Cold Day In Hell Read online

  Stopping a few feet from her, he sent her an imperious look, one dark masculine brow arched. It was a look she recognized, her father had often worn a similar look with her and her brothers; it said “what the fuck are you waiting on?”

  Callie let out a sigh, forced her trembling lips into a wide smile and ran into his arms. “Risto! You made it!”

  She buried her face against his throat, getting a whiff of citrus and clean male sweat. Her arms went around his neck in a vice-like grip; his went around her waist and back, taking her weight easily. He murmured something unintelligible against her hair. He lifted her until her feet dangled several inches off the ground, then swung her around, putting on a show for the crew, the lookee-loos, and Cruz’s men who were slowly getting up. More likely, his act allowed him to continue to check for danger. Either way, the crowd seemed impressed. Callie knew she was.

  Risto rubbed his beard-roughened jaw over her hair and spoke in a low tone, his breath wafting over her ear. “You okay, Ms. Meyers?” The rumble of his voice sent a frisson of sexual awareness down her spine, the sensations settling in long unused female parts. Her clit throbbed, matching the rapid beat of her heart. God, what a time for my libido to wake up. Right kind of man. Wrong time and place.

  She angled her face then brushed her lips over his. Her tongue licked a small scar marring his upper lip. He started at the touch, exhaling roughly, his breath smelling of mint and coffee.

  “Call me Callie.” She whispered the words over his sculpted mouth, the tip of her tongue returning to trace the scar once more. His hands tightened on her body. “After all, we’re supposed to be married. And, yes, I’m fine, scared, but fine. The bastard … well, let’s say he has a sick way of courting me. His goons have kept their distance. But he…” A slight hitch in her voice, she stifled a sob threatening to erupt. She refused to let go of the control she’d kept on her emotions, the danger wasn’t over yet.

  He pulled her closer, so close her breasts brushed his chest. Her nipples pebbled from the casual touching. “Shh. It’s okay. Keely and Tweeter fully prepped me.” He nuzzled her ear. She shivered. “You did the right thing in calling them. Cruz would never have let you leave.”

  “I know … my brothers?” Her stomach clenched. She’d told Keely Cruz had threatened to kidnap her brothers if she didn’t come to him voluntarily. Her friend had promised to get them to safety. “They’re safe?” He nodded, his cheek brushing hers. She whimpered her relief, tears threatened to swamp her eyes.

  Risto muttered a low, rumbling “fuck” and allowed her body to slide down his until her feet touched the ground. He kept a supporting arm around her until she got her balance. She hadn’t realized how much the last two days of stress and worry had taken out of her.

  He brushed his lips over her cheek, kissing away tears she hadn’t even realized had fallen. He massaged her waist and back, soothing her. He played the role of a loving husband well. “Tweeter took them to Camp Lejeune. Colonel Walsh and his marines will protect them. Keely wanted to go with Tweeter, but Ren threatened to tie her butt to the bed if she dared to leave Sanctuary with the baby.” Ren and Keely’s son Riley was a little over three months old.

  An inappropriate giggle erupted at the image Risto’s words projected. “Sounds as if Keely has found herself a man who can handle her.” She and Keely had been tomboys growing up. It would take quite a man to tame her friend. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She punctuated her words with kisses to his chin, jaw and mouth. Suddenly, her knees gave way and she inhaled sharply as her vision dimmed.

  Risto moved to catch her. “Stay with me, Callie.” He swung her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

  Even securely held, the world spun for a few more seconds. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, before opening them to his concerned gaze. “Sorry. I haven’t slept much. Too much adrenaline. The heat. The humidity. No lunch.”

  He cursed, a litany of profanity the likes of which she hadn’t heard since she’d stopped living on marine bases. She felt as if she’d come home.

  Risto turned his back on the interested bystanders and began to walk. “Hell, woman, you can’t do an op on an empty stomach.”

  “Cruz put me off my feed—and Evan has only one speed and that’s fast forward.”

  “Fuck ’em both.” His jaw clenched. “Excuse my language.”

