In His Sights, page 6
She laughed, but the sound was as strained as Cole’s nerves. Slinging several articles over her shoulder, she started to hang the money on the line with one of the clothespins.
“No,” he said. “Don’t hang it in the open. Someone will either steal it, or it’ll alert the rebels that we were here. We don’t want them questioning the residents if they’re home.”
She held the bills in her hand. “I am leaving them money.”
Why did she assume the worst about him? Irritated, he snapped, “Pin it behind some of the other clothes so it can’t be seen from the street.”
“Oh.” A beat went by. “Right. Sorry.” She did as he’d suggested.
He gave a mental sigh when she climbed off, relieving him of his burden…and his thoughts.
Callie faced him and handed him his share of the clothing. “Here. Hurry up and put these on, while I get out of my old things.”
His face heated as thoughts he’d banished just seconds earlier came rushing back.
The horrified question spewed out before he could stop it. “You’re going to change in front of me?”
* * *
“I’ll overlook the insulting tone of that remark and pretend pregnant women don’t remind you of slow-moving blimps.” Callie nodded at the hanging bedspread. “I was planning on using that as a shield while undressing, lucky for you.”
Red seeped up Cole’s neck and flooded his face. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
“I was kidding.” This man was way too serious. Part and parcel of his profession. At least, judging from her experience with military men.
No, don’t think about that now.
Hurrying behind the bedspread, she stripped off her old clothes and yanked the elastic waist of the long cotton skirt over her hips and tummy. Next she pulled on the rough muslin blouse, thankful that its loose, peasant style successfully hid the baby’s presence.
She was sweaty and filthy, yet it had only been three hours since she’d stood in line in the air-conditioned embassy building. It already seemed like a lifetime ago.
Peeking from behind the bedspread, she noted that Cole was already dressed, but facing away from her, his gun at the ready. Her gaze trailed over him, taking in the cheap navy t-shirt that strained to contain his powerful shoulders…the thick bulge of his biceps. The beige drawstring pants, on the other hand, were painfully casual—and totally at odds with her image of the sniper who’d shot and killed a man.
The military boots were still in place, reminding her of who he was. She shivered. Shades of her stepfather. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill.
But there’d be no more killing if Callie could help it. Cole turned before she could avert her eyes. The chain around his neck glinted, and she had to force herself not to imagine the metal dog tags hidden under his shirt, against the warm skin of his chest. Clearing her throat, she pretended she’d just come out from behind the screen.
“Let me see your head.” The tie from her discarded shirt was still wrapped around his wound.
He touched his hand to it. “This needs to come off so it doesn’t attract attention.”
“Let me check to make sure it’s stopped bleeding, first.” She held up her old clothes. “And I’m not sure what you want me to do with these.”
“There’s a pile of garbage in that niche over there. I buried my clothes underneath the stack.”
“Okay.” She dropped her garments at her feet and reached up to gently push away the tied fabric around his head. The wound was no longer bleeding, but it was puffed and ugly. The edges of the wound parted as soon as she released the skin. Callie was doubly glad they’d stopped at the pharmacy. Now if she could only get him to take the antibiotics.
“We’ll use Band-Aids to hold it shut. You need stitches, but I probably can’t talk you into—”
“No. You can’t.” He handed her the package of bandages and held still while she smeared antibiotic ointment across it and re-closed the wound, taping it shut. He took the bloodstained strip of fabric from her hand, gathered up the rest of her clothes and carried them to the garbage pile.
Lifting stacks of soggy-looking cardboard, he pushed her clothing underneath, then carefully pulled everything back in place.
“Are you sure they won’t find them?”
He stood and glanced at the stack. “Pretty sure. They’re not going to want to mess with some of the stuff underneath the cardboard.”
She nodded, trying not to think about what would be disgusting enough to keep out scavengers. Instead she rooted around in the pocket of her skirt until her fingers closed over a small bottle.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes. But hold out your hands first.”
He tilted his head and stayed where he was.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” She smiled. “Promise.”
Slinging the gun over his shoulder he held out his hands. She squeezed a small portion of hand sanitizer on his right palm and backed away to watch his reaction.
He blinked—stared at his hand for a long second, and then looked up at her. Out of nowhere came a rumble of sound. Low and quick, but she definitely recognized it as a laugh.
Cole rubbed his hands together, spreading the clear gel. “Lady, you are something else.”
“If rebels aren’t going to want to touch what’s under there, then why should you have to?” She couldn’t shake the thought of how much he was giving up to help her. He could be safe in his chopper by now. With the soldier named Moss and his other colleagues.
So even if he thought she was silly…crazy…and any number of other things, she would do her part. Even if it was something as simple as making sure he didn’t die of some noxious bacterial infection.
“If you’re done making sure I don’t contaminate you, can we get moving now? We have a lot of territory to cover in a short amount of time.”
