Dare Me, page 2
"No, sir. Other than a mildly sprained wrist and severe insect bites, both Miss Cross and the boy are, miraculously, fine. The child had a broken ankle. Miss Cross carried him to safety."
Raven thought for a sec there that he was going to pass out with relief. A sprained wrist? Only Dani. The
18
woman walked under a magic umbrella. The only screwup she'd ever made in her life was marrying him. And she'd rectified that mistake PDQ, or was about to.
T minus 1day:13hours:01minute:08seconds
The last, the very last thing Danica had wanted was to get back on a plane. Fortunately, she'd been doped to the gills with some very good stuff. When they carried her on board, she immediately fell into a dreamless sleep. She finally woke to find herself in an opulent bedroom, with a woman in a nurse's uniform sitting beside the bed.
She blinked, but didn't bother moving. She could feel every muscle and joint in her body protesting the exertion of her eyelashes moving upward. "Where—" she croaked.
The woman immediately jumped up and brought her a glass of water and a straw. "You are in San Cristobal, Miss Cross."
Danica frowned as she took small sips of the cool water. The last thing she remembered was some man in a suit looming over the gurney in the ER. She'd thought he was Raven, and she'd been so happy, so stupidly relieved to see him—and then . . .
"San Cristobal? What am I doing back here?" Had the crash been a dream? How weird. She'd always thought Raven would die in the line of duty. How ironic if she'd died first instead. In a plane crash. The thing he feared most. Nice knowing fate had a sense of humor.
The brain fog lifted, and numerous aches and pains made themselves felt all over her body as she remembered. The terrifying fall from the sky. The little boy in her arms. The hideous screams and groans of the people and the shriek of metal being torn asunder. No dream. All too real.
Mostly Danica remembered the vile smell of jet fuel and the sudden realization that she wasn't dead. Yes, that was what she remembered most.
Being alive.
And very, very itchy. The mosquitoes in the Everglades had been the size of hummingbirds. Vampire hummingbirds. Her arm itched so badly she just had to move to scratch. It was an effort, but she managed to connect nails with . . . eeew! Her skin was slathered with some disgusting sticky gunk. If it was itch medicine, it was a sad disappointment.
Had she asked the woman what she was doing back in San Cristobal when she'd only left there— how long ago? Frowning gave her a headache, and she drifted back to sleep without having a good scratch or getting any answers.
They had Danica sequestered on President Palacios's estate. A lush, fifty-acre parklike setting on the outskirts of San Cristobal. It had taken Raven five hours to get past the phalanx of security at the gate, and that was only with U.S. intervention because he'd called in a few chits to keep from killing some-one to gain entrance.
Five hours, only to end up pacing this overblown, frigging chichi sitting room on the ground floor for almost an hour before a tall, gaunt man in a well-fitting black suit entered. The guy was flanked by six armed guards in starched navy blue uniforms.
Raven didn't give a flying fuck who this guy was or how many gun-toting toy soldiers he had in his wake. With each minute he'd been forced to wait his temper had climbed. If somebody didn't produce Danica real soon things were going to get ugly.
The doctor in Miami had bartered Danica's X-rays in exchange for a shower and a change of clothing. Raven might smell better than he'd done all those hours ago, but his temper was now riding an all-time high. "I want to see my wife. Now," Raven said flatly, toning fully from his position at the window overlooking the circular driveway and a fountain grand enough for an Italian piazza and tacky enough for Las Vegas.
"Your wife is in excellent hands, Mr. Raven." Rather than sit on one of the ugly-ass, shiny, cat-pee-yellow sofas, the man changed direction and strode forward, all military bearing and officious pomp, fake smile in place. "Good day. I am Edgardo Villalba-Vera, chief of security for El Presidente. How may I be of help?"
"You weren't listening, pal. Unless you want me
to tear this damn place apart, take me to my wife. Pronto."
"I understand that you're very upset—"
"Man, I'm way past upset and smack-dab in the middle of homicidal. My wife. Now."