  “No worries. I’ve heard and said worse.” His snort of disbelief had her grinning. He’d learn soon enough. She might be a supermodel, but she swore like a marine and had often shocked the models and crews on photo shoots. Looking over Risto’s shoulder, she found the astonished gazes of the photo crew and the hostile ones of Cruz’s muscle. She returned her focus to Risto’s sharply angled jaw line. “Where are we going? I don’t think Evan was done for the day.”

  “You’re done.” He headed for the narrow path which led to the parking area. “We’re going to your hotel.”

  The way he said “hotel” as if it were a nasty word had her narrowing her eyes. Something bothered him about the hotel. Had he tried to get into her room and they denied him? His next words negated that thought.

  “I stopped by and put my gear in your casita and scouted around some.”

  Scouted around for what? She mentally shrugged. She’d find out once they got back to her, now their, suite of rooms.

  “Okay. Can we get something to eat? I’m starving.” He nodded. She wiggled. “Put me down. I can walk. I’m too heavy to carry.”

  “No.” At her gasp and continued attempts to get down, he added, “Stop it! You fucking almost fainted. And you don’t weigh all that much. You could add a few pounds.” He hugged her more tightly against his body and continued to stride straight toward the paseo currently blocked by her erstwhile guards.

  Risto swore foully, this time in idiomatic and very filthy Spanish. Loosely translated, he ordered the sons of bitches out of the way or he’d gut them and then drop them over the ancient wall to the rocky beach for the gulls to peck out their entrails. The thugs moved.

  “Holy crap,” she breathed against his neck, “effective threat.”

  He peered at her through thick lashes, his eyes glinted darkly. “You understood all that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Shit.” His mouth thinned and the muscles in his jaw tensed. “I apologize for…”

  She placed her fingers over his lips. “Stop apologizing. I’ve wanted to let loose with some of the profanities my dad used. But since I couldn’t follow up the words with the actions, I kept my mouth shut. It’s been a real pain holding back.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, where would a lady such as you learn to swear in idiomatic Spanish?”

  “Marine bases around the United States and the world.” She smiled. “The best education a kid could get. I was a horrible tomboy … still am.”

  “You don’t look like one.”

  “Appearances are often deceiving.” She fluttered her lashes.

  Risto snorted and shook his head.

  “Calista, dear.” Evan’s trilling tones came from behind them.

  “Stop, please.” Callie patted Risto’s chest. He frowned, but nodded and turned to meet Evan. “Let me down.” He refused even after she pinched his arm. Solid muscle that arm. “Yes, Evan? I thought we were done for the day. Risto and I haven’t seen each other for four whole days.”

  Her pretend husband played his part by holding her against him with one arm, then turning her head for a searing hot, but far too short, kiss. She licked her lips, tasting him—mint and coffee and heat.

  “Here’s your tote bag, dear girl.” Evan grinned and handed her the large, leather bag which held all her important papers—she hadn’t trusted Cruz not to break into her rooms and steal her passport, traveler’s checks and credit cards. “Ah, newly wedded bliss.” Cruz’s goons had followed and stood off to the side, interested observers. One had his cell phone out and was, she bet, making a report to his boss. “I guess this means you a
nd Risto don’t want to have dinner with me and Chad this evening?”

  “Callie hasn’t had lunch yet, Evan.” Risto’s voice held anger and a note of chastisement. “I’m taking her to get cleaned up and then I plan to feed her. Maybe we can meet later for drinks after she has a nap.” The way Risto said “nap” was clearly meant to indicate to all who listened he intended to be in that bed with her and they wouldn’t be sleeping.

  Evan had the grace to blush. “Oh, yes, please take care of our girl. And, definitely … a drink … later. Chad would love to see you again. He was so-o-o upset you two lovebirds eloped. He so wanted to plan a wedding for our Calista.”

  “I didn’t want to wait for the hassle of a wedding.” Callie stroked Risto’s jaw. “I didn’t want him to get away.”

  Risto coughed. “Callie tells me I have you and Chad to thank for keeping the Latin lovers away from her.”

