In His Sights, page 9
“Shit. Cole said the bastards knew Dr. Nascimento’s name. That they wanted her dead. Said those very words, that she’d been ‘meant to die.’”
“Dammit, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I didn’t know she was related to the senator.” Moss stared at the map as if he could visualize Cole’s position at this very instant. He was getting a bad feeling about this whole setup.
“So Parker may be right about the accident being no accident,” Markesan said.
Moss let the idea move through the slow-turning cogs in his brain. His best friend was out there somewhere, and there could be a price tag on his head. “Who is Parker looking to pin the incident on?”
“The Angolan government among others. It seems Parker and a few like-minded senators have been putting pressure on the U.N. to impose sanctions if the country doesn’t change its policy on dislocating people from the capital’s shantytowns.” Markesan braced his arms on the steel table. “Maybe killing Parker’s family is meant to make him change his mind.” He stared at the map. “Getting them out is a priority. And not just because of Parker.”
“I know. We’ll get them. Six more days and they’ll be on a Black Hawk headed home.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. Parker’s convinced that someone in the government isn’t happy with his party’s interference.” Markesan circled Calandula on the map.
“That’s probably true. No country likes to be told by another one how to conduct its internal—”
“Not someone from the Angolan government. Someone inside our government.”
Moss stared at him. “You can’t seriously believe someone in our government is behind Parker’s wife’s death? You saw those rebels as well as I did. If anyone’s behind it, they are.”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what the good senator believes is true.”
“Since when do we take orders from Senator Parker?”
“We don’t. We take orders from the president.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
Markesan turned to him, his thick grey brows pulled to the center. “That is the problem. Senator Parker is convinced that the person responsible for the attack on the embassy—for his wife’s death…is the President of the United States.”
* * *
Cole watched as a woman filled their water bottles from a well. He wouldn’t drop in the chlorine tablets in front of her; he’d wait until they were out of sight. Thank God they were still close enough to Luanda that everyone spoke Portuguese, rather than one of the myriad tribal tongues. The farther they moved into the countryside, though, the more difficult communication might become.
He glanced to the right and encountered Callie’s stare. Seated in a hammock, she had one leg curled beneath her, while she used the other to push off the ground. As the hammock swung gently back and forth, he could swear there was a gleam of triumph in her dark eyes.
Okay, so she’d been right about the hammocks being halfway comfortable, even for someone of his size. But he’d have been a hell of a lot more comfortable if he’d been able to keep her close. As it was, he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep. He’d been too busy making sure Callie slept unmolested.
But would having her sleep next to him be a wise idea? Hell no. Two nights down, six more to go. And he was already in serious trouble.
The villager handed him the last of the bottles with a shy smile.
“Obrigado,” he managed.
He stuffed the water into the backpack and hefted it onto his back. His rifle went over the other shoulder, but he was careful to keep the movement unobtrusive. Like Pedro, these people didn’t seem to trust soldiers. It had taken some smooth talking on Callie’s part to convince the folks that he wasn’t a government spy.
Not being able to take the lead in negotiating irritated him. He’d found himself wanting her to trip over her words, even though he knew they desperately needed these people to give them shelter for the night.
What was wrong with him? So she was good at using her mouth.
Crap. And he was terrible at keeping his mind out of the gutter.
Crossing to where she sat, he glared down at her, as if she’d been the one to instill the image stuck in his brain.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Mad that you had to sleep in a hammock, after all?”
“No.”
She cocked her head. “What then?” Giving the item in question another little push with her foot, she sighed. “I think that was the best night’s sleep I’ve gotten since arriving in Angola. Of course, being exhausted helped. And being able to bathe this morning was icing on the cake.”
Seeing as he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, and the bath had only succeeded in raising images of her beside the river, washing every inch of her body, he turned up the heat on the glare.
She smiled, evidently not intimidated. “And the tapioca crepes reminded me of bejú from Brazil. Delicious.” She drew her tongue along her lips as if she could still taste them.
The action sent his body haywire. He’d thought the rubbery pancakes were kind of bland and gummy, but anything that could get that kind of reaction out of her couldn’t be all bad. He might even have to try another one someday.
The strap of his rifle slipped and he readjusted it, cursing softly.
“Didn’t you like it?”
Had she read his thoughts?
A frown puckered her brow. “The crepes. You didn’t like them?”
“They were fine.”
She slid from the hammock and stretched, ending with a shrug. “I’d like to check your head wound before we go. Did you take your antibiotics?”
“Yes.” The word snapped from his tongue.
“What’s wrong with you today?” Her voice was a little sharper this time, her good mood seeming to slip away.
He was a regular black hole of good cheer, sucking it away from everyone he came in contact with.
“Nothing’s wrong. Just in a hurry to leave, that’s all.”