"El medico is with her at the moment. Her nurse will alert me when he has departed. I will then have you escorted to her suite."
Raven wasn't waiting one more minute. His need to see Dani—to touch her, to check and be sure she was whole and healthy—had become his driving force in the last twelve hours. "The FAA and the NTSB are looking for her," he told the a-hole tightly. "The authorities investigating the accident want to talk to her."
"She shall be made available as soon as she is well enough to have visitors."
Raven narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah? And just who is it who'll be deciding when Dani's 'well enough'?"
"Mr. Raven, I assure you . . ."
"No. I assure you. The Federal Aviation Administration and the National Transportation Safety Board don't consider themselves visitors, Ed."
Thin lips pinched, and something snapped to life in his dark eyes. "They do not have jurisdiction in San Cristobal, señor."
"Danica is an American citizen, so she's their jurisdiction—and she sure as hell is mine. And while we're at this private little get-to-know-you chat, what is she doing here, and by whose authority was she removed from the hospital in Miami?"
The man puffed himself up as importantly as he could before saying officiously, "Miss Cross saved El Presidente's only son, Rigo. He, accompanied by his father's most trusted security staff and many advisors, was on the Transair flight to Miami. All but your wife and El Presidente's precious only son were killed in the unfortunate accident last night. When I heard of the interest of your American press regarding the survivors of the crash, I took it upon myself to mobilize my staff and have both Miss Cross and Rigo returned immediately to the palace, where they would be under my protection."
"Yeah, well, I'll feel better when my wife is under my protection and in the hospital under a doctor's care."
"She is, senor," Villalba-Vera tried to placate him. "El Presidente's private physician is attending her as we speak. She is receiving the best of care, I assure you."
"Yeah? Well, I'd like to see that for myself. Let's go, pal." Raven stalked to the monstrous double doors, easily two stories high, and out into the marble vestibule beyond. He turned to look at the guy, who was walking swiftly to catch up. "Which way?" Damn place was probably fifty thousand square feet.
"If vou would but wait a m—"
But Raven wasn't waiting. He was tired of waiting. Hell, he'd been waiting for Danica for years in one way or another. He'd reached his saturation point. He charged across the ridiculously ornate entry hall blocking out the guy in mid bullshit.
"Hell with it." He took the red carpeted marble stairs two at a time, yelling at the top of his voice: "Danica? Where the hell are you? Dani, Goddamn it, answer me!"
T minus 1 day:12hours:48minutes:20seconds
Raven must've tried twenty doors before slamming open the one to a bedroom with a startled nurse who rose from her seat in alarm as he burst into the room. Ignoring both her wide-eyed fright and the army of soldiers behind him, Raven strode across the plush area rug and approached the bed.
He shut out the babble of voices behind him, his entire focus on the still form in the shadowed bed. Dani's back was to him, her shoulder and hip making barely a bump in the covers. He stood over her, every muscle and tendon, every nerve and cell in his body needing to touch her. Driven to examine her for himself, he stroked a finger gently down her cool cheek when what he needed to do was grab her up, strip her bare and check her over and over again to make sure she was truly one hundred percent okay.
She was asleep, curled on her side as usual, hand under her cheek. She'd wake up in the morning that way, sleeping on her left side. He'd slept on his right. In their three years of marriage, she'd been the last thing Raven had seen each night and his first image of the new day. A great life, he remembered. How had something so right gone so damned wrong? His chest squeezed tight as he sat beside her hip on the wide, king-sized bed and touched his palm to her silken shoulder.
Memories flooded him. They would wake up staring into each other's eyes. Then kiss lazily, then make love. Slowly, as they both surfaced into full awareness. It had been a helluva great way to start the day.
He missed her. Had missed her even before that last, final good-bye.
Her lightly tanned skin was covered with pink insect bites and shiny with some sort of salve. Ah, sweetheart. Not only had she survived a crashed plane in the Everglades, but survived dinosaur bug bites too. And while he sat there, staring at her beautiful face, he asked himself, what the hell happened to us? How could something so damn good turn to shit?
