Cindy Dees
Night Rescuer
© 2009
Dear Reader,
From the first time I met John Hollister in The Medusa Seduction, I just knew he had to get his own book someday. What I wasnt expecting was the story he whispered into my earand then kept whispering at me until I finally agreed to write it down for him. Thankfully, Melina Montez came along, and she was fully up to the daunting task of taking on John and his personal baggage.
This story holds a special place in my heart. I wrote it at a time when both my mother and mother-in-law were fighting cancer. I wanted to write a book for them about the power of love overcoming death and thoughts of death. In many ways, Melina is the two of them. Shes a fighter who laughs richly, loves without reservation and lives with gusto. And isnt that, after all, how we all should live every day of our lives?
So to Mom, Mom Dees, and all of you, dear readers, heres to a great read and to a life well lived and well loved!
All my best,
Cindy Dees
Chapter 1
Somewhere in the Caribbean
Major John Hollister, commander of the Wolf Pack, an elite special operations squad for the H.O.T. Watch, highly decorated combat veteran, and the only man ever to lose eight men on a single H.O.T. Watch mission, placed a rickety chair in the middle of the storeroom and stepped onto its wobbly seat. Balancing carefully-wouldnt want to screw up the maneuver at this delicate juncture-he flung the end of a heavy rope over the giant log beam overhead. Gotta love these islanders. They knew how to build a heck of a solid building, what with all the hurricanes in this part of the world.
With ease of long experience with ropes, he made a quick hitch knot that secured the rope tightly to the beam. He grabbed the thick hemp in both hands and gave it a good yank. Yup, it would hold his weight.
He grabbed the noose hed fashioned earlier at the other end of the rope and gave it a long, hard look. This was it. The end. What was a man supposed to think at this final moment of his life, when he was staring his own death square in the face? What was he supposed to feel?
Thing was, he thought nothing. Felt nothing. And that was the problem. John Hollister was an empty shell of a human being. A waste of space on planet Earth. First he screwed up his own life, and then threw away those of his men. Guilty times eight. Yup. Definitely time to check out. He leaned forward to place his neck through the noose. Just kick the chair away and it will be over. The whole useless, pathetic mess hed managed to make of it all.
He started at the cheerful tinkle of a bell out front in the main room of the shipping company announcing that a customer had opened the front door. Oh, for the love of Mike. Couldnt a guy hang himself around here without someone interrupting him?
Disgusted at the delay, he hopped down off the chair, landing out of habit in complete, stealthy silence. He stepped out of the storeroom and up to the scarred wooden counter.
Can I help you? he asked wearily.
I certainly hope so.
He looked up, startled at the smooth, dulcet tones of the female voice that answered him. Whoa. The woman who went with all that come-hither velvet lived up to her voice, and then some. She was slender, her skin a delicious caramel color. Her hair would probably be called brown if it werent streaked with all those golden, sun-kissed blond highlights. Her eyes were light brown and looked right through him to the blackest depths of his soul.
Shockingly, an emotion actually registered in his gut. Embarrassment at what shed almost caught him doing. He reeled back from her steady gaze, stunned.
Uhh, what is it you need today? He pulled himself together enough to ask.
I need something delivered. Somethingunusual.
Thats what we do here at Pirate Petes Delivery Service. Anything, anywhere.
At the mention of his name, the large green parrot dozing in the corner of the shabby office roused himself on his perch and gave his wings a shake. With a squawk, the bird announced, Baawwk. Pirate Pete is a dirty old bird. Repeats every joke that hes heard. Tells the girls with big tits, which guy licks the best-
Quiet, Pete! John cut him off sharply. That damned bird was forever spouting off some filthy limerick. And always to the attractive female customers, it seemed.
Baawwk! Pete retorted, clearly offended at the interruption. John Cowboy is ever so quick, sees a girl and he whips out his-
Pete. Shut up.
The womans worried expression gave way to a dazzling, toothpaste-commercial smile that belonged on the big screen. Wow.
He mumbled, Sorry bout that. Shouldve strangled and stuffed that bird a long time ago.
I think hes cute.
John rolled his eyes. All the girls say that. I dont know what they see in that feathered old reprobate.
The customer replied, Hes direct. Its refreshing. A girl can relate to it.
The way she was gazing into his eyes was pretty damned direct, too. If he planned on living past the next ten minutes, she would be the kind of woman who would give him serious pause. He cleared his throat. You said you need something delivered? Where and when?