“Well,” she said, reaching up to push her fingers into his hair, angling his head toward her. “We’ll go as soon as I check your head.”
Her eyes narrowed in concentration and he noticed she had flecks of green surrounding her pupil. They weren’t entirely brown like he’d originally thought. Her fingertips explored his brow with a gentle touch.
Cole suddenly realized how close they were. Way too close.
“I don’t want to take these bandages off for a couple more days, so I can make sure the skin has had time to seal together. You’re going to have a scar. Sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He had plenty more where that came from. Outside and in.
“Scars don’t matter to you?”
Was that a trick question? His gut told him to pull away…but his feet weren’t paying any attention. “Not really.”
She blinked and the fingers at the back of his head moved slightly.
Cole swallowed. If she would just look away…
She didn’t. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, remembering the way her tongue moistened her lips. Almost against his will, he found himself leaning forward, watching as Callie’s lids closed.
Alarmed shouts caught his attention, forcing him upright and dragging him away from her tempting mouth. He turned to see men running toward the nearby road.
“O que foi?” he asked someone hurrying by.
“A man. They’ve found a man a few miles down the road. They are carrying him to the village.”
Callie jerked from his grasp and turned to follow. “Is he injured? I have to see if I can help.”
“No.” Cole wrapped his arms around her waist and held her back. There was no way he was letting her rush into the middle of something. “Let the villagers deal with it.”
“What?” She twisted in his arms until she stood toe to toe with him, her belly pressed tight against his. “I’m a doctor!”
His mind hardened. “No, you’re a shrink. Stick to mind-melding and leave the real medicine to someone else.”
The words had the desired effect. She stiffened and stared up into his face. “What did you just say?”
He couldn’t bring himself to repeat the words, no matter how much he believed them. “I don’t want you rushing out there half-cocked. For all you know it could be one of the rebels. Or a trap.”
“Let. Me. Go.” The words were quiet, contemptuous and oh-so-very effective. He released her and took a step back, his hands going behind him in a military stance.
When she swung away from him and headed in the direction of the villagers, he had no choice but to follow. He fully expected to have to shoot someone before this was all over with. Maybe even himself.
Cole pulled up beside her just as he spotted a litter in the distance heading toward them. He didn’t see anyone other than villagers behind the stricken figure. But that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t someone there. His jaw tightened. Something didn’t sit right about this whole scenario. How often did these small outposts come across an injured pedestrian?
Gripping Callie’s arm, he pulled her to a stop and edged her to the side of the road, into some thick growth. “Stay in the bushes until we know what’s happening.” When she acted as if she were going to struggle, he leaned down. “If it’s on the up and up, I’ll let you help in whatever way you can. Just give me a minute to make sure there’s nothing else going on.”
She did as he asked, but her cold stare said she hadn’t forgotten his earlier remark.
Well that was just fine. He didn’t need her to like him, he didn’t even care whether she did or not. He just needed her to cooperate until they were out of this mess.
At least, that’s what he told himself. His action a few minutes earlier didn’t bear out that particular theory. He’d been on the verge of kissing her.
Would she have let him?
His mind snapped shut. Stress. Adrenaline. And Callie was a beautiful woman. For someone who didn’t have a stellar reputation when it came to controlling his impulses, what had he expected to happen?
She didn’t know what he’d almost done. And he wasn’t about to tell her. Nor was he going to let it happen again. Six more days. Surely he could last that long.
Callie’s horrified, “Oh no!” jerked his wandering attention back into place. The crude stretcher was passing by their position, and he saw immediately why she’d reacted.
“Dammit. I knew it,” Cole whispered, shoving Callie farther into the brush and urging her to move.
They had to get out of here, now…before anyone realized they were missing. She didn’t argue, just set out at a quick clip. Despite their need for speed, Cole was damned glad that she knew how to be quiet as they raced away from the area.
He tried to blot out what he’d seen, but failed. He couldn’t erase the sight of the ruined, bloated face staring sightlessly out from the stretcher. Nor could he shed the crush of guilt at knowing he’d probably been the cause. Cole prayed the same fate hadn’t befallen the rest of the man’s family.
The body on that stretcher belonged to Pedro, their host from the first night. And contrary to what he and Callie had both assumed, the man wasn’t injured. He’d been beaten, and then his throat slit from ear to ear.
Chapter Ten
Callie tried not to think, just ran, being careful not to trip over roots. Despite her best efforts, though, Pedro’s broken body kept appearing before her mind’s eye.
“Oh God, that poor man. Who could have done something so horrible?”
Cole either didn’t hear her question or chose to ignore it. He pulled in front of her to take the lead, his hand gripping hers with a fierceness that struck terror in her heart.
Her carefree attitude this morning poured over her, drenching her in guilt. Had Pedro been suffering at the hands of some monster even while she’d been joking about hammocks and bejú? While she’d been anticipating Cole’s lips closing over hers?
