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 wasn’t expecting was the story he whispered into my ear…and 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. She’s a fighter who laughs richly, loves without reservation and lives with gusto. And isn’t that, after all, how we all should live every day of our lives?

So to Mom, Mom Dees, and all of you, dear readers, here’s to a great read and to a life well lived and well loved!

All my best,

Cindy Dees

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- wouldn’t 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 he’d 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 he’d 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. Couldn’t 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 weren’t 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 she’d 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. Something…unusual.”

“That’s what we do here at Pirate Pete’s 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 he’s 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 woman’s worried expression gave way to a dazzling, toothpaste-commercial smile that belonged on the big screen. Wow .

He mumbled, “Sorry ’bout that. Should’ve strangled and stuffed that bird a long time ago.”

“I think he’s cute.”

John rolled his eyes. “All the girls say that. I don’t know what they see in that feathered old reprobate.”

The customer replied, “He’s direct. It’s 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 it’s 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 isn’t going to Lima. I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. It’s going way up into the Andes mountains. I’m told there aren’t even roads to the final destination.”

No roads? Man, that was remote. “We can fly it in by helicopter or even air-drop your package…but 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. It’ll take longer to get there, but it won’t bankrupt you.”

“I’m 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 wasn’t 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 wasn’t hearing the truth…or in this case, the full truth.

“So when’s your drop-dead date?”

The woman started violently. “I beg your pardon?”

He rephrased quickly. “When does your package absolutely have to be there?”

“There’s not a set deadline. But the sooner the better.”

“In that case, I’d 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 that’s 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, ma’am?”

“Me.”

Navy Commander Brady Hathaway jolted as one of the floor controllers below abruptly barked, “Commander. Come here! We’ve 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.