Cold Day in Hell (24 page)

After filling the canteens, he set out, back to where Callie waited on him. Without any warming, something dropped onto his shoulders and immediately twined about his chest, crushing him in an unbreakable hold.
Fuck!
An anaconda. An adult by the size of it. He must’ve threatened it in some way—or it was hungry.

One arm was secured to his side by the rapidly coiling body. His other arm had instinctively moved to hold off the snake’s head and the unhinging jaws which had opened to take a bite to hold him to be swallowed. He couldn’t let go of the head to get to his knife and his other arm was useless.

“Callie! I need you.” And didn’t that go against every male instinct he possessed. He didn’t want Callie anywhere near this monster reptile.

Callie’s approach was swift. “Risto! What’s wrong?” Her voice was tight with fear and he could hear her gasping for breath as she crashed through the low-growing foliage and volunteer saplings.

“Slow down, sweetheart. I don’t want you falling.” God knows what was lurking on the ground. The snake might have a mate or friends nearby. He spied her clothing in the dim green-gray light of the jungle. “To your left a bit. Get your knife out and approach slowly.” He also didn’t want the snake startled into deciding he wanted a smaller, easier prey. Anacondas moved fast.

“Oh … my … God.” Callie stopped about four feet from him, a look of pure horror on her face. She stood for what must have been only seconds but seemed like an eternity.

Her gray eyes darkened with too many emotions to categorize, but underlying them all was something almost feral.

“I need to cut the head off.” She looked to him for affirmation.

“Yes.” He gasped out the answer. His diaphragm was being constricted with each breath he took.

“Don’t talk. Breathe shallowly.” She shook her head. “God, I never thought all those pop quizzes Dad and Colonel Walsh gave us kids from the Marine Survival Manual would ever have a use.”

Knife in hand, she approached him slowly and at an oblique angle. To the snake, she would seem non-threatening—he hoped. “Careful.”

“Shut up. Every time you talk, the snake tightens. God, your poor ribs.” She looked down, and he could tell, forced herself not to jump back and away from him. “Fuck that is one long-ass snake.” She shuddered and turned pale green. Swallowing loudly, she took a deep breath and visibly shook off whatever she was feeling.

God, I love her courage. I fucking love her.

A determined look entered her eyes and she muttered under her breath, her undivided attention on the snake and not him.
Good girl.

“Just like cutting through a piece of meat, Callie,” she muttered as she inched closer.

He didn’t know how all that courage could be packed into one slender female, but he thanked God it was. “Just think of the stories you can tell your friends.” She raised her hands and covered Risto’s hand, holding the anaconda’s head with one of hers, adding her strength to pull the head away from his face and steadying it for the cut. Her calm, determined gaze switched to Risto. “I’m going to cut through the body just below the snake’s skull—away from your and my wrists. So hold tight, I will slice on three.” He nodded and mouthed the word “careful.” The move she intended to make placed her upper body in danger of being cut. One slip … if she cut herself … no, he wouldn’t think about it or he wouldn’t be able to move when needed.

She took a deep breath. “One.” She tightened her hand over his wrist and slipped the knife between his wrist and the snake’s body. “Two.” She placed the knife a mere inch away from the snake and stiffened the arm holding on to him. “Three.” She struck swiftly and strongly, with so much control she managed to cut through the snake and avoided cutting herself.

As Risto tossed away the head of the anaconda and pulled off the snake’s coils, the reptile’s nervous system still synapsing, he kept his eyes on Callie. She had turned whiter than freshly bleached white bed linens. She held the knife, dripping with snake blood and tissue, away from her. Blood spatter covered her shirt and face. Small whimpers came from Callie’s throat and her body began to shake. Violently. She dropped the knife and turned to the side to vomit.

Swearing a blue streak, he shoved away from the snake’s body as quickly as he could then closed the few steps separating him from Callie. He surrounded her with his body, one arm supporting her and the other hand holding her hair away from her face as she lost what little was in her stomach. The sound of her dry heaves hit him in the gut and he swore even more.