“I wasn’t trying to protect myself, I was…”
He was already moving down the alley, leaving her no choice but to follow.
From time to time during the next hour, they saw other residents scurrying down the streets, evidently as scared of the rebels as she was. But they’d seen no more signs of the prowling jeep. At this point, it seemed they’d succeeded in losing their pursuers.
She hoped.
With one less thing to worry about, Callie’s bladder began to remind her of its presence. She’d already held on for far longer than usual. But how did you tell a man who was hell-bent on getting out of the city as fast as possible that he had to stop? Again.
He didn’t seem to feel hunger or tiredness or any natural urges at all.
“Cole, can you hold up for a sec?”
He turned around, his brown eyes meeting her own.
“You used my name.”
“Ye-es…” She’d been calling him Cole inside her head for quite some time now. Had she committed some kind of faux pas by saying it aloud? Maybe she was supposed to call him by an official title or something. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to use your rank?”
“No, Cole’s fine.” He looked past her. “So, what’s going on?”
Heat flooded her face. “I need to, um… The baby’s pressing on my…”
He frowned, but continued to stare as if he didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was getting at. So much for subtlety. She might as well just come out and say it.
“I have to pee.”
If her face was warm, his had to be flaming hot, judging from the dark color that stained his skin.
He blinked at her a time or two as if unsure how to respond.
Oh, come on. They were both adults here. “Well?”
Cole scanned the area, evidently realizing she was serious and that he’d not misunderstood her bald statement.
“I’ll turn my back.” He proceeded to do just that.
“I’m not going in the middle of the street!”
He faced her again. “I thought you said you had to—”
“I know what I said, thank you very much, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to squat in the middle of a public street.”
“Your skirt’s long. No one will know what you’re doing.”
“I’ll know.”
His cheeks puffed as he blew out a long exasperated-sounding breath. “What do you expect me to do about it, then?”
“I don’t expect you to do anything. Just find me a spot where I can be discreet. Preferably behind a bush or a public bathroom.”
“I doubt there are public bathrooms anywhere except the city parks, and they’re too dangerous.”
“Then a tree. A hedge. A trashcan. Some place I can have a little privacy.” She shook her head. “Don’t you have to go too?”
“I can wait.”
Of course he could. Mr. Indestructible.
“Well I can’t.”
His eyes skated over her stomach. “Come on, then. We need to hurry.”
He took off at an impossible clip. Callie literally had to jog behind him, which did nothing to help her aching bladder.
When he turned the corner and gestured, her eyes widened. Surely not.
Oh, but it was. Vasco de Gama himself. She could only hope he didn’t turn over in his grave at being used as a shield.
She wrinkled her nose. “Gee, thanks.”
“No problem,” he said without blinking an eye. “You have thirty seconds. I’ll even turn my back.”
* * *
Cole did as he promised, but as soon as he was sure she was hidden behind the large statue, he peeked behind him periodically to make sure no one came up on her from another direction.
Surprisingly, she was back in the prescribed time, rubbing hand sanitizer into her skin. He bit back another laugh. At this rate, that small bottle wouldn’t last twelve hours, much less the eight days they might have to travel.
Cole figured they had another hour before they were out of the city and into the outskirts. The landmine situation in the surrounding countryside worried him, but he really didn’t have a choice, since they were without a car. Another thing that couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t willing to drag Callie around the dangerous streets long enough to scrounge up a working one. Maybe in the next town. Besides, with the invasion of the rebels, most people had either fled—in their vehicles—or were holed up in their homes.
The Angolan government would eventually get its act together and send in military reinforcements to drive the rebels back to their jungle hideout, but Cole couldn’t wait around until that happened. Not after what the head honcho had said about wanting Callie dead.
She interrupted his thoughts. “Are you ready to take your first antibiotic?”
“Later.”
Her scowl said everything and more, but it could wait until they were less out in the open. He set off, checking her pace to make sure he wasn’t moving too fast.
“The sooner you start taking them the better.”
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her, opting to change the subject instead. “How far along are you?”
“A little under four months.”
He had no idea what that meant, but kept pushing forward, hoping that by keeping her talking, she’d continue moving as well. “What is it, do you know?”
“The baby’s a boy.”
A boy. Cole swallowed. He’d never wanted kids. Never felt the need for a family.
He avoided looking at her stomach. “Congratulations.” He kept walking, needing to hurry all of a sudden.
“My sister chose the name Micah. It’s a strong name, don’t you think?”
He didn’t want to think about baby names or pregnant women. He just wanted to get to Calandula Falls and pass his responsibility on to someone else. Someone more equipped to deal with people like her. “I’m sure it’s a great name.”
