The Protector of Ambra (Mercenaries of Fortune, #5) (5 page)

“I’ll make sure your insurance covers your death in Mexico.”

She plopped back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Thanks, you ass.”

“You’re welcome.”

She threw the bandages back at him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Fix my pretty face.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She kept quiet as he worked. Not moving. Not making a sound. If it hurt, she didn’t show it. He’d only admired her strength before – her presence of mind. Running a business was no small thing. It took guts and determination. But above all that, she was loyal. Even now in the face of danger, she wasn’t scared for herself, but for everyone around her. Noble. The word was better suited to her than to him. He could grow to care for someone like that. “We never discussed the subject of payment.”

That sweet face of hers turned to ice beneath his fingertips. “Excuse me?”

“I was thinking at least a month of free chocolate when we get back. It’s not such a drive from where I am.”

The purpling sky revealed an upturned lip. “Just a month?”

“Well, I might not like the chocolate. Sometimes sweet things have a kick to them in the end. I might not be man enough to handle it. I say a month of concentrated effort of trying your chocolate. Just to see if it takes.”

Melody’s long lashes swooped down. He couldn’t help himself and brushed a bit of hair from her face. She laughed and slapped his hand away. “Don’t. You’ll see my massive forehead. I have this haircut for a reason.”

His mouth didn’t give him a heads-up on what it was going to do. But his body followed its lead and his lips brushed a kiss across that pretty impressive noggin of hers. He lingered a little longer than was proper, but of all the things he thought about with his lips on her body, propriety wasn’t one of them. “Maybe two months of concentrated effort. You know, just to see if I like it.”

“At least.”

“At least,” he agreed. He was many things, but no one ever called him stupid. The woman was smart, though, and loyal. Not following up with this would be the dumbest thing he had done in many years. Well, hours. For sure, he had to start this off on the right foot. Melody’s innate nobility demanded a modicum of truth. At least, as much truth as he could give her.

Ambra?

Telling her about that would take a lot more than them getting shot at on their first date. But some of the particulars, she was owed. “So, the mission. I had to get something out of the monastery. You’ve heard of the Mayan Empire?”

“The basics from high school. An early people, wiped out by the Spanish when they arrived.”

He shook his head as he added more ointment. “Not wiped out. Never that. Those people were...are strong. They survived the Toltecs and the Aztecs. Their descendants are all over Mexico today. Mayan derivative languages are still a first language for millions of people. Don’t let history books tell you that Spanish guns and germs took out everyone.”

The chin beneath his hand softened as he finished up. “Look at you. You love this stuff. You just went from hot doctor to asshole, and now hot nerd.”

“But I hot?” he asked, managing to get his eyebrow as high up as nature would allow. He’d stolen more than a few hearts with this look. “Something told me to take my contacts out on the plane. I should have listened. You’ll love me in glasses. Anyway, my point is that most American schools teach about the Maya after European arrival. Fewer mention the Olmecs.”

“Who?”

“Exactly.”

“They predate the Maya by centuries. All the cool Mayan things from languages and calendars to sports and medicine were all based on earlier Olmec models.”

Melody pulled away, checking out his work in the rearview mirror. “You geeked out even harder when you mentioned medicine.”

“Like you and that pozol?”

“Point taken. So you’re here because of the Olmecs.”

“Olmec art is hard to find. Aside from Spanish priests wrecking everything in the name of religious purity, Olmec artifacts have been lost or smashed for eons. So when people sell things...” He twisted to scoop the priceless slice of awesomeness from his bag. “Things like this medicine man statuette, collectors lose their minds over it. Anything having to do with ancient medicine—”

“Time-out.”

“Yeah?”

Her finger drew W-shaped forms of confusion in the air. “If it is, was, for sale, then why were people shooting at us?”

“About that, we’ve lingered a bit too long here. If they ran back for cars, they probably have them now. We should get going.”

“Answer the question, Pierce. If your life wasn’t in danger when you were trying to flirt, it’s not in danger now.”