To Peru. As soon as possible.
Well, we can package it and express mail it for you or, if its really urgent, we can courier it down there for you. We can have it in Lima late tonight if we take it ourselves.
Oh, this delivery isnt going to Lima. Im afraid it isnt that simple. Its going way up into the Andes mountains. Im told there arent even roads to the final destination.
No roads? Man, that was remote. We can fly it in by helicopter or even air-drop your packagebut that would be pretty expensive. You might want to consider having us arrange a Peruvian guide to hump your package back into the mountains by llama. Itll take longer to get there, but it wont bankrupt you.
Im not worried about money. But the look in her eyes said she was plenty worried about something.
His invisible warning antennae wiggled. Something was up with her. What wasnt she telling him? After almost fifteen years as an army officer, much of it in command positions, he had a finely honed sense of when he wasnt hearing the truthor in this case, the full truth.
So whens your drop-dead date?
The woman started violently. I beg your pardon?
He rephrased quickly. When does your package absolutely have to be there?
Theres not a set deadline. But the sooner the better.
In that case, Id go with letting us fly it to Lima and then handing it off to a Peruvian pack train.
She turned over the plan for a few seconds. Her fawn-colored eyes gazed deeply into his, measuring whether or not he was someone to be trusted. If you think thats best
What the hell. He might as well close the sale before he went in back and finished himself off. He asked smoothly, What are we delivering, maam?
Me.
Navy Commander Brady Hathaway jolted as one of the floor controllers below abruptly barked, Commander. Come here! Weve got a problem.
He descended from the observation deck to the floor of what they fondly called the Bat Cave-a hundred-twenty-yard-long, fifty-foot-high cavern hollowed out millions of years ago by magma from a now extinct volcano. His shoes rang in quick staccato on the steel steps. None of the two dozen computer and surveillance technicians on duty at the rows of consoles took that sharp tone of voice with him lightly. Plus, when Carter Baigneaux-a longtime Special Forces operator himself-said there was a problem, it was guaranteed to be a bona fide crisis.
As Bradys long strides carried him across the floor, the question foremost in his mind, though, was why Carter had told him to come down onto the floor. Why hadnt he sent whatever image had his Cajun knickers in such a twist to one of the big screens on the far wall for everyone to see? Six JumboTrons lined the far wall, at the moment displaying various satellite tracking maps of the world.
He reached the technicians desk and the array of monitors on it. Whatve you got? he asked tersely.
Carter stabbed a finger at his far left monitor. I was cruising through a routine check of the surveillance cameras in the cave complex and I spotted this upstairs at Pirate Petes.
Brady took one look at the noose dangling damningly in the middle of the cluttered storeroom. Whos on duty up there? he bit out.
Hollister.
Brady swore violently. He took off running, sprinting across the floor, leaving rows of startled technicians in his wake. He raced down a low tunnel hollowed out of volcanic rock and skidded to a stop in front of the large freight elevator that carried people back and forth between the Bat Cave and Pirate Petes Delivery Service up on the surface. The decrepit shipping company and its ramshackle office acted as a front for the H.O.T. Watchs surveillance operation here in the Caribbean. It allowed his guys to move around on missions with a credible cover, and it explained to the locals some of the supplies and personnel that came and went from the island.
Cmon, cmon, he urged the elevator. He knew Hollister was messed up after that last mission, but hed had no idea the guy was actually contemplating offing himself. Brady shoved a distracted hand through his hair. It hadnt been Hollisters fault. Nobodyd seen the ambush. Theyd all been suckered. It had been a miracle that Hollister himself hadnt been killed. The guyd been shot in the back-it had taken months to heal and he still wasnt cleared to go out on operational Special Forces missions.
The elevators double doors started to slide open, and Brady turned sideways, jumping into the space before theyd fully opened.
Thank God.
The noose still hung empty from the beam in the middle of the room. The entire storeroom and all its sloppy contents were, in fact, the elevator down to H.O.T. Watch Ops. He opened the rusted electrical panel and punched the button disguised as a circuit breaker that would return him to the surface and Pirate Petes. As the elevator lurched into silent motion, he climbed up on the chair quickly and untied Hollisters knots. He flung the rope away in distaste.
The storeroom/elevator came to a halt. He heard voices out in the front room. A woman laughed. Ahh. That explained why Hollister hadnt finished off the job, yet. Hed been interrupted by a customer. God bless her.