скачать книгу бесплатно
Brady thought fast. All the shrinks had talked to Hollister. They’d prescribed painkillers and sleeping pills and declared him mildly depressed, but that was to be expected after a traumatic loss like he’d experienced. In private to Brady, the shrinks had declared him ready to return to duty. But Hollister had, as of yet, made no move to get himself removed from the injured reserve list. And something Brady couldn’t quite put his finger on didn’t seem right with John. He’d hesitated to put his old friend back in the field for a couple of months now.
No matter what the docs said about the guy being ready to get back in the saddle, that noose in the back room shouted otherwise. Like many experienced field operators, Hollister apparently could successfully bullshit a psychiatrist.
Brady tapped his front tooth thoughtfully. The fact remained that he had a suicidal operator on his hands. And if Hollister really wanted to kill himself, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he was going to be able to do to stop the guy. The problem with men like him and Hollister was they were trained in too many forms of killing. There was really no way to stop them from successfully turning that knowledge on themselves if they so chose.
He eyed the woman before him speculatively. Hollister was a responsible guy. Too responsible. It was the reason he was such a mess now. If he put Hollister in charge of getting this woman safely to her destination, the major would take that responsibility seriously. Enough to stay alive and finish the job. He still might kill himself out in the mountains of Peru after the woman was delivered to wherever she wanted to go, but it might buy Brady a little time to figure out how in the hell to talk Hollister into living. It was worth a shot.
Decision made, he announced, “We’d be glad to take you to Peru, ma’am. Cowboy, here, is just the man to escort you there.”
Hollister’s gaze jerked to him in surprise and denial. Brady blandly ignored the frown and miniscule negative shake of the head that Hollister threw him.
The woman’s gaze swiveled to Hollister. Her mouth curved up into a sudden and blinding smile. “Cowboy? As in John Cowboy?”
Hollister glared over at Pirate Pete in the corner. “That’s correct. John Hollister, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”
She held a slender hand across the counter. “Melina Montez.”
Brady interrupted smoothly. “Why don’t you go over Miss Montez’s travel documents with her and figure out what visas and shots and the like she’ll need for the trip. In the meantime, I’ll have one of the boys bring over your gear, Cowboy.”
He damn well wasn’t giving John Hollister a second alone until the guy walked out the door with the woman.
Hollister must’ve figured that out because he sighed in resignation. “Fine. I’ll take her to Peru.”
But the promise to finish what he’d started in the storeroom hung heavy in his voice. Brady made brief eye contact with his best field commander, sending him a silent plea to reconsider. But the look in Hollister’s eyes was firm. Implacable.
The guy’d made his decision and he wasn’t budging. Brady might have delayed the inevitable with this little stunt of sending him to Peru, but inevitable it was.
Dammit.
Chapter 2
Melina was a bit shell-shocked at how quickly these two men verified her travel papers, which she’d already secured for Peru. They outfitted her with a backpack and assorted clothing and gear from a local sporting goods store and drove her by Jeep to a long but deserted-looking airstrip. No more than an hour, all told.
The second man—Brady, he called himself—climbed into the pilot’s seat of a twin-motor, eight-passenger airplane he called a King Air, while Hollister threw their gear in the back and helped her climb in.
The airplane buzzed down the runway and leaped into the air, bumping through some afternoon turbulence, then settling into a steady drone.
Brady, up front, set some sort of autopilot and leaned back to relax. Hollister slipped out of the copilot’s seat and came to sit across the narrow aisle from her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We’ll make a fuel stop in Colombia, but then we’ll go direct to Lima. It’s going to take about eight hours. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable back here. Snacks are in that cupboard and coffee’s below it. The boss and I will be up front. If you need anything, just tap on one of our shoulders.”
She nodded and enjoyed the view of his broad shoulders and narrow hips as, half crouching, he made his way back into the cockpit. A handsome man he was, with that dark hair and those mysterious gray eyes. Classy. Mature. A certain…sadness…clung to him, though. It made her want to take him in her arms and comfort him.
Her hunky guide disappeared into the cockpit and she leaned her head back against her seat. Finally, she was on her way. She’d both dreaded and wished for this moment to arrive. She was very quickly approaching the point of no return. Once she made contact with Huayar’s men, she was committed. They would not let her leave Peru alive. They’d made that very clear when they had contacted her yesterday morning.
It wasn’t like she’d had any choice, though. They had her brother Mike and both of her parents, and if she didn’t come, they’d all die. Horribly.
She had no illusions about what she was journeying into. It would be terrible beyond imagination. Rough, uncivilized, perhaps cruel. With death likely waiting at the end of it all. She dreaded this trip more than anything she’d ever had to do in her entire life. At least her guide came across as knowing his stuff. Once he’d reluctantly given in to his boss and agreed to do this trip, he’d been all business, focused and efficient. For the moment, she felt safe.
And right now, she was living moment by moment. What lay before her was simply too immense to process all at once. How did that old adage go? A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step?
Well, she’d taken the first step. The ball was in motion now. All that remained was for it to gather speed and roll to the inevitable end of the road. Why then, did she feel like throwing up?