It wasn’t his life he was concerned about. Though the way her eyes narrowed, maybe he should be. “I meant what I said about my job. I skipped out on the part that I didn’t have clearance to be here. My boss runs a tight ship.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Not if you can make a beer run to Mexico.”

“He’s out on assignment. Along with the second in control. Everyone’s supposed to hang close to home, including me. Technically, I’m on call.”

“From Mexico.”

“It’s no different than going home for the night and showing up late the next day.”

“Today, you mean?”

He dropped his head in his hands and tried not to think of it. He could be on his way home now, but he’d made a promise to the woman and damned if he’d pull out after getting her shot at. “It’ll be fine.”

“Are you saying you stole this?”

“Stole is too harsh of a word,” he said, placing his hand over hers on the steering wheel. She backhanded it away. “Is this going to affect our first date?”

“The fact that you stole from monks? Yes. Are you freaking kidding me with this?”

“I’m not clearly explaining the technicalities of it am I?”

“Is there a better way of saying 'I stole from the church’?” With each word out of her mouth, she pulled back. If this discussion went on too long, she’d been hanging out the damned car.

“I thought we were in a better place.”

“We. Are. Not. What kind of jerk steals from a monastery?”

“I had to. I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his shoulder. “You just stole from Jesus Christ.”

“So you’re religious then?”

“Not really, but I’m also not an asshat who steals from Jesus Freaking Christ. God!” She turned over the engine and without another word to him, started speeding away. She hit every hole and divot in the road, but damned if he’d tell her to be careful.

And yet, he wanted to talk to her. Make her understand. He couldn’t have her thinking that she’d come down here to catch a thief, only to wind up making dinner plans with one. “Melody—”

“How can you look at yourself in the mirror?”

“I look at myself just fine. Because I can’t be here to legally participate in the auction, doesn’t mean that the good monks of the monastery won’t be rolling in dough. I’ve got the money held and waiting. Within hours, it will be sent anonymously to their bank. See? Still a good guy.”

He held up his phone, showing her his account’s home page – the one that showed how many commas were in his bottom line. Rolling eyes aside, he might have impressed her. Or not. Okay, he moved on to the screen showing the transfer. “If you’ll just slide that little bar over, the money can be deposited as early as—”

“Shut up and just do it.”

He did. With flourish and a smile. “There. Are we friends again?”

“Don’t know. Are you still the guy who stole from the church?”

“Lady, I’m also the guy who just gave them a small fortune worth way more than what they would have gotten for the artifact. Trust me, this wasn’t the centerpiece of the lot.”

“That’s not the—” She slammed on the brakes so fast that the back wheels jumped and squealed. She screamed, but never once let go of the wheel.

Good.

Let her handle that. He had bigger fish to fry. Namely, the three men at the cross section with handguns pointed directly at their faces.

S
he’d love to go one solid hour without getting shot at.

While she’d been pulling the truth from Pierce like hardened taffy, she’d kept an eye out for any danger coming up behind them. Finding trouble in front of them came as a bit of a surprise.

Almost as surprising as Pierce playing build-a-bear with a gun as big as a torso. “That can’t be legal.”

He never once looked toward her or even to the gun as he assembled it. His eyes stayed locked directly on the threat ahead of them. “It’s for situations. This is a situation. Go ahead and slide down in your seat a little more. Give them a smaller target.”

She could handle that. She leaned toward the dashboard. The gun that had icked the mess out of her earlier was now the second-best thing on the planet. Pierce’s mutant transformer gun had to be the first.

How in the heck had he gotten that thing on the plane? Maybe he could sneak a handgun or two on, but this was like bringing a tank to driver’s ed. The only way a guy gets away with something like this, is if he had some kind of government clearance. Super clearance.

“I’m going to need you to stay calm,” he said as he added vial-like arrow things to one of the gun’s compartments.

“What
is
that?”

“One of the tools not used often enough by my crew. It has the long range of a rifle, with the gentle kiss of a tranquilizer. Most of my comrades’ work is up close and personal. A gun like this is a liability in small spaces. For me, however...inch the car towards them, Melody. Nice and easy.”

