She laughed. “Sounds like Keely.” She pulled to the side of the road. “The road you marked is just ahead. Unlike Keely who thinks she is an Amazonian super-woman, I know when I can’t do something. I think you should take over the driving.” She arched her neck and winced as she wiggled her fingers to get feeling back into them. “I had three short detours off-road and the rough conditions took all my upper body strength.” She shifted the car into neutral and set the handbrake.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” He grabbed her hands. Turning them over, he stared at the livid red creases in the palms from where she’d held on to the steering wheel with a death-like grip. He muttered several pithy curses as he brushed kisses over the angry-looking welts. “Fuck, baby, you’re already bruising.”
“I’m fine. You needed your rest, and I handled it. Problem with that?” She arched a brow, daring him to belittle her efforts to carry her weight on the mission.
Risto shook his head, a bemused look on his face. Drawing her to him, his hand firmly on the nape of her neck, he kissed her. Moaning, she leaned over the center console into the kiss, her arms twining around his neck. She groaned deep in her throat as the kiss turned from sweet to heated and hungry.
After what seemed like minutes, he pulled away. “In case I forget to tell you later, you’re a wonderful partner. Any other woman would’ve complained about … well, everything.”
“I’m not a complainer.” Whining had never gotten a job done and was a waste of time. She leaned her forehead against his. “I won’t say I’m not scared, because I am.”
“Callie…”
She brushed her mouth over his to halt his words. “Shh, let me finish. I’m far less scared than if I’d had to do this on my own. What helps keep the fear manageable is doing the things I can to carry my weight. Just driving kept me from thinking too much.”
“I understand. I’ll try to keep you involved. But if you don’t tell me when something is hurting, I’ll paddle that sweet butt.” He nipped her lower lip. “Understood?” She nodded. Risto smiled and rubbed his nose over hers. “Once we get under way, your next duty will be to call Tweeter and let him know we are now on Plan C.”
“Is the safe house another finca?”
“No, the coastline of Panama in that area is very rugged. It’s a small, rehabilitated Spanish fortress overlooking the Caribbean which we share with the US Military and several private security organizations. There’s just enough flat space to land a small jet. We use it as a base for fighting drugs and hostage rescue in the region.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” She unlocked the car in preparation to changing places with Risto.
“And you’ll forget about it once we leave it. This is black ops stuff, baby. The fortress is vital to stopping drugs from moving north through Panama and is operated with the full knowledge and cooperation of the Panamanian government. They realized a long time ago they couldn’t police the area for drug smuggling so they allowed the US and chosen private companies, SSI being one of them, to do the job.”
She nodded. She’d known SSI worked for foreign governments from time-to-time. She exited the car. The light rain had turned to a heavy mist. The air was saturated, all thick and steamy. She felt as if she’d stepped into a steam bath. Risto waited by the passenger door and lifted her into the vehicle. He grabbed another quick kiss, then buckled her in and closed her door.
When he got into the driver’s seat, she asked, “Do we have enough gas to get where we’re going?”
“Yeah. That fill-up when we ate lunch helped and I have four gallons of gas in the back of the Rover. As long as we don’t have to take too many detours off the plotted route, we’ll have fuel to spare.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know.” She pulled the satellite phone from the charger in the console between them. “I’ll call Tweeter now. Anything I should tell him other than go to Plan C?”
“No and no chitty-chatting. While I’m pretty sure the sat phone is as secure as it can get, you never know who at NSA might be listening and to whom they might be selling info.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? Why would we be concerned about NSA listening in on our transmissions?”
Risto took the car off-road and was silent for several minutes as he negotiated a couple of deeply rutted, washed-out areas just off the main highway. “There’s a traitor high up in the DOD selling out US military and private security operatives doing work for NCS. Keely discovered him while she was working on a project for NSA. She had to go to South America to warn Tweeter and that’s how she met Ren.”
“Keely told me about it right after she got married. But I thought the traitor had gone under. You mean he’s still causing trouble?”