“Shh, baby. My brave woman. You saved me. So brave. So brave.” He held her with one arm and stroked her hair, her back. She cried now, great heaving sobs. “Hush, love, you’re killing me.”

She shoved at his arm and moved away from him. He released her reluctantly.

Turning, she shuddered, once, twice then stiffened her spine. She touched his ribs then seemed to notice the blood on her arm. “God, get it off me.” Pleading eyes turned to his.

“Please, please, get it off me.” She stroked a trembling finger over his torso. “Off you.” Shoving his way through the heavy foliage, he led her to the small waterfall. He pulled off his shirt and hers, hanging them in the flow of the small waterfall on a jagged piece of rock. Then he placed her hands under the water to clean them and used his to wipe her face clean of the blood. “Lean your head over, baby. I want to get the blood out of your hair.” She let him move her where he wanted, and he rinsed her hair until no blood and snake flesh was visible. He stood her back up and carefully wrung the excess water out of the long strands. He clumsily wove a braid which he tied with a piece of vine he cut from a tree.

Watching him with dazed slate gray eyes, she stood completely still but for the constant tremors sweeping over every muscle in her body. “You, too.” Her voice was a mere wisp, strained as if she were holding back screams. “I can’t stand seeing the blood on you. Knowing the snake could’ve killed,” she managed to choke back a sob threatening to escape her throat, “could’ve eaten you.” She touched his arm with shaky, ice-cold fingers. “I wouldn’t have survived if that had happened. I’d have died right here with you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” He sluiced off the snake remains, all the while talking to her in a calm tone in an attempt to keep her from freaking out. “You’d have called for help just as I ordered. You are not to die … ever.”

“Everyone dies.” Her eyes turned silver with a flash of heat. Good, he’d rather her be mad than scared shitless or in shock.

“Not you. Not now. Especially not here.” Risto pulled her into his arms and brushed frenzied kisses over her face, her hair. “You were so brave, braver than any woman I’ve ever known.”

She rubbed her cold nose against his wet throat. “I detest snakes.” He chuckled. “I know, baby, so do I. You sure taught him a lesson.” She sniffed and held on to his waist as if she never wanted to let go. He massaged her back from her neck to her bottom, long soothing strokes. Her body trembled constantly, a combination of shock and the icy water used to clean her off. He needed to get her dry and off her feet before she crashed.

“Damn right.” She nuzzled his throat, licked and teethed his pulse point. “Kiss me.

Make me feel something other than bone-chilling fear. I could have lost you.” The last words came out as a wail.

He took her lips in a searing kiss, warming them. Her fingers digging into his waist, Callie clung and sobbed into his mouth, meeting his tongue with hers. With every touch and kiss, with every act of courage and intelligence, this woman burrowed ever deeper into his body, his heart, his soul.
How will I find the strength to leave her?
It was a question for another time, another place. Right now, he had to calm his little soldier’s fears and get her out of this fucking Hell on Earth and to a place of safety.

Slowing the kiss from the speed of light to lazy, soothing kisses and nibbles, he finally eased Callie away from him. “We need to get going. We’ll be safer on the river.” She nodded, her forehead brushing his chest. “I know. I’m fine.” Another full body shudder shook her.

“Like hell you’re fine.” He swept her into his arms and began the walk to the boat.

He’d get her situated and come back for their gear.

“Risto? I can walk.”

“No.” He rubbed his cheek over hers. “Let me take care of you. Christ, Callie, I watched, couldn’t do a damn thing as you conquered your horror to save my ass. This is twice you’ve saved me. I came to Colombia to save you and have only brought you more hell.”

“No!” She jerked her head up, cupped his face with a fierce grip. “You saved me.” She gasped, her breathing fast and erratic, as fear once again appeared in her beautiful eyes. “Cruz would’ve hurt me, beaten me down.” His angry snarl had her caressing his face, soothing the beast in him who’d kill anyone daring to hurt her. “So, I have to face some fears, so what? Cruz drove both of us into Hell. You aren’t the bad guy.” She turned her face into his neck and her hand clutched his shoulder as if he were a lifeline to sanity.