“Closer to where their bullets are?”

“Closer to where I can reach them. Pretend I’m not a super awesome shot. In fact, consider a scenario where I’m the doctor of my team and not directly involved in day-to-day combat situations. I mean, I do okay, but I’ll take that extra foot or two,” he said, bringing the gun up.

“I thought you were the doctor of...oh.” Even in the light of the new day, his neck punched out a shade of red as bold as the rising sun. The man was embarrassed. Of what? Finishing medical school? She’d have corrected him on this idiocy, if not for the rapidly growing threat on their lives. Instead, she kept it short. “I trust you. You’re a doctor. Keep me alive. That’s what you do.”

“I’ll try,” he said with a wink. “Do your part too. Watch my back and sides. Don’t let them sneak up on us.”

Easier said than done. Rotating in the bucket seat required a childhood of gymnastics training that she didn’t have.  Training in firearms might have been helpful too. In a perfect world, he’d have thrown in a little pep talk.

All things she needed and all things she didn’t have. But she was an entrepreneur. That was years of living the “faking it until you make it” life. She handled business loans and government red tape. She’d deal with this the same way: with squared shoulders and guts.

She leveled the barrel of her gun against the headrest and waited. The shooting stopped. Men yelled out something in Spanish. Pierce shouted back. Several low-level puffs sounded by her ear. They sounded like weak bullets – if such a thing existed.

The shouts and yells became full-out screams.

She turned to see what was happening, but Pierce’s hand on her neck shoved her down. She was inclined to take his advice. The shots were movie levels by now. Only worse. Each shot rang in her ears. Her shoulders and back jerked with every bullet that flew around her. Her eardrums hurt, never mind her chest. It thudded like her heart was being punched against her ribs and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The pounding in her head was even worse. The acerbic mixture of sweat and fear seemed to swell her brain in a place far too small for it.

She felt...small. And like a child, she wanted to plug her fingers in her ears until it all went away.

And then it did.

Pierce lunged back into the seat, breathless and dripping with sweat. “You okay, mademoiselle baker?”

“Ch-chocolatier.”

“You’ll be fine.” His voice was low and encouraging but she still hadn’t mustered the strength to turn around yet. He read her like a book. “You won’t see anything other than sleeping men. I didn’t have to use anything stronger than...shit!”

He slammed her face-first into his thigh, and fired.

Only this shot was different. It wasn’t the soft whir she’d been hearing from her right. This was a jolt. A burning jolt with that nose singeing, brain rattling scent of gunpowder.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the folding tranquilizer gun between his legs. It hadn’t moved. He’d used the real gun this time. “You killed him?”

“Don’t move, Mels.”

“My name is Melody.” She wanted to smack him for his little laugh just now, but she didn’t have the nerve. Or the energy. And her back hurt. A lot. She tried to twist, but a searing pain blazed through her shoulder. “Pierce? Something’s wrong.”

“Shh, now you lose faith? It’s like you said, I’m a doctor. I take care of people and I’m going to take care of you, just as I have been from the moment we met.”

Then something glinted in the sunlight. Something clear and bright all at the same time. A vial? No, a needle. And more she couldn’t figure, because Pierce slid it beneath her skin, and her throbbing head went away.

P
ierce should have been on the first flight to Boston by now. Instead, he was in the middle of the jungle sewing up the back of a half-drugged innocent woman.

The wound would hurt. The bullet sliced through flesh, but the cut was long, rather than deep. It looked much worse than it had been, though not something he’d have wished on anyone. Especially her.

Knocking her out had been an extreme option. Something localized to dull the pain would have done the trick. He justified it a few ways. One, the half-hour drive away from the monastery had been hard and off-road. It wasn’t a sure thing that she could handle the pain. Two, her face had done him in. She’d gone from strong and secure to looking about done with life. He didn’t think she was the type for hysterics, but back there wasn’t the place to test it.

Pierce rolled up his traveling surgical kit and reached for her shirt hanging across the rolled down window. He’d taken it off her to doctor her wound. When he worked on her, she was his patient.