“Yeah.”
“You think this traitor has someone listening to all SSI transmissions over the NSA satellites. Why would a traitor to the US care about a private hostage rescue mission?”
Risto shot her a glance. “Money. I’m sure Cruz has made it clear to all and sundry by now he’ll pay for information about you—and if not you, for the DVD I stole. We know the traitor has serious connections to the South American drug trade and the terrorist activity in Colombia. He sells intel to all sides. He also likes to cause SSI problems. This fucker doesn’t like us at all. We’ve curtailed or sabotaged his lines of communication—and put a serious damper on his commerce stream.”
“Scum-sucking bastard.” She viciously punched buttons on the phone. “One more asshole I can help Keely and Tweeter put away, well, that is, if Ren agrees to take me on at SSI. There’ll be money trails—there are always money trails.” She spoke into the phone. “Go to Plan C.” She listened to Tweeter’s response and looked at Risto. She covered the mouthpiece. “He wants to know the time table.”
Risto grimaced. “Right now it’s fluid. Tell him we’ll contact him when we know better.”
She nodded and uncovered the speaker. “We’ll get back to you on that.” She punched the off-button and put the phone back in its charger. “Extra batteries?”
“In my backpack.” He patted her knee. “We’re well supplied. Conn and I planned on the potentiality of Plan C. We won’t use the phone unless we need to. Its feed is off NSA satellites through Keely’s contract work so we should have access throughout the Darien.”
Callie wrinkled her nose as she thought things through. “We need to let Keely know that it’s possible her traitor sold info to Cruz. She can back trace the transmissions made about this mission. If there is chatter lying outside of normal channels, she can set up a trap so we can obtain the IP address of the NSA computer used. If we can pinpoint the leak in the NSA we could follow it back to the DOD traitor.”
“They tried that route already.” He rubbed her leg. “The leak is as shifty as the traitor. They found the monitoring of SSI was done on several different computers, all of which were used by multiple NSA analysts.”
“Okay. Then who in the DOD has the authority to command NSA monitoring of SSI transmissions and to send Ren and the guys to that fake meeting in Argentina? Not many people in the DOD have that kind of authority to influence the NCS hiring of private security organizations and sending them on covert ops. I mean, NCS is part of the CIA and not even under direct DOD authority.”
“It has to be someone high up in the US intelligence community. Keely and Ren think they have it narrowed down to four or five people. But since the bastard has laid low since Ren and Keely’s baby was born, they haven’t gotten any other data to help pin him down. Keely has her trapping program running 24/7.”
“Well, he’s active now. Keely needs to know what we suspect.”
“It can wait, Callie. The data will still be there, right?”
“Yeah.” She yawned and jiggled her hands, massaging them to get the stiffness and soreness out. Risto’s rumbling snarl had her looking at him sideways. His gaze fixed on her hands and not the treacherous road. “Just stretching them out, Marine. Eyes on
the road.”
“Little liar.” He shifted his narrow-eyed scrutiny back on the sorry excuse for a local connector road. “Check the first aid kit out for some pain relievers.”
“I have some in my tote.” She retrieved her bag from the floor of the back seat, found the ibuprofen and swallowed a couple dry. After putting the bottle away, she pulled out a small bottle of lotion and poured some on her sore palms and massaged the cream in, then stored that bottle also. She tucked the tote next to her legs. The ladies Ruger was in the side, zippered pocket; she wanted it within reach in case they ran into trouble. She looked out the window at the thick greenery as it passed and yawned several times in a row. “Not sure why I’m so sleepy.”
“Stress and not enough rest.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Take another nap. Things will get rough later once we abandon the Rover and have to hoof it to the riverside village to pick up our next ride. Plus, we’ll be camping out tonight—and will need to take watches. Get as much sleep as you can now.”