  “No problem. Glad you’re here though.” Evan shot a nasty look at Cruz’s men. “Some people can’t take a hint that our lovely Calista is unavailable.” He turned his back on their unwanted escorts. “Calista, dear one, we can probably wrap up the shoot tomorrow. We’ll be doing some jungle shots—in the national park just outside of town.”

  “That’s great,” Callie said. “You’ll have to tell us exactly where when we meet for drinks. Risto will drive me to the shoot.”

  “Sounds like a plan. See you two later.” Evan saluted and walked back to the tent where the crew was packing things up.

  “Señorita Meyers.” One of the thugs must have grown an extra set of balls, because he approached them, fingering a large knife. “You will please stay. Señor Cruz is coming. He is not happy.” The man glared. If looks could kill, Risto would’ve been dead on the ground, a bloody mess.

  Before she could take the cretin to task, Risto jumped in. “I’m her husband, pendejo. Señor Cruz can fuck himself. Sorry, honey.”

  She kissed his chin. “No problem, tiger. I told you the man was persistent.” Risto snarled, sounding very much like the predatory cat she’d just named him. He turned his back on Cruz’s messenger boys and continued up the path toward the parking area. Either Risto was insane or had really big balls. She would never have turned her back on armed men. “Um, they’re following us.” She couldn’t keep the shakiness out of her voice.

  “Yeah, I know. Once I lock you in the Hummer, I’ll take care of them.” His lips twisted into a nasty grin. Big cojones it was then. She was glad he was on her side. “Those two won’t touch you.”

  “Well, I knew that—they wouldn’t dare. Cruz wants me alive and unharmed.” Not quite true. She had bruises on her ass and hips from where the bastard had pulled her to him when she’d tried to leave him in the hotel bar. “I’m more worried about you. I didn’t think … Cruz will have you killed … he won’t fight fair.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Better men have tried. I fight to win.” He stopped at a black Hummer with tinted windows and held her one-armed against his body as he punched in a key code. “Now, let’s get you inside while I go take care of the trash.”

  Risto lifted her so she could scramble into the passenger seat. Waves of heat came off the dash and black leather upholstery. She flinched, the seat burning her skin through the thin fabric of her tank top and skirt. He frowned. “Fuck. You can’t stay locked up inside a closed vehicle—it’s over ninety degrees in there and like a damn sauna.”

  The man was a natural protector like her dad and Colonel Walsh. Damn, she loved marines. And even though he was an ex-marine, her dad had said “once a marine, always a marine, baby girl.”

  “Give me the keys.” She wiggled her fingers. He handed them over. “I’ll start the car and get it cooled off.”

  He swept a calloused finger over her heat-flushed cheek. “You need to eat and hydrate now. There are protein bars in the end pocket of my duffle in the back seat. Eat one to tide you over until I can get you a real meal.” He pointed to the bottle of water in the cup holder. “Drink that. You need the water more than you need to worry about my germs. Got it?”

  “Yeah, thanks, and I’m not worried about your germs.”

  “Get a bar now, Callie.”

  She scrunched her nose but decided it wasn’t worth arguing about his autocratic tone at this point—plus she was starving. She turned and pulled a peanut-butter-flavored bar out of his duffle, unwrapped it and took a bite.

  He grunted. “Now, lock this door. Don’t open it for anyone. If trouble comes, lean on the horn.”

  “What trouble?” She mumbled around a sticky bite of the chewy bar. She grabbed his water bottle and took a deep drink, helping the dry granola down her stress-constricted throat.

  His lips quirked into a satisfied smile at her actions. “Remember? The badass said Cruz is on his way.”

  She swallowed another gulp of water then gasped. “Gee, you must think I’m stupid. This is…”

  “This is outside your comfort zone. It is for most people.” He leaned in and tapped the tip of her nose. “That’s why you have me. If you do need to leave the vehicle, meet me at the cantina across the square. Sit in the back and try to blend in. I’ll look there first before I start tearing the old city apart.”

  He turned to leave. She touched his arm. Flexing under her fingers, his skin was hot, hair-roughened, covering tight, steely muscles. “Be careful… Come back to me.”

  His lips twisted into a feral smile. “I’m planning on it.” Risto shut the door and stood there until she locked it.

