Cold Day in Hell (18 page)

“I’m not worried.” She smiled. “Thanks.”

“
De nada, chica.
” Berto indicated her clean plate. “You wish more?”

“No. I’m fine. I expect my marine wants to hit the road.” She turned toward Risto.

He wore a ferocious frown on his face as he stared at the man still dealing with her hair.

“Risto? Are we ready to go?”

He glared some more at Conn then looked her way. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” He slid a finger over her cheek and then under one eye. “You’re too pale and have dark circles. Hold up a hand.”

She blinked at the scowl on his face and the self-recrimination underlying his words.

When she held her hand up for his perusal, she was shocked to see the fine tremors. Risto enclosed her cold hands between his and chafed them.

“Just as I thought, you’re still recovering from the adrenaline overload and crash.” And in a low tone, but loud enough that Conn could definitely hear. “We should’ve waited to have sex. You needed more rest. I’m sorry, baby.” God, could he embarrass her any more? He had to beat his chest in front of the other men. But she refused to let him regret what for her had been lovemaking. “I’m fine. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do.” She blushed as she felt Conn’s piercing examination of her face and body. Berto stood across the counter from them, an expression of interest on his face. “You said I could take a nap in the car?” Risto nodded.

“Then I will. You can wake me if you need me to drive.”

“Won’t happen. Like I said, we aren’t going all that far. Montería is around 146

miles down Route 25. The
finca
we’re travelling to is about another thirty-five miles outside of the city, but those roads are rougher. Total travel time will be around four hours, depending on weather and traffic.”

Callie looked outside and observed that a steady rain fell. “Isn’t that area of Colombia fairly low?”

“Yeah.” Conn came into her line of sight. “It’s savanna with some tropical scrub.

The ranchers cleared the area for their cattle and the crops to feed them. It is hot, humid and will flood this time of the year.”

“So, there’s a chance of water rushing across the road like a gully-washer?” she asked the men.

“Let me worry about it.” Letting go of the hands he still held, Risto smoothed a palm up-and-down her arm. “I’d never do anything to endanger you.”

“I know,” she said. Risto pulled her off the stool and into his body, his arms anchoring her in front of him. She snuggled against his warmth, her hands braced on his chest. “Just wondering, that’s all. I was on a photo shoot once in the Hill Country of Texas and saw a huge truck swept off the road by what was only about a foot or so of water. It was amazing—and terrifying. The only good thing is the high water usually subsides quickly once the rain stops.”

“It is the same here,” Berto said. “The water, it drains quickly. You can easily wait it out if such a thing should occur.”

“We’ll be fine.” Risto placed her next to him, his arm around her waist. “Let’s go.

Conn and I loaded the car. With any luck, Cruz and his lackeys are chasing their tails to the north and the Santa Marta area.”

“Why Santa Marta?” She knew the city was a port city with a regional-sized airport, up the coast toward Venezuela. “Why would they think we’d head that way? We wouldn’t be able to cross into Venezuela. US citizens aren’t welcome there.” Risto grinned. “A little bird told Cruz.”

“What little bird?”

“Tom had one of Rosa’s cousins pass the word. Seems Paco doesn’t like Cruz’s womanizing ways, feels it hurts their drug business for Cruz to bring so much attention to himself.”

A drug lord was helping them out because he believed in family values? She began to laugh. Risto and the others joined in. “That’s priceless. And I don’t suppose we can tell anybody. One, they wouldn’t believe us, and two, once I get back to the States, I’ll be tracking Cruz’s money and some of it will lead back to Paco.” She turned a sober face to the others. “I can’t take it easy on him just because he helped us.”

“I don’t expect you to. Even though he has chosen to ignore us for the moment, he is still a murdering drug trafficker.” Risto leaned over and kissed her lips. “Plus, I think we have a head start for you on finding the money trails.” He handed her a DVD he pulled from his pocket. “Found this last night when I retrieved the videos of you. Conn looked it over and found what looks to be Cruz’s back-up files for corporate shells and financial records.”

Shocked, she looked at Conn. “With bank account numbers and everything?”