She caught up to him again and touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Other than trying to outrun the terrorists before they find us? One of whom is after you for reasons I’ve yet to discover?” He slowed his pace, but didn’t turn to look at her. “Other than that, life is peachy.”
“Is it? I don’t think so.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “Something else is bothering you.”
Crap, not the mind-melding bit. Not now. He turned down a side street, trying to buy time and make sure they weren’t being followed. For the millionth time, he wished there were people lining the streets. Anyone other than them and the rebels.
“Cole?”
The husky sound of his name on her lips, made him do a double take. He glanced down. There was concern in her face. Professional concern. He swore a blue streak inside his head.
Time to throw her off track.
“You want to know what I’m thinking? Fine. You were taking a hell of a risk coming to Angola without a good reason.”
“My sister’s not a good enough reason?”
“Didn’t your sister’s relief organization issue a report on the crash?”
“Yes, they said the fuel tank exploded midflight. The bodies were all incinerated. They had to use the flight manifest to determine who the victims were.”
Her voice quavered, but she didn’t cry.
There had to be something burn-in-hell-worthy about protecting his own soul at the expense of someone else’s.
He said the only thing he could think of. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He groaned. And that was supposed to make her feel better?
Cole stopped in his tracks and looked down, making sure he met her eyes. “I really am sorry.”
She glanced away. “Something about the story just doesn’t sit right.”
“The story?”
“About the accident.”
“That’s why you came to Angola, isn’t it?” He went from sympathetic to irritated in the space of a second. “You thought you’d do a little amateur detective work, dig up a little dirt.”
“No! I just…” She bit her lip. “I just needed to know the truth.”
“And do what, when you found it?”
Callie shook her head. “Get some closure, maybe.” She paused. “Maybe the rebels had something to do with the crash and they’re afraid I’ll find out.”
“How would they have known you were coming here in the first place?” He started moving again, turning down another street, surprised when it ran smack dab into a shantytown at the edge of the city.
Cole held up his hand for silence as he studied the rows of shelters. Planks of wood were nailed together helter-skelter, forming ramshackle boxlike houses. There were holes the size of fists here and there between the slats, and most of the roofs appeared to be made with black plastic tarps held down with a scattering of bricks. A few of the better-made structures had corrugated metal roofs screwed to the tops of the wooden boxes.
“A favela,” Callie whispered, moving closer to him.
He turned his head, his eyebrows raised. “A what?”
“In Brazil, there are huge areas like these, right on the border of cities. Lots of drugs. The entrances sometimes have armed guards. Even the police are afraid to go into them.” Her fingers pressed against her closed eyelids for a second before she looked up again. “It’s why Sara and her team were here. Angola has been displacing the residents of these favelas, sometimes bulldozing the houses right out from under whole families. Her team was helping provide medical care and find temporary housing for hundreds of thousands of these people.”
If these slums were as dangerous as the ones in Brazil, he could see why the government wanted them bulldozed, but it wasn’t up to him to decide. He had his mission. That’s all he needed to worry about.
These streets didn’t appear to be guarded. In fact, there was no activity at all. No children playing, just a couple of stray dogs sniffing odd piles of garbage. “It seems these people moved out before they had a chance to be evicted.”
He checked his watch. Almost five o’clock. Shit. The whole afternoon wasted just getting to the edge of town. They’d probably only covered five miles. Traveling at night was stupid, though, especially with someone who wasn’t used to rough conditions. Maybe they could find someplace in the shantytown to hide until morning. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. If the residents of these towns were normally heavily armed, like Callie said, he didn’t think the rebels would risk an unnecessary firefight. Rebels relied on being seen as champions of the poor. Besides, these particular rebels seemed to be after bigger fish.
Callie.
He needed time to figure out why.
First, he had to make sure the area really was deserted. He glanced around, looking for a place to stash Callie while he checked out their new digs.
A woodpile behind one of the crude shelters caught his eye. Taking her arm, he spoke in low tones. “I want you to wait there, while I see if anyone’s home.”
“No, it’s not safe. Please don’t go in there.”
He shifted his rifle on his shoulder to bring to her attention to it without being obvious. “I’ll be fine. Just wait here, okay?”
She swallowed. “Be careful.”
Her tone of voice pulled him up short. He stroked his fingers across her cheek before he had time to think about what he was doing. “I will.”
Moving on silent feet, he slid between two houses, peeking through holes in the boards. Crude furnishings, stale odors of old food, but no occupants. He kept moving until he’d surveyed one entire row of buildings. There were hundreds of shelters, too many to check all of them. But this particular group seemed deserted. They could just go to one on the far end and hole up until morning. He pried the door open on the last house and stepped inside, fighting to adjust his eyes to the gloom.
Empty. At least the front room. He used his rifle to push through the slatted door leading to what was probably the bedroom. A low voice and the glint of steel stopped him in his tracks.