“What about you?” His look of shock at her concern hit her hard. Tears formed in her eyes and she quickly turned away so he wouldn’t notice them. Hadn’t anyone ever taken care of him before? Ever worried about him?
“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to take care of me, Callie.”
Like hell I don’t. Even if she weren’t so attracted to him, she’d still take care of him. He was risking his life to get her away from Cruz. The least she could do was assure he got rest and carry her own weight on the trail. Maybe she wasn’t an ex-special ops marine, but she knew how to nurture males. She turned back and considered Risto as he concentrated on the track masquerading as a road. He was strong, courageous and so alone. She’d never seen a man in more need of nurturing than Risto. She fell asleep with her gaze fixed on his strong profile.
* * * *
Rescue Day Two, on the Atrato River.
Risto propelled the piragua forward and away from some vegetative detritus clogging up the river. The long pole used to steer the flat-bottomed boat had proven to be too unwieldy for Callie who was used to canoe paddles. She sat in the back of the boat with a shorter pole which she used to shove the boat away from the shore when the river narrowed.
Aware she was sensitive about carrying her weight, he hadn’t voiced his relief that she couldn’t handle the long dugout pole. He admired that she knew her strengths and weaknesses: she’d admitted within the first half mile on the river she didn’t have the strength or the knack. It took a lot of man-handling to keep the boat in the middle of the river. The current moved steadily and, at times, swiftly, to the sea, but with eddies and submerged debris, the passage was fraught with danger. At this point of the Atrato, and because they were in the rainy season, the river was extremely navigable with the shores almost twenty feet from the middle. Later, they might have to get out of the boat in order to ford areas of the river’s tributaries where silt and plants grew thickly.
Callie had proven she was strong enough to handle the weight of the dugout by helping him launch it at the small village where they’d picked up the boat. Fording, if required, would be easy.
“Do you think Cruz realizes we’ve headed into the Darien yet?”
Risto checked her face for any signs of additional stress and was relieved to see only mild interest. In her waterproof poncho and floppy hat, she looked like a jungle queen set off against a backdrop of the thickly treed shoreline. Her gaze met his and she smiled. She was enjoying the journey. He hoped to hell she’d still enjoy it once they stopped for the night. He hadn’t decided whether to anchor in the middle of the river or attempt to find a secure shelter on the thickly vegetated shore. There were many abandoned river houses on stilts, left vacant when the local farmers fled the guerillas and drug dealers who’d taken over this area of northwestern Columbia. Even if he could find such a shelter, he wasn’t sure it would be any safer than taking turns sleeping and keeping watch in the boat. Plus, the middle of the river in a boat kept them away from the insects which swarmed the shores.
“Risto? Something wrong?” Callie leaned forward as if she wanted to touch him.
“No. I was thinking about tonight and where we should stop.” He looked up at the overcast sky and the clouds which had chosen not to drop their moisture for the time being. “We have about two more hours of light with the cloud cover being as thick as it is. And, as for your question about Cruz, no, I don’t think he knows yet. But someone in the village where we bought the boat will talk, however innocently, to the wrong person and he’ll know soon. We’re still in his paramilitary area.”
She nodded and grimaced. “Yeah, not too many tall, blonde norteamericana females running around the Atrato River. You, they wouldn’t even remark on—your tanned skin, hair and eyes are dark enough to pass as a native.”
“Don’t worry about it. As you said before, we know where we’re going, he doesn’t.” He steered the boat. The rhythmic movements were soothing, as was the constant hum of the marshy jungles surrounding them. “Our biggest danger could be Ungaía since it’s a fairly large town and has some of the mod cons such as a residence hotel and some small restaurants.”
“Then we should give that place a pass.” Her words were spoken in a firm and calm tone.
“We’ll stop if it looks quiet. SSI’s local contacts will let us know if Cruz or Paco have had anyone asking questions. If we can get a motor for this boat, we could be at the coast three times faster. Plus, after spending the night in the rainforest, you’ll want a shower and some real food.” He’d picked up enough local fruit that, along with the MREs Conn had procured for them and any game or fish he could catch, they wouldn’t starve, no matter where they stopped.
