Free Cold Day in Hell by Monette Michaels Page B

a danger, though he nodded casually at another former marine who, he knew, was now a National Clandestine Service operative. You couldn’t throw a knife anywhere in the major Colombian cities without hitting US
    military or intelligence operatives. The country was a hot spot ready to blow with just the right spark.
    Risto smiled. “ Gracias , Rosa.”
    “ De nada , Risto.” Rosa smiled. “We are always happy to see you.” He helped Callie slide into the booth, taking her tote bag from her and placing it under the table with his, then he slid in next to her. She was extremely pale under her light tan. Her gray eyes were clouded with fatigue and an over-abundance of stress.
    Despite that, she still looked as sexy as hell, wearing skin-tight, well-washed jeans and a navy blue, form-fitting tank top with no bra; a gauzy, pale blue, long-sleeved shirt was tied around her waist in case the rain brought cooler temps later. Without prompting, she’d left all her sandals back at the room and wore practical ankle boots just in case they had to trek into the jungle.
    The longer he was around her, the more he admired her. Of course, his little brain just fucking wanted her. Something primitive in him needed to mark her so that any man seeing her would know she belonged to him. He shook his head ruefully. Thank God the Marines had trained him to use his larger brain at all times and that organ counseled patience and restraint. But it was damn difficult. Something about Callie touched him in ways he wasn’t familiar with.
    “What do you want to drink, sweetheart?” He picked up her left hand. It trembled slightly. Hunger? Fatigue? Fear? Or, most likely all of the above. He closed his hand around hers and brought it to his lips, kissing the ring she’d dug out of her purse and put on her finger before leaving their suite of rooms. It had been her mother’s wedding band, she told him, and she never traveled without it.
    He leaned over and brushed a kiss over her ear. “Guy across the way—end of the bar?” She casually glanced in the direction he indicated and nodded. “He’s a good guy, former marine, as is the bar owner. If Cruz follows us here and shit happens, run to them.
    Tell them who you are and ask for protection. Got it?” Her eyes narrowed. Anger colored her cheeks as she shook her head rapidly. He touched his forehead to hers. “Got it?” She stared at him for several seconds then nodded, her expression still rebellious.
    “Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose then looked up at the patiently waiting Rosa.

    “Sorry for the wait, Rosa.” He looked at Callie. “What do you want to drink, sweetheart?”
    “Um, the house Sangria. Lots of fruit and ice. I’m not much of a drinker.” She shot the hostess a radiant smile, but her trembling body told him she was still upset by his instructions. Bless her, she still managed to put on a show.
    He placed an arm around Callie’s shoulders and idly stroked the exposed skin. She was soft and smelled so sweet and feminine. It was hard to imagine her trekking the wilds of Colombia. He would do all he could to avoid that happenstance.
    “I’ll take an Iguana Roja, por favor, Rosa.” It was the local microbrew on tap. He’d had it before and it was good, refreshing. The day had turned even more humid, more miserable. It would rain before nightfall. September was still the rainy season. The forecast predicted an all-day rain for tomorrow. The good news was the rain would make it harder for Cruz to track them. The bad news was the roads would be treacherous, making their travel more complicated than the norm—and the norm in Colombia was pretty darn fucked up to begin with.
    Rosa placed menus in front of them. “I’ll get your drinks. The special is fish tacos with fried plantains, rice and beans. I’ll be your waitress this evening, also.” She winked.
    She knew what he did for a living; she’d made the assumption he was on the job.
    “That sounds good to