He slid the skinny lace strap of an unfamiliar white nightgown up her arm to her shoulder, fingers skim-ming her cool, satiny skin. "Dani, love," he said softly. "Wake up."
Long, dark lashes fluttered. She didn't open her eyes, but her lips curved in a small smile. "Jon." A whisper. A gift. Raven wanted to fall to his knees and bury his face in her silky black Cleopatra hair, to smell the familiar gardenia fragrance of her skin. Damn it. He needed her to open those baby blues and give him hell.
He needed all the chattering people bunched up behind him out of the damn room.
"Open your eyes, sweetheart," he said softly, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her cheek with fingers that shook. "I'm here to take you home."
Danica moaned softly, but didn't so much as stir. The small sound and unnatural stillness sent an un-expected chill up Raven's spine. If he'd been a dog, his hackles would've risen, his ears would be laid back, and he'd be growling low and deep in his throat.
He frowned. Something was way out of whack here. "Danica," he said briskly, giving her butt a shake. "Wake up. Now."
Five seconds response time. Nada. Keeping a possessive hand on her hip, he turned to the nurse hovering on the other side of the bed. Danica had always slept hard—but not this hard. "What," he asked the woman with lethal softness, "did you give her?"
The woman glanced toward the door. Translation from good old Ed, or permission to tell him—what?
"Save time." Raven said in fluent Spanish to Villalba-Vera. "Drug and dosage. Now." Moving his hand down the slope of her hip, he felt for Danica's bruised wrist, then rested two fingers lightly on her pulse. Slow. Too slow. And a breath shy of an even rhythm for a natural state of sleep.
"Nothing, señor," Mr. Chief of Security in his six-hundred-dollar suit said in barely accented English as he cautiously approached the bed, shaking his head of thick black razor-cut hair. "She sleeps a healing sleep, according to the specialist El Presidente brought specially to tend to her."
"Nothing, huh? Call the el doctoro back. I wanna talk to him myself. Better yet, I want my own doctor to take a look at her. Someone of my choosing."
"But of course." Edgardo Villalba-Vera inclined his head just enough to let his hair fall forward and then shift back neatly into place when he straightened. Conceited dick. "Anytime you like."
The guy was blowing smoke up his ass. It had taken Raven hours to get past the security at the gate, and he could normally talk a mink out of her coat. "Get that doctor back here. Now. And while you're at it—my bag's in the rental out there. Get someone to bring it up while I'm waiting."
Black brows rose. "Pardon me?"
"My bag. In the rental car. I'll be staying with my wife until we leave." And not letting her out of his sight for one second. Raven's bullshit antenna was up. Way up. This situation was all wrong. For whatever reason, these people were lying. They had drugged Dani. After he found out what, he wanted to know why.
Villalba-Vera shot a brief, speaking glance at him, hesitated a moment, then nodded to one of his men. "You are of course most welcome. I shall have a room prepare—"
"I'll be sleeping right here beside my wife." Where I belong, he added silently. Of course, when Danica woke up to find him back in her bed she might have a thing or two to say about it, but until then he was staying put. "Right now I'd like some private time with her. You can take Nurse Ratched with you. Knock when the doctor gets back."
The minute the room was cleared, Raven stood, stripped off his jacket and sat back down on the bed at Dani's hip. "I'm here, sweetheart. Open those eyes and tell me how you feel."
Her lashes fluttered. "Me—"
Frowning, he bent closer. "What, honey?"
"dica—"
Ah, hell, what was she trying to tell him?
"t-ed."
Me-dica-ted?
"Medicated? They're keeping you doped up?" "Mmm . . ."
"Damn it to hell." Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her to a nearby chair, then sat down, cradling his wife on his lap. Had she always felt this light?
This insubstantial? Her head flopped to his chest. "Stay with me, honey. Just stay with me. I'm here and I'm not leaving your side. Ever again."