“Risto, look at me.” He looked up. She had a fierce look in her eye. “I’m not a hothouse flower. I may not have done this kind of camping in a while, but I did accompany my brothers on extended camping trips to Montana and the North Woods in Minnesota. I can handle this. So, if you don’t feel Ungaía is safe, we don’t stop there. We stay on the river and it takes what it takes to reach the coast. I’m far more concerned about Cruz catching up with us than roughing it with heat, bugs, and wild animals.”
“Good.”
“So? What are the choices for camp tonight? Do we need to stop to build a shelter? There’s definitely enough wood and palm leaves to build a snug one.” She gestured to the thickly treed shores. “Although we might have to build tree houses, the land looks saturated on both sides.”
“We have two choices: middle of the river or taking over an abandoned river house.”
She scrunched her nose. “Well, the problems camping on the shore are the flooding, bugs and wild animals. On the river, there’s the danger of the anchor not holding and getting swept away if the current increases because of the weather behind us.”
“And the river anchorage also has the problem of a guerilla or drug smuggler coming along and seeing us.”
“Yeah, they’d have outboard motors and lights.” She stayed silent for a second or two. He wondered what brainstorm she’d come up with. “We should’ve gotten torches from the natives. Don’t they use them for night fishing?”
Risto laughed. “I thought of that but ruled it out. Too many dangers on the river at night. I can always rig up something if we need to move fast to stay ahead of hostiles, but I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“If the river is dangerous at night, won’t it be just as dangerous if we’re stuck in the middle of it?”
“Yeah, but we’d also be in the boat and all packed and ready to go.” Risto poled away from a log lying ahead. “Staying on shore takes making-and-breaking camp time.”
“Time we could use to be down river and closer to the coast. Let’s just take it as it comes.” She arched her back and moaned. “I hate just sitting. I’m really ticked off that I can’t handle that damn pole thing.”
His lips twitched. She looked like a grumpy kitten. “You’re doing an important job. I have to pay attention and make
sure we don’t get caught on debris. While I’m doing that, I can’t watch the shores for trouble.”
Callie’s face broke into a wide smile, the smile which had sold millions of dollars of cosmetics and designer clothes. He eyed the Ruger which was now holstered under her left armpit. Somehow, Conn, or maybe Berto, had found her a shoulder harness which could be adapted to fit her. He shook his head and silently snorted back a laugh. If her fans could see her now, dressed in jungle chic with a gun snuggled against her perfect breast and a wicked knife sheathed along her thigh. She was a cross between Lara Croft and Sheena of the Jungle.
“What were you thinking?”
“What?”
“That look on your face,” she prompted, “what thoughts made you look that way?”
“How did I look?”
She bit her lower lip and he almost groaned. He wanted to bite that lip and other various places on her body, then soothe them with his tongue.
“Happy. Peaceful. Like a man who had found his place in the world and knew it.” She waved an arm around. “You like the jungle?”
What should he say? He hated jungles. He did fine in them, but as she did, he preferred cold northern woods like the ones surrounding his home in the U.P. He couldn’t admit he was thinking about her and that she was every man’s, most especially his, idea of a perfect woman. And the fact that she was also a great companion for an adventure was icing on an already delicious cake.
“Risto?”
“I was thinking about you.” He went with honest. Something deep inside him wanted her to know how he felt.
“Oh?” She studied his face then said, “Thanks. I like being with you, too. Even though it is in a hot, humid jungle.” She sighed. “Want some water? You’re doing all the work and must be sweating off all your body fluids.” She dug in the packs at her feet and brought out one of the canteens. She moved one seat toward him, carefully balancing her weight and barely rocking the boat. She had a great sense of balance, probably from learning to walk on those high-heels models always wore. “Here take this. And here are some electrolyte tabs. I don’t want you getting sick on me.”
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