She’d been so hopeful that the man on Cole’s earpiece had discovered her name by chance, a freak accident, despite what Cole said. She’d also allowed herself to believe the rebel would give up once she was out of town and out of reach.
But Pedro’s death, just one day after they’d left his house, couldn’t be another terrible coincidence.
The rebels might even be following them at this very moment.
A branch smacked her cheek and she shoved it away, allowing Cole to continue dragging her along at breakneck speed.
Was Pedro dead because of her? But how? How could anyone have known she and Cole had stayed at his house?
Cole’s hand tightened on hers. She imagined him saying, Don’t think. Just run.
She pushed her thoughts away and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Pedro was dead. Letting her guilt get her or Cole killed wouldn’t help him. Putting a hand on her belly, she hoped the baby couldn’t feel her panic, that the adrenaline pumping through her veins wasn’t whipping his tiny heart into a frenzy. She’d wanted Micah to grow strong and healthy, protected by a calm, happy environment.
Her jaw tensed. The only environment she was providing at the moment was one of chaos, confusion and fear. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she panted.
At her words, Cole pulled up and turned, pushing her behind his body. His gun came off his shoulder, ready to inflict serious damage on anyone who came bursting through the brush.
“You okay?” He threw the question at her.
She caught sight of a water bottle peeking from a small tear in the bottom of poor Pedro’s backpack. It was her undoing. She covered her face with her hands, wrenching sobs fighting with her body’s desperate need for air. She gulped oxygen in fits and gasps, but there was no way she could do it quietly. She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked back and forth, trying to comfort herself as much as the baby.
Cole took a step back, his eyes and weapon still trained on the area in front of him. His free arm came around her shoulders and hauled her against him. “It’s going to be all right, Callie.”
All right?
It was going to be all right?
She knew he was trying to calm her down, but it wasn’t working. Nothing would.
Except one thing.
Her brain latched onto the solution. Straightening, she pulled away and took a long shaky breath.
“I want to go back and face them.”
His head swung toward her. “What?”
“If they’re really after us…after me, specifically, then I need to go back. Pedro’s life was no more important than my own. Why should he have had to die in my place?” The thought brought a fresh round of moisture to her eyes, which spilled over. “I-I can’t let others die just to save myself. Maybe I can reason with them. Talk to them—”
“Talk to them? Lady, I don’t know what kind of ego trip you’re on, but you can’t save the whole fucking world with a few well-intentioned words.” He shook his head. “You really want to make that man’s death a joke? Then go ahead. March out there spouting a bunch of philosophical bullshit. Show us how you can make the world a better goddamned place.”
She reared back. He could think whatever he wanted, but she sure as hell didn’t need his permission to do what she felt was right.
The second she went to take a step forward, though, he pivoted, making a quick hundred-and-eighty degree turn, until he stood in her path, the barrel of the rifle pointing in her direction. She stepped back in shock.
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you skip out there just to be mowed down in a hail of bullets, do you?” He gave her a sinister sneer. “Or maybe, if you’re lucky, they’ll keep you around for a while. Maybe they’ll let a few groups of men have at you…take turns using you. Before they kill you.”
His ugly words and threatening posture brought up a sickeningly clear vision of her stepfather. He’d used intimidation tactics, just like these, to get her and Sara to toe the line and obey. And when that hadn’t worked, a few well-placed slaps had done the trick.
Bile rose in a wave and she took another step back, her hand lifting to cover her mouth. Why had she thought Cole was any different?
Before she had time to react, he closed the gap and wrapped his hand around her arm, the grip tight enough to hurt. His gun lowered to his side as he yanked her flush against him. “Let’s get this straight once and for all. You are not going out there. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you.” His lips, white around the edges, barely moved. “Whatever it takes.”
Her heart nearly stopped beating. His pupils were so huge she thought they might swallow her whole. Where she’d expected to see blind rage at her rebellion, there was none. What she saw instead was fear. Boiling, gut-wrenching fear.
Fear that she’d impulsively dash out of the woods and get herself killed. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to stop it.
He was afraid for her.
She stared up at him, unable to tear her eyes away. She’d never experienced anything like what she was seeing. Differing shades of emotion ran through her system like quicksilver, each splashing onto the one before it, until the colors blurred and thickened. Her hands lifted, wrapping around his neck to pull him tight against her. She desperately wanted him to feel her own fear. To know he wasn’t alone.
And he was right. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—take for granted the sacrifices that he, and Pedro, had made for her. For Micah.
“I won’t go. I promise.” She whispered the words, making them her own private vow. “I’ll stay here with you.”
Lifting as high on her tiptoes as she could, she put her lips to his.
* * *
Relief swamped through Cole’s system so fast he almost didn’t realize she was kissing him.