“No, he was dumb but not that dumb,” Conn said. “But there do seem to be account ledgers. Some entries are from companies I recognized as fronts for Paco’s cartel.” She took the DVD and then kissed Conn on the cheek. “This, added to what I’ll get from Marv’s financials and the designer’s dealings with Cruz, gives me a great place to start.”

Muttering threats at his friend as Berto chuckled, Risto pulled her into his arms.

“Behave, Marine.” She patted Risto on the chest. She scrunched her nose and looked at Risto. “Does Paco know we have this?”

“No, and that’s why we need to get you and it out of the country. If Cruz tells Paco the DVD is missing, we’ll have both of their troops after us.”

“Well, hell, we’d better get going then.” She walked out of the kitchen, the three men behind her. As she passed by the room where she’d shot the intruders, she stumbled.

Images of the previous evening played across her vision. Blood. Bodies. She shook her head, her hand reaching for something. For someone.

Risto caught hold of her hand and turned her to face him. “Callie?” She couldn’t answer, could only see the room, now mercifully free of bodies and blood. Berto and Conn must have deep-cleaned all night. She swayed.

“Fuck, Callie. You’re white as a ghost.” He swept her into his arms and continued walking down the hallway into the foyer and then outside into the gray, rainy morning.

Vaguely, she was aware of Conn running ahead and opening the passenger side door.

Risto placed her on the seat then carefully swung her legs inside and buckled her seat belt for her. She hated being such a wuss, but lack of sleep and the emotional stress had ganged up on her. She just needed some rest, then she’d be back to her normal strong, can-deal-with-anything self.

Risto’s hand caressed the side of her chilled face. “Just lay back, rest.” He reclined the seat.

She attempted a smile and raised a limp hand, wanting to touch him, reassure him she’d be okay. He captured her hand before she had it halfway to his face, placing a kiss on the palm before laying it on her lap. “Rest, little soldier, that’s an order.” He shut the door.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the seat. She was barely aware of Risto entering the car and the men’s voices. Her mind had decided to shut down. No matter how much she wanted to thank Conn and Berto for their assistance, she couldn’t. Her body had run on fumes for days and, now, had finally given up the ghost. She exhaled softly and drifted into sleep.

* * * *

Risto checked Callie’s condition once more, as he had many times since they’d left Conn’s. She was breathing easily and looked to be in a deep sleep. Her satiny skin was pale, cool and dry, not clammy as it had been earlier. There were no signs of shock or nightmares, but he would stay alert to the slightest change in her condition. His little soldier was damn resilient, but even the hardiest soldier succumbed to the horrors of battle now and again. And what she’d survived the previous evening had been a battle.

The sexual release he’d given her had allowed her—and him—to rest for what had been left of the night. Although he could kick himself for waking her so early for the morning shower sex; she’d needed the rest more. The only thing he didn’t regret was the gorgeous smile she’d given him afterwards.

He shot her another glance. He couldn’t help himself. She looked so beautiful and at peace. So far, she’d had no more nightmares, made no noises, but for an occasional cute little snore. He grinned and smoothed a hand over her thigh. Once Callie went to sleep, she did it big time. She hadn’t even roused when he’d pulled over several times due to heavy downpours and once because of foot-deep water crossing Route 25.

His eyes turned back to the road ahead. The highway might be the main road between Cartagena and Medellín, but it wasn’t engineered to drain well, unlike the Federal interstate system in the US. At one point, he and the other vehicles on the road were detoured off then back on. That had been a tense moment. Often terrorists would use such a tactic to rob and cherry pick kidnapping victims. In this case, the Colombian army had enforced the detour and been present along the detour route.

He checked the portable GPS plugged into a cradle on the dash and realized they were maybe twenty-five miles away from the
finca.
He was hungry and bet Callie would be also once she awakened. He’d let her rest until they reached the ranch; they’d eat there.

His sat phone rang. The noise caused Callie to move and murmur something unintelligible, but she remained asleep. He pulled over to the side of the road and answered the call.

“Smith.”