She moaned and her lashes fluttered, showing a glimpse of her pretty blue eyes. Yeah, thought that would get your attention. "Rise and shine so you can tell me to go to hell. Followed by clueing me in on what the hell's going on around here."
She tried. He could see the struggle to swim through the drug-induced fog. Raven stroked her cheek, then gave it a few sharp taps with his fingertips. Really hated to do it, but damn it, she had to wake up long enough to give him a hint—something—so he could help her.
Her lashes fluttered, lifted a little, then fluttered some more as she struggled valiantly to open her eyes.
"You're doing it. Keep going." While she swam up to him, Raven slid his hand down her arm, turning her cool skin up so he could check for needle marks. Nothing on the left arm, other than dozens of bug bites. He checked the right. Same deal. Of course there were other, less conspicuous places they could've— He felt sick to his stomach. They were in South America—hell, they could've pumped her full of anything. . . . The question was, were the drugs something she actually required? Was she more badly injured than he'd been led to believe? Or had she been given some sort of illegal crap because—why?
Because why, damn it? Didn't make sense. None of this made any kind of sense.
"P-p—"
"Pills?"
"Mmm. Sleep . . ."
Pills. Keeping her sedated. Again—why?
Her head nestled against his chest, silky black hair brushing his chin. The smell of her stirred his senses despite his concerns. Essence of Dani. The most powerful aphrodisiac in the world.
Having her nestled against him like this felt so familiar, so right, so much a part of him. He held her tighter, folding her limp, pliant body into his. She'd saved the son of the president of this godforsaken country. Since when did that buy a Good Samaritan a body full of controlled substances? His mind raced, poised between fury and gratitude at finding her alive. Finally gratitude won out. God, how had he lived without her for the last year? His arms tightened around her limp body. How would he ever have survived if she'd been one of the casualties in that swamp?
Surely God wouldn't save her life only to let them remain apart.
Standing, he carried her back to the wide bed with its fancy, orangey sheets. "Don't worry. I'll get you out of here, sweetheart. Then I'm coming back to find out what these bastards are up to."
He got her settled, checked her pulse again, checked her pupils—slightly dilated—and pulled the sheet over her shoulders. She immediately rolled back onto her left side, then started snoring softly. He bit back a smile. That's my girl.
Raven acknowledged that there was a possibility she'd needed sedation when she'd arrived. He acknowledged that he always had a knee-jerk reaction where Danica was concerned. He acknowledged that maybe he was overreacting.
Except that his gut—usually infallible—was telling him this was all a crock. The accident. The kidnapping. The drug-induced sleep. Something was out of whack here. Way out of whack.
No one was getting within ten feet of Danica. No one.
He checked her pulse again. Steady. Then he got down to business. Did a visual search for cameras first, since if they were there, someone was watching him right now. He searched the room and adjoining bathroom thoroughly. Nothing. He checked for bugs, listening devices, any sort of recording equipment. Nothing he could detect. Didn't mean they weren't there, however.
He picked up the girlie gold-and-white phone beside the bed. Hit zero. "Buenas tardes, Señor Raven," a polite female voice answered. "How may I be of assistance to you?"
"When will the doctor be here?"
There was a pause. "I do not know this, señor. I will inquire for you."
"You do that. Have someone check to see what's keeping my bag and send up a large pot of black coffee. Make that a couple of pots. And a pile of sandwiches. Thanks."
"Certainly, señor. Right away."
It would be a really nice bonus if his weapons remained in the specially designed compartment of his carry-on. But that wasn't going to be the case. Nope, not a prayer. If they were keeping their little heroine drugged into stupidity, they were smart enough to pick over his bags like vultures on road-kill. He hadn't had any trouble getting them onto the plane—even in this day and age, state-of-the-art lead beat antiquated X-ray machines every time. He'd arrived armed to the teeth—but here in San Shitabol, he'd be lucky if the little guy with the pretty hair left him his toothbrush.
"Know what my gut tells me, sweetheart?" Raven whispered as he paced the room, searching—again. "It tells me that before this is over I'm gonna need a fistful of weapons and a shitload of ammo."
