The Captive's Return (Wingmen Warriors #10)

The Captive's Return (Wingmen Warriors #10) Page 8

Sara's stories about her child spilled from one into the other with such obvious maternal affection, he couldn't help but smile. Not that she could see his reaction now that the sun had finally slipped into the horizon.

His eyes would finish adjusting in about a half hour, but for now, everything was pitch-black. He needed that anonymity with so much to process.

Aside from the fact that Lucia barely looked three to him, much less four and a half, she sure as hell didn't resemble him or anyone in his family. She was one hundred percent her mama's clone.

Even if the child was close to the right age, maybe Sara didn't know for certain, either. The thought of her being raped, especially when she was so helpless from her injuries...

He couldn't think about that and stay sane.

Another thought slithered through his mind. Even if all she'd said about Ramon's nutcase plans proved true, she still could have taken a lover. Five years was a long time and he knew well how deep her passionate nature flowed.

Why would Chavez hide her for five years? A child, too. It didn't make sense.

Although logistically, a person could exist exclusively inside Chavez's small townlike compound. Lucas's hand inched back to check for the reassuring presence of his gun in his vest. He'd lived in an area smaller than that in inner city L.A., walled in by wire fences and poverty. Choices gone, exposure to the world limited to an eight-block radius, school to home and back again, nowhere safe outside. His parents had done their best, but worked double shifts to keep them out of a shelter during a time when help for the homeless was next to nil.

"Lucas?" Sara's whisper sucked him back into the present. "Are you awake?"

"Uh-huh," he grunted, grounding himself in the soft feel of Sara sitting next to him.

"I'm sorry to ramble on. I can't expect to cram five years into one night, but after bottling it up for so long..."

Her head fell onto his shoulder. She jolted upright.

He cupped her head and guided it down again. "You always were better at talking than I am, which works well."

"I imagine it's a lot to absorb." Her hot breath teased his neck—ah, hell, he was toast. "I'm having trouble processing everything. But I am so very glad you are alive."

"I'd hate to think you wanted me dead."

Not much of a stretch given that old scar on his chest. How ironic that he'd been in the Air Force for seventeen years, served in multiple conflicts, but his only two injuries had both resulted from civilian women.

At least Sara had only sliced his arm. Dawn had aimed for his heart.

Back when he was a junior in high school, Dawn had moved into the next apartment. They'd met hanging out on the fire escape while he studied and fed the birds, and she hid from her hooker-mother's Johns.

He didn't trust quickly, but after three months out on that fire escape with her and another month ducking into his bedroom with her—he'd thought he found someone like him. He'd also thought he could save her.

He'd been wrong on both accounts.

She'd lured him out and delivered him up to a gang leader looking for a new drug mule. Dawn had just been looking for a free hit. When he refused, she'd launched at him with all the strength of a crazed junkie.

He'd told Sara the scar came from falling out of a tree when he was a kid. Except there weren't trees in his old neighborhood.

Only one incident, sure, but an affirmation of his lifelong certainty that he was better off as a loner. Nothing had made him question that.

Until Sara.

Now there was a kid tying them together, because no matter who'd fathered the child, she carried his last name and none of this was the little girl's fault.

Lucas scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn, he was in over his head, but Sara obviously expected him to say something more about this revelation and he didn't have a clue what he was feeling.

He settled for, "She's a cute kid. Tough, too. I like that."

"She's a little tomboy. I think that is the right phrase in English, but I'm a bit rusty. I only get to practice when I'm teaching Lucia, and Ramon's grandchildren." She sighed against his neck again. Waiting?

Apparently he hadn't said enough. No surprise. Emotional outpourings weren't exactly his style.

"You should sleep. Tomorrow's walk will be a real bitch even if the rain holds off."

"Is there anything you want to ask me about the past five years?"

Oh, he wanted to know more, all right, but his questions would only drive a rift between them he could never recover from if Lucia truly was his—a mind-blowing thought. For the child's sake, he needed to go through the motions of accepting what Sara had said since he didn't have a clue how to be tactful about asking the questions that lingered. He definitely needed to rein in his emotions and focus or they would die.

Steeling himself against feeling too much, he reached, skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. She didn't flinch away or move forward.

If he talked to her much longer, he would lose himself in the sound of her voice. So he opted for a safer move and slid his hand to her back, palming her forward against his chest.

"You're safe now, free again, and I swear I won't let anything or anyone hurt Lucia."

Sara sighed. "Gracias."

"De nada." He stroked Sara's back, a sensitive thing to do. What she would expect, right? Not a lame-ass excuse to touch her.

Her shuddering breaths eased, slowing into even breaths of sleep echoed by the child's puffy huffs.

The irony of the present mirroring the past didn't escape him. Five years ago he'd snuck Tomas out of the country so Ramon Chavez wouldn't get his hands on the boy and indoctrinate him.

She'd wanted Tomas out of the country. Surely that meant she wanted out, as well.

But old survival instincts were hard to shake.