In silence, he carried her back to the boat. He gently placed her in the middle, using the duffle and a pack to support her in a reclining position. He pulled out another one of his long-sleeved shirts and helped her into it. He placed her hat on her head. Through it all, she hadn’t said a word, uttered a sound.

He tipped up her chin so he could see her eyes. Her pupils were so dilated, only a thin silver-gray rim was left. Despite the sauna-like heat, her skin was cool to the touch and clammy. She shivered with each rasping breath. He swore and pulled out a thin solar blanket, blessing Conn for being an efficient son of a bitch, and wrapped it around her.

She hummed her pleasure at the added warmth as she snuggled into the nest he’d made her. Since it was a fucking ninety degrees even under the cloud cover, she had to be cold from the inside out to tolerate the extra layers.

“Sweetheart? Look at me.” She lifted her head, her eyes finding his. At least she was responsive. “Once we get started, if you need to stop. If you need anything, you let me know. I don’t want you … suffering alone. These arms are always here to hold you.” Her lips twisted into a slight smile. He breathed a sigh of relief. If she could attempt to smile, she’d be fine. She just needed time—and TLC, which he’d provide if he had to take on every fucking guerilla in the Darien. They’d definitely be stopping at Ungaía so he could see she got proper food and could clean up properly. A chance at some small amount of normalcy after all the abnormal curveballs thrown at her.

“Don’t worry so. I’ll be fine. No s-s-s-stupid snake is going to get me down.” She clenched her jaw against the chattering of her teeth and patted his face. “Now, go get our stuff.” She reached for his Glock, her Ruger still back at the waterfall, and took it from his holster with a steady hand. He wondered what that must have cost her in control. “I’ll guard the boat.”

“You are fucking amazing.” He kissed the top of her head and left the boat to get the rest of their gear. When he looked back, Callie held his gun on her lap, her gaze quartering her surroundings. He shook his head and muttered, “fucking amazing.”
Chapter Thirteen

Rescue Day Three—Ungaía, Columbia.

Callie sat in the dugout while Risto and a helpful young man pulled the boat onto the ground. With all the rain, the shore was a quagmire. She wasn’t sure if she was to get out or just wait in the boat. “Risto?” She struggled out of the nest Risto had made her.

“Stay put, sweetheart. I’ll carry you.” He turned to the young man, a dark-skinned native whose skin tones had to do more with the African slaves the Spanish brought to this area of the New World many centuries ago than the native Indian tribes here when Bolivar and his ilk mapped South America. The Ungaía citizen smiled and took the money Risto slipped him. “Teo will watch our boat and things until we get back. He says the guerillas have been quiet lately. It’s also market day so you will see Ungaía at its best.” He lifted her from the boat, tote bag and all, and carried her to an area where the rain had not managed to wash away the rocky pathway.

“What about the duffle?” She looked toward the boat and saw that Teo had already found a comfortable spot to stand guard. A machete was in his hand and his gaze examined everyone walking by as if they were thieves and thugs.

“I know Teo, Callie.” Risto placed a hand under her elbow and supported her up the incline, then guided her toward the central part of the small town. “SSI uses him each time we come to the Darien. He is on a retainer of sorts. Our stuff will be safe with him.” Callie concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. The footing was tricky and she was a bit dizzy from hunger, thirst and heat. She was glad to have Risto’s support. Once they reached a more level surface, she felt steady enough to take an interest in her surroundings. Most of the buildings were one-and two-level wooden structures. As they walked away from the river landing, she spied a church tower then the church itself on the far side of a small tree-shaded plaza. The church was a typical Spanish missionary-style with two bells in the stuccoed, arched bell tower. The plaza was a pleasant surprise. Besides trees, someone had taken the time and effort to plant flowering bushes. The reds and fuchsias of the blooms made the plaza appear very festive.

“Pretty plaza. But why did we stop? I could’ve made it to the coast.”
What a fib,
Calista Jean.

He massaged the small of her back. “I could see you fighting shudders ever since we set out this morning. I wanted to give you some semblance of normalcy before the last mad dash to the sea—and before another night in the rough.”