffled. I understand how men feel about these things. I haven’t asked you out, or sent you flowers, or even bought you a nice pair of earrings. Naturally you’re miffed because I put the cart before the horse and asked you to give up an exciting job you love for marriage to a boring paralegal.”

He blinked. “Callie?” he murmured, obviously fearing for her sanity.

“We’ll just forget the proposal,” she offered generously.

“You didn’t propose!” he gritted.

“See? You’ve already forgotten. Isn’t that just like a man?” she muttered, as she went back to the sofa and sat down. “Now you’ll pout for an hour because I rejected you.”

He burst out laughing when he realized what she was doing. It took the tension away from their earlier discussion and brought them back to normal. He dropped down into an armchair across from her and folded his arms over his chest.

“Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you throw me another curve,” he said appreciatively.

“Believe me, if I didn’t have a sense of humor, I’d already have smeared Mr. Kemp with honey and locked him in a closet with a grizzly bear.”

“Ouch!”

“I thought you lived in Nassau?” She changed the subject.

He shrugged. “I did. This place came on the market three years ago and I bought it. I like the idea of having a defendable property. You’ll see what I mean when we get there. It’s like a walled city.”

“I’ll bet there are lots of flowers,” she murmured hopefully.

“Millions,” he confirmed. “Hibiscus and orchids and bougainvillea. You’ll love it.” He smiled gently. “You were always planting things when I lived at home.”

“I didn’t think you noticed anything I did,” she replied before she thought.

He watched her quietly. “Your mother spent most of that time ordering you around,” he recalled. “If she wanted a soft drink, or a scarf, or a sandwich, she always sent you after it. I don’t recall that she ever touched a vacuum cleaner or a frying pan the whole time she was around.”

“I learned to cook in the last foster home I stayed in,” she said with a smile. “It was the best of the lot. Mrs. Toms liked me. She had five little kids and she had arthritis real bad. She was so sweet that it was a joy to help her. She was always surprised that anyone would want to do things for her.”

“Most giving people are,” he replied. “Ironically they’re usually the last ones people give to.”

“That’s true.”

“What else did she teach you?” he asked.

“How to crochet,” she recalled. She sighed. “I can’t make sweaters and stuff, but I taught myself how to make hats. I give them to children and old people in our neighborhood. I work on them when I’m waiting for appointments with Dad. I get through a lot.”

It was another reminder that she was taking care of his father, something he should have been doing himself—something he would be doing, if Callie’s mother hadn’t made it impossible for him to be near his parent.

“You’re still bitter about Dad,” she said, surprising him. “I can tell. You get this terrible haunted look in your eyes when I talk about him.”

It surprised him that at her age she could read him so well, when his own men couldn’t. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“I miss him,” he confessed gruffly. “I’m sorry he won’t let me make peace.”

She gaped at him. “Whoever told you that?”

He hesitated. “I haven’t tried to talk to him in years. So I phoned him a few days ago, before you were kidnapped. He listened for a minute and hung up without saying a word.”

“What day was it?”

“It was Saturday. What difference does that make?”

“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…