Sometime later, a light touch on her shoulder made her start violently awake.
“Easy, Miss Montez. We’re in Colombia. You’ll have to come inside with me to a Customs holding area while Brady refuels the plane.”
She stumbled inside a blindingly bright, antiseptic room with garish, orange plastic chairs. The stagnant, humid air, smelling of too many unwashed bodies, assaulted her. Closing her eyes, she told herself it was the first of many hardships to come. She might as well get used to it.
A warm hand cupped her elbow. “Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes to gaze up into Hollister’s concerned gaze. His eyes were a stormy gray that mirrored her emotions. “I’m fine. Why?”
“You went pale all of a sudden.”
And he’d noticed? Wow. Observant guy. “The heat in here…and the smell…I’m not used to them.”
He frowned faintly. “Are you sure you’re up for this journey? It’s going to be primitive out there.”
“I’ve got no choice. It has to be done.”
“Why’s that?”
Her gaze fell away from the penetrating stare he leveled at her. “The less you know, the better. It’s a family thing.”
“So, you’re going to see your family?”
She suppressed bitter laughter and managed to answer dryly, “Something like that.”
She was saved from any more questions by an airport employee sticking his head through a door and announcing that their plane was ready to go. A baby-faced Customs official, who looked no more than sixteen, escorted them back out to their airplane and stood there just outside Melina’s window until the engines started and they’d taxied out of their parking space.
On to Peru. The second step taken. One step closer to her death.
It was dark when they landed in Lima. Her back was sore from sitting in an airplane seat for so long, and her entire body vibrated with the residual aftereffects of the propellers. She was surprised when Brady handed their backpacks down to her and Hollister but didn’t get off the plane.
“Here’s where we part company, ma’am. You stick with John. He’ll take care of you. There’s no better man anywhere.”
She smiled up at the pilot and then over at her escort, who was frowning again.
To him, Brady said, “Take care of yourself.”
Hollister’s frown deepened.
“I mean it,” Brady added.
The atmosphere between the two men was thick with something unspoken. Hollister broke the tension by plucking her backpack off her shoulder and turning away from his boss. “C’mon, Miss Montez. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Call me Melina.”
“If you’ll promise not to call me John Cowboy.”
She grinned and hurried to keep up with him as they crossed to a low passenger terminal under pink halogen lights.
There was a lengthy delay getting through Customs. The Peruvian soldiers didn’t like some of the equipment John had in his bag, and seemed even less impressed by his bland explanation that they were planning on going camping. She was startled that the soldiers didn’t end up confiscating any of his gear. The Peruvians were notorious for helping themselves to electronics and gadgets out of tourists’ bags. But then, one look at Hollister and she’d think twice about taking anything from him, too. He was big. Powerful. Dangerous-looking. It wasn’t so much an expression, but the way he carried himself. He looked…competent. Like he could handle any situation that came his way.
Apparently, the Peruvian Customs officials read him the same way. Eventually, her passport and John’s were stamped and they were cleared into the country.
The third step taken. She was getting very close now, to that irrevocable step. She felt it closing in on her like walls collapsing on her head, suffocating her—
“Are you all right?” Hollister asked, concerned. He’d paused in front of the terminal under a streetlight. His big body hovered close, protective. One of his hands came up, landing lightly in the middle of her back, an unconscious offer of support. Warmth spread outward through her from that light touch, awakening nerves that had been far too long asleep. Feelings unfolded in her core that she barely recognized anymore. A feeling of femininity. Of being attractive. Of being attracted. Of mattering to another human being.
Her pulse sped up even more. She was perilously close to panicking. Her head spun and stars danced before her eyes. “Uhh, I’m okay.”
“The humidity can get crazy bad here, not to mention the altitude. It may not feel like much at first, but the combination can really sap your energy. You’ve got to take it easy for a few days until your body adjusts. Try to breathe deeply and slowly.”
She nodded and tried to take a deep breath. Best to let him think it was the altitude making her hyperventilate. He was a decent guy. No need to involve him in this fiasco.
In short order, he hailed a taxi and gave the name of a hotel to the driver. His Spanish was effortless, as fluent as hers, and she’d lived in Mexico City for the past eight years. He’d obviously been to Lima before, because he leaned forward and challenged the taxi driver when the guy tried to take an overly circuitous route to wherever they were going. The driver shrugged and grinned and took the route Hollister told him to. Gratitude at not having to deal with these annoying travel details flooded her. It felt great to have someone take care of her for a change.
The building they stopped in front of was built in the classical style; its limestone facade old but elegant. A brass sign announced that this was the Hotel Alvarado. The old-world elegance continued inside.
Hollister stepped up to the counter. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. We have a reservation.”
They did? When had he arranged that? She masked her surprise. The clerk handed over a key, and Hollister smiled down at her fondly. “C’mon, honey. You look exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.”
Her gaze snapped to his. To bed with him? As husband and wife? A thrill rippled through her. It had been far too long since she’d even entertained such a thought about any man. His gray eyes went darker and stormier than usual as they registered where her thoughts had obviously drifted. And just as quickly as it had come, the expression disappeared, carefully banked.