Finally, he gave up and allowed himself to bury his face in her hair and breathe in the scent of her. Alive. He exhaled long, hard, five years of grief crashing up against relief.

After so long apart, he should have been able to resist her. As his thoughts winged back to the past, he realized nothing had changed since that day he'd accepted he couldn't dodge the attraction anymore...

So much for a solitary lunch in the embassy courtyard. Lucas gripped a pillar and started an about-face.

But Sarafina Tesoro looked over her shoulder.

Seated on the garden bench, she smiled, ambushing him far faster than any enemy missile. Not to mention she was blowing soap bubbles into the air. Definitely not what he'd expected when he stepped out for a quiet meal alone to review a brief for the ambassador.

Her hair lifted with the wind and bubbles. "You caught me."

Caught her? Funny, since he'd been running like hell since she knocked him on his ass two weeks ago. High-maintenance women weren't his style. He'd made the decision out of fairness to those who fit the profile since he would only let them down.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb your... lunch? "

She lifted the small bottle and bubble wand. "I imagine I've ruined my dignified professional look. But, well—" she shrugged "—I love the way the sun glints through them."

"I'll leave you to it." He started to turn again, already knowing his chances of escaping her allure were evaporating faster than jet fumes on a windy day.

"Wait! You must have come out here for a reason."

Ah, crap. He was in trouble. He faced her again. "I was looking for a quiet place to eat and review notes for a briefing."

"And I am not a quiet person."

He laughed, couldn't help himself—no surprise around the extroverted interpreter. A pampered princess, but still so damn...cute?

Sexy. Definitely sexy, with lush curves and the sultriest dark eyes known to mankind.

Sarafina cleared her purse from the stone bench. "Sit. I promise you won't even notice I'm here."

She teased him with her eyes, her smile and the shared recognition that they were very aware of each other. He'd sure as hell noticed her the minute she'd walked into that press brief.

Of course this woman never merely walked. She strolled, swished, stopped to look at heaven only knew what or speak to anyone from the president to a janitor. Floating through life like one of those bubbles carried on the wind that he couldn't stop watching. Of course bubbles eventually burst and the soap stung like hell.

So he'd kept his distance from this mesmerizing, high-maintenance lady—with the most amazing eyes, ass and laugh.

Damned if he didn't walk across the courtyard anyway and sit beside her on a too-small bench.

He stayed silent—his normal ops. He figured if a woman minded the silence, she wasn't his type. His sex life was plenty healthy with other quiet women.

And he never ended up with a knife slicing his chest.

He reached into his flight bag and pulled out a folder. Birds hopped across the lawn, more circling overhead.

Sara tipped back her head and blew another stream of smaller bubbles toward the flock. "They know you."

Already, she was talking.

"They're birds with brains the size of a pea. They don't know me."

Without looking at him, she dipped the wand in the soap. "They know you because you feed them."

His hand fell back to his flight bag where a loaf of stale French bread waited to be crumbled. How did she know? "They make good company. They don't talk."

"My, you are so charming." Rolling her eyes, she batted his arm. "How did you ever land a diplomatic job?"

The simple brush of her fingers against his bicep shot a bolt of desire straight south. Why was it again that he should stay away from her?

Looking into her wide brown eyes, a bubble resting on her head like the crown this princess-type no doubt earned, he couldn't think of a single reason to haul his sorry butt off the bench. "I don't talk much so there's less chance of shoving my boot in my mouth."

She extended her leg—damn, the sun overhead was cranking hot—and pointed her toes inside high-heeled strappy sandals. "I chew on my foot quite regularly."

A laugh rasped free. Talking wasn't so bad when she amused him. "It's a pretty foot."

"That's the oddest compliment I've ever received."

"Any woman looking for fawning Romeo crap should probably bypass a guy like me." As close as he would come to warning her off.

Her slow sexy smile said she wasn't walking anywhere except right over his resolve to stay clear. "So you have a—what's the phrase?— a foot fetish? "

"Not particularly." He swept aside the bubble clinging to her hair, then let his fingers glide down the strand. "But for you, I could see my way clear to cultivating one...."

Chapter 5

Splashing her face in the jungle stream, Sara blinked against the bright morning sun blasting spikes of light through the leafy canopy.

Rustling sounded behind her as Lucas erased signs they'd slept under the cover of palm branches. Or rather she had slept against his chest. She somehow doubted he'd let down his guard long enough.

Guilt pinched, reminding her how easy it would be to slide back into her old dependent ways. She needed to carry her own load, for everyone's sake, especially for her daughter still sleeping curled on her side.

Which meant taking care of herself.

Sara rifled through her knapsack, careful to shield her hands from Lucas's sight, and unearthed the small black insulin pouch from the side. Thank God she'd decided to pack an extra case.

Another quick glance reassured her Lucas couldn't see her. She considered telling him. Certainly it was nothing to be ashamed of, but she feared he wouldn't let her pull her own weight. He'd lost so much blood from a stab wound she had inflicted. He was leading the way, working harder in setting up camp and carrying Lucia.