“Risto? It’s Trey. We’ve got a problem, buddy.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“The ranch was attacked by FARC guerillas. It isn’t safe to take Callie there.” Trey spoke to someone in the background. “We got the call and then diverted to Turbo and traded out the plane for an assault helicopter so we could provide air support to our guys and the Colombian army on the ground. The area won’t be safe for a while.” It was business as usual in Colombia.

“Fuck.” He leaned back in his seat and shot a glance at Callie. Her gray eyes were on him. Worry creased her brow. He traced a finger over the line in her forehead, smoothing it away. “Can we count on Plan B? Or, should we go straight to Plan C?” Plan B was a boat out of Turbo to a safe house in Puerto Obaldo on the coast of Panama where Tweeter Walsh was with the SSI jet. Plan C was a twisted and far more dangerous route. It involved following the Río Atrato through the Darien region of Colombia and ending at the Atrato river delta on the rugged Colombian coast near the border with Panama. Once there, Tweeter would pick them up by helicopter. The latter route would mean travelling by dugouts and possibly by foot through some of the most uninhabitable territory in the world. The benefit of Plan C was Cruz would never anticipate him taking Callie out that way. He hadn’t been sold on the idea, but Keely and Tweeter had insisted the girl they grew up alongside of could do it. So far, she hadn’t proven them wrong.

“Trey? What Plan am I using, man?”

“Go to B for now. You might have a narrow window. Conn just called and told us Paco is now after you. Guess Cruz fessed up about the DVD you appropriated.” Risto had brought the back-up team up to speed last evening after Callie had fallen asleep and before he’d made love to her. He yawned, tired all of a sudden. God, he should’ve left her alone this morning in the shower and caught the extra sleep. But if he had it all to do over again, he’d do it the same way. He might never get a chance to make love to her again—and he’d wanted to absorb as many memories as possible for later, after he left her in Chicago.

“Plan B it is. Tell Tweeter I’ll let him know what’s going on when we get to Turbo and assess the situation.”

“Got it. Luck to you, buddy. Use Corona’s on the Turbo waterfront. The owner has been informed you need his safe room until dark when your boat will be available.”

“Corona’s, got it. Out.”

“Out.”

Risto punched off the phone and set it back in its charger.

“What’s wrong?” Callie touched his thigh, massaging it. And his damn cock got hard. Well, he should be used to his reaction to her by now.

“Some FARC terrorists attacked the ranch. Our ride is providing them air support so the situation is fluid and dangerous right now.”

“So, what’s Plan B again?”

He looked at her face. She had some color in her cheeks. Her eyes were alert, calm, and he could almost see the wheels in her head processing and reassessing the situation.

Damn, she was wonderful. “To Turbo then out by boat under the cover of darkness, then up the coast to Puerto Obaldo where Tweeter is waiting with the SSI jet.”

“Sounds good.” She looked in the back seat. “We have any food?”

“No, I’d planned to eat at the ranch. I passed a small town about fifteen minutes ago.

It had a place to eat. Since we need to backtrack to catch the road to Turbo, we’ll grab something there.”

“Okay. How long to Turbo?”

“Depends on the rain. While you slept I had to pull over a couple of times and take one detour around the water. The elevation isn’t much higher going to Turbo.” He looked at his GPS and plotted the trip. “Maybe ninety miles and potentially two to three hours.”

“Okay. What do we do when we get there? Play tourist?”

“No. Paco is on our tails now.” She grimaced but remained silent. “We’ll go to ground at a place called Corona’s until it gets dark, then we can meet our boat. Trey has already given the bar owner and our ride a head’s up.”

She wrinkled her nose. He couldn’t help it. He swept a finger down the length to the tip then traced a path over her lips. She kissed the tip of his finger and he swore he felt the sensation on the tip of his cock. “Won’t that be dangerous?” she asked.

“How so?”

“Either of these men could decide to sell us out.”

“SSI has used them in the past or they wouldn’t be using them now. Plus, if they attempt to screw us over, I’ll handle it.” It wouldn’t be the first time he had to get himself and those under his protection out of a goat roping.