She all but rocked backward on her heels. John Hollister was a force to be reckoned with. Definitely not a man to be taken lightly. And she was about to go traipsing into the wilds of South America with him. Alone. A sudden urge to fan herself nearly overcame her.
He spun abruptly on his heel and headed for the elevators. She followed cautiously. They rode up to their floor in silence, the close atmosphere of the tiny space felt charged. He led the way to a brass-numbered door and unlocked it, holding it open for her. She brushed by him, and was startled to catch a whiff of something masculine and expensive. He worked in a ramshackle hut in the Caribbean and wore a designer after-shave? Who was he?
The door closed behind her as she stared in dismay at the single, king-size bed dominating the room.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said from behind her. “But it helps us blend in if we appear to be a married couple.”
She snorted. Like who she slept with was going to matter for squat in a few weeks. “I don’t care if you sleep in the bed. You strike me as the kind of man who’d be a gentleman.”
“You consider yourself a good judge of character, do you?” he replied.
She turned to face him. “I’ve had a couple of colossal misses in my day, but my instincts are usually right.”
“What are your instincts saying about me?”
He asked the question casually enough, but all of a sudden thick anticipation hung in the air between them. She studied him closely. No two ways about it. The man was gorgeous. But there was more to him than that. There was the whole competence thing she’d already noticed, but the way he held himself…ramrod straight, dignified…
“My instincts say you are a formidable man, John Hollister.”
He cocked an eyebrow and said nothing.
“You’re honest. Maybe to a fault. You’re—” she searched for a word “—demanding of the people around you.”
That made him start a bit. She must have hit a nerve.
“But you’re more demanding of yourself. How am I doing so far?”
A shrug. But his eyes had gone nearly black.
“I think you don’t laugh nearly enough. You’re goal-oriented. Probably don’t know how to relax.”
“I can relax,” he disagreed.
She wagged a finger at him. “Ahh, but do you choose to? I think not.”
“How do you come to all these fascinating conclusions about me?”
“Your jaw. It’s all there in your jaw.”
“My—I thought the window to the soul is the eyes.”
“Not in your case. You don’t show anything of yourself in your eyes.”
“That, I can believe,” he muttered. “Thank God.”
“Okay. Your turn. What do your instincts tell you about me?” she challenged.
“You don’t want to know.” And with that, he whirled and headed for the door. “I’ve got to go out for a little while. There are a few supplies I still need to get for our trip.”
Things he couldn’t get past the Peruvian Customs officials? Like weapons, maybe? She didn’t say anything aloud. Her evasive escort wouldn’t have told her anyway, if she didn’t miss her guess.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t answer the phone and don’t let anyone into the room. I’ll be back soon.”
He slipped out of the room quietly, the door closing silently behind him.
John leaned against the wall of the elevator, breathing hard. Damn, that woman had pegged him cold. How in the world had she done that? For some reason it scared the hell out of him that she could see through him so easily. He was supposed to be a rock. Never show any emotion. Be in complete control at all times. Had he lost his edge completely for a civilian to read him like an open book?
What in the hell was he doing out here? He was in no shape to go on any sort of field operation. But then, this wasn’t an actual mission. It was a simple delivery job. Just take the woman to see her family wherever they were tucked away up in the mountains.
Nonetheless, his instincts told him to treat this like a full-blown op. To arm himself and go to ground as if he and Melina were both in mortal danger. And like Melina, his instincts were usually spot-on. Usually. He’d been dead wrong in a cold Afghani mountain pass a few months ago. And his entire team had paid the price. The ultimate price. And here he was, in a swanky hotel with a beautiful woman, alive and kicking, while eight good men—his men—were turning to dust.
He swore and stepped out of the elevator.
Melina stepped out of the shower, having steamed herself to approximately the doneness of a cooked lobster. Out of her original suitcase—the one she’d packed at home, not the backpack Hollister had filled for her on the island—she pulled out a purple lace lingerie ensemble and donned it. Over that she pulled a stretchy black dress that hugged her curves like a fine race car on a fast track. She’d worked off a whole lot of frustrations over her research in the gym over the years, and she might as well show off the results in this, her last hurrah.
She slipped on a strappy pair of black stilettos. She hadn’t the slightest idea why she’d packed them, but they were the sexiest shoes she owned, and she’d wanted to have them with her. For confidence. How pathetic was that? She had to turn to clothing for moral support. Where had the brash, smart, ballsy young woman that she’d once been gone? When had she allowed life to turn her into a meek, uninteresting doormat?
A man like John Hollister would never settle for a doormat. Of that she was sure. And maybe that was why she’d donned her little black dress and these shoes. She turned off all the lights before she opened the drapes and sat down in a chair by the window. She’d gotten the impression from the false names at the front desk that Hollister didn’t want to advertise their presence in Lima just yet. And frankly, that was fine with her. The longer she delayed making herself known to Huayar’s men, the better. They’d close in on her like circling sharks, and then the jig would be up.