  Callie watched him stalk toward the last sighting of his intended prey. He was all fluid muscle and lethal intent. She had no doubts the two men would regret pulling guard-the-supermodel duty today. Sinking low in the seat, she resumed eating and drinking and kept a wary eye out for Cruz.

  Chapter Two

  Risto wanted to take out Cruz’s muscle: first, as a message to Cruz and, second, because they had frightened Callie. Bastards. He had to give her credit, she was holding it together better than most of the women he’d had to rescue from a hostage situation. Despite her current freedom of movement, this was a hostage rescue.

  Cruz had the rep of taking what and whom he wanted and to hell with what anyone else said. The Colombian government was toothless and would do nothing to stop the para-leader from kidnapping a visitor to their country; they hadn’t stopped the man in the past even when he’d kidnapped and held fellow Colombians. The government had good reasons for their lack of action: Cruz commanded a large number of well-trained and better-equipped men than the Colombian army.

  SSI had gone up against Cruz’s forces before. Although Risto had been in the country before as a marine on drug enforcement missions, he had only two previous visits to the region as a new member of the SSI team. From having studied all the case reports on previous SSI missions in the region, Risto knew this wasn’t Cruz’s first go-round as a kidnapper of women for his sexual use. SSI and several other private security organizations had documented dozens of similar cases. Not all the women had been recovered. They were either dead or, as rumor told, sold into slavery in the Middle East. The ones rescued had shown signs of physical and psychological abuse and drug addiction. Cruz had extremely sadistic sexual appetites.

  Risto fisted his hands. The bastard would never touch a hair on Callie’s head and live. Taking a deep breath, he throttled back the rage threatening to consume him. He relaxed his hands and looked at them with a sense of disbelief.

  God! He’d held and kissed Calista Meyers, world famous model. His buddies in his old Recon team would shit bricks if they learned of it. Was there a straight man on the planet that hadn’t lusted after Calista? Probably not. He’d done so for over five years. He still had a copy of the first magazine on which she’d been the featured swimsuit model. She’d been in every annual swimsuit issue since and on the cover twice more. All his issues were well-thumbed, and Callie had played a role in many of his favorite fantasies. He’d never dreamed he’d meet her, let alone kiss her.


  Callie was his idea of woman-personified. In flats, her head easily rested on his shoulder. She was all lean muscle covered by satiny soft, creamy skin with curves in all the right places. He could attest to the fact her breasts were full and firm; braless, they’d brushed his chest and arm several times. Her ass was two sweetly rounded and firm handfuls. Her eyes were the color of pale gray pearls rimmed in black. He could lose himself in the depths of those eyes.

  And he damn well didn’t ever want to see fear in them again, not like what he’d seen when she first ran into his arms.

  But it was her hair which had fueled many of his sexual fantasies. Her famous hair was a hundred shades of blonde from light to dark and hung in loosely tousled waves halfway down her back. His fantasies had him fisting her hair as he took her from behind, his cock entering her pussy as he watched her mouth-watering ass meet his thrusts. He had images of her hair veiling his thighs as she sucked him off. Now that he knew how her hair felt—like the finest silk—and smelled—like flowers and female musk—he at least planned to indulge and touch it whenever possible.

  She was a hundred times sexier in person—and so not for him. Not even for a one-night, get-it-out-of-his-system, living-all-his-fantasies bout of hard fucking. He couldn’t make a move towards her, because she was, first of all, a client and, second, the Walsh kids’ childhood friend. If Ren didn’t kill him, Keely or Tweeter would. On top of those more than excellent reasons, her deceased dad had been a marine’s marine, a hero killed in the field, decorated out the wazoo. Semper fi. She was practically family.

  Of course, none of those reasons would stop him if she hinted she’d be open to twisting in the sheets with him. But that would never happen. Tomboy declaration aside, she was a lady from her sweet-smelling hair to her dainty polished toes.

  Whereas he was a rough, scarred, mostly uncivilized former marine and a loner who’d spent most of his adult years in deep recon, living off the land with mostly himself for company. He was a stone-cold predator, albeit